desert.
On their long walk,
Delrael had warmed up to Tallin, a companion with whom he could discuss
strategy, adventuring, and tactics. He explained about the Outsider David
trying to end the Game, and of their quest to find a way to stop Scartaris. He
said nothing about the Earthspirits hidden in his belt.
At camp Tallin
gathered wood, explaining how to stack it for a better fire. He refused to let
Bryl use a spell and started the fire himself with a rough stone and the metal
from his belt buckle. Annoyed, Bryl let him have his way.
Upon seeing the
pack food his companions intended to eat, the ylvan snorted in disgust. Tallin secured
the crossbow on his shoulder and scrambled up the trunk of a tree, finding
fingerholds where none appeared visible. He called down from the branches.
"This shouldn't take long." His mottled green clothes blended into
the forest shadows and he vanished in the leaves.
Delrael lost three
more games of tic-tac-toe to Journeyman, tied one, and won one. Vailret played
idly with his own set of dice. Tallin dropped down into the clearing, holding
two quail. "Quite an improvement over standard pack food, especially stuff
that's been replenished by a spell too many times."
Bryl looked miffed,
but the prospect of fresh meat seemed to brighten him. He changed his mind,
though, when he was assigned the task of plucking feathers. Tallin spitted the
meat and left it to cook above the flames of the campfire, bowed over the heat
on thin green branches. The smell was deliciously inviting as the quail sizzled
in the smoke. They could hear the meat hissing against the burning wood.
"Is it
finger-lickin' good?" Journeyman asked, watching them eat. They cleaned
every bone on the two carcasses. "I can't believe you ate the whole thing!"
After the meal,
Tallin piled wood on the campfire so it would burn all night. Journeyman remained
on watch as the others brought out blankets, settling down on the leaves and
forest grass to sleep. Bryl brushed branches away and moved three times before
he found a comfortable spot. Tallin lay by himself in a light sleep.
Delrael propped his
head against the smooth bark of a maple tree. He bent his knees, rubbing the
pliable kennok wood of his left leg, and kept his feet warm by the fire as
the autumn air cooled down for the night. The taste of the meal remained in his
mouth, and he could smell the smoke from the low campfire. He looked at the
young ylvan beside them and felt safe and content as he drifted off into sleep.
Gairoth listened to
the pounding of drums inside his head. Pain made the bones in his skull
vibrate. Leaves and dead grass stuck to his face. He pawed them away, smearing
his cheeks and skin with muddy markings.
The ogre looked
around the hollow. Delroth was gone. The torn, discarded sack showed him that
the little ylvan had also fled ― and Gairoth's sack was ruined. He
had killed an old traveler for it, though he found little treasure inside. Now
he would never find another sack.
Dark, speechless
anger bubbled up in him, increasing the pain in his head. He sat up, holding
hands against his temples to squeeze the pain back inside.
Rognoth, his pet
dragon, was gone, chased far to the north by another dragon brought by Delroth.
Bryl the magic user had taken away Gairoth's shiny diamond Air Stone. All the
rest of his treasure was gone, too, after his Maw had chased him away from the
Stronghold.
And when he had
tried to go home, Gairoth found a giant river right where his cesspools had
been. Right where his home had been.
The ogre felt
outraged, betrayed, saddened. The ylvan called him a Loser ― maybe
that was true. But it was all Delroth's fault. Gairoth pounded both fists into
the soft ground, then clenched them in a stranglehold around the end of his
club.
The ogre climbed to
his feet. He had nothing else to do now.
His teeth hurt. His
skin hurt. The inside of his head hurt. All of him hurt. Everything had been so
nice before. Before Delroth had
On their long walk,
Delrael had warmed up to Tallin, a companion with whom he could discuss
strategy, adventuring, and tactics. He explained about the Outsider David
trying to end the Game, and of their quest to find a way to stop Scartaris. He
said nothing about the Earthspirits hidden in his belt.
At camp Tallin
gathered wood, explaining how to stack it for a better fire. He refused to let
Bryl use a spell and started the fire himself with a rough stone and the metal
from his belt buckle. Annoyed, Bryl let him have his way.
Upon seeing the
pack food his companions intended to eat, the ylvan snorted in disgust. Tallin secured
the crossbow on his shoulder and scrambled up the trunk of a tree, finding
fingerholds where none appeared visible. He called down from the branches.
"This shouldn't take long." His mottled green clothes blended into
the forest shadows and he vanished in the leaves.
Delrael lost three
more games of tic-tac-toe to Journeyman, tied one, and won one. Vailret played
idly with his own set of dice. Tallin dropped down into the clearing, holding
two quail. "Quite an improvement over standard pack food, especially stuff
that's been replenished by a spell too many times."
Bryl looked miffed,
but the prospect of fresh meat seemed to brighten him. He changed his mind,
though, when he was assigned the task of plucking feathers. Tallin spitted the
meat and left it to cook above the flames of the campfire, bowed over the heat
on thin green branches. The smell was deliciously inviting as the quail sizzled
in the smoke. They could hear the meat hissing against the burning wood.
"Is it
finger-lickin' good?" Journeyman asked, watching them eat. They cleaned
every bone on the two carcasses. "I can't believe you ate the whole thing!"
After the meal,
Tallin piled wood on the campfire so it would burn all night. Journeyman remained
on watch as the others brought out blankets, settling down on the leaves and
forest grass to sleep. Bryl brushed branches away and moved three times before
he found a comfortable spot. Tallin lay by himself in a light sleep.
Delrael propped his
head against the smooth bark of a maple tree. He bent his knees, rubbing the
pliable kennok wood of his left leg, and kept his feet warm by the fire as
the autumn air cooled down for the night. The taste of the meal remained in his
mouth, and he could smell the smoke from the low campfire. He looked at the
young ylvan beside them and felt safe and content as he drifted off into sleep.
Gairoth listened to
the pounding of drums inside his head. Pain made the bones in his skull
vibrate. Leaves and dead grass stuck to his face. He pawed them away, smearing
his cheeks and skin with muddy markings.
The ogre looked
around the hollow. Delroth was gone. The torn, discarded sack showed him that
the little ylvan had also fled ― and Gairoth's sack was ruined. He
had killed an old traveler for it, though he found little treasure inside. Now
he would never find another sack.
Dark, speechless
anger bubbled up in him, increasing the pain in his head. He sat up, holding
hands against his temples to squeeze the pain back inside.
Rognoth, his pet
dragon, was gone, chased far to the north by another dragon brought by Delroth.
Bryl the magic user had taken away Gairoth's shiny diamond Air Stone. All the
rest of his treasure was gone, too, after his Maw had chased him away from the
Stronghold.
And when he had
tried to go home, Gairoth found a giant river right where his cesspools had
been. Right where his home had been.
The ogre felt
outraged, betrayed, saddened. The ylvan called him a Loser ― maybe
that was true. But it was all Delroth's fault. Gairoth pounded both fists into
the soft ground, then clenched them in a stranglehold around the end of his
club.
The ogre climbed to
his feet. He had nothing else to do now.
His teeth hurt. His
skin hurt. The inside of his head hurt. All of him hurt. Everything had been so
nice before. Before Delroth had
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