of a tree branch and the roar of an unknown animal caused Abawken to spin and face the sound. Snorting and bellowing came from within a dark, shadowy section of the forest, and then the creature rushed toward Abawken and entered the clearing.
The brown furry beast was easily double Abawken’s height, and resembled a baboon. It reared up and brought its powerful arms to beat its chest. Immense fangs of misshaped sizes protruded from its jaw. Its eyes glowed with territorial anger. Abawken stood between the child and the enraged creature.
The monster lunged and Abawken flew into the air, flipped over, and then landed perfectly behind it, ready to do battle. The beast snarled, stopped short and spun to attack again, but at that moment the child screamed. With a roar, Abawken’s opponent changed his intention and headed for the child. The fighter knew he could not reach the boy in time. Abawken had thought the creature would continue to attack him but saw his mistake unfold. The huge ape reached for the toddler but before snatching the boy, Dulgin burst through into the clearing, and swiftly severed the creature’s hand with his mighty axe. Blood gushed out and it wailed in pain. Abawken slashed it across its lower back with his scimitar. It arched backward in agony. The dwarf swung another devastating blow into its leg. Raw, pink flesh opened and more blood oozed. It fell to the ground prone.
Bridazak and Spilf arrived at the clearing. The mortally wounded creature labored to breathe as its vital fluid continued to spill from its wounds.
Dulgin stood proudly over it, and said, “Bad monkey.” The dwarf’s axe came down and cut off the head.
The ordakians moved quickly to untie the child. They instantly spotted dry blood covering the wood framed altar.
“This is a sacrifice location,” Spilf realized.
“Who would do this?” Bridazak asked.
With tears streaming down his face, the child pointed into the forest and said, “Home.”
The smell of burnt wood coming from the village dwellings wafted through the dirt pathways. Dilapidated structures resembled playhouses for human children. Repairs to the original wooden homes did not match the original engineering, and time had not been kind to this hidden community. A sense of depression and despair weighed heavily upon entering the area. A group of bone-thin women sat outside weaving baskets, while another group prepared meager amounts of food. Dirt smudges covered their faces and arms, aged feathers were woven in braids of hair, and they wore matted animal hides. When the heroes came into view, the women abruptly stopped their daily duties and huddled together in fear.
“Yep, this is definitely where the child lives. Dirty and sorry folk,” Dulgin grumbled.
“This was my home,” Spilf said, “but I don’t see any ordakians.”
“Perhaps someone here knows what happened, Master Spilf.”
“Where are the men?” Bridazak questioned.
Abawken carried the boy. An old woman, with a wrinkled face, grey scraggly hair, and an eye, milky-white with blindness, hobbled toward them.
Her scratchy voice spoke, “What have you done? You have brought us ruin.”
“Look here—” Dulgin began, until being cut off by Bridazak.
“We are looking for the ordakians, like us, that once lived here.”
Abawken held the baby toward the woman, “And we are looking for the mother of this child.”
“What is done is done,” she resigned, and then pointed to a large leather tent, animal hides of various coloring stitched together forming the walls and roof. The shelter loomed before them, and a light pillar of smoke rose from an opening on the top. It was the largest structure in the small village.
Suddenly, the faded orange animal skin at the entrance flapped open and an imposing man stepped out. He paused a moment, his sallow green eyes glaring menacingly at the strange intruders. His frame reached higher than six feet with his large headdress. He wore more clothing
The brown furry beast was easily double Abawken’s height, and resembled a baboon. It reared up and brought its powerful arms to beat its chest. Immense fangs of misshaped sizes protruded from its jaw. Its eyes glowed with territorial anger. Abawken stood between the child and the enraged creature.
The monster lunged and Abawken flew into the air, flipped over, and then landed perfectly behind it, ready to do battle. The beast snarled, stopped short and spun to attack again, but at that moment the child screamed. With a roar, Abawken’s opponent changed his intention and headed for the child. The fighter knew he could not reach the boy in time. Abawken had thought the creature would continue to attack him but saw his mistake unfold. The huge ape reached for the toddler but before snatching the boy, Dulgin burst through into the clearing, and swiftly severed the creature’s hand with his mighty axe. Blood gushed out and it wailed in pain. Abawken slashed it across its lower back with his scimitar. It arched backward in agony. The dwarf swung another devastating blow into its leg. Raw, pink flesh opened and more blood oozed. It fell to the ground prone.
Bridazak and Spilf arrived at the clearing. The mortally wounded creature labored to breathe as its vital fluid continued to spill from its wounds.
Dulgin stood proudly over it, and said, “Bad monkey.” The dwarf’s axe came down and cut off the head.
The ordakians moved quickly to untie the child. They instantly spotted dry blood covering the wood framed altar.
“This is a sacrifice location,” Spilf realized.
“Who would do this?” Bridazak asked.
With tears streaming down his face, the child pointed into the forest and said, “Home.”
The smell of burnt wood coming from the village dwellings wafted through the dirt pathways. Dilapidated structures resembled playhouses for human children. Repairs to the original wooden homes did not match the original engineering, and time had not been kind to this hidden community. A sense of depression and despair weighed heavily upon entering the area. A group of bone-thin women sat outside weaving baskets, while another group prepared meager amounts of food. Dirt smudges covered their faces and arms, aged feathers were woven in braids of hair, and they wore matted animal hides. When the heroes came into view, the women abruptly stopped their daily duties and huddled together in fear.
“Yep, this is definitely where the child lives. Dirty and sorry folk,” Dulgin grumbled.
“This was my home,” Spilf said, “but I don’t see any ordakians.”
“Perhaps someone here knows what happened, Master Spilf.”
“Where are the men?” Bridazak questioned.
Abawken carried the boy. An old woman, with a wrinkled face, grey scraggly hair, and an eye, milky-white with blindness, hobbled toward them.
Her scratchy voice spoke, “What have you done? You have brought us ruin.”
“Look here—” Dulgin began, until being cut off by Bridazak.
“We are looking for the ordakians, like us, that once lived here.”
Abawken held the baby toward the woman, “And we are looking for the mother of this child.”
“What is done is done,” she resigned, and then pointed to a large leather tent, animal hides of various coloring stitched together forming the walls and roof. The shelter loomed before them, and a light pillar of smoke rose from an opening on the top. It was the largest structure in the small village.
Suddenly, the faded orange animal skin at the entrance flapped open and an imposing man stepped out. He paused a moment, his sallow green eyes glaring menacingly at the strange intruders. His frame reached higher than six feet with his large headdress. He wore more clothing
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