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Back to Empire on the HPe3000
... and ...
This is a first draft of a story set in the world of Greyhawk.
It is based on a home campaign so some of the people, places and things
may be different. Any helpful comments or suggestions are very welcome.
Thanks
Jason Zavoda
The torch flared into life and from somewhere nearby Harald could
hear a high pitched shriek then the sound of something skittering over
stones. He almost dropped the wooden handle as he grabbed for the hilt of
his claymore. The blade sent sparks from the wall and ceiling as he drew
it from over his shoulder, he held it out before him one handed like a
lance.
There was nothing, no further sounds except the hissing of the
flames and his own breathing, but what he saw astounded him. In the
torchlight he could see that floor was a scratched and worn mosaic, the
walls were stone, at one time veneered with thick plaster, now all but
fallen to the ground. Still there were patches across the walls which
showed a scene of plains with armored chariots rolling by, pursuing an
enemy or beast now lost, their images mingled with the dirt and debris
pushed into the corners and piled against the walls.
This was no bare cave, instead it was a chamber the stones finely
set, large blocks of grey rock speckled with black, their edges almost
invisible, a razor would not fit between. A crack split the wall, above it
the ceiling had fractured as well and through this the shaft had been
cut. The slab that had formed the ceiling was thick, even with the stone
broken Harald could not guess at how much work it had taken to claw
through, scraping away a fragment at a time.
There was a door, wide as the hall, two great valves of stone,
which sat beneath the shaft, but it was shut and would not move. Two
figures were carved into its frame, a pair of men, barrel chested,
heavily muscled, their backs bent, their arms outstretched as if to
hold up the arch. Still gripping his sword Harald ran his knuckles
across the carvings, cold and smooth, the grooves and scars left across
the wall had not damaged these. With the pommel of his sword he gave the
doors a rap, the metal clanged on stone dull and solid, it sounded as if
only dirt and rock lay beyond, but Harald had the feeling that they once
opened out onto the sun and sky.
Useless doors, they were just a part of the wall, he turned
his back on them and peered into the dark. The chamber extended beyond the
range of light that his torch projected. Harald was drawn forward, each
step revealing more of the hall. It was wide, perhaps twenty feet across,
the ceiling was not low, though Harald could reach up and touch it with
the tips of his fingers, if he stood on his toes.
The tiles beneath his feet had been obliterated, those that had
not been broken or dislodged had been scratched by hundreds of clawed feet
passing back and forth. The walls were just as bad, though it was time
which had done the worst, the gibberlings had left the murals alone, but
they had fallen in bits and pieces just the same.
A hundred paces and the passage opened into a vast chamber. A
pillared hall each column shaped like some beast. An ogre its chest
armored in banded mail, a creature with the body of a snake and the
torso of a strong looking woman, six armed, each hand gripping a different
type of blade, a centaur its bow raised and arrow notched, a manticore,
and dozens more.
As he neared the center of the room he followed a crack that
meandered back and forth. At the center, surrounded by columns shaped like
dragons of different hues but carved from the same gray stone, the crack
widened, a circular pit with crumbling edges was watched over by these
sculpted beasts.
Harald looked into its depths but could see nothing, he bent and
examined the edge, the stone was grooved and notched. He ran his hand
within the pit and felt the familiar holds clawed into the walls. The
gibberlings had come from here, he was sure of this.
* * *
(To Be Continued)