Staff of Ice, Heart of Shadow-1/17/09

[tskfrc58]

20 Years ago-Northern Reaches of Vaasa, north of the Vassan gate Fortress.

A cold, north wind blows upon a hillside littered with an assortment of rocks, and harsh tufts of grass. The sun is setting quickly, and shadows are climbing up from the valley below, reaching out like the hand of a great, unseen evil, grasping at anything in its path.

A sobbing young man, perhaps seventeen, crawls on his hands and knees, towards an overturned wagon. Near the wagon, an eviscerated, headless corpse of a young woman lays, on its back, with several arrows imbedded in it. The head is nowhere to be seen, however, a small bundle lays in the snow next to the corpse, also covered in blood. The man cries out in agony as he struggles to stand, his flesh exposed to the biting winds, unprotected, if not for the blood-stained, tattered robe which clings to him. The robe, now shredded, marks him as a student apprentice to the court for the Southern Wall-Fortress known as the Vaasan Gate.

"Ilsha?" The man cries out weakly, as he begins to take in the scene around him. "Ilsha! Ilsha , No!" He staggers towards the corpse of the woman, and collapses in a heap alongside it, arms grasping the corpse in a grotesque, entrail covered embrace. The sickly-sweet smell of death rises hard in his nostrils, as his sobs are muffled out by another, unwelcome sound, the cawing of a carrion bird.

With a whoosh and a flapping of wings, a large carrion bird settles down a short distance away from the man and his slain wife, un-noticed by either. The bird, large, even by vulture standards, settles its great wings into place, then cants its head to the side, turning to survey the area for danger. Not seeing a threat, the bird takes a few short hops forward, craning its mottled,yellow neck as it reaches the small bundle laying in the snow. The bird is but a few short yards from the bereaved man, who continues to wail. A light flurry of snow begins to fall on the hillside.

"Ilsha, my wife, please...forgive me...i was not strong enough...to stop them..." The man cradles the headless-corpse, rocking slowly back and forth, and muttering aloud. "My wife....oh my wife....how will i raise our... son?!" A dawning horror seizes the man, as he realizes that, in his shock and greif, he has neglected to look for the third occupant of the wagon...
"Uthar!?" He calls out, more of a scream, than a query."Uthar!!" He spots the carrion bird and the bundle, with the former pecking away at what appears to be the face of a small infant. "Noooo!!!!" The scream pierces the twilight air, startling the vulture into action. The man charges towards the bird, flailing his arms, but the bird seizes the bundle in its talons, and hops away, dragging the body of the child away like some sick, cruel game. Finally, the bird lifts itself into the air, with the bundle in tow, and wings away into the night, leaving the man to his anguish.
"NOOOooooooooo!!!" The scream dies away to an uncontrolled fit of crying and babbling, as the man ,slowly losing his mind, craws into a fetal position, amidst piles of clothing and hides, underneath the overturned wagon.

"Miraster? No No No. Miraster is not here...here...not...no...not here" *Forced, high pitch laughter, and the man's voice changes, to a deeper, darker copy of itself*

"Ha ho ha ha hee ha. You should have saved them, Its your fault, Miraster!"

"No! I tried! My magics wore out! I ..."

*again the other voice* "No, No you didnt, you didnt try...because you were WEAK. And you KNOW what happens to the WEAK. You are nothing. You are useless. You are CATTLE! Yes, Yes!"

*the sane voice again*"I am not...I am...I...Am...No...I. Stop talking to me! Get out of my head! Who are you!? WHO ARE YOU! Leave me alone!!"

*the deeper voice* "Oh...you KNOW who I am.You KNOW. Yes you do!" *evil laughter*"I am your son. I am Uthar! Ahahahah!"
In the man's mind , an image of his newly killed son appears in front of him, its face horribly disfigured by the tearing talons and beak of the carrion bird.

"Noo! Go away! Leave me alone! Noo!!I. Im ..sorry! i ....No!!" *a high pitched squealing scream rises from the man's throat, replaced suddenly by the deep voice* "Oh I AM Uthar....and I can guarantee you will never be weak again, fool!"

*rising laughter takes hold in the night, as the darkness swallows up the hillside. Somewhere, another Carrion bird caws, and the snow picks up, turning turn into a full-blown blizzard, covering the entire landscape in a thick blanket of white snow.

[tskfrc58]

5 years ago-Eastern Cormanthor-A trading skiff on the southeast Moonsea, east of Elmwood-

"I swear by Tymora, there's something down in tha hold,Master Kerrick, and it aint just the rats, this time!." The young deckhand, all of maybe sixteen years, stands aside the ship's wheel, as an older, obviously more sea-wise man, pilots the small vessel on its course.

Master Kerrick, captain, and owner, of the Mist Chaser, a single masted trader out of harrowdale: "And I tell you, Orin,If you've been at the Thentian Brandy, again Ill toss you over the side myself, I will. Ever since we ported that pair of caskets back from Phlan last trip, you've been acting silly"

Orin, shaking his head,"No, Im serious! And besides...you saw those caskets yourself, you saw the priests that loaded them! Ruddy evil-lookin they were! Prolly them necro-manseers, like in tha stories! I tell you i heard chantin...CHANTIN up for'ard las night!"

Kerrick:"Its necromancers, you fool, and besides, they paid well enough, didnt they? Look, we be but a few 'ours from Elmwood, the ship could sail herself from here, If i 'ad a mind to toss your lazy carcass overboard. Now...get for'ard and check tha sounding, will you? We are nearin' shoal water, an we run aground the tide'll have us here all night, 'an ill 'ave yer arse fer twenty lashes, i will!"

Orin runs forward on the short deck, leaning far out over the spar with a weighted throw, and dutifully checks the depth, calling back soundings over the next few minutes:

"Fiiiive fathoooooms!"

Kerrick:"Five, aye, check 'er again, lad."

"Threeee fathoooooms!"
Kerrick: "Aye, lad, hang-to, comin ta port!"

"Fouuurrr Fathooooms!"

The sea darkens slowly, as the sun's disc heads toward the horizon.

"Fiiiive Fathoooms!"

Kerrick:"Aye lad we are almost clear o' em"

"Fiiive fathooooms!"

Kerrick:" Aye..."

"Siiiiiix fathoooooms!"

"Siiiiiiix fathoooooooms?"

A voice, most definately not kerrick: "That will be quite good enough, young Orin.Thank you."

"Kill him."

Orin turns, startled, just in time to see a skeletal arm swinging a scimitar directly at his head. He tries to utter a scream, but his head has already left his torso, and it drops toward the water below. For a moment, his left arm flails defensively, until the right arm, freed of command, looses its grip on the spar. The corpse follows the head, splashing into the waters of the Moonsea, barely audible over the passing bow waves.

"Quite good enough, indeed" A hooded, blue and black robed man shimmers into appearance, standing behind his skeletal minion. "Make fast the wheel, you have done your work, my minion"

The skeleton lurches into action ascommanded, stepping awkwardly over the bloody corpse of Kerrick, and places its hand upon the blood-slick wheel, holding the skiff to its course.

From beneath the shadowed hood of the robed man a white gleam of teeth denotes a spreading grin, as he looks to the approaching coastline of Eastern Cormanthyr, which is slowly darkening as the sun sets across the Moonsea...

[tskfrc58]

3 Years ago- Cormanthyr, several days south of Elmwood- A moonlit night.
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They came across the bodies two days ago, seven of them, floating in the waters of the river Duathamper, during the height of the midsummer's festival. The bodies were part of a group of a dozen villagers, mostly children and their adult chaperone, the town constable William Corbet, a veteran of the Elmwood militia. They had set out for Elmwood to fetch goods and supplies for the festival the week before. Most of their bodies were not intact, having suffered at the teeth of various scavengers since their demise. Their cause of death would not have been immediately apparent, nor could it have been argued in any court of the realm. They were simply dead, floating in the river.

To the townsfolk, their was never any doubt as to the cause, however, ever since they came to learn that a man had taken up residence north of them, two years past, in the ruins of an old abbey. The man was not altogether hostile towards any of them, indeed, he never came to town at all, It was this lack of interest in the town that sparked the curiosity of some of the more adventurous youth, who took to spying on himfrom time to time . The tales that they would regale their freinds with were more fabric , than fact, but enough truth came out of them to let the townsfolk know that this man was a wizard, and that he was not altogether a wholesome one. The town constable preached to them that the man had violated no laws, and seemed to just want to be left alone, and thats what they should do, and to get on about their own troubles.

Still, whenever things seemed to go wrong, a habit developed, among some of the people, of attributing it to "that wierd guy in the wood". the growing tales of the children did not do much to dispel the image that was growing in their minds. And so it was, that on a midsummer night, an angry mob, fueled by their own anger, their sorrow, and their misguidance, set out to kill a man whom they had never spoken to, but had already judged, tried, and convicted.
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Torchlight dances with smoke, among the trees. A large group of villagers struggles along an old, nearly unusable road. They carry a medley of weapons and farming tools, bashing and hacking their way along what has degenerated into little more than a deer path. they vary in age from teenage boy to middle aged man. Cries of "Death to the Necromancer!" and "Kill the wizard" are frequent from the younger ones, and they carry far ahead of the group. The older of the men bear grim expressions, holding close their implements, less vocal, but no less intent, then the others. They know a little of what danger may lay ahead.

The smell alone was adequete to locate them from afar, for they are not alone. A medium-sized shape, darker even than the night-shadows, parallels their course with ease, its yellow eyes squinting in scrutiny from time to time. The cat picked up their scent effortlessly, but then,it knew they were coming. it had been told where to look, and when. The cat, seeing enough, darts off with nary a sound among the crashing din of the mob, sprinted out ahead of them to warn its master.

The cat arrives to the ruins of the Abbey, which, in ancient times, had served as a brief way-stop for the travelling afflicted. The central building was demolished long ago, by some unknown event, but one of the smaller ones remained, and it was here that the man the mob seeks setup residence.

"Nalhyllivareth, come."

The cat, which was proud and confident in its element, now drops its head and skulks to its master, communicating to him compliance with a low mewl.

The man reaches down, and lifts the panther's head, looking into its eyes for what seems like an age.

"The fools. If it is death they seek, then perhaps they will find more than they wish, my minion."

The man, guilty of so much in his life, was, in an ironic twist, innocent of this crime. He had spotted the bodies himself yesterday, while performing the simple task of washing his robe in the river. He had known their fate almost immediately by the odor of chlorine that still lingered on them, despite the river's washing effect. The bodies were also too badly damaged for him to make much use of, so he casually pushed them back out into the current with a gust of wind spell, to be rid of them.

"A pity the dragon didnt see to the village as well. Although i suppose it is interesting enough that one even came to be passing through this part of the wood at all. Come, cat, let us walk out to meet them, shall we?" the man chuckles darkly, as he picks up a black staff, and sets out in darkness to meet the mob.
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[tskfrc58]

The moon was well-risin...and shards of light broke through the foliage canopy, leaving shimmering patterns on the forest floor. The air was still, dead almost, yet the normally voracious biting insects of the river seemed to be missing. the usual night-sounds of the forest creatures were also missing, as if the denizens of the wood were hushed, awaiting a spectacle.

The wizard stood, centered in a small clearing, observing the dancing of the torchlights drawing near to him. To his side, the panther sat, attuning its senses to what was drawing near. The cat could smell fear on some of those that would harm THE MASTER, already its ears picked up unsteadiness in the steps of some of them, and it recognised the gaits of some of those it had trailed earlier. Soon THE MASTER would order him to the hunt, and he would hunt. The master uttered something softly, and moved his hands, the way he did when something particular bad was about to happen, but this time THE MASTER seemed to smile...whispering softly " ...The better to see you with, my cattle". the words meant nothing to the great cat, but its yellow eyes looked up at the wizard, regardless, waiting for approval. THE MASTER bade him to wait. He would wait. Wait for the hunt to begin, for THE MASTER.

"Oi! careful wit that damned torch, will ya? Thas the second time you 'most put me head afire, Wil" A bald, portly, yet pitchfork wielding man, probably in his forties, remarked to another to his right.

"Youll have more ta worry 'bout than torchfire if we dont catch this bastard unawares, i tell ya. Besides ye aint got no damn-ed hair ta burn, ya old fool."Wil, as baldy called him, carries a torch, awkwardly fastened at the end of an old halberd."This aint no goblin weasel we're after".

At that, baldy exhaled in a snort. "An youll have me fork in yer arse if ya keep on tryin to throw fear inta me. Besides, night liken ta this, methinks one could sleep sound as tha dead. Even the bugs' r' down fer the night."

"Downright creepy it is, I thinks, when ave ye ever know the bugs ta not be bitin?" A man wearing a straw hat quipped from just in front of them. "And i avn't 'eard even one screech owl all this bloody walk. I tell ya, them animals, they know somethin."

The three men were toward the rear of the group of farmers, and before them the group of twenty or so worked their way down the path as carefully as they thought they could be, under the light of a dozen torches. To an elf...or a predator, they made such a clamour that one would almost have to cover thier ears as to not hear them coming.

From the head of the group, a hand is raised, slowly at first...then faster. "Hold! Wait a moment, the lot of you." the new constable, elected after the death of William Corbit, sighs as the group stumbles into each other, amid a few curses, from somewhere in the back comes a sharp curse "Oi, dammit Wil!"

"Silence, you fools...listen!" the constable takes a few more steps forward, pausing to study the shadows the torchlight creates in the wood ahead. The man is older than many in the group, and carries a fairly well cared for sword at his side, and a breastplate of iron. Even after years of relative slackness, his old soldier's instincts tell him danger is close. he motions forward another, younger man.

"What is it, constable?" A young man, bearing a torch and a club, steps forth

"Hold that torch low...listen...do you hear it?"

"Wha.....hmm..." The younger man tilts his head slightly, straining to hear. "Sounds like....mumbling...a....oh gods....oh no!"

the constable draws his blade, and shouts "Make ready! He comes!"

From ahead of them, a glowing materializes
"He is already HERE, fools!" A gust of magical wind rises up quickly from nowhere, blowing out all of the torches. At the same time, from the rear of the group, a bestial snarl is heard, as the great cat roars into action.

"Aaaaaggghhhhh ...Wil...me ....arm...where's me arm!!" Then a gurgling scream from the back

"Show yourself Wizard!" the constable shouts

"You come seeking death. How fortunate for you that you have found it, yes?" The wizard's hands glow first blue, then white with energy....illuminating his hooded figure in an ethereal glow, as the constable charges forward, blade raised. "You bastard! You'll pay for those that you..."


"DIE fool!" Lightning sears forth from the left hand of the wizard, arcing out to meet the constable, striking him square in the chest. Tendrils of energy snake through him, coarsing over his breastplate, up his neck and sword arm, and exploding his eyeballs in a superheated pop. The man falls dead, even as another scream and a roar is heard from the rear of the group.

"So quick to judge. So quick to action. Where is your will now, cattle?" The wizard, aided by his darkvision spell, turns his attention to the men before him and begins chanting once again, this time his hands glowing with ice-white power.

The group of men turn into a panicked, screaming mob, and try to run, just as huge chunks of ice began to hurtle down through the tree canopy. Many are smashed down by ice chunks, or falling tree limbs, but three men manage to dash headlong into the nearby water. It was here that they discovered four skeletal creatures waiting for them. Skeletal creatures with teeth.

Two men manageto escape the Ice Storm, dropping their weapons, they run, screaming, back down the path. Instantly, a darker shape pursues them, close on their heels. First one ear-shattering scream, then followed by another, two minutes later, as unseen, feline, doom takes hold of them...

After a time, the night creatures began to chatter and squeal, and somewhere, close, an owl screeches out a plaintive call...

[tskfrc58]

Drawing near to Eastern Cormyr, one year ago

A great caravan plods its way along the moonsea road, travelling from Ashabenford to Tilverton, its many wagons are laden with wares for the merchants of Cormyr, drawn from afar, the goods of the eastern and northern lands will fetch high prices indeed.

This is a journey made somewhat frequently, and the caravan appears well guarded, with riders along the side of each wagon, and a good group of them in the front. Over the long march of years, Caravans have usually been a safe, even if not always fairly priced, means of travel for adventurers, merchants, and pilgrims alike, and they are the life blood of towns and cities along the few great roads. The caravans are led by at least one master, who is responsible for outfitting, keeping scheduling, and hiring protection for the valuable wagons.

Many caravan masters have always prided themselves in their honesty, and getting their charge through to the destination intact, but just as many have been content to deal with undesirables, or look the other way for the right sum of coin. So it came to pass, that in the last wagon, on an altogether pleasant day in mid-spring, evil rode its way towards Cormyr in comfort, hidden in the guise of an dark-clad,hooded figure. At first glance, this person could have been mistaken for a lady, perhaps in mourning, were it not for the absence of a veil, and the long wooden staff by his side, and the small wisp of yellowish smoke that escaped from the staff periodically.

Following this last wagon, there remained only a lone rider of the caravan's company, a brown haired, young fellow, by the name of Adam Wainson. Adam was perhaps sixteen, given the freckles upon his cheeks, and his thin, not fully developed build. The rider, bieng the youngest of the hired guards, tended to draw the least desireable of duties, if only for his junior standing, but that did not seem to keep down his inquisitive nature, he was eager to learn, and experience great new things, in an effort to please his masters. There would be plenty indeed for the lad to experience this day...

For Adam, the son of a Shadowdale stablemaster, this was his first journey outside of the Dalelands. His father thought it would be a good idea to let the lad see more of the world for a year, before continuing on his apprenticeship in the family business. He brought his son before the caravan master and, after offering to re-shoe the horses of the caravan guard,agreed to sign his son on a period of six months. Adam left the very next morning, full of energy and happy at the chance to finally be "doing something worthwhile", outfitted on his own horse, with his father's sword, and his mother's blessings.

To Adam, every day brought new excitement in things that would otherwise be mundane to a seasoned caravan hand, and the more he saw, the more he wished to know about it. As some of his fellow guards were wont to remark, it was hard to "keep him to shut up.", even when they added on even more duties to keep him busy. This day it was his lot to bring up the rear of the procession, mostly because the rest of the men were uneasy in the presence of the strange man in the last cart.

Adam had seen a man dressed like this once before, passing through his town late at night, in the company of a particularly mean looking group of adventurers. He later found out that there was a great series of killings away to the east, and that very group was thought responsible. A curious thought rose within him, thinking maybe if this man was that same one he had seen some years ago, but he immediately dismissed the thought as ridiculous. Still, he could not help but glancing at the man repeatedly as the day wore on. He had a sharp eye for detail, and there was much that he observed that others perhaps would miss at first glance, such as the staff, and the strange, black figurine that the man took out and palmed in his hand from time to time.

[tskfrc58]

The wizard was sleeping, at least it looked that way to Adam, the man's staff leaning to the side at an odd cant, barely within the grasp of his loosely folded arm. If the boy was more daring, or a theif, he could easily grab the thing and ride off, before the man could recover his wits and fry him. But Adam, the son of a stablemaster, was neither of these things, well, at least not a theif, and he was content simply in taking in the surrounding terrain with his watchful gaze.

The midday sun was high overhead as Adam's horse trotted along at the rear of the caravan, but Adam could notice large thunderheads building away to the west. It would likely begin to storm soon, and Adam expected the caravan master to call a halt, to prepare the wagons for it. The caravan was leaving the dale lands, and approaching the foothills that signalled the beginning of the Thunderpeaks, on the eastern borders of Cormyr. Ahead, the caravan would soon reach a hilly pass, where the road was became somewhat treacherous, as it wound its way between the northern Thunderpeaks, and the Desertsmouth, the southern gateway mountains bordering the great sea of sand, Anauroch. The road here was prone to becoming muddy very easily, and loose items could be damaged , as the wagons would jump around a bit, dealing with the mire. Adam did not like the prospect of cleaning caked mud, later, from the wagon wheels, but for now he enjoyed the spectacle the looming clouds against the rising hills ahead presented.

A horn blast from the front of the caravan signalled the expected halt, and along the train of wagons, each creaked and jostled to a stop, the drovers dismounting to check their horses, and prepare their wagons for storm. "Boy, why have we stopped?" A low, gravelly, voice drew Adam's attention immediately to the wizard's wagon, but he was not there! Adam spun about quickly, in just a few seconds the wizard had somehow left the wagon, and made his way to be standing behind him, without Adam even noticing him. The wizard was tall, perhaps half a hand over six feet, and he stood, his back to Adam, looking away north at the rolling expanse of hills. "The master has signalled a stop, to prepare for heavy weather, sir, the wagons and horses need attention." Adam responded politely.

The wizard said nothing, but took several steps forward, climbing the shoulder of the road, and then began to negotiate his way up a small hill just north of the road. Adam continued: "We will likely hold here for the night, sir, to allow for the rain, it will make for a safer route. I must attend to some duties for the moment." Adam nudged his horse forward, in the direction of the carvan head, but glanced back to see the dark clad wizard standing on top of the rise, holding his staff to the side. Just then a strong breeze rose up, fluttering the wizard's robes, and a fork of lightning split the air beyond in a dazzling display of nature's power. For a moment, Adam felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle, but he rode on ahead, to complete his tasks.

[tskfrc58]

The sky grew steadily darker as the storm clouds rolled in from the west, lightning split the air more frequently, and the claps of thunder became louder with each report.

Adam worked feverishly, unhitching horse teams from their wagons, and leading under a more sheltered overhand of rock. The horses were nervous, but he did not have much time to comfort them, there would soon be a deluge of rain to contend with, and Adam wished to be in a wagon when it did. The first, heavy drops of rain were starting to fall around him, kicking up little puffs of dust as they struck the ground, and he redoubled his efforts.

Back down the road, and along the length of the caravan, wagons were bieng draw up, their canvases secured against the wind and rain. A few children ran to heed their mother's call, running for one of the middle wagons, as further back, a pair of guards donned heavy cloaks and prepared themselves to stand watch until the storm passed.

Adam had just scurried inside what served as sort of a moving barracks for the dozen hired guards, when a great clap of thunder boomed overhead, shaking the very wood of the wagon, and illiciting more than one startled shreik from some of the women in the other wagons. The heavens opened up with a torrential downpour, the roar of water hitting the canvas rising to such a noise as to drown out all outside sounds. Adam wondered for a moment if the wizard had been caught out in the deluge, but it was a quick moment, as his eyes were becoming heavy from weariness, the growing darkness, and the sound of falling water. It did not take long for him to fall asleep, even with the ongoing thunderstorm outside.

The wizard had been caught in the torrent of rain after all, having been well off the road when it started, for he was studying the hills above with a well practiced eye. There was something else on the wind besides rain and thunder, and, to him at least, it was not altogether unwelcome. The wizard uttered a simple incantation against the elements, and quickly made his way back to "his" wagon over the rock strewn ground.

The drover of the last wagon had long since given up trying to share quarters with his charge, as he found the wizard altogether unnerving to be around, instead opting to shelter with one of the other drovers, so the wizard was not very pleased to notice a light coming through the canvas of the wagon as he approached. He threw back the canvas flap with the head of his staff, with the intent on giving whatever theif was going through his things an awful shock, thinking perhaps it was that fool of a boy who was so inquisitive with his attention.

The occupant, in this case occupants, were, suprisingly enough, the pair of guard that were supposed to be standing watch during the storm. Here they were sitting dry at the rear of the wagon, under shelter, passing a flask between them. The arrival of the wizard startled them, and the older of the two men began to stammer out an apology "By your leave ...uh...suh...We..."

The wizard silenced him with a glare, and spoke in a calm, monotone voice "I care little for your words, as long as you have touched nothing of mine. I am not your master, and I most certainly do not need your protection. Besides, I have made up my mind. This is where i part ways with your little ...carnival." The wizard reached in, grabbing a satchel and his heavy cloak, which was bundled neatly in the corner.

The older guard, recovering some of his wit, remarked:"Your going back out in that? There's no town for 40 miles around. These hills arent the safest, you know." The wizard replied, less patient than before, but still monotone. "Oh they are safe enough...for me. Tell your master i release him of his charge. Go back to your drink, dottards"

The wizard donned his cloak, and vanished into the gloom, leaving the guards behind, lax in their duties, but he cared nothing for what fate may befall them. The caravan had served its purpose, he would continue on alone, through less watched paths.

The wizard struck out directly for the base of the Thunderpeaks, striding through the rain and darkness confidently, with the aid of an enchanment or two, along a rocky path he had noticed earlier, from below. He climbed steadily, until he had reached the gap between two of the larger peaks, which had a fine overlook of the road below. It was here that he decided to take his rest.

Sometime later, after the storm had subsided and the stars had begun to breakthrough the cloud, the wizard, sitting quietly off the path, heard the shuffle of many feet, moving swiftly, coming along the rocky path. He quickly downed a small flask from inside his cloak, and disappeared from sight, just as a host of mountain orcs came into view. There were about thirty of them, clad in the orc fashion of rags, hides, and a few pieces armor. The leader of the band, apparent from the large helm he wore, and the many necklaces of various teeth around his neck stopped no more than twenty feet from the wizard, releived himself, and looked intently down the hill, and at the caravan far below. The wizard heard him utter in the guttural orcish tongue "Gooood, they still here. Come...we have much killing to do. Maybe find women...gold. Back in time for dawn" With that, the band snorted their approval, and hastened their pace, moving back down the path the wizard had ascended.

When they had gone, the wizard stood, and chuckled softly, and positioned himself near the edge of the overlook, where he would have an unobstructed view of the valley below for the evening's...festivities.

He chuckled again ."Make sure you visit the last wagon first, my dear orcs..."

[tskfrc58]

About two hours had passes since the departing of the orcs, and the moon had risen in the east, lighting up the thin clouds that remained, which served to further illuminate the wagons below. The wizard smiled approvingly as the first signs of the attack reached him, in the form of an echoing series of roars and shouts from down in the valley. As he watched, he could notice a half dozen points of flame growing on the hill just above the caravan. "Ah, excellent!" He remarked softly, as the half dozen small fires made themselves known as torches, bieng used to light the orc archer's arrows.

The archers took aim at the lead and traling wagons, sending a volley at each, scoring several hits, and igniting the wagon coverings into a bonfire. From his vantage point he could make out the caravan guards rallying in the center and advancing towards the archers, the glint of fire on steel, and a rallying cry announcing their movements far below. "Yes, thats right....moths to the flame...go on...go get them"

Adam had been told, despite his pleading, to stay with the wagon as the caravan master rallied his guards to take out the orc archers that were raining fire down around them. The boy wanted to take part in the action, wanted to see battle, but mostly he wanted to pay back the orcs for making so much work for him in the coming days fixing up the wagons. Adam sighed, watching the guard's charge off the road and up toward the waiting orcs, leaving him there beside the guard wagon as a useless spectator.

The guards had advanced about halfway up the hill toward the orc archers, when a series of screams rose up from the vulnerable wagons. The guards had fallen for a simple ruse, shouts of "They are killing the women!" and "Help us!" rose up from the wagons, as the remaining host of orcs attacked from the opposite side of the road, tearing into the nearly defenseless flank with battle cries and howls.

Screeching howls and cries from the other side of the caravan suddenly alarmed Adam, and he could feel the blood drain from his face. Oh no! They were attacking from the other side! We will be slaughtered! He had to do something fast! "Help us!" Adam shouted to the guards, now halfway up the hill, to far to be of immediate assistance, and then jumped up into the wagon to find his father's sword, left there after his earlier watch.

The wizard watched with glee as the guards, caught between the archers on the hill and the impending doom upon their charges on the road, turned about and ran hard to save the wagons, not quite as many as had charged out after the archers so readily. It was obvious to the wizard that they would not reach them in time, as the orc band had moved quickly, hacking everyone that tried to stand against them, activity in the camp itself was falling away altogether, except for a small flurry of activity near the guard wagon itself.

"There! this will do!" Adam said aloud, picking up his father's blade, as well as a small shield, which belonged to one of the older guards. "Well, I am sure Lorin will not mind, as long as I return it" Adam thought to himself, and turned to exit the wagon. Brutish laughter from outside froze Adam in his tracks for a moment, and he heard voices. Orcs! One of them laughed loudly, ending with a gravelly snort and suddenly the wagon itself was moving, no, turning over! Adam looked desperately for something to hold on to as his world turned upside down.

From the precipice above the wizard observed as the orcs divided their force yet again, with a handful remaining to sack the wagons, and the larger part moving through to engage the onrushing guards. It was then that the archers on the hill also charged down off the hill to complete the encirclement of the beleagured guard. The orcs fell upon the half dozen remaining guard just off the shoulder of the road, outnumbering them three to one, the contest was never really in doubt, as one, then another, and another of the guard fell, mortally wounded.

The flurry of activity back at the guard wagon drew the eye of the wizard, and he watched curiously as three orcs overturned the wagon, which tore the covering off, and sent crates, sacks, and the form of a man tumbling out before it. No, the wizard thought,this was too small to be a man,at least not a fully grown one. Focusing his enhanced vision he could discern that the form was that of the inquisitive wretch of a boy who had annoyed him with seemingly endless intrusion. "Ah, it seems your curiosity is finally at an end, boy" He continued to watch as the boy's struggle unfolded below.

Adam could find nothing to hang onto as the wagon went over, so he did his best to tuck himself into a ball, gripping his new sword and shield tightly. The shield probably saved his life that very moment, as a large crate slammed into him from above, then slide quickly to the side, off of the metal shield. Still it was enough to wind him, and he rolled hard in the other direction, trying to keep his bearings as the wagon creaked and groaned into its new, inverted, position beside him. He struggled to catch his breath, not sure if the orcs had noticed him or not, and trying to decide what to do.

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*placeholder bump as im playin again

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The orcs had, of course, noticed him, as they took the opportunity for a little easy sport, sending the wagon over after hearing the voice of a man-child inside. Two of them were laughing as the third one moved around the wagon, hoping the boy had not already been killed in the tumble.

Adam heard the orcs laughing, then the heavy footfalls of one of them coming around the wagon, and he knew he was in trouble. He looked about quickly, noticing a torn section of the wagon's canvas and the beginnings of a plan came to him.

The third orc rounded the wagon, a crude spear leading the way. He looked about and noticed a section of canvas draped across a large wooden crate. The canvas was mostly covering the crate, but a man-sized area remained underneath, between crate and wagon, from which a shoe poked out. The orc laughed and drove its spear home into the covered space. It was still laughing when young Adam stepped from behind the very same crate and drove his sword home into the side of the creature's neck.

Adam's momentary triumph was cut short by a gushing fountain of blood which spurted into his face and eyes. He realized he had been lucky to catch this one overconfident, and, as the laughter of the other two orcs began to die away, he knew he had to move quickly. He snatched up his shoe and ran off, not bothering to put it on for fear of being noticed. Adam angled away from the wagon, trying to keep it between him and where he thought the other two orcs were. Somehow he managed to make it to a shallow gulley, using it to cover him as he ran headlong back the way the caravan had come. A shout behind him from the direction of the wagon only made him run faster, but the gods were smiling on him at this point, for he managed to slip away from both the gaze of the orc archers, and any pursuit from the other nearby orcs.

He did not escape all of the eyes, of course, as the wizard had marked his encounter with the orc, and his hurried flight into perhaps the only area where the other orcs were not vigilant.

"No matter, the boy will undoubtedly be devoured by some wolf or beast long before he makes civilization." Uthar chuckled. "Besides, even if the fool was lucky enough to raise the alarm, I will be long on my way, and the fires below would have burned cold".

Uthar took up his staff once again, and made his way along the mountain tract, intending to be several miles away before the orc patrol returned.