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accepted his duty even though we knew
it was a suiside. Tarlakk had his all of his
adventuring comrades in chains down here,
somewhere, in this dungeon. It wasn’t
entirely his fault, but in some part he felt responsible
for not going along with them, those two days ago.
Too much drink, too much gaming had made him out
of sorts. If only they would have waited just a few
hours. Instead, on the morning of their departure
Braff pushed him back down into his bed and with a
single word, “Sot!”, left.
Jorg could not be sure if he said, “I am not a sot! I
just enjoyed myself too much last night.” as he laid
there. The next thing he knew, he was awakened by
some lout and a girl bursting through the door.
“Crom man, sorry... Hey, yer not with someone. Get
outta here! I’ve business to discuss with the lady
here!” Jorg collected his gear and left to their
impatient stares. He found out they enlisted the talent
of another thief (not a fighter/thief mind you, which
is what Jorg brings to an outing) and left that
morning. He’d have to wait early the next morrow to
strike out.
After half a pint at the pub, he found he had no taste
for it anymore and left the town behind to trek into
the woods by starlight. Not a bit tired, and ever
careful, he made his way to the castle by midmorning.
Watching the comings and goings of the
castle folk all day, he deduced where and when would
be the best time and place for him to get himself
inside.
After almost a day in the castle’s dungeon
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catacombs Jorg said aloud to himself, “Mirta, if you see
your way to letting me free my friends, I’ll never drink
aga-... uh... never drink before a mission again.”
A high pitched voice replied, “Don’t worry Jorg, I’ll slit
your throat so ale will find it’s way into your belly.”
That Stopped Jorg in his tracks.
“Mitra?” Jorg asked aloud.
“No, Braff! You idiot!!” Braff finished off in his own
voice. “Down here! I trust you’ve brought your locks
picks?”
As Jorg nears the hallway where the jails are, Sigrid
calls out, “Take care, there’s more than jailers down
here.”
Jorg then sees the ogre guard in front of him. “Well,
Jailer, what does it cost me to free my friends,” he says
removing his blade from its sheath.
Just yer skin, hu-man.” The jailer grins and then a
smoky column appears to block the way to the right,
from it an ogre deamon steps forth.
“Is that all ogre? You and one of your dead relativies to
stop me?”
“You’re a funny one.” the ogre salavates, “Let’s just
hope you don’t taste funny.” Jorg hears a loud hissing
noise behind his back. He pulls out a short sword with
his free hand and eyes a demi-deamon taking form
admidst smoke and flame.
Jorg calls out, “Take a seat, Braff. The ogre here wants
to see just how funny I am.”
© 2002 L. Brenza |
