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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
"There now." said Harold. "That's the best I can do." He finished
wrapping the badly mauled arm. He bound it tight with two sticks to
keep the bone in place.
His hand went to his dagger. Harold turned with his blade at the
ready. Footsteps clomped across the stones.
"Mmmmm!" the dwarf tried to shout. A rag had been stuffed in his
mouth and another strip used to tie it in place. He'd managed to
spit most of it out, but not enough to speak.
"You seem to be the giant's foe." said Harold. "I hope that means
that you will be a friend to us." the halfling gestured for the dwarf to
be still and walked behind him. He'd sharpened the dagger to a keen edge
and it cut through the rope that bound the dwarf's hands in a single draw.
Immediately the dwarf pulled away the strip of cloth and spat out
the rest of the rag. He coughed and sputtered for a moment before turning
around to clasp Harold by the shoulders.
"Be friend. Yes." said the dwarf. "I be Nyradir."
"Well Nyradir..." Harold began to say, but his words fell from
him and were lost.
The wall of fire gave a huff and disappeared. Harold could see
into the camp beyond, his eyes widened in alarm.
* * *
The ranger swept his sword before him, more to keep the giants
at bay than to strike any down. A long arm lashed out and a huge fist
cracked hard against his skull. Blindly he swung a backhand blow and
a giant grunted as the blade hit with a meaty thunk.
Harald swayed, stars in his eyes and a ringing in his ear. A
two-fisted blow hammered him into the ground, his face smacking
solidly, his head giving a bounce, and Harald was still.
Two kicks were all the giants had time to give before Telenstil
stepped through the gap he'd made in the fire wall. Ribs snapped
and Harald was lifted up with each mule-strong blow.
Words that echoed like thunder in the mountains stopped them,
stopped all those in the camp.
"Ket-Jo Sal-Ma!" came the words of power from Telenstil. His voice
was loud and filled with menace. In his hand he held a strip of fine white
fur, a rod of crystal pinned inside with thirteen needles made of silver.
The elven mage opened his fist and without any movement of his own
the pins flew from his hand. The crystal blazed with light and the
strip of fur was utterly consumed, not even a speck remained.
A bolt of lightning flew from Telenstil. It struck a giant just
behind the three that kicked at the body of the ranger. White blazing,
almost living, it wrapped itself for an eyeblink around a giants head.
Already burnt and badly hurt from the burst of fire sent by the two
wizards, the giant screamed, and shook, and died.
The lightening was past the collapsing body and jumped from giant
to giant before the first one fell. Five, six, then a seventh were caught
by the rebounding bolt. An eighth was struck, then back again it went,
dashing among the shaking forms.
"You never taught me that spell." said Talberth, his tone
hushed with respect.
* * *
(To Be Continued...)