Wednesday, February 20, 2008

It's lonely at the top...

The Kobolds look down upon the party, smiling with glee upon seeing that they have indeed succeeded at burying half the party under the avalanche. Their smiles fade, however, as they see the two dwarves standing upright, their axes gleaming in the afternoon sun, looking like monsters of ancient legend. The Kobolds hesitate for a moment, then an order is shouted down the line, and they withdraw, hurriedly.


Meanwhile further up the mountain...

High Patriarch Thelgez is sitting on the headless shoulders of what looks like the rather vandalised remains of an ornate marble statue that must once have towered 50 ft into the air, holding a spyglass. "By the thrice-spoilt eggs of Tiamat!" He is shouting to none in particular. Two lackeys dressed in a simple robe, glance up at him nervously.

"ZibZug failed! I knew the sorcerer was a fool! Let us venture outside, he said! Let us use the goggles, he said! Let us use the might of the mountain to create the mightiest of traps, he said! The idiot! Now our bravest and our best are all dead, and the humans and dwarves are still alive! It will take generations before we recover from this!"

Thelgez picks up a stone from his pouch and chucks it at the head of one of the lackeys. "You two, what are you doing! Get back into the warren, warn everybody! Get the eggs into safety! Build barricades, arm the people!

Watching his underlings scurry into the, Thelgez sits back, a thoughtful expression on his face. His ancestors had warned him about this. Young, homicidal travellers, travelling in packs, bringing nothing but death and suffering. He had always hoped it wouldn't happened in his life-time, somehow assuming that the remoteness of the mountain would protect his people from harm. He had even made sure to have a semblance of an agreement with the sheepfarmers in the hills, so they wouldn't complain to much. Ah yes, the sheepfarmers, the goblins had taken care of them.

Thelgez swears as he climbs down the statue, thinking about the goblins and their absolute stupidity. He had hoped that they would be his greatest worry this winter. He had tried to reason with them but, Horakus' lieutenant had only known the language of violence. Still, he had managed to deal with them.

Thelgez hurries into the small cave entrance beneath the statue, casting one last look at the beauty of Snaefang, wondering if he ever will gaze upon it again....

1 comment:

Hedzor said...

It's lonely at the bottom (buried under a mass of snow) too!