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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
"What did I do?" Talberth yelled to the halfling. "Harold,
get me out of here!"
"Don't move, don't move." Harold told him. "Keep calm." the
halfling waved his hands at the mage with quick excited gestures.
"Don't move! What if that triggers something!" shouted Talberth.
"You're more likely to trigger something else if you move." said
Harold. "Look at the floor."
Talberth glanced down then back at Harold. "What am I supposed to
see?"
"There are no marks on the floor," Harold said, "Look at the hall,
the floor is scratched to bits. Something kept those monsters from
this room, there must be some way to raise those bars."
"Maybe they went through those doors." said Talberth. He glanced
over his shoulder at the three doors behind him.
"Don't move!" Harold snapped. "I don't trust those doors."
"Don't move, don't move, is that all you have to say." Talberth
complained. "Get me out of here." Talberth reached out and grabbed hold of
the bars.
Harold shouted and backed away, he ran into Little Rat who stood
close behind him. A blinding flash exploded before his eyes, a coil of
lightning seemed to jump between the bars and lashed Talberth as if with
the tail of a dragon. The mage flew across the room, his body crashed
against the door of stone and passed through as if it was not there.
"Talberth!" Harold yelled half-blinded by a purple afterglow
that pulsed within his eyes.
The bars slid back up into the ceiling, so smooth and quick that
seemed to disappear as the mage had done.
* * *
He could feel but it was as if he stood back from his body. The
Keeper's wounds knitted but did not heal. The cut which split his
skull closed, a knotted lump of bone ran from his forehead back along
the crown and to his bald pate. Skin stretched to the edge, purple
and discolored.
His severed thumb rejoined but here again the skin did not close.
The same with every scrape and gash that crossed his flesh. The orcs had
carved him, scrawled foul words in their crude tongue with the points
of knives.
The Keeper lived again but only vengeance was on his mind. First
he would hunt down those orcs, he could feel them, they were near, so
close that his spirit could taste them. Those that had cut him while the
last sparks of life were held within his dying frame.
Ardare, the spirit of fire housed within the blade he wore beneath
his belt, it sought to turn him to his greater prey, the human warrior who
had used the very blade the Keeper now wore. The human warrior who had
slain him. The undead giant could see him, could feel the man sleeping
with troubled dreams.
With a shake of his great maimed head he scattered the vision.
He knew where the man lay, but before the Keeper would leave this place
he would crush and grind the bones of those orcs who had helped to bring
him low. They had retreated back into the small caves nearby. While he'd
lived the Keeper had never considered them of any consequence, a few
dozen orcs left to starve on scraps and scrapings. Now he had a thirst
that only their deaths would quench.
* * *
(To Be Continued...)