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The dreams were always disturbing. So much so that he stopped looking in on them; that was his first mistake. A man’s thoughts are fully explained in his sleep. It has been said that dreams are wish fulfillment. Well if that is the case, then he should have known what this foul orc would wish for.
It happened suddenly and without warning. Sleep had taken them, leaving the rank beast to his dreams, and the elf to wander begrudgingly in the perilous territory of this orc’s mind.
The call came suddenly from the area where Glucktor dreamt, usually of murders past and possibly future. It resounded off the dismal tunnels of his mind, echoing a single clear word: Gruumsh.
It was not unusual to encounter others in the orc’s mind. In the past however, it had always been a phantom, a mere manifestation of a memory long past and forgotten.
This time however, Wanop knew that what stood before him was no apparition. The figure was a towering male cyclopean orc. His left eye socket was empty and scarred while the right eye bulging and unblinking peered down at the elf. The eerie green light that seemed so prevalent here, reflected off of the beast’s full plate armor, which was black as ebony. A vile and unholy spear rested lazily by its side.
Wanop recognized this imposing figure as Gruumsh the orcish deity. What he did not know was weather this was truly Gruumsh, who would likely destroy him, or just a part of Glucktor’s retched dreams.
He reached for it forgetting once again that Pornfork was no longer in his possession. He drew instead his trusted long sword. He knew what he was up against, but he had come too far, endured too much, to be chopped down by any orc real or imagined.
He came at the beast swiftly with a flurry of sidelong and overhand slashes. With a divine speed that defied mortal description, each of Wanop’s thrusts and chops were batted away. Before he could register what was happening, the orc batted his sword to the side and plunged the unholy spear up into the elf’s chest. Everything happened so fast, it was as if time itself was racing to catch up with something unknown.
He began to swoon; he knew that soon he would die. He felt the wicked evil of the spear rotting him from the inside out. He gasped for air frantically, just then an unusual thought occurred to him; it was more like a voice, or a whisper.
“I want to help.” That’s when everything went black.
The gnome scampered about the room; his companions had yet again gone to the tavern to drink away their earnings as adventurers. The recent acquisition of a green dragon’s gold could buy them a lot of ale. After many weeks on the road, they meant to drink away the weariness. Meaning, Hastur was left to tend their unconscious friend, again. It really didn’t bother the old gnome; he was too old now to actively battle the things that this group encountered. Besides, he had managed to make himself quite useful. He effectively tended the bodies of all his companions, keeping them alive while their souls were lost.
He pressed the vial of thick fluid to the lips of the prone elf. The comatose figure eventually swallowed the fluid which would nourish the body. The mind now functioned in just enough ways to keep the bodies alive. Their lungs could breathe and their hearts would beat independently. When it was too hot, the bodies would sweat. If a chill draft blew, their flesh would goose pimple. The remarkable state that these bodies were in fascinated the studious gnome. Perhaps that was the real reason he continued to watch them, pure fascination.
He made his way to a small wooden table and sat down where a bowl of hearty stew had been left for him. It was no longer hot, but still warm enough to be enjoyable. The spiced meat and thick broth warmed him from the inside out. Interrupting his meal, he heard two things which happened very rapidly. The first seemed to echo in his mind, a small voice barely a whisper but he heard it clearly.
“I want to help.”
The next was a gasp. A deep breath of air was now being sucked into the elf’s lungs. The gnome knocked over his bowl of stew. He was indeed unnerved by this unseen voice and the sudden animation of this body that had been immobile for nearly 6 months. The elf’s eyes flickered, and then the right eye snapped open. The left eye seemed almost as if it had been sealed shut. Hastur quickly pulled a small bottle from his belt pouch; a potion of lesser restoration would give the elf back nearly all of the strength lost by the coma. He spoke calming words as the elf’s body began to twitch; meanwhile the right eye unblinking seemed to peer out at him. Unsure of what to do next, Hastur took a gamble and poured the potion into the elf’s mouth.
The reaction was not what the gnome had hoped for, or expected. The right eye suddenly turned blood red as if the vessels in the eye had suddenly burst. The eye looked directly at him, conveying in its stare an overwhelming emotion of hate. As suddenly as it had started, it stopped. The right eye closed, both fluttered and finally opened. Wanop’s right eye was now pink but the color was rapidly returning to normal.
The two did not speak much in the course of the next 20 minutes. Neither had words to explain what had just happened to them. Hastur spent much of the time cleaning up the room while Wanop searched his pack. It seemed that somehow, everything was still in order. His spell book and components were untouched; his magical lion mask was still present. He produced his ring of invisibility from a hidden pocket in his backpack. Even his gold was accounted for.
A barely audible click from the north wall brought his attention up from his inventory. As he watched, the very wall seemed to swing open. From the now open wall, a dark passage produced a figure in a black hooded cloak. Wanop grabbed quickly for his shield and issued a sharp yell of warning to Hastur who had not detected the intruder. A barrage of projectiles shot into the room. Thankfully, all of the darts aimed at the elf had ricocheted off of his shield leaving him untouched. Hastur however was not so fortunate, collapsing in a heap a small dart now protruding from his shoulder.
In an instant Wanop was up with his long sword in hand. The dark figure now drew out double short swords and stood defensively with his back to the wall. Wanop saw his opening; he dropped his sword and shield snatching up a scroll which lay next to his pack.
The hooded figure noticed the scroll and charged the elf, but it was too late Wanop spoke the command words and unleashed the magic contained in the scroll. Flame erupted from the elf’s hands. The cloaked form was soon immersed in flame; it dropped to the floor and began rolling about. Wanop snatched his sword from the floor and sunk the tip into the flailing creature’s side. In a few moments the smoldering assailant was dead.
Wanop grabbed another scroll from his pack and went to inspect the fallen gnome. He removed the dart and inspected it; he recognized the fluid that the dart contained as a form of venom. He quickly read the scroll unleashing the “neutralize poison” spell that it contained. Hastur’s breathing stabilized and Wanop set him in the bed to rest. This had been an unusual day.