The rain had been pouring down for what seemed like an eternity, its dampness mixing with the earth to become a thick heavy mud. The water seeping into every bit of clothing sending bone chills throughout the body, that, and with the high wind has made it all but impossible to see in virtually any direction creating total and absolute blackness.
Orlof laid there for a moment letting the coolness of the rain pelt his exposed skin. He pondered for a moment the slight tingling sensation that passed through his body. Was that from the rain? His mind wandered a bit then was snapped back to the present. Turning his head painfully to the side he noticed what seemed to be the impossible, a blackness darker then what was caused by the rain and night. It moved, sometimes with, sometimes against the wind but, one thing was clear it was moving towards him. With a painful fog Orlof fought to piece together what was happening, his mind struggled to work. The darkness continued its shifting with the wind moving closer, heavy thuds were heard with every stride. Glancing around Orlof saw a flash, something flashed silver near him. He strained to see what it was, an object laying on the ground several feet from him. He too, he had realized was lying in the mud. Forcing his eye’s to focus on the silver object it was as though a lightning bolt had hit him. He was in a battle for his life! A creature had attacked his party, slaying all of the others leaving Orlof to stand alone. Now it appeared he too would meet his fate. With the fog in his head lifting Orlof struggled to reach for the silver object. Pain ripped through his body and Orlof felt a new wetness now, not cold like the rain, this was warm. Immediately he knew that he was bleeding; the pain told him that it was serious. Fighting that pain he stretched out his hand to grasp the object he knew could be only one thing, his silver broad sword. As the thudding of the foot steps neared Orlof reached for his life. He first felt the very tip of the handle barely with his fingers, he reached. His hand slowly moved up the hilt. He knew he needed a strong firm grip. He stretched again, forcing himself to grunt through the pain, “almost” he told himself. Orlof could now hear not only foot steps but, also the slow heavy breathing of his opponent. It was deep and animalistic, excited and anticipating. Orlof’s fingers finally closed around the hilt and with what little strength he had he pulled the sword from the mud. As the hilt emerged from the wet darkness Orlof found a new energy, his fingers wrapped more firmly around the handle. An impossible smile was starting to form on his lips only to turn sour. As the sword came free of the mud, it was broken! Only three inches remained past the sword hilt. A shudder came over Orlof as he willed himself to face his would be executioner. The beast was taller than an average human with a head of a bull. The battle axe it was carrying was dripping with rain water and what Orlof was convinced was his own blood. It will soon be soaked Orlof thought to him self with a quiet dark humor. The creature stood over his fallen and beaten opponent striking what can only be construed as a victoriously gloating pose. With what energy Orlof had left he use to form what would likely be his last words “go on and get it over with…”. The Minatare seemed only too happy to oblige, lifting its battle axe high in the air was the last thing Orlof remembered seeing. He was swallowed by the blackness.
The fire in pit started to die down. A tavern worker stoked what was left of the chard logs and placed another log into the pit. The tavern was alive with patrons and the chatter was loud with talk and glasses clanking. As the figure finished his tale he quickly downed the last of his drink. Surrounding him where a half dozen figures, some human, some elf folk and at least two halflings. One halfling stood in amazement and then it struck him. He bellowed out “Orlof, I have a question, if you died out there then how is it you’re here to tell us this tale?” Finishing his drink Orlof let out a boastful laugh. “Well my half kin folk, that’s a most excellent point. I was dead as you put it and I can tell you here and now it’s the creepiest feeling being dead and all. Now I don’t know how long I was out, couldn’t have been long because they say if you’re dead too long you can’t come back. But, there I was I suppose all corpse like and then BAM! I’m alive again! I looked around as best I could and then I saw him, a cleric standing right over me. He brought me back from the dead! Elstan was his name, he told me he was passing by when he saw what was left of the battle. After a moment, to get my bearings, I asked about my comrades. He told me he was sorry but, it appeared that the beast had fed on there bodies and there wasn’t enough left to raise. He did however help me back to town. I’ve been here ever since.” The group surrounding him fell into silence trying to take it all in. Orlof continued. “I must say that I’ll always be grateful to that man for bringing me back but, I’m going to be laid up for a while well my wounds heal. That means I won’t be able to go out there and avenge my fallen comrades.” With that Orlof orders another drink and downs it quickly trying to hide his anger and sorrow. The halfling pipes in again. “We could try and raise some money and hire a group of fighters to take care of this monster. What do you say to that?” Orlof appeared to be lost in thought. One of the others sitting at the table spoke up. “I’ll donate some silver pieces.” Others started in as well. Soon there was a sizable pot enough to hire two to three adventures at least. The halfling spoke again. “Good, good I think that’s enough. Now, all we need to do is find us some adventurers.”
