Send a spelling or grammar correction to: Tracy Johnson
This site sponsored by Agenda Games LLC
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
Light surrounded them as they traveled the dark corridor. The
amulet which Talberth wore and the spell enchanted torch that Harald
carried burned with unnatural brightness, unflickering, fueled by magic.
Ivo slowed them down. The old gnome was as strong and enduring as
stone, but his short legs could not keep up with those of the two humans,
both tall even for their kind.
"leave me." he told them. "I'll catch up, go see what has
happened."
Hah." Talberth snorted. "Would you let me stay when I wanted?
No! I am not letting you stay behind now."
"He's right." Harald agreed. "I can carry you."
The ranger had Little Rat slung over one broad shoulder, the young
orc's head and arms swinging back and forth with every step. The
weight of the bone-thin youth was nothing to the man, the pack Harald
had left behind weighed several times as much.
"Good." the thief said. "I'm tired of all this walking."
"I wasn't talking to you." Harald glared down.
"Ivo let him carry you." said Talberth.
The old gnome grimaced. "Quite undignified. Harold I trust that
you will not include this in your stories."
"But Ivo this is such a grand idea," smiled the halfling, "humans
to ride, much better than ponies."
"Maybe we should just drag you behind," Harald smiled back, " I'm
sure we have some rope."
* * *
"Telenstil, Derue, both of you come with me." said Gytha. She
held up a torch freshly lit from the small fire and ran toward the
center of the hall.
"I will cut you free." Telenstil said to Derue. "Please do not
make me regret my action."
Derue remained silent but he bowed his head deeply as Telenstil
passed his dagger's blade through the rope. The razor edge split the cord
as if it were made of straw.
They found them together, Gytha and Ghibelline, he seemed to
breath easier but she had not called upon her Saint to heal him yet.
His shirt was off, his side was black, the color stretching from his
armpit over all his ribs on the one side and a handsbreadth below
them. The skin around the elf's chest and stomach were a brownish
yellow, painful just to see.
Gytha glanced up as the Telenstil approached. "It looks worse
than it is." she said.
"It feels worse than you can imagine." Ghibelline complained.
"I can more than imagine," said Telenstil kindly, "I have
been injured so myself, I can sympathize."
"Thank you, but sympathy does not lessen the pain." replied
Ghibelline carefully. Just breathing made his ribs ache.
"No bones are broken," said Gytha, "I will wrap your chest
tightly, you will hurt but it will fade." The people of her own lands,
the wildland of hills and mountains that looked down upon the lowlands of
Geoff, endured the pain of such small injuries with no complaint and
little note. She felt for Ghibelline but saved the powers granted to
her by the Saint for greater wounds.
"We came through intact then." said Telenstil. "Good."
"Why did the ground shake?" Gytha asked as she cut a hide
shirt into long strips. With skilled hands she took the lengths
of skin and wrapped them around Ghibelline's chest and sides.
His arms were raised to shoulder height and they quivered from the
strain. Old scars and wounds recently healed by Gytha's prayers
crisscrossed the elfs back like a crude map, purple welts on pale
fair skin.
* * *
(To Be Continued...)