Near The Fallen Tower

thrynsyst

Llyrnydd shivered at what he had just been through, as he stepped through the door of The Fallen Tower Tavern. The warmth of the crackling fire in the fireplace warmed his bruised flesh and bones, but did little to comfort the frozen state of his mind, which is what he desired most of all.

"Ho there, you, yes you with the horns. You look a little worse for the wear, demonspawn. Did you run afoul of someone? Someone like our friends from the Many Arrows?"

Llyrnydd looked blankly at the burly shaven pated man behind the bar. "Were you addressing *me* publican?"

"Do you see anybody *else* here who sports a set of horns, now? Of course I'm speaking to you," the barman answered.

"You call the orcs of the Many Arrows friends? Am I betrayed into their hands after all I have already been through?"

The bartender gave a hearty guffaw. "Nay, think that not, but be aware that this tavern be neutral ground in the contest between the forces of Lord Neverember, and Warlord Vashti. Fight your fight as best you may without the walls of this establishment, but I'll brook none of the contest within these walls, if ye please. Look you close about at the custom of my tavern."

The barkeep called out to a passing serving wench, "Lila, light another rush, or two so this fellow can see the truth of which I speak!"

The girl quickly, and deftly lit a light in a sconce attached to a massive beam supporting the ceiling of the tavern. In that soft glow, Llyrnyd could now see what this bartender was talking about, and his eyes widened. Fully half of the clientele, which in the dim light of the tavern he had mistaken for men, were not men at all, but orcs! Orcs, with the insignia of the Many Arrows displayed prominently on their gear, even if done in crude Orcish style. The other half, equally to his surprise, were indeed, men, and a sprinkling of elves and a few dour-faced dwarvenfolk, most of whom were wearing the livery of the City of Neverwinter, and thus, liegemen to Lord Neverember.

Turning slowly back to face the bartender again, Llyrnydd arched his eyebrow. "Indeed, this is curious, but I'll not even ask. But, be assured, that having just walked, or more rather limped away from a very deadly contest of my Art, against the most savage of brute force, I'm in scarce shape to cause any trouble here. I'll fight if I must, but see no point, nor profit, in seeking further combat."

The bartender smiled a crooked smile. "Wise words, tiefling, wise words. In that case, be welcome here, and the house will stand you to the first ale, for by all signs *I* can see, you be in sore need of it."

"I'll take that offer sir, and gladly, for as you say, I truly, after what has transpired not half an hour agone, could use a drink."

"Now then," the bartender continued, "by the pattern of your talk, and your mention of 'Art', you be a mage of some sort, I reckon. True?"

"Aye, that I am," Llyrnydd answered.

"Why then, Master Magus, tell me your name, and give us your tale of this dire contest of magick against as you, yourself, have put it, savage brute force..."

"My name, publican, is Llyrnydd, Llyrnydd Wynterwynd. As to the combat just concluded, it is a tale a bit long in the telling..."

thrynsyst

Llyrnydd moved cautiously up the ruined roadway, dividing his attention between looking for the signs that the militiaman, what was his name again, Sergeant Creed, had relayed to him to direct him to the street once known as Waukeen Way, and keeping an eye out for the orc war parties, particluarly the orc war parties that had captive militiamen in tow. For that was his mission, to liberate those captives, before they could be put to the question, with all that that term implied.

There! he spotted the tree which was the place where he would turn left to enter Waukeen Way, but then something caught his eye. Opposite, the direction he was to turn, up on a small rise, was the ruins of a small shop, or perhaps a dwelling place, apparently long abandoned.

Two thoughts coursed in his mind, one such as place might hold a wily ambush party of orcs, one he did not want to leave behind him. Secondly the old ruins might hold something useful. He turned to his right...

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," he thought. He started making his way up the rise, his eyes darting left and right constantly, to ensure he would not be taken unawares by any orcs that might be in the area. Step, by slow, cautious step, he neared the ruins...

Hugging along the dilapidated wall of the barely standing structure, he started coming closer, slowly ever closer, to a point where the broken walls gave way to a massive breach. As he came upon the broken section of wall, he heard it!

Holy Oghma! How could anyone, unless they were incapable of hearing at all *not* hear that! A deep, near bestial roar which shook him to his very core. Then, the source of that roar rose up, to come into his full, horrified view.

A full twelve to fifteen feet was it height, and as to weight, it looked as massive as a mountain, a mountain clad in rough furs, and quite a bit of dirt and grime. An ogre!! An ogre set to do what ogres do best, which was to smash things into smaller pieces, and the thing the ogre was intent on smashing, was him!

"Teleport back, get some room to fight," he thought, and with the thought, came the deed. Still the towering creature, more beast than sentient, lumbered forward, swinging a massive tree-bole aimed directly at him!

LLyrnydd teleported again, this time to his left, barely escaping the oncoming blow. A shard of ice erupted from Llyrnydd's hand, as the Chilling Strike spell went from thought, to reality. The shard of ice slammed into the ogre, rocking it back, barely, but giving it a little pause. The creature roared again, a roar of rage, frustration, and to Llyrnydd's satisfaction, pain.

"So, this thing *can* be hurt," he thought, "Let me try *this*, though with its size it will be difficult!" Mustering the power of his intellect he conjured up a hand composed of nothing more than mystical energy, a hand which streaked up to what would be the throat of the massive ogre.

Llyrnydd's brow was beginning to shine with perspiration, as he willed the hand of force he had just conjured to *lift* the ogre off its feet, to dangle in the air helplessly. Yes! he'd done it! As the creature's feet left the ground, Llyrnydd gestured a familiar gesture, and a bolt of mystical energy leapt from his hand, to smite the ogre, then another, the a barrage of several more!

He had no sooner fired off the third barrage, that he felt his concentration fail a bit, and the ogre dropped from its position helpless in the air, to the ground, where its rage knew no bounds... The ogre lifted up the tree trunk which served it as a club, and smote the ground directly in front of Llyrnydd. The force of that blow sent the tiefling mage flying through the air, to land with a thump, his body bruised and shaking, but still alive.

Having gained a little more room to work his Art, albeit at a fairly heavy cost to his body, Llyrnydd prepared his next counter to the oncoming behemoth. From his hand sprang a pale blue-white ray, which when it made contact with the ogre, began to form ice crystals, first at its feet and legs slowing the already lumbering beast to a crawl, then working its way up the body, to eventually encase the thing in a shimmering sheath of ice. The ice then cracked apart, the effects of the ray ended. The thing had survived! Sorely hurt, between the volley of magic missiles, and the ray of frost, but still alive, and quite capable of killing him.

"One thing left to do," he thought, "And if this avails naught, I am surely doomed!" Mustering up his last remaining power, gathering it from wherever in his body, or mind, he could find it, he shaped that power into a glowing ball of intense light. He was close to losing consciousness with the effort, and the effects of his wounds, and the ogre was still oncoming. With one last supreme effort to enforce his will on the power he had concentrated, he unleashed that power in a devastating storm, a storm of ice!

The ground around Llyrnydd erupted in the unleashed power and fury of an icy blizzard, huge icicles lancing up, to catch the oncoming ogre, tossing the massive beast back as if it were nothing more than a child's rag doll! Now, it was the ogre's turn to fly through the air, to hit the ground in a sodden thud. The ogre, once it landed on the ground, did not move...

Llyrnydd's chest heaved with the exertions he had just done. Never before had his Art been put to such a test. Still, he had prevailed, and that was something. He prevailed, and lived to fight another day, while the massive thing before him, had not...

thrynsyst

When Llyrnydd finished recounting his account of the battle, the bartender looked at him, a bit incredulously.

"Well, now, I am uncertain as to whether I find *that* believable, mage. It is plain to see, you were in a fight, but an ogre, in single combat? One could, and *should* scarce credit it!"

At that point, the door opened, and an orc stepped into the tavern's common room. Upon seeing Llyrnydd, the orc pointed directly at him, then spoke some words, unintelligible to Llyrnydd, as the mage knew but a few words of the barbarous tongue. Whatever it was, that the new orc said, it had an immediate effect on *all* the orcs present in the tavern's common room. Every single one of them looked intently at the mage, as if committing his features to memory.

One of the orcs in the common room, a large burly sort, possibly some form of sub chietain, or officer of their forces, beckoned the new orc to him, and they conversed in hushed tones, but it was obvious that the larger orc was asking the smaller one questions, and receiving answers, in a tones that bordered on awe.

As this conference, or more likely, interrogation proceeded, Llyrnydd noted that the bartender was taking an intense interest in it, cupping his hand behind his ear, to better hear what was being said.
It was about halfway into this orc to orc communication, that she shifted his eyes from the pair of orcs, back to the mage, and lifted his eyebrow.

When the smaller orc had finished speaking, the larger one stood, all six foot of him, pointed at Llyrnydd, and spoke loudly in orcish, with the only word Llyrnydd knowing was the word "Gruumsh", which as a scholar, Llyrnydd knew was the name of their barbaric god.

With that, the larger orc jerked his head, sideways to the door of the tavern, and he, and the smaller orc walked out. But by *this* time, the Humans and the like were abuzz with comments, for it was clear that at least some of *them* knew the language of their foes. Now, it was the forces of Neverwinter, who were looking at him, pointing him out to their comrades, and noting his face for future reference.

Llyrnydd turned back to the bartender, hoping to get some revelation on what had just transpired before him. The bartender's eyes, which had been a bit cynical just minutes before, now held something Llyrnydd had rarely seen directed at him, a note of...respect.

"You know not the orcish tongue Master Magus? The little guy *saw* your entire fight against the ogre, from his scouting vantage nearby. He attests to the truth of your tale, and in matters like these, in matters of single combat, an orc does not, will not, no, make that cannot lie. Rites of single combat, in their society, are so important that anything related to it is sacred in their eyes."

"He saw you fight, and defeat an ogre in single combat, and said so publicly. To anyone who knows orcs, that is proof positive that you did exactly that. That said, I'll not want to travel in *your* shoes, Master Magus. The larger one, on the strength of your deed, names you "Test of Gruumsh", which is to say, a specially marked foe, a foe specifically sent by their god, in order to test his people. Great honor falls to the orc who slays you, particularly in single combat. The best of their best, will now fight among themselves, in order to be the hand that fells you. No, I envy you not, your destiny."

"I thank you, publican, for the lesson on Orcish social patterns. I see I have much to learn here, and even more to do, all the while hoping to stay alive when marked for death," Llyrnydd said. "Now, it appears I have business to attend to on Waukeen Way, so I should be getting about it."

With that, Llyrnydd drained his tankard, set it on the bar, then strode out the door, to meet his fate, for good, or ill...





THE END