…continues from Book #01, Chapter #09, Scene #09

Synopsis

The 28th Day of Ches in the Year of the Sudden Journey
The group chased down an orc that stole some of their goods from the wagon along the Old Road and have managed to overcome the forces that met them at the orcs’ stronghold.

Within the stronghold they met a strange creature and struggled to defeat it. They now rest and recuperate.

Cast List

Scene Length

This scene starts on Wednesday 5th December 2012 and is expected to be completed by the end of Friday 21st December 2012.

Players are expected to be able to post at least once a day.

Just inside the doorway, stood amongst a number of entwined tendrils near a deep red pool of blood was Khalin. The dwarf wasn’t moving, simply staring at the blood with a slack-jawed face, trying his best to comprehend the actions that had taken place in here.

Zero had seen little of Tradden and Khalin’s attacks on one another, provoked and marshalled by the now-dead creature, but he had heard some of the cracks of the warlord’s hammer and the cries of the young fighter. He wasn’t too sure what to make of it, so for now let the dwarf continue to stare down at the bloody floor.

At the far side of the kitchen area Kireth was leaning back against the broken cupboards, his hands tightly grasping his staff and his chest rising and falling heavily. He looked very pale in the flickering candlelight, the witchlight of his staff spent with the energy of his last spell. The mage’s eyes were firmly focused on the carcass of the beast, but his mind was elsewhere, thinking, calculating, predicting.

Only Beltak had appeared to have moved since the creature had fallen. The scribe had grabbed one of the chairs surrounding the table, set it upright and planted himself firmly in it, head in his hands on the table. He wasn’t sobbing, but Zero felt it not right to disturb the young lad.

Crossing the kitchen discreetly, he picked up one of the candles from the table and poked his head through the gap in the curtain.

He spent a couple of moments as still as he could, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness and his ears attune to the silence that pervaded the shack.

Nothing seemed to stir, not even up in the arches in the gloomy ceiling. With caution he stepped into the main room, tracing silent steps towards the small tables that held their own candles, lighting each as he passed.

A soft, warm glow began to spring up around the room as he set the candlewicks alight and the strangely ordered chaos of the room flooded back into his memory.

At some point there had probably been a second floor, probably until very recently judging by the sharpness of the splintered beams and wooden struts above. The staircase ran up to oblivion, no floor for it to connect to. Even with the candlelight the very top of the roof was shrouded in darkness.

There was no debris, however, no signs of disrepair as such. Whatever had been done with the floor, it had been done concisely and neatly.

Over on the large table by the fireplace stood the Platolabe, glistening quietly to itself in the dim light from the candles, oblivious to the group’s struggles, next to the bound sheaf of parchments that the creature, as a gnoll, had been poring over.

To the side of the table, stacked neatly on the floor, were another few books, with more parchments rolled up alongside them.

To his dismay the rogue could not see anything shiny and he drew a long audible sigh. With a flourish he drew up a chair, facing the Platolabe with the fireplace behind it.

‘Well,’ he started, slightly louder than necessary, ‘you’ve certainly caused us a lot of trouble in a short space of time.’

From seemingly nowhere the rogue produced a flask of wine, raised it to the Platolabe, and took a long draught.

‘By the gods,’ uttered Rangrim, staring at the blood and gore splattered across Tradden’s chest, ‘what in the name of the Nine Hells happened here?’

The dwarf looked about at the corpses of the orcs upon the dusty floor of the clearing, and propped up against the house.

‘This lot made a right mess of ye!’ he continued, studying Khalin’s wounds. ‘Ye not think about a tactical withdrawal?’ he added.

Sorrow pushed past the rogue and circled the porch slowly, examining the rotting tendrils from a safe distance. ‘I’m not sure it was the orcs, Rangrim,’ she began softly. ‘What was this?’

She looked back at Tradden and Khalin, awaiting some sort of answer.

‘Size is obviously very important to you,’ replied the tiefling, picking her way carefully over the rotting flesh. ‘I’m assuming the others are in here in one piece?’

Tradden watched her go and with a sigh turned back towards Khalin. There was Rangrim staring back at him with a smile on his lips.

‘Looks like you get all the fun,’ he stated and started to check the orcish corpses for anything of use. ‘The others are just behind. Doesn’t look as though you’re in any shape to move on today. Guess we’ll be resting here.’

‘The others were close behind us,’ said Sorrow, joining them in the main room. Her eyes widening at the pile of books and parchments. ‘I’m sure Rangrim will go and guide them in here.’

She moved slowly, almost catlike, towards the books and wth a nod to Zero picked up the first from the pile.

With slender fingers she thumbed through the pages, drawing a wry smile.

‘An odd choice,’ she commented and tossed the volume towards Khalin who almost fumbled it with surprise.

The book was heavy, as long as his forearm and as thick as his fist, bound with a soot-blackened leather cover. All of the edges were singed, as though it had once been in a fire and only just survived. No words or inscriptions marked the front or the spine, so Khalin opened the book up to gather the contents.

The pages were dirty, also soot-stained, but well thumbed and covered with marks, bloodstains, and perhaps even worse. The writing was small, but neat and legible in a flowing black ink. The incredible pieces, however, were the illustrations — monochrome in the same black ink, but exquisitely drawn.

They were of creatures that Khalin had only ever heard of in old wives’ tales and stories of old, and some of beasts that he had no idea of what they were. He raised an eyebrow at Sorrow.

‘A Zoonomicon if I’m not mistaken,’ the bard offered. ‘A list of beasts, creatures, and monsters of the lands. Ecologies, cultures, that sort of thing. Not sure what a band of orcs would want with it, though.’

She picked up the next book, thumbing through it in a similar fashion to the first. This one appeared to be of a looser leaf than the first, bound by thin leather straps and a pair of wooden struts rather than the intricate leather of the first.

It too was burnt around the edges, much of the parchment that it bound was scarred and lost beyond repair, but the bulk of the inside pages were at least safe.

‘Hmm, a ritual book, if I’m not mistaken,’ she said, laying it down reverently on the table to the accompaniment of Kireth’s raised eyebrow.

‘And what is this one?’ she questioned, picking up the last. This one was much smaller, perhaps only a hand across, and much thinner. It did not bear any marks of fire damage. Reading the cover drew a frown.

‘Where in the nine hells is Deepingwald?’ she muttered to herself.

Sorrow continued her frown.

‘Perhaps you have some insight into this, Beltak?’ she queried, tossing the small book to the puzzled scribe.

Beltak flapped to catch the book awkwardly and his face turned from puzzlement to intense scrutiny. There was obviously something amiss with the book as the scribe spent a long time analysing the cover before opening up the tome. When he did so, it was with a gasp.

His voice was a-tremble and his hands were shaking. ‘B-but… but how can this be?’ he stammered.

Heads turned to face the young scribe. ‘The book, it’s… it’s one of ours.’

The comment seemed to make no sense.

‘What do you mean?’ roared back Khalin, in no mood for puzzles or riddles.

‘It’s a copy of the Annals of Pelor,’ Beltak replied, somewhat sheepishly. ‘A genuine copy if I’m not mistaken. Several copies are always made to go into the archives in the Temple of Light in Deepingwald. This one appears to be current up until two or three tendays ago.’

‘I guess that’s just before The Guiding Fire’s last fateful journey.’ he added reluctantly.

‘Well right now I don’t think any of us are in a fit state to think too deeply about this. We need to rest and clean our wounds,’ said Khalin, picking up the chairs in the room and trying to see where makeshift beds could be made.

‘If we rest up here we can keep warm and dry for the night. An early start and we might get to the edge of this damned forest.’ he continued, grumbling into his beard.

‘Once we get everyone here and settled and we’ve had something to eat,’ the dwarf began again, perking Zero up with the mention of food, ‘we can think on what all this means.’

There was a brief silence after Khalin had spoken and only a slight shuffling of feet. Tradden, always keen to impress regardless of the cuts and bruises he carried, coughed and turned to Sorrow.

‘Shall we go back to the road and flag down the wagon?’ the young fighter offered. ‘I’m sure we could get it through the underbrush and into the clearing outside without too much trouble.’

Sorrow nodded back and headed towards the door with Tradden closely following.

Khalin grunted, nodding at the pair as they left the room. ‘The rest of us can start getting rid of these orc corpses and that… that… thing. Drag ‘em to the edge of the clearing and burn them,’ he stated flatly, then with a whirl changed his mind. ‘No! Don’t burn them yet, we don’t want the smoke attracting anything. Let’s just pile them up, we can set fire to them when we leave.’

With that, the dwarf turned and walked back into the kitchen area. Clambering over the rotting corpse of the tendrilled monstrousity he bathed for a moment in the spring warmth of the sun. Then he bent down and grabbed a hold on half a dozen of the tendrils, pulling and yanking the bulk of the thing off the edge of the porch and away to the edge of the treeline.

It was heavy and even with the warlord’s strength it was slow work. Kireth smiled disdainfully but refused to help, concentrating on the ritual book that had been discovered and the maps and charts on the parchments. Zero gave the creature a wide berth, but set to dragging the orcs in the same direction, puffing, huffing, and complaining all of the time. Rangrim did the same, but with less complaints and no wheezing.

Beltak was the only one to come across to Khalin and offer assistance, holding onto some of the tendrils himself and helping the dwarf to drag the beast away.

Between them the group set up camp quickly and efficiently and before the gloom of the oncoming evening settled in they were finished.

The oxen were tied by a long rope to a stake in the ground outside the main building, free to wander for now and pick the best of the grass and weeds. Borik and Aukan rubbing them down and checking to make sure that they were suffering no ill effects from the battles or the continual rub of the harnesses.

Khalin, Rhasgar and Sorrow were deeply entrenched with examining the maps and parchments of the strange creature, trying to work out what they all meant. Beltak was close by, but still distracted and confused about the discovery of The Annals of Pelor within the house. Kireth stayed in the main room with them, although at a distance, sitting in the corner in the shadows, watching and listening intently.

Zero sat in the kitchen area, his concentration focused on a bone needle and thread that he had somehow spirited up, carefully but crudely repairing the many cuts and tears in his embroidered garments, still amazed at the skill of the tailor that had managed to provide such beautiful clothes with the strength for their seams not to split at such action.

Lee-da-Gaar spent much of the time under the large tree, stretching and practising slow movements over and over again, his leg nearly fully healed. Bekio watched him from the base of the tree, sat under the branches on the floor in silence.

Miri had busied herself in the kitchen, idly chatting to Zero, and had lit a small fire in the iron stove, finding a pot and washing it repeatedly, before taking to making a broth from the provisions they had. The rogue often visiting the stove to help check how tasty the broth was.

Rangrim and Tradden had taken to assigning themselves some sort of sentry duty, pacing the perimeter of the clearing, looking and listening for anything untoward through the wall of trunks and branches.

As darkness drew on and the easterly wind began to pick up the group set to searching their camp thoroughly for anything they had missed.

Kireth and Beltak poked around the main room, checking the side of the fireplace and examining the remains of the staircase that led up into the empty air. It seemed obvious that the upper level of the room had been removed recently, judging by the axe or blade marks on the rafters, and none too carefully either. Other than the books and the parchments, however, they found nothing of any value. The pair even drew aside the rugs upon the floor but did not find any hint of a door or entrance to a cellar.

The kitchen area was left to Zero and Miri to check, the lady examining the many small cupboards, some broken and smashed, others still intact and the rogue idling out onto the porch and poking anything that looked untoward with his shortsword. The cupboards were relatively bare, dust and mould the only companions to broken pieces of pottery and old iron pots. The stove, with Miri’s stew slowly bubbling, appeared to be the only serviceable remains.

Tradden wandered over to the pile of orc corpses holding his nose. They were ugly brutes and were in the early stages of starting to putrify, the stench starting to build. He would be happier once night had fallen and they could burn the things. Firstly, though, he began to give their bodies a quick check for anything they might have missed in the heat of the battle. The beasts bore poor quality armour and it seemed unlikely to the young fighter that they would have much else of value. He traced the great scars across some of their temples, like welts, and compared them to his own that the tendrilled-creature had bestowed upon him before turning back to the others who were starting to inspect the clearing.

The rest, with the exception of Borik and Bekio who kept a watch on the treelines, had started to search the general area, concentrating first on the courtyard before the house, the large tree, and then around to the side and around the back. Apart from the broken remains of old carts left to gradually rot on the ground, there was little of interest with the exception of the crumbling well.

The well was quite large, almost six feet across, built with good sized stones in quite sharp repair. Somewhere deep below was brackish water, judging by the smell. The theory put to the test when Zero dropped down a stone and heard a satisfying plop some distance away. A scowl from Kireth chastened the rogue.

With searches completed and darkness crept upon them the party set to deciding watches and what wards they would put in place.

Once Miri’s stew was consumed the wagon was pulled up as close to the building as it could be and the two oxen ushered into the kitchen and fastened loosely with rope to the stove. Borik offered them some words of solace and they seemed fairly content to lay down and munch on the grain from the wagon.

Beds were made in the main room, towards the fire which was kept at a low flame, crackling and occasionally hissing at those that lay down to sleep.

Khalin moved towards the pile of orcs and the black creature, lighting them as best he could with a torch, the flames catching fire on their jerkins. He said some small words to Moradin with distaste and turned back towards the house, content for the moment to stay up for his watch before turning in for the night.

Aukan accompanied the dwarf until the deed had been done, but then turned to sit at the base of the great tree, the other side from the orc-sourced fire and stared out into the treeline to scour for movement.

Khalin preferred not to sit and wait but to pace around the building slowly, looking at the treeline and sky from many angles, encircling the building time after time until his allocated watch was up.

Zero had fallen asleep as soon as he had lain down, but was rudely awoken (in his opinion) by the warlord after only a couple of hours, his watch with Borik and Miri about to start. Staggering to the porch, he let Borik pace around the building and Miri climb the tree, sitting in the branches, whilst he took a chair from the kitchen by the sleeping oxen and sat with his crossbow on his knee in the shadows of the porch. He woke a couple of hours later, pale, sweating and short of breath as Miri shook him with a frown.

Kireth did not appear to be too happy when he was pushed roughly out of his slumber, his eyes dark and foreboding. The mage joined Lee-da-Gaar and Sorrow on his watch but spoke to neither, lost in his own bleak thoughts and spent much of his time pacing in the shadows at the side of the building.

Beltak, Rangrim and Bekio took the next watch before waking Tradden and Rhasgar for the last before dawn. The young fighter seemed much refreshed from the previous day’s exploits with a firm resolve etched on his face.

The night had passed with no threat from the treeline and when Tradden and Rhasgar began to wake the others they were greeted with a fresh breeze bringing cool, crisp air and a glorious pink sky to the east.

Camp was busy once everyone was roused with a hearty breakfast laid on by Aukan after Borik had ushered the sleeping oxen out into the clearing. The old dwarf set to hitching the pair to the wagon, pulling it out into the open ready for the morning’s journey.

The remains of the orcs and the black tendrilled beast were now just a softly smouldering pile to the east of the clearing, much reduced to ashes, the rest would rot or be consumed by the forest wildlife one supposed.

Kireth had ensured that the parchments and books were safely gathered and placed the Platolabe back into its sack and stowed it securely on the back of the wagon next to Ulmo’s wrapped and preserved corpse.

Despite the horrors and exertions of the previous day there appeared to be a general cheer amongst the group, the thought of only a day or two’s further marching through the forest and the Old Road before they could sight the foothills of the Cairngorm Peaks lightening their hearts. Even Zero seemed to be enthusiastic about the day’s walk.

Beltak, however, seemed troubled and pre-occupied, turning the copy of The Annals of Pelor over and over in his white-knuckled hands, muttering to himself and shaking his head from time to time.

As the pink sky faded to a bright blue with small wisps of white people turned to Khalin, ready for his instructions with the anticipation of the march.

Khalin looked at the expectant throng. He was eager to get on the way east, to search out the towns and cities of the Old Continent, something only a month or two ago he would have thought impossible. Now he was here and leading a formidable group with a quest in his heart.

‘Friends,’ he began, standing on the porch to elevate his height, ‘we have come a long way and defeated many foes. I will not say the rest of our journey will be easy but we have the strength and mettle to succeed. Onwards to the Nentir Vale!’

He rose Aecris with a flourish and as if on cue Borik shouted at the oxen to move and they steadily pulled the cart back towards the Old Road.

The warlord trotted up to the side of Tradden and Kireth. ‘We’re up front today so eyes and ears smart.

The wagon pushed through the undergrowth and sapling trees onto the road much easier this time and with a last suspicious glance at the smouldering tendrils the group turned eastwards on the Old Road.

Kireth’s enthusiastic temperament took a little while to fade, even during the long eastward march. He refrained from annexing the seat next to Borik on the wagon, allowing others to take turns in a short rest aboard the sturdy vehicle. In fact the mage did not even take his own turn, content to walk with a confident stride, clutching his staff and making good speed, muttering to himself as he went.

Tradden, despite the heavy injuries he suffered on the previous day, also seemed to be lifted. The thought of wide open spaces and a view of the mountains only a day’s march away. His long legs carried him quicker than the others and often Khalin had to remonstrate him from drifting too far away from the others.

Khalin remained resolute as the group’s leader, marshalling the wagon train, sending out scouts at regular intervals and making sure enough rest and food was taken by all. He was keen, perhaps more so than Tradden, to view the mountains for himself and be out of the forest, but he knew that caution must be observed.

In Zero there was no real change from previous marches. The rogue continued to moan and groan at the pace and at the lack of rest stops and meagre food and drink. Stones appeared to find their way into his boots at regular intervals as though he had befallen a curse and every root that managed to poke its way up through the uneven cobbles bore an innate hatred of the rogue, going out of their way to grow and stretch and trip him up. Still, in the times he wasn’t grumbling or cursing his path, he managed a tuneful whistle, so at least at heart he was bright.

The morning passed relatively uneventfully, with only the occasional woodland creature bursting from the forest’s edge and darting back inwards to break the monotony of the march. The Old Road continued as straight as it could towards the east, with few bends to break its line. Only the gentle rises and falls of the ground, gradually increasing in scale, prevented the group from looking down the road far to the east.

The weather stayed dry, although cool, but this suited the group, and they were able to make good progress. By the time they had stopped for a midday meal they had travelled perhaps three leagues and Khalin appeared to be pleased.

With some quick lunch in a sheltered hollow, Khalin shared his pleasure with the progress.

‘We’ve made good progress so far,’ the warlord smiled at Rhasgar and Sorrow. ‘I think we only have another three or four leagues before we break out of the forest. Perhaps even this evening if we continue the way we are going. It will be dark by then, though, so I’d suggest we stay within the shelter of the trees if we get that far, and scout out the land and the road ahead at first light tomorrow. What say ye?’

There was a general consensus from the group, no sense in camping out in the open when there were shelter of trees to be had. Aukan had expressed the opinion that he felt a storm was coming from the east and would be upon them by nightfall, but with the gentle breeze and white clouds above it was difficult to believe it.

Zero grumbled as they set off once more.

The afternoon’s march began much the same as the morning’s, with good progress made and general high spirits. However, as Aukan predicted, the weather started to take a turn for the worse, the wind freshening and strengthening and the clouds gathering ominously overhead.

Within a couple of hours the first drops of rain began to fall, Zero cursing them with vigour. A gentle fall grew until Khalin decided to stop the wagon and get out some of the canvas sheets to form a makeshift shelter. They stretched it over the top of the wagon and propped it up by some hastily cut saplings to give them all somewhere to try and get dry.

‘Hmm, the gloom is beginning to fall,’ started the warlord. ‘We’re maybe a league or so from the edge, perhaps we should call a halt here and get prepared for a rough night? We can assess the situation in the morning depending on the weather. For now we need more permanent protection from the rain and wind.’

There was a sigh of relief from Zero and the hubbub of Tradden’s thoughts as the young fighter explained his plans for shelters. Some were useful and the group set to gathering logs and saplings to help them erect a number of small shelters.

It took an hour or so in the driving rain and everyone was thoroughly soaked by the time they had finished. Six sturdy shelters had been constructed, as well as a small one for the oxen. It would be enough to see out the storm they hoped.

As they finally managed to get undercover and remove the wettest of their garments the first peal of thunder rolled out across the forest.

‘We’ve no chance of getting out stuff dry in this,’ complained Zero, trying to squeeze out the rainwater from his equisitely tailored clothes. The rogue was down to his underclothes, not at all embarrased, and was trying to dry, clean, and press the garments all at once. The shelter he shared with Kireth, who seemed cheerful, if quiet, toying with the books and the items he had found so far.

Khalin was grouped together with Rhasgar and Sorrow and spent much of the time discussing the maps and parchments they had found, plotting their path forwards. There was many a furrowed brow in that particular shelter and often a heated argument between the three.

Tradden had hoped to share a little time with Sorrow and had been crestfallen when she had moved to join Khalin and Rhasgar to ‘plot’. He tried to break conversation with Miri, who had perhaps been the quietest of all the Talons with the obvious exception of Bekio. She, however, took one of the shelters the furthest away, probably for he and Sorrow to share once the tiefling had finished the discussions with the paladin and warlord.

Beltak and Lee-da-Gaar had struck up quite a conversation, principly around how the two temples that they followed differed and how their religious beliefs stemmed from different principles. It amused Tradden for a little while, but quickly became dull to the action-seeking fighter.

Rangrim and Aukan grabbed another of the shelters, the large goliath and the smaller dwarf somehow fitting together under the makeshift roof of their shelter. They shared jokes and some wine from the wagon and would likely have been suitable companionship for Tradden and his mood, but alas there would only be room under the rain drenched sky for him to sit and that simply wasn’t palatable.

The fighter had finally come around to the fact that he would be sharing with Bekio, the halfling, or the old dwarf, Borik. Or, he would be on his own.

The rain failed to cease its downpour and arcs of lightning joined the thunder in the sky. Hardy as they were, the oxen both became twitchy and it took all of Borik’s patience along with extra apples and grain from the cart to keep them from bolting.

The mood in the camp quietened as they tried their best to keep dry and warm. Lighting fires was almost impossible now that the majority of wood was sodden and the group were restricted to two large torches, standing erect to attention in the centre of the camp, that Kireth and Bekio kept lit between them by their magics.

Discussions with Rhasgar and Sorrow had finished and Khalin found himself tired, stripping off his armour in a doomed attempt to keep dry. The shelters kept the bulk of the rain from their backs, but as the storm grew the water was finding its way in here and there and the warlord knew the night would be uncomfortable.

‘Same watches as last night,’ the dwarf called around the camp. ‘Myself and Aukan first, then you, Zero, with Borik and Miri. Your turn then, Kireth, with Lee-da-Gaar and Sorrow.’ At this, Tradden’s hopeful face fell. Khalin didn’t notice. ‘After that it’s Beltak, with Rangrim and Bekio. Finally it’s you Tradden, alongside Rhasgar.’ There was general agreement and nodding from around the camp, though no-one seemed too keen to stand watch in the storm. A couple of hours watching from the cold and wet in the middle of the night was not appealing to anyone.

With the watch allocated people began to turn in for the night, adjusting the roofs of their shelters as best they could and trying to keep their bedrolls and blankets out of reach of any drips.

Khalin and Aukan’s watch passed without any event. The rain continued to fall incessantly and the strikes of lightning seemed to grow in number as the wind whipped itself up into a frenzy. Things were hard to see through the curtain of rain and hearing anything was difficulty with the wind and the thunder. The pair were much relieved when they passed on the responsibility of the watch to Zero.

The rogue took a long time to rise and looked thoroughly disheartened that the time had come for him to sit up in the cold and peer into the wild, murky depths of the forest. Although Miri was intriguing he still wasn’t comfortable with her quietness and reluctance to enter conversation and the dwarf Borik simply smelt of ox.

Over the course of his watch, however, the rains began to falter and the lightning ceased. Far off he could still hear the rumbles of thunder as the storm moved off to the west and the rogue managed to get up and about the camp without getting too wet.

The hairs on the back of Zero’s neck rose as he walked towards Kireth’s shelter to wake him. Something was approaching from behind, and fast. He whirled about, hand going towards his crossbow, lips ready to sound alarm, but saw nothing. The sensation did not go away, though, and he began to hum to himself to calm his nerves, his eyes slowly moving upwards to the sky.

Then he saw it. Above him, what looked like miles up in the air. A black shadow streaked just below the cloudline, lithe and almost beautiful, wings outstretched and banking, turning from southwards towards the east, its head going from side to side, searching. He froze. The silhouette against the sky was like that of a dragon, drawings and pictures from his youth now returning to haunt him. A real dragon. And it was looking for something.

He reminded himself to breathe and then thought of the torches. It was too late, the thing would probably have seen them. His legs were rooted to the floor and he couldn’t move, whether through fear or fatigue he couldn’t tell.

The shadow passed, though, continuing its flight to the east before it disappeared over the tops of the trees. He exhaled, managed to move, and sought out Miri.

The lady had not seen or heard anything, nor had the dwarf, Borik. Part of Zero didn’t know whether he had imagined it. As he went back to Kireth to wake the mage he mentioned it bashfully, but Kireth seemed to understand and reassured the rogue with a smile that he would be keeping his sight very keen.

Kireth found his watch disdainful. This would be the last time he would be woken in the middle of the night for a watch, rather than at the more convenient start or end of the rest. The boy Tradden could break his sleep next time, or the dwarf.

The rain had almost stopped, just a fine drizzle now falling upon his hood. There would be a mist in the morning, of that he was sure. He checked the torches, keeping their light low, but enough for the humans within the group to see. As part of his elven heritage the mage could see some distance into the dark and had no need for the illumination, but he knew the weak humans would need something to aid them in the gloom and darkness of the forest.

For the first half of his watch he kept glancing up at the sky, sometimes hoping that he might spot the majestic flight of a dragon and sometimes fearing that it might spot him. However, nothing spread its wings across the sky, at least not below the grey clouds above.

He was caught in such a reverie when Sorrow hissed across to him. Turning he saw her cupping her ear and pointing towards the road, to the east.

A sound of scuttling legs and the march of boots from the east, splashing in the mud of the road, rose up over the sound of the drizzle and wind. A creak of wooden wheels on the occasional cobblestone was growing closer and a faint smell of death and decay hung in the air.

Tradden caught the edge of the steel with his flint and a swift spark of fire transferred to the drenched torch.

Nothing happened.

Tradden opened his eyes to the whisper of Khalin in his ear, ‘Yer bloody idiot, Skillet’s grog doesn’t burn!’ The element of surprise was potentially gone and the cocky words on the young fighter’ ready lips faltered.

‘Shirak!’ came the half-elven hiss from behind him and the air above the young fighter exploded in a technicolour dazzle, light projecting out to the east and illuminating the road.

In the stark brightness the outline of a large beast, similar to one they had faced within the ruined keep reared its ugly head, twisting away from the intense beam, making a large wooden vehicle behind it shudder and creak. Alongside it tall humanoids, probably hobgoblins Tradden thought, shielded their eyes.

‘Goblins!’ Khalin growled. ‘Charge!’