The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - Part 41

The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - Part 41

"Come along," Harold called to the small orc. "You little monster," he said under his breath.

"Wait, wait!" cried Little Rat. "I hurry."

The orc slipped from stone to stone following the halfing's path. The two were almost of a size; the small, thin orc was just a hand taller, but nothing more than flesh and bones wrapped in a dirty rag of shirt and pants. Neither wore shoes, the halfling had the wide heavy padded feet of his kind and the orc had soles tough as leather, thick and scarred.

Harold stopped, his feet on a split stone projecting from the wall of rock. He heard voices drifting up from below and peered down to see who made them. Between a wide cleft of rock his companions sat in two small groups. The orcs gathered round their leader, while Talberth, Gytha and Ghibelline sat by the body of the man they'd rescued and who'd died this very morning. Ivo sat atop a high boulder, half concealed by the stones around him and a cloak which blended in with rocks dull gray shade.

There was a scrabble above, the sound of cracking stone, he heard a small sharp yell and jerked his head around looking up the wall of rock. Harold had time only to raise his hands. A wide-eyed orcish face came hurtling down. Little Rat crashed into the small thief and both went over the foothold in a tangle, both shouting as they fell.

* * *

Harold barely had time to scream out a curse before he and the orc bounced off a small lip of rock projecting from the stones. The tangled pair flew apart, all eyes turned up to watch; a dark shape with many limbs and a howling voice that was both a squeak and a sharp loud screech that came hurtling from the rocks above their heads.

The quickest to react were Talberth and Ghibelline. The mage wore a magic ring set with stones, each a different type of gem; these housed the power of magic spells which could be called upon instantly. The touch of Talberth's hand on a small green emerald chip and an arcane word unleashed the spell. Talberth directed its energy and an unseen force washed over the nearest of the two who fell. Little Rat seemed to swim through the air, his arms and legs beat like a humming birds, a blur of movement lashing out wildly. At first his effort did nothing to slow him down, but as the magic that Talberth cast came over him he began to float. The small orc drifted like an autumn leaf dancing back and forth in a slight fall breeze. He landed on his back and lay there looking up at the sky, not moving, lying still but for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

The thief was not so lucky. Talberth's spell did not take hold of him. Harold plummeted down, he had only a moment shake the panic from his head and let his form go slack. Land loose as a drunkard his old teacher used to say, but still he hit hard. With a running leap Ghibelline threw himself beneath Harold, his arms stretched out to catch, but he'd jumped too soon. The little thief crashed into the elf's back slamming him face first into the stones. Harold bounced, he knocked himself unconscious, his head smacking against a rock. Gytha ran over to Harold first. She saw Ghibelline push himself up, his face scratched and bleeding, but the thief was her first concern.

"Harold, Harold!" Gytha ran her hand down the back of the halfling's head. It came away wet with blood.

"Is he all right?" Ivo had come scrambling down from his perch atop the high boulder.

"He is hurt, I do not know yet how badly," The cleric felt Harold's neck, but was careful not to move him. "Cuthbert, dear Saint, aid me with your strength again." She put one hand to the back of his wounded head and the other behind his neck. The Saint's power flowed through her hands and bathed Harold's head in a gold light. Gytha felt his body relax, she hadn't noticed his breathing before, but she heard him inhale, deeply, then exhale in a long sigh. "He sleeps now," said Gytha. "I would rather have him awake, it is not good to sleep with such a hurt, but he is in the Saint's hands, I can do no more."

"You have healed him?" asked Ghibelline. The elf cradled his arm against his chest. The bleeding cuts went unheeded, leaving trails like tears of red down his face.

"It looks like you need some healing too," said Ivo.

"I have done what I could for Harold, let me see your arm," said Gytha. "Your face needs tending to."

"I am worried about your friend," said Ghibelline. Gytha reached out to check his arm but the elf backed away. "Heal him first, Jalal was injured so, he did not wake, the same as your friend." Ghibelline nodded toward the thief.

"Jalal was old, his time had come," Gytha smiled sadly. "I feel that Harold's time is not today. Trust me, he will wake, but you are injured now and we may need that arm of yours."

Talberth looked down at the snoring thief; he bent with the thought of turning the halfling to make Harold more comfortable.

"Don't!" yelled Gytha. "Don't touch him! Talberth you may hurt him worse if you try to move him."

The mage held up both his hands and turned away, chastened by Gytha's angry shout.

Ivo grabbed the edge of Talberth's robe and lead him aside. "Best not to interfere, she has things well in hand."

"I was just trying to help," muttered Talberth.

"Harold will be fine, but you and I will need to take watch, and decide what to do with our scout, and these orcs." The two wizards looked over at Derue and beyond him to where the orcs sat in a rough circle. Their leader talked with them and was answered with a few grunts and sullen looks, but they were a quiet lot. "I would prefer them to be loud," said Ivo.

"They are nothing to worry about," Talberth dismissed them from his mind.

"Well then, I will worry for you," said Ivo. "A knife is always dangerous, especially if it is behind you." 

***

They soared, but Harald did not feel like a bird, he just felt sick. Telenstil brought them over the hill, sweeping in from the south. If any watched from the steading they would see a strange sight indeed as the elf and the ranger crossed the sky.

The land below was bare atop the giant's hill, the trees cut down long ago to help build the steading's halls. They stripped the land around, but new growth had begun fill the slopes around their hill. At the top the giants had pulled the roots from the ground and hacked down anything taller than a man, but beyond the crown they did not care if the trees returned.

Harald scanned the slope; his eyes were old, but still sharp, sharper than an elves they used to say. He yelled out when he caught sight of the ledge where they had camped the night before. He waved to Telenstil and shouted over the rushing wind.

"There!!!" he cried. "Look!"

Telenstil waved back, then directed the orb down toward the ledge. They passed by their old camp then followed the trail, flying straight up the hill. The elf's head turned right then left. Beside him Harald did the same, searching for the friends they'd left behind. As they rose the mage felt a weight begin to drag at him, the orb had changed, no longer white, it dulled. No time to warn his friend he set them down, the power draining completely from the orb before they landed.

Harald was taken by surprise. He brought his feet up but skidded across the uneven trail on his knees. Telenstil nimbly stayed on his feet and ran to aid his friend.

"Harald, my apologies, are you injured?" asked Telenstil solicitously.

"I've skinned my knees," Harald gave a groan as he stood. "I had worse when I was boy falling down a tree, but I wish you could have told me we were going to land."

* * *

"We will have to walk from here," said Telenstil.

"The Oerth Mother be praised," smiled Harald. "No more flying for me, it's too hard on the knees."

The sun was climbing on toward noon when the pair crested the hill and left the crossbacked trail. Telenstil marveled at the ranger's strength. Harald seemed tireless while the elf needed to stop and rest more than once as they followed the steep path.

"Their trail is clear?" asked Telenstil.

Harald laughed, "On this hill, it is like footprints in new snow. There isn't really anyplace to go here except up or down." The ranger looked back the way they'd come. "It is all rock and cliff-face. Easy enough to climb, but it would be slow going for our lot. Besides, climbing up these rocks only takes you to a higher leg of the trail."

"Yes," Telenstil agreed. "This slope climbs the hill like it was the side of a Ziggurat."

"A what?" asked Harald.

"A vast structure of stone," Telenstil explained, "a building big as a hill, each segment is a huge square block with another smaller square of stones set on top till it ends with a small plateau, each side a set of stairs running from the summit to the ground."

"You're joking," laughed Harald. "Such things exist? What a waste of time."

"They do, at least such is recorded in the journals of the wise," said Telenstil. "One such building is said to tower over the jungle lands far to the south and east, a place of great power."

"They must be lowlanders who built the thing," mused Harald, "and have no hills of their own."

***

Ivo saw them first, though Talberth had the better view. The young mage was a poor watchman, his mind ruled his eyes. A blank look would fall across his face as he stared out over the hilltop, and he would become lost in thought.

"There they are!" Ivo gave Talberth a nudge and ran across the boulder they stood upon, surefooted as a mountain goat.

Talberth cried out for the gnome to wait, but his plea went unheeded. He took great care crossing the same length of stone that Ivo traveled with ease, he had to stoop and crawl, undignified but safe from falling off the boulders' smooth surface.

"Telenstil, Harald, thank goodness you two have returned unharmed," Ivo said with relief.

"What has happened?" asked Telenstil. "You sound concerned my friend."

"Harold has been injured, he took a fall..." began Ivo.

"What! How badly is he hurt?!" demanded the ranger.

"Gytha has tended to him," Ivo assured the man. "He sleeps. She says he will be fine, but he hurt his head..."

"Then he should not sleep!" Harald said angrily.

"Gytha knows..."

"Yes she does know!" it was Ivo's turn to interrupt. "She has done all she can, and she says he will be fine. Tut!" Ivo held up his hand and silenced the ranger before he could interrupt again. "Gytha knows more of the healing craft than you my friend, or do you doubt her?"

The ranger's shoulders sagged. He leaned against a rock. A great fatigue came over him.

"You are right master gnome. I am in the wrong, my apologies."

"No need," said Ivo.

"Where is our thief?" Harald asked subdued.

"He sleeps near to that rise," said Ivo, pointing to the east where the bare stones became a peak. "You can find him by his snores."

"My thanks," Harald answered him politely. He gave a deep and respectful bow.

Ivo bowed back then watched the ranger rush by.

"How did it go with you?" he asked Telenstil.

"I believe the results were worth the effort," the mage replied. He paused for a moment then looked down at Ivo with a serious expression on his face. "Would our presence have saved Harold from his fall?"

"Some would say it was his fate," Ivo shook his head. "Who can say? Each footstep takes us down a different path."

"Ah well," Telenstil sighed, "Our quest may lead us all into the endless sleep."

"If that is so..." the old gnome grimaced then brought the talk back to the here and now. "Tell me how your little side trip went."

"It went well enough," said Telenstil. "We ambushed two of Nosnra's messengers, killed them, but a third escaped. That will cost us later I am sure."

"No doubt," Ivo agreed.

"It went well, a third might have been too many for us to stop," admitted Telenstil.

"Fifty years ago you would not have believed that you could slay one giant let alone two," mused Ivo reflecting on the past.

"Our ranger is a mighty hand with his sword," said Telenstil. "It was his hand that slew the greater of the pair."

"Humans, fifty years ago he was a babe in swaddling," laughed Ivo. "They lead a may-fly life."

"They burn bright in the time they have," Telenstil smiled back. "As do you and your kind my friend."

"Elves," Ivo said dismissively. "You live a dragon's years. What a gnome could do with such a lifetime. You play more than you work."

"Life is worth enjoying," Telenstil laughed in reply. "It is worth thinking about as well. The hours pass as slowly for us as they do for you or for our human friends, but the years, Ivo, the years go quickly by."

"Speaking of time," said Ivo, "we had best get on the move, unless we are to camp here."

"I will need to rest a bit before we move on," said Telenstil. He sat down on a chair-sized rock and opened up his pack. "Here, I took these from the bodies of the giants. Messages sent from Nosnra I suspect."

Ivo eyed the huge rolls of skin that Telenstil drew out.

"One for you," said Telenstil handing a roll of hide to Ivo, "and one for me."

"We will be camping here then," Ivo bit his lip. "I am not sure that is for the best."

"There will be time enough," Telenstil said. "Time for me to rest and time enough to sort out Nosnra's letters."

Ivo raised a bushy brow as he looked over the scroll the size of a cloak. "A giant's scrawl, this may take some time to decipher. It is always like a code. Giants, they never manage to spell a word the same way twice."

"We will manage," Telenstil assured the gnome. 

Project - Ptolemides Part 2

Continued from Clark Ashton Smith - Some Ideas and Descriptions from his Stories - 6a

The Catacombs of Ptolemides

Rooms and passages in the catacombs normally have ceilings roughly 10 feet overhead and sconces or holders where torches or lanterns can be set, but are no torches or lanterns will be found unless specifically mentioned. Light must be provided by the player characters otherwise the catacombs are lightless black (unless the described areas mention illumination).

The initial area is formed from carved stone with wooden supports for the typical entranceway. 

1). The platform that the characters are standing on is circular and a little over 20ft in diameter. Large torches (taking two hands to hold) are set around the edges of the platform in metal standing brackets welded to the platform. These torches will burn for a full hour before guttering and going out. A slow but continual circulation of air bends the flames from the torches slightly to the west.

As the platform nears the last 10ft to the floor the PC's will see skeletal bodies in ancient armor affixed to the north, south and east walls. Iron spikes are set into each 10ft section of these walls the bodies of these long dead warriors have been thrust upon the spikes with enough force to pierce the ancient verdigris encrusted chest plates they all wear. 

Several large mallets, some of wood, and some shaped from human thigh bones, are scattered near to the walls, and these can be used to beat upon the armor of the dead hanging upon the walls. If hammered for more than three combat rounds this noise will alert Tomeron's servants who man the winches above and they will begin to draw up the platform. If the room is dark a circle of light will appear 50ft above as the iron cover is first lifted before the chains take up the slack and the platform begins to rise. It will be several combat round before the platform begins to rise after the winches begin to turn but then the platform will be drawn up 10ft every 3 combat rounds. No amount of shouting will get Tomeron's servants to stop or bring the platform back to the ground once they have begun drawing it up, unless it is the command of Tomeron himself.

If anyone begins beating on one of the chest plates, tries to remove the armor or searches the bodies, a normal sized rat will leap from the mouth of the dead body and attack. 1 combat round after this attack, 6 rats will begin to pour from the various bodies and attack the PC's. 6 more will appear the following combat round, and finally 6 more after that in the next combat round for a total of 19 attacking rats. 

If more than 8 of their number are slain the rats will flee toward area 1b where a rat-hole has been gnawed at the bottom of the secret door. 

The 20th Rat

There is one rat that will not take part in the combat but will be the last rat through the hole at area 1b. If it is attacked it will continue in its attempt to flee. If it is slain and the body examined it will be revealed as some type of autonomaton formed of wood and metal enclosed in the pelt of a rat.

*Clockwork Scout
No. Encountered: 1 or 1d6
Alignment: Neutral
Size: S
Movement: 15
Dexterity: 12
Armour Class: 4
Hit Dice: 1
No. Attacks: 1
Damage: 1d4
Saving Throw: 17
Morale: -
Experience Points: 15
Treasure Class: -

Clockwork Scouts are part of a mechanical species developed during the height of Suel civilization in ages past. They have survived and can be found mainly in the ruins of ancient Suel centers of learning and sorcery.

Clockwork Scouts have a rudimentary sentience but what will and independent thought they might have is subsumed by the greater purpose and willpower of more powerful members of their species. They have no known language but can somehow communicate all the have seen, heard and experienced to there more powerful Clockwork beings. 

Each clockwork scout is shaped into a skeletal version of a small animal and covered with such creatures fur, flesh or hide.

While a Clockwork Scout possess no treasure of its own their non-functioning bodies can be worth from 10 to 50gp depending on the type of damage. A function Clockwork Scout is easily worth over 250gp.

*The Clockwork Scout is from Frog God Games 'The Tome of Horror Complete S&W version' though slightly altered for my Greyhawk campaign.

1a).  The dead body of a mangy dog is crumpled in the upper corner of the south facing passage. It is a thin and rat-eaten corpse, mainly skin, hair and bone. If closely examined a fragment of blue cloth can be found in its clenched teeth.

1b). This is a secret door that has been well-crafted to appear as a section of the north wall. It even has one of the old dead bodies and an iron pike set into it. At the bottom edge of the door the rats have gnawed a small hole. If a lightsource such as a bullseye lantern is directed through the hole a space or chamber can be seen on the otherside.

The door is stoutly build and an iron bar is set in place. It will take at least 300hp of damage to batter down the door. Any noise may attract a wandering monster but will not in itself signal for the platform to be raised. 

(To be continued...)

The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - Part 40

The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - Part 40

Skule howled. He gripped his wounded leg. Blood spurted between his fingers and mingled with the red stream which rolled down his arm from the rent across his shoulder.

Harald struck again, a short blow like the chop of an axe against a tree. The sword took the ends from Skule's fingertips and hewed the flesh above the wounded leg. There was a moment then when both man and giant paused. Harald drew back his sword and Skule bunched his bleeding fingers tight into a fist. They caught each other's eyes and both began to laugh. Skule was beyond pain, beyond rage, and Harald was the same, both saw the hand of fate and life, the glimmer of death, all reflected in a single glance showing in each other's eyes. The fist came down and the sword stabbed up. The point went home below the giant's chest. It skimmed off the spine, beneath the ribs, piercing a lung and lancing up into the giant's heart. Skule sagged, his fist landed like a slap, but the falling body sank to the ground burying the ranger beneath the now lifeless flesh. Still laughing Harald used his feet to push himself from the entrapping bulk of the slain giant. He had to worry his blade free, sawing back and forth, he drew it slowly out in a flow of blood and gore. The ranger was soaked, dunked into the stream and bathed in red from the giant's wounds. With a final yank he freed his sword and held the blood-smeared blade above his head, then sang out a defiant, wordless roar of victory.

Standing at the boulder's edge Telenstil stretched out his hand and pointed at the giant, Skule's companion, who held tight to a thick tree halfway up the slope. With a gesture and a word, five darting pulses of glowing blue went streaking forth. They burnt the air and left a trail that could still be seen behind closed eyes. All flew unerringly, a magicked course, they struck like burning ice, a sharp gouging pain then gone. Two struck the giant's shoulder, one cut him from chin to scalp, the last two hit the wrist and back of the huge hand. No sooner had the spell been cast then Telenstil intoned the words and made the arcane gesture to release a second spell. More magic darts of energy shot from the mages hand.

The giant, already weak from the lightning bolts, wounded again from the first five magic darts, released his failing grip from around the tree as the next five burned into his flesh. The giant fell and bounced down the slope like a barrel or a limbless trunk of tree. He rolled a small fir down, recoiled from a larger bole, the crack of bone on wood was loud and clear, and took a final speeding flight off the bank and out into the stream. He landed with a wet thud against a boulder half his size, arms twisted, his torso dangling at a boneless angle, half on the rock, half off.

Harald walked over, his feet splashing in the water like a child through a puddle when it rains. He reached out and grabbed a handful of the giant's hair and lifted up the dangling head. The head turned round on a broken neck till the glassy eyes stared down its twisted back.

* * *

They'd gone far ahead and out of the way. Harold was atop a spire of rock that jutted out to the east rising from the boulder strewn hilltop. His view to the west was blocked by the expanse of the hill itself, but he could look far out across the valley below him and over to the southern hill where the remains of the steading still smouldered. From his pack, which he had set at his feet, he took out a small metal case and removed a feathered mask. It was a strange affair, thin bone, the orbits and beak of some monstrous bird hollowed out, the sockets set with two green translucent gems. He placed it on his nose, the curved beak covering his round one, the gems set before his eyes. The steading leapt into sharp focus,

Harold could see the bark upon the wooden wall and the color of a giant's hair as the monster dragged a half burnt log away. There was movement all around the hill, giants, ogres and orcs had worked through the night and those that had not collapsed, exhausted, worked on. A vast pile of splintered logs, ruined furniture and wooden scrap had been raised to the east of the Steading. It grew even as Harold watched. A giant tossed the log he carried, it landed amid the heap sending up a cloud of ash and a spattering of debris. An orc followed, it emptied out a bucket of ember fragments whose red hearts had been smothered with oerth the night before. In ones and twos others came, carrying loads as heavy as they could bear, they cleared the hall of debris and ash an armload at a time.

"You cast spell? You magic fella?" asked Little Rat. The small orc sat beside the thief and looked at the bone mask with awe showing in his eyes.

"Yes," said Harold. He took off the mask and waved it in the young orc's face. "If you touch my pack the mask will eat your eyes."

Little Rat backed away, scared of having the magic bird mask touch his skin.

"Watch out there you little fool!" yelled Harold. The orc had backed off the narrow peak of rock and with flailing arms was teetering off balance on the edge. Harold dropped the mask and jumped, quick-handed, he caught a thin and grimy arm and was jerked forward, almost pulled off the peak as well. The halfling's feet scraped across the stones then held firm against a jagged rock. The orc was thin and small, a runt, but had a wiry strength, the halfling though fat by the standards of man, just right by the more generous standards of his own kind, was agile and strong, well fed and fit, he led an active life. Harold tried to pull the orc up from where he dangled over the edge, a long fall down into the valley below his kicking feet. Little Rat was frantic, he used the halfling's arm like a climbing rope, pulled at Harold's hair, his small fist meshed into the short strands, then caught the vest and with a heave put his knee into Harold's shoulder.

"Oww!" bellowed Harold. "Watch what your grabbing you little beast. Hey that's my head you're stepping on!"

Little Rat rolled down the halfling's back and lay panting, pressed face down against the stones.

"Hells!" cursed Harold, rubbing at his scalp and brushing dirt from his clothes. "I should have let you fall." He looked down at the terrified orc then put out his hand. "Come on, here is a hand up, we'd better get back to the others." 

***

"Ughhh, this is disgusting," Harald complained. He used his dagger to cut away at the giant's hide shirt. "Telenstil... Telenstil!"

"Yes, Harald," Telenstil called back.

The ranger crouched by the giant he had killed. Skule's body lay between two boulders. It blocked the flowing stream like a dam. The water rushed against the mangled chest and bubbled from its open mouth. Harald tried to find a pocket in the rough hide shirt, or a pouch on its belt, but the clothes were soaked and tacky with the drying blood. Telenstil had better luck, he'd found a tied bundle of skins held beneath the giant's belt. The broken body was not the wet and bloody mess that confronted Harald, but still he had to work around the massive limbs and immobile bulk of the dead monster. He'd used a small knife with a razor edge to slice the belt away, then checked the body from toes to crown of head, but found nothing else. He could not check the side that lay upon the rock or move the body the slightest inch, he could not even lift the giant's lifeless arm.

"Harald, check the belt, I will come and help," called Telenstil.

"This one is a bloody mess," Harald shook his head, then dunked his gory hands into the stream and scrubbed them one against the other. "He has spilt out his innards. Whatever he had beneath his belt is ruined."

"What say you my friend?" asked Telenstil hopping from stone to stone trying to keep his robe from the water's touch.

"Just look at this," Harald pointed to the coiled loops which bulged from the deep rent left by Harald's sword. The giant's bowls were like huge red and purple snakes swarming in the stream, the water foamed red around them. "What is it we are looking for?" asked Harald. "Is it worth trying to sort beneath the giant's gizzards?"

"There should be a message from their chief," said Telenstil. "I have found one on the other giant, this one should have another."

"All right," Harald shrugged. "No worse than gutting a deer, it shouldn't be, but it is, this is foul work."

"I will help," Telenstil assured the ranger. "What can I do?"

"My sword is no good for this, it's a butchers job," said Harald. "I'll cut, you keep pushing the guts away, too bad he isn't facing down the stream."

The two went at the giant's body with their spirits set for the gruesome job, they were bloodied from hand to shoulder, but when they finished they'd found another roll of hide. It was soaked and had a gash left by the ranger's sword, but Telenstil held it like the rough bundle was a fine tapestry made from cloth of gold.

"Is that it?" asked Harald wearily.

"This should be it," said Telenstil. "Now we can find our companions, they will need your help to find another camp."

"I'll wash this muck off first," said Harald.

"Let me," Telenstil cast a minor spell, a mere cantrip, but one which he had found useful more than once already. With a word and a gesture he caused the blood to jump from the ranger's clothes and skin, then he did the same again and he was clean as well. "Now we must take flight."

Telenstil removed the small white orb whose enchantments had taken them like birds over the valley and ahead of the giants they had just waylayed.

"Can't we just walk?" Harald asked, leery of the magic which carried them through the air. "I could scout out the land."

"They may need us," Telenstil reminded him. "I would have let these giants be if I had not believed it was of vital importance to stop them. We have also gone far. It would take some time for us to find our companions trail."

"All right," Harald conceded. "Let's get this over with."

"This will be the last that I can use this toy to fly, for some time at least. I doubt it could have taken more than you and I with the power it still maintains," said Telenstil.

"That's good to hear," Harald said. "Are you sure it has enough power left to take us back?"

"We will find out. Now take hold of the sphere and let us be gone."

***

Ivo stopped them at the hilltop, both Talberth and the orcs were thankful for the chance to rest. The young mage had tested his endurance many times with long sleepless nights spent in study back in civilized lands, but it had been years since he had carried a heavy load, or done much physical labor on any kind. The orcs were used to hard work, but they took every opportunity that came their way to rest, such was how they survived their enslavement by the giants. All set down their burdens carefully. Gytha, Talberth and Ghibelline lowered the body of Jalal slowly and with respect, the orcs deposited Derue and the heavy chain on the ground with care as well. Talberth kept a watchful and scowling eye on them, but he was more concerned with his magic chain than the safety of the scout.

"We will wait for our thief's return here, for awhile," said Ivo. "We have not gone far."

Gytha stood beside the gnome. They were above the winding path on the south-edge of the hill. The top was a long cresting ridge rather than the wide flat plateau that the steading sat upon. It was lined with jagged rocks rising in a series of humps, longer from south to north than east to west. A higher ridge, a line of weathered stone lay to the eastern side of the hill. Narrow and barefaced rock, it hung over the wooded valley below.

"The giants would have a hard time picking through these rocks," Gytha looked across the rough, uneven ground.

"It will be hard going for us as well," said Ivo. "Perhaps we can find a suitable resting place for our rescued elf's departed friend."

"I will speak with Ghibelline and see what he thinks," answered Gytha.

"We will still have our mad scout to carry. Talk with Talberth about that magic chain. We could hide it here as well as Jalal's body."

"Yes. You speak with Ghibelline, I will speak with Talberth," Ivo agreed. 

NPC - Fritha Wolfhealer

NPC - Fritha Wolfhealer

Fritha is a Fruz druidess. She has traveled south because of a dream-vision to the lands of Verbobonc. The wilds are her home though the great warmth has taken some getting used to. On her travels she has avoided most human and demi-humankind though she has had some interaction with rangers and sylvan elves as well as other druids.

She is a moderately powerful druidess but has a special affinity with wolves. No wolf will attack her and should any attempt top harm her in their presence they will defend her with their lives.

A patrol of goblin wolfriders who have recently invaded the viscounty discovered this in a rather fatal way when they set upon the lone druidess in the woodland near Nulb. Their own mounts turned upon the goblins and tore the surprised little grenskins to pieces.  Now  dozen of these wolves accompamies Fritha as travels toward her goal somewhere in the Kron Hills.

The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - Part 39

The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - Part 39

"Wait!" Ivo called to the orc, but it did not stop. At the sound of Ivo's voice Harold looked back and saw the little monster come running toward him up the path. The halfling drew the long dagger from his belt and waited for the orc to catch up, the naked blade held in his hand.

"I help, I help," Little Rat squeaked out as he approached the thief.

"Stop right there!" Harold commanded. Little Rat stood a half dozen feet away, he bobbed back and forth from one foot to the other, scared and excited both.

"I help, good at finding things, I help!" he said in a high voice.

"Come here," ordered Harold, "slowly now."

Little Rat came bounding over, skidded to a stop when Harold waved the dagger at him, then took small careful steps over to halfling's side. "I help."

"So you say," Harold muttered, then he spoke to the youth in an orcish tongue. "You know these lands?" he asked.

"You talk funny," said Little Rat.

Harold spoke the language of the orcish half-breeds that lived within the great city. They'd kept their fathers tongue but it had changed and grown. Little Rat could understand only bits and pieces of what the halfling said.

"You... Know... Land," Harold said, loud and slowly.

"I help!" said Little Rat brightly.

"To the Nine Hells with it," cursed Harold. "Come on, we better get going before they overtake us." Harold kept his sword drawn, the young orc ran ahead.

* * *

"Look!" called out the ranger.

His voice was a whisper in Telenstil's ears, but the elf heard and looked to see the giants running far below. The magic globe raced by, quickly outdistancing even the lengthy strides of the giants. Telenstil directed it with ancient words, commanding it to take them beyond the giants and down between the branches of a stand of tall fir trees.

"Praise the mother," Harald bowed down and kissed the Oerth.

"You are safe, there was no need to fear," laughed Telenstil.

"I would have been born with wings if I was meant to fly," Harald replied.

"Well we have our feet on oerth now," said Telenstil. "We had better make our plans quickly. Those giants will be coming this way soon."

"Give me a moment to look over the trail," said Harald. "But we had best stick together. Your magic may stop them without my help, but if it does not and they reach you..."

"Yes, they would make quick work of me," Telenstil mused. "I will go with you. My spells will take only a moment to prepare."

"Come on then, let's find a good place," Harald led the way through the thick stand of trees.

The valley was wooded throughout its northern length. The trees were dense along each slope, the ground a slanting rise up to the surrounding hills. A stream had cut a bare gash down the valleys center, it was wide but low, the water only a few inches deep. Huge boulders lay exposed amid the running stream, like the seeds of great mountains left to grow.

"The giants will come this way," said Harald. "Look at the bank over there," he pointed across the stream. "They've torn out the big trees by the roots."

"Long ago," said Telenstil looking at the stumps, old and filled with rot, "They have beaten down the newer growth as well."

"Up there Telenstil," Harald pointed to a boulder sticking like a gallery from the far slope. "That will be the place for us to stand." 

***

Telenstil lay flat atop the rock. The stone was cold even through his clothes. Below him, standing in the stream, was Harald. He stood behind a boulder, a smooth-sided lump of granite worn by the water, carved from the surrounding oerth, twice the ranger's height. The blade the ranger held began to sing, but only Harald could hear the tune. Two-handed, the sword was long, almost as tall as the ranger himself. The metal rippled like the running water.

There was the cry of birds, a mournful cawing, crows or ravens on the wing calling out to each other. A sound came from the wooded slope, something crashed through the thick brush. Harald leaned back against the stone. He placed his shoulder to the rock and looked up to where the elf lay hidden. The ledge, a single boulder, was empty, Harald waited for the mage to cast his spells before rushing out and testing his strength and steel against the giant's flesh.

Up the slope Telenstil looked down. He'd crept to the rock's edge and peered over, his eyes intent on the woods downstream and the crashing of the underbrush. Suddenly the brush split apart and a huge brown shape came leaping into view. A stag, a living twin of the monstrous spirit beast they'd fought in Nosnra's hall. It stopped and raised its head, coughed out a challenge to the world, then leapt onward, down the slope, splashing surefooted through the stream, racing to the north. Telenstil waved a hand at Harald trying to signal for the ranger to stay back. Harald understood, he froze in place, even as the stag drew near. It ran past the boulder, a flash of brown, Harald smiled, he waved back to Telenstil, the toothy grin he wore visible even up the slope. Then the brush began to shake once more, a small tree came smashing to the ground. Two shaggy heads appeared; a hand ripped a limb wide as a fat man's leg from the bole of an ancient tree. It flung the branch aside as if it were a twig and the giant stepped from the bush. In a loud voice it spoke, Telenstil could hear the words clear as if they stood beside him.

"Let's take the stream, Skule," the giant complained. "This path is overgrown."

"You can soak your feet," Skule told his companion. "Go ahead, I will keep mine dry."

"I am supposed to be at Thurkill's by nightfall."

"Then run, I will make Folcwalda's before the sun sets," laughed Skule, "and I will have dry feet."

"You are no better than a dwur," muttered the other giant.

"What was that!" bellowed Skule.

"Nothing, your ears are full of dirt,"

The two had wandered down the trail as they spoke. They reached a point almost to the boulder where Harald stood directly below the ledge only an arm's length apart, their words had turned to glares and the one called Skule looked daggers at his companion. Telenstil stood up, the giants could not hear his words but they heard the crack of thunder that came snapping down the hill. The blinding flash struck them both and a nimbus of blue danced on the water and the stones.

Harald felt the bolt; a burning chill went through him and made his greying hair stand on end. Skule screamed out in pain and roared a defiant challenge. The other giant beat out a smoking patch of scalp with a hand lined black with burnt flesh. They charged up the hill with alarming speed.

* * *

His heart began to pound; Harald felt the sword tingle in his grip as the second crash of thunder split the air. The water was splashing around him as he began to run. Both giants were still on their feet, Telenstil's bolts had struck them, but neither powerful blast had laid them low. They staggered forward, at first Harald gained on them, unseen, charging from the side and to their backs. The lead giant, Skule, he scrabbled up the steep hill, his feet dug gouges in the dirt, he tore a young tree from the slope, its roots pulled out and snapping. Skule flung it like a spear, but its limbs tangled with older trees halfway to the ledge and it rolled back down the hill. Behind him the other giant began to pull himself up using the trees to help him ascend. He was the more agile of the pair, smaller by a head than Skule, but it seemed as if the magic lightning had done him the greater harm. His one arm was blackened from fingertips to collar bone, he spat out bits of teeth, his jaw clenched so tight they shattered in his mouth.

Atop the ledge Telenstil cast another spell. Harald saw the wizard raise his hand and throw something from his fingertips above the giant's heads. A thin shimmering cloud appeared. It was first a pearly white and then in three eye-blinks became grey then a deep black. Icy sleet came down, cold as winter; it soaked the giants and the slope beneath the ledge. In moments the ground was wet with slush then congealed to ice, a hard layer with a slick half melted surface. Skule's hair and beard were frozen white, dragged down by icicles pulling at the ends. He took a step, but his booted foot slid out from under him. The giant crashed backwards, his legs shot into the air, and he rolled back down the slope. Up and over he tumbled like a circus clown and flew off the bank and into the shallow stream.

Harald had to jump back as Skule went by, almost crushed beneath the rolling bulk. Before the giant could push himself to his feet Harald brought his sword around and up behind his shoulder, then down across the giant's back. He meant to split the monsters spine, but Skule shifted and the blade slashed against his side. Skule howled, his shoulder had been laid open across the bone, the knob where arm began and back ended was notched by the rangers blade. On his knees Skule was taller than the man, but he had no length of sharpened steel to defend himself. The blade slashed again, Harald spun like a festival dancer and struck the rising giant across his chest. The thick hide shirt absorbed part of the blow, but the keen edge opened it and the flesh beneath. Once more the giant's bones saved it from what might have been a killing stroke. The sword bounced back from ribs like barrel staves, the edge scoured flesh, clove muscle, but the heart and lungs beneath were safe. Then Skule lashed out, he knocked the man aside and used the moment's grace to stand. Then Harald, who was not badly hurt, only bruised from the giant's awkward blow, struck once more. He caught the giant across his outer leg, above the knee. The blade struck bone, sent a wash of blood down the giant's leg and stained the water red, but for a moment his blade was trapped and Skule clubbed the ranger down. A fist like the head of a battering ram cracked hard against Harald's back, a wave of darkness blinded him, he almost fell, but the grip upon his sword kept him on his feet. With a dragging yank he pulled the claymore free, the sound of steel on bone was a grinding agony to hear, and a thousand times worse to feel.