In desperate
conditions making abominable the terrain, strange shadows aloft held the sparse
torchlight. We'd earn our pay this evening, I thought, knowing full well that every man in the
mercenary guard party felt it too; they had been told kobolds only and at the limit. Yet the rain kept pouring down in sheets. Lightning
flashed. And, crashing thunder split the early evening. The torches sputtered.
A tree split. Then the stone strikes came like a god's message, hammering the tent
lines and any tackled animals. And, so did huge Gangor the roaring hill giant
and his bellowing, hulking lads strike at our base camp.
Rude shock. The ferocious giant
and his frenzied ogres slaughtered all in their path. Men were tossed rudely about like
sacks of potatoes to land in burlesque caricature of their former living selves.
Those who survived being tossed were stomped into scarlet oozing paste. Still
others were run down from behind as they sought to escape the onslaught. The
merchant with the caravan died last. He refused to run and leave the cargo. They tore him in two. Only I, Paro the Particular, spell disguised as an actual sack of potatoes, managed to survive.
A yellow sun rose to warm and illuminate the next day. Making my way through the ruins of the camp, I found the trashed tent of grimly hapless Barrax the Merchant. His belt pouch had dislodged when he was slain by dread Gangor, so it was on the ground even after the merchant's body had been carried away, food for an ogre. Always on the mark, I knew what the pouch contained before I examined it: platinum crowns, the badge of the merchant's house, and a key. The key would be to a chest in the dead man's home. In that chest were valuables and even objects of interest to a wizard. So I reset my previous plans. Gathering up scattered provisions for a return journey, I would travel to homebase, City d'Arcs, badge equipped so as to present myself as house functionary and visit Barrax's impressive home.
I followed back the path, which the caravan had traveled. The going was slow as I was on alert for any humanoid activity. After the better part of the morning, I entered the dry holloway, which led to the main road. The banks were tree lined and steep on both sides; the path meandered as a spring fed stream would, cutting its way through earth and rock. I grew wary. Without the protection of the caravan guards, ambush in this place was a real possibility, and there were plenty of hiding places to support it. I paused off to the side of the path. And then began again carefully. Soon I had confirmation of the legitimacy of my concern. Sure enough, up ahead of a bend in the path some 30 yards away stood three, particularly tall, murderous, jackal headed warriors, armed with war axes. I drew my dagger, a diversion while I cast my spell.
The jackal men charged. And, a spinning fire wheel launched from the Ring of Quasar on my right hand. It started small but increased in size as it rotated until it filled the gully as it sped toward my enemies. They blanched at the magic, but it was too late for them. The roaring wheel engulfed them, searing them to their armor and leaving only thick blackened husks collapsed in a heap. Instinctively, I spun around, casting another fire wheel, no look. Sure enough two more jackal warriors had crept up from the backside. They met the same fate as their burned pack mates up front. I grunted in satisfaction. The expenditure would only cost me two weeks of iron will meditation to recover the future use of the ring. Such were my thoughts as I stepped around the smoldering corpses.
Proceeding onward again and with no more mishaps, I made good time, hitting the main road just after noon. There I took up with a traveling feather merchant also heading to the city. Along the way, he informed me that Prince Roshed, the ruler of the City d'Arcs, had recently placed 100 criminals in gibbets along the Traitors Way. Some were women and children. This news came as a surprise to me, for the city laws were always presented in the courts as progressive.
Something wicked this way has come, I thought, but I kept these misgivings to myself.
Rounding the last hillock to enter into the clayish fields before the city, I marked the peasants working their meager plots and the foremen who fiercely oversaw them. The agriculture work was basic and hard, yet the city must be fed. It was thus with anticipation of some thirst relief that we passed through the Leopard Gate to enter the Laymen's Quarter. Taking my leave, I quickly located a tavern, the Twisted Tyrant Inn, and set up there for the night.
I followed back the path, which the caravan had traveled. The going was slow as I was on alert for any humanoid activity. After the better part of the morning, I entered the dry holloway, which led to the main road. The banks were tree lined and steep on both sides; the path meandered as a spring fed stream would, cutting its way through earth and rock. I grew wary. Without the protection of the caravan guards, ambush in this place was a real possibility, and there were plenty of hiding places to support it. I paused off to the side of the path. And then began again carefully. Soon I had confirmation of the legitimacy of my concern. Sure enough, up ahead of a bend in the path some 30 yards away stood three, particularly tall, murderous, jackal headed warriors, armed with war axes. I drew my dagger, a diversion while I cast my spell.
The jackal men charged. And, a spinning fire wheel launched from the Ring of Quasar on my right hand. It started small but increased in size as it rotated until it filled the gully as it sped toward my enemies. They blanched at the magic, but it was too late for them. The roaring wheel engulfed them, searing them to their armor and leaving only thick blackened husks collapsed in a heap. Instinctively, I spun around, casting another fire wheel, no look. Sure enough two more jackal warriors had crept up from the backside. They met the same fate as their burned pack mates up front. I grunted in satisfaction. The expenditure would only cost me two weeks of iron will meditation to recover the future use of the ring. Such were my thoughts as I stepped around the smoldering corpses.
Proceeding onward again and with no more mishaps, I made good time, hitting the main road just after noon. There I took up with a traveling feather merchant also heading to the city. Along the way, he informed me that Prince Roshed, the ruler of the City d'Arcs, had recently placed 100 criminals in gibbets along the Traitors Way. Some were women and children. This news came as a surprise to me, for the city laws were always presented in the courts as progressive.
Something wicked this way has come, I thought, but I kept these misgivings to myself.
Rounding the last hillock to enter into the clayish fields before the city, I marked the peasants working their meager plots and the foremen who fiercely oversaw them. The agriculture work was basic and hard, yet the city must be fed. It was thus with anticipation of some thirst relief that we passed through the Leopard Gate to enter the Laymen's Quarter. Taking my leave, I quickly located a tavern, the Twisted Tyrant Inn, and set up there for the night.
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