The night was very nearly as murky black as the cave as I dashed from the gaping entrance to the cover of the nearby trees. A rest...I needed a short rest to meditate and gather my thoughts before daring the orc's camp that I knew lay a short distance west around the base of the mountain. I'd come this way before, and each previous attempt my mission ended in the frantic casting of a spell to translocate my battered and nearly dead self back to Artherk's Temple in Silversky, there to heal my body of its wounds and my mind of the gnawing agony of yet another failure. I was determined this time would be different...the fate of Silversky might well rest on it.

I had set out from town that morning, my face set in a grim mask of determination. My first test was the dirty, foul-smelling but nonetheless formidable rogue, Buggar Pouchsnatcher and his small band of mercenary knights and mages. Confident, I strode into the center of his camp, knowing he and his lackeys would be certain to contest my passage. The battle was short and as a prize I stripped his Bracelet Of Power from his still smoking corpse and claimed it as my own.

After a journey of several more leagues, I finally came into the lands the orcs control, and battled my way through the orcish patrols to the cave that is the only pasage to the valley where the orcs have made their war camp. It occured to me, looking at the entrance, that when the orc army marches on Silversky, it will have to issue from that gaping opening in the mountain...a perfect place for an ambush...and made a mental note to suggest such a tactic to Mordrick Warstone when I returned to him to report what I had learned. Bracing myself, I plunged into the darkness.

Through the oppressive, dark passages did I warily proceed, the foul reek of many orcs a constant irritation and a reminder of my danger. I slipped past the patrols I could, and slew those I could not avoid, felling in the process most of the minor chieftains tasked with guarding the approaches to the camp. Grudish Earchewer, Blaarg Toemangler and the foul Stinkbreath all fell to flail and powerful enchantments. Finally having traversed the caverns, I emerged into the dim starlight and rested from my labors.

There was no other way now but straight through the center of the camp. I would attempt stealth, but success in that manner was unlikely. I knew I would have to fight my way through. I crept into the center of the camp, as yet undetected, and began to think I may have overestimated the orc sentries when out of the darkness a lightning bolt flew directly at me, then from another direction another, and yet more. A trap! They had laid in ambush for me, no doubt alerted by a survivor from the caverns! And leading the attack was none other than the orcish second in command, Hurbag Nailripper...this was not going to be easy...

The ensuing battle was nothing like my earlier romp through Pouchsnatcher's band. Several times I was close to death and nearly fled, but my earlier failures still burned too hotly within me, and I stood my ground, felling orcs with the flame of hatred in my eyes. At last, Nailripper and I stood facing each other, both battered and bleeding. Roaring our mutual despite at one another, we fell on one another. The sky lit up with our magic, and the woods rang with the ring of our blows...and when it was over I stood over his corpse and revelled for a moment in my triumph. Only a few intimidated battlemages stood between me and the completion of my mission now.

Finally I reached the rough shack that housed my nemesis, the orcish leader Rumblefoot. To slay him would certainly set back the orcish designs by months, if not years. Not to mention, I was convinced he would have the battle plans for attack on Silversky somewhere inside...orcs are not the brightest creatures, and it wouldn't have occured to him to conceal them somewhere safe. I burst through the door, bellowed my hatred and attacked! My first attack was foiled, as I came too close and within reach of his huge waraxe. A quick retreat was called for, as there was no way I could take the blows from that wicked instrument of death. Regrouping, I charged back into the fray and began blasting him with powerful magics, which he returned, injuring me grieviously. Still I fought on and soon he began to falter. The smell of victory burned hot in my nostrils as I pressed my attack, seeing him visibly weaken with each cast. Finally, with a great roar of agony, he fell, struck down in a burst of flame. I had won! And as I had imagined, the plans for the attack were right out in the open, though a little charred from the battle but still readable.

I quickly returned to Warstone, but the plans turned out to be scribbled in the foul orcish tongue, and neither of us had any clue of how to read them. Warstone threw the plans on his desk in frustration, cursing the dimwitted beasts for not speaking a civilized language and roaring in anger at how the whole mission had been a failure. I leaned against the far wall as he raged, a slight smile playing on my lips...I knew something he apparently didn't. When he finally stopped for a breath, I casually picked up the plans, put them in my backpack and strode towards the door. "Where are you going?" he asked with a look of confusion. "I have another mission it seems," I said with a broad grin and closed the door before behind me, leaving him fuming and hurling objects around the room all over again. With a quick stop to pick up some supplies, I set out to find Morindin Arrowmist....