Four

Gezrig Tar, outcast of Clan Stoneclaw, walked the perimeter of the slaver's camp. The sky was just beginning to lighten in the east, And Gezrig was looking forward to heading back to civilization, and spending some of the coin he had earned on this job. Many in his clan would kill him for the insult to their honor he represented; working as a mercenary in service of the Theran slavers who traveled the hinterlands of Barsaive, raiding villages to feed the Empire's demand for cheap labor.

Gezrig didn't care. In the circles he traveled, Theran silver spent as well as any.

He leaned against a tree and let his mind wander. When this job was done, he would head to Kratas and visit the girls at the Rusted Horn. He hadn't seen them in a while, and he felt the need to get away from the dirt and the blood of his work.

A distant rumble of thunder brought the troll out of his reverie. The thought of escorting the wagons through ankle-deep mud soured his mood, and he began walking the perimeter again, working off the frustration of weeks on the trail.

Something struck him as odd about the distant thunder. He stopped his pacing and listened more closely. The rumbling was steady, rhythmic, and getting louder.

It wasn't thunder. It was hoof beats.

Gezrig drew his sword and bellowed for the other warriors to get up, and prepare for an attack. He wondered if he had given the others enough warning, and looked out into the night to see how close the approaching riders were.

The sound of hoof beats continued to build. Gezrig had a sudden memory of his childhood in the Twilight Peaks. He and his brother, Tarku were out hunting, hoping to find a stone lion or some other quarry that would bring them honor and serve as a sign of their transition to adulthood.

They had traveled outside the approved area for unblooded trolls, and a distant rumble from the slopes above them forewarned of an avalanche. The pair sought safety in a shallow cave. Tarku pushed his brother to the back of the cave, sheltering Gezrig with his body.

The rocks tumbling down the mountainside drowned out all other sound, even the sound of Gezrig's frightened screams. It was like being in the heart of a thunderstorm, and it seemed to last forever.

When the pair of young trolls didn’t return to the moot, a search party was dispatched. It wasn't long before the avalanche was discovered, and the cave excavated. The search party found Gezrig dirty, bruised, and clutching Tarku's stiffening hand. The cave hadn't been large enough for both of them, and Tarku had been pummeled to death by the brutal stones.

Thinking back on it now, it was the defining moment of Gezrig's life. It was the moment that started him on the path that led to this forsaken patch of wilderness, listening to the approaching thunder of hooves on the rocky ground.

From out of the darkness, dozens of mounted warriors took shape. Gezrig raised his sword and roared his defiance.

The avalanche -- of flesh and steel instead of stone -- swept him away.