The One Glaive

“Orcs! Coming for us! Mother Pus Bucket!” swore a startled

‘Bree as she glanced both left and right down the curving, dank

hallways that had led the rogues to Ito’s holding cell beneath the

Black Temple. She saw nothing, however the smell was such that

her throat constricted, and there was a shudder of the ground as a

hundred running feet headed toward their location. The corridor

was lit by one simple, rusted oil sconce from which a small, tired flame

weakly flickered above the orcish corpse that lay on the slick stone.

Ito bent down to grab the short sword from the hip of the still warm, dead jailor lying on the damp incline. Noticing the missing ear of the dead guard, he raised an eyebrow to Dantebree,

“Nice work there sicko. How many does that make now?”

‘Bree shrugged her response at Ito, “Not sure, but the number’s gonna get alot higher if we don’t get the hell out of here NOW. Which way did we come in Taz? ….Taz?” “Bree spun quickly, in every direction, instantly alert, eyes scanning the dimly lit area for her friend.

“Shhh..don’t say a word! Stealth.. NOW!  Hurry! I am here.. in a nook near the lamp” whispered Tazeria in a rapid breath.

‘Bree vanished and sprinted to the nook, Ito met her there in four long strides, just barely shadowmelding before the troop of Black Temple orcs trotted past them. The three held their breaths, flattened their backs against the slimy wall, their hearts pounding in sync with the orcs feet as they trotted past them down the sloping corridor, merely inches from the trio’s faces.

The olive-skinned orc’s were stocky and shorter than the lithe elves. Their eyes, tiny and shrunken from generations of living beneath the Black Temple, coupled with little contact with the harshly muted sun of Shadowmoon Valley, bore a harsh contrast to the Nightelves superior ability to see well, in dark places. Ito counted two rows of fifteen, heading to the chamber nearby.

He grabbed Tazeria’s hand and in the sign language they had learned as elflings in the orphanage, conveyed the orcs number to the rogue, in the unspoken hand language of the palm.

“We cannot win against so great a number. There are only we three, you are weak from captivity and, though she doesn’t show it, ’Bree, is injured.”  Taz signed into Ito’s palm.

Ito’s fingers flurried in Tazeria’s open hand,

“We, are getting out of here, find your mettle my friend, this is our only chance. Prepare to run left on the count of three once the last orc has passed us by.”

As they drew their strength together and prepared to leave the nook, the trotting feet of the orcs came to an abrupt halt. Guttural, deeply amazed whispers faintly echoed off the ancient walls, filled with awe and shock…

The elves heard the many orcs dark, low voices clearly surprised ….

……..”THE GLAIVE……THE MASTER”S GLAIVE….THE MISSING ONE…..THE GLAIVE………

In the faint light, he showed himself, the red and gold tabard proudly graced his chest and he stood to reveal himself briefly to the orcs as bait before the vanish…

Odage held the glaive above his head and challenged the troop in a loud commanding voice.

“I AM THE ONE YOU SEEK…. COME-TAKE IT FROM ME IF YOU DARE!

And with that, the masterful rogue vanished from sight, as the three bolted like bullets from the nook.