Roal's Tale - Part 2

         As told by the Rochdale Balrog

.... As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and the searing
pain in his chest began to recede, Roal glanced around and tried to
take stock of his present situation. The air in the hollow stump
was heavy with a 'dankness' that spoke of decay and misuse, whilst
the ground upon which he now sat was covered with a thick blanket
of soft, moist leaves. Just then he felt a movement of the leaves
in the region of his right foot and with panic lodging itself
firmly in his throat, he shifted position slightly in order to
ascertain just what was causing it. As the fear of the unknown
pulsed wildly in his temples he kicked out, scattering the leaves
nearest to his foot and revealing a small furry creature not
unlike a surrel but with the soft amber eyes of the pine-rats of
the great Northern Forest.

"That was a close call, young halfling" croaked the creature. "For
a moment there I though the Korats had you." Then with a shake of
its head, it approached Roal, with a bravado far in excess of its
diminutive size, and perched itself on his upper left thigh. For a
few moments Roal gazed at the small furry creature as it preened
its whiskers, removing the odd remnant of leaf and generally
straightening out the crinkled ends and then the urgency of the
situation struck home ..... "I must get to my people" cried Roal.
"They are in great danger from the Korats but even my sturdy
little legs are incapable of out-running them." Tears of
frustration welled up in the corners of his eyes and he racked his
brain in an effort to figure out how to carry out the impossible.
"Their strong wings will carry them to Torag Minh long before my
short little legs and without my warning all my people will be
taken unawares by the arrival of the Korats. The ground will run
with rivers of blood and the 'death-cries' of the Korats will echo
long and loud through the land of Torag Minh." Thumping the ground
in despair, Roal began to sob uncontrollably ... his little body
shaking with every convulsion.

"There is a way" whispered the creature. "Because the Korats will
not fly the direct route, instead they will skirt the realm of the
Grundars and fly to the far east. For even the Korats have their
fears and Grundars are the one thing they fear most in all the
land. The reasons are hidden in the mists of time, but it is said
that the Grundars once slew more than 1000 of their number, when
they stumbled across a flock of Korats who had just gorged
themselves on a herd of unsuspecting Nugs. The satiated Korats
were roosting when a war-band of Grundars came across them and
the slaughter was incredible to behold. Only one Korat lived to
tell the tale and the rest were put to the sword. Even to this day
the Grundar still wear the talons and beaks of the slaughtered
Korats hanging from their war-belts. They are much prized
possessions and are handed down from one generation to another.
The Korats have never forgotten the incident and to this day they
never over-fly the realm of the Grundars."

Roal's heart skipped a beat. He would take the direct route and
cross the realm of the Grundars ... that was the answer, but would
he succeed? The Grundars were renowned hunters, the tales of their
tracking abilities were legend in the taverns of Tousel and it was
said that they could detect the scent of their prey from more than
500 paces away. He would have to be swift, but more importantly,
would have to be silent. "Thank you!" yelped Roal. "The fate of my
people depends on my speed, so I must leave now. However without
your advice there would have been no purpose in my leaving this
place."

With that he tentatively peered out of the hole in the hollow
stump and seeing that all was as it should be, emerged once more
into the bright light of day. Making his way across to where his
right boot lay crumpled and torn, Roal picked it up and peered at
the talon marks in its heel. A shiver of fear ran down his spine
as he recalled just how close the cold hand of death had been to
his heart and as he pulled on the boot an inner urgency overtook
him and he knew that he MUST complete his task ... his people
depended on him. With a quick wave in the direction of the hollow
stump and the creature it contained, Roal turned in the direction
of the realm of the Grundar and set off at a fast trot. Behind him
a small voice cried "Good luck, halfling, and I hope you get there
in time ... because I know what it is like to be the last of your
race!"