The Unsung Heroes.

[Game Master]

Prolog:

The War Chief sat upon his throne of elven bones and human leather overlooking his war-host. The horde was vast. Tens of Thousands strong, the Great Chief Grulog had united many of the tribes in the badlands. Goblins, Orcs, Ogres, Trolls, Snotlings and even Kobalds all gave their pledge to the Hobgoblin Leader. Soon he would unite the few remaining tribes and lay waste to the human and elven settlements to the South. There, the War Chief would lavish in the lush, fertile land of his enemies full of game and sport. There he would be rich beyond measure for he would rule all and eat all those that apposed him. This was the vision the Oracle had proclaimed and this was what would come to pass.


Chapter one: The dilemma

Black Feather was worried. The War Chief Grulog had asked for a prophecy so Black Feather had given him one. It was a great story to be sure, thought Black Feather, full of death, destruction and eating ones enemies. The old Kobald Shaman had given perhaps his best oration ever. Yet there in lay the dilemma, he fretted. Black Feather had allowed himself to get caught up in the moment. Maybe it was the blood wine he mused. No. He dismissed this offhandedly. It was the power of the oration that had caused Black Feathers problems. The War Chief had become full of fervor at the prospect of ruling over the Southern humans and Elves. "How could I have been so stupid!" Black Feather cried out to no one as he paced around and around his fire pit. If Grulog didn't dominate the South shortly after uniting the tribes and going to war it would be Black Feather as the main course at the next annual feast. What he needed was a scape goat. Someone to take the blame for ruining the so called prophecy proclaimed this vary night by Black Feather to the most powerful War Chief of the age.

[Game Master]

Skagg, son of Chief Grulog stood over the three captives kneeling before him. Skagg was disgusted with how the battle was fought. Sure his war band of orcs and goblins had won but they had done it in such a dishonorable way that it cheapened his victory. They had attacked in ambush, without giving a proper challenge as honor dictated. His forces slaughtered the poorly armed elven caravan as it made its way to Elkinshire to trade with the human settlers there. These three prisoners before him were not warriors but merchants. Where was the glory in that?

Skagg paced back and forth pondering what to do with the retched, pointed eared elves before him. He rubbed at his dark, brown skinned chin in thought while his long, dog like ears twitched in agitation. Finally coming to a decision he stopped in front of them. "Cut them loose, and free them." he barked his commands to the two orcs guarding the prisoners.

"Cut loose? No eat?" one of the slack jawed brutes asked confused.

"That is correct. These merchants are unworthy of my time. Let them go so they may spread the word of our might." Skagg turned on his heels as to avoid any further argument. Inside he was distraught about the whole situation. When would his people learn that honor was the only path to victory?

[Game Master]

As usual Gunk was ready to vomit. He stood in a ritual circle with his fellow Ogre warriors. They all chanted in unison as they thumped their barrel shaped chests and tree trunk think thighs with meaty hands. It was a feasting ritual, as though there was any other kind for an Ogre. This particular ritual included an oxen that had just been disemboweled onto a rapore shrub. The shrub was sacred to Ogres the world over. The intestine of the bovine would be intertwined with that of the shrubs branches and devoured to please the Ogres patron deity Slurrrpa. It was said that Slurrrpa only ate before a battle if a rapore shrub was included in the feast. Gunk really didn't care about any of the old stories. He was only interested in getting through this ritual once again without actually eating any intestine. While dancing and chanting he eyed a small branch of rapore with no blood or intestine mingled with it. When the ritual ended he quickly grabbed for the untainted piece of rapore shrub and devoured it before the others could see. Ritual satisfied and the eating of flesh once again avoided Gunk considered this night a good omen indeed. That was until his chief Broken tooth called him to his cave.

[Game Master]

Snotgob the Goblin pressed a slender, taloned index finger against his elongated, pointy nose and pinched off his right nasal cavity. With a blast of air that sounded like a trumpet filled with bubbling water he ejected a glob of mucus from his plugged up nostral. It was late at night in the early weeks of the new year. The night was cold and while most of the tribal horde celebrated Snotgob was on sentry duty. Atop his loyal wolf mount Moorg he searched the surrounding badlands for elves, humans and anyone else that wasn't invited. With his nostrels once again clear he sniffed the night air. Goblins had excellent senses of smell and made natural scouts for the warhost. He detected no smells of pine, pollen or other natural wilderness smells. Only the scent of food and fellow goblins. He would give his left eye to be able to smell the plesent fragrences of a true forest right now. The badlands were so desolate, so baren, so drab. Snotgob snarled at his wandering thoughts. He was a goblin! He was home here, not in some elf infested green forest. Just then there was a snap of a twig.