Key Our Cars

We’ll be starting this campaign as such….

It was a spring day like few before it. The air was crisp and the sun bright lending a glow of hope and rebirth to the lands. Green stalks were pushing up from the soil almost fast enough to see and leaves were exploding forth on each branch and a body just knew that something good was going to happen.

Gnatsum stood up and fastened his trousers. His nose wrinkling, he grimaced. Even he was offended by the smells he was leaving behind. He was glad to grab his pack and sling it over his shoulder, careful to make sure that it wouldn’t get tangled up in the sword harness that held Lopper. The greatsword was his prized possession, handed down from his father and forged by his mysterious great grandfather. It was from that rarely talked about ancestor that he was said to have gained his bulk and strength and his uncanny ability to heal, even more so than his mother’s orcish blood.

A quick check of his weapons, Lopper loose but secure in its sheath, dagger that was almost a shortsword in length on his right hip, twin heavy bladed throwing daggers in their sheaths on the back of the heavy leather belt that held up his pants and he headed out. The steady ground eating pace of his trot would see the miles devoured as the day wore on.

He whistled softly, a simple melody that although he wasn’t aware of it, was the same song his mother had crooned to him as a babe. With the noise of the heavy chain he wore, even with black dyed woolen yarn running through the links there was no reason to try and keep silent. A two hundred stone half orc jogging in mail can’t help but make some noise after all.

As the sun rose higher and the morning fogs burned off he stopped briefly to remove the green and black tartan woven cloak and stuff into his backpack. His mail glinted dully in the sun, the magic of its construction meaing for one that he’d never have to worry about keeping it rust free. An almost impossible task during the spring rains.

Muscles roiled under his scarred forearms themselves showing a faint greenish tinge that contrasted with the darker greens of his cloak as he put it away. The dark reddish brown eyes and vauge green tinted skin were almost the only signs of his mother’s orcish heritage. That and the larger than average incisors which he wasn’t remiss about using to good advantage when someone needed convincing, whether it was buying a round or deciding just who got the odd coin out of a score.

His mind wandered as the miles rolled by, wondering again at why Mandrill has sent for him. He’d worked with the sorcerer several times in the past as their paths crossed in and around the city of Haden. Now he’d gotten a message carried through by a bard he knew slightly that Mandrill was heading to the village of Hommlet for a dive and would Gnatsum like to get in on it. He slapped the magically worked chain covering his chest as he thought of the dive into some long forgotten and ancient ruins far south in the swamps where they’d recovered it along with some other very nice things from a tribe of lizardfolk. That dive had also been engineered by Mandrill who so far hadn’t failed at picking the right targets to go after.

Mentally spending his share of loot yet to be gained he jerked to halt as at the same time a trio of coarse burly figures pulled up on the path about 30 yards ahead of him. The lead orc of the three growled heavily and dipped his right arm back and slammed it forward, the heavy javelin speeding toward Gnatsum, its foot long armour piercing tip quivering from the force of the blow.

Dropping his pack, Gnatsum ripped Lopper from its sheath and charged, bellowing his battle cry, “For the Tork!”. A second javelin from another of the orcs cut the air toward him. Gnatsum spun to the side but the damp beaten clay of the road betrayed him and the javelin punched a deep crease into the top of his left shoulder before continuing on.

Flickering yellow-blue flames flickered off the third orcs hands with a gutterly chant and one of the javelin throwers swelled slightly, muscles bulging outward. With a deep harsh chuckle the orc hefted a stained great axe and stepped forward to meet Gnatsum. Sparks flew as Lopper parried the huge axe and muscles bulged as he and the orc pushed against each other.

Gnatsum shoved the orc away with his blade then ducked the axe of the second orc. He cursed as the shaman reached out and touched one of the others and a glimmering yellow field flowed over the orc’s body. He twisted away from another swinging greataxe, catching the second on Lopper to direct it away and charged through the two warriors after the shaman.

The shaman snarling mouth let loose another gutteral cry and belched forth a dense black mist that shot across the intervening space and attached itself to Gnatsum, flowing over the half orcs body. His muscles spasmed, the shaman’s curse an attempt to disrupt Gnatsum’s ability to attack.

To no avail, Lopper swung back and forwards cutting through the soft iron links of the shaman’s chain shirt to burst skin and smash bone beneath it. A heavy blow to his back was deflected by his own chain mail but he felt a rib give way from the force. Gnatsum danced to the side ignoring the grating of the the ribs as the shaman took a step back and swiftly swallowed a faintly glowing pale green liquid from a small vial. The visible skin of the wound on the shaman’s chest writhed and knitted back together.

Lopper shot forth and buried itself almost a foot in the shaman’s burly thigh. There weren’t too many people who could or would use a greatsword to thrust with but Gnatsum was one of those few.

The shaman let out a cry and turned and ran.

“Ah no ye doan goblin fucker!” Gnatsum growled and chased the shaman down, catching him in less than ten yards to bury Lopper in the orc’s skull. He slid to a stop, whirling to catch one of the other orcs who’d rand after him across the throat. The body, head attached by a sliver of skin and muscle, crashed heavily to the roadway.

The last orc stopped running and stood looking at Gnatsum from roughly five yards away then turned and ran, throwing aside the heavy axe it was carrying to go faster. With bounding steps, Gnatsum charged after the fleeing orc, scooping up it’s discarded axe on the way. With a sideways toss Gnatsum hurled the axe at the orc, catching it across the back of the legs, doing little damage but causing it to stumble and fall. Before the orc could do more than roll over, Lopper was buried through it’s chest and deep into the road beneath it.

Gnatsum took a moment to catch his breath and let the battle rush fade then checked the corpses for valuables. Two heavy pouches of coin he added to his own pack as well as a long sword that had been stuck in the Shaman’s belt that appeared to be the work of a master swordsmith.

Rolling the bodies off the road and piling them into a dip that ran along the road path he paused to eat, ripping the tough trail bread and dried meat into small pieces, washing them down with leathery tasting water from one of the water skins he carried. He debated for a minute with himself then shrugged and dug into his belt pouch. With two swallows he emptied a crystal vial of his own and tossed it aside as the pain from the broken rib lessened and went away. Alone and wounded wasn’t a good situation to be in this area even if he hated to waste a healing syrup on something as light as current wounds.

With a last glance at the three bodies he hefted his pack and set out again. With any luck it would only be another two days on the road before he reached Hommlet and found out what Mandrill had planned.

[ratings]