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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
"Fjolver!" several giants cried out, seeing the pain that
had overcome their leader. Those that had blades drew them, while
the others turned this way and that, hands clenched into massive
fists. But Hlebard glared at the embers of the fire, then looked slowly
about the clearing with a knowing look in his eyes.
"Bolthorn," Hlebard said to one of his warriors, "take some of
the wolves and have a walk around."
"Yes Hlebard." answered the giant, and he whistled. Several of the
greys pricked up their ears, stopped their howl and trotted after
Bolthorn.
"This fire-ring's been broken." moaned Fjolver.
"Hear my news then, Fjolver. Something killed our kin as they
drove cows meant for Nosnra." said Hlebard. "Killed them with fire."
"Some beast?" asked one of Fjolver's band.
"A beast yes." said Hlebard. "Men or maybe elves."
Fjolver spat into the fire and the embers hissed. "Elves." he
said as if the word were a curse. "They must be near. Magic-users,
cursed spell-casters, dweomencrafters."
"Maybe." Hlebard glanced around the clearing again. "Maybe they
cursed our camp, left us a trap."
"Maybe they are here." said Fjolver. As he raised his head a
long red trail ran down his cheek. His eyes bled.
"If they are, then the wolves will find them." Hlebard said
firmly.
"Bring wood! Bring wood!" Fjolver called to his kin. "Bring that
dwarf. We will see if a sacrifice of one of the hairy swine will break
this curse upon our fire."
"A dwarf?" asked Hlebard, looking toward the cloth sacks. "Costly
sacrifice that."
"This one is trouble." muttered Fjolver. "Cost Sokkmimir his hand
and killed three wolves. Hjalm dropped him with a rock to the head. No
smith this one, but a warrior."
Hlebard nodded agreement. "Best for the fire then. Why did you
bring him?"
"Gift for Nosnra." said Fjolver shortly. "Where is that dwarf!"
Two giants of Fjolver's band had gone to the sacks and begun to
empty them. They rolled the contents out upon the hard stone. Food,
and cloth, and the clatter of weapons.
"Not that one!" reprimanded one giant. "It's the dwarf we want."
The giant, a young warrior barely past the rites of adulthood,
tossed what was near at hand back into the sack he'd emptied.
"Leave it." said the other giant with disgust in his voice. "Find
that dwarf. Who carried him? I know he wasn't in my baggage."
"Here." said the young giant with relief. He upended another sack
and a dwarf fell free. "Got 'im."
"Ha!" snorted the older giant. "You got nothing. That's not him.
They left the mail on that one so Nosnra could skin him. Well now we
can cook him in it."
The dwarf fallen from the sack was bound and gagged. His long
beard and hair were tangled with the ragged strips of cloth that the
giants had used to tie him. Bruises covered his face, black and purple.
He looked out toward the edge of the camp as if he could see beyond
the magic veil of Ivo's deluding spell.
* * *
(To Be Continued...)