A Land Far Away

The rain kept pouring down. Splashing off the rooftops of the barracks, barn, inn, offices, running in streams across the courtyard, gathering in muddy puddles, soaking every cloak, bowstring, padded jack and boot of the men standing nervously on guard. Those who were busy trying to get the final defensive fortifications in place slipped and slithered in the downpour, in desperate hurry to finish before the enemy struck.

Durgan wiped the rain from his eyes and looked about him. Everywhere the fort was bustling. In itself, the garrison was small, but it was enough to hold the entire circumference of the palisade and keep a good reserve at hand. Thirty men, and him, Tarrent and Tala. Tarrent had proven to be a valiant warrior, whose sword bit deep in his enemies' hide. Tala's skill with her twin bladed staff would make her enemies think twice about even approaching. Let the goblins come.

Outnumbered ten to one? Warlocks, ogres and bull men? The fort could hold out for a long time, perhaps long enough for reinforcements to come. What reinforcements though? When would Shadowdale break its own siege? They were pinned down as badly as the fort, is not worse. And the halfling town nearby...well, nevermind. No, all they could do was to hold out. Kill as many of their foes as possible. There were some nice little surprises in store for them.

A flash lit up the scene. Thunder broke. No let up in the rain. Well, at least they wouldn't be able to set palisade on fire. Durgan ran up to help a Coster guard who was slipping in the mud, trying to set a large wooden beam in it's place by the gate. Suddenly there was a yell.

"She returns!"

Durgan looked up and caught sight of Tarrent, who was helping out at the gate. Their eyes met and they nodded at each other. Together they swung the great gates open and stepped out. Splashing through the rain at a furious gallop came Tala, clinging to her horses mane. She seemed to slump somewhat in the saddle, unusual for her who always seemed to become a continuation of the horse as soon as she mounted.

Tala easily cleared the barricades outside the walls and pulled her horse up. It neighed and spun about, slipping in the mud, trying to find its footing. Durgan and Tarrent, and the guards who where leaning out over the palisade or watching from the gate, saw blood on her side, even as the rain was washing it off.

"They come!", she panted at them.

"All of them?", said Tarrent.

"All."

"We must finish quickly then", said Durgan. "Come inside!"

"No. I will return later." Tala looked briefly at them, and, wincing from the wound, she nevertheless turned her horse and galloped away toward the west. Durgan and Tarrent watched her disappear in the rain, then looked at each other and shrugged. Bewildered, they stepped behind the gate and pulled it shut.

Ten minutes later the defenses where in place. Then a guard let out another shout. Durgan turned and sped up the nearest ramp, next to the gate, and reached the archer's platform. He pushed his way through and stared out at the hazy distance. Sure enough, a dark mass was approaching from the north. Mostly goblin sized, but some bulky shadows were there too, towering over them.

Durgan felt his pulse quicken. After all these preparations, it was almost a relief to finally see the enemy materialise. His axe would find work again. And the Coster guards were tough men, used to the toils of this land. They would give the goblins a fierce welcome. Then a thought struck him. Tala was still out there. She would be hard put to break through those lines once they were formed. But it didn't seem like her to abandon them. He shook his head and squinted at the enemy, trying to gauge their numbers.

He knew from their previous scouting expeditions that there were at least three hundred of them. Possibly more. Grimly, he pulled out some throwing axes from his brace, and set them against the wall in front of him. He took one in his hand and felt its balance, thoughtfully stroking his black moustache as he gazed at the approaching foe. Soon he could make out distinct figures. Wargriders running in front and around the foot soldiers, herding them. Many archers, driven on by their seargants. And rows upon rows of spears, swords, and axes behind that. Interspersed among them huge ogres lumbered forward, carrying great clubs on their shoulders.

The enemy stopped outside of bowshot. A small party detached itself and went forward. They saw several ogres, goblin soldiers, and shamen. One of them held up its hands and shouted.

"Parlee! Yer leader muz speak wiz ours!!"

The defenders looked at each other dubiously. Was this a trap? Captain Harrid decided to go out and speak with them, nevertheless. Durgan, Tarrent, and several guards went with him. The enemy party stopped at the spiked barricades. Harrid and his followers opened the gates and walked up to within earshot. The opposing forces stared at each other for a silent moment.

"What do you have to say?" called Harrid.

Then, a shimmering was seen among the goblins, and a shape came out of invisibility. A dark elf, robed and decked with evil looking jewelry, stood there.

"I give you the chance of ending this without bloodshed." His voice came as a hollow hiss to their ears. "Lay down your arms, and you shall walk away and live a long life, serving masters much better than you. What say you?"

Durgan watched the drow with narrowed eyes, scowling darkly. Then Harrids' responce came, loud and clear.

"My answer to you is...Never."

"Very well", said the drow. "You are all doomed."

"Come and get us!", growled Durgan.

The two parties turned their backs on one another, and soon the defenders were inside the palisade. Durgan took up his position with the archers, readying himself for the coming confrontation. He looked out once more, and saw the lines surging forward.

There was a whizzing sound and a thud. He jerked his head back. An arrow quivered in the wood beside his head. More arrows came whistling. He saw the archers straight ahead run forward and take position, some kneeling and pointing their bows up at him. The Coster guards around him raised their bows and returned fire. The goblins shot wildly, while the guards aimed and fired with deliberation. Some of their arrows found their mark, and a goblin or two tumbled to the ground. Durgan muttered a few words to Clangeddin, raised his throwing axe, and took aim. The axe hurtled rotating towards the nearest goblin and struck it in the shoulder. It fell back and dropped the arrow it had notched. As it scrambled up a second axe buried itself in its forhead. The goblin toppled with a splash into the mud.

Missile fire was exchanged all along the front wall in this fashion for a while. Durgan noticed that a company of archers had taken note of him and his deadly axes, and were concentrating their fire on him. One arrow grazed his left temple, and another struck under his shoulder guard, almost pushing through the mail shirt. He felt the sting, and the warmth of blood beginning to soak the padding underneath. He threw an axe into their midst, and felled another goblin, but at that instant a roar was heard and a large troupe led by two ogres charged at the gates. They were in turn thrown open, and the guards charged out, swords and shields held high.

"What ho!" Durgan cried and lept down to join them. He saw Tarrent ahead of him as the men crashed into the greenskins. He ran up behind them, holding his great war axe aloft. Several guards had surrounded the ogres, slashing at them, and he saw Tarrent run his sword deep into one of them. It bellowed and crashed to the ground. Many goblins had already fallen, and the rest took flight, just as Durgan came running up. He cursed under his breath as the Coster captain called his forces back, and they all ran into the fort with arrows whistling after them.

"No one rushes out, next time!", the captain shouted to the men.

"All the same, damn fine show, lads!" Tarrent said with glowing eyes.

"Aye, well fought!", said Durgan. "But ifn' ye do that when tha main force comes, ye will be diced!"

He turned to Tarrent and nodded with approval. "Their scouts didna expect this, hee hee." Tarrent grinned. "Aright, I'm back to tha platform. Wait fer me next time, eh?" he continued and winked. Tarrent nodded.

There was a brief lull, but soon the goblin archers came running within bowshot and began firing. Durgan and the guards exchanged many rounds with them, and Durgan felled several more. Then he saw a new party, led by two more ogres run towards the gates again. This time the gates were kept shut. Quickly he ran down the ramp again and joined the guards and Tarrent down there. A loud crash was heard as the ogres threw themselves at the gates with all their might.The goblins were firing wildly at the archers, pinning them, as the ogres were forcing their way through the gates. They saw the wood slowly splinter and give way before the bestial power. Outside the goblins were shouting shrilly. Durgan gripped his war axe tighter.

The gate burst open and goblins poured through. They were quickly engaged in a furious melee, but then an ogre stepped over the ruined wood, brandishing its huge club. Tarrent and Durgan charged it with a fierce cry. Tarrent swung at it but struck flat, the blade bouncing off the thick warty hide. The club came down in a wide arc and struck him across the shoulder, sending him flying several feet away. Durgan swung his axe and cut a deep gash across its thigh. It roared and turned towards him, raising its club. Durgan swung back with a backhand stroke and slashed right through its gut. Entrails slithered out as the brute sank to its knees with a gurgle. Durgan buried his axe in the thick neck, almost decapitating it. The other ogre had been shot down, and the remaining goblins were soon beat back again, as the defenders stood cheering by the gate.

"Get that gate back up on its hinges, NOW!" shouted Captain Harrid. He pointed at a few of the guards. "You, seek the priest!"

They quickly got to work putting the gate up again, and barricading it with every movable object they could get hold of. Durgan even dragged the anvil all the way across the yard and propped it against the gate.

Panting, he leaned against the anvil, wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked around at the carnage. He turned to Tarrent.

"Tha Gods are wit' us thus far", he said. "We've nay lost a one."

"That's four ogres down....", Tarrent replied quietly and nodded.

"We've taken dozens of 'em", said Durgan.

The sun was sinking, and it seemed the enemy had withdrawn for now. The rain abated, and fires sprung up all around the fort. They were truly surrounded, and had no hope of breaking through. The guards kept watch on the palisade, warily peering out over the battlements.

Time passed. Night fell. Suddenly a commotion was heard somewhere in the enemy camp. There was yelling and shouting. Then the sound of hooves, approaching fast. Tarrent and Durgan ran up to an archer platform and looked out.

"Rider!" Tarrent called down.

The sound of hooves came closer . Durgan squinted, straining his night vision.

"Tala!" he shouted. "Open tha gates!"

The gates were pushed open as Tala came into view, galloping wildly. She had been struck by several arrows, and her horse was frothing at the mouth.

"Stand clear!" she yelled, digging her heels into the sides of her horse. It took a mighty leap and they followed it with their eyes as it sailed over the barricade. Tala kept galloping through the yard until she could rein the horse in, skidding to a halt. They closed the gates and ran up to her. She slumped sideways and fell off the horse, hitting the ground with a thud. Quickly some guards picked her up, supporting her as they handed her a healing draught. Sitting on the ground with a dazed look, still holding on to the reins with one hand, she drank, turning her eyes at them.

"By the Gods! What were you doing out there?!?", Harrid said.

Durgan peered at her.

Tarrent silently knelt by her. He winced as he looked her over. Blood matted her hair and was dripping down the side of her face. She turned to him.

"I had to warn them..." she murmured. She continued drinking while the horse nuzzled her, and some colour returned to her cheeks.

"An awful risk ye took", said Durgan. "What news, lass?"

She looked up at him slowly. "There may be help coming..."

Awesome! Excellent writing sai!!!!!! Verily impressed!

Thanks. Was interesting to use the actual log as a support. A lot of the dialogue is lifted straight from it

The cool night wind rustled in the trees overshadowing the little camp. The fire crackled. The flickering light reflected off the armour plates, the axe head, and glinted in Durgan's deep set eyes. He sat cross legged, with the war axe across his knees, absent-mindedly running his thumb along the edge. On the other side of the campfire Tarrent and Tala both lay asleep. To his right, silently propped against the cliff wall, their hooded companion sat, whether in sleep or meditation it was impossible to say. Durgan glanced up at the starry sky.

"Four hours til dawn," he thought. "No sound from the enemy now for a good long time. Usually a bad sign, but mayhap they have withdrawn for the moment. Apparently they lost many at the northern line. Though they caused heavy casualties among the defenders themselves. Would I had arrived in time! They would have had one more axe to contend with. Maybe some losses could have been avoided."

He shifted and glanced briefly at the hooded one, then looked back into the fire.

"Not to mention what Goiron could've done. Aye, with such a battle brother to bolster us, things would look brighter indeed. But that is not likely to come to pass, with minds being what they are around here. It's understandable, to some degree. I felt the same until I met these fellows. It will take another battle feat from them to convince these Dalers."

Unconsciously his brow furrowed deeper and deeper.

"It's a funny place, this. Every woman and her sister spouts Dwarven! How has this come about? Some kinsman must have got drunk on gnomish powder and taught them. How they mangle our tongue! Especially that second one. Coming creeping up on us, using her magics to keep unseen and taunt us. She would not listen to reason. A most arrogant wench. And then she dared to soil the tongue of my fathers. The filthy cow. Seems we have enemies on both sides of the lines."

Durgan shifted restlessly and sighed. He got up, and walked away from the fire. He stood staring into the darkness, feeling the weight of his axe in his hands. Nothing stirred in the trees, and the moonlight glittered softly on the silent waters nearby. Far away an owl hooted two times. The leaves rustled in the wind.

Rhythmically, the hammer rang on the bright steel, occasionally sending sparks into the heavy gloom of the smithy. Quickly the hammer worked now, up and down the edge, as Durgan flipped the great axehead over and back again, gradually honing the curve to a dazzling sharpness. The two human apprentices were sitting by the wall, firelight reflecting from their gleaming eyes as they peered intently at the working dwarf. At this stage of the forging, there was no more to teach by way of words.

Durgan stopped. He picked up the axe and held it to the light, turning it over in his hands. Squinting, he compared the two opposing edges, and sighed quietly to himself. The hardened edge metal was well forged into the more flexible steel that formed the mass of the axehead. It had taken a few tries, indeed. The apprentices might not have guessed, but Durgan was learning much as well. This was the final test of his own apprenticeship. This, he could bring back to his Master in Annathar's Dell. When this axe was complete, he could call himself a smith.

He layed it down on the anvil and started hammering again. Perhaps the most important lesson his apprentices were learning now was that of patience. Durgan realised that with three score and ten years to work with, time had a steeper price to a human smith. But if a good weapon was to be made, there could be no compromise. It has to be worked until finished. No half measures.

This would be a good weapon to take to the orcs and drow at the front. Even though his guts were clamoring to get him back to the lines, he knew he could not break off from what he had begun. The war axe had to be complete before he joined his companions at the barricades again. He paused, and it seemed the ringing sound was echoing, mysteriously. He glanced up and listened. The sound of metal on metal, coming from somewhere outside. He thought he could make out cries and horn blasts. Not exactly close, but not far off either. He closed his eyes and steeled himself. The work must go on. He lifted the hammer and held it for an instant, wavering, then began hammering again, evenly, rhythmically, and maybe ever so much faster than before.

Again, fantastic

The funeral of Tarrent and Zuna at the Coster Fort.

well, done sir, and thank you.

*sniffle*

Wow. So very nice.

Keep the images coming

Heegz man, good to see you're still around.

The wind shifted, and the dark leaves above turned up their pale undersides. Between the fluttering masses the stars shimmered, high above the odorous marsh that the Coster party was trudging through. Up ahead, long legged Tala lead the way eagerly, her head turning from side to side, trying to make out any movement among the trees and reeds. Durgan could barely keep her in sight as he splashed through the water, picking out tussocks to step on as well as he could. The rotting stench was a bit much even for him.

Behind him, Theolys, Khyssoun and Meri brought up the rear. Durgan glanced over his shoulder. The halfling was trying to keep the hem of her cloak over the water, but the elves were moving with seemingly nonchalant ease, not making much of a sound. "We'll see how comfortortable they feel when we're going nose to nose with whatever's causing this disturbance. Driving a Drake right out of its hole! Whoever's been doing this must be pretty sharp to get away with something like that.”

Night progressed. The company splashed on through the soggy landscape. Up ahead they could make out the dark mass of a wooded ridge that rose against the starry sky. There was a faint burning smell that carried on the wind. After a while the marsh started drying out as the slope rose before them. At last they passed the last reeds and rushes, and stood once more on dry land. Trees rose above them, swaying and rustling gently. They stopped for a moment. Durgan took a deep breath of the somewhat fresher air. Meri was half soaked. Even the elves seemed relieved. Only Tala was unmoved, standing some way ahead of them, sniffing the wind.

As they moved up to her, she turned and spoke quietly, but earnestly.

“There’s more than firewood burning up there.”

The others nodded among themselves.

“Lead on agin”, Durgan muttered.

Tala took off, moving with grace and speed normally unattained by any save elves. The rest followed at a distance, trying to keep her in sight while looking for any signs around them. Durgan stepped as gingerly as he could, making an effort not to clatter in his plate and maille.The trees started closing in on them as they climbed upwards. Tala was soon out of sight, but the burnt scent was stronger now, and it led them on. As they reached a ridge near the summit, they saw the trees give way to a rocky clearing. Tala sat hunched by some boulders. She signaled them to approach.

When they reached her they saw a cave opening in the hillside, not far from where they sat. A faint trail of smoke was floating out of it, illuminated by the moonlight. They all took cover and watched it in silence for a while.

“What now?”, Khyssoun asked quietly.
“I’ll take a closer look”, Tala whispered. Durgan nodded. She stalked soundlessly up to the cave and flattened herself against the wall. After a few minutes she returned.

“Voices…goblin I think”.

“I speak their tongue,” Durgan whispered. “Let us see what they have ta say”.

All of them now picked their way among the rocks up to the opening. Standing still, they could indeed hear a squeaky, guttural voice coming up from the dark tunnel. It sounded like it was having a conversation with itself. Durgan pulled his hood back and strained to hear. He could pick out isolated words at first, but soon pieced together a strange rant. He motioned to the others to back up, and when in safety, told what he had heard.

“Tis a sorry creature, goblin indeed, an’ it’s whining’ about being bullied by orcs and bull men. Something about shamans putting magic things in fire to keep the big beastie away.”

“The Drake”, Miriel whispered.

Tala nodded once. “These goblins and their allies have driven the Drake out of its abode with some magical poison they place in their fires. And that’s why it’s rampaging through the surrounding lands, making life hard for our lizard men friends. We have to drive these fiends out.”

It was decided that Khyssoun would enter and subdue the goblin. The stealthy elf crept up to the cave entrance and vanished inside. There was a hoarse, muffled shriek and sounds of combat. They all rushed in.

The cave was large, as could be expected from the abode of a Drake. The air was heavy with foul smelling, pungent smoke emanating from the log fire set in the centre. Next to it Khyssoun stood with drawn swords. Two dead goblins lay on the floor.

“This second one jumped me. I had to kill them both”, he stated laconically.

They all looked about them and listened. The cave stretched far and wide, with several tunnels leading off in all directions. Nothing could be heard. Cautiously they proceeded to explore the various openings, but all they found were smelly passages and empty side chambers. Then they went down a passage that lead deeper into the hill. Tala, who again lead the way, signaled them to stop.

She crept forward alone, towards a flickering light they saw coming from around a corner. Soon she returned.

“Voices. Several. Chanting.”, she whispered.

“Alright.” Durgan replied. “This time, I will lead. Tala and Miriel, back me up. Khyssoun and Meri, shoot at any finger wagglers ye see.”

They crept up, prepared themselves, and turned the corner. Three or four orcs, a bugbear, and a minotaur stood waiting around a fire. Apparently they were aware of the intruders, for they charged immediately. Durgan leaped forward to meet them.

The melee was short but brutal. The minotaur crashed into Durgan’s shield, trying to knock him over, but the dwarf had planted his feet wide, held, and swung back. Tala and Miriel ran up, and together with some well placed arrows they felled the beast. One of the orcs stayed back and started to wave his arms and chanting. The archers fired several arrows at him, but suddenly he disappeared. Durgan found himself face to face with the orcs. With a ferocious swing he felled the first one, and soon the others were cut down too. Only the shaman remained, invisible. Out of nowhere his voice came, a muttering invoking magic incantations, and then a faint glimmering outlined his form, a few paces away.

“Take him prisoner!” someone shouted. They rushed forward and knocked his staff out of his hands, disrupting the spell. Khyssoun lodged an arrow in his shoulder.

“Yield!”, Durgan shouted in orcish. The shaman held up his hands.

Durgan, Khyssoun and Tala stood around the orc, watching his every movement. Durgan began interrogating him, but all he got out of the bloodied prisoner was a rant about the glory of Gruumsh. Durgan was about to move on to harsher means of persuasion when suddenly the orc yanked the arrow from its shoulder, and crying “For Gruumsh!” it stabbed itself in the throat before anyone could react.

Stunned, they stood in silence for a few seconds, then Durgan spat, Khyssoun cursed, and Miriel sighed and shook her head.

“What did ye ask him, dwarf?! Why did he do that?!” Khyssoun yelled.

“Nothing but what we came here at find out, elf!” Durgan snapped back. “Try learnin’ orcish and find out for yerself next time.”

Khyssoun stormed off. Durgan muttered in dwarvish, “Idiot elves. It‘s at times such as this I will miss Tarrent the most.” It wasn’t the last time he would think that.

The party made its way out of the caves after having put out the poisonous fires. They made the long trek back to the lizard folk to report, and then on to Shadowdale.