Chapter 1(b)

Delmarf approached Awktowon warily. He had spied smoke billowing from many of the structures as he crested the hill east of the village. Deciding that caution was in order, he took his time examining Awktowon from the hill. He was scared. He did not like what he saw. He would have turned back and returned the way he had just come, but he knew that whatever had been in Awktowon was behind him .
Earlier that afternoon, he had turned off the main road to search for some herbs. Taking his mule, Arto with him, he had gone a good ways off the path when he heard the sounds of an unruly group of travelers. He made Arto be still, and waited with growing concern for the group to pass. He was scared and didn't know why. He had been around many rowdy people, in fact, prided himself on being able to handle any kind of person and was never spooked. He hadn't even seen these people, but the hair on his arm was standing on end, and he listened to his hair. The sounds coming from the group were difficult to comprehend. The languages he heard were varied and it appeared that individual speakers would speak in a number of different languages in each sentence. It was disconcerting. He was unable to make out anything they were saying, but their mood seemed to be angry and happy at the same time. The group sounded large. He could not tell exactly how many were passing by, but it had to be a lot, because it took several minutes for them all to pass by him. He waited another fifteen minutes or so after they had left to emerge from his herb spot. When he was still a few feet from the path, he was almost knocked over by an awful stench. Delmarf had smelled some nasty things in his life, but nothing could compare to this odor. As he stepped onto the path, the stench had an almost physical presence. He was horrified by what he saw as he re-entered the path. Everything around it had been destroyed. The foliage on both sides had been uprooted or burned. There were dead animals all around, squirrels, robins, lamets, and the likes. He had to struggle with Arto, who refused to leave the relative safety of the forest. It took a mountain of effort on Delmarf's part to drag the donkey out. When he finally succeeded in getting Arto onto the path, the donkey almost left him behind. He had to run after Arto, something that was not only an annoyance, but a shock as well. Arto never moved faster than a frustratingly slow walk, one that snails referred to as slow. This time it appeared Arto shared his owner's desire to move quickly. The path remained devastated and disgusting until it left the forest. As the path broke free into a small meadow at the base of a rolling hill, the stench died down considerably; leaving only the vaguest hint of decay. He crested the hill overlooking
Awktowon and was shocked by what was left of the small village. Awktowon had been a thriving little community of about fifty halflings. Now, all that appeared to be left were burning husks that used to be homes. He could make out the bodies of what little livestock the halflings had possessed strewn about the village. He thought he could see some of the unfortunate residents, but none appeared to be moving, a fact that filled him with profound sadness. Delmarf had not known these people, but his heart was broken, none the less. Surveying this travesty, he tried to figure out his next move. Back tracking did not appear a healthy choice, but traveling through this devastation was not something he relished considering either. He looked around for a way to by-pass the village. He saw immediately that there was no way he would be able to move pass the village on the right side. Awktowon had been built on the marshy banks of the Mirator
River. These halflings had made a living by fishing, and weaving marsh grass baskets, so they built their village right into the edge of the marsh. There was no way to get Arto through the marsh. On the left side, the village butted close to the forest. Delmarf could make out a small path that led off the main road and entered the forest at the village's edge. He thought he might be able to take that path, although it would be a tight fit with Arto. Having decided on that course, he got Arto moving. The small path leading into the forest took him right up to the village's entrance, something Delmarf regretted. He did not like the thought of being so close to all that carnage, but there did not seem to be any other choice. It only took a few minutes for him to reach the path. Just as he made the turn off the main road, he was startled by a noise from inside the village. He froze. He listened harder, and realized that what he was hearing was crying. "Get out of here, Delmarf,"his rational self told him. "Whoever is crying is sure to be beyond help and you don't know what else might still be in this place." He took a few more steps down the side path, planning to listen to this most logical advice. Then he heard the crying again and jumbled in with the sound of the tears were a few words. He knew a little halfling tongue, and right now his rational self was wishing he had never learned any. The words Delmarf could catch spilling out with the tears were, "Mama, oh, Mama, wake up! I am sorry." They were the saddest words he had ever heard, words without hope. They tore at his heart. His rational side was screaming at him to ignore the cry, to stay away from the village, but it pleaded in vain. Delmarf could not turn away from a cry like that. His heart and sense of duty would override any logical objection. He immediately moved back to the road and entered the village. As he passed the first ruined building, he heard something moving. His ears perked up and he raised the club he had made the week before while he had been camped outside Gorc. He could tell that the sound was moving away from him. The sun was almost completely gone from the sky, so he was struggling to see things clearly. He stopped and gave himself time to focus his vision in the direction of the sound. When his eyes adjusted to the gathering darkness, Delmarf caught sight of a small creature scurrying toward the front of another empty shell of a home. He saw the creature dart behind a barrel located at the entrance of the house. As he stared at the barrel intently, he noticed a small head poke out and look in his direction. He could tell immediately that it was a halfling child sizing him up. Not wanting to frighten the little one anymore, he glanced away. Delmarf immediately wished that he had looked up or in another direction. He had instead chosen to look at the ground at his feet. What greeted his eyes made him nauseous. Directly below him lay the body of a female halfling, obviously this child's mother. The entire back of her head was caved in. He stumbled back a step or two, and then regained his composure.