Torner jumps on his trusty mount, Stormwind, and rides east, towards the crossroads of Bottomburn and the village Deepbottom. The day goes by quickly, and just as the sun sets over Torner's shoulder, he spies the large green and white sign post up ahead. Using the pommel of his sword, he readjusts the post to point in the opposite directions.
"That oughta' get that group of adventurers heading to Deepbottom. Everyone knows adventurers can't tell directions."
By this time, the sun has set, and Torner decides to make a camp for the night. (Stormwind gets a bit grumbly when he has to travel by night.) After a quiet dinner, Torner patrols around the camp one last time before settling in. Far in the distance, back towards the lake, he sees what could only be a fire. Curious, he pulls out his spy glass to get a better look.
The glass brings a fuzzy glow into view, several dark shapes can be seen fluttering back and forth in front of the fire.
"Hmmm, there shouldn't be anyone out on a night like this. No one followed me...I don't think. And if it's the group from Bottomburn, they are WAY off course. Hmmm, this could be trouble."
Torner shoves the spy glass back into his pack.
"I'm afraid I'm gonna need you again, ole boy,"
He pats Stormwind on the neck.
"Gonna have to see what that is just for peace of mind. Don't like surprises."
After a great deal of coaxing, Torner manages to get Stormwind tacked up and off. Slowly they pick their way west towards the glowing light. About a mile from the fire, Torner dismounts and ties Stormwind loosely to a tree branch and heads in on foot. With careful footfalls, Torner comes within range of the fire. Two wagons, thirteen horses, three men and seven gnorcs encircle a large campfire. Only one man and two gnorcs seem to be awake. From the looks of it, the three are supposed to be doing guard duty. However, they have gathered atop one of the wagons and are talking quietly.
Torner eases his way in their direction.
"...can join up wid de udders. Me hates t'think o' bein' left oughta da fightin'."
A particularly tall gnorc lights his pipe and passes it on to the others. The man snorts at his ugly companions.
"Keep me oughta the fighting, I want to get the girl. She's just my type. That old Colonel is making arrangements to..."
" 'M' ain't gonna let you do nuthin' - that little runt is his."
"He'll tear you apart if you go messin' wid dat girl..."
"I'll bet ya twenty gippers that Jonkyn here won't ever get 'er."
"Twenty-five sez he will."
"Thirty on..."
"She's mine. I've talked with 'M'. Said I could have her. It's the old man he wants."
For a moment, there is dead silence as the three gnorcs stare, mouths agape, at Jonkyn.
"Y-y-you've seen "Em? You seen the Man?"
"Psshaaw. Jonkyn ain't seen nothin', he just actin' bigitty..."
"Shut up."
Jonkyn rises from his seat and glares at all three gnorcs.
"I've seen Him. A hundred feet tall, He is. With shoulders as broad as a mountain range. A thousand tons of muscle and raw power. But it's His face that'll stand out in a man's mind."
Jonkyn shakes his head as if talking to himself and runs a nervous hand through his long hair.
"He has a look about Him that would make the dead shudder."
Jonkyn rubs his arms with both hands. The gnorcs glance at each other and twitch nervously in their seats.
"How did you git t'meet..."
"Sshhh." The tallest gnorc holds out a hand. "Whut wuz that?"
"I didn't hear anything." Jonkyn stares out into the darkness.
"You humans never do."
"Maybe it's da trolls?"
"Gnasher, go check the perimeter." Jonkyn points to one of the gnorcs.
"Aw, why do I hafta..."
"Because I'm in charge, now go!"
The burly half gnoll, half orc grabs a spear and starts in the direction of the noise.
Torner, despite his precautions, has bumped a few loose rocks with his foot. The gnorc guard is slowly making his way in Torner's direction. For the moment, Torner's body is shielded from view by a boulder on a small rise, and scrub. It is possible that the gnorc may overlook Torner, even with his infravision. However, if the gnorc doesn't...
Meanwhile, somewhere north and west of Torner, hides two figures, Pavek and Nipper. At first, Pavek thought to confront whatever or whoever was coming through the trees. But the strangeness of this new world, the slight disorientation of waking after twenty years, and the distinct sound of not one but many feet persuades him and Nipper to take cover behind a tree. The next few seconds prove his reasoning sound as out step four gnorcs and one troll. Pavek crouches quietly, with Leantha in hand and Nipper at his side, and watch as the five search the dead bodies strewn about the clearing.
"Eh, these stinking elvsies ain't got nuttin', mate." The ugly brute kicks at one of the elven bodies.
One gnorc holds a strange, shimmering leash on the troll, leading him from one body to another. The troll sniffs at each one, the gnorc keeps the troll from trying to eat everything in sight.
"Cut it out, Sneezer. You find a live un and I'll let you have all the fun you want."
The gnorc chuckles wickedly as the excited troll hurries his tamer to the next body.
"Find 'em boy. Find me a live un."
If the troll had a tail, it would be wagging.
The other three gnorcs spread out across the clearing, plucking valuables from the dead, even from their own. Two of those draw near to where Pavek and Nipper are hiding.
"Have you 'eard the word, mate?"
"Whut."
"They is sendin' their cattle to us. 'An sneakin' in our own scrawny U.Kattle as replacement."
The hairy green gnorc scratches his head.
"Why bother replacin' them?"
"So as t'make the villagers and townspeople crazy, thas why you dope. Nobody will have the brains t'stop us then."
The first gnorc poked a long dirty finger in the other's chest.
"Ooooo - they'll be runnin' mad in da street 'an foamin' at da mouth."
The two brutes slap their legs with laughter.
Pavek's short sword is practically humming with the closeness of the two evil gnorcs. Nipper's teeth are bared in a silent growl. One more step and the monsters will be within range. Patience, Pavek tells himself. A quick glance tells him that the gnorc and troll team has moved off into the forest, the other gnorc is across the meadow looking in the opposite direction.
Back in the town of Bottomburn...Danidar has his hands full trying to keep Rasor under control. After the hullabaloo had died down at Suzy Q's, and Rasor realized there were no more cookies to eat, he began wondering what had happened to his friend, Ophyllia. The two friends searched the town high and low, with not a sexy bard to be seen. The longer the two looked without success, the angrier Rasor became.
No one in town slept that night when Rasor began screaming "Ophy" at the top of his lungs. It was all Danidar could do to keep Rasor from smashing every building in sight in hopes of finding the lost bard. Even the gnorcs, upon seeing the enraged half-orc, had left them alone. Danidar wished Rasor would give him just a little break, the sun had just risen and he was tired, so tired. As he stumbled behind his friend, he said a prayer to V.E. to find Ophyllia unharmed - and soon.
Within the Warehouse of Keebler on Twinkie Alley, a very dizzy and queasy bard groaned with the rise of the morning sun.
"I HATE the Colonel. Subversive little creep..." She burped.
Down a small nameless back alley, and across from the infamous Red-Eye Tavern, the sage of Bottomburn rubs his tired eyes from lasts nights work.
"What I need is a cup of chamomile tea. Relax this overworked mind."
Unbeknownst to most people, Tyme Keeper the Sage was a great herbalist. He had a whole garden full of wonderful remedies just waiting to be picked. There was a cure for everything in that garden, if he could just sort out the herbs from the weeds. And IF he could ever catch up on this story, maybe he could get a little gardening done.
"Now where did I leave that tea?"
He rummaged through the tins and jars in the kitchen and finally came across the open container.
"Hey, what the ?.."
It looked as if someone had eaten all the chamomile by the spoonful.
"Halla, you stupid git. Where are you? You're always leaving when I'm needing you. Stupid git probably out looking for apples. By the Great V.E., I'm NEVER going to get my story straight!"
As Tyme Keeper slumped into a chair, a small slip of paper floated down from the ceiling.
"What?"
"Still don't know who the elven-blade singer is - and who's Varathiel?"