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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 was a ringing in his ears. Nyradir opened his eyes and
blinked them, but the purplish blotch was slow to fade. The dwarf lay on
his back, looking up into the clear sky. A heavily bearded face bent over
him and a hand slapped him lightly on his cheek.
"...stunned." said Galar.
"what?" Nyradir asked, but his voice sounded like a whisper.
"WHAT!?!" he yelled.
A pained expression shot across Galar's face and he put his hand
to his ear.
Nyradir opened his mouth to speak but Galar quickly placed his
hand across the warrior's mouth before he could shout again.
"Quietly." said Galar. "Quietly. I can hear fine, its you who are
a bit wonky."
"mmpgrhmm." said Nyradir.
Galar took his hand away.
"What happened?" the dwarven warrior asked.
"Deific abjuration." Galar told him. The dwarven priest raised his
eyes when he saw the blank look on Nyradir's face. "Human priestess make
fire-elemental go away." he pointed behind him.
Nyradir looked about, propping himself up, but the body of a giant
blocked his view. He reached out an arm and Galar helped pull him to his
feet.
The after-image from the flash of light had faded from his eyes.
No more purple blotch. Nyradir scanned the camp, no giants moving about,
only a cluster of humans a few dozen feet away.
"You must have hit your head." said Galar. "Strong rocks they have
around here," he mused, "I'd'ave thought your head would be the one to put
a dent in things, not the other way round."
"Very funny." Nyradir rubbed the back of his head and found a lump
the size of a chicken's egg. He pulled his hand away as if he'd touched a
burning coal and winced at the pain, his breath whistling through his
teeth.
"Take a helm next time." Galar advised.
"Well I wouldn't wear one now." Nyradir answered him. "Not with
this lump. Can't you do something?"
"Berronar's aid is for heroes." scolded Galar. "You've got a knock
on the noggin. Teach you some sense, like wearing a helmet."
"You don't wear one!" snorted Nyradir.
"I'm a priest," said Galar, "besides, they make my hair sweaty."
"So what is going on?" asked the warrior.
"Picking up the injured. Collecting the dead." Galar shrugged. "I
wasn't invited and we haven't been introduced. You're the one that speaks
these lowland tongues, not me."
"You could have asked Berronar's aid for that." Nyradir reminded
him.
"You are Truesilver's servant now?" asked Galar. "I don't go
wasting Berronar's time when there are other means at hand."
"You mean me." said Nyradir.
"I mean you." Galar nodded in agreement.
"Any dwarves among them?" asked Nyradir.
"Not that I could see." said Galar. "There is an old gnome, an
elf, a couple of humans."
"I saw a halfling." offered Nyradir.
"Good for you." Galar replied. "Now, times wasting, go find out
who they are and see if they know anything."
"Maybe they can help." Nyradir said.
"They certainly saved our bacon." said Galar. "Our spirits as
well, if I don't miss my guess."
* * *
(To Be Continued...)