Wormy in Greyhawk - This is how you create a portal
Gremorley the wizard has been a recurring NPC in my Greyhawk campaign for years. While most of the Wormyverse doesn't translate to Greyhawk (except for the incredible Trampier art which I use as much as possible) Gremorley is one of those arrogant, high-handed, self-serving NPCs that fit perfectly and had a thousand uses. He was a frequent patron of my players but immediately gained a reputation as untrustworthy, devious and completely unconcerned about the player characters well-being. When you worked for him you knew that you weren't being given all the information and that some kind of illeagal and dangerous activity would be involved, and if anything went wrong he would certainly disavow any knowledge and never, never, never come to your aid.
At one time the players realized that Gremorley had sent a group of NPC adventurers to releave them of an interesting Suel artifact they'd aquired and a reprisal raid upon the wizard's manor on the outskirts of Greyhawk's Old City resulted in a haul of exotic goods that turned out to be too hot for the player characters to handle. They found themselves wanted criminals for the crimes and thefts of Gremorley and a long and deeply held grudge-war began.
Historical - Battle of a Fortnite's Length -110cy
The great cavalry squadrons of the Nyrondese were decimated by the end of the fighting with the Aerdy. King Galagas of Nyrond was eventually forced to make a final stand with the dehorsed remnant of his heavily armored royal guard while they were subjected to a deadly hail of arrows from the elven archers allied to Iknian the Aerdy king.
It was the alliance with the elves more than anything else that brought down the might of Nyrond. Loathe though they were to do so the contingents of elven archers first slew the Nyrondese horses allowing the much more lightly armored Flan allies of the Aerdy to flit among the gorey battlefields killing trapped and wounded cavalry while heavily armored Aerdy infantry battlied dismounted Nyrondese units before the could reorganise from their shattered squadrons.
The last to fall were the royal guard and King Galagas himself. Hemmed in by heavy infantry the were goaded by elven archers till they gave up their defensive position amid the crumbling ruins of an ancient Suel outpost and charged the Aerdy line. None were spared and King Galagas is said to have died with an elven arrow in his eye shot through the eye-slit of his great helm.
The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - Part 14
"This I do not like," Ivo said looking back the way they'd come.
"Yes," Telenstil agreed speaking slowly, "both our scouts are gone."
"I've heard you both say the same before and it came to naught," Harold said, "I'm going to find Harald, you stay here and wait for Ghibelline." The halfling turned aside and gestured to Little Rat to follow.
"Wait, Harold, Wait," Telenstil called after him. To his surprise the halfling stopped. "We will go, but I will not abandon Ghibelline or Harald."
"You will have us split again," said Ivo.
"No, we will search for Harald first then for Ghibelline," Telenstil told them all.
"No, Telenstil, we cannot leave Ghibelline," Gytha objected.
"Ghibelline may be well," said Telenstil, "he works to hide our trail, but Harald should have come back, something is wrong there."
"I will go back and find him," Gytha said firmly.
"Gytha, no," Telenstil looked her in the eye. "We may need you. If there is something wrong we would lose you as well. We will not abandon Ghibelline...."
"We are, Telenstil, we are," she said regretfully. "Let us be gone then, I will not abandon Harald as well."
* * *
Stillness: A slight breeze that ran across the denuded woods and raised a small dancing ghost of shredded leaves, then stillness again. Ghibelline did not move. Time passed, he worried that he was too long away from the others, but the feeling that something watched, something followed; that feeling was strong. His only cover was the thickness of the brush, but it was enough. Something stirred, the debris were furrowed by its passage.
At first Ghibelline could not make out what it was, all that appeared was a depression where branches were pushed down and a stirring of the leaves that were driven aside. Then as it came near he could see the scales, translucent but tinged with red. A fanged head turned and looked at him, a tongue split like a two-pronged fork shot out and seemed to taste the air and then it turned away.
Ghibelline launched himself from behind the bush, his sword drawn, slashing at the long and sinuous neck.
* * *
"It just looks dark to me," said Talberth.
"There is light enough," Ivo told him, "I've spent too much time under the sun of late."
"The orcs are eager to get away from the light as well," Talberth looked back at the small group waiting behind him.
Telenstil went ahead with Harold and Little Rat, they showed him where the found the hole clawed through the stone floor, all three stood above the shaft and talked of what to do.
"It's an easy climb," said Harold. "I'll go first, he'll follow," he said pointing to the young orc.
"Cool here," said Little Rat, "let's go."
"Wait a moment," Telenstil said, "I will have the others come up. We will need a rope to lower Derue."
"Better just to leave him up here," said Harold. "It'll be harder getting him back up."
"We need to watch him, and we need a place where we can leave him safely," Telenstil looked down the shaft. "This may prove a convenient spot, a temporary prison."
"I'm for getting rid of him," Harold agreed.
"I am hoping to cure him of this curse," chided Telenstil. "Wait here, I will bring up the others."
***
Ghibelline's sword slashed through scales and then on through a neck as thick as the trunk of a tree. It passed with no resistance, the only sign that it had struck the monstrous snake was a crackle of red, a glowing line like a coal split open on a fire showing its blazing heart. The fanged mouth lunged, it bit at Ghibelline's arm, and as the sword had passed through the snake's body, the teeth passed through the elf's arm. Ghibelline felt a jolt as if lightning had struck nearby, his arm throbbed and a burning pain made him draw in his breath with a sudden hiss, he almost dropped his sword.
His blade was just an old longsword used by the bugbears of the steading, taken from some human warrior or bought from a merchant years ago. It had seen hard use, but had been kept sharp and oiled; no rusted orcish blade.
Ghibelline stabbed the snake, drove the point down into its head and buried a good foot of steel in the oerth. There was another crackle of red, but no feel of flesh or bone; the sword did not bite, only moved like an arrow through a cloud of smoke. The snake pulled back its head drifting through the steel like it wasn't there, but a line of red showed where the edge had cut. For a moment the skull split in two, flapping open wide then it pulled together in a flare. Ghibelline drew his blade from the oerth and dove into a roll. A pair of fangs snapped at the air where his face had been and Ghibelline swung, the sword passed through its head again. There was another flash of red but it did not slow the beast. The elf rolled clear and sprang to his feet.
There was no stopping the monster Ghibelline decided, not with ordinary steel. He ran to warn the others from a fight he knew that he could not win. Behind him he heard a hiss like white hot iron quenched in water and the crunch of branches but he did not look back.
* * *
The skittering was all around him, left and right, front and back. The ranger moved forward waving his torch before him but as he fought back the dark the noise retreated as well. As the light was carried away the black filled in the space and the sound of claws on stone joined in with the dark.
Harald moved away from the center of the hall, at first he went toward the sound, but when he neared the source it disappeared and began again to his side, joined by another behind him. He swirled around expecting to catch whatever made the noise as it clawed for his back, but there was nothing, no attack, just the noise. Soon he was surrounded by the sound of scratching claws; the noise was just beyond the edge of light cast by his small torch. A wave of anger came over him, Harald swept his sword through the air, swung it in a circle around him, but neither the light nor his blade caught what made the sound.
Harald paused, he leaned on his sword letting the tip settle within a crack of the tile beneath his feet, and he laughed. "Come then!" he yelled, his voice echoed in the ancient hall. "Can you do nothing but make that noise! Bah! I have wasted enough time."
The hall went silent; the sound of claws, the scratching on the stones came to a sudden halt. Harald began to march across the floor, he had a sense of direction that would put a dwarf or elf to shame, and made for the passage leading out. And then his torch went out and the skittering noise erupted once again.
"Hells!" Harald cursed.
* * *
"Ahh!" Little Rat exclaimed with pleasure. "Nice here."
Harold shook his head. The bottom of the shaft was dank, there was an animal smell, and a thick must, and a faint scent of something burnt. A torch had been lit, the ranger, Harold had no doubt. There was a scrabbling sound from above, a few pebbles mixed with dust fell on their heads and pinged against the floor. The pair backed away and soon the old gnome stood beside them.
"You're getting sloppy Ivo or did you knock that dust down on purpose?" asked Harold lightly.
"Wasn't me," Ivo brushed at his own shoulders and hair, "Telenstil is sending Derue down next on a rope."
"He has a lot of faith that everything is safe down here," said Harold.
"I think he is just eager to get out of sight," Ivo replied. "Any sign of Harald?"
"I smell a torch freshly lit," said Harold.
Ivo sniffed the air and nodded in agreement. "Yes, I can smell the burning pitch," the old gnome inhaled deeply and walked a few steps forward. He bent and put his finger to the ground then went to a wall and examined the fragments of murals now fallen almost all to dust. "Human, work, old...very old. These claw marks are fresh."
Harold glanced down at the tiles and shuddered. "Well we know what made those marks don't we."
Behind them another fall of dust and rock showered down as Derue, still bound, was lowered down the shaft, but far ahead they heard a bellow, a loud curse then a wild roar.
"I know that sound!" cried Harold. "That's our ranger! Come on! I think he needs our help!" The halfling pelted down the hall; he drew his long knife as he ran.
"Wait!" yelled Little Rat. "Wait for me!" the small orc held a rusty knife of his own and pulled another from his belt before chasing after the thief.
Ivo said nothing but fished in his vest and belt for the components of a spell. He pulled a metal sphere from his pack then, quickly, but much slower than the younger pair, ran toward the roaring voice and the clangs of steel on stone that echoed down the hall.
***
The line went slack; the orcs let it drop and without a word began to climb down the shaft.
"Telenstil?" asked Talberth, "They've lowered Derue, do you want them to go next?"
"That work is finished, yes let them proceed," nodded Telenstil. "You go after, Gytha and I will follow."
"Waiting for Ghibelline?" Talberth looked at Gytha who stared out into the woods. "Don't wait too long; we may need you down there."
"Do not worry," said Telenstil, "we will not delay. We will find Harald then we will find Ghibelline."
* * *
The rustling of the snake faded behind him, it could not match the pace of a running elf. Ahead the trail curved slightly following a depression along the hill, the melting winter ice had carved it out over many springs. Ghibelline flitted over the shredded leaves and brambles, he barely left a trail. His feet seemed to skim across the ground touching the oerth only lightly as he raced along. Only a few minutes at his furious pace brought him to the ravine. A wave of relief washed over him, he looked to Gytha first, but was almost as happy to see Telenstil standing just behind.
* * *
"Gytha!" Ghibelline called out. He ran to the cleric and held her by her arm, she returned the clasp and they stood for a moment till she smiled. Ghibelline frowned and looked over her shoulder at Telenstil. He broke his grip, he had his sword drawn in his free hand and turned to face the way he'd come and spoke. "Some kind of snake, but my sword could not hurt it. It will be here soon."
"What did this snake look like?" asked Telenstil, coming up and standing near to the edge of the wood.
"I couldn't see it at first," said Ghibelline a little wildly, "I could see the leaves being moved, but not what moved them. Then when it was directly across from where I was waiting I could just make it out. Telenstil, my sword passed through, it was like fighting air!"
"An illusion perhaps," Telenstil thought aloud.
Ghibelline held up his sword arm and showed the red welts where the snake had bitten him. "Do these look like illusions!"
"I have seen men bleed from the touch of an image," Telenstil said kindly, "it is possible."
"The thing was real, I saw the tracks and the steel did cut it!" the young elf exclaimed. "The cuts seemed to burn but they closed instantly and there was nothing there to stop my sword, I ran."
"Good, you warned us, if it comes we will see how my magic fares against it," said Telenstil.
"Something comes, Telenstil, I feel something evil!" Gytha cried.
* * *
Teeth and needle claws, Harald felt at least a dozen stabs and bites, but they barely pricked his skin. He could hear the tearing of his clothes, small bodies jumped upon his back, climbed his legs, attacked his booted feet. A horde of rats he thought. Harald stamped and crushed one underfoot, he ran his sword across the floor, sweeping the edge back and forth, but he could not see them, and if he killed one, two more seemed to take its place. Something slashed him across his face, bit a small chunk from one ear, dug claws into the back of his neck. He felt another climb atop his head. With one hand he began to pull them from his body. Harald stumbled forward, nearly falling as each step crunched down, they carpeted the floor. All the while he screamed and cursed the little beasts, they were killing him by inches, scratching and clawing at his skin. His pants were being shredded, they climbed over his mail shirt and sought out his head and face, one cut him lightly across the throat; he grabbed the handful of fur, teeth and bones and squeezed out its life with one hand.
***
The thief sprinted down the long passageway, the ranger's voice was just ahead, loud screams and roars and a steady stream of curses. Harold watched as his friend, the ranger, bounced from wall to wall, his clothes seemed to move by themselves; he looked like he was wearing a heavy coat of fur and plucked at it with one hand.
"Rats!" Harold yelled. "He's covered with rats!"
"Tasty!" Little Rat called back, the young orc scraped one knife blade against another and licked his lips.
Harold closed on the ranger, the big man had dropped his sword and pressed one arm across his eyes, the thief could see small bodies hanging along it from elbow to back of hand. His knife slashed across the ranger's chest; two of the small beasts were cut in twain; the edge rang against the links of mail. He cut again and again slashing back and forth; the small orc joined him but fought the rushing tide of bodies which replaced the fallen.
"Get 'em off me!" the ranger cried out desperately. He used both hands to brush them from his head and chest, then grabbed others, smashed them into the wall or dashed them to the ground.
* * *
Little Rat danced among the waves of furry bodies in a frenzy of stabs and slashes. A small mouth bit his chin and he bit back, then spit out the body. "This no rat!" he yelled, but the other two did not reply.
Harald brushed a dozen of the creatures from his arms and legs then reached out and grabbed hold of the thief, then lifted up the small orc in his other arm. Taking huge strides he began to run, but he did not get far. The ranger was blind in the utter black; first he crashed hard against a wall then stepped on two of the little beasts. His foot slipped to the side and he fell, coming down hard on the knee of his other leg. He might have shattered the bone but a half-dozen small bodies took the blow instead. All three were sent sprawling across the ground, the furry wave swallowed them and they were gone.
***
"I do not see..." Telenstil began, but stopped as he caught sight of the trail left by the snake. "Yes, I see the trail but I do not see this snake."
"I see it," said Gytha. "I know it well."
"You have seen this type of creature before?" asked Ghibelline. The elf held his sword so tight that his knuckles whitened from the grip. He felt a touch of fear as the creature approached, the wounds on his arm began to throb.
"You have seen it before, and you Telenstil," she told them. "It has grown, but it is what attacked me when I healed Derue, the evil is the same, you do not feel it, do not see it?"
"I see only the path it leaves," said Telenstil, "it nears."
"I do not see it either," Ghibelline rubbed at his arm. "I feel it though, where it struck me."
"Ghibelline, stand here," Gytha pointed with the iron staff she held to a place beside her, "I will ask the Saint for his blessing and protection."
The elf stepped forward and stood next to her, Gytha set her iron staff into the ground and took his hand in her own then reached out and put her other hand on Telenstil's. "Oh pure of heart and strong of arm, bless those gathered here to fight the spirit of evil which comes upon us," she released them and held up her hands, a wind, refreshing and cool, blew over them. With her iron staff Gytha traced a circle in the dirt around Ghibelline then looked up toward the sky. "Sainted one, you have blessed us all, protect this warrior with special care, he has fought the evil sent forth against us, your strength has touched him, let your spirit protect him!" A circle of white erupted around the elf; it shot up from the ground and wrapped him in its brilliance. Ghibelline felt the pain lessen in his arm, the venomous heat was gone, though the wound still stung. A sense of rest and strength settled on him and a feeling that the light had suffused his skin, protecting him from the evil that approached.
"I see it now!" cried out Ghibelline, he could see the edges of the scales, the fangs, the glowing eyes, red and molten in the serpentine skull. The body of the snake was still translucent, he could see clear through, but the monster was a net of shimmering lines of fire, no substance inbetween.
"Yes, let me see if my magic can hold it in place," said Telenstil. He drew out a small bar of steel and with it traced a pattern of blue fire in the air. "Zeiz! Zeiz! Zeiz!" he intoned and threw the steel bar at the snake. It flashed far across the clearing and exploded in a cloud of blue sparks that made the serpent jump and thrash like a fish trying to break the line which held it.
* * *
Everyone had run off. Halfknife could hear shouting from further up the passage but could not see where the others had gone. Someone was climbing down the wall; the human with the magic stick, Halfknife shuddered. The giants he understood, big ones always ruled while the smaller ones obeyed, but magic, the stuff the old shamans had used always frightened him. It frightened the Boss as well, they could all see it. The orc gave the human baggage a kick while he had the chance. "No sword now," Halfknife gave a barking laugh, "you stew-meat waiting for the pot."
Brokenhand laughed as well and drew back his foot, but Boss gave him a slap, then glared at Halfknife. "Save it," he told them. "Where did the little ones go?"
"They ran up there," Meatstealer pointed up the hall.
Boss took a few steps walking slowly perhaps to follow, but the shouting made him pause, then the screams began.
* * *
A thousand sparks of red and blue shot from the snake. They burned like the spray from a blacksmith's anvil as white hot metal was hammered into form. Telenstil felt the power of his spell disappear, the snake had overcome the magic force that would have held it frozen for a time.
"It's mad now," said Ghibelline.
Telenstil grimaced and held out his hand, "Noituus Istaa," he said and sent out five magic bolts. They flew toward the snake and struck it, leaving blotches of red where the scales were burnt and broken.
"Magic can hurt it," Ghibelline said relieved.
"Az-Trappa!" Telenstil replied. He took a step and pushed Ghibelline to one side then threw a small crystal toward the snake. The magic lightning boomed, the flash left an afterglow on their eyes, but the bolt passed through the snake, it bathed it for a moment, but to no effect. A tree, scarred deeply by the gibberlings, stripped of bark from roots to five or more feet high up its bole, it received the fury of the unnatural electric bolt and split, the bole smoking, half the tree falling with a crash to the ground.
"Cast another spell!" urged Ghibelline. "If I had my tome..." he cursed. The giants had taken his weapons, his pack and all he possessed. He had been skilled more with magic than with the sword, but without his book to study or even the components for his spells his skills as a warrior were all that he could use.
The snake skimmed across the ground, the magic bolts had stung it, the lightning had healed its hurt. The touch of steel had been no more than an inconvenience, but now it was refreshed. It had not been badly hurt by the magic darts, the lightning would have healed a much more grievous wound; it brimmed with the strength the spell imparted when it struck.
"Saint give us strength," Gytha prayed, "Saint strike our foe," she held out her iron staff, "Saint aid us now!" she struck the staff against the ground. A wave of force rolled out from the spot where the iron touched the ground. Like a stone hitting the still surface of a pond the power rippled out in all directions.
Telenstil and Ghibelline felt as if an arm steadied them and gave them strength, while the snake was rolled like a barrel loose on the deck of a ship wracked by a storm.
***
Boss walked backwards, away from the screaming down the passage, his legs struck the body of Derue and he fell. Below him the bound man gave a grunt as Boss landed on him then Derue began to writhe. He twisted, throwing the orc from his back, slammed both legs down across Boss's middle and kicked him with both feet like a mule, smashing the orc in the face. Blood spurted from a split lip and a broken nose and Boss was spun against a wall. Pulling his knees to his chest Derue slid his bound hands down his legs and over his feet. Still stretched out on the floor he leaned on his shoulder and swung his legs around sweeping Halfknife off his feet, but both Meatstealer and Brokenhand set on him before he could rise.
The orcs had weapons but they used their feet, not from any restraint, though they had been ordered many times to keep the scout alive. They lashed out, rough hoary feet thudding into ribs, a jagged toenail cut a deep gash over Derue's eye, Meatstealer heard a bone snap and a whoosh of air forced from the scout's throat. Derue blocked a second kick to his creaking ribs, ducked below Brokenhand's next blow and struck Meatstealer's knee as the orc drew back to kick again. The orc hopped back and Derue turned himself and kicked back at Brokenhand. Stars and sparks danced before his eyes, Halfknife had kicked Derue from behind smacking his head like a child would kick a ball.
Boss rose groggily from where he had rolled, Meatstealer rubbed at his knee then joined the others. Soon all four orcs had encircled Derue, their legs pumped back and forth as they pummeled him with their feet.
At the shaft entrance Talberth dropped to the floor. He wore an enchanted amulet around his neck that shined with a perpetual light. In the glow he had climbed down the wall, trusting his sight more than his sense of touch. "Hey!" he yelled at the orcs. "What is going on! Get away! Get Away!" Talberth took the wand from the forearm sheath he wore and fingered the runes that glowed silver in the dark.
The light from the amulet made them start, then step back from the body of the scout, the wand brought out a fear that had grown within them, first planted as the giants' slaves.
* * *
Ivo's breath was heavy in his chest. He was getting old, even for a gnome. He'd been old before the human mage Talberth had been born, old when the ranger had been only a boy. Gnomes did not have the sheer bulk and strength of a dwarf, but they all possessed a wiry endurance. He drew upon all the energy in his old frame and ran. There were shouts ahead and some screams of pain, a bellow of rage, it made Ivo lurch into a quicker pace, but he was much slower than the halfling and Little Rat. He came upon them just as the ranger fell headlong sprawling across the ground, all three were buried under the furry wave.
It was no weapon he held in his hand, no base component for a spell, just a common gnomish tool. He opened the metal ball and twisted it apart. A small lump of stone fell out, enchanted like the amulet which Talberth wore, it shined with light. A small sun erupted in the dark, a squeal of shock burst out, a thousand tiny voices screamed and the carpet of fur and tooth and claw went still.
* * *
"As I thought," Ivo said smugly. He nudged a curled circle of fur with his foot, it appeared to be dead. Immediately his thoughts went to his friends, "Harold! Harald!" he called out.
The ranger groaned and shook a covering of the little beasts from off of his back and legs, beside him Harold jumped to his feet and flung a pair of small bodies against the wall. The halfling kicked some aside and cursed the others where they lay. Blood streamed from dozens of tiny cuts and bites, painting the halfling red. The ranger was washed by the flow from his owns wounds, he'd saved his eyes but his hands and arms were a patchwork of torn and bitten flesh.
Harold appeared dazed, he looked with wild eyes first at Harald then at Ivo. His chest heaved with relief, he still lived; he'd thought for certain that he would not survive. "Where is the orc?"
* * *
There was a screech, a sharp sparking sound like the teeth of a saw striking a nail hidden in a plank of wood. The snake opened its mouth, its tongue sticking out, its head swaying back and forth, it wailed.
Ghibelline gritted his teeth against the sound, clamped his jaw shut and launched himself at the beast. His sword gleamed with a nimbus of gold, an edge of spiritual energy that coated the mere sharpened steel. A line of fire burst forth where his sword cut the sinewy body, his blow still swept through the snake's translucent flesh but this time there was resistance. The shining red lines of the scales snapped and some did not rejoin as they had before. The fanged mouth ceased its noise, its body shuddered briefly at the wound, and its head came whipping down.
Ghibelline dived aside, but the snake brushed his shoulder and rolled him over. He slipped when he tried to rise. His sword shot up and grazed the creature's chin, the mouth closed with a chomp then opened in a sharpfanged grin. A knife slashed it just below its eye; the blade shone blue and sent a fiery burst of red where it cut the snake deeply atop its mouth. The beast jumped back, the serpent twisted in the air and scurried back from the glowing blade. There was a pause, the snake held back, drops of molten red dripping from its wound, they struck the air and smoked, disappearing in a cloud before they touched the ground.
Ghibelline scurried to his feet and as he did he heard the mage cast a spell.
"Koova-Lazi!" Telenstil called out. He blurred and seemed to come apart, and then there were six Telenstil's facing the snake with glowing knives of blue. He charged the beast and all five images followed suit.
Fangs pierced the magic veil, as Ghibelline's sword had passed through the snake before the blessing of the Saint, so the serpent met with no resistance and in a blur the image disappeared. A knife licked out, Telenstil and his four surviving duplicates all struck at once, but only one was real. A long line of red was drawn along the scales, the snake's body twitched in pain. Ghibelline rushed to join the fray; he first chopped its tail, the nearest portion of the beast. The sword cut it like a sausage beneath the edge of a hungry man's knife, the tail burned with flame, the gaping wound glowed with light like the heart of a fire.
* * *
Gytha had not been idle while the others fought. She bent down on her knees and prayed. The iron staff felt cool against her face, she spoke softly, implored the Saint for strength, and more than strength. Evil flowed from the snake, it coursed through its veins instead of blood, filled the venom sacks behind its fangs with a wickedness incarnate. This was no mere oerthly beast, no creature formed of magic; it was a denizen of Hell. Some vile serpent summoned to this plane by dark ritual and sacrifice. "Power!" Gytha asked from the Saint. She stood and raised her head.
Telenstil took a fearsome blow, the sight made her gasp, but the hissing serpent fanged an empty shell. Another image of the mage blurred into a haze and disappeared. Ghibelline gave the snake a glancing wound, his sword did little but the nimbus of gold ate into the transparent flesh like acid and left an oozing, smoking trail across the serpent's scales. The snake caught his arm, its fangs passing through his flesh harmlessly but the venom scored him deep. The elf cried out, his sword fell from a numbed grip and he collapsed.
"No!" Gytha yelled. "Go back to Hell!" she screamed at the snake and swung the iron staff, once a giant's kitchen skewer, but now a blessed weapon of her patron Saint. The metal pulsed. It struck the snake dead on and crushed its skull like a bug beneath a heel.
There was an explosion of red, Telenstil flung an arm before his eyes, a fireball he thought, but there was no heat. The mage could see the bones clearly through an arm whose flesh was redly lit, then a flash of white that made him blink. There was a crack like old wood snapping beneath the sun, then a whoosh, a sudden gust of air tugged at him, he threw down his arm. A hole had opened in the world, a rent no bigger than a robin's egg. It sucked in the broken remnants of the snake, stretching it long and thin, pulling in a stream of air that stirred the leaves like a hurricane. Debris danced and twisted around this hole till even the severed bit of tail was gone and then it closed with a plop like the bursting of a bubble on a pool of mud.
***
"Little Rat! What's the matter with you!" yelled Harold.
The young orc staggered to his feet. He spat out the severed half of one of the small furry beasts and coughed. "It bite, I bite back, taste pretty bad," he said and spit out a clump of skin and fur. "I feel sick," he put both hands to his head. "Room not stand still." he leaned against the wall then slid down.
"What's the matter, what's the matter..." Harold said nervously and bent beside the orc.
Ivo knelt there too and put his hand to the orc's head, it came away soaked with blood. "We had better get him bandaged quickly; he is bleeding, too much..."
"We'd better get Gytha..." Harold insisted.
Ivo pulled out a length of cloth and handed it to the thief. "Bandage first, he is hurt very badly. Here," the gnome pulled out a jar from his pack and opened up a metal lid, the threads grinding against the glass. "Put some of this on him. Take two fingers worth. I want some for Harald as well."
"Magic salve?" asked the thief.
"It will help him heal," Ivo replied. "Two fingers, come now, the ranger looks unsteady too."
Harold glanced over at his friend and saw him sway then put a hand against the wall to keep himself upright. The halfling put his fingers in the jar and scooped up two fingers worth of the healing goo, it felt cool and tingling on his hand then he smeared it across the young orc's face and chest. Little Rat sighed and his eyes opened.
Ivo snatched the jar away and picked a careful trail across the carpet of furry beasts. The creatures were harmless in the light, so he did not fear attack, but he cared for the jar of healing salve and his own balance across the monster-carpeted floor.
"Hold still I'm going to put some salve on your arm," Ivo tugged at the ranger's tattered sleeve.
"What?" asked Harald groggily.
"Sit down, you humans are too tall."
The ranger sank down much as the orc had, letting his back scrape against the wall. Ivo used a portion of the salve just on the ranger's face and neck. His ears were notched like the tattered ends of a ragcloth book. The salve mingled with the drying blood and went to work. Harald gave a groan from deep within his chest then shook his head to clear it. The gnome emptied the jar rubbing salve into both of the ranger's arms. There were many wounds and the jar was small, some cuts healed and some deeper wounds as well, but many more remained.
"Gibberlings," said Harald. He held a tiny body in his hand. The creature was dead; it hung limply like a child's doll.
"Yes, as I thought, though I've never seen their young before," Ivo said with keen interest in the tiny beast.
* * *
"He seems stunned," said Telenstil.
Gytha knelt by Ghibelline and brushed back the hair which overhung his eyes. It was a ragged golden-brown, cut short by his captors when they found him and growing back, unkempt and long, since then.
"I have prayed for him," Gytha smiled, "the evil has fled his body. He will heal; the Saint has helped in that." She looked up at Telenstil her smile fading and a serious expression now on her face. "I ask for the Saint's grace more and more it seems. I feel closer to him, lighter, so much of his strength has passed through me that the weight which burdened my spirit is gone."
"I am glad to hear that," said Telenstil, "We will need your strength, more than I had imagined. They will be worrying, can we move Ghibelline?"
"Yes, but carefully," Gytha put her hand under the elf's arm, "Take his other side." she said to Telenstil.
They lifted him, he was not heavy. Ghibelline was thin, his muscles flat and wiry. He had never been fat and his time spent in the dungeon of the giants had stripped away any surplus flesh leaving just muscle and bone covered with a stretch of skin. His head nodded back and forth, his chin bouncing against his chest as they half-carried half-dragged him within the ravine.
"We'd better stop," Gytha said as they stepped into the dark, "I cannot see."
"My apologies," said Telenstil, "I forgot that you do not have the sight."
"I do have a torch. Hold him for a moment while I get it from my pack," Gytha shifted Ghibelline so that Telenstil held him beneath both arms then realized that her pack was gone. "Can you hold him for a moment? I've left my pack behind."
"I can hold him," said Telenstil, "do not worry I am strong enough for that. Gytha I will take him, you go find your pack, come back with a torch."
"Be careful,"
"I will. Find your pack and his sword."
Telenstil carried Ghibelline away down the sloping trail into the dark. Gytha ran sprinting back to the woods to find her pack, her staff and Ghibelline's fallen sword.
***
"They are just the same as the adults, only smaller," Ivo marveled as he examined the slain gibberling he'd taken from the ranger's hand.
"They act just like the adults," growled Harald. "My torch went out then they attacked."
"This may be the cause of the herds migration," Ivo said holding the small body on the palm of his hand and raising it level with his eyes.
"That is a leap," said Harald, "you may be right, but who knows? Who has found their young before?"
"Only us," Ivo said with wonder.
"Our luck is holding then," the halfling broke in. "All bad."
"I feel lucky enough to still be breathing," said Harald. The ranger wrapped his legs with strips of cloth. He'd cut his cloak apart, Ivo did not have enough bandages to cover all his wounds.
"What are we going to do with these?" Harold kicked a gibberling pup. It was curled into a tight ball hiding from the light of the enchanted stone. "It's going to take some work to kill them all."
"I'll have to find a way to preserve a body or two," mused Ivo.
Harold nudged another pup with his toe. "What do you think their worth?" he asked casually.
"They are priceless," Ivo replied.
"Priceless..." Harold murmured back thougtfully.
* * *
"Back away! Back away!' Talberth warned the orcs. The mage's face was eerily underlit by the glowing amulet he wore, his expression was demonic. The shadow of the wand he held was huge as it was projected against the wall, it terrified the orcs. Their weapons clanged to the floor and they backed themselves empty-handed into the corner of the room.
Talberth had thought he'd heard yelling from the far passage, but the orcs' noise had drowned it out. Now that they'd stopped their vile cursing the chamber had fallen into silence. Talberth's shouted commands faded into the dark that surrounded the light of his amulet. The mage bent and put his hand beneath the scout's nose but kept his eye upon the orcs and kept the dweomered wand pointed in their direction. He felt a slight stirring of air, he shifted his hand to the scout's chest, its rise and fall could barely be felt, but it was there as well as the steady beating of Derue's heart
* * *
Harold casually searched where the ranger had lain for the empty jar of salve. It wouldn't hold much, not a complete body, but he could save one the little gibberlings' heads. If the whole was priceless perhaps the head would be worth a fortune by itself, he thought.
"Harold," Ivo called, "go see what is keeping the others. Find Gytha at least, Harald is still injured."
"I'm fine," the ranger objected.
"You are not," Ivo replied. "And no more of such lies. Harold go, go..." Ivo shooed away the thief waving both his hands. "And take the orc with you!"
Harold shook his head in regret; he would have to think of a way to save one of the bodies of the giberling pups. Walking past the young orc he did not need to signal or say a word, Little Rat fell in behind.
***
"I will have to climb down and fetch the rope," Telenstil said.
Ghibelline was waking but he seemed to be in a daze. The elf tried to sit up, but his arm slipped on the stone and his head fell back; he had Telenstil's cloak rolled up as a pillow beneath him, it saved him from a nasty bruise.
There was a sputtering torch in Gytha's hand, she'd come back laden with her hands full, Ghibelline's sword tucked beneath her belt. She walked awkwardly, the edge sawing at the leather band around her waist; she'd never used a sword and did not like them, even just to carry a few yards.
"I'll stay," she said, "I don't think he will be able to manage the climb till he has slept and rested, he is healed but weak."
"The adventuring life," smiled Telenstil, "I should be growing fat with a gaggle of apprentices to do the work."
"Never," Gytha smiled too. "You are much too active."
"It is the curiosity," said Telenstil, "there is always something new to learn." the mage swung himself over the edge of the shaft and nimbly began to climb. "I will be right back." he called as his head dropped out of sight.
Gytha was already sitting beside the injured elf. She reached behind him as he struggled to sit once more and helped him with her hand across his shoulders.
"I'm alive," he asked quietly.
"Yes."
"You saved me," Ghibelline stated sure that it was true. "I should be dead, that snake, the venom... thank you."
* * *
The glow from the mage's amulet drifted like a will o' wisp, the dark surrounding it seemed like a living thing down here with a presence and body that fought against the light. Talberth caught a glimmer coming from somewhere far ahead. He knew that it must be the others; at least he hoped that it was them.
"Sit, sit down," he barked out at the orcs.
They hesitated but then complied. There was a noise from behind, someone coming down the shaft.
"Gytha!" he called, "Telenstil!"
"Yes," came a voice, "it is I." Telenstil climbed slowly down. He moved with care and grace but breathed with a deep rise and fall of his chest. A sheen of sweat covered his brow.
"Telenstil, thank goodness," Talberth said with relief. "The orcs, they were beating Derue."
"How is he?" asked Telenstil. He moved quickly over to where the scout lay motionless on the floor.
"He lives," said Talberth, "for now."
"Ghibelline is injured, though Gytha has prayed for healing," Telenstil said, though he spoke partly to himself, "we do call upon her strength more and more."
"What do we do with these orcs?" asked Talberth.
"Why did they attack him?" Telenstil answered with another question.
"I didn't ask," Talberth replied drolly, "they're orcs; that is reason enough."
"There you are!" a voice piped out of the darkness. Harold came walking quickly into the light. "Where have you been!" he demanded.
"I was wondering the same thing," Talberth replied.
"We were almost killed!" Harold snapped back.
"What's going on?" he asked, noticing the orcs for the first time then the wand in Talberth's hand.
"Harold," Telenstil caught the attention of the thief, "you are bleeding; are you badly hurt? How are the others?"
The halfling put his hand to his face and for the first time felt the wounds he had suffered from the gibberling young. Small cuts still sent trickles through the drying mask of blood that covered his face. His arms and hands began to sting and he noticed the growing spots of blood soaking through his torn and tattered clothes.
"Hey!" he exclaimed surprised. His eyes rolled back and showed their whites. Harold pitched over backwards collapsing like a scarecrow taken from its standing pole. Little Rat leapt to him but couldn't catch the falling thief in time.
NPC - Elswyth Harvesthand Druidess
Elswyth was from a farming family in Verbobonc. Her village of Coolspring was destroyed at the time of the Battle of Emridy Meadows by the horde of goblins that issued from the Temple of Elemental Evil. She was rescued by the Druid Jaroo from the village of Hommlet who had been part of the druidic forces warring against the temple.
All that she knew and loved was destroyed and she dedicated her life to the eradication of such creatures like the goblins who destroyed her home and killed her family. Her feeling for the balance of nature is eskew in her hatred of the monstrous though she manages to hide it well.
Secretly she has become allied with the Raven Queen and is actively fighting the Broken Hand goblins who have made incursions into south-eastern Verbobonc.
The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - Part 13
They wandered down the trail to where Gytha stood beside Ghibelline. The ranger talked with them standing straight and tall, the grievous wounds he'd received healed by the cleric's faith and prayers.
"...be more." said Harald.
"I know, they will be hunting for us, those wolves of theirs will track us down," Ghibelline said.
"There are a few tricks to throw them off our trail," Harald glanced up and down the path. "But this place, they may lose our scent among all these bodies and blood."
* * *
Telenstil had been right. The moons were up and still the party was on the move. It was slow going, and despite Harald's best efforts they were leaving an easy trail. They were heading north and west, away from the hills and up into the mountains, but they hadn't left the woods behind.
Low branches slashed at them, roots and stones caught their feet, made them trip and stumble; they followed a deer trail that weaved through the underbrush. The ground was rough and uneven, the trail narrow and lined with thornbushes, they moved with a slow and awkward pace.
Harald had gone ahead, some said that he had the elven sight but it wasn't true, what the darkness hid from his eyes his other senses revealed to him. It was Talberth and Gytha who had the worst of it, neither could see far in the dim moonlight. Gytha at least had some woodscraft, she'd lived within the hills and mountains of Geoff all her life, but Talberth had been born and raised in Greyhawk, the hub of the Oerth as he called it. The young mage knew much about the arcane crafts, had served as an apprentice to Telenstil and seen the world beyond his city's walls, but he had never been far from a campsite or an inn. He was not used to wandering through the woods at night, looking for a place to camp, forced to sleep out under the stars, his pack as a pillow and his arms folded about him for a blanket.
They traveled single file, the orcs last in line carrying Derue, the thief and young orc leading the others over the trail. The two humans were kept at the center of the file where those with the nighteyes could keep them from falling in the dark or straying from the path. There was a hiss, low and subdued, it came from the halfling and it brought them to a halt.
"There is a clearing up ahead," Harold whispered to Telenstil and Ivo.
"Where is Harald?" the elven mage asked.
"I have no idea," Harold snapped back. "What do you want us to do?"
"Did you see something?" Ivo asked him.
"Nothing but the end of this trail," said the thief. Harold was not pleased to come upon a surprise when his friend the ranger was somewhere ahead and nowhere to be seen. "He should have come back to warn us. I don't like this."
"Can you circle the clearing?" asked Telenstil.
"I can," said Ghibelline speaking over the gnome's head. "Let me go, I'll see what has happened to the ranger."
"I can do it," Harold said with a huff.
"You're as quiet as a mouse in slippers," said Ivo, "but Ghibelline has the woodscraft."
"Shhh..." hissed Ghibelline.
"Yea, quiet down." a voice said from nearby. Harald worked his way slowly from beneath a thornbush.
"Where were you?" demanded the thief.
"Sorry, you made better time than I expected," Harald replied. "I found us a decent spot. There is a spring up here and a small rise just beyond the clearing where we can camp."
"We nearly had to go looking for you," complained Harold.
The ranger shrugged. "Good practice for you, out here you never know, scouting ahead is dangerous work, sometimes you don't come back."
"Harald," said Telenstil, cutting off the thief before he could say anymore, "Show us this place. We can all use the rest."
"Come then, follow me," Harald lead them down the last few feet of the trail into a small clearing, its western end held a small pond, but he took them to the northern edge
***
Talberth had never slept more soundly in his life, but he awoke with a terrible ache, every muscle in his body felt like it had been pulled apart and sewn back together with twine. It was sometime before dawn, he lay upon a bed of fir branches with his pack beneath his head. The night had been cold but dry and with a second layer of branches piled over him he had been warm as if he'd been sleeping in a bed.
The sky was purple, day would be coming fast but already the others were astir, all except for the orcs. Boss, Meatstealer and the surviving pair, Halfknife and Brokenhand, would have preferred to travel by night. They liked the dark; the day was for sleeping more often than not. Months had passed while they had been the giants' slaves; day was when the torches burned, when they worked digging the tunnels beneath the steading. Night was when they were locked in their unlit cells; they had not missed the sun.
"Time to wake up," Ivo gave Talberth's shoulder a shake.
"I'm up," he yawned. "How long did I sleep?"
"Five hours, a little more," laughed Ivo quietly. "You were out on your feet last night. You were asleep and snoring before Harald cut the last of the branches for your bed."
"I don't snore," muttered Talberth.
They ate a cold breakfast of half-cooked beef. Harald had found one steer that had burned longer than the rest, he hadn't mentioned the body of the giant he'd found roasted beneath it, avoiding any qualms that the others might have. The orcs had taken their own choice cuts, preferring their flesh raw or at most just kissed by the flames and nothing more. They were less squeamish than the others, a week rotting in a canvas sack just added to the taste for them.
"Which way now?" Talberth asked just before they set off.
The scorched beef had been passed around with fresh water from the spring.
"Muphlimm-umph," Ivo answered him then swallowed the mouthful of food he'd been chewing. "North, Harald's finding us a trail."
"He's back," Harold spoke up, pointing to the ranger weaving his way through the brush back up to where they sat. "I'll go get Ghibelline, he's keeping watch by the spring."
"Talberth, why don't you get those orcs moving?" Ivo asked the tall mage.
"They seem to listen to Ghibelline just as well," said Talberth.
"That was yesterday," Ivo replied, "they were just obeying the tone of his voice, they forgot he was an elf. Go on, they're scared of you, all the qualities that a leader of orcs needs."
"Since when are you an expert on orcs," Talberth said annoyed. He didn't enjoy his status with the orcs.
"Well this is a first for me," laughed Ivo. "But I know orcs, too well I know them, believe me."
"Well I've never had them on my side before either," said Talberth.
"Oh don't make that mistake," Ivo told him seriously, "they aren't on our side, don't trust them, if they think they can get away with it they'll put a dagger in your back, especially because they're scared."
"I don't trust them, I don't like them," Talberth replied heatedly, "I don't want them with us..."
"Easy there," Ivo said in a calm and friendly voice, "I agree, but they are with us for now. You are they best to deal with them. We need you Talberth, don't let us down."
"I'm sorry Ivo, I... I just needed more sleep," Talberth said quietly, "I'll go get the orcs."
***
"What in the Nine Hells is that?" Harold asked.
The little thief stared at a broken form not much taller than himself but broad and muscular as an ape. It had a coat of greyish fur and a thick mane of black hair surrounding a face like a cross between a human's and a wolf's.
"That," said the ranger turning the dead body over with his foot, "that is a gibberling."
He bent and felt the muscles in its hand then touched its neck, the spine snapped like a stick. "Still stiff, killed last night, thrown, look at that stone, that's what broke its neck."
Underneath the dead beast's head was a rounded block, a large square of stone worn down by time.
"That is an odd stone," the ranger touched the grey rock, it was speckled with bits of black, cold and smooth under his hand. He pulled up a clump of weeds that grew beside it and revealed the corner, cut stone; a building had stood upon this spot, but long ago. "...as I thought."
"What?" Harold asked. "What do you think?"
"Here," he said pushing back a thick bush so that the stump of the plant was visible, "more stones. We're standing near the foundation of some building, or in it."
"Where?" asked Little Rat twisting around to see.
"Tumbled down," Harold told the orc. "Just stones now."
"Oh," Little Rat said in a disappointed tone.
"You two wait here for the others," said the ranger, "if there is one gibberling, there are a hundred."
"Are they dangerous?" squeaked Harold.
"Very," the ranger smiled. "But not in daylight. We have half the day to get beyond their reach."
North of where he'd found the body of the gibberling the ranger broke through the thick underbrush and stood within a wide swath of torn and uprooted plants. There was a circle where the trees were knocked down and the ground torn up, the oerth churned as if from a plowman's blade. Mixed with the dirt were the shards of bones, splintered, the marrow gone. A minute's search turned up a skull, stripped of flesh and cracked open then hollowed out. A giant fought and died here, then was eaten raw. The destruction ran west-east, the tracks, hundreds of them, pointed toward the east; they'd gone toward the rising sun. The dead and drying leaves were still alive the day before, sometime last night the gibberlings had passed, or so the ranger judged from the signs he found.
* * *
"Gibberlings," said Telenstil standing over the body.
"Strange to find them here," said Talberth.
"What are they?" asked Ghibelline, "Nothing of nature surely?"
"Drones perhaps, like ants, they may have a queen and spring from eggs, "said Talberth, "We studied them at university, I have seen one splayed open, preserved, they are not male or female, these do not reproduce."
"A wizard's creation, yes," said Telenstil. "That is my thought. They are extremely dangerous, though not during the day."
"That is what Harald said," spoke up the thief.
"They are rare to find like this," mused Talberth, "they eat their dead. You only find their bones, or when the last of a herd has been killed."
"He said it was thrown, and that rock is part of a building."
Ivo bent and ran his hand along the stone as the ranger had done. "He was right, at least about this rock. And these, Telenstil, these are old, very old. This is not the work of gnomes or dwarves."
"Giants?" asked Talberth.
Ivo laughed. "Giants no, well not Nosnra's kind," he looked closer at the block, "not the giants of stone and rock either, I know their work; Human hands perhaps. Another mystery, back at that hill, a trail leading up to nothing, and here, something was built here."
***
"The world is old, many people and places have come and gone," Telenstil mused quietly but then spoke up in a louder voice, "The stones beneath the steading, Ivo, did they seem the same?"
"Yes!" Ivo agreed vigorously. "Yes, this is the same stone."
"We dig old stone, find bad place," said Little Rat. "This bad place?" he asked alarmed.
"What did you find? Where?" asked Talberth excitedly.
"Bad place! This bad place. Place make crazy, bad place make crazy," Little Rat screamed out terrified.
"We're going," Harold grabbed the orc by the shoulder and pulled him away from the stone block and the body of the gibberling.
"Wait..." Talberth began.
"Let them go," Telenstil told him. "Gytha do you sense anything?"
The cleric stood very still for a moment, then quietly began to pray. "My senses are weak, dear Saint, aid me, let me see beyond this veil, let me know where the touch of evil is present on the land," she held out the iron rod she'd taken from the giants' kitchen and faced the foundation stones they'd found.
Gytha was still for a few moments, she did not breath, then with a whoosh she exhaled and then breathed deeply. Telenstil looked at her; he did not say a word but raised his brows.
"There is evil, very faint, it runs along those stones," she said. "I will try again." she paced away from them out to where the last of the stones could be seen then turned so that the worn block was at her back.
* * *
Harald rushed along the path he'd taken through the heavy brush. He abandoned all attempts to conceal his tracks, but his well-practiced woodsman's skills kept him from leaving a careless trail, the branches fell back in place, unbroken as he passed. There was a shout, he heard a piping voice; the ranger broke into a run. He had to stop to draw the huge blade he wore over his shoulder, he swore he'd carry it like a staff or spear in future cursing as the edge caught on an overhanging limb.
"What is it?" the thief called to him. The halfling drew his own blade as he ran, the young orc trailing behind him a rusty dagger gripped in either hand. "Harald is it those monsters?"
"What was that yell?" Harald demanded.
"That? That was just the Rat here," the halfling explained. "Ivo says the stones are the same as in the steading, this one, " Harold pointed back toward Little Rat casually with his thumb, "got upset, he's scared. So am I."
The others had gathered around the body of the dead beast, the orcs had just put down their burden, Derue, and caught sight of the gibberling. Harald could hear their voices rise, then their leader gave a shout and knocked one to the ground. Talberth yelled then and made the lot cower and scowl.
"They sound scared as well," said Harold.
"They should be. We are safe for now," the ranger told him. "The herd went to the east, at least as far as I could see. We should be able to avoid them."
"That's good news," Harold said with relief. "We'd better get them moving then. What are they up to?"
The pair walked side by side back to the others with the small orc just behind, his daggers still drawn in his hands.
* * *
Gytha paced out a wide half circle through the bushes, she traced the outline of a structure; now only worn or buried blocks of stone. She walked back to the others, but before she reached them she stopped, then with her iron staff she dug into the ground at the base of a young tree. When the staff had sunk in several handbreadths deep she bent her head and directed the power that the Saint had given her toward the oerth underfoot. The others could not hear the prayer she spoke, but they saw her pause then shudder before she rose. The ranger, the halfling and the orc rejoined the group just as Gytha approached, all walking quickly as they could.
"There is an old evil here," she said. "It is very faint, but strongest down below the ground." Gytha pointed to the spot where she had knelt by the young tree. "Something is there. Something evil, below that spot; It is faint because it is far below. The evil is still present; these stones are only evil from a presence that passed away long ago."
"Then we should be leaving," Harold said. "We have enough problems with the giants, now we have these monsters," he gave the body of the gibberling a kick. "We don't need more."
"I agree," said Harald. The ranger pointed to the east. "Gibberlings, a good-sized herd went that way, they are harmless in the light, but we must make haste."
"Harald, you know these creatures, but I have studied them as well," said Telenstil. "A herd moves forward like a wave, they follow the easiest path, they will only veer aside if they are tracking prey. A large herd like this that moves on and does not return from a night's forage, they are not likely to return at all, is this correct?"
"What I've seen agrees," said Harald, "a big herd on a rampage, they aren't likely to go back to their lair, just keep on moving till all of them are dead."
"What kind of beasts are these?" asked Ghibelline. "What sense does that make, they go forth and kill till they are killed themselves?"
"No one knows for certain," said Talberth.
"Harald, what say you to following their trail?" Telenstil asked.
"If we find them they are helpless in the light of day," answered Harald, "but there looks to be hundreds, unless they are nearby we could not hope to kill them all before the sun has set."
"No, no," Telenstil gestured with his hands, "Let us follow the tracks where they came from, not where they have gone."
"That's crazy," burst out the thief.
"Hah!" laughed out Ivo. "The giants might think so too."
"Aren't we in enough danger!" Harold objected.
"Think, even the giants would be unlikely to follow such a trail, and our own tracks would be lost among the destruction of the herd."
"If we are careful maybe," the ranger said. "They have left a path wider than the road to Gorna, but we will be going the other way, a good tracker might find us."
"The wolves should be unable to follow our scent," said Telenstil.
"That monster stinks enough to hide even the smell of the orcs," Ghibelline added.
"It's crazy," Harold shook his head.
"It might work, there should be some type of cavern where they came from," the ranger thought aloud. "Telenstil, it is still a dangerous idea."
"We need to find a place to camp, a temporary base of some sort. If the giants are tracking us, then this gives us an opportunity to escape them," Telenstil said to them all.
"I don't like it, I don't like it," muttered the thief.
***
Harald took them to the gibberlings' path, a wide ravaged section of woods as if a river of knives had flowed past stripping the bark from the trees and leaving the brush shredded to no more than bare sticks, like a fleshless skeleton, behind.
Ghibelline laid his hand upon the bole of tree left bare, "These are slain; there will be nothing but the corpses of trees all along these monsters' trail."
"Do they eat everything?" asked Harold shocked at the devastation.
"No, they only eat flesh, but they slash and gnaw at everything in their path," the ranger explained. "I have only seen them twice before, never in such numbers as this. Those times were not this bad. Yes, these trees are dead, but the brush will grow twice as thick without their roots sucking the nourishment from the ground, or the leaves hiding the sun."
"The death of one is the life of another," said Ghibelline.
"The Oerth Mother's plan," nodded the ranger in agreement.
"Just as long as those monsters are eating trees and not me, then I'm happy," Harold said.
"Well since you are so happy you and your shadow can come with me," Harald told the thief, "Ghibelline, can you make sure that there are no tracks left behind?"
"I'll do my best," said Ghibelline, "I never thought I'd find myself hiding the tracks of orcs."
"Are we ready?" Telenstil asked walking over to where the ranger stood.
Talberth followed close behind, his bruises were just a light brown and yellow pattern on his face, around his eyes and nose.
"Whenever you say," Harald told him, "but we'd best make it soon." He reached out and put his hand on Telenstil's arm. "We could go north as we planned, or let Ghibelline scout the trail and I will head east to see where these monsters are."
"North might be safer, but I have not changed my mind," said Telenstil. "There is a risk no matter where we go, the north may lead to more trouble, yet we know that the way that the gibberlings have come is clear."
"What about trailing them?" asked Harald.
"I feel we need you with us more than knowing where they have gone."
"Well then, if that is how it is then I'm off, I'll take these two with me, and I've asked Ghibelline to make sure we leave no trail," Harald said, first pointing to the thief and Little Rat then toward Ghibelline.
"Send Harold back to us every so often, that way we will know that all is well," Telenstil instructed.
"Right," the ranger nodded agreement then waved for the halfling and the orc to follow him as he set off down the trail of devastation left by the gibberlings. It was like traveling a field of grain with the harvest left atop the stubble to rot. Harald showed the pair how he wanted them to walk, following the trail where the gibberlings had made the deepest marks.
"Step where the ground is firmest, try not to leave your own steps showing," Harald told them.
"I know how to not leave a trail, even in the woods, and I've spent the last two months keeping out of the giants' way, we'll be fine," the thief assured him.
"Then I'm going to go on ahead. You two sit and wait for the others every so often, I'll do the same or double back and check on you," said Harald. "If I'm gone for more than a hand's worth of the sun," he put his broad palm up toward the sky, "three of your hands, then go back to Telenstil and say to him that there is trouble ahead and he'd better go north."
"What about you?"
"Anything that catches me and keeps me from coming back will get you as well," Harald told him plainly. "You make sure that Telenstil goes north."
***
The path that the gibberlings had taken led back to a ravine. Harald looked down into its depths but he could make nothing out. The sun was past its noon and the light did not reach more than a few feet between the narrow walls.
Destruction reigned along the eastern edge of the forest. A steep trail rose from the ravine at that side, the gibberlings had followed it up, Harald could see the tracks. They had set off straight as the flight of an arrow once leaving the ravine, only changing direction to follow the course of the terrain.
"Like a river," Harald mumbled to himself. He thought about turning back, finding Telenstil and the others but he'd left Harold and the orc only a short time ago, there was time enough for some exploring before they would become concerned.
The south-west wall was lower than its opposite side. Harald could see where the oerth had fallen away; the crevice was not old, perhaps formed during the past spring when the melting ice carved out gullies and streambeds down the mountainside. Maybe a pocket had opened up beneath the oerth, or a cavern collapsed and the ground sank in to fill it. Whatever had occurred, the ground had split and from it the gibberlings had spewed forth.
Harald closed his eyes and stepped from the sunlit path into the gloom between the ravine's walls. He kept them closed for a few moments till they became adjusted to the dark. There was a little light, but soon even that was swallowed by an impenetrable black. With only his hand to guide him Harald took a small tinder box from his pack and drew out a short-handled torch, just long enough to keep his fingers from being scorched by the flame. A piece of goatskin was wrapped around its head, beneath was an oiled cloth that ran with blue at the touch of a few sparks of flint and steel. The torch burst into flame, yellow-orange, illuminating the dark. The path was steep indeed; a few more steps and it became an almost vertical drop, like a well, deep and dark, no end in sight. Harald waved the torch above the shaft, putting his head over the edge and peering into the depth. The flames showed deeper shadows, grooves cut along the sides. The gibberlings had used their claws to scratch away the stone and form a crude ladder to climb the shaft. The beasts were small, about the size of dwarves, but they had long hands and big feet that ended in a pair of large toes. They'd cut their ladder deep enough for Harald to use and he began his climb.
First he smothered the flame with the wrap of hide then put it within his pack. Now he was blind, the dark was absolute; he used his sense of touch to feel his way down. There were more grooves set in the wall than he needed, the gibberlings were small; Harald's reach was long. The way was easy but the descent took time, a quarter hour passed before Harald's foot struck the bottom of the shaft. The air was thick with the smell of the monsters, but there was something else. Harald breathed slowly though his nose and let his mind sort through what his senses brought in. A brood smell, the monsters' waste, their sweat and dander. Mold: a slightly damp smell, rotting wood, the smell of oerth. A breeze: something moving the stale air. He put his finger to his mouth and wet its tip, then held it up. The cooling skin let him feel the draw of air up the shaft. Carefully he drew out torch and tinderbox again, took away the goatskin wrap and struck the flint. A low whistle escaped from him, a quick intake of breath over his teeth. The cave was much more than he expected it to be.
* * *
"Quiet," hissed Harold.
"Sorry," Little Rat apologized. The young orc put a hand to his brow. He'd been making a groaning sound, the sun overhead made him feel sick. The dungeon had been dark and cool, glad though he was to be free from the giants, he did not like the hot day or the burning light.
They weaved their way through the broken underbrush trying to leave no tracks that could be detected among the gouged and trampled oerth. Harold kept them moving over felled trees or rocks, over anything that that would show no sign of their passing. They found a hard strip of clay baked solid by the sun that lay along the edge of the trees just clear of the wreck and havoc left behind by the gibberlings. It was like running across the rooftops back in Greyhawk. Harold felt nostalgic at the feel beneath his toes. The destruction came to a sudden end, the pair found themselves at the edge of a ravine, a dark narrow crack in the oerth. The ranger must have come this way, Harold cursed.
"You ninny!" he said aloud.
"What I do?" asked Little Rat.
"What? ...Oh nothing, you didn't do anything," Harold peered into the dark; he could see a little beyond the small area lit by the waning sun, he thanked his mother's kin for the nighteyes he possessed. "That cursed ranger has gone down there no doubt."
"We go too?" Little Rat sounded pleased. The cool dark called to him.
Harold thought for a moment. He should go back and tell the others what he found, but the ranger should have come back first before going on.
"Two wrongs," he said to himself. "Come on let's get out of this sun," he said to Little Rat.
The young orc practically ran down the steep trail into the dark of the ravine.
***
Ghibelline had a hard time hiding the trail the others left. The orcs, carrying the scout bound on a wooden pole, walked heedlessly, some left deep prints where they stepped into still damp oerth or pushed the brush aside, the broken ends shifted round like arrows pointing back the way the gibberlings had come. He ran ahead and talked with Telenstil, the wizard had his underling, the human Talberth, command the orcs to follow where he stepped, and Talberth walked where Telenstil directed. Their pace was slow; Ghibelline knew that they lagged behind the scouts. The ranger would be quietly upset; the huge man would scowl to see them take such time.
There were hours of daylight left but who could tell how far this trail would run. The pace did not improve but the orcs' trail began to lighten and even disappear. They wanted to march along in a straight line, but it was safest to shift and dodge their way around patches of loose debris or muddy ground. Ghibelline went ahead till he was near the last orc in line, then when they passed a thicket of brush he stepped into the woods and hid. A feeling had crept into his bones that something followed close behind but always just out of sight.
Ivo called for them to stop. The old gnome had found himself at the head of the march. The cleric Gytha was beside him but Telenstil was busy leading Talberth who led the orcs. A strange scene it created, an elf followed by a human, trailed by a quartet of orcs, all in single file walking down a path wide enough for a pair of wagons to ride abreast.
* * *
The torch flared into life and from somewhere nearby Harald could hear a high-pitched shriek then the sound of something skittering over stones. He almost dropped the wooden handle as he grabbed for the hilt of his claymore. The blade sent sparks from the wall and ceiling as he drew it from over his shoulder; he held it out before him one handed like a lance. There was nothing, no further sounds except the hissing of the flames and his own breathing, but what he saw astounded him.
In the torchlight he could see that the floor was a scratched and worn mosaic, the walls were stone, at one time veneered with thick plaster, now all but fallen to the ground. Still there were patches across the walls which showed a scene of plains with armored chariots rolling by, pursuing an enemy or beast now lost, their images mingled with the dirt and debris pushed into the corners and piled against the walls. This was no bare cave, instead it was once a decorated chamber the stones finely set, large blocks of grey rock speckled with black, their edges almost invisible, a razor would not fit between. A crack split the wall, above it the ceiling had fractured as well and through this the shaft had been cut. The slab that had formed the ceiling was thick, even with the stone broken Harald could not guess at how much work it had taken to claw through, scraping away a fragment at a time.
There was a doorway wide as the hall, two great valves of stone, which sat beneath the shaft, but it was shut and would not move. Two figures were carved into its frame, a pair of men, barrel chested, heavily muscled, their backs bent, their arms outstretched as if to hold up the arch. Still gripping his sword Harald ran his knuckles across the carvings, cold and smooth, the grooves and scars left across the wall had not damaged these. With the pommel of his sword he gave the doors a rap, the metal clanged on stone dull and solid, it sounded as if only dirt and rock lay beyond, but Harald had the feeling that they once opened out onto the sun and sky. Useless doors, they were now just a part of the wall, he turned his back on them and peered into the dark.
The chamber extended beyond the range of light that his torch projected. Harald was drawn forward, each step revealing more of the hall. It was wide, perhaps twenty feet across, the ceiling was not low, though Harald could reach up and touch it with the tips of his fingers, if he stood on his toes. The tiles beneath his feet had been obliterated; those that had not been broken or dislodged had been scratched by hundreds of clawed feet passing back and forth. The walls were just as bad, though it was time which had done the worst, the gibberlings had left the murals alone, but they had fallen in bits and pieces just the same.
A hundred paces and the passage opened into a vast chamber. A pillared hall each column shaped like some beast. An ogre, its chest armored in banded mail, a creature with the body of a snake and the torso of a strong looking woman, six armed, each hand gripping a different type of blade, a centaur, its bow raised and arrow notched, a manticore, and dozens more.
As he neared the middle of the room he followed a crack that meandered back and forth. At the center, surrounded by columns shaped like dragons of different hues but carved from the same gray stone, the crack widened, a circular pit with crumbling edges was watched over by these sculpted beasts. Harald looked into its depths but could see nothing, he bent and examined the edge; the stone was grooved and notched. He ran his hand within the pit and felt the familiar holds clawed into the walls. The gibberlings had come from here, he was sure of this.
***
The skittering sound came again, it echoed across the hall. Harald twisted his head back and forth trying to track it down, but with no success. Something was moving in the dark that filled the corners of the room. He left the pit behind and with his torch chased away the blackness and searched for whatever made the noise.
* * *
"Head feel better," said Little Rat.
"Good, good," Harold mumbled absentmindedly. The halfling had crept ahead till he reached the shaft carved into the floor of the ravine. "Shhh!" he signaled to the orc to keep quiet, then put his ear to the hole and listened. Nothing, he could not hear a sound. He felt like calling out the ranger's name and cursing him, but he held his breath.
"We go..." Little Rat whispered and pointed down the shaft.
"We go back," said Harold and gestured toward the woods and the path the gibberlings had clawed through the underbrush.
"I stay?" offered Little Rat. "Cool here, nice and cool."
"You go too," Harold told him. "Come on, we have to go tell the others."
Little Rat grumbled, he dragged a dagger's edge across the stones with a screech and spark.
"Keep quiet!" the halfling commanded. "I wish you'd put those knives away, they make me nervous. No way ta treat them either."
* * *
Ghibelline could no longer hear the others, not even the orcs as they tramped and grumbled along the march. The woods were still, the gibberlings had chased off all that could escape them and eaten all that could not. The elf made no sound, he did not move, he barely seemed to breath, just crouched and waited for whatever that was tracking them to appear.
* * *
"Ivo, Gytha!" Harold ran up to them.
"Harold what is it?" asked Gytha concerned at the sudden appearance of the halfling.
"What's wrong?" Ivo asked expecting to hear bad news.
"Telenstil!" Harold called over to the elf. "The trail ends, there is a ravine and a hole down into the oerth, but no ranger."
"Harold," Telenstil came over to them quickly but did not run, behind him Talberth and the orcs stumbled trying to pick up their pace and follow the elf.
"The ranger has disappeared," said Harold.
"Was there any sign of trouble... a fight?"
"No, and there is a hole, something dug into the bottom of a crevice at the end of the trail," the halfling told him breathlessly.
"You had better lead us there, he may need our help," said Telenstil.
"He told me to tell you to go north," replied Harold. "He told me, if something got him, go north, don't follow."
"We will take care but I have no intention of abandoning our ranger," Telenstil looked from face to face.
"Hey!" Harold exclaimed. "I'm all for going after him. I'm just telling you what he told me to say."
"Gytha, Talberth, Ivo," asked Telenstil, "what of you?"
"You need to ask!" Gytha would have laughed if she had not been concerned about the ranger.
"I think we are all agreed," said Ivo.
"Talberth?" asked Telenstil
"Yes, yes, fine," Talberth grimaced looking around the shredded brush and mangled trees. "I don't fancy being out in the woods without him. Where is that Wood Elf?"
"Ghibelline!" Gytha realized that he was nowhere to be seen.
