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 come.
Gairoth’s mind fixed on the idea. He would take a quest of his own. It sounded right to him, a straightforward solution, something he could concentrate on and never forget. He would follow Delroth, and find him, and smash him with the club. BAM!
He stood up and, his stomach growling with hunger, he tossed aside the torn and empty sack. It had been a good sack. Gairoth found the footprints of the group along one of the clear quest-paths.
The ogre followed them.
* * *
Tallin woke the others more than an hour before sunrise. He rubbed his little hands together in the crisp air and blew steam from his mouth. “Come on, let’s get going.” He nudged Bryl on the ground. “We’ve got a hex or two of desolation to cover. I’ve never been out of the forest before.”
Bryl rubbed his eyes. “Whose quest is this, anyway?”
Vailret held his hands over the still-warm embers of the fire. He flexed fingers that were red with cold.
“He’s right.” Delrael got up, stretched, then folded his blanket. “The terrain should be easy to follow.”
Together, the five of them crossed the abrupt line that severed the hexagon of forest terrain from the desolation ahead. The lush health of the forest disappeared entirely, leaving the ground stricken with blight, dying away into a wasteland. The soil became barren and rocky. Stalks of prairie grass stood in brown patches, dotting the ground.
The coming dawn left a curtain of deep shadow on the flat terrain. The dark Spectre Mountains were visible in the distance as a black jagged silhouette blocking the rising sun. A few stars still prickled the deep blue dome of sky.
As they walked deeper into the hexagon, the dead earth became cluttered with oddly identical boulders, as if something had cut them out of the dirt and scattered them across the plain. The flat ground had a strange, patterned look ahead of them.
In the dim light, and with his poor eyesight, Vailret stumbled upon a series of deep hexagonal wells rimmed by a low mound six feet across. He caught himself, called out to the others, and stared down. The sharply defined hole plunged into the blackness of catacombs beneath the terrain.
“I can’t tell what it is,” he said.
Delrael picked up a rock and tossed it down. They heard it strike the bottom a moment later. “Not very deep,” Delrael said. He tossed another stone at an angle. It pinged against the walls, but gave no real hint about the depth of the tunnels.
“Could be just a labyrinth left over from the early days of the Game,” Vailret said. “Back when characters did nothing but wander around in dungeons and catacombs, looking for monsters to fight and treasure to steal.”
Tallin pointed across the desolation as the daylight grew brighter. “Do you see those other openings? I can make out at least a dozen more holes scattered around.”
They moved ahead, and the wells became more and more frequent until they seemed like pores on the surface of the land, connected by an underground network of tunnels.
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 come.
Gairoth’s mind fixed on the idea. He would take a quest of his own. It sounded right to him, a straightforward solution, something he could concentrate on and never forget. He would follow Delroth, and find him, and smash him with the club. BAM!
He stood up and, his stomach growling with hunger, he tossed aside the torn and empty sack. It had been a good sack. Gairoth found the footprints of the group along one of the clear quest-paths.
The ogre followed them.
* * *
Tallin woke the others more than an hour before sunrise. He rubbed his little hands together in the crisp air and blew steam from his mouth. “Come on, let’s get going.” He nudged Bryl on the ground. “We’ve got a hex or two of desolation to cover. I’ve never been out of the forest before.”
Bryl rubbed his eyes. “Whose quest is this, anyway?”
Vailret held his hands over the still-warm embers of the fire. He flexed fingers that were red with cold.
“He’s right.” Delrael got up, stretched, then folded his blanket. “The terrain should be easy to follow.”
Together, the five of them crossed the abrupt line that severed the hexagon of forest terrain from the desolation ahead. The lush health of the forest disappeared entirely, leaving the ground stricken with blight, dying away into a wasteland. The soil became barren and rocky. Stalks of prairie grass stood in brown patches, dotting the ground.
The coming dawn left a curtain of deep shadow on the flat terrain. The dark Spectre Mountains were visible in the distance as a black jagged silhouette blocking the rising sun. A few stars still prickled the deep blue dome of sky.
As they walked deeper into the hexagon, the dead earth became cluttered with oddly identical boulders, as if something had cut them out of the dirt and scattered them across the plain. The flat ground had a strange, patterned look ahead of them.
In the dim light, and with his poor eyesight, Vailret stumbled upon a series of deep hexagonal wells rimmed by a low mound six feet across. He caught himself, called out to the others, and stared down. The sharply defined hole plunged into the blackness of catacombs beneath the terrain.
“I can’t tell what it is,” he said.
Delrael picked up a rock and tossed it down. They heard it strike the bottom a moment later. “Not very deep,” Delrael said. He tossed another stone at an angle. It pinged against the walls, but gave no real hint about the depth of the tunnels.
“Could be just a labyrinth left over from the early days of the Game,” Vailret said. “Back when characters did nothing but wander around in dungeons and catacombs, looking for monsters to fight and treasure to steal.”
Tallin pointed across the desolation as the daylight grew brighter. “Do you see those other openings? I can make out at least a dozen more holes scattered around.”
They moved ahead, and the wells became more and more frequent until they seemed like pores on the surface of the land, connected by an underground network of tunnels.
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