Hal traveled down the muddy road. Rain fell heavy, he dragged his left foot along beside him. His left arm in a sling ached. The rain was cold, and the wind was not kind. His bones ached, and his left legs muscle throbbed. Hal squinted his eyes in the downpour, his hat offering little protection as it lay soaked through and through. His right arm pit was raw from the crude crutch. His hand faired little better. Each step was pain, and each pain was a reminder of his wounds. Hal dragged himself along, drifting back to that day, a few weeks ago. His camp of Halfling Archers, The Bowfordshire Bowmen, was part of a three company detachment camping at the Three Bridges Ford, though two bridges had long since fallen into the river, they were to guard the bridge until the whole army arrived over the next few days. A company of Orcs camped several miles south, he had been told they were about 12 miles or so away, he would find out later they were actually about 20. The Orcs were rumoured to be some of the best Long spearman Infantry in the kingdom. They were guarding Soders Gap, the only pathway around the bridge, withing 50 miles in both directions. Though just about anyone could cross the river by wading it, the river became very deep in parts and crossing it during rainy season was paramount to slitting ones throat, you might survive, but you were more likely to die. The Ogre Army had massed along the border, and slipped across, raiding, looting, and heading towards the Bridge two weeks earlier, and The King had ordered an emergency call to arms, and several companies of militia had heeded the call. The Militia was amassing forming an Army, three hundred guarded the bridge, a Company of Halflings, a good hundred strong, finest Archers one and all, a Company of Halfling Slingers, sure eyed, and true shots, could hit a wild hare on the run, with each sling shot of a stone. A Company of Dwarves had settled in and Heavy Infantry, they had made Hal feel better, just knowing they were there. Hal, blinked, he had been very wrong to feel safe just because the Dwarves were there.

  Hal had been brought back from his memories, he was hungry, so very hungry. His stomach ached, grumbled, rattled, and quivered. He thought back to his wifes cooking. By goodness, she was a terrible cook, meats were barely warm, breads were burt offerings to some unknown gods that she apparantly worshiped behind his back. Daily offerings he called them. Hal had dreaded the foul smell of her cooking as he came home from the fields. Her cooking was so bad, that his friends had long since given up coming to vist, out of fear that HIS wife would offer her cooking to them. Hal loved her deeply, had since she and he were children, but her cooking was the worse. Hal would love to have even a tiny morsle now. His hunger was growing and his weakness was too. Hal stopped, Opened his empty water shin, and knelt down along the side of the road, dipping his waterskin into the least murky part of the water. It wasn't clean, but he had to have some. Hal drank, and it did not taste pleasant. Greatful for some water, sad that he had come to this.

  Hal began to walk, dragging his wounded leg as he went. His crutch sinking deeper into the muddy road with each passing step. Hal was once more loosing himself in memories. The horn sounded the alert, waking him from his sleep. Three deep blast, three deep blast, three deep blast, over and over. Hal grabbed his shirt, pulling it on, grabbed a boot, and tripping over the other, laying half sitting upon the ground, pulling one boot one, then the other. Sounds of battle came to his ear, sounds of screams, metal clashing, arrows singing. Grabing his leather jerkin, running out of the tent, bumped into by dozens of soldiers scrambling by. Hal was shocked, his eyes widened, Ogres, so many Ogres. Quickly throwing his arms into the sleeves of his leather jerkin, a knee length, half sleeved, coat like armour with brass rivets to help protect the wearer. Hal grabbed his bow, girded on his short sword, and ran towards the bridge. Hal forgot his arrows. Hal arrived running at full pace, a fifty yard sprint, reached for his quiver of arrows, and cursed. No arrows, looking around he saw many dead archers, reacing down, grabbed a hand full of arrows and let loose without sighting a target.

  Hal wathced in horror as the arrow struck a Dwarf in his shoulder. Hal froze, he felt his pants warm, standing it shock over what he had just done. Hal watched as the Dwarf was stabbed in his left side by an Ogre spear, if Hal had not shot him, the Dwarf would have been able to raise his shield and block the blow. Hal felt his pants get wet, Hal blinked, realizing he had just pissed himself. Hal shook his head, breathed, and promised himself to avenge his foolish mistake, Hal steadied his nerves, gained control over his own body, notched and arrow, drew the bow string back, sighted a target, let loose. Hal watched as the arrow flew into an Ogre, catching him in his arm, the Ogre dropped his arm, and a Dwarf let him have it with an axe, right into his gut. Hal breathed, notched another arrow, and let, loose arrow after arrow, and when he ran out of arrows, he found more amoung the dead. This would continue, until he had to draw his short sword. That would be all too quick. The Company of Dwarves stood their ground, until an hour after sunrise, after that, there were no more Dwarves to stand, only the Halflings, and they were out of arrows well before the last Dwarft feel. Hal cursed himself as pain filled his body, pain wretched throughout his limbs as he found himself falling into the ditch. The muddy ground having given way under his feet. Hal tumbled face first into the muddy ditch. His armpit screamed with pain, the crutch digging in as he hit the ground and slid. Hal struggled to get up. Wipping away grim and water from his face.

  Hal, feeling soaked to the bone, got up, grunting and moaning with each movement. gasping for air, Hal struggled to regain his footing. His upper left arm, offset, once more, rebroken. Hals' leg bleeding more now, then all day, blood seeping upon the ground. Hal began to move, limping, grunting and sobbing with each painful step. Hal looked, ahead, up the road, houses, and smoke from chimneys, a tall chimney that had to belong to an Inn. Hal mustered the strength, and marched forward. Pain, aches, memories, haunting his every step. Hal opened the door, water dripping from every inch of him. The Inn was shabby, smelly, and dirty, but it looked dry. The sign above the door was old, tatered, and peeling. A bright red pony rearing up on hind legs, standing over top of a mug of stout beer. Hal wondered, was it a drunken pony Inn? A drunken red pony Inn? Hal didn't care, he just wanted to be dry. Hal entered the Inn, looked around, it was full of wood smoke, the smell of Read Ale and Dry Beers filled the place, with a hint of piss. Hal didn't care, it was dry. Hal stubbled to the bar, the barkeep, looked at him. Frowning, the HobGoblin grunted, what will it be? Hal realized, he was out of money. Hal coughed, now realizing that though he was soaked to the bone, his throat was now most dry. Hal began, sir, I don't have any money, I am a Soldier returning from the war, if ya coul.... Hal didn't finish the word, the Barkeep had slapped him. The Barkeep screamed, I don't care, if ya ain't got coin, I don't gotta serve ya! The HobGoblin smiled, looked at the local crowd that filled his place, Lads, this one here ain't got no coin.... beggin' for charrrr I ty, drawing out the last word, well why don't ya lads teach dis' worrrrr hero a lesson, orrrr two..... Hal looked around, feeling helpless. Hal said, I just want a dry room, maybe a meal, I'll work for it. The barkeep smile, yellow teeth showing, Yah Halfer ya goona earn it, dez boyz here, gonna make ya earn it. Hal, saw the first punch coming, but there was nothing that he could do. He hit the ground, and then all he could do was feel the kicks, and the off timed punch, sometime later, he woke.

  Hal, lay in the mud, his backpack missing, his crutch gone, his shirt ripped even worse, his waterskin as it was, lay nearby, a shadow in the dark. Hal began to crawl, one good arm pulling him through the mud. Hal sobbed, moaned, and bleed. Hal pulled his way forward. Every now and again, Hal would wake, realizing that he had passed out. Once more he began to crawl. Hal didn't know how long he crawled, but when he wkoe, he was in a wet ditch, by the road, and it was daytime. The clouds still dropped a steady flow of rain, and Hal was still in pain. His Left arm was now, just not broken, but the bone now stuck through. Hal had seen wounds like this before, it had not boded well. Hal was certain that he would die, before he ever made it home. Hal missed his wife, he missed their kids, Hal missed his life. Hal, went to sleep, in the rain, in a ditch, by the road.