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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 glow from the mage's amulet drifted like a will o wisp, the
dark surrounding it seemed like a living thing down here with a presence
and body that fought against the light.
Talberth caught a glimmer coming from somewhere far ahead. He
knew that it must be the others, at least he hoped that it was them.
"Sit, sit down." he barked out at the orcs. They hesitated
but then complied. There was a noise from behind, someone coming down the
shaft. "Gytha!" he called, "Telenstil!"
"Yes," came a voice, "it is I." Telenstil climbed slowly down. He
moved with care and grace but breathed with a deep rise and fall of his
chest. A sheen of sweat covered his brow.
"Telenstil, thank goodness." Talberth said with relief. "The
orcs, they were beating Derue."
"How is he?" asked Telenstil. He moved quickly over to where
the scout lay motionless on the floor.
"He lives," said Talberth, "for now."
"Ghibelline is injured, though Gytha has prayed for healing,"
Telenstil said, though he spoke partly to himself, "we do call upon
her strength more and more."
"What do we do with these orcs?" asked Talberth.
"Why did they attack him?" Telenstil answered with
another question.
"I didn't ask," Talberth replied drolly, "they're orcs, that
is reason enough."
"There you are!" a voice piped out of the darkness. Harold
came walking quickly into the light. "Where have you been!" he demanded.
"I was wondering the same thing." Talberth replied.
"We were almost killed!" Harold snapped back. "What's going on?"
he asked, noticing the orcs for the first time then the wand in
Talberth's hand.
"Harold," Telenstil caught the attention of the thief, "you are
bleeding, are you badly hurt? How are the others?"
The halfling put his hand to his face and for the first time
felt the wounds he had suffered from the gibberling young. Small cuts
still sent trickles through the drying mask of blood that covered his
face. His arms and hands began to sting and he noticed the growing spots
of blood soaking through his torn and tattered clothes. "Hey!"
he exclaimed surprised. His eyes rolled back and showed their whites.
Harold pitched over backwards collapsing like a scarecrow taken from
its standing pole.
Little Rat leapt to him but couldn't catch the falling thief in
time.
* * *
The dim light was swallowed by the dark. The color faded first,
the red blood on his hand went pale, then the black came over the edges of
his sight like an island sinking beneath the waves. Harold felt a sudden
weakness, the world began to swim, he remembered standing on a ship as
it approached a harbor in a storm. The world rolled and shifted all around
him and then the light was gone, as if a lone candle had been snuffed out.
The world returned first with sound, "...ainted. I think." a
voice spoke above him, then he felt a bitter metal taste on his
tongue. His mouth was dry, and filled with clotted blood, gummy and foul.
Harold shifted, coughed and hacked till his throat was clear and
strained, then croaked out a few words. "What happened, What hit me?"
he asked, but the words came out rough and garbled.
"He live? Not dead?" Little Rat asked cheerfully.
"I think you fainted." said Telenstil.
"You should have bound those wounds." chided Talberth.
Harold groaned and sat up on his elbows, he looked like a corpse
animated by some foul priest or necromancer, rising from the dead.
* * *
(To Be Continued)