Twas a chill morn the mist thick in vales between the rolling hills, gathering on Rhino's armour and trickling down it in rills, and then faintly...sound of hunting horn!

At crest of ridge, they went to ground, as they tried to spot source of that eerie sound, down far on their left a large mound of new cut logs, enough to build a sizeable bridge

From a mile ahead, came the rhythmic thump of axe on wood, and with mighty crash heavy oak fell from where for hundred years it stood, heavy branches hurled around with the fury of giant ignobly dead.

With grunts and cries, broad shouldered orcs in studded leather, axes swinging hewed into the tree as it lay on the heather, thanking their evil god for the darkened skies.

Orcs with their axes...

His elven soul filled with seething hate, his beloved forests spoiled, ruined by these evil scum and his blood did boil! Only barely did Fizz control his need to vengeance slake.

But a smile crept over Silverblade lips, as his hand stayed Rhino's mighty blade, he explained it was time some friends were made, and then he was off, striding down across the dip.

An orc was sitting on a log as a guard, his crossbow nearly fired as the stranger close approached: one of his kin in black leathers and numerous blades, and a conversation he broached: "Hail there warrior! I am Steel Tongue, the orog bard!"

Now Steel Tongue was a famous fellow of the goblinoid races, a great orc, an orog as they're called, his words rose a hundred tribes to war thanks to his eloquence as a skald, and a look of fierce joy came to the guard's face.

Soon they were all gathered round a fire, chewing dripping meat, while Steel Tongue enthralled them with gory tales most sweet, of dwarven beards worn as kilts and of ravishing elves, the sweetest treat! Silverblade in magical guise, made a wondrous liar...

Naturally the bard brought some grog, and they chewed and they swigged and they drank, and the orc loggers into deep slumber sank, brandy laced with sedatives made of their thoughts a fog.

And while they slept, the enchanter his art did craft, his words of elder power into their minds sank like hunting darts, coils of greed around reason wrapped their own wicked treason as they then did wake, for he told them of a treasure for which even stoic dwarves had wept...

The "bard" introduced his friends: Rhino, a strange ogre from the far North; Fizz a dark elf (his skin blackened by paste, but as a seeming drow he made their fear come forth!) and two human mercenaries, wicked rogues who would anyone rend.

Fizz as a drow

Logs were gathered, horses hitched and crude wagon built around the felled trees, off the band went warmed by Southern breeze, the orcs half drunk, not that it to them mattered.

It was but a league to the monster's fort, and Rhino felt his anger growing with every step, and sword to hand several times nearly leapt, at disgusting brags of evil, coward deeds, their heads nearly off he swept, and would have if Fizz did not otherwise exhort.

Was far from pleasant to appear as a drow, for the good elves their evil kin loathed with ancient wrath, the dark elves some of his cousins had slaughtered in blood bath, but oh! This was such fun, for their havoc they'd soon sow!

Near twilight they came to the bastion of the orcish host, part built only gate, four towers and two walls were fully made, some slaves were working at the palisades, while giants a piling drove in with earth shaking thuds did trade, and over all a stench utmost.

The orc's fort...

Howls of glee the heroes charmed "friends" called out to their mates, wound the wagon a crowd then grew, those who think orcs a pitiful foe must have met but few, grizzled veterans and doughty youths all when on human flesh had chewed, in scores made them realise the peril as they entered the gate.

Tents in rough rows filled the parade ground, another pair of giants dozed against a tower, several ogres at them did glower, necklaces of skulls testifying to their power, his soldier skills told rhino thered be 200 foes or there around!

Surrounded by an ungodly horde, the men at arms nerve could have broke, but their fears evaporated like smoke, for Silverblade treated the orcs with savage bonhomie, where as Fizz wore an air of certain death like a cloak, and so the pair acted as if they were bored.

A scream rang from a tower as the Sun set: The priests of evil Gruumsh had taken the eye of a slave in ritual, screaming still he staggered out and an ogre smashed his skull and carried the corpse off to make this evening's victuals, and then the chieftain they met....