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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
"Is he dead?" Harold asked, fearing the answer would be yes. The
halfling had made his way to the others, weaving around the bodies of the
slain. Little Rat, he supported with great effort, the young orc's good
arm over his shoulder.
"No." Ivo answered him. "Almost, but no. Talberth and Telenstil
made it to him in time."
"Help me here, would you?" Harold asked
The two small companions stood just beyond the circle of their
friends. Gytha knelt beside the body of Harald. The ranger did not move,
did not even seem to breath. Nearby were Talberth and Telenstil.
Ghibelline hovered over Gytha's shoulder and Derue had his back to the
halfling and the gnome.
With care, Ivo and Harold lowered Little Rat to the ground. They
propped him up against the arm of a dead giant, but the young orc was in a
daze, he might as well of had his head on the stones or in a fire.
"That arm looks bad." said Ivo. The bandage that Harold had
wrapped around the mangled forearm was soaked through and it was tight
against the swelling flesh.
"I'll have to loosen it," Harold grimaced, "it's starting to
swell, and it is still bleeding. Gytha!" the halfling yelled as he
unwrapped the blood-slicked cloth. "Gytha!" he yelled again.
"I am here." the priestess said as she approached.
"How is Harald?" Ivo asked her.
"Does he live?" Harold did not turn his head, but his eyes shifted
to the side.
"He lives. He sleeps, but he is grievously hurt still." said
Gytha. "Do you need my aid?"
"Little Rat," Harold turned now and his face was streaked with
tears, "this wound may kill him, take his arm at least, can you help him.
Will you?"
Her touch was light but firm on the halfling's shoulder. "You
should know me by now. No need to ask. I will do what I can."
"Hrrmpphh!" came a deep growl. Nyradir had come up to them, the
priest Galar standing just behind.
Ghibelline had his eyes locked on the dwarven priest. "You be
Ginnar's kin." he said in a dwarven tongue.
"My brother! What do you know of him?" Galar spoke with a rising
voice and great emotion.
"Slow, please." Ghibelline held up both his hand palm forward.
"Little your tongue I know."
"Nyradir! Ask him. Ask him." said Galar excitedly.
"You speak trade-talk?" asked Nyradir.
"Ask him, curse you." interrupted Galar.
"I will, I will." Nyradir snapped back in dwarvish. "You know
Ginnar, Galar's brother." he nodded toward the priest. "I be Nyradir."
"I am Ghibelline." said the elf. "Ginnar was my friend, but I
could not rescue him when I myself was rescued from the dungeon's of
Nosnra."
Nyradir translated the words to Galar as quickly as he could and
the priest responded with a long stream of questions.
"He ask much." said Nyradir in common. "But this place look bad.
Giant's run, run home, but they be back. Bring more kin."
"I agree." said Telenstil. The elven mage was bloodied and
battered. One arm and shoulder he held stiff, and he winced with pain with
every step he took. "We should be away, but where would we find shelter
from the giants?"
"How would we get there?" asked Ivo. "You need healing if you are
going on a trek." he said to Telenstil. "and Harald, and Little Rat, and
Talberth, you look none to well."
"I'm fine." weezed the mage. He had both arms wrapped tightly
round his chest.
"Galar help." offered Nyradir. "Berronar, healer, Galar serve
Berronar." The warrior turned to the priest and spoke to him in their
dialect of mountain dwarf. "These are friends Galar. Friends of your
brother too. You can call on Berronar to help them can't you."
"You're quick. Enemies of giants doesn't mean friends to dwarves."
said Galar. "But let Berronar judge the truth as he will. I'm not healing
that orc, you can tell them that." the priest said firmly.
* * *
(To Be Continued...)