Assault of the Sorcerer Kings
They had traveled all through the day at a hasteful pace. At long last they were able to dismount and set up camp in the large meadow located in the center of the Targath Wood in the foothills of the Angler Mountains.
The scene was odd, really. The twenty-three Blegan knights making up a neat little unit of camps and fires, while one tent and fire sat oddly apart from the others.
Four forms huddled around the flickering light and minimal warmth. Four rogues amongst an army of high class noble warriors.
They didn't speak much, just sat by the fire, staring at the flames. The minotaur poked absently at the burning wood, sending sparks up into the night.
"I don't like to think of myself as arrogant," Makis said, breaking the silence. Gorath, the minotaur, snorted at this. Makis gave the powerful, bull headed beast a look of contemption before continuing. "There may come a time when they catch me. I am certain that they will send me to Kadjid."
"It is not a friendly place," The pale skinned, black haired master thief replied.
"I must know," Makis began. "How did you escape?"
Dolak tilted his head back and laughed a bit. His laughter echoed in the night. After the laugher came silence. He did not answer.
"Please," Makis pleaded, "You must tell me."
Dolak smirked a bit, elbowing his muscular, red haired friend. "Why don't you tell him, Semaj?"
Semaj's green eyes met Makis', a terrifying chill going through the mercenaries' body.
"I killed a guard," Neb began. "We ran for the shore, dodged many arrows, and swam away. It was a long swim. They caught up to us in a boat. We killed everyone in the boat and rowed to shore." He took a swig from the wineskin and swallowed.
"Simple as that," Dolak said.
"Great," Makis said, "I'll keep that in mind if I should ever find myself in Kadjid."
"It is a place best avoided," The dark eyed master thief replied.
Gorath, the massive minotaur, snorted in derision.
The sound of armor clanking began to draw near to the rogues' fire. All eyes turned in the direction of the oncoming clatter.
"Who the hell is it?" the towering form of Gorath asked.
Makis squinted in the darkness, "it appears to be ser Not."
It was. Sir Not, one of the finest knights in Blegan, approached the tense camp of the rogues. He was resplendent in his wardrobe, armor polished to the point of reflection. He was stern and proud, confident in his approach.
Only the assassin, Semaj Neb remained calm. The two of them had a bit of history.
"We leave at sunrise," he said. "Be ready."
Without another word, he turned on his heel and returned to his own camp.
The camp decided to draw straws for watch. Dolak provided a fistful of straws, one far short than the rest and held his hand up first to Gorath, then to Semaj, and finally to Makis.
Makis stared at the straws before him, trying to determine which was the shorter straw and if the short one hadn't already been drawn. The straw on the left hung was leaning to the side a little and the one on the right stuck out a bit more from his hand.
Makis closed his eyes and reached forward for a straw.
The scene was odd, really. The twenty-three Blegan knights making up a neat little unit of camps and fires, while one tent and fire sat oddly apart from the others.
Four forms huddled around the flickering light and minimal warmth. Four rogues amongst an army of high class noble warriors.
They didn't speak much, just sat by the fire, staring at the flames. The minotaur poked absently at the burning wood, sending sparks up into the night.
"I don't like to think of myself as arrogant," Makis said, breaking the silence. Gorath, the minotaur, snorted at this. Makis gave the powerful, bull headed beast a look of contemption before continuing. "There may come a time when they catch me. I am certain that they will send me to Kadjid."
"It is not a friendly place," The pale skinned, black haired master thief replied.
"I must know," Makis began. "How did you escape?"
Dolak tilted his head back and laughed a bit. His laughter echoed in the night. After the laugher came silence. He did not answer.
"Please," Makis pleaded, "You must tell me."
Dolak smirked a bit, elbowing his muscular, red haired friend. "Why don't you tell him, Semaj?"
Semaj's green eyes met Makis', a terrifying chill going through the mercenaries' body.
"I killed a guard," Neb began. "We ran for the shore, dodged many arrows, and swam away. It was a long swim. They caught up to us in a boat. We killed everyone in the boat and rowed to shore." He took a swig from the wineskin and swallowed.
"Simple as that," Dolak said.
"Great," Makis said, "I'll keep that in mind if I should ever find myself in Kadjid."
"It is a place best avoided," The dark eyed master thief replied.
Gorath, the massive minotaur, snorted in derision.
The sound of armor clanking began to draw near to the rogues' fire. All eyes turned in the direction of the oncoming clatter.
"Who the hell is it?" the towering form of Gorath asked.
Makis squinted in the darkness, "it appears to be ser Not."
It was. Sir Not, one of the finest knights in Blegan, approached the tense camp of the rogues. He was resplendent in his wardrobe, armor polished to the point of reflection. He was stern and proud, confident in his approach.
Only the assassin, Semaj Neb remained calm. The two of them had a bit of history.
"We leave at sunrise," he said. "Be ready."
Without another word, he turned on his heel and returned to his own camp.
The camp decided to draw straws for watch. Dolak provided a fistful of straws, one far short than the rest and held his hand up first to Gorath, then to Semaj, and finally to Makis.
Makis stared at the straws before him, trying to determine which was the shorter straw and if the short one hadn't already been drawn. The straw on the left hung was leaning to the side a little and the one on the right stuck out a bit more from his hand.
Makis closed his eyes and reached forward for a straw.