The Guards of Galdenwyck [1-13]
Grizzlemax, the orcish king, had prepared an ad hoc assembly of his praetorian guards this very afternoon. These stalwart 50 were his best soldiers, hand-picked since childhood as his personal protectors. They had all served and serviced him well. He gave the order to rest their halberds.
“Praetorians! Today is . . . ” he glanced at the solunar calendar on his dais, “Today is . . . the fourth day between Idyllwine and Shambzat! You all know the legends! Today, we will rise against our dwarven oppressors and eat their luscious toes for breakfast!”
A loud hurrah and snorting swelled up from his troops, for the eating of dwarf toes had been banned in a recent peace accord with Meshu, king of the dwarves.
“The Guards of Galdenwyck are taking their mortal forms! Soon, all fourteen of them will unite and destroy Taga’s rule, leaving the entire region of Whydonia for ourselves!”
The praetorians snorted and shouted even more loudly at this remark. Several of them clanked their halberds together in splendid rejoicing.
“But . . . ”
The crowd ooh-ed and aah-ed at this sign of trepidation.
“ . . . for our promised legacy to come true, we must capture the spell book of the Avaximander! As you know, it was buried along with Werkingetorix in the tomb that is . . . Werkingetorix’s! And the vile vampire, Tamcruz Bradpit now makes it his dirty, shameful home!”
“Ooooh!” the crowd sarcastically mocked.
“Yes. I know you are battle-hardened soldiers. But since none of you seem to be able to perform the simplest of the clerical skills, such as praying in the right direction, this task will be harder than you think. Tamcruz will no doubt have an endless supply of undead minions to cast at us, and he will be no slouch in combat, either.” He paced left, then right, and assumed his speaking stance in front of the rostra once again, giving them suitable time to reflect upon his grave admonishments. “Yes, he will be no slouch in combat.”
The orcs were bloodthirsty, having lived under millennia of dwarven oppression and this opportunity seemed to much for them to bear. After Grizzlemax adjourned the meeting of the guards he convened a special council of his ten most trusted advisors.
“Yes, my fellow soldiers, the situation seems bleak. Raiding the arch-lich’s tomb and stealing a spellbook from under the nose of Tamcruz Bradpit seems an impossible task, but . . . .”
“But what, Your Great Orcishness?” asked Frizzlefry, a longstanding member of the innner sanctum. “We have no chance here. Would you loose upon the world an army of orcish undead? If I am understanding you correctly, that is exactly what will happen.”
“Ah, Frizzlefry, your father, Claypoole, would know I had at least one trick up my sleeve. You have much to learn. Yes, much to learn.”
Grizzlemax gazed at his council for several rounds, daring them to ask what his plan was but not one orc raised his voice. “OK, you feeble-minded troglodytes, here is what I know. I recently visited the Oracle at Larrielison and learned that a half-orc swine by the name of Kadik is travelling with his apprentice, a lowly drow elf.”
Groans issued from the room. A half-orc and a drow elf? What could they possibly have to do with anything?
“Hear me out, for you know that the Oracle never lies. The half-orc is a master thief and according to the Oracle, is the only one who can steal the spellbook.”
[Editor's note: at this point the manuscript goes missing and the final pages appear to have been eaten by dire wolves. Perhaps the rest of the story will turn up in a treasure trove as of yet not found.]
