Alturiak 7: I’d really like to think it was some sort of dark magic, but it wasn’t. I’d like to say it was OK. All the stories of the epic heroes have gaps in them. And then Diamond Cascade got to wherever he was going. They all gloss over the dull bits where nothing much happens. And for some reason Stalker and The Gnome weren’t with him any more. That doesn’t smack of nothing much happening. I suppose I could make up something heroic for them, but there are too many people know the truth for that. A whole town of them. Don’t talk about it, that’s probably the way. And then Diamond Cascade got to wherever he was going. And spin something dramatic from whatever events occur there and never mention who’s dropped out of the story and why.

So what really happened? I’ve seen it before. Tired, bruised, bloody band of heavily armed wanderers come in to a small border town late in the day. Town guard take one look at them, don’t like what they see, and demand that swords are handed over, oh and by the way, that pair of wolves you’ve got, they’re dangerous wild animals and they’re not coming in. Now if you’re me, you’re thinking yeah, whatever, all I want is a tavern with some half-decent wine and a bed with a passable mattress and if I’m in luck, someone to warm it with me. Maybe, if you’ve got an old head with a bit of wisdom, you can see their point. There’s a war on. Band of strangers wander in. Could be anyone. Could be who they say they are, could be agents of the enemy, here to slaughter the night watch and open the gates in the middle of the night to gods-know what that’s out there. But then maybe, if you’re Stalker, what you’re thinking is that the sword you’re being asked to give over to some stranger is the one thing that;s kept you alive for the last week. You’re thinking that there are corpses of a dozen slimeys and thuggers out there, and that your sword still has their blood on it. So you answer back, no, you’re not having these swords, why don’t you have a couple of gold coins instead, go enjoy your evening and leave me alone. And then if you’re the town guard, you’re thinking no, that;s the sort of thing that a band of enemy spies would try, so no, actually, now you;d be much happier if this gang of over-armed strangers was locked up in the cells until you had a chance to find out a little more about them. And now you’re Stalker again, who’s stared at death one time too many in the last few days, and no, you’re not giving up your sword, not to anyone, not for anything. And then the next thing you know, before anyone can do more than stare open-mouthed in disbelief, someone idiot draws and there are five dead guardsmen lying around the gate.

The Gnome pitched in, warped the gates and the two of them fled back out into the night. There’s a span of snow on the ground and a lot more comes down in the night. Chances are they didn’t get too far. The rest of us, we had over our swords and meekly spend out night in the cells. So much for a bed and a bottle and a woman. In the morning, they kick us out. Chuck us back outside the gates and close them behind us. Surprisingly generous, really. Other places might have hung us simply for someone to hang. It’s pretty clear that we’re not getting back in unless it’s with Stalker and The Gnome in chains between us. I can’t even bring myself to ask what the bounty is fro bringing them back. Don’t know whether I want to or whether I want to let them go. But we’ll go after them, that much is for sure. Don’t know what we’ll do when we catch them, but we’ll go after them. They’ve got our loot.

NEXT WEEK: FINALLY, AFTER SO MANY TRIES

Stalker the nephew of a king? Hard to credit, all things considered, but the soldiers seemed to believe it. They called him Corren. Same name we heard in Neverrest. For better or worse, we’re in the game now. Stalker with a crown? King Stalker? The possibilities are endless . . .

NEXT WEEK: …AND THE MADNESS OF GNOMES

Alturiak 5: Even as Diamond Cascade and his brave friends prepared the defences that would hold the orcish hordes for those precious few hours, a ray of hope descended. Soldiers from Osmuld, a small party of mounted men watching the borders. Appraised of the situation and of the desperate plight of the Halflings, these brave men at once offered to stay and add their swords to Diamond Cascade’s own. A fine offer, yet one that was refused. Let them ride, away to spread the word, let them rally the brave swords of Osmuld against the invader, let them spread the word of Diamond Cascade and his deeds so they might inspire others to follow in his path. Let the tale of one brave sword and noble heart that stands in the invaders way forge a hundred, and those hundred each forge a hundred more! Let righteous might and thunder rolls through these hills and scatter evil to the sea!

Swayed by the wisdom of Diamond Cascade’s words, the good soldiers of Osmuld quickly galloped away to sound the alarm and call forth the good swords of the north, but it is not before the mystery of Stalker’s memory is solved: It seems he is none other than Lord Corren, nephew of the King of Osmuld himself! This joyous news flooded our hearts, and as the sun set, we steeled ourselves to face the orc once more. Nor did they disappoint us. Goblin wolf-riders, drawn to our lures. Long and hard Diamond Cascade and his valiant fellows fought them off, slaying many. Many a wound was taken too, yet in the end, Diamond Cascade prevailed and the orc was turned away. For good? No. But for long enough for the poor beaten halfling wretches we had seen on the road? Yes. Tired, battered, bruised, bleeding, yet with soaring spirit, Diamond Cascade and his friends turned north once more to Osmuld.

We find ourselves a hill overlooking the refugee road. A place we can defend. We set some traps and some alarms and wonder why we are doing this. I don’t think half of us know. But I do.

I reckon I was fifteen years old. You lose track of time in the army, and what with half of us trying to make out we were older than we were so we could join the regular foot and the other half pretending we were younger than we were so we didn’t have to, it all got a bit confusing. We’d been fighting for most of the summer. We’d been pushing the slimeys and the the thuggers back. Didn’t know much about where we were. March here, march there, draw battle lines, a mad few hours of fighting, that was about it. Even the locals hardly knew whether we were pushing forward or pulling back, and I came from the other side of the island. But I’d say we were winning. We’d had a few skirmishes and one hard pitched battle and we’d come away intact. I’d seen a lot of dead slimeys by the end of that summer, a lot more of them than of us. Most with our arrows sticking out of them.

Late summer. We were on the march again. Hard and fast, off to some town called Barresford. Never heard of it. What I can tell you now is it’s a place you can cross the river that marks the border Osmuld. We’d pushed the enemy right back to where they’d come from. Didn’t know that then, though. Two days of marching, all the time being told we were up for the biggest battle yet, that this was going to be the end, we were going to trap the enemy and slaughter him, put an end to the slimeys and the thuggers once and for all. We’d driven them back, there was nowhere left for them to go and now we’d dam the river with their corpses. That sort of thing. We were ready.

We were a day late. They’d crossed the river already. Mostly. Twenty thousands soldiers, waiting for us on the other side. An advance force had arrived, though, a few days earlier. A thousand men. Freed the townspeople and told them the war was nearly over, that the last horde of the enemy was about to be broken, right on their doorstep. Whipped them up into a mad fervour. So when the horde came and the Osmuld regulars still hadn’t arrived yet, the townspeople and that one regiment of the King’s Guard, they stayed. Didn’t run away like sensible folk, but stayed and fought.

They were slaughtered. A thousand men-at-arms, as many again men, women and children. All of them. Slimeys didn’t have time to do much more than kill them and then set the place on fire; they knew we were coming and they knew they couldn’t face us. So they heaped up the bodies or just left them where they lay and torched the place and crossed the river. We caught up with them while the rearguard were still holding the town. Fought them through the ash-blackened streets, choking in the smoke and the stink of burned flesh. No battle lines drawn, no choreographed cavalry charges. No mercy, no remorse, no quarter, no pausing for breath. Just raw hate.

Barresford. It’s reek sank into our clothes. We stank of it for weeks. Burned flesh.

The slimeys, when they come, are cautious and disciplined. Not the sort of slimeys we’ve faced before. If they were anything else, I might even have some grudging respect for the way they fought. It was a long, bloody, brutal skirmish in the dark. I don’t know if we even killed any of them. Hurt a few, and they hurt us too. In the end they withdrew. Don’t know why. As soon as they were gone, so did we. We did our bit. Barresford or no, I’m not dying for bunch of lazy fat halfgits.

NEXT WEEK: THE MAKING OF KINGS…

Alturiak 5: The woes wrought upon the land by the hordes of evil were everywhere to see. Filled with righteous virtue and courage, from his victory, Diamond Cascade nevertheless knew that the blow he had struck against the villainous creatures of the mountains had been but a small one. A new war-leader would soon arise, and it was but one warband of many that had suffered Diamond Cascade’s wrath. Pledging his sword and his skill against the invader once more, Diamond Cascade and his brave band continued their quest north, to deliver letters and messages that would rouse the sleeping nations of good and seek out ancient sorceries that would batter the ancient evils behind this invasion back into their deepest darkest holes. But a day had gone by before the road ahead grew clogged with refugees, wretched Halflings, spirits broken, bodies battered, helpless prey, driven from their lands by the orcish terror. With orcish warbands but a few hours away, Diamond Cascade and his companions vowed to hold off the innumerable hordes for as long as it took for the last Halflings of the north to make good their escape and seek protection in the lands of fair Osmuld, even if it were to cost their lives . . .

And The Gnome turns the road into mud for no reason other than petty amusement, and she and Lena and Wolfgirl argue and fight and I can’t bring myself to much care. What do I do? I give Buttpoker to Stalker. Why would I do that? Fine, yes, I have a better sword now, a sweet peach of a blade stolen from the dark dwarf warrior who defended the drow priestess and got squashed by a falling roof, but still –  why do I give something away that could have bought me a winter in Neverrest with all the women and wine I could wish for? You’d have thought we might have learned, you really would, but oh no. I’d like to say now, for the record, that I don’t know what I was thinking. Carried away by my own stories, I think.

That or remembering Barresford again.

NEXT WEEK: AND MY OTHER NAME IS…

Alturiak 4: After a well-earned rest courtesy of Diamond Cascade’s good gnomish friends, Diamond Cascade and his companions continued on their mission: To travel north and deliver a letter, long overdue, and to continue their quest for the noble priest of Tyr, their hunt for the devilish dwarf Durmijeron. But what horror awaited? Slipping out from their dark dwellings among the mountains, fiendish orcs and vile goblins had swarmed forth while Diamond Cascade and his friends had brought justice to the venomous drow of the underdark. In the green and pleasant hills of the Halfling tribes, normally so warm and welcoming, naught awaited them but scene after scene of vicious unspeakable slaughter. Overwhelmed by this ashen tragedy, this dire destruction, Diamond Cascade and his comrades set themselves upon the trail of the closest of these despicable warbands and descended upon it in a whirling blur of sorcery and steel and righteous vengeance. Many fell to Diamond Cascade’s sword, many vile orc and goblin, yet their numbers were of such magnitude that even the master swordsman himself could not defeat so many. Sickened by the slaughter of his own making, Diamond Cascade set to in single combat with the foul leader of this orcish band and brought him down with a single mighty blow. Leaving the orcs reeling in disarray from the terror wrought upon them, to lick their wounds and slink back to their vomitous lairs, Diamond Cascade continued onwards.

Actually, no. Actually, what happened is we saw this large orcish warband, kept well away from it as any sensible person would, then slunk into their camp while they were all sleeping and murdered their war-leader in an effort to sow confusion and dissent.

Actually no, not that either. Ok, so the plan was to swoop in upon the orcs and kill their leaders and swoop away again while disabling their pursuit with spells. With flaming spheres and entanglement spells and a hail of arrows and SOME SORT OF CO-ORDINATION, it was a plan that might even have worked.

OK, look, if there had been a plan, there are many things it would not have included. For example, it would not have called for The Gnome to fall off her horse, Wolfgirl to stand around wondering what to do, or for Shifty to curl up in a ball and hope no one could see him, even as they walked right over where he was and trod on him. It would not have called for Stalker to rider around in aimless circles trying to control his horse while thousands of goblins threw javelins at him. All of these things. Would NOT have been in the plan. If we’d had one.

Unless, of course, the plan called for us to get captured and for our amusing ineptitude to arouse a certain degree of orcish curiosity, thus preventing our immediate execution. If the plan we didn’t have had been that, then it would have worked quite well. Same for the part where we escape from captivity while all the orcs are sleeping, murder their chieftain in his sleep (thanks, Shifty) and slink out with as much of our stuff and theirs as we could carry. I’d like to say that my growing powers that allow me to shift my appearance to be that of an orc and speak and understand their language made some useful contribution to our escape, but they didn’t.

What I still don’t understand is why our plan wasn’t simply to slip around them in the first place. I can’t even blame the rest of them. It was me, urging us into this outbreak of stupidity. Could have got us all killed. Very nearly did. Even as we were making our escape, a part of me wanted to turn back, creep among their bloated sleeping bodies and slit throat after throat until we were awash in a sea of blood. Where did that come from?

After we were away, all I could think of was Barresford. Maybe that’s what’s got my thinking so cloudy. Barresford and what the orcs did there.

NEXT WEEK: AN OUTBREAK OF VIRTUE

(aka Heroes of the Gnomish King)

Within the realms of the gnomish king, Diamond Cascade and his valiant band were welcomed and their every comfort tended. Treasures and wealth beyond dreams or reason were offered, but Diamond Cascade and his friends took only what they required: A little shelter, a little food to fill their empty bellies, a little rest while they tended their wounds. Gold and jewels they turned away, seeking nothing more than the knowledge that they had served the greater good of the land and brought peace back to their mischievous friends the gnomes. Other soldiers of fortune would surely have sought profit from their exploits, but for Diamond Cascade, virtue, as always, was its own reward. Despite the sanctuary of the gnomish city, though, Diamond Cascade was soon on his way. With his wounds healed and his fellows rested, there could be no rest, for in the world above, evil still stalked the land. With a fond and cheery farewell, Diamond Cascade returned to the surface, fresh and ready for a new quest!

In other words, we got nothing. Nada. Rien. Sweet zero. All that work, and for what? Not a gold piece to rub together between us. And you can add to that, I remember almost nothing about the gnomish lands. They must have got fed up with us and chucked us out, throwing in a little memory-muddling enchantment while they were at it. Thanks, gnomes. Next time you need saving from the hordes of darkness, find someone else. You and your little friends the pixies too (yes, pixies, I haven’t forgotten).

Still, when I wake up outside and the air is fresh and the sky is blue (or grey, actually, and raining, but never mind that), with the wind in my face and the sun on my skin (rain, but still never mind), I can’t tell you how good it was to be out of those stinking dark caves. Never again. Never, ever again.

One little thing we seem to have picked up while we were underground, though. A riddle. Scrawled on a piece of paper. Something about some great treasure. Some cryptic clue or other. Can’t work it out yet, but one or two bits about it make a creepy sort of sense. So maybe the gnomes weren’t quite the ingrates I thought. It would, I suppose, be a very gnomish sort of reward.

NEXT WEEK: THE THIN LINE BETWEEN HEROISM AND STUPIDITY

Hammer 10: Stealthy as ghosts in the night, Diamond Cascade and his noble companions crept through the tunnels. The terrible sounds of battle drew close, and finally they emerged upon a scene of terrible blood and destruction. In a desperate last stand, the valiant gnomes had pitched their last hopeless defence against the underground gates to their hidden city. Crashing against them, legion upon legion of dark dwarves and elves lay waste to all around them. Without thought of their own lives, Diamond Cascade and his friends threw themselves into the fray, but was this some idle assault? No! For the gnomish priest had seen that the roof of the great cavern in which this battle raged was held aloft by massive stone pillars. With one mighty spell, the pillars were brought down, crashing among the foul invaders, crushing many beneath their stones. As Diamond Cascade and the mighty Stalker took the enemy from behind and gave battle to the wicked priests who led them, the roof followed down, further battering the enemy. Without thought to their own safety, Diamond Cascade and his valiant followers gave chase, laying into the enemy left and right as stones and boulders crashed around them, bringing righteous and bloody justice to these foes of all that is proper and good. With a  single blow, Diamond Cascade slew the dark elf priestess who led the army; with their fellows crushed among the stones and their leader slain, the dark legions crumbled and fled, racing away into the tunnels and shadows with their tails between their legs. Thus it was that Diamond Cascade and his band of heroes brought salvation to the gnomish people and earned their eternal gratitude!

Yeah. Might have happened something like that. Might be that Diamond Cascade and his noble companions stumbled into the edge of the battle with hardly a clue as to what was going on except that it was very dark and what little light there was really didn’t help very much, and for all we know the gnomes were kicking dark elf butt. It’s true that we brought the roof down. The Gnome did that, I think. And I think that probably killed more dark dwarves than it crushed gnomes. Probably. Anyway, it seemed to sort the whole matter out. As for finishing off the priestess, well, I couldn’t say now who actually landed the killing blow on her. Stalker certainly had a good go at it, but got taken out by the horrible snake-staff she was carrying. Might have been a stone from the falling roof that finished her, or maybe it really was me. Don’t know. As for having no thought for our own lives, well, I for one was paying attention when the dark elf wizard with whom we didn’t make any deal at all was telling us what magic she and her bodyguards were carrying, and I was damned if I was going to let that slide and end up buried forever under a ton of rubble. Snake staff isn’t much use, but I’m sure we could sell it. Nice cloak, though. Nice gloves, nice gauntlet, and a very, very nice sword. I might even give Buttpoker to Stalker…

Must find another way to describe my so-called friends. Noble companions is getting tired, I think.

NEXT WEEK: SOME GREAT REWARD

Hammer 10: It’s amazing, sometimes, how life turns out. Take the psychotic dwarf, for example. He’s battled his way through the tunnels of the under-dark from the Mountains of Wherever to the Inn of Gnomish Mishaps to deliver his warning (apparently circumnavigating the entire gnomish kingdom in so doing, which, in hindsight, would explain his latterly apparent navigation and map-reading skills). He has followed his priest, joined with a band of strangely random sell-swords and misfits, travelled across the surface that he hates and has still, eventually, delivered his warning to the gnomish people. He has then followed his priest on a mission of almost certain death to deliver a crippling blow to the leadership of his enemies. He has watched his priest fall to goblin swords, and yet he has persevered. He has led a band of utter lunatics, stupid enough to follow him, yet querulous, argumentative and mocking. He has led them through tunnels he knows that are now riven with creatures he calls his mortal enemies (although in the case of this dwarf, ‘mortal enemy’ does sometimes seem to be a broad church that encompasses anything that breathes). He has faced dark dwarves, goblins, orcs, ogres and dark elves and he has spilt their blood upon the blade of his axe.  And then, almost within sight of his destiny, close enough to touch it, a bear sits on him.

Is there a lesson to this? Apart from not standing in the way of a bear that’s going toe-to-toe with a mushroom with tentacles? Yes. Life is futile, random and ghastly. Take what you can and get what you can get. Before the bear sits on you.

Bizarre, but the one person who seems to care about this (beyond the horrible realisation that none of the rest of us have the first clue how to get back out of here) is Shifty. Or maybe he was just looting the body in particularly dramatic style.

I hate this place.

NEXT WEEK: TERMINUS EST

Hammer 10: One thing Diamond Cascade won’t do in the epic tales of his exploits will be to blunder into yet another cave full of dwarves, get ambushed by them, get into a huge fight, kick their arses only to have a vast gang of mutant goblins, half of them with too many heads or too many hands or too many wings, mouths, tails, you name it, too many of anything, show up along with some flying dark elf wizard. There’s absolutely no way that Diamond Cascade and his noble mateys made some sort of deal with ANY DARK ELF WIZARD AT ALL, even one who’s lit up with magic like a candelabra in a Gammersbridge brothel. There’s no way at all that any of this happened, and no one was promised the magical-loot of the dark elf priestess if we happened to murder her. No bargain of any sort was made. In fact, no such wizard existed.

And if he did, he wasn’t called Ilkius Venaar.

Ah, crap, it’s not like we weren’t going to go and do exactly the same thing anyway.

NEXT WEEK: MAGIC MUSHROOMS

Hammer 10: …until finally they reached the first scouts of the fiendish ARMY OF DARKNESS, the vicious DARK ELVES. With ruthless strokes, Diamond Cascade and his comrades stalked and slew these foul versions of the fair folk above and crept ever closer to the heart of the enemy.

Look, when you’re a human and you’re a mile under the ground and you can see jack shit, spotting a black-skinned elf wearing black armour, sitting on the back of a black lizard that happens to be hanging from a black ceiling with lots of black darkness in between you, it just doesn’t work, right. I begin to see why dwarves and gnomes live in these holes. Because they can. Because it keeps them away from us and us away from them. So we’re creeping along, bumping into walls and generally getting on each others’ nerves (The Gnome, it seems, has taken particular issue to the stories I sing of Diamond Cascade, back when we were in civilised places. Remember civilisation? Where a good bit of singing gets you a meal for a night instead of getting you attacked by an army of giant spiders and dire bats? I remember civilisation. Even my poet’s soul can’t find words potent enough to express how much I’d rather be there than here. Anyway, I keep telling The Gnome that they’re just stories, they’re not meant to be about us, exactly (well they are, and that’s pretty obvious, but The Gnome is a gnome and dim, right) but she just won’t shut up about it) when we hear the sound of rushing water. Great, a place to throw The Gnome and shut her up, but you know, the sound of rushing water turns out to travel an awful long way in a cave, and by the time we get there, I’ve temporarily forgotten about hefting people into rivers. So there we are, great big chasm, rushing underground river, long rope bridge vanishing into the darkness ahead. And I’m happily lollopping across when this fight breaks out, and all I know of it is there’s shouting all of a sudden from The Gnome and Wolfgirl (who can apparently see in the dark too) about something on the ceiling and then there’s people shooting arrows up at god-knows-what (hint for archers: don’t shoot arrows straight upwards, especially at a lizard you can’t actually see) and then the next thing is The Gnome casting some spell and the next thing after that is this huge lizard thing with a screaming black elf plunging past me and crashing into the river along with assorted bits of cave roof.

Now, you all need to know this: Not everything you’ve heard about dark elves is true. But I don’t know that. All I see is a falling magic shop plunging into the river, and so I’m out with the rope and grapple I keep handy (you would too if you were in these tunnels), trying to reel that sucker in before he vanishes into the inky depths. First throw was a good one too, got him nice and fast. Only trouble is, I guess I didn’t reckon on how strong the current would be and I’m still thinking too hard about how much magic this dark elf must have to let go of the stupid rope, and half a second later, that’s me over the edge and into the water as well. All in my chain shirt and sword and everything. I’m too busy trying not to drown to really listen in on the conversation behind me, but there was way too much talking and not enough throwing rescue ropes for my liking. I guess I could have reeled myself in to the lizard and floated off to gods-knows-where on the back of it, dark-elf treasure and all. The only one who does anything is the mad dwarf. Just as well it was a good throw.

NEXT WEEK: THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY