The green landscape stretched before me, scrubs and bushes sprinkled across until they grew into forests beyond. The morning sun gently bore down on us as I followed a great and slow line of merchant caravans, guarded by our hometown’s soldiers. It was headed towards Greyhawk and other peasants and nobodies huddled as close as they could around them for protection.

It was a few days into my journey and despite the number of soldiers around us I felt vulnerable, never having set foot outside the hometown’s walls. I was well aware of the danger of this land and with calculation I had acquainted myself with a few people, namely a handful of humans and elves that I gathered would know how to wield a weapon if something should happen.

Beside the boring cleric there was a knowledgeable female high elf by the name of Alatáriël, not just a magic user like myself but a fighter as well. She was accompanied by the ssneaky Wood Elf whose name he did not reveal. The elves cared not to tell me what they were coming along with us for.

Then there Ruarc, a rager who mostly kept to himself.

The last of them, a young and very well fed cleric by the name of Hendel, walked beside, boring me with the tall stories of his faith. I said, “yes, yes” here and there and nodded occasionally for I had not the interest to tell him what I thought of his fancy myths. I found myself grabbing the flask of mead in my ruck sack. Taking a sip of the sweet drink I reflected on why I was here in the first place.

***

I loved my mead and in fact any good beer, and one could always find me in the Queens’ Legs, a fantastic drinking hole if you wanted to get away from the world and all of its miseries. Even though I took frequent lodgings here and was quite a regular, I drank alone. It wasn’t that I had a problem striking up a conversation, indeed I was quite a friendly fellow. It’s just a wizard’s robe earns the awe and distrust of the normal folk.

My love for the drink had also earned me the family’s shame. My father, old and with one foot in a grave, disowned me. My three brothers glistened in society, made wealthy by following my father’s footsteps as wily merchants. They had no use of a drunken wizard. My mother had died years ago and that only left my younger sister who despite my habits still talked to me ignored my protests to help me financially.

However it had been some months that my sister Shara had visited me. She was due back from Greyhawk weeks ago and yet I had not received any word from her. I could not shake a dreadful feeling regardless of how many pints I drank.

It was becoming a habit to glare at the heirloom item I carried with me, a brilliant blue marble gem. My other siblings also had a similar jewel which had been given to them by our mother when each of us reached ten summers. She said that if we ever felt alone we should hold the gem close to our hearts. It would fill us with the comfort and the strength of family.

We all believed in this story when we were young but after the passing of our mother and as boys turned into men, I knew that my brothers cared not for such things and just saw it as something to be sold at an optimum price.

For Shara and I were always close, the gems reflected this more and more as the years passed and through it I knew what she was feeling.

It was a few weeks that the dreadful sense emanated from the marble, a feeling of panic, horror, despair.

I tried to approach each of my brothers if they knew anything but their servants shunned me away from their homes.

A week ago I was of course at the Queen’s Leg, unable to drink my pint. Some one sad down beside me and I turned to see that it was my brother Klaus.

“You know that Shara was returning from Greyhawk?” he asked.

I nodded, taking a sip.

“I heard you came to my house and scared my manservant with your talk. Unfortunately your talk of her being in trouble was true.”

“What?” I stammered.

“I’ll make this quick, for I have far better things to do than talk to a drunk. A few survivors returned here this morning and told us that their caravan was attacked by green skins.” Klaus swallowed hard, “One of them knew Shara. They saw her taken by the orcs. She is dead, Cailus.”

“No!” I cried, grabbing the marble from my pouch and showing it to him, “She may be in danger but she is not dead!”

Klaus stood up and stared at me, not even trying to hide the disgust in his face, “What use do orcs have of a feeble woman?” My brother smacked the marble from my hand and it rolled underneath a chair. “You and your petty trinkets, brother! It’s useless and she is dead. Dead because of you!”

“What?” I stammered again.

“Yes, dead because she went to Greyhawk. She went there to find a new home for you because everybody in this town knows what a drunken wretch you are. A waste of space. She hoped that perhaps you settling somewhere else you could continue to pursue your so called talents as a wizard.”

Everybody in the pub was staring at us.

“And now she is dead,“ he spat., “Our father has disowned you and now your brothers have too.”

And with that Klaus turned and stormed out of the building. The show over, the hubbub of the pub’s patrons resumed.

I must have burnt a hole in the Queens’ Legs floor because I stared at it for hours.

The next morning I gathered my meagre belongings from my lodgings. Another caravan was leaving for Greyhawk. The marble in my hand was heavy and sad but not dead. She was still alive and somehow I would find Shara. Somehow I would prove that I was not a waste of space, at least to my sister.

***

The caravan was still moving and Hendel was still rambling on.

“Yes, yes, of course,” I said, raising the flask and emptying the last drop of mead on my tongue.

The bushes had grown close together and around us and I cried some one cry out. Something whistled by my nose. What was that, I asked myself.

Alatáriël was in front of us and was hunched over and everyone was growing very confused.

I suddenly felt a very sharp pain in my arm and looked down to see shaft of an arrow protruding from my arm.

“Ouch!” I cried. A horn was blown by one the guards.

“Were under attack!” someone yelled out.

The Ranger was the first to draw his bow and taking aim to our side he let off a few arrows. A loud grunt was heard. The Wood Elf was struggling to climb up the large wagon beside us, porbably to get a better view thought I wondered why one would make such a target of himself.

I grabbed my quarterstaff and cursed. In my merry stupor of last night I forgot to learn my magic spell. I panicked and I dived for cover behind one of the wagon’s wheels, as if a few spokes between me and whoever was attacking would save me.

I saw that Hendel had dashed off to help the wounded High Elf but judging by her expression she had no idea was he was trying to do and she backed away.

I continued to hug the wagon wheel and removed the arrow, bandaging the wound with a scrap of my robe. A few moments later the exchange of arrows had stopped. It was now very quiet.

“I think I hit it,” called out the Ranger. I saw that the soldiers had stopped were unengaged as well. Looked like they had drove off the attack.

The Ranger set off to investigate his kill. Despite my wound I was intrigued and I picking myself off the ground, followed after the Ranger.

After pushing past the leaves and receiving a few scratches I saw the Ranger and a large dark green creature in front of him. I could smell the creature’s rank stench from here and it took me a moment to realise it was an orc. I had only seen them in drawings in books before and this one looked far more horrible. And it was still breathing.

The Ranger was cursing and I saw that he had broken his bow string.

Were there more orcs surrounding us, I wondered. I remembered I knew how to speak some hob-goblin, a delightfully strange and grotesque language and I found myself fascinated for back at the Wizard’s Academy.

“Are there any more,” I inquired in the strange language.

The orc uttered a brutal rasping that I guessed was a laugh. Perhaps a more threatening pose would instill some fear and gain a response, I reasoned. However I realised that the Ranger had pulled out it’s sword and was preparing to strike the orc.

“Wait!” I yelled but it was too late. The Rangers sword cut halfway into the orc’s neck, blood gushing. The Ranger pulled the sword free and it was dead.

“Sorry?” the Ranger turned to me, “Did you say something?”

The fight over, the others searched the dead bodies and retrieved what arrows they could. The wounded were patched up as best as could be done. I saw the Wood Elf pull an arrow from his buttock.

The caravan then resumed its journey.

Hours passed without incident but I was nervous. I realised I could have easily died. The wound in my arm still hurt but at least it stopped bleeding.

The parade of wagons and people had now entered the forest trail and everyone was on edge. The forest grew darker and still; the birds had stopped chirping and was replaced by the nervous neighs of horses. Our eyes vainly tried to penetrate the trees. I glanced down at the magic marble and it glowed a faint green.

“Watch out, greenksins! They come!” I shouted.

“Shh! Quiet you fool,” the Lieutenant said to me, passing by me on his mount.

Nevertheless, the other party member drew their weapons and took positions. I was determined not be as useless as earlier this day and crouched behind a pine tree. The Ranger was next to me.

Suddenly I saw them, three orcs emerging out from the trees charging towards us.

“I am not a waste of space!” I yelled to no one particular and charged, wildly swinging my staff. The orc easily parried my blows and suddenly I didn’t feel very well.

A moment later I realised I lying was on the ground. My arms felt heavy but I managed to touch my chest and it felt warm. I looked at my finger and there was blood on them. The sound of battle around me washed out and the sky above claimed me.

I awoke with a start and Alatáriël pushed me pack into the bed.

“It’s okay,” she said in her silk Elven voice. I was in one of the wagons, rested on a sleeping rug.

“What happened?” I asked, feeling the layers bandage around my chest.

“You charge into battle today may have been valiant, Cailus but unfortunately this is not some fairy tale. You are lucky to be alive.”

“I feel fine though.”

She crouched up, ready to get out of the wagon, “We managed to beat off the orcs in time. A kind mage helped heal your wounds to great effect for a human. You’ll need to rest though, we carry on in the morning.”

My ruck sack laid beside me and I pulled out of it my spell book.

The following morning I thanked the owners of the wagon and caught up with the party for breakfast.

During my recovery the Elves had tracked down the orc retreat to a run down house in a clearing not too far from here. The party had decided examine the house and end the Orcs threat here. The Wood Elf was especially fond of the idea of the possibility of gold. They invited me to join them on this quest and I accepted. Who knew if Shara was being held captive in that very house?

It was a rickety old two storey house, half of it buried underneath the ground. Its flat roof sagged and the few windows were all shattered, revealing the pitch black darkness inside. The sun’s rays struggled brighten this place.

The Elves had mentioned that the tracks indicated that more orcs went inside than went out which was strange. Did the house lead to a burrow underneath?

The part spread out, the Wood Elf taking the far right flank. I left the High Elf and cleric and followed Ruarc again to the left flank and we both looked at each other in alarm when he stepped on a branch, making a very loud crack. After a few strenuous moments nothing happened and we continued along, positioning ourself fifty paces away from the homestead.

There was another crack in the distance and we heard the Wood Elf curse in his language. I realised I was holding my breath for too long and gasped.

The Ranger beside me was still, aiming his bow at the door.

“Think they heard us?” I whispered, “Is there even anyone in there?”

The Ranger shrugged and the front of the house exploded, sending shrapnel everywhere.

I stumbled back on my arse at the shock. There was an abnormally loud roar. There was perhaps a dozen orcs charging out of the just renovated door, led by something thrice the size of a man. It was a burly creature dragging a club behind it.

“What the hell is that?” I asked. The Ranger loosed an arrow which hid an orc in the head.

“I don't care. If it bleeds, it will die.”

I then sensed the wind of magic coursing across the earth. To the cheer of the cleric, twines arose from the floor boards of the house and tangled around some of the orcs’ feet. That would give us more precious time to use the advantage of our cover in the trees.

However the huge beast ignored the tangle weed and batted aside our arrows, continuing its advanced towards the High Elf.

As it closed in I saw the Elf shoot another arrow before throwing it aside and drawing our her sword. Such bravery I thought. And then I remembered she said that this is not a fairy tale.

I pointed my staff at the creature and cast Magic Missile. The magic blasted into the creatures’ shouldered, chunks of flesh flying into the air. The creature, unperturbed, swung its club at the High Elf and just missed her.

I could only watch as the Ranger and the Wood Elf continued to pour arrows into the orcs as the High Elf continued her struggle. The cleric intercepted some orcs who were about to charge into Alatáriël, batting aside one with his quarter staff.

The fight continued but thanks to the slow nature of the beast the High Elf managed to dodge most of the blows. After one tremendous stroke which shook the ground where I was, Alatáriël saw an opening and slashed the blade of her sword across its abdomens. Muscles split and its vile guts slipped out. It uttered a groan and slumped over, trying to stuff its intestines back inside. Alatáriël and Hendel jabbed and smashed their weapons into the ogre and finally killed it.

Seeing the ogre fall, the surviving orcs ran away.

The party finished off any wounded orcs and searched for loot on the dead bodies. The thief especially enjoyed this part.

The Wood Elf ventured inside the remains of the house and looked around, “There’s a staircase leading down. Can’t see any bloody traps.”

It was dark and the party was thankful I brought along some torches. I lit one and we followed the stairs down and reached what would have been the ground floor before the house sunk. There were dirty bunk beds against one side of the wall and a ancient table in the corner opposite. Another stair case lead down even further.

“I betcha any money there’s more orcs down there,” whispered the Wood Elf. I found myself keeping alert of my belongings whenever he was around.

“We can try to draw them out,” suggested the High Elf.

“And how do you propose we do this?” I asked.

The cleric beamed, “I know a bit of orc language. I’ll call them out.”

We all looked at each other hesitantly.

“Suppose we can try it out,” said tRiarc, unsure of it as well.

We put our selves in what positions we thought was best. My magic spent for the day I lurked at the staircase towards the second floor. I nearly laughed as the Wood Elf propped himself on the table. Great position, I thought to myself.

When we were ready, the cleric garbled out in the orc tongue. There was gargle back.

“What was that all about?” I asked Hendel.

Hendel told me he called the orcs’ mother something despicable.

“And what did it say back?”

It was impossible for the chubby cleric to wipe his smile away. The creature had agreed with his comment.

The Wood Elf spoke, “Okay, who is going to go down there and draw them out?”

No one replied.

“How about you chubby?” the Wood Eld pointed at Hendel.

“It’s dark down there and I might slip. My gods wouldn’t allow me after life if I were to die this way.”

I walked over to the cleric and gave him my torch and a pat on the back.

“That’s better, thank you Cailus.” I couldn’t read his face as to whether he was being sarcastic or not.

He took step by step down the stairs, hugging the dank walls and the torch in front of him.

There was then a crash and I looked to where the Wood Elf was a second ago. The table had vanished along with him.

We then heard the thing down stairs gurgle in Common: “Ah, dinner is ready!”

We saw that the floor beneath the Wood Elf had fallen through to the next floor.

“Help!” we heard him cry out.

“Go and help him,” yelled the Alatáriël, “I’ll try to hit whatever it is from here.”

“Help!” That wasHendel's  cry this time.

The Ranger and I rushed down the stairs and around the corner and came to face with another thing I’ve read in books. The troll was even larger than the ogre, with a bulging gut and wiry arms. Its hands ended with fierce yellowed claws. It was taking swipes at Hendel and the Wood Elf who desperately dodged and parried in the confines of the room. The creature had a big stupid grin on its face.

An arrow rebounded of the wall and onto the ground. The High Elf was trying to shoot it from above.

The Wood Elf dropped a handful of sharp caltrops on the cold stone floor but the Troll was surprisingly clever enough not to step on them. The cleric tried to hit the troll with the flaming torch but the blow was batted away.

I grabbed my dagger and threw it, though it missed the great troll and nearly hit the Wood Elf.

"Sorry!"

The Wood Elf was knocked aside and yelled in pain as blood gushed from a shoulder wound. The troll turned around and utter a grunt of a laugh. It plunged its claws into Hendel's collar bone. Helplessly I watched as the troll was about to finish the cleric off but an excellent bow shot from Alatáriël lodged itself in the trolls neck. This gave enough time for the two besieged fighers to regain their stance and continue the fight.

Running out of time, I took the ruck sack from my back and rummaged through it for anything that could help.

“What about oil, will that help?” I shouted, ‘Could chuck it on the troll?”

“Do it!” someone yelled out.

The melee continued as I fumbled around with the sack until I finally found the flask of oil. I pulled out the cork. My legs felt like water as I approached the terrible monster and all I wanted to do was run away.

“Hurry up!” yelled the Wood Elf, who was in imminent danger of being cornered and devoured.

I ran up and closed my eyes, shaking out the contents of the flask. The oil splashed over the troll.

The cleric then tried again with the torch and the hit was enough to set the oil on fire. The troll bellowed in anger. I retreated back, shielding my eyes from the sudden blast of fire.

As the troll was distracted by being set alight, more arrows whacked into it and the cleric and Wood Elf hacked and slashed at it.

The troll abruptly felled, unmoving. All sound died away apart from the crackle of the dying flames.

“Well, that was fun,” Hendel said with a smile.

And so there you have it, the first chapter of our Dungeons & Dragons story. Tune in next month to find out what happens next!

Credits:

Narration: Cailus

Dungeon Master: MarkW

 Players: Jackie (High Elf), Dead1 (Cleric), Allan (Wood Elf Thief), Clockwork Lemon (Ranger), Cailus (Wizard)