A Stubborn Hand(A Roek the dwarf adventure)

Mark Dunstan

The small stone slid perfectly back into the wall. The mechanism was working well even after all these years the place had been left unattended. Even though the tunnel was dark, the dwarf could still see things with a slightly reddish glow due to infravision. Craning his head left he patiently waited for the door to slide open. A dripping sound could be heard from far off which had started to annoy Roek. It was something that he decided he did not like, among other things like Elves and trees.

"Hurry up you old bugger. I 'aint be waiting 'ere for ever." The dwarf gave the wall a kick with his heavy boots that brought another curse flying from his mouth. It seemed to work though, and within seconds a wave of damp air hit him as the wall fell back to reveal a staircase.

"Good!" He said and took a firm grip on his axe. He peered inside quickly as if unsure whether or not to enter. He looked around and pressed against different parts of the floor and wall with the haft of his axe. He hated traps.

Once he was certain he had nothing to worry about the dwarf entered slowly. He smiled to himself and spoke out loud in common."Ha……I see you show some respect!" He lit a torch from his pack with his flint stone and held it out in front. His eyes did not adjust

quickly to the new source of light and because of his infravision it caused blindness. He stumbled into the wall and gave a moan before opening them. I'll remember never to do that again he said quietly as he leant against the wall covering his eyes with his free hand.

He was not exactly sure why he had lit the torch, perhaps it was because he disliked using his infravision but deep down he knew why. It reminded him of his old home, the Underdark. He had been lighting torches ever since the day he left that dark and cursed place. He told his companions when he had them that he liked the warmth of the fire and he had almost convinced himself.

He rubbed at his beard and then at his eyes and took his small round helm from his head and began to scratch at his hair. Damned lice had gotten there somehow he thought as he placed his helm back on.

The dwarf picked up a slow pace but made regular stops. He did not like the way his steps echoed loudly down the dark halls. There was little he could do about it though and continued with a quickened pace. His journey took him through a thin tunnel where the ceiling had looked as if it had recently dropped from its original place and out into a larger cavern that looked as if a dragon had carved a home for itself wearing away at the rock with its talons.

Water could be heard running from somewhere far off but the ominous dripping sound had continued to get louder. Roek reached out and touched one of the walls and withdrew his hand quickly finding the rock coated in some kind of resin. It was thick in substance and a sickly green colour. He held the torch up and could see that the whole place was coated in it. He wiped his hand on his muddy tattered brown trousers and turned around walking away from it.

He made to leave the cavern but hesitated when he realised that the room split of two ways. Roek scrunched his face up into a ball and began to tug at his brown beard. He did not like these kinds of decisions. Quickly he dropped his small bag to the ground that made a ringing sound flow on the wind. Placing the torch carefully on the floor he took out a small folded paper object. He opened it and studied the map that his friend Flidifus had given him in Nashkell. The map was not the original he could tell but had aged quite badly. Some of the writing was eligible and the paper ripped.

So far he had followed the correct path laid out by his Gnome friend. He had travelled to the Cloudpeaks and had made good time too. He had found the small stone complex that led deeper into the mountains and towards his goal. Why Incubus the elf mage had refused to join the expedition and why Flidifus had backed out was beyond him but the promises of extra riches had not stopped him. In fact he had been quite excited on the prospect of getting a lot of gold and precious items for himself. Now however he missed their presence. He had no one to talk too and no one to cover his back in a fight.

With the map he found confidence in his decision to take the right path. It was pitch dark almost like the labyrinths of the Underdark and a strange smell emanated from the ceiling while large cobwebs clung to his clothes, beard and face like a leech.

He brushed the webs away finding them irritating. Sometimes he found himself being buried in them and the struggle to release him had taken a lot of energy from him.

Roek followed the path though and was glad to see the end of it. The tunnel had led to a large spacious cavern that stood at least a mile high. On the ground about one hundred yards in front lay a small stream bubbling away as if it were acid. Roek stepped closer towards it and found that it stunk of ozone and that it was a dark purple colour, almost black. He kicked a loose bit of rubble into it and was amazed to see it float on the waters surface for a few heartbeats before sinking.

"What be ye." He asked as if expecting an answer, bushy eyebrows raised peering over into it. Roek turned away from it after several minutes locked in a staring contest and began to examine the cavern. Large stalactites and stalagmites roamed the ground and ceiling covered in the same resin the previous cavern had been. He raised his torch up towards the ceiling but found that it rose too high. He thought he caught movement up there though and took a firm hold of the large axe that had been strapped to his back.

He moved on however, trying to find a way over the stream but kept looking at the ceiling as if certain that something lurked up there. He was not nervous though, even looking forward to a bit of blood spilling. He hadn't been in a decent fight for a few days, ever since the group of Kobolds.

He looked over the axe he now carried. It was a nice weapon able to split most heads in two but a clumsy one, which took a lot of energy to swing. He wished he had brought his twin scimitars with him but they were miles away in a shop cellar in Athkatla waiting for his return. He missed them dearly, like a father would miss his son if he had died or went missing.

Did his ears deceive him or did he hear a scuttling sound from above him? Roek glanced upwards swallowing his building saliva. Perhaps he should move a bit faster. Breaking into a run he dashed across the cavern back over to the stream looking for a way to cross. His eyes scanned the length but found no visible crossing point. He would have to wade through it.

He shook his head and cursed some invisible companion. He made to step in the water but back away quickly. He wanted to know if he could physically cross it first or he could drown. He lent forward putting his axe shaft into the water. It hit the bottom halfway up the haft.

It would come up to his thighs and with that thought he comfortably entered the murky water. The fumes rose up into his nostrils making Roek feel sick. He did not want to think about actually drinking the stuff.

The water was thick and harder to walk through than any streams he had tried in Toril and he found himself breathing harder and harder with each step.

When Roek eventually made it to the other side he rested and took a look at himself. His trousers were ruined. Curse that damned Gnome forever talking me into this!

"Look at 'em. Ruined they be. That will cost me a few gold coins to get fixed. Bloody stream. What's it doing in a bloody mountain anyway?" As if in answer a scuttling sound filled the cavern. A sound of a hundred thousand crickets joined it. Roek stood up quickly and looked around. His torch went instantly up towards the ceiling and could see what he had earlier expected. Spiders.

From large spanning webs connected to the ceiling dog sized spiders hung from individual strands. From the other side of the stream he could see them already dropping down onto the ground and making an advance towards him. Roek cursed his luck. He hated spiders almost as much as he hated elves.

The first spider to drop besides Roek was separated in two and the second was equally easily dispatched but it became apparent that they would overrun him if he stayed in the cavern. He dodged an attack from a black furred spider and sent it spirling in the air with a deft kick to its side. Roek cried out in a mocking tone.

"Damn fine sport that could be!" He looked forward and spotted where he would make his exit. He ran as fast as he could but was hindered considerably by his pack. Stopping to short of the caverns exit, where it would span off into the dark Roek stopped and turned. The spiders had stayed where they were eyeing him suspiciously. Large hairy abdomens bounced up and down against the ground.

"Why 'aint ye be moving? Roek scared ye!" A look of triumph past his face and he turned towards the tunnel.  Roek had passed through two more chambers without delay. He stopped in the second one to admire a wall of stone that had been

crafted in the shape of undistinguishable creatures. The carvings were ancient and had suffered through the years but the craftsmanship was excellent. One was still completely intact; a carving of a man with a torso of a spider carrying swords in each of his eight arms. Besides this was a smaller one humanoid in form but with snakes for arms. Roek ran his hand over another shape which was below these; a dog sized animal but with the head of an Elf. Roek decided whoever carved these was talented but insane. As he turned to leave he felt himself shiver at the sight of them.

His torch had begun to die out and soon he would have to rely on his infravision. The dwarf stopped to rest in the adjoining cavern against a tall stalagmite. He sat on the ground and took off one of his torn boots. His feet were aching and he began to rub them. Once he stopped his hand slipped into his pack to retrieve the map. He studied it for several minutes wondering what the runes were that danced across the paper. He had asked Flidifus but the young Gnome had simply shrugged his shoulders. If it was important he would of found out wouldn't he? Even Incubus could not decipher the language stating that it was archaic and was a lost tongue.

Roek rubbed softly at his eyes and wiped his nose, which had begun to drip. His head began to itch again but it did not bother him. He was too tired to care. He felt himself fell giddy, as if he was watching clouds in the blue sky when exhausted and found his head was straying to his left hand side.

"Wake up you fool! Don't wanna' be fallen asleep in this place." He shook his head until his eyes felt like they had jumped clear from the earthquake and stood up slowly, gripping the stalagmite for support.

After he felt sure he would not collapse he let go off the rock and pushed onward. His torch had died out and his eyes had adjusted. He could see a vast array of colours now, from blue and red to purple. Looking at his map in his hands he smiled to himself thinly and patted the wall he stood by. He was close now if the map was right. 

Roek smelt the air and could smell the decay. The room he now stood in was covered in cobwebs that had collected a fine amount of dust. The stone floor was littered with bones of the long dead. He kicked a few away that had bothered his feet and started to brush away and push through the webs.

They were not strong like the last ones and it was not long until he found the cavern that was marked on his map. A faint white glow rimmed the outline of its entrance but Roek could not determine the source of the light.

He peered inside, looking left and right, then towards the ceiling. It looked safe but the light just seemed to be there. The room was not large and it did not look like there was another exit from it. Towards the end, directly in front of him by about twenty yards stood a gold statue sitting upon a giant hand carved out of the mountain itself. Perhaps this was where the white light was coming from he thought as he stepped into the room. A gush of air met him and he felt as if something had passed right through him. He shivered and could feel the hairs on his arms and neck rise.

The floor to the room was decorated in tiles with simple letters that matched the runes on the map. Roek shook his head and laughed out loud. His voice held no trace of fear.

"An easy picking then is it." He stepped towards the hand cautiously looking about the room for any traps that could end his life. Luck was with him and he reached the platform. Roek looked at the statue he had come for. It was of simple design and looked to be blatant gold. Its shape was that of a bear standing tall arms stretched out wide holding small orbs, which Roek guessed, were emeralds. Was this it? One statue! He had thought the room was to be filled with riches beyond his wildest dreams but all he could see was this object. No chest of Gold sat waiting for him.

Roek did not want to go back empty handed however and he grabbed the statue and made to pick it up. He failed. It seemed attached to the hand itself. Roek eyed it up and down, one bushy eyebrow raised. He leant his axe against the hands thumb and gripped a firm hold with both of his hands on the statue. He tugged and pulled until red in the face but it still would not leave its place. Roek stared at it.

"Don't play silly bugger with me y'hear." The statue did not respond. Roek found himself getting angry and soon he knew he would be at the point where he would take his axe to it. Calming himself Roek decided that there must be an easier way to let the hand release it. He studied the statue again and then the hand. He found something just below the treasure. It was a length of buttons bearing more of the runes the map and the tiles had. Perhaps this was the key.

Roek randomly pushed in a button and stopped when he heard a click. He could here pistons working from inside the mountains and before he knew what was happening a billow of green smoke launched itself over the dwarf. Roek took in a mighty gulp of air before being covered and fumbled in his pack for a flask he carried in these situations. It was gas and probably the worst kind. He could feel his eyes stinging and his lungs had begun to feel like they were going to explode. Desperately now he fumbled his way towards his bag pulling out the flask. He quickly unscrewed the lid and took out a wet scarf that he wrapped around his mouth and nose.

With it on he felt safer to breath but could smell the piss on it instantly. He rushed out of the evaporating smoke towards the exit, eyes like waterfalls. His lungs were screaming at him now.

He was glad he had the scarf though. It had saved him many times. Why everyone else refused to do it was beyond him. All it was was a scarf soaked in piss so that you could breath during a gas attack. It was a trade commonly used by dwarf miners but seemed to work well in these situations. Roek fell to the floor and rested against the wall watching the thick green smoke dissipate. It vanished quickly afterwards but Roek kept the scarf on.

He got back onto his feet and entered the room again thinking that he just had a lucky escape. He moved cat-like towards the hand and kicked it violently.

"Tried to gas me did yer'…bastard!" He swung his axe and chipped a large piece of rock from it. "Don't be trying that again!" Roek looked back at the runes and then thought instantly of the map. There were some similar looking ones on there. Sure enough

he was right and before long he had entered in the runes that were scribbled across the paper. Nothing happened, not even the sound of a click. Without hesitation Roek grabbed the statue and found that it still would not move. He looked at the runes on the paper and could see that one had been destroyed. He could not make heads or tails of it. He cursed his bad luck and went instantly back to the keys on the hand. One of them would be the right one he thought but there were five he had not pressed, including the one that had released the gas into the room. He brought the paper up to a few inches from his face and tried to make out its basic shape. He could have sworn it curved at the bottom to make a sort of T shape but the panel on the hand did not have when to meet the description so he dismissed his thought.

Obviously he would have to try blind luck. With that as a guide he pressed a square shaped one with two lines running through the middle vertically and heard a click. Roek ducked expecting a barrage of poisoned darts to fly from the wall but all he heard was three more clicks. Once certain that he would be safe to rise the dwarf went for the statue. It was free. He held it up in the air and whispered as if to it.

"You better be worth some money…" Suddenly the chamber began to shake violently and bits of rock crumbled down from the ceiling that was lost in darkness above. Wide-eyed Roek hugged the statue to him like it was a child and ran out of the chamber.

URBCarl R Cascone

The tavern was filled with clamour before the eccentric adventurers walked in, but upon their entrance, all the noise ceased, and every patron’s eyes laid a wary glance on the two strangers. Drandarian, with his enormous size was the most noticable of the two, and it is likely the patrons of the establishment never set eyes on a sight such as he. At first glance the people probably thought him some type of centaur, but this illusion gets dispelled upon the realization that his lower body was that of a lion and not a horse. He had the torso of a humongous man, rippling with muscle and sinew, but his head was more leonine than human, with a savage mane; hair twisted and formed into wild dread-locks that fell over his shoulders, and landed half way down his back. Where the torso ended, a

sturdy, golden, lion’s body extended ten feet behind him, ending in a long, slender tail that swayed lazily from side to side. Drandarian’s four powerful legs ended in paws as large as a man’s head, with sharp claws that could easily rip man or beast asunder extending from them threateningly. Upon his back, in a scabbard made from zebra skin, and wolf hide, was a bastard sword of deadly sharpness, the perfect complement to his natural claws.

Drandarian’s companion, while not as giant as he, was no less frightening. He was a quarter foot shy of six feet tall, and his sturdy, lithe form was attired in complete black raiment. His form was followed by a flowing black cloak, that cowled the dark mask that covered his face. Rizzen was a dark elf, that breed of the elven folk that spread terror. He knew, to show his onyx skin or white hair, would spread panic throughout the town, and inspire a mob to hunt only for his dark elf blood.

The two companions walked up to the bar of the tavern, Drandarian’s cat-like grace was easily matched by his slender companion. Drandarian turned his head to look upon his friend, and a tooth filled grin lit up his feline face.

“Should I go get us some drink Rizzen?” Drandarian asked, in a tone similar to that of a child in a toy store. “Yes Drandarian, but do not buy drinks for these… other people like you are always so prone to do. And remember I want wine, not

ale,” Rizzen answered as he surveyed the tavern contemptuously. “O.K. Riz; should I get white wine, red wine, or that fey wine stuff?” Drandarian asked. “Whatever they have, my friend,” Rizzen said as he looked around, “though I doubt a place such as this could carry fey wine.” “Where are we gonna sit?” Drandarian asked. “In the corner, Drandarian where we always sit,” Rizzen said. “You know we always sit in the corner. Why do you always ask?” “I don’t know,” Drandarian said sadly, “I’m gonna go get the drinks now.” Drandarian turned around and tromped off to the bar. No one could see the smile Rizzen gave to Drandarian beneath his mask.

Rizzen turned around and walked over to the corner furthest from the entrance, and chose a seat facing the common room. He sat down and began to relax, when he heard the powerful, roar-like yell of Drandarian, shout, “Drinks for everyone!” and he saw the wemic begin to throw the yellow sparkle of gold around the establishment.

Rizzen shook his head slowly, and layed his head down into his arms. He hated how Drandarian wasted his gold on tavern rabble. He waited several minutes for his companion, preparing his thoughts for the lecture he must give to the wemic on the importance of thrift. Rizzen could see the large form of Drandarian, walking towards the table, gracefully navigating the crowded common room, without bumping even a stool. Drandarian was smiling at the shouts and yells of gratitude, given to him by the patrons of the tavern; it was obvious the patrons feared him no more. He approached Rizzen’s table carrying a large, burlap sack, and gave Rizzen a tooth-filled grin.

“What is in the bag?,” Rizzen asked, with an edge of irritation in his voice. In reply the wemic opened the bag and dumped thirty bottles of wine onto the table. Fortunately none of them broke, as they rolled

onto Rizzen’s lap and the floor. Drandarian’s grin became a heartful smile. “What is this Drandarian?,” Rizzen asked with increased irritation in his voice. Drandarian’s smile receded into a disappointed frown at Rizzen’s tone. “It’s wine, that’s what you wanted.” “Yes Drandarian, but thirty bottles of it? Just when do you think I am going to drink all of this?” Rizzen picked up a bottle and

glanced at its label, it was local wine. “And cheap wine none-the-less,” Rizzen stated, as his mask formed the contours of a contemptuous expression.

“You said you wanted whatever they had, so that’s what I got,” Drandarian replied sternly. Rizzen, as he was usually prone to do when dealing with Drandarian, put his head in his hands and shook his head. “Yes Drandarian,

I did say that, but I meant whatever they had would be fine, not that I wanted it all,” Rizzen said, in a tone very nearly resembling a whine. Rizzen’s voice immediately went back to its razor edge, “How much was all of this anyway?”

“Ninety Gold,” Drandarian answered quickly. “Huhmph. Ninety gold. And just how much did you spend on the drinks of your new found friends of this fine establishment?,”

Rizzen asked as he waved his arm around, as if blessing the entire common room. “Only fifteen gold.” “Only fifteen gold?” the ice in Rizzen’s voice could have frozen the air. “Why Drandarian? So the tavern rabble would like you, and

not think you are mean? Well we are mean Drandarian, and if the patrons are scared of us, they will leave us alone, and not assault us with their smell! Go Drandarian! Bring the wine back, and do not buy drinks for any more tavern rabble in here, we have much better things to spend our gold on!”

Drandarian pouted, gathered up the wine, and headed back to the bar. Rizzen heard the wemic mutter something under his breath, about being nice to people, and Rizzen felt a mild pang at being so harsh to his friend. Drandarian was not the only one to receive his words badly, for at that moment, a group of patrons, farmers by the looks of them, approached Rizzens table. The other patrons of the bar drew deep breaths and glued their eyes to the bravest of their bunch. Drandarian, upon hearing this disturbance, turned around lazily, and watched the spectacle with a smirk on his leonine face.

Rizzen drew his blade he named cold and layed it upon the table, staring at the lead farmer with his deep purple eyes, that were just turning crimson. He said a word, and his blade began to draw the heat out of the room. The atmosphere of the tavern had the feel of an over-cocked crossbow ready to snap.

The lead farmer’s confidence wavered under Rizzen’s stare and the sudden cold in the room, but his pride was too much. “HEY! We don’ like-“

Rizzen’s eyes were a deep crimson now, and he rose from his stool as he interupted the farmer in mid sentence, “I am not concerned with what you like,” he said calmly as he drew his other sword ‘dark’, and held it in his left hand. “I am not here to make you feel nice, indeed, what my friend just treated this tavern too is more gold than you have probably seen since you were a whelp. I have not needed to use this blade in three days. Please. Do not give me a reason to use it now, for I will have nothing but your corpse to clean it on,” Rizzen said as he held the blade closer to the farmer’s chest. The farmer stared at the blade’s edge, as sharp as diamonds; this was enough for the unseasoned farmer, who began to waver under the threat, and drop to his knees.

Rizzen smiled, and in a quick, flipping, gesture sheathed his blade. “Good,” He turned to the other farmers and said, “Now take him back, and see he does not bother me or my friend again,” he said in mock kindness as he nodded towards Drandarian. The farmers helped their friend to his feet, and returned to their table. The tension began to slowly ease. Drandarian’s laugh resonated through the establishment, and he turned his head back to the barkeep. “Are ya sure ya won’t take these bottles back,” he said with a grin. The barkeep took ninety gold from his coffer and laid it on the bar.

The tension settled down in the tavern, but as if to disturb the calm, a new person entered the pub, nearly commanding all eyes to hail her. She had long red hair which flowed down to her waist, the sunlight from the window payed homage to it as her long locks swayed with her seductive walk. Her hair, which hid her sharply pointed ears, was a perfect complement to her eyes, which were green, and sharp as pine-needles. Her face was the colour of freshly cut poplar, and her features were sharp as daggers. Hugging her body close was a beautiful green robe embroidered with gold, worn open and tucked into her belt so that her sensuous curves tempted all men who dared to take a glance. Where her robe was open, a dress-like suit of chain mail was revealed, forged so finely that its texture matched that of linen, and looked to be possessed of strong magic. Upon her shoulders lay an ivory and silver bow; a blade slender as her body hung on the left side of her belt.

The wood elven sorceress, surveyed the common room stopping for a moment when she saw Drandarian’s giant grace. When her gaze met Rizzen, she gave him a bright smile rivaling even the sun’s powerful glow. The elf walked over to Rizzen’s corner table, all the men in the tavern were looking upon her with fascinated, and bewildered eyes, but she did not honour a single one of them with a return glance. Still smiling, she sat down across from Rizzen’s dark form, her radiance creating a perfect contrast to Rizzen’s dark corner. The woman leaned onto his table with her elbows, and placed her slight chin in her elegant hands, as if her forearms were a

pedestal for a sharp, and fair sculpture. With a twist of her head, she moved her beautiful hair behind her left ear, so that its cute point could be seen. The elf-woman could see a slight smile form beneath Rizzen’s mask.

“Well met Rizzen,” she said happily, “want to help me find some herbs?” “Well met indeed dear Chloe,” Rizzen said, his tone possessing a rare instance of joy. “What brings you to this…fine,

establishment?” Rizzen looked at Chloe, the twin to Rizzen’s now deceased lover, and reminisced how beautiful his dear Narciss truly was.

“Looking for you and Drandarian of course! Brother Tomi, doesn’t want me bothering him while he is reading his word, and Zaylor is obsessively polishing his sword and armour,” Chloe replied. “I’ll never figure out how people can move in such silly looking, bulky, shiny plates.”

“Nor can I my dear, why do you think Drandarian and I walk so far ahead. Brother Tomi and Zaylor’s clunking around would alert a deaf orc to our presence.”

“I know! I told Zaylor if he didn’t polish his armour he would be harder to see at least, and he practically snapped, yelling ‘NO!, RUST! RUST!’ I don’t think our friendly paladin is all there sometimes,” Chloe said with a smile.

“Indeed. That is why we think, and Zaylor strikes. I sometimes worry his chivalrous code has him bottled up, he really should just let it go, and let Tomi be the annoying one!”

“RIZZEN! How can you say that! Zaylor lives by a strict noble code, and no one, even you, should critisize him for it. They may be loud, and shiny, but they are still our friends!”

“Yes of course Chloe. I meant know harm you know that,” Rizzen said as Chloe gave him a stern, reprimanding glare. “Now, why do you want me too come help you find some herbs deep within the forest, with nothing around but annoying nuisances like sprites. You are the wood elf my dear, can’t you go find them on your own?”

“Yes Rizzen, thanks for making that point clear, but I don’t need the overly light sensitive eyes of a dark elf who lives underground to help me find herbs,” Chloe said completely annoyed at Rizzen’s tone, but quickly looked from side to side to make sure nobody heard her. “I’m going into a somewhat dangerous area of the forest, and I may run into trouble. I could always use your help, though I could have also used your company. But I see I could just as easily find a badger that could match your company. At least I have Drandarian for that!”

“Flattery will never get you anywhere my dear,” Rizzen replied haughtily. “Perhaps,” she said as she looked at Rizzen, and raised one eyebrow seductively, “but my looks do.” “Hmmph. Very well m’lady. But why is this area of the forest so much more dangerous than the rest?” “Long ago a god died there, and it is said that many magical and unique herbs grow in the area he fell. I think I can find a particular

herb I need for a potion I have been trying to brew there,” she replied. “A love potion for dragons perhaps?,” Rizzen said snidely. “Shut up Rizzen! Perhaps I don’t want you coming along!” A violent ruckus shook the common room. By the time Chloe turned around, Drandarian was holding a dented pewter mug, and two

patrons were lying at his feet, badly beaten and unconcious. The barkeep, went to the corner of his bar, just before Drandarian began to resonate his powerful voice.

“If anyone talks about my friend Chloe, in that way again, I will break them in exactly the places they are referring to!” Drandarian yelled deeply. “Here,” he said to the barkeep with a smile, who received the dented and bloody mug rather reluctantly. “Sorry about your floor,” Drandarian said as he dropped a bag of coins on the bar. “And the mug too,” at this he threw a stack of coins on the bar, and walked towards his companion’s table.

“Well at least I can always count on Drandarian,” Chloe said sharply. Rizzen said nothing and leaned back. “Hi Chloe!” Drandarian’s face was beaming with happiness when he came over to the table. “Those guys over there said they

wanted too…” “Its O.K. Drandarian, it looks like you took care of it,” Chloe quickly added for Drandarian. “Yeah! They’re not going to be using their tongues for a long-time!” Drandarian laughed innocently, and Chloe blushed. “Thank you Drandarian,” Chloe said, and smiled as she pet the big wemic under the chin. “I was just coming to get you guys to go

herb hunting with me but it appears our dark friend here doesn’t want to face the dangerous faeries and sprites, and so is going to stay here and drink with the farmers,” Chloe smiled obnoxiously. “I guess you and I will have to go herb hunting alone Drandarian.”

“O.K. What kind of animal is an URB?” Drandarian asked. “Its not an animal it’s a pretty, smelling, flower Drandarian, now let’s go!” Rizzen said sounding quite annoyed, and walked towards

the door. “Oh! Now that Drandarian is here to protect you, you will come mighty Rizzen! How cute!” Chloe said, knowing well she was pulling

on Rizzen’s nerves. He deserves it she thought. “Yep that’s right! I’m here buddy, don’t worry!” Drandarian tromped out the tavern to join Rizzen, with Chloe close behind. The

barkeep sighed in releif, when the companions left, and called to patrons to clear the bodies from the floor.

* * * * *

Chloe explained to Rizzen it would take nearly three days to reach their destination, the forest was thick, and it made travel slow, though the three companions could move through it quicker than humans or dwarves could. Chloe seemed to blend into the trees, and Rizzen blended into the shadows equally well; neither of them making a sound. For all of Drandarians size and strength, he moved with the grace of the great cats, and it was doubtful, anything but a faerie or elf would hear him coming.

Several hours after the third morning, before the noon-day sun took its position in the sky, Chloe found the area they were searching for. The area was blanketed in clovers, and the herbs growing here, in a variety of bright and soft colours, swayed in the breeze like the comfortable and bright mosaic blankets that Chloe’s grandmother used to make for her sister and she. They used to fit in the blanket like two little peas in a sweet smelling pod.

The beautiful aroma from this patch of nature energized the three adventurers, and the scent from the mighty, and magical weirwood trees left a moist sensation in their throats. Around them were beautiful plants, mosses, herbs, scents, and chirping birds, but amidst this beauty lied the mushrooms. Rizzen spotted several of them; he was a master of poisons, and he knew that these strange magical mushrooms could poison a lion dead in his tracks. He would keep this place in mind.

“Well this is it friends,” said Chloe. “I’m going to the middle of the patch, that is where the Orandius herb I need will be.” “Very well m’lady, we will keep watch here, besides I have some foraging of my own to do,” Rizzen said as he eyed the deadly

mushrooms. “I knew you would,” Chloe turned in reply, only to spin back around again, and continue on her delicate path. Chloe moved towards

the patch’s center; each one of her steps was quick, silent, and deliberate, so that none of the flora would be disturbed. Rizzen noticed she left no tracks through the plants. He sat down in a patch of clovers and watched Chloe. She moved seductively

regardless what she was doing; foraging, archery, or swordplay, it mattered not. Rizzen enjoyed every move she made. Drandarian was bewildered by this wild place. The smells were appreciated by him, far more than they were by his friends, indeed,

Chloe and Rizzen could not imagine some of the scents the wemic was familiar with. Drandarian sniffed the air, and discovered a new scent. Drandarian looked nearby, around the patch of the herbs near him. There, something caught his eye as well as his nose, just inches from his immense form; the sweetest thing Drandarian had ever smelt, an emerald green mushroom. He reached down, and gently plucked the fungus from the earth, and twisted it around in the air to get a better look. The mushroom had little purple spots on it, resembling daggers pointing downward. It smelled so sweet, the aroma was calling Drandarian, beckoning him to indulge, and taste its pleasures. He could resist no longer, he placed his lips on the mushroom and sunk his sharp teeth into the scrumptuous morsel. It

tasted so sweet, and Drandarian could feel the warm juice flowing down his furry chin. He licked his lips so none of the taste could escape him.

“Hey Rizzen, is this an URB?,” he asked his friend, as he looked to him and held the mushroom in the air. “What Drandarian?” Rizzen asked as he was broken from his momentary trance. He turned to look at Drandarian, and saw his friend

holding the emerald mushroom. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “Drandarian! Do not eat that!” Rizzen shouted. He saw the wemic move clumsily from side to side, and his vertically slit cat-eyes,

were dilating. “Why….not…buddy,” Drandarian managed to say behind the cloud that started to enrapture his mind. He stepped back several feet,

and his legs collapsed, to weak to hold him. The large wemic toppled over and landed on his side, a multicoloured cloud of pollen arose from his impact, moving like an ominous stormcloud on a sunny day before it pours forth its rain.

Rizzen immediately sprinted to Drandarians prone body. He pressed two forefingers against the leo-centaur’s neck. The pulse was still there, but it was weak, and getting weaker. Rizzen did not have much time.

“Chloe!” Rizzen shouted, “Come here at once!” “What is it?” she asked. “Drandarian ate this mushroom,” he said as he held the vile thing aloft. He doesn’t have much time, two hours at most. Can you

teleport us to Brother Tomi?” “No, I can’t do that today,” Chloe was regretting she didn’t stock up on her magic, she was getting worried. “I’ll have to see if I can make an antidote then. Stay here and watch Drandarian, if I don’t find the correct herbs Drandarian is

doomed.” “I’m coming with you!” Chloe demanded, “Together we could figure out the herbs we need.” “NO! I already know what herbs we need, I’ve used that mushroom before. I need you to watch after Drandarian! We don’t need a

group of pixies tying him up and carrying him away while he’s in this state. Or some sort of situation like that! Wait for me here. I’ll be back soon. Trust me Chloe,” Rizzen stroked her cheek, and moved farther into the patch.

“Hurry,” Chloe said weakly, as she gently stroked Drandarian’s forehead. Rizzen had to act fast; though there were many herbs in this magical patch, the ones he needed to counteract the poison were not in

sight. Rizzen searched through the patch, all the while appearing as nothing more than shade from a tree. It took some time, but Rizzen finally found the herb he was after, it was a deep crimson red, the shape of clovers, and grew near the edge of the patch. Rizzen knew this magical clover, when mixed with his elixer, would be the antidote Drandarian needed. With a sigh of relief, he approached, the herb bed which glinted like rubies in the sunlight that escaped through the trees. Rizzen prepared a bag to gather the herbs in; once he aquired the proper amount, it would only be minutes before he had the potion Drandarian needed.

Rizzen grabbed a clover by the stem, and pulled it up with its roots intact. The clover began to shimmer when it was pulled from the ground. Rizzen stared at it closely and saw it begin to fade until he was holding nothing in his black-gloved hand, the clover was merely an illusion. Rizzen could feel his irises turning crimson, the deepest crimson they had ever gleamed. “Who’s trick is this?!” Rizzen snarled.

Rizzen heard a mischievous laugh coming from his flank. “It is mine, it is it is!” said an overly happy voice, with a slightly higher pitch than normal. “It seems you really need my clovers, for your big pet back there,” the voice said, followed by a quich happy laugh.

“Indeed, I need the plant to make a poison antidote, so I would appreciate it if you let me have the plants, and cease these demonic jokes! And Drandarian is not my pet!” Rizzen yelled in response. “So please, may I have the herbs?” Rizzen asked, this time trying to mask the anger in his voice.

“Not until you tell me how to bottle the rage of a butterfly,” the voice replied, and the figure of a small tiny man, only about six inches high appeared, wearing a green tunic, with a green cap, and green boots.

“Excellent, a little leprechaun. I have heard about your kind,” Rizzen said, his voice dripping with contempt at the sight of the man. “Good,” said the little leprechaun, “now tell me how to bottle the rage of a butterfly.” “I have no time for games tiny one. It is in your best interest to give me the herbs I need.” “Give to me what I want, and you’ll get what you want,” the leprechaun said, unmoved by the threat in Rizzen’s voice. “Fine! I’ll give you a hundred gold if you give me the herbs,” Rizzen offered, clenching and unclenching his black-gloved fist in

frustration. “I got lots of gold in me pots at home. I don’t want yours. Just tell me how to bottle the rage of a butterfly, it doesn’t cost you

anything,” the leprechaun laughed after saying this. Rizzen had absolutely no idea what the little fellow was talking about, bottled rage of butterfly was certainly no mundane item. He

was not a philosopher by any means. “Why don’t you just capture a butterfly, put the infernal thing in a bottle, and wait until it gets as angry as I am now?” he said as his

crimson eyes gleamed. “O.K., but how do I make a butterfly as angry as you?” the leprechaun asked. His sharp accent was starting to irritate Rizzen

profoundly. “I don’t know, but your going to give me the herbs,” Rizzen said as he jumped at the little man and grasped him about the waist with

a tight hand. The leprechaun smiled in response to Rizzen’s grip, and faded away, it was another illusion. Rizzen heard laughter from behind him. When he spun around, he saw the leprechaun laughing and mocking him atop a tree branch.

Rizzen was at the brink, of drawing his swords and cutting everything in sight. To relax himself, he pulled a wineskin from his belt and began to drink. The leprechaun looked on curiously.

“What be in there?” the leprechaun asked. Rizzen’s eyes turned purple again, as he calmed down and got an idea. Why didn’t he think of this before? “I’m drinking wine little leprechaun, smooth red wine. You do like wine don’t you?” Rizzen asked and reached inside his pocket. “YES!” the little leprechaun yelled, “I’m afraid wine is something a leprechaun will never turn down.” “I know,” Rizzen said as he secretly withdrew a powder from his pocket. With a sleight-of-hand unmatched by any stage magician,

he dropped the powder into the wineskin. “Would you like some?” he offered. “YES!” the leprechaun yelled again and reached for the wine skin. Rizzen pulled the skin back at the last second, shaking it gently as he did so. “Not until you give me the herbs I desire,” Rizzen said.

“What will it be, wine or butterfly rage?” “WINE!” the little thing answered. “Then give me the herbs. Fully prepared since you caused me this inconvenience.” “Fine.” The leprechaun conjured a tiny sack from the air. “Here they are, I’ll give them to you at the same time you give me the

wine. I don’t trust you.” “You shouldn’t,” Rizzen said. The two adversaries made their trade, and Rizzen checked the sack to ensure he wasn’t being duped again. Upon inspection he

found the leprechaun was not cheating him this time. The leprechaun, was not so cautious, and guzzled the dry wine down greedily. Rizzen smiled.

The leprochaun dropped the wine skin and grabbed his stomach, a look of horror evident on the little creatures face. He was losing colour, and his skin was drawing tight, like he was rapidly dehydrating. Rizzen stared at the leprechaun’s tiny, writhing form with contempt.

It was Rizzens turn to laugh, and indeed he did. “Now little friend, it is time you played my game,” he said. “You have just ingested a powder extracted from the spinner mushrooms of the underdark, far beneath the earth’s surface. The antidote, also can only be aquired in that subteranean realm. Pity.” The contours of a deep smile could be seen through Rizzen’s tight black mask.

“Fortunately, for you of course, I possess the antidote. Of course, you could decide to die by this most vicious poison, but keep in mind, it takes a whole hour to fully dehydrate. But you might die before then, if you are lucky,” Rizzen sneered.

The leprechaun looked up at him with pleading eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only dry air came forth. “See you cannot even scream,” Rizzen mocked. “I am feeling kind, so I will give you this antidote, for all the gold you own. In your

little pot at home I believe? Provided I believe there is enough gold of course. Perhaps you are wishing you took my hundred gold now, hmmm?

“Now are we in agreement?” Rizzen asked. The leprechaun nodded his head, and pointed to a large oak tree. He held out his hand for the antidote. “Not until I have counted the gold,” Rizzen taunted, and the little leprechaun dropped his head. Rizzen walked over to the old, gnarled oak and gave it a thorough inspection. At waist level there was a hole, and Rizzen peaked

inside. There he saw lots of cozy miniature furniture, all perfect for the leprechaun’s size. At the far end of the little room was a tiny rack

filled with green hats and shoes. Rizzen reached in and toppled the wrack. Behind it a small iron cauldron was revealed, filled to the brim with gold. He grabbed the handles on either side and hoisted the pot out of the hole, dumping it on the ground by accident. Rizzen took out a sack, and filled it with the gold as he counted.

“Here you go little man,” Rizzen said as he handed the leprechaun the antidote. “You had just enough gold, one less gold and I would not have given this too you. Do not stand in my way , when next I am trying to help a friend. Aluve,” Rizzen said as he parted with the traditional dark-elf farewell. He sprinted to reach the area where Chloe and Drandarian waited.

Chloe nearly cried in relief when she saw Rizzen approach. “Hurry Rizzen he is fading fast,” she yelled. Rizzen stopped near the wemic, and checked his friends pulse. It was nearly still. He drew a dagger from his boot, and cleanly sliced

the lion-man’s forearm. The blood oozed slowly, reminding Rizzen he did not have much time. He applied the magical potion directly to the wound, and it disappeared into the wemic’s blood.

Several long hours passed by for Rizzen and Chloe, until Drandarian’s golden colour returned, and his leonine eyes sharpened. Rizzen yelled in joy as he saw Drandarian rise on his powerful legs again.

“UUUURGGHHH!” Drandarian growled as he stretched. “Did we find the URB?” Drandarian asked, thinking he merely took a nap. “Yes Drandarian, we did,” Chloe giggled as she replied. “Good then it appears everyone got what they deserved today,” Rizzen said, and he smiled as he patted his full gold sack. “Where’d you get that Rizzen?” Drandarian asked. “Lets just say the luck of the forest was with me today.” Rizzen patted the wemic on the shoulder, and the odd pair atarted their

walk down the path. Chloe looked at her friends, smiled, and shook her head. Somehow Rizzen always managed to come through. Strangely enough

though, he always seems to finish any job, no matter what the task with more gold than he starts out with. But, as well he should, she thought. As soon as Drandarian gets ahold of that gold, everyone in the tavern will be drinking well.

Fooling the WorldCarl R Cascone

A body smashed into the corner of the back wall in the Thirsty Throat Tavern, narrowly missing Rizzen's head. "Damn these infernal tavern rabble," Rizzen said as he slammed his book onto the splintering, ale-moist table surface. He looked down to the unconscious body lying on the floor next to him and scowled.

Rizzen came to the tavern this evening to study the profit journal of his merchant coster, The Black Mask Trading Priakos, and he was hoping for a little privacy. Usually the other patrons left him alone out of fear, but this evening, the brawl got especially heavy. He was just getting an accurate figure of what Seeragath the caravan leader was skimming when some rude patron, threw an adversary Rizzen's way.

Rizzen closed his book, and tucked it under his arm. He passed by several brawlers who made a point to stay out of his path. Rizzen stopped at the tavern's door. A sign that intrigued him was posted upon it. There was very little light in the tavern, but Rizzen's dark tuned eyes could still read the sign.

BOUNTY FOR THE BODY OF XAUROS80,000 Gold

Offering 80,000 gold for the body,DEAD or ALIVE

of Xauros, the owner of theBLACK MASK TRADING PRIAKOS

Bring Xauros to Dagger Alley to collect

Rizzen smiled, and reached into his belt pouch. He withdrew a black silk mask; much like the one he wore to hide his face. He had the entire land fooled. The magical silk mask he held allowed him to assume any image he wished as long as that image was humanoid. One of the images he chose was that of Xauros, a gold elf tycoon. Rizzen used that disguise to operate the humongous Black Mask Trading Caravan and fleet, a very respectable business. His true identity of Rizzen was kept separate from Xauros by appointing himself the investigator for the charming tycoon. Rizzen was an outlaw, and as long as the authorities and monarches thought he was working respectably, they would leave him alone.

All of that was about to change, for Rizzen was growing bored with the respectable life, and missed the profession of thief and adventurer. He planned to end the life of the false identity of Xauros, and the sign gave him an idea for the perfect way how.

Rizzen walked out of the tavern onto Slut street. The distorted reflection of the moon on the harbor bathed the street in an eerie glow. The street was empty, so Rizzen sat against the wall of the Thirsty Throat and opened his ledger.He reviewed it over and over to be sure he had all the evidence he needed. The wares of several caravans that paid tariffs to Waterdeep, were never entered into the journal. Therefore the profits and gold never went to Black Mask, and more importantly, never made it to Rizzen. Seeragath did not cover his bases well. He should have bribed some of Waterdeep's authorities to ignore the caravans, that at least would have kept Rizzen's investigation away. Seeragath was using the embezzled money to help fund the noble family of Anteos in their slave trade, and some of Rizzen's agents delivered a document proving this, right into his hands. Yes, he had all the evidence he needed against Seeragath, and now it was time for an audit.

* * * * *

Seeragath stared out of the office window facing lamp street. He looked out over the empty marketplace; its only inhabitants were silence and darkness. He puffed on his duskwood pipe and walked back to his desk. The skinny man picked up a silver, bejeweled cup of orange Calimshan Tea lying on it, and took a drink. His hands were shaking. Xauros sent a messenger telling him that Rizzen would be coming to evaluate his work. Seeragath took a couple deep breaths to maintain his wavering composure.

Xauros sent Rizzen to motivate the caravan leaders when business was down, and Waterdeep's business appeared to be way down. He prayed that Xauros did not know of his dealings with the Anteos clan, and Seeragath made sure the books were rigged to make it seem that the caravans sent to him were never received. He shrugged, Rizzen probably would only tell him to reevaluate his strategy and the revenues would increase, like the masked elf always said.

The door to Seeragath's chamber opened and a guard wearing the tabard of the Black Mask Trading Priakos entered the office. "Rizzen is here to see you Lord Seeragath," the guard said.

The leader stared emptily at the guard for several moments before overcoming the lump in his throat. "Send him in," Seeragath said, trying to look stern.

"As you wish my lord," a smirk formed on the guard's face when he noticed Seeragath's discomfort. He left the room and Seeragath swallowed dryly when he heard the guard say, "Lord Seeragath will see you now."

"Thank You," Seeragath heard Rizzen reply in a condescending and contemptuous tone.The caravan leader stood at his desk watching the shadows from the torches. Within seconds the shadows took on a humanoid

appearance, and an eddy of darkness followed. The shadows moved with the figure as if they were under its command. Seeragath's breath became faster as the shadow moved towards him, his eyes became wide with fear.

"Good evening 'lord' Seeragath. I see you have had no aversion exercising your authority," the wraith-like figure said in a voice holding naught but contempt. "Xauros will be pleased to hear that you are taking your role as leader to heart."

Seeragath focused on the sound of Rizzen's voice and momentarily regained his composure. He saw a lithe man, about as tall as himself dressed in utter black, with a dark cloak flowing behind. The black mask stretched over the angular contours of the face allowed purple eyes to reflect from behind it. Seeragath shuddered at the sight. "Is there something wrong?" Rizzen asked. His voice rang with amusement.

"No. Nothing here is wrong, I mean nothing's wrong at all. Anywhere. The wind it made me cold," Seeragath fumbled over the words like a child tripping through mud.

Rizzen stared at him with sharp purple eyes for a moment, which to Seeragath, seemed like an eternity. "Please. Have a seat. After all this is your office," Rizzen said.

"Yes... Yes I will. Please be seated," Seeragath said."Why Thank You.""What can I do to help you Lord Rizzen?""Lord Rizzen? I like the sound of that. Xauros would not be pleased to hear you calling other people lord. It might lead him to believe

your allegiance is...wavering." The contours of the mask formed a malicious smile."No no, not at all Lord, um I mean Rizzen. I only meant it as a manner of respect to one of your-,""Yes, Yes I've been told it all before," Rizzen said. "Anyway, as you probably know, Xauros sent me here because business is not

where it should be for a city of this value. Are you able to handle this job? I could always send you out as a caravan master on route if you think this to much."

"Not at all. Its just that its the first of the month, and the middle of winter. It is difficult to get caravans through this time of year, and many caravans get lost on route."

"But Scornubel seems to have no problem releasing caravans," Rizzen drew a dagger out of a hidden sheath and caressed its point. Seeragath stared at the dagger. "Well?" Rizzen asked, "Why have they released caravans?"

"They must not be concerned about the welfare of their workers. Perhaps none of the Scornubel caravans made it here," Seeragath said confidently. The leader opened up a book on the desk and slid it towards Rizzen. "Here, see for yourself."

Rizzen stuck the dagger blade into the desk top near the book. Seeragath's eyes strained to watch the blade, making sure that is where it stayed. "Ah. I see you did not receive several caravans sent from Scornubel. That would explain why the coffers have been low. Perhaps you have been doing your job."

Seeragath smiled and said, "Yes Yes. I keep accurate accounts of everything.""Perhaps Seeragath. However, something puzzles me," Rizzen said. "Inspection of the city's tariff ledgers show that the cargo from

some of these missing caravans have been taxed." "What ever do you mean?" Seeragath's face flushed. "Look." Rizzen took a book from... somewhere Seeragath could not see. He opened it up nearly to the tomes middle and placed it on

the desk. "You see, some of these, no all but five of these caravans have paid tariffs on their wagon loads. They made it to Waterdeep. Ah! I know, they just did not make it to the paddocks."

"Yes that must be it!" Seeragath said. "The guards of the city are corrupt! We must do something about them!" Seeragath was desperate and was hoping he could pass the blame to the guards. "We should confront the lords of the city and get Xauros' money back!"

"Lords like yourself?" Rizzen asked sarcastically. "Is that Calimshan tea your drinking?" He nodded towards the silver bejeweled cup on the desk.

"Yes Rizzen. The finest. Would you like some?" "You can get this tea even in the middle of winter?" Rizzen let the question hang, and pulled the cup towards him. "Let me smell it

first. I love the smell of Calimshan tea." Rizzen passed his hand over the cup's top in a gesture that looked as though he was waving the steam towards his mask.

"No thank you," he replied and pushed the cup back to the leader. "Yes we should get Xauros' money back. I have here also...," Rizzen reached somewhere near him for several moments, and drew from someplace another book, "The Scornubel register."

"Yes?""Well it seems to show that several caravan masters that never made it to your paddocks, like masters Lucas, Shiel, and Wellpert,

returned to Scornubel with full cargos sent from here. See, Leader Tarnock signed them in himself," Rizzen said."It must... It must be some mistake!" Seeragath yelled when he noticed the lithe elf pull the dagger out of the desk and cock it ready

to throw. "Rizzen we know Tarnock is incompetent," he said pleading. "Really, I didn't know this. But you are starting to prove like him.""I did not send them there Rizzen!" Seeragath pleaded, visibly sweating."Yes! Perhaps Delbrawn Anteos sent those caravans!" Rizzen snarled.Seeragath was speechless, and surveyed the room for an exit. Rizzen had Seeragath right in his maw. "Don't worry Seeragath, Xauros applauds your efforts of building our reputation up with the Waterdeep nobility," Rizzen said,

sheathing his dagger.Seeragath smiled and relaxed. He had fooled the frightening investigator after all."Relax Seeragath, take a drink," Rizzen said compassionately."Yes. I suppose I should," Seeragath said. He was calmer now and raised the bejeweled cup to his lips for a drink."Well you have sufficiently proven that you are doing your job well, and I will let Xauros know of the bookkeeping mistakes in

Scornubel," Rizzen said.Seeragath took a long sip of the tea. He smiled and with more composure, he spoke. "Thank you Rizzen. I was confidant that. . ."

were the only words Seeragath could say before his throat seized and gagged. Suddenly his body washed over with a burning sensation, as he felt Rizzen's poisoned tea take effect.

"You fool! Did you think for a second I would fall for any of your excuses! You did not cover all of your angles, you were just not meant to be a thief."

Seeragath dropped the silver cup when his hands succumbed to the deadly poison, and Rizzen's nimble hand caught it before it hit the desk top. "We can't damage such a splendid cup, now can we," Rizzen said as he gently placed the cup on the desk. "You should watch more carefully when people are merely sniffing your drink."

Seeragath's eyes pleaded with Rizzen until they rolled back. Several gasps later, Seeragath hit the floor, his last breath fleeing into the darkness.

Rizzen scowled at Seeragath's cooling body. He again withdrew the magical silk mask from his beltpouch. "You will fetch me quite a bounty Seeragath. You mark the end of my sweet little business," Rizzen said and he placed the silk mask over Seeragath's dead horrified expression. The magic worked in minutes, and soon Seeragath's form matched that of a dead gold elf; he looked just like Xauros. Rizzen laughed beneath his mask. "You look better dead Seeragath."

* * * * *

Ralith watched the guard come into his office, wearing a bored expression. "Another bounty hunter is here, claiming to have Xauros' body. Do you wish to see him."

"Is it for real this time?" Ralith asked.The guard was about to speak, but a sudden strike at his back dropped him to the floor. Rizzen stood behind the guard with the body

of Xauros lying next to him."Yes I am for real!" Rizzen snapped.Ralith's eyes widened, "Guards! Intruder!" he yelled and drew out a long rapier. Rizzen was obviously sent by Xauros to assassinate

him, and the guards fell right into the ploy."Relax Ralith!" Rizzen snapped, and he slid the Xauros disguised body of Seeragath to the merchant lord. "Your bounty was far to

tempting. Eighty thousand gold is more than Xauros pays me in a year. The betrayal was worth the money. I trust you'll come through."Ralith inspected the body. "You really did kill Xauros," he said. "I wouldn't want you working for me." Rizzen laughed at the comment

and smiled beneath his mask."Get the gold allotted for the bounty," Ralith yelled to the guards in the hall. "We must go outside," Ralith motioned for Rizzen to

follow him.Rizzen followed the merchant outside where a huge cart filled with gold was waiting. "Of course you must provide your own

transportation.""Of course," Rizzen said. He withdrew a folded black cloth from a pocket. When he unfolded it, a ten foot wideblack circle formed. He

placed it next to the cart."Would you mind getting some guards to help me tip the wagon?" Rizzen asked the merchant.Ralith looked at him like he was mad, then shook his head. "What are you going to do, pour the gold on your cloth, wrap it up, tie it to

a stick and walk home?"Rizzen's eyes changed from purple to red. "Just do it," he said threateningly. Ralith was not going to argue."Do as he said," Ralith ordered, and the guards helped tip the wagon. The contents of the wagon dumped onto the black circle, but

instead of piling on it, the gold fell through it, as if it was a big hole. When the wagon was empty, Rizzen folded up the black circle. "A solution always exists if you are willing to cheat," Rizzen said, dangling the cloth in front of Ralith. "Until swords part," he said and waved a farewell.

Rizzen left the merchant smiling. He was truly proud. Rizzen recollected a saying he once heard; someone he tricked told it to him once, but Rizzen liked to alter it. You can fool some of the people all of the time, all of the people some of the time, but if your good, that's when you can fool all of the people, all of the time.

Melancholy EngagementCarl R Cascone

I've been hiding from the elves for at least an hour now. It seems their panic has quelled somewhat, but no doubt they are nearby, watching for me. I am not in my normal garb this night. Tonight the facade of the burned gold elf Rizzen is shed, and I do not hide my birth. Tonight I am Rizzen as he was born, a dark elf, that race which inspires fear in all who live by the rays of the sun, and the sworn enemy of the surface elves. I have left my mask behind, for though it is what keeps my nature a secret, it has become the dark, featureless, face of Rizzen, the infamous outlaw. The task I must do this night shall not be done in a mask; I will show my ebony skin and white locks, and suffer any consequences my image may inflict.

I have travelled far to this sacred elven grove, but I do not come here to worship. I come here to ask forgiveness, and give a gift of apology to a missed and lost love.

I have brought the Lady Sapphire with me, a beautiful sapphire I had carved into the image of a beautiful maiden, and soon this reminder will be lost too. I open my pouch to ensure the Lady Sapphire is still there. It is. This treasure will be spent better than all the riches I have.

I leave the temporary sanctuary of my hiding place beneath the root of a magnificent oak. The howls of cooshees fill the air; the elves are sparing no pains to purge me from their grove.

My skills of silence and blending are masterful, but it is hard to hide from the keen, nature-tuned, senses of the surface elves, for the very trees speak with them and betray my presence. But though I do not share their blood directly, my kin are rooted to theirs, and my abilities are as formidable, but they are tuned to the night, and the dark. Though the trees and the wood are my enemies, the night is my ally, and my weapon. As long as there is darkness, I will prevail.

The sound of bowstrings retracting and arrows cleaving through the air, fire my reflexes like a mangonel. Before I understand the peril, my body dodges three arrows as if they were stones thrown by a child. Ready for battle, I look into the trees, to where the arrows came from.

Three elves are perched up there, notching their arrows for another volley. Their pointed features, twist in hatred at the sight of me, a dark elf, the vicious, evil, enemy of the high elves. I can expect no parley, for they will not listen. In the case of a dark elf, the good and noble high elves shoot first, and bury later; they have not yet learned that black skin, does not mean a black soul.

Another volley of arrows hungers for my flesh, but I tumble out of their path with ease. I had hoped to enter this grove undetected, for I do not relish shedding the blood of elves in their own sacred grove, but they leave me no choice, and so, I retaliate. I load my tiny crossbow faster than the tree-friends can blink, and fire at one of the arrogant archers. The dart finds its mark in the nearest elves shoulder, and pumps him full of powerful sleep venom.

Within seconds, I hear the thud of my first victim fall to the embrace of the earth, where he will lie for hours sleeping. If the fall did not kill him.

The other two elves drop from the trees and land in front of me, the moonlight reflecting off their swords light the enclave like a bonfire for me. The fools, they should have stayed in the trees. The two guardians attack together, organizing their attacks with near perfect harmony. But they are in darkness, and that is my realm. I tumble below the blades' reach, and kick out a foot tripping the less graceful of the two. "I mean none of you harm yet. Leave while I still let you," I say while drawing a sword and sleepvenomed dagger to accentuate my point.

"You defile this place by breathing its air cave-dweller!" the tripped elf yells as he regains himself and lunges for a second attack. I hurl the glistening dagger at the arrogant elf, and before he can complete the arc of his swing, he falls to the ground in a slumber.

"Now it is just you and me," I say to the remaining elf, a woman I realize. "Run." "Never. I will send you to the spider-queen myself," her beautiful pointed features twist in rage as she speaks. Admirable, she does not attack like her friend. She is waiting for me to make the move. Very well, I shall. Acting on her hesitation I

tumble backward into the darkness, and watch as panic twists her angry features further. I've seen this look on the face of many opponents. It’s the expression they make when they loose me in the dark, but realize I am still with them. The girl looks around her, not knowing where to anticipate my attack. I circle her while she is still blinded to my presence. I get to where her back is facing me, such a wide and open target; I should kill her for the delay she caused me. There is no reason; perhaps she would be missed by a sullen lover

as well. I load another dart and let it fly. It bites the beautiful girl in the back of the neck, and within seconds she drops to the loam, sleeping.

I travel deeper into the grove, and after minutes of careful, silent travel, I stop dead when I see a patrol of four elves in the copse ahead, actively searching for me. I carefully step over the ground, avoiding all sticks and twigs and making no sound. Then one of the elves looks directly at me, probably the one with the keenest hearing, and I stop again, bending my body to blend with the shadows from the moonlight. The elf moves closer, and I grab the hilt of my blades, preparing to leap in a breeze of sharp death. He stares in my direction for more than a moment. This is it, he's going to order the others to attack.

He turns around instead, and walks towards the other elves. They are more foolish than I thought if they think I will succumb to arrows so easily. To my relief, they move on, and their lives are spared.

I reach the heart of the grove, and I can hear my pulse pounding my ears like a drum. My quest is nearly complete. I move farther, into the sacred heart and see all my hopes of a bloodless night float to the wind. Did I really believe I could walk into their sacred grove and not spill the blood of its guardians? Now I am the fool.

The heart of the grove, the very place I must bring the Lady Sapphire is guarded by two bladesingers, the most formidable of surface-elf warriors. Bladesinging is the ultimate elven fighting art, where the graceful warrior dances with his blade as if they were one, and fights to the harmonious sound his blade makes in the air, leading him to musical and deadly steps. The elves see me, there will be no stealth used here. It appears I will indeed be drawing blood tonight.

The warriors begin their dance; their blades follow a beautiful yet macabre partnership. The blades of the singers cleave through the air, the gentle voice of the swordsmen mixing with the music of the blade creates a harmonius song beautiful to all ears. Neither loses a step, and neither misses a note. With my two swords drawn, I tumble into a forward roll and double thrust at their legs. The bladesingers step over my swords with ease, and commence their harmonious swordplay. I parry the first thrusts of the bladesingers, and my counter-attacks are also parried with musical precision. Then I feel pain in my arm, as one of them rhythmically slashes me with their blood-instrument.

I can feel a slight pressure in my eyes, as the anger changes my clear purple eyes, to crimson; now they will die. I join my wrists together and activate the power in my bracers. My hands glow with a ghostly green light, and I attack like a whirlwind of death. The bladesingers cannot see where my attacks come from, indeed I am sure they only feel them. Then the beautiful notes of the bladesingers cease, and when the spell is done, there is naught but the remains of two graceful figures lying at my feet.

When my breath calms, I walk to an old, sacred oak in the center of the grove. I look at it and wait. Not even a battle can stir my heart to pound as hard as it does now. I see a slight shimmering in the air, and my heart skips a beat. The shimmering begins to take form, and after a long moment, I see an enthralling elf maiden, a spirit now, with hair of gold, and eyes such a deep green that emeralds become envious. The figure moves towards me, her form seeming to glide upon the ground with enchanting steps. When I see her step into the moonlight, her alabaster skin becomes radiant with spell binding energy. My purple eyes turn deep blue and fill with tears, as I remember those treasured moments I had, together with my long missed beauty. Before she reaches me I drop to one knee and bow my head to my missed love, the love I let die.

"Arise Rizzen," the spirit of my love beacons me with a voice finer than the notes of a thousand harpists. "I shall not my lady," I reply and bow my head deeper, so that my white locks lay upon the ground. "You are wounded!" she says, sounding alarmed. "My lady, there is only one wound that has ever hurt me," and I raise my eyes up to hers', with tears running down my face,

releasing the anguish of many years. "Why are you so sad my love? You see me now. It has been many years since we parted." "The years cannot purge me of my failures." "The fault was mine alone, I made my choice. There was no protection you could have given me from my fate." I bow silent, gazing at her like one spell-bound. I withdraw the Lady Sapphire from my pouch. "This is my gift to you, my lady," and I hold the figurine out to the apparition of my love. "Rizzen! It looks exactly like me." "Only fitting that a jewel should carry your image." "Thank you," she said and giggled with glee. She reaches out to accept the gift, and I place it in her hand, where it erupts into

musical stardust and moonbeams. She giggles again, then she becomes sad. "My love, I am afraid I am bid to leave this world forever now, Arvandor calls."

"I know," my heart melts with the words. "Rizzen do not burden yourself with this guilt, you could not have prevented my choice. Never did I feel safer than when I was held

in your arms. Farewell my love, you are free; enjoy all the beauty nature will bring," she said, and her hands reached down to bid me rise, as I embrace her one last time.

"Farewell my love," she said, and the last thing I see of her is a radiant smile that breaks up into speckles of light and glitter as she fades away in my arms.

I stared at my empty arms for an eternity. I shall never forgive myself for allowing her to die. My guilt for her death is the reason I hate to live, but the memory of my dear Narciss, is the reason I refuse to die.

SeasonsJack Barnwell

The half-elf stalked silently through the forest, looking for his prey. He scanned the area for any signs of the person he tracked. Something caught his eye. To the side of him were broken twigs and branches. Typical humans, he thought. Always leaving their tracks lying around. Drawing a dagger, he lept with a grace that even a full bloooded elf would envy. He stalked silently for sevrel wards moe, before he saw a figue with his back to him.

The half-elf courched towards his unspuspecting prey. Leaning back the he jumped towards the target. And through the target. Landing on his side, the half-elf cursed at his own stupidty. Getting up, he turned and saw as the image of a black haired and eyed human mage waver and dissaper into thin air. Grinning at how useful the simple spell had been, he turned just in time to see movement flash in front of him.

Instict came to the fore as the the half-elf threw the dagger at the mage. The dagger thunked blade first into a duskwood. Cursing some more, the young hunter drew a second dagger and listened, pushing his hearing to its limits and beyond. For a few seconds nothing, then a slight noise, like that of something brushing against something else. Within the breadth of a second, he spun around, hurling the second dagger. This time it hit its intended target.

Standing before the half-elf was a human male, just short of six feet and fair of face and frame. His skin spoke of eastern heritage and elven ancestry, perhaps six centuries ago. Dressed in a commoner's garb and held himself like ranger, it was hard to believe he was a mage of no small skill. The dagger hovered barely an inch from his heart, floating of his accord. The mage's eyes were filled with mischief as he smiled, looking at the dagger. Moving his hand in a gesture, the dagger flipped around and hurled back towards the half-elf, who just stood there calmly.

At the last second, the half-elf leapt up, spinning in midair. The dagger flew under him, never touching him once. The half-elf landed with a third dagger ready, point held ready. The mage grinned and suddenly a staff appeared in his hands, ready for battle. His eyes went wide when his hunter suddenly dissapered in a flash of silver light. Cursing outloud in Cormyrian, the mage threw aside his staff and cast a spell that would render anything invisible in a viloet ligth. Two seconds later, the image of a figure appeared a few feet away, outlined in a violet light.

The mage smiled and drew a long-bladed knife from its sheath in his sleave, sneaking up to the unsuspecting hunter. Leaping forward, he thrusted the balde into the outlined fiugre. The knife sunk deep into the figure, and it started to come back into sight. The mage stood back to examine his work. His eyes went wide again as the thing that fade into view was not a body, but a wooded statue. It had been cloaked in an invisibilty spell.

Pain shot through his back as something hit him from behind. Doubling over, the mage groaned. Turning his head around, he saw the half-elf with his quaterstaff in hand. Staff raised high, the elf brought it down like a club, knocking the mage unconscious. Sighing he threw down the staff, then dropped to the ground, waiting while the mage woke up.

* * * * *

The moon had risen and fallen before the mage awoke, a firece head ache raging. The mage heard the sound of a fire burning. Looking up he saw that fire was indeed burning. By it was the half-elf who had knocked him out witht his own quaterstaff. Sitting up, he rubbed the back of his head and winced. There was a good sized egg on his head. Judging by the size of it, the bumb would heal in a few days. Getting up, he walked over to the fire and sat down. Looking over he saw that his opponent was smiling.

"Nice trick, Solin. But next time, could you please try not hitting me so hard. I would still like to keep my wits. By the way, where in the Nine Hells did you learn to combine spells like that?"

The half-elf, Solin, grinned. "Sorry Jase, but the spell is my secret. An old elven trick, you might say. But as for your head, it probably knocked some sense into that thick skull of yours." Reaching into a backpack near him, he took out a wineskin and took swig of it before handing it over it Jase.

Without even thinking, the mage took a pull of the wine, then sputtered as he swallowed. The wineskin held elverquiist, a elven wine made from rare fruits and distilled sunlight, which gave it ruby hue and a kick worse than a mule. Raising the flask in salute, he took another long pull. Elverquisst was hard to come by even in the best of times. He took a third drink, then capped it before returning it to Solin.

The half-elf put the wineskin back into his pack and took out some biscuits, which served as dinner for them both. Handing some over to his friend, Solin quitely ate his dinner, thinking about what had brought him into the Moonwood. It was common practice for both of them to come out into the forest every year to repeat a long ago battle between two mages of great renown. Every year the two friends would come down to square off agaisnt each other in mock spell battle. It had been like that for five years. Sighing, Solin threw his last biscuit into the fire and got up to stretch.

Solin was a half-elf born on the Moonshaes to a sylvan elf mother and ranger father. It was rare for such a copule to exist, as green elves were often the most distant of all the elven races. He looked twenty, but he was in fact forty-seven and would live for perhaps four centuries without magic. He was short of six feet by two inches, weighting a hundred twenty pounds. Black hair was worn long and unbraided to his shoulderes, covering his sharp ears, his gift from his mother. His face was fairer than his friend, which also spoke of elven heritage. His fierce green eyes missed little, which granted him the full use of elf sight. Dressed in commoners clothes, it was hard to believe he was of noble blood.

Grabing his broadsword, a fine weapon made by the Armacatha clan, a noble family of Waterdeep. Made of mithril, it was a valuble thing, it was his fahter's blade, given to his mother on his death before Solin's birth. Strapping it to his back, he grabed his backpack and slung it over his shoulders, then headed for Silverymoon and home.

"Hey, wait up. Mystra's sake, but your impatient. Don't even give a person enough time to eat," yelled Jase. Quickly dousing the fire with a spell, he gathered his bags and staff ran after the half-elf. By the time he caught up with his friend, they were at the reach of the Rauvin, the river that ran near the city. At first look, it appeared as if there were no way into the city, as the only enterance was over a deep chasam that held the Rauvin. Upon closer inspecion however, it appeared that people were walking on air. The Moonbridge was an invisible sturctaure of magical force that spanned the city. Legend had it that the city's first ruler, Ecame Truesilver, created it centuries ago, yet the bridge held magic that much older, more wilderer.

In the years past, the ruler of the city was Lady Alustriel Silverhand, a mage of great power and sister to the Symbul, ruler of far-off Algariond, and the bard Storm Silverhand, a bard of great renown. Now she was the ruler of Luruar, the new kingdom of the North. The new High Mage, Taren "Thunderspell" Hornblade was just and good in ruling the Jewel of the North. Rumor even had it that Taren played a key role in destrucion of fell Hellgate Keep to the east, elmiantating the Abyss-spawned threat for decades to come.

As they crossed the bridge, they nodded to the knights on duty before passing through the gates. They went down the main road, taking in the splendor of the most magical city of the North. In Silverymoon, all who posed no threat were welcome. The very air was filled with magic and the towers glistned with magic light. In Silverymoon, an artist could use his imagination to its fullest. As such, many towers had endless spires and many towered buildings.

As they passed the throught the Street of Fey, the ward where merchents and mages lived, Jase turned into a small grove dominated by a single three-storied tower made of flagstone. Jase's family, the Eion clan, were merchents of incredible wealth who dealt in silks and cloths of all types. Jase was the youngest of three children and was no taken with the family business, to the dissapointment of his father. He had bought this tower when he was of enough skill in magic to leave his apprenticeship to study and live away from the hustle and bustle of his family manor in the eastern ward. Saying goodbye to Solin, the mage entered his home.

The half-elf walked on through the ward and turned onto Jewel Street, entering the South ward, the place where commoners and lower-level businessmen like tavern keepers and innkeepers lived. Although a skilled warrior and noteworthy mage in his own right, Solin had no taste in fancy homes and the like. He made enough coin while acting as a guard at the Falcon's Talon, an inn near the heart of Southward. He was paid six silver a week when business was good. It was enough for him to rent a three roomed house near work. He considered the home to be comfortable enough. As he turned into the doorway he spoke a word that disbaled the wards he plaed there every week.

The small house was made of stone and motar with a stone foundation. It was simple looking and was perfect for the half-elf. As he opened the door, he entered the main room... and a small library. Book shelves made of duskwood covered two wallls, filled with books of many types. The furniture was covered with books as well, a few spellbooks, the rest books of lore and poetry. The air smelled of herbs as the common room also served as componet storage as well as a library. Solin loved reading and went to great lenghts to aqiure rare books. Many sages would pay a small fortune for even one his books. The half-elf had aquired most of his books ten years ago in a raid on a Zhentraim mage's hold. Of the six that had gone, only three remained. One, an elf fighter took as his prize a magical blade and the wizard's wand of fire. The other, a rouge took as her prize a suit of leather armor and half the coins. All Solin had taken were the books.

Tossing aside the backpack, the half-elf placed his broadsword on the rack over the fire mantle. Exiting the room, he went to his room and jumped onto his bed, exhuasted. He fell asleep before hitting the bed.

* * * * *

Jase entered his tower study, ready to replenish the spells he had casted that morning. He had gotten enough sleep when Solin had knocked him out, so he was ready to study. The young mage made a gesture, and magelight flooded the room, illuminating the study. As the place lit up however, Jase's eyes went wide and his jaw fell openwhen he saw what was before him. The study was a mess. The tables were turn upside down, the chairs were broken or thrown to the side. Spell components were scatered all over the place and beakers were broken all over the place. Worse of all, Jase saw that his many of his spellbooks and scrolls were ripped from the sheleves and many laid strewn all over the place, some ripped to shreds. The shelves themselves were reduced to so much fire kindiling, the once beautiful duskwood shelves in shards everywhere. Jase gasped at such destruction. How could anything get past his wards? It was impossible.

There was movement outside the library. Jase paled. Whoever had done this was still in here with him. Steeling himself, the mage drew his twin daggers and entered the common room. Because of his elven hertiage, Jase had elven sight and needed no light to see by. Looking around he caught sight of something flashing. It was a dagger hurling towards him. Dodging the dangerous blade, Jase came up, daggers ready. What he saw nearly made him drop them. From the darkest corner stood a drow, his ebony skin glisening in the moonlight. The drow were well known and feared as being mavolent and evil incarnate. Very few could be claimed as good. And most of those were dead because of their kin's reputation. Smiling wickedly, the drow lept towards the mage with a sword in hand, glowing with a dark light. Mihtral met steel as the daggers parried the cursed weapon.

"Why do you enter my home and destroy my property. How did you enter Silverymoon in the first palce. Surely, no guard would let your kind into this city to be polluted by such as you. Prepare to die, dhaerow!" said Jase, hurling an elven insult that was as old as the elven race. The drow visibly bristled under the deadly insult. Smiling, Jase droped his daggers and barked arcane words that were old when dragons were young. Three bolts of magical force flew from the mage's outstreached hands and flew towards the drow. They hit the drow full force, but he held his ground.

Jumping towards the stunned human, the drow slashed low. A glowing blade met the dark longsword, sending sparks flying. Jase stepped back and the two combatants started circling each other, looking for all the world like two lions fighting for a meal. Blades came and were met again and again. Then the drow came in with a high thrust aiming for the human's neck. The long sword was met again by the conjured blade.

"My name, human is Jereis Ner'jase, and I'm the last face you'll ever see, cur." said the drow in a dark, mellidous voice. Grinning, he slashed low. It clanged agaisnt the mage's sword once again.

"What a pity. I was hoping that the last face I would see would be that of a beautiful woman. Yours is the last face that anyone would see. A yeti's would be better looking."

The drow winced as the insult hit home. But he just shruged it off and said, "Very good, mageling. Considering your race, I'm sure a yeti would be the perfect mate for you." With that he stepped back and waited sword held out in one hand, waiting.

Jase snarled at the remark and his temper flared. Without thinking, he charge the drow with his sword level, aiming for the heart.It was his last mistake.The drow barked a word and a bolt of blood red lightning hurled towards the mage, hitting him full in the chest and hurling him back

against the far wall, coming to a painful halt. Through dim eyes, Jase saw the drow walk slowly up, his blade raised. Jase tried getting up, but his body would'nt comply. Then he saw the drow's blade fall, striking the mage's heart. The last thing Jase saw was a laughing drow pull something from the pouch that hung around his ebony arm. A signet ring. Solin's ring! It was the last thought that entered his mind. Then there was darkness.

A Candle's Last FlameTyson Bell

Slender long fingers brushed against the smooth marble. The only sound he could hear was that of his breathing. It was also dark, with only "Keryvian's" azure-hued flame holding back the oblivion. The smell was of age, of dust and centuries of neglect. This was hallowed ground, a place of strong magic. Jeiroth slowly paced the room, his thoughts reflecting on this area. He was well below ground, specifically, below the strong, forbidding walls and gardens of Castle Cormanthyr. Yet this area predated even that ancient edifice. It had been here long before the elves arrived and none could explain its creation.

"How silly" thought the young Irithyl, as he drew out a coin. It was a special coin, minted almost a thousand years ago. It was a commemorative of his father's ascension to Coronal, printed only in the first year of his rule. The elf then faced the center of the room. In the center lay the source of the strong magic. An old, nondescript well, its grey bricks weathered with age, marked the focal point and the center of the magic in the room. Kneeling, Jeiroth whispered a prayer to Corellon. He stood and walked up to the edge of the well, and with sword still drawn, spoke in ancient elven.

"Well of power, well of might help me now, help me fight to fix the wrong, to make it right a tool of victory, be it day or night" Jeiroth then released the coin into the well. No splash was heard, but there came a slow groan, one steadily that increased with

intensity. Suddenly, a golden sparkling mist seemingly spilled out of the well. As the mist rushed towards the elf, Jeiroth stiffened at its

approach but stood his ground. The mist enveloped the bladesinger and his sword. He felt power coursing through him, and a voice sweet and feminine echoed from the well.

"Use this in battle never lose faith" The mist then suddenly vanished and with it, the voice. For some time, the young Irithyl quietly stood in the room, mesmerized by

the engagement. Slowly, as he regained his senses, he began to look around. "Hmm, I do not feel any different," he thought out-loud. And then he glanced at his sword. At the edges of the blade were tiny golden sparkles, carefully running his hand through the

already sharp edge, it felt impossibly sharper. A smile crept along the elf's face..."Excellent!" The bladesinger's concentration was broken by the soft scrape of elven boots on the floor behind him. "Captain Fflar?" "Ohh Captain, my Captain?" a silky, seductive voice asked. Jeiroth, his smile growing, turned to face that voice. "Is that the voice of my derelict Lieutenant?" he chided. "Hmmf, derelict indeed!" The now not quite so seductive voice responded, "I

found you, didn't I". A stunningly beautiful elven woman clad in bright elven chainmail entered the room and strode right up to Jeiroth. She then wrapped

her arms around him as he did the same to her. Their lips met as Jeiroth fervently kissed his ladylove. "Umm, my Onamae" he softly murmured. "I am here my love" Onamae Durothil hotly responded. Jeiroth looked at his elven beauty; Onamae had silky smooth auburn hair and sparkling silver eyes flecked with sky blue. Her body

was slender yet voluptuous at the same time, her curves clearly outlined in her armor. She was also nearly as tall as he was, with a golden hued skin of suprizing softness. Even after 25 years of romance, she was still breathtaking. But there was more to her than just beauty. Onamae Durothil had the courage of a dragon and the heart of a titan. She was well-schooled in art and war, and possessed a sharp wit to boot. The elf warrior woman had fought with great skill beside her lover. Her promotion to second in command had truly been out of her own merit, and none questioned her deserving of it. Onamae had been through bladesinging training, and was a Cathshee bladesinger as was he. They sparred often, with neither truly coming out the victor. Her family, the Durothil's, were the eldest family in Myth Drannor. Yet she shared little of their arrogance. (Damn! He loved her!) Jeiroth reflected. Onamae slowly released her grip. She looked up at her man with a mischievous grin.

"You realize this may be the last time we see each other." she purred. "Onamae, don't talk like..." two fingers on his lips quickly silenced him. Onamae, still grinning, pulled out of her magic bag a thick sleeping roll. As Jeiroth watched, now sporting a similar smile, Onamae spread the roll on the floor of the room. She then began to remove her mail, turning to her love as she did so.

"Well, are you going to stand there with a silly sword in your hand or are you going to join me?" Not having to be asked twice, Jeiroth quickly removed his armor and joined his now nude lady on the roll.

With a snap Jeiroth finished strapping on his sword belt and began helping Onamae fold the sleeping roll. Both wore looks of passion engaged, of love consummated.

"I think we should hurry" Jeiroth exclaimed. "Yes, Rockfellow was waiting for you at the lip of the tunnel." Jeiroth chuckled softly, as he did almost every time he thought of the dwarf.

Jhessail Rockfellow was a Myth Drannan born and raised dwarf. He was the son of Torn and Dwalla of Clan Rockfellow, a proud and longstanding mining family. They had come to Myth Drannor at the behest of Dumathoin himself...or so they told everyone. Torn had become a gem cutter, making a considerable fortune doing such. Perhaps as a means to further ties among the elven folk, they had given their son a more "elven" name than that dwarves traditionally use. Apparently for Jhessail, or "Jhol" as he liked to be called, that is were the ties with elves ended. He was as dour, fierce, and as stubborn as any dwarf could possibly be. Anyone making fun of his name had eventually seeked a priest for healing. Jhol now stood next to the tunnel entrance, dressed in platemail and angrily tapping his foot. The dwarf's black beard always struck a contrast with his bright armor. As the two elves exited, he turned his stern scowl on them.

"Figured ye all had fallen in, and I'd have ta fish ye out." Jeiroth smiled but the dwarf continued. "Well...where ye been!" "Ohh, down in the tunnels making love" Jeiroth casually stated, but with a seriousness that shocked the dwarf into silence and drew

an accusing look from Onamae. Turning a couple shades red, Jhol yet managed to stammer "I..uh..we..we've been waiting for ye so that we can begin" "Well, everyone has waited long enough" the elf said "Now then is the time". With that, Jeiroth began to march up the castle walls.

His two lieutenants and comrades, Onamae and Jhol, in tow. As he reached the top a steady and growing cheering arose and resounded throughout the castle ground below.

"Tel'a Fflar! Tel'a Fflar!" the ensemble shouted. Jeiroth, slowly clearing his throat, glanced quickly behind his back and smiled at his two friends, then again faced the crowd. He

looked long and hard at the army laid out before him. An army of elves, and humans, and dwarves, and halflings and even gnomes. It had been much larger once.

Indeed, it had even been the pride of the world. But many had died fighting the Army of Darkness. Others had fled, viewing Myth Drannor as a hopeless cause. Many elves had fled to the New Elven Court, while others, mostly the nonelves, had moved to fledgling Cormyr. These troops, tired and battered, had stayed however. They stayed because to them, Myth Drannor was worth fighting for. And he loved each and every one of them for doing so.

He also thought about all of the loved ones that he had lost. With pride, anger, pain, and love in his heart, he began. "There once lived an elf with a dream, a dream that all races of good mind and intent create a place were togetherness is celebrated,

that we all live and work together to create and defend a place of learning, a place of wealth, a place of unity." He drew a deep breath. "That elf, a great visionary, was Coronal Eltargrim Irithyl" "Eltargrim, with his guiding hand, was able to create, through sacrifice, such a place...he named it Myth Drannor". "Look around, pray, and realize that unless we defend it, unless we sacrifice, we will lose all that our fathers and forefathers worked

so hard to accomplish." "However, I believe that we will sustain that dream, that we will not surrender, that we will fight for it and believe in it. With this, we

shall prevail!" "These creatures have invaded our home, killed our loved ones and attempted to destroy our dream. We will go to battle, and

destroy them, and win for once and for all the dream that we have strived for so long to sustain." "Long live the dream! Long live Myth Drannor!" Thundering cheers rose up from the army as Jeiroth drew his blade and saluted the soldiers. The shouts and cheers continued on as the sound of two great horns blared in the distance. Jeiroth, or Captain Fflar, knew what those horns meant, the Army of Darkness approached. He spun and faced his Lieutenants. "Jhol, take the left wing, Onamae, take the right... maintain your respective flanks. I will drive down the middle with a battle wedge.'"

Onamae gave Jeiroth a questioning glance "Isn't that risky? I mean if you drive too deep you could split our forces in two." "Yes, but today we are going to strike at the head of this snake...I want to fight Aulmpiter himself." "You want what?!" stammered Jhol. "Yes, we need to end this war, and we need to end it now!" "What makes you think that he will fight you?" asked Onamae. "Let's just say I've got a certain item he both craves and fears." The bladesinger responded with a grin. "But I appreciate both of your concerns" he gave both a look of friendship and love. With double sighs both Lieutenants saluted Jeiroth and walked off. But Onamae turned once again to glance at her love, Jeiroth saw

the concern etched in her face. He looked at her for what seemed an eternity, then he told her "I will marry you after all of this, you know" and then gave her a quick wink, smiled, and turned to walk towards his command. He did not see a tear trickle down her face.

Once there his troops all cheered and celebrated when he arrived. He must be strong he thought, even though butterflies had made their presence felt since the horns had sounded. Addressing his command he spoke

"Let us all pray, pray for victory, pray for a better life." Jeiroth then knelt on one knee, and prayed. He prayed to Corellon, to Sehanine, even to Mutishoru, his old sensei and friend. Finally,

he addressed his father. He whispered "Father, give me the strength and courage to face the lords of darkness...if I may die, know that I die for Myth Drannor,

please help keep my Onamae safe...I love you" Jeiroth then stood up and faced his command. They were ready, anticipation and fear sewn in heir faces. He then glanced at his

Lieutenants, in the distance, he could here them shouting commands. They were ready. Jeiroth Ulondarr Irithyl, son of Coronal Eltargrim and last surviving Irithyl, unknown prince of Cormanthyr, Cathshee Bladesinger, Armathor, N'Velar, and now Captain Fflar, leader of the last soldiers left to defend Myth Drannor, gave the order to move out.

Orders that were echoed through the army as the troops began a slow lumbering march out of the Castle and towards the Six Tiryll Towers. That was were they would find the Army they had to destroy.

The battle between both armies was terribly fierce. The elf and human wizards of Jeiroth's armies hurled hundreds of spells at the orcs, gnolls, ogres, and mezzoloths that made up the Army of Darkness. For every soldier from Jeiroth's army that died, two or three-sometimes even four or five died from Aulmpiter's army. But his army outnumbered Jeiroth's almost ten to one. And losses such as the ones they were sustaining were acceptable. Captain Fflar knew that he had to kill the general himself, or else they would lose.

The wedge had done very well, driving deep into the dread army's heart. Jeiroth, at the forefront of the wedge, suddenly saw a troupe of mezzoloths heading directly towards him. Behind that entourage were the six Nycaloth bodyguards of Aulmpiter...behind them lay the general himself.

The first mezzoloth sung a large battle-ax at him, Jeiroth ducked under and managed to stab the thing twice in the groin. The mezzoloth howled in pain trying to twist right and away from the bladesinger. Jeiroth jumped on the daemon's back, straddled it, and used both hands to drive his blade through the creature's spine and chest. He then withdrew his sword from the dying creature's body, and spun to face...a wickedly clawed hand raking across his face. The claws sparked as they raked across a magical field of energy as Jeiroth's spell mantle flared to life. The mezzoloth that had dared to attack the Prince hissed in disappointment, baring its long, knifelike fangs. Jeiroth responded by "whoosh, and crack!" beheading the daemon. The bladesinger began to sing, sing an ancient melody once common but now rarely known, it was an old Aryvaandan song, created around the time of the Crown Wars. It depicted a battle between the elves and their foes, and the elves triumphant victory in the end. Soon all mezzoloth's were dead, and Jeiroth, with a few scratches to tell the tale of his battles, faced Aulmpiter's bodyguards. All six attacked at once, and surely the Captain would have been overrun, if it had not been by the timely arrival of friends. Parrying the oversized scimitar of one, Jeiroth found himself exposed for the great trident of another. That thrust was suddenly parried by a warhammer that came flying out of nowhere.

"Ye'll not be getting all of the fun elf!" came a gruff statement from the hammer's owner. Jhol, his hammer magically back in his hands, his armor seemingly soaked in blood (of others?) beamed a partially toothed smile

before engaging the trident wielding Nycaloth. "Yeah, what's the big idea trying to best your betters" came another comment from behind one Nycaloth as a slim blade burst

through its neck. The Nycaloth grabbed the slim elven woman that was Onamae by the neck, intent of burying its other fist into her delicate face. Blood was gushing from its neck as it grinned a farewell at its victim. As its fist swung forward, the hand fell off from the forearm, cleanly sliced off by Jeiroth, and did nothing to Onamae except douse her face with Nycaloth blood. She promptly stabbed through its arm with one hand, and sent five magic missiles into its eyes with the other hand. Onamae wore a Girdle of Hill Giant Strength, making her that much more formidable in battle. The Nycaloth screamed in pain and led the elf warrioress go. Jeiroth, seeing his love able to handle the situation, continued on. He fought another Nycaloth, screaming insults at Aulmpiter as he did so. He screamed them in the Nycaloth guttural tongue; he screamed them in orcish, gnoll, elvish, and common. He called him a coward, a worthless pig of a warrior. He told him that he would petrify his black heart, and display it as a gift. This current Nycaloth was a mean warrior, effectively combining his magic with his martial skill.

Jeiroth had survived a symbol of death, a fireball, hypnotize and a dominate spell. His knew his mantle was failing; this forced Jeiroth to use a spell he had been saving. It was a powerful spell devised recently to fight the Nycaloths. Jeiroth managed to cast it while parrying the beast's great fists. A prismatic sphere developed not around the caster, but around its foe. This allowed Jeiroth to pass in and out of the prison to strike at the Nycaloth, but it effectively limited the Nycaloth to within the small sphere. The Nycaloth angrily snarled at the elf and prepared to cast a dispel magic...which harmlessly dissipated as to struck the field. (Prismatic sphere's require a specific chain of spells to dissipate it, in this case, they needed to be cast backwards by the Nycaloth because he is inside the sphere. Jeiroth was not done; he was sweating profusely as he concentrated on the next step, manipulating the sphere. As he chanted and slowly brought his two arms together, the sphere began to close around the Nycaloth. Its screams were fervent as it sought a weakness, no, a means of survival. But alas there were none. With a flash the beast died as the sphere imploded on it.

Gasping for air, Jeiroth glanced around him, only to see a bloodied Nycaloth drive a giant pick ax into the head of his friend Jhol. "No! Jeiroth screamed as he quick blinked behind the Nycaloth, whom he found had been severely injured by the dwarf. The Nycaloth

tried to turn, tried to scream, tried to live...but the bladesinger was on him instantly, cutting and slicing and butchering the foul beast. Finally, the elf reached into the split open chest of the Nycaloth, and pulled out its beating heart. He held it up and screamed as the Nycaloth slowly ebbed away into oblivion, a look of terror, if ever one was possible by its kind, etched onto its face. Jeiroth had tears streaming down his face as he mourned for the loss of his friend.

A loud clapping sounded from behind him, and Jeiroth turned at its sound. Before him stood the biggest Nycaloth he had ever seen. It had blood red, gleaming scales and large black claws of the darkest hue. The Nycaloth's toothy smile told him all he needed to know about those wicked looking fangs. It was easily twice the height of a man, almost three times that. Seeing that the elf had acknowledged him, the daemon stopped clapping. But its grin never went away as it spoke.

"Very good, elfling" came his booming voice. The battle had slowed to a trickle as more and more parties became interested in the confrontation between the two commanders. "So you say you want to fight me, eh," the General continued "Why would I grant this silly request of yours?" Jeiroth stared at the large creature, steadied his resolve, and then threw the large heart he possessed at Aulmpiter's foot "Because if

you don't, you acknowledge that I am the better warrior, you acknowledge that I, the young elf Jeiroth and Captain Fflar, am not a coward while you, oh so mighty Aulmpiter, are."

Aulmpiter looked at the heart, then at the young elf. "I could crush you with two fingers, and strip your flesh from your bones with my spells...why do I need to prove myself, I know I have that power?"

"I am the only thing standing between you, and victory. Without me, the last remnants of the Army of Light fall. This is your chance to end it and win, if not here and now, I promise you that I will destroy the city before you have any chance to enjoy the spoils of war."

"And how do you plan on doing this elfling?" "With this?" responded Jeiroth, and he pulled out of his bag a crystal "this is the last piece we need of the Gatekeepers Crystal, we

acquired it from the chest you keep in you base up north. We have all of the pieces, you will not rule long" "How did you?!...How dare you?!...It is mine!" Growled Aulmpiter. "Then fight me for it!" dared the elf. Aulpiter's smile then faded, and a large sword suddenly appeared in his hand. The battle had completely been halted as the armies intently watched the proceedings. "The Netherese used to call this blade elf-killer.", he waved it around in a couple practice swings,. "It seems that any cut it inflicts

upon elvish flesh will cause the destruction of that flesh...one last chance elf, leave the crystal and the city to me, and you will live; do that not, and I will string your innards from my sword."

Captain Fflar, exhausted, bloodied, and bruised, suddenly burst with fresh life. "You, foul daemon...it is you who should beg for mercy. I am very intent on killing you, your head will make for a great trophy, and as

a warning to the enemies of Myth Drannor." "Then die elfling!" Aulmpiter swung the great blade, easily as tall as Jeiroth, one handed. With a great whoosh the sword quickly arced towards the elf.

Jeiroth, amazed at the speed of the beast, quickly ducked and rolled back. Aulmpiter missed badly but easily recovered. He pointed at Jeiroth and purple lightning flashed towards the bladesinger. These struck Jeiroth's mantle with a loud smack, and then the mantle was gone, having used up the last of its power. The young Irithyl dashed towards Aulmpiter, feinting left then quickly sprinting right. Aulmpiter turned to face him, easily matching the young elf's speed. Jeiroth swung high, then low, both parried by the daemon, then parried a vicious counter by the creature. They fought for almost an hour, Aulmpiter easily parrying the elf's attacks, Jeiroth several times coming within a hair's-breath of oblivion. But the elf was tiring, and growing more desperate by the minute.

"I haven't even touched him yet", Jeiroth's mind raced "How am I gonna beat this thing?" Aulmpiter too sensed the elf's growing weariness. He smelled assured victory, and his attacks became lazy, he would enjoy slowly

picking the elf apart, as a cat does a mouse. In a sparring moment of respite, Jeiroth took the time to study his foe. He had noticed a pebble of some sort buzzing around the

Nycaloth, and he had spotted it again. It orbited around Aulmpiter's head, and obviously possessed magic. "Maybe", Jeiroth quickly brainstormed, "maybe I can break the stone, and set that magic against the daemon."..."It will probably kill

me, but it is probably my, no, their only chance," he glanced around at the army of light, his army. Then he focused on one person in particular. Onamae, his Onamae...he would dearly miss her. She stood there now; looking at him with tear soaked eyes of fear and love. Jeiroth

quickly smiled to her, and with one fist, softly tapped his chest, where his heart lay. It was goodbye, and only a mere handful would be live to later tell the tale of the love between the two.

Aulmpiter saw the elf seemingly dazed, and moved in to strike. Had he been more determined to destroy his foe, Jeiroth would have been dead, and Myth Drannor his new domain. But Aulmpiter thought the battle already won, and his lazy strike was parried by the elf, which wrapped one, then two legs around the Nycaloth's sword arm. Jeiroth squeezed and twisted as hard as he could. A large fist slammed into his back, knocking the breath from the elf. But the sword arm weakened, and the sword fell onto the ground. Jeiroth then felt himself being lifted towards the beast's maw.

"I will savor the taste of your flesh...foolish mortal", Aulmpiter growled. As he drew near the Nycaloth's fanged mouth, Jeiroth again caught sight of the orbiting stone.

"For Eltargrim!...For Myth Drannor!...(softer) For Love" Jeiroth swung his great sword Keryvian at the creatures head. Aulmpiter easily ducked, but the stone did not.

A bright flash followed by a thunderous BOOM marked the explosion caused by the shattering stone. Then, as suddenly as the world had become chaos, there was peace. Nothing was left of the two except debris. The melted buildings and bodies of the dead surrounding the two were all that remained.

It was a victory, and a defeat...both armies unceremoniously left the battlefield that day. Many of the army of light also left Myth Drannor shortly after. To them, it seemed that the last hope, the last flame of a dying candle that was the city of song had been snuffed out. The few that remained fought on to save others, but in the end, the city fell. A victory: the Army of darkness, without a central leader, quickly fell to bickering after Myth Drannor's fall. They fought each other as much as they fought the harrowing elves of Elven Court. Unable to unify, they were eventually wiped out.

Thus this battle marked the end of an era, the end of Myth Drannor.

Scribe of KellindilGODoom

The story tells of Kellindil, the elf from Dark Elf Trilogy novel: Sojourn,

who accompanies Dove, Fret and Gabriel.

In a small village outside Sundabar, was born an elven child named Kellindil, born into a world in which chaos was about to erupt. Born from a mother that survived a drow raid he was as tough as a child could be, but with the gentleness of a panther. From the time of birth until the age of 5, Kellindil was living the life of a normal elven family. He fit in with most children reasonably well, playing together and laughing together. Only difference was that Kellindil didn't have a father, he sadly died from an unknown cause when he was out hunting. They never found him again. Everything was normal for Kellindil until that faithful day when everything changed…

A clash of thunder struck the ground outside the house in which Kellindil lived."That was a mighty close call, hope it doesn't get any closer," says Duranelle, Kellindil's older sister. "If it gets any closer, I reckon we

should get out of here."And into the night it went, thunder striking in all directions but never hitting their house. Then came a knock on their front door

followed by a low grumble, "Please, help me…" and then a thump as the speaker collapsed onto the ground outside.Duranelle and Kellindil's mother, Ploferina, ran to the door and opened it to discover a man in his late 50s sprawled on the ground

before them, they carried him in and lay him down on the wooden couch."Duranelle, go grab a towel from my room. Kellindil, go out to the well and get some water, I'll be starting a fire to boil the water,"

Ploderina said as she quickly rushed off into the kitchen. Duranelle did as she was told and found a bunch of towels to cover this strange man and make sure he doesn't get hypothermia. Kellindil grabbed a bucket, ran outside and a hauled back a bucket of water.

They got the water boiling and the children watched as their mother tried to nurse the poor man back to good health. They fell asleep right there on the living room floor.

Later on the night, Kellindil opened his eyes, and felt a tingling sensation down below. He headed outside into the forest and did his business. He heard a thump coming from inside the house and thought it probably to be his mother checking on their unexpected visitor. He went back inside and found the door open and the old man missing. He rushed over to his mother and sister and rocked them back and forth but they wouldn't wake. Kellindil turned their oil lamp on and fell back in disgust, there lay his only known family motionless and bleeding with a butter knife protruding out from each of their backs.

Kellindil did what any 5-year-old child would've done, he ran. He ran until he became too tired to run. Then he lay down against a tree and cried until he fell asleep, hoping that it was all a dream.

Kellindil woke up and discovered that he was in a puddle of his own tears, and that it was not a tree he was leaning against but a city wall. He didn't care that he was outside the city of Sundabar, all that he was thinking about was of his mom and his sister, all to be murdered by the man they found and tried to save. All they were trying to do was help the poor old man, in return for their help, he slaughters his family in their sleep and leaves 1 elven child to live on his own. After what felt like eternity, he realized that he was extremely hungry and thirsty so he followed the city wall until he founded the gate into the city. No one paid much attention to him, everyone just considered him to be an elven child doing his mother's groceries.

Kellindil didn't know any human families that would take him in so he stole a loaf of bread and a flask of water and ran out into the wilderness. He ran into the direction where his mom always used to say that an elven family lived. He ran on and on, for days on end. After what seemed like a week but was actually 2 days. He saw a dirt trail staring to from. He ran along that trail until he saw a chimney, then the roof, and then the entire house came into view. Before he could reach the house though, he collapsed just outside the door and then everything went black.

Morning dawns and Kellindil opens a peep of his eyes, he notices the fine wooden furnishing that surround him. He realizes that he's lying on a wooden bed inside what seems to be a normal wooden cabin. Kellindil sits upright, lets out a massive yawn and stretches his arms out.

Kellindil thinks to himself, "Maybe I should just leave, but how would I thank them. I'm still hungry and homeless anyway. I guess I'll stay for a little while."

An older elf walks into the room and Kellindil asks, "Where am I? Who are you? What…" But the older elf silenced him and said this, "All your answers will come soon."

As it turns out, he came to the elven village his mom told him of, the village Iqoal. Iqoal was made of 8 families, all elves. There were the Stilers, Ilers, Piqus, Jigby, Komad, Otlem, Wijka and Bruffer, all of which have their own specialty. The Stilers, the family that found Kellindil, specialized in furniture and carpentry. The Ilers specialized in weaponary and armory. The Piqas specialized in medicine and how nature works. The Jigbys specialized in traps and hunting. The Komads was a family of morals but specialize in ranged weapons. The Otlem specialized in religious and scientific studies. The Wijkas specialized in arts and geographical studies. The last family, the Bruffers, led this group of elves as they specialized in warfare tactics and are considered the warrior family.

As Kellindil recovered, the Bruffers ordered for a town meeting, the main topic being Kellindil. The Stilers led the young elf into the area that is surrounded by all the houses and they all sat down in a circle to discuss.

"Who are you young elf and why have you stumbled upon our humble village?" asked the father of the Bruffers in a most commanding voice.

Kellindil spoke up without fear though, "I am Kellindil, son of Ploferina, the only survivor of a drow raid." Low murmurs spread across the crowd as the young elf continued. "An old man came by about 3 days ago who sought shelter, we took him into our house and nursed him back to good health. But late in the night when I was doing my personal business, he slaughtered my mom and sister and… and…" And Kellindil broke down into tears as the Wijkas embraced him.

Then the father of the Komads spoke up, "Dear child, you are welcome to stay in our cabin as long as you please. We would gladly take you in as a child of our own." And so it came to past that the Komads took Kellindil in, taught him the way of the bow and they even preached to him of the morals he should hold. Even though Kellindil could've left whenever he wanted, he had no where go. So eventually, Kellindil became an excellent hunter and was gladly accepted as a part of the Komads family. The entire village worked as one. The Stilers repaired and made any necessary furniture and appliances. The Ilers made weapons and armory for whenever wild animals or beasts and like attack their peaceful village. The Piqus was the kindest family and brewed remedies and potions for anyone suffering diseases or any physical harm. The Jigbys set up traps around their village for extra protection and bring in meat and water to eat and drink. The Komads were the organizers of the village, they made sure everything was in line and assisted the Jigbys in hunting. The Otlems do their studies and research in solitary, but contributes to the village as often as they can. The Wigkas decorate the village

accordingly and are often out on expeditions to research any change in the environment. The Bruffers are the main decision-makers and protect the village when attackers get past the Jigbys' traps.

Days went by, weeks turned into months and months turned into years, and Kellindil has grown up.One day, the father of the Komads says, "We have taught you all you need to know, you won't learn anything more from us. Go out

and explore, use the skills we have all taught you and become even more."So the next day, Kellindil was off into the wilderness. On the trail he came by, he took one last look at the village he's lived at for all

so many years and raced into the dense forest. He followed the river and came back and heads off back into Sundabar back to civilization.

As he enters the city gates, he realizes that something is wrong, terribly wrong. The streets that used to be crammed full of people are now deserted. Not a soul in sight, all is quiet. Then all of a sudden a low rumbling sound that steadily increased to become a thunderous roar. Off in the distance, a mountain of dust was being picked up. As it came closer, Kellindil suddenly felt himself being pulled into a building where a dark figure covered his mouth, indicated for him to be quiet and pointed out the window where whatever it was arrived.

Kellindil slowly peeked over the windowsill and spotted a band of at least 4 dozen masked riders all coming to a stop on their well-trained horses.

One that resembled the leader spoke out to the others, "There's no fun out here no more. Let us be off to the palace where we'll have some real fun." A chorus of cheers and hollers came and they all galloped off towards the massive palace.

Before Kellindil could say anything, the dark figure spoke up, "You shouldn't be running around the streets with these people on the loose." The voice sounded feminine to Kellindil as the dark figure continued and showed herself under the light. "I am Dove Falconhand."

That's when Kellindil spoke up, " So I stand before thy famous ranger, Lady Dove Falconhand herself." He spoke in the most polite manner he knew of and bowed down in respect.

"There is no time for this," says Dove, as she notices the quivers on Kellindil's back, "are you experienced with the bow?""I am an amateur in the arts of ranged weapons.""You will have to do, my partners have been captured and are being held captive inside the palace. You must help me save them,

surely you may help me so some degree.""I will do my best."And so they set off together along the back alleys, always in the shadows. Hidden from view of anyone on the main road with Dove

leading the way. As they approached the palace, they climbed to a rooftop for a better view of their surroundings."There aren't many guards posted on patrol, if you can take one of them out without anyone noticing, we can probably sneak in

unnoticed until they discover the body," Dove noted. "Remember, you only have shot at this, if you only strike a minor flesh wound or a complete miss, reload as fast as you can and fire again. If you hit and kill, we will climb that wall, rescue my partners and retake the city."

All was quiet as Kellindil repaired his arrow. He took aim of his target, a large man that was half asleep, pulled back measuring the power necessary and released. The arrow shot into the guard's head, a clean kill. And Kellindil and Dove scaled the wall and advanced into the dungeons without any problems.

"Over here, Lady Dove!" a cry that came from the back of the jail cells."Gabriel! Fret! It's so great to see you alive!" Dove said with delight."Who's this elf you've brought along with you? I've never seen you before?" Fret curiously inquired."I am Kellindil, that is all you need to know for now," Kellindil replied. "We'd best hurry out of here. Guards will be onto us in a little

while."No, I must overtake Rafasi and his goons or this city will never again find it's peace, you may join us if you wish," says Dove.Now Kellindil has his curiosity and his adrenaline running for the opportunity to work side by side with Dove and company. "I will stay

and help to the best of my abilities, I owe you for saving me from those bandits when I first entered the city.""With my whole party here and with you on addition, we can go straight to Rafasi," announces Gabriel, "Rafasi's goons are only

strong because of their leader, but when they are just wondering and are astray, they run and hide. I'm guessing Rafasi would be in the throne room. Fret, lead the way, you know your way around this place."

So the party was off with Fret in the lead using his little blade to defend himself. Closely followed by Gabriel, a seasoned fighter, with his enchanted long sword capable of many things. Then Dove with nothing more than a spear she recovered from the guard they took out at his watching post. And Kellindil with his bow and arrows bringing up the rear. Together they slowly advanced until they reached a massive double door made of gold, on the door was an intricate design made of silver. There was no handle to open the door and the door was obviously too big to push, so the door must be enchanted.

"I recognize this designs, they're writing of the drow! My mother used to teach me a bit of drow until my dad died. After that, she had too much to do, she had no time to teach us anymore…" Kellindil drifted off.

Dive interrupted his line of thinking, "Can you read what it says here? Maybe it's some clue to open this door.""Indeed it is my fair Lady, my mother didn't teach me much but she taught me enough for me to understand this. It reads, "To those

who approach this door uninvited and can read this note, to drow or elf whoever it may be. Beware of the danger that lies to your right, that is where you will find a fight as well as the as well as your way into the throne room."

"Look over there," Fret perked up, "A small lever, it's almost completely concealed among those markings." Fret moves over that way and pulls down the lever.

Out from the far corner came a high pitched hissing sound, the sound of a snake. Everyone prepared for battle as a massive 10-foot snake slithered out of a trap door. Then Kellindil speaks up again, "There seems to be more, 'defeat the danger and the door shall open.' Looks like we have to kill this thing."

Dove started shouting battle orders, "Surround the snake! Fret and Gabriel, you two take the far corners. I'll stay here and be a diversion. Kellindil, you fire a shot whenever you see an opening, I trust in your skills, you underestimate yourself."

Gabriel and Fret got into position and prepared for attack, at Dove's signal, all three lunged at the same time. Gabriel got a slice along the serpent's side but it was nothing more than a skin wound. Fret started stabbing the creature for all he was worth with no obvious damage. Dove went right for the eyes and blinded the creature, then she started savagely jabbing at its neck. All the while Kellindil was loosing as many arrows as Dove was jabbing. Fret and Gabriel realized how little damage they were doing so they went for the mouth, with all of them adding flesh wounds big and small and just as many arrows protruding from the beast's wounded body. The creature eventually collapsed and the throne room doors slowly squeaked open and the heroes rushed right in without hesitation.

Rafasi was sitting at his throne hands clasped, to each side of him was a wood giant. Wood giants trees that have been summoned by a sorcerer of some kind, they obey there master till their end or if their master release the spell.

Rafasi said one word, "Kill them!" And the wood giants were off to do their master's bidding. Kellindil was about to loose an arrow but Dove told him to hold his ammo, physical attacks don't affect wood giants.

"Fret, you know of some incantations, get some magical fire onto Kellindil's arrows and Kellindil, fire at will," Dove ordered.They did as they were told Kellindil let the air fill with arrows and Fret made every last one of them count by lighting them on fire.

The wood giants were eventually reduced to ashes. Rafasi, with no one else to protect him, unconditionally surrendered."Well done me lad," applauded Fret, "Every considered to be a ranger before? You sure got the stuff for it.""Actually, we could use an archer for support fire so you can join us," Dove interrupted.Kellindil is shocked by the offer but gladly accepts. So the group traveled together for years on end. Helping those less fortunate than

them, helping the needy.

The story of Kellindil is continued in the Dark Elf Trilogy: Sojourn.

Hunter's MoonCarey Sauerbrun

The shadowy figure stalked smoothly over the rooftops. An observer capable of following its path through the darkness would have marked the elven grace of the shadow’s movements. Jerrick was aware of the impression he was likely to make on any that caught a glimpse of him. However, He trusted his skills above anything else, and he had faith that no one would see his approach.

His objective this night was the Haunted Spire, an inn popular with the more magically inclined merchants that arrived in Waterdeep. The Spire served as the local headquarters of such illustrious companies as the “Gold and Glory” merchant band and the Calimshan Traders’ Consortium. It sported four floors, with the second and fourth used exclusively for guestrooms. The third was reserved for conference rooms used by various businesses. The quality of the Spire’s taproom did not inspire glowing praise, but it was certainly adequate, with many varieties of drink and an impressive array of specialty dishes.

As Jerrick closed on the inn from above, he noted a light glimmering in the second floor window that marked his target. His brow furrowed. He had left the Spire’s main room not twenty minutes before, and Agravahm the merchant and party had still been downstairs, none of them looking like they would be retiring soon.

So why was there a glint of light coming from the merchant’s room? It was faint, more a reflection than anything else, but it caused Jerrick to hesitate. Could someone else be after his prize? Jerrick could certainly not discount the possibility. He had been contacted through the usual means, through an agent working out of the Dock Ward, but there was no reason his current employers would not have farmed out the job to more than one “retrieval expert”.

The bounty hunter leaped the gap between the adjacent building and the inn, hardly noticing the four-story drop to the cobbles below. He landed quietly on the inn’s eaves. Jerrick quickly scanned his surroundings one last time for any unwanted spectators as he moved to secure his silken rope to a handy projection. He noted the beauty of the sliver of moon that shimmered, barely visible, through the overcast sky above. He had always appreciated the various aspects of nature, a gift from his elven mother, he supposed. He refocused his attention on the task at hand as he prepared to slip over the side of the building.

Jerrick slid slowly down the wall, bracing himself to one side of the merchant’s window. The shutters hung ajar within the frame. A quick glimpse within showed him that it was not another bounty hunter in the room, but rather a local thief that Jerrick had occasionally had dealings with in the past.

“Christof, this isn’t where you want to be right now,” Jerrick whispered as he slipped silently through the window. When the local thief did not immediately react, Jerrick realized something more was wrong. He spent a few seconds scanning the spacious room.

The coppery smell of blood pervaded the suite. Jerrick noted that the room’s furnishings were of good quality, though standard for an inn with the Spire’s reputation. Christof was standing stiffly in the middle of the room, at the foot of the canopied bed. He seemed to be cradling something to his chest with his left hand. He faced the door, so when Jerrick entered the room he was facing Christof’s back. A light flickered from a small lantern resting on a desk to the left of the window, casting its dim illumination across the room. Nothing else seemed out of place.

Christof slowly shambled around to face Jerrick. The thief’s eyes were wide, and his mouth was twisted in a grimace of fear and rage. As Christof continued to turn, Jerrick was able to see what Christof held to his chest, or rather, what was left of his chest!

“Damn,” Jerrick swore as he drew his curved blade from the scabbard secured across his back. Whatever Christof had been looking for in this room, he hadn’t had the time to find it. Most of the thief’s chest had been ruptured, with the ribs over his heart splintered. The heart itself rested in his left hand. Blood soaked the front of his torn leathers, and he stood in a congealed pool of it. He still held the short sword he had been so proud of in the white-knuckled grip of his right hand.

Normally, Jerrick knew that he had nothing to fear from Christof in a blade to blade fight, for while Christof was, or rather, had been, a competent thief, Jerrick himself was both a good thief and a good fighter. His father had made sure that he had the training he needed, and the half-elf had sharpened his skills in more than a decade of bounty hunting. Now, however, there was no telling what the thing that had been Christof was capable of.

The dead thief swung his sword with even less skill than he had had during life, and Jerrick easily ducked away from the swinging blade. Jerrick lashed out, the razor-sharp katana chopping into the undead thief’s shoulder. The unusual zombie staggered from the blow, but recovered quickly, seeming to shrug off the normally lethal strike. He spit out a snarl from between twisted lips as he again slashed out with his blade. The half-elf parried, surprised at the strength of the blow. Jerrick hit Christof with several blows that should have the overcome his adversary, yet nothing seemed to slow the dead man. Christof did not even bother to attempt to parry Jerrick’s attacks, receiving several more ineffective wounds from Jerrick’s skilled attacks. Precious seconds passed as the desperate half-elven bounty hunter unsuccessfully attempted to overcome the former thief. Finally, with a glimmer of hope, he swept his blade across the dead thief’s ruined chest. The blow cut through Christof’s clamped fingers and neatly severed the still beating heart in half. With his heart ruined, whatever enchantment had held Christof was gone. The corpse fell to the floor with a look of relief in its glassy eyes.

A few seconds went by as Jerrick panted, blade ready, waiting for any other little surprises. There was obviously more to this merchant than he had been told. When nothing else stirred in the darkened room, Jerrick slowly sheathed his blade and focused again on his mission.

“I’ll let your friends know what became of you, my friend. Whoever did this to you will find himself plagued by thieves,” Jerrick assured the dead thief as he quickly searched the room. The odds were good that someone had noted the sounds coming from the room. The bounty hunter realized he had little time to accomplish his goal.

He found the object of his search in one of the personal trunks of Agravahm; a heart shaped silver locket that contained the miniature portrait of a young man. The magical locket supposedly bound the person pictured within to it’s owner, causing the former to become little more than a slave to the latter. It also allowed the owner to directly communicate with his victim. Jerrick had learned of the locket four days before. It seemed that the young man’s sister was an aspiring mage, and had discovered her brother’s lot while practicing an ESP spell. The girl had been very distraught. She hoped to acquire the locket so that her master could destroy it and free her brother. He dropped the odd necklace into a pouch and turned to leave.

“Hold!” Jerrick spun toward the door as it slammed open to reveal Agravahm and four of his henchmen. The merchant was portly, used to

good food and wine, and his dark hair had begun to recede. He was garbed in a well-tailored green and gray robe that did not seem to encumber his movement at all. The fat merchant wore a look of amusement on his face. He rolled his eyes at the thought of disposing of two thieves within hours of each other. None of Agravahm’s thugs were less than six feet tall, though the signs of too much drink were evident. All of them seemed to be wary of their master, and looked eager to tangle with the bounty hunter. Jerrick was not too worried at the prospect. The fat merchant smiled at Jerrick with an evil grin. As Jerrick slipped back toward the window, the thugs shoved their way in, taking up positions on either side of the door, two to a side. They held back to let their master deal with the intruder.

“Thieves are not welcome in my rooms, not unless they are willing to work for me. That one,” the merchant gestured just to the right of where Jerrick now stood, at Christof’s torn remains, “refused my offer. Yet you see that he joined my operation anyway, for a brief time.” The fat merchant smirked at his no-so-witty remark.

“I don’t think I wish to work for you either. I already have a job, you see,” Jerrick inched toward the window and the rope that still dangled just outside.

The portly merchant chuckled. “I thought not. So you will serve as he did. Have you ever thought of what it would be like to live on after death?” The merchant queried as he reached into his robe and pulled out something too small for Jerrick to see. Agravahm’s men

inched away from the merchant, and one seemed to turn green at the thought of what was coming. As the merchant began to mumble under his breath, his evil gaze locked on Jerrick’s chest and an anticipatory smile curling his lips, the half-elven bounty hunter acted.

His arm whipped forward, sending the throwing spike he held concealed there toward the spell-caster. He had no hopes of actually slaying the merchant, not with one spike, but he was not willing to tangle with an aroused mage in these surroundings. He wanted lots of room to run. The dart arrowed into Agravahm’s thigh, causing the fat merchant to shriek in surprise and pain, not only from the wound in his leg, but from the sudden pain that shot through his head from the disrupted spell.

As soon as the spike left his fingers, Jerrick whirled toward the window and broke into a dead sprint. “Kill him, you fools!” Agravahm screamed, clutching his head. One of the guards took a shortcut over the bed, and came within inches of snagging his ankle before crashing to the floor. Jerrick went through the window with a rolling dive, deftly snagging the hanging rope and leaving the pursuing thugs behind. He slid wildly down the line, then moved to slip away into the night. The bounty hunter did not bother to free the rope; he had no time. Jerrick grinned as he left the fat merchant cursing behind him.

Suddenly the merchant stopped cursing, and the half-elven bounty hunter shot a look over his shoulder toward the inn.Agravahm was leaning out of the window. Flashing toward him from the fat merchant’s outstretched fingers were five glowing balls

of light. Jerrick had seen magic missile spells before, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop the tiny missiles. In the blink of an eye they had crossed the distance between the two men, slamming into Jerrick with bruising force. He gasped in pain as he was hurled into the wall of the smithy he had been passing.

Jerrick swam out of the darkness that had swallowed him. Groggily, he realized that only seconds had passed, for the mage’s henchmen had not yet reached him. Two of the burly men were trotting confidently toward the battered half-elf, while the other two glared at the few curious onlookers that peeked out from the surrounding buildings. These few quickly decided not to get involved.

The half-elf pulled himself to his feet and swung into the alley between the smithy and the adjacent shop. He knew the area from his scouting earlier that night, and knew too that the alley ended with the back wall of a third building. The alley was used as a dumping ground for the surrounding shops, and a drain, unfortunately too small for someone to slip through, led down into the sewers from its center. Given time, Jerrick was sure he could scale the back wall and escape.

But escaping was not what the bounty hunter had in mind. He reached into a small bag at his waist and scattered its contents on the ground at the entrance of the alley. He then moved toward the far end of the alley and drew his blade. The katana had been a gift from his mentor, old Ong Ji. He had carried it for years now, and it had never failed him. He held the blade in his left hand while he prepared another shuriken spike with the other. In seconds he was ready.

A moment later, the first ruffian edged around the corner at the mouth of the alley. He cautiously peered into the dim light, at first not able to make out the annoying thief as he crouched ready in the darkness. The man’s eyes caught the reflection of the half-elf’s gleaming blade in the feeble moonlight, and with a nod he focused on the interloper.

“Ramoch, hand me a torch, and be quick. I got the little 'un trapped in here, but it’s too dark to see.”Jerrick faintly heard the other guard say, “Hold him there a second, Tigg, then we’ll both go in and get ‘im.” A flare of light back lit

the first guard. “You saw what he did to that poor sod the boss zombied, didn’t ya?” With that, the second guard stepped into view, lighting the alley with the torch he held.

The one called Tigg leered at Jerrick as the light fell across his crouched form. “Got no window to jump through here, thief.” The two big men were identically armed with stout clubs, and the torch-wielder carried Christof’s discarded short sword in his belt. Jerrick readied himself as Tigg stepped forward.

The big man howled and stumbled back, dancing on one foot and clutching the other. As the first guard reacted to the handful of caltrops he had left at the entrance, Jerrick whipped the spike he held at Ramoch. The wiry half-elf darted forward with both hands on his blade.

The shuriken thudded into the second man’s arm, just above his elbow. The big man growled with the pain, and he reflexively dropped the club he held in that hand, but he retained his torch. He looked down to see his blood dripping from his cramped fingers, then glanced up in time to have Jerrick’s boot slam into his face. Ramoch pitched backward to land in the main thoroughfare, stunned. His torch dropped into a pile of refuse at the alley’s entrance.

Jerrick spun on Tigg, who had pulled the caltrop from his foot and stood tenderly balanced on both feet again. In a quick flurry of blows the half-elf penetrated the big man’s guard twice, and left him slumped against the smithy bleeding from a gash across his thigh, and clutching a puncture wound to his belly.

“Ya can’t run, elf,” Tigg gasped as he glared up at Jerrick in defiance. “The boss’ll get ya, and he’ll mount yer head on a wall.”“And what will he do to you, if you fail to catch me?”Tigg scoffed, “keep dreamin’ elf, you ain’t goin’ anywhere.”“We’ll see,” Jerrick ran from the alley mouth, past the growing blaze the discarded torch had started. The other two bodyguards

were pelting toward him, and the damnable mage was lost in another spell. Jerrick knew he had very little time. He crouched by the groggy Ramoch, who was just starting to come out of his fog.

The two thugs were almost upon him, but he eyed the mage instead, eyes wide at what the fat merchant was sending his way this time. A massive web raced up the street toward the men at the alley entrance. The silvery mass stretched from one side of the street to the other, and was so thick as to be opaque. The webs caught and held the two men coming toward him like they were little more than insects. Jerrick jerked the still-groggy Ramoch over him, but still felt the webs anchor his legs to the ground, as well as binding one arm to the thug on top of him.

Great, Jerrick winced as he tried to pull his arm free. Jerrick cursed when he realized that the web was settling over the fire at the corner of the alley as well. As quick as the thought itself, the web was ablaze. The flames tore back up the street toward the inn with a great ‘whoosh’, washing over the doomed men caught in the web’s strands.

Jerrick gritted his teeth as the flames caught his leggings on fire. He shoved the screaming Ramoch off and slapped out the flames that tried to engulf him. By the time he finished, all three of the other men in the street were beyond whatever help the smoking half-elf could give.

Rage glittered in the bounty hunter’s eyes. He took life when he had to, but rarely had he seen such wanton destruction as this. Three of the merchant’s own men had been caught in the fiery web, all of them now smoking corpses. As much as he wished to successfully complete his mission, he could not let a man that could do such a thing escape punishment.

The mage had left the window, confident that the thief he had found in his rooms was no longer a problem. He had seen the results of men caught in flaming webs before. Now what had the thief been after?

Jerrick reached a blistered hand into one of the pouches at his belt. He pulled out a small metal flask that contained one of the few magical items he thought a bounty hunter should have. If he had only used the potion before all hell broke loose . . .but no, he could not have known what awaited him in the room above, and he was not one to waste valuable assets on possibilities. Now, however, it was time to get his revenge.

The half-elf faded from view as he swallowed the Potion of Invisibility. He then made his way through the ash back to the Spire’s entrance. There he waited. Eventually the fat mage would come out looking for his missing locket

The Watch finally arrived a few minutes later, and Jerrick waited patiently while they began an inquiry. He listened as the fat merchant spun a tale about a conspiracy against him. Agravahm insisted that the watch let him search all of the bodies for his missing property. Jerrick shook his head and grinned at the merchant’s practiced lies. He had no doubt that things would be cleaned up soon and that only a few scorch marks would remain on the walls.

Tigg was eventually found, unconscious but still alive, and the watch carted him off to be healed and, Jerrick was sure, questioned. He noted that the merchant seemed not at all concerned with this development.

While Agravahm searched vainly for the intruder’s body, Jerrick slipped up to the mage’s room. The watchmen had removed Christof’s remains, and only a damp spot remained on the floor. Jerrick easily broke the locks on every last one of the mage’s chests

and trunks, taking nothing, then searched the rest of the room for inspiration. After a few moments, he found what he wanted. A few minutes later he left, leaving another of his potions and willing to leave the fat mage’s fate in the hands of the gods. If his revenge did not come this day, then maybe the next. Already he was thinking on how best to deliver the locket.

* * * * *

The merchant Agravahm returned to his room as dawn was breaking. He fumed at the loss of the precious locket. Without it he could not complete his plan to gain control of the Miklos noble family’s mining interests. He was also frustrated that he had been unable to find the thief’s body, for he had been absolutely sure that the wiry half-elf had been caught in his web. As for the bodyguard that the watch had hauled away, he knew Tigg would not talk. He routinely bound his men with a minor ritual that ensured their loyalty.

The mage was alert the moment he entered his suite. The smell of scorched leather hung in the room. His eyes narrowed when he caught site of his ruined trunks. The thief had come back, right under his nose! He would hunt the annoying half-elf down and use his hide to resole his boots! The faint light in the room was not enough for the enraged mage to make out more than the vaguest details, so he moved to light the small lantern left behind by his first visitor that night. He noted in passing that the watch must have refilled the small oil reservoir while they had been removing the thief’s corpse.

Seconds after the fat mage touched a flame to the lantern’s wick, the Oil of Fiery Burning that Jerrick had replaced the lamp’s oil with ignited. The explosion rocked the inn. Agravahm was hurled across the room, torn and flaming, to crash through a wardrobe in the corner. As he lay amid the wreckage, slipping toward death, the powerful merchant’s last thoughts were focused on his need for revenge . . .

“Curse You, Jaheira”Arelius

A Note from the Author

Authors Disclaimer:This story is written about the episode in Baldur's Gate II: Shadows of Amn, where Jaheira is cursed by an old nemesis. It is intended

to be taken within the context of the whole romance plot, and not necessarily to be a standalone story. Depending on how you played the game, if you played out the Jaheira romance and came across this quest during late Chapter 2 or early Chapter 3, I envision this episode as having been a defining moment in the relationship. With all credit due to the writers at BioWare, I have attempted to fill in the pieces as I think they might have happened. I apologize for any plagiarizing, but I wanted to stay within the original story as best as possible, and embellish when the mood struck me. This episode is the sole property of the author, but is freely shared with the RPG community, and may be used by anyone for any purpose, so long as it is not modified, and profit is not gained from it.

Warning:There are some small spoilers in this story. It is written in the context of the game and there are some minor references to other sub-

plots. The story itself is centered on a very minor sub-plot, and should not necessarily spoil anything, as there are different ways to play through it. If you have not finished the game, though, you might want to wait before continuing.

It was the end of a breezy day as we approached Athkatla. The sun was setting, and the city was thankfully fully visible on the horizon. The high from our victory over Firkraag now over, we were starting to feel the effects of our days march from the Windspear Hills. Mazzy, Valygar, Nalia, and Aerie were all looking a little tired and sun beaten. I knew we would need a good meal and rest soon. I looked over at Jaheira and noticed that her face was especially pained.

"Hungry.""No, I am fine. I was just thinking about our recent battle," Jaheira calmly replied, but something else was behind her voice. "I am

glad we were able to restore the good name of the woodsman and help save his daughter. I am especially glad we avenged Gorion. Firkraag was evil, and making him pay for his past indiscretions was good."

Gorion. The name rang home like a hammer. My great ego had practically blocked out the fact that Firkraag was only after me because of his hate for Gorion. So many people had been coming after me lately, that the idea that there were others of greater interest was beginning to seem foreign.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to sadden you by mentioning Gorion. His end saddened us all.""It's not that, Jaheira. I was just thinking how stupid I was to have forgotten that Firkraag was only after revenge on Gorion.

Sometimes my self engrossment amazes me, in not so many a good way.""That you can admit that to me shows growing signs of wisdom. You show great promise, Arelius, and I am proud that we travel

together. Khalid would…"The name brought back the pained look on her face, and I could see that she had really been thinking of him before. Her nightmares

over his death had subsided, and she seemed to be getting used to the idea of his passing. She was still in pain though, and it cracked through her voice from time to time. But this time, the pain I sensed in her brought a different feeling in me, a slight tug at my heart. I saw her vulnerability, and the sorrow that she was in. For all my strength, I could do nothing to bring back Khalid, and I knew for the first time what her commitment to Gorion to watch over me had cost her.

"I am sorry, once again. It seems my words have caused pain to myself this time. Could we please talk later?"I nodded, saddened myself for my inability to make her pain go away. I looked up to see where we were. We were nearing the docks.

Our goal in Athkatla was to follow up on the Shadow Thieves offer. We had plenty of money in our pockets now after raiding the dragon's hoard. If we chose to accept their offer, we could. But I was still a little concerned about our status. I was not going to go after Irenicus unprepared. I wanted to look out for my party and buy them the best equipment available, and we were still short of that goal. We had been contacted about a new offer, but had not had time to follow up on it.

"I think we should rest," I announced to the party. I could see they were all tired and in agreement. "There's an inn up a way, across from the Docks. If there are no objections, I think we should settle in for a meal and a good night's rest."

"Good plan," Mazzy responded. "I do feel somewhat tired. Valygar, would you help me polish my gear later on? The shine is just not there."

"What? Help you? You're not commanding me?" Valygar replied lightheartedly. "Have you lost confidence in my squireship, mistress Mazzy?"

"Not at all. I just think it is a good idea for a warrior to be at one with their gear. Polishing is as good as fighting. And besides, I enjoy your company."

"I would be honored. I'll see if I can find some polish at one of the local stores later.""Well, I guess that leaves you and me, Aerie," Nalia interjected. "I suppose Arelius and Jaheira will be discussing strategy, so what say

we spend some time listening to the local bards?""Sounds wonderful. I so love music. Arelius, are you sure you wouldn't like to join us?" Aerie asked with a hopeful gleam in her eye.

Jaheira looked away, her back stiffening up."I'm sorry, Aerie. I have some equipment polishing to do myself, and I need a good nights rest. You both enjoy yourselves." "Oh, ok," Aeries eyes dropped to the ground, then quickly back at Nalia. "I guess it is just you and me tonight," she said somewhat

under her breath to Nalia. I was glad they were becoming good friends.

"Alright," I resolved. "Sounds like everyone has plans for tonight. We'll meet in the morning in the lounge and continue." With that, I opened the door to the inn and we all entered.

* * * * *

The inn was quite dark and a little opposing. Being this close to the docks, it was full of sailing paraphernalia, and the sailors that frequented it seemed a little on the seedy side. The place had probably not been cleaned in years. Cobwebs were all over, and the flickering torchlight was far too sparse, providing dark hues and long shadows. Still, it was a scene we had grown all too accustomed to, and quickly settled in at a table near the far corner. After a few moments, the waitress came up.

"What'll it be?""A round of summer ale, and some of today's best catch," I replied.She left without a word. I looked over at Jaheira and smiled. She responded in kind with a chuckle, and we both felt a little comforted

by the moment. We were much too tired to notice the capped man approach, let alone care what his intentions might be."Jaheira, my darling. So good to see you again. I hope your life has been going as well as mine since last we met."Somewhat startled, Jaheira looked up, her eyes glaring in recognition… and loathing."Excuse me. I do not recall our meeting before. Do I know you?""Of course you do. Simeon Ployer. Remember." Jaheira held her gaze. "Perhaps my title will help. Baron Ployer," he said emphasizing the word baron."No. No. I do not. Perhaps you have me mistaken for someone else, though how you know my name I could not explain." She turned

and looked at me as if to lower the expectations of the man."You pompous Harper. You ruin my life, take all I have, and have not the decency to remember me!" We all readied ourselves."I'm sure you have me mistaken for someone else. Perhaps if you told me where we last met"."In court, of course. As they were dragging me away to jail for being a slaver. Because you and that accursed Belgrade chased me

halfway around Amn on some Harper crusade. NOW DO YOU REMEMBER!!!""Of course I do, and do not raise your voice with me! I wanted all to hear your indiscretions. You are lucky you still live, Ployer. I

would have had you dead, and were it not for Belgrade, I would have killed you when we captured you.""Still so defiant and self-righteous, Jaheira. You and your Harper friends make me sick with your balance babble. You would think you

would see the balancing effects of slavery. We merely provided a service and a way for the less unfortunate to make a living.""By selling them to fighting pits to be slaughtered! By selling them to brothels to be prostituted! Tell me how you think this is balance

and justice.""Do you think I care about your feelings about justice? All that matters is that you will soon be dead!" I stood up and moved myself between him and Jaheira. "Speak your intent now, Baron, or you'll find your head rolling across the

floor.""Who are you? Jaheira's latest fling? I always knew you weren't the prude you appear to be, Jaheira. Your relationship with Khalid

always seemed way to… perfect. And were you doing Belgrade too while you chasing me?"I sent him flying to other side of the bar with my backhand. He slowly got up, wiping the blood from his mouth. Jaheira was also up

now, with weapon drawn."Belgrade is as good a friend as any. A man of honor who would never infringe on my commitments. Something you would know

nothing about, filth. And do not speak Khalid's name again, ever. You dirty it.""So are you a Harper as well, eh, strong one? And what was your name again?""My name is Arelius, and you will remember it with pain if you ever enter the slave trade again. I am not of the Harpers, though if

they opposed your kind, then count me as one with them.""So I shall," he said as he arrogantly walked back to us. "So I shall. But as I said, the only thing that matters is that you will soon be

dead, Jaheira. Perhaps you will be too another day, Arelius. But I'll worry about that later. NOW IS YOUR TIME, JAHEIRA!"Three shimmering lights suddenly appeared, surrounding us, and before we could react, three mages were standing there. Mazzy

and Valygar each selected a mage and started swinging away, but their magic protected them from their blows. Aerie began to prepare a spell of dispelling to help, and Nalia readied a breech spell, but both would take time. Jaheira and I went after Ployer, as the third mage had stationed himself behind him.

My first blow sent Ployer again into the wall, and Jaheira dove after him. I left him to Jaheira and turned to face the third mage, who was just finishing his spell. Before I could swing to try to disrupt it, the spell left his hands, and headed straight for Jaheira.

"Jaheira. Look Out!" I warned, but nowhere near in time. The spell hit and engulfed her, her body glowing a dark green with it's effects, and I could see that though it wasn't harming her, it was affecting her in some strange way. Ployer got up and moved away from her.

"HaHa. Now the mighty Jaheira shall be brought low!" Ployer yelled."What have you done to me?!" Jaheira tried to yell, her voice clearly affected by the spell. She was wavering, but still in control."A little present from the past my dear. You shall rot the same way you left me to rot away. It took everything I had to buy this end

for you, and I shall see that every penny was well spent. Away! This fight is over!"And indeed it was. We had all become so engrossed with what was happening with Jaheira, that we barely noticed when Ployer and

his mages teleported away. I ran up to steady Jaheira."Jaheira, are you alright?!" My words did not reflect the urgency of my concern.She looked down at her hands and replied, "I'm… I'm not sure. He's cursed me. Damn him. I will have my revenge. We must find

him." She looked up at me. As our eyes met, I could see the fear in her, and felt it myself. Though we didn't know the nature of the curse, we both sensed it was not typical. No temple would be able to remove it, and I had no idea where to start looking for a cure. There was also something strange about her face. Lines, where none had ever been before. Wrinkles?

"We should start by hunting down Belgrade," Jaheira softly spoke, looking away. "He may know where to find Ployer. (Hmph.) We have a contact in the Copper Coronet. We should go there, Arelius."

I held her for a moment more, thankful that even now, she had some idea of how to progress. I did not want to let go, and felt quite helpless. When she looked at me again, I felt her need to be strong, and to not be alone.

"We will find him, and a cure. And he will pay." I reassured her, though this time, there were no smiles. We knew we had little time. There would be no rest tonight.

* * * * *

As we entered the Copper Coronet, the feeling of the party was quite harried. We had not had any sleep in quite a while, and our meal had been interrupted. Jaheira did not feel any worse, but she was looking pensive and worried. The small wrinkle lines I had noticed earlier were also beginning to deepen. I did my best to encourage her, but I knew there was little we could do but continue on and find the baron. We walked up to Temgrine, the contact Jaheira had spoken of.

"Temgrine. I need to speak with you." Jaheira said as she approached him."Of course, m'lady… Jaheira?… what… what is the matter? You look like you've one foot in the grave." Temgrine replied."Thank you… (cough)… for the encouragement.""Sorry Jaheira. Didn't mean no offense. But are these traveling companions running you down? If they be, we can deal with them.""Temgrine, no. No. There is little time and I need to contact the network. I have to talk to Belgrade.""Can't be doing that, Miss Jaheira. Can't get in contact with Belgrade any more…"

"Temgrine, I have no time for… (cough)… games. I know you can contact them and I must speak with him. It is… it is a matter of life and death. My… life and death."

"Jaheira, I'm sorry, but Belgrade's dead. He passed away a few months ago.""Temgrine…" Jaheiras voice trailed off quietly. We all felt the weight of his words and saw the anguish in her face. With Belgrade

dead, there would be few leads left."His body was found in the north eastern corner of the slums here, he was. All withered up… and say, it seemed to be a little like

what you may going through right now.""Where exactly was it found, Temgrine?" I asked, not wanting Jaheira to waste her strength on any more conversation."It was found near the old slaver ship, you know, the one you cleared out a few days ago. In the alley way between it and that old

condemned house.""Do you think we might find Ployer there, Arelius?" Mazzy asked. "He did say that he had spent all his money. Perhaps he hasn't the

means to stay at an inn. An abandoned building might be just the place to hatch such a scheme.""It's all we've got. Thank you, Temgrine. You may have just provided us with our answer.""No problem, m'lord. And rest assured Jaheira, if you run afoul, the Harpers will be notified of this, and Ployer will be run up the

proverbial flagpole.""Thank you Temgrine. Let's hope we can exact our revenge first." Jaheira answered back."Aye, m'lady. Aye. Good Luck to you all."

* * * * *

The abandoned building was not far, and our steps were quickening as we all felt the urgency of our actions. I occasionally had to steady Jaheira, and was becoming quite worried about her. It had only been a short hour since she was cursed, but her face and body were withering and seemed to age before my eyes. Where was once a beautiful, strong, young, woman, now appeared a feeble, middle-aged maiden. And on top of it all, I was slowly becoming aware of feelings I had not known existed in me. Jaheira and Khalid were always a couple in my eyes. That they were deeply in love was not to be questioned. I always looked at Jaheira in a different light because of that. Now that Khalid was gone, I was beginning to see her as the woman she was, or at least as I remembered her to be. Our friendship was growing daily, as was our closeness. The thought of losing that to a slow, painful, death was scaring me, and I knew I could not let that happen. We could now see the ship, and the abandoned building beside it.

We entered the building and began searching. There was clearly evidence of the building being used by many of the town's poorer people for residency. Walls had been stripped clean of their coverings, as they were needed for firewood. Broken bottles and empty food packs littered the floor. Dust and dirt was everywhere. It was beginning to look like a dead end when we noticed an old beggar in the corner. We approached.

"Sir, I must ask you some questions, and will pay well for the answers," I said. He perked up a bit at that."Eh, you want me to tell you something? What could I possibly offer you?""I am looking for man, somewhat smaller than myself. He has dark hair and a beard. The last we saw him, he was wearing a cape.

This man is also very angry. He would be speaking about how his career was ruined, and about his hatred for Harpers.""Well, you just described a lot of people. Perhaps a little coin to refresh my memory, eh, first, you know, like you said," he said as he

kicked at the dirt."Of course." I opened my sack handed him twenty gold and a smile appeared. It appeared he had not seen that much in quite a

while. "And there will be much more if you provide good information.""HeHe. It sounds like you be talkin' 'bout ol'Packer…""Ployer?!" Jaheira excitedly interjected."Maybe. Nobody here much cares for names. Anyway, I see's him ranting every now and again. He stays in the basement a lot. Came

in and kicked a couple people out'a there. No one around here much cares for him, so if yous kills him, no skin off me.""Thank you, old man. You have helped us greatly." I dropped another eighty gold in his lap. No amount was too much to express my

need to cure Jaheira."By Helm!!! Thank you, Sir. May the gods smile on you!""Come on. If were going to catch him, now is our chance. I just hope he's down there.""Word is there's some noise coming from below. Some laughing and stuff. I think e's down there," the old man said. I looked at him

and smiled."No more gold, but thank you." The mood of the party greatly lifted, and we headed for the stairs. As we descended, we could indeed

hear the noise the old man spoke of. It was the Baron. We could hear him singing to himself and dancing in his sick, drunken, joy. Apparently, he had kept a little coin back to pay for a bottle of spirits to celebrate his supposed victory. I intended to spoil the party.

We readied ourselves at the door while Nalia looked for traps and Aerie prepared a chant spell for the party. I gave a glance at Jaheira and noticed her anxiously looking my way. She was doing her best to hold in her coughing so as not to expose us. Even in her aged form, she was still quite beautiful, her inner beauty shinning through. She cracked the slightest smile and I responded in kind, adding a nod. We both knew this was her last chance at a cure, and we had to make it count.

"All clear," Nalia whispered, and once the chant finished, I quickly kicked in the door. All six of us rushed into the room. Ployer stood before us and as he noticed us, began to laugh even louder.

"You've come quicker than I expected," he brashly proclaimed. "And my, aren't you looking quite lovely, my dear… old… Jaheira?"We all hesitated, knowing that if he expected us, he may have traps set. I looked at Nalia, who was scanning the room. She quickly

finished and looked at me puzzled, indicating she found nothing."(Cough.) Why were you…(cough)… expecting us, slaver!? (cough)… Speak!" Jaheira howled as best she could, but the curse had

taken its hold quite deeply. She could now barely talk."You don't think Belgrade just happened to die close to here do you. I made sure he could find me, and killed him when he came for

his salvation. A fitting end, I think. Rotted away to the same end he planned for me. I dumped his body close by so you would find me latter. It has all been planned, my despicable Harper friend. You will now beg for your cure, or you will die." He said remarkably calmly.

"What?! (Cough)… I will never beg… (cough)… to one such as you," Jaheira said as best she could. She was now getting into battle stance.

"Pitty. Belgrade wouldn't either. I suppose I shouldn't have tried to go for it. Your kind never beg. Watching you grovel would have sweetened the whole thing. Not that I would have cured you anyway. And since you won't, I think I would have liked to think of you wasting away, too, dying a most horrible death." He was babbling, drunkenly, to himself, though still calmly, and looking to and fro around the room. He then focused on Jaheira and the rage began building again. "But ripping your final breath from your chest will be just as fulfilling, just as it was with him! GUARDS!!!"

Ployer shouted to call in his buddies, and sure enough, all three mages began to appear. This time, though, we were ready. Nalia and Aerie were already preparing the breach spells for two of them, and as soon as they appeared, the spells slammed into them, dropping their defenses. Valygar and Mazzy quickly pounced on them, hacking away to make sure no more spells would be cast. They would soon fall. I engaged the third mage, my newly acquired Holy Avenger sword making quick work of his defenses. I would soon reach his body.

This time I left Ployer to Jaheira, knowing she would want her revenge herself. I was counting on the belt of hill giant strength she wore to keep her upright through this battle, in spite of the growing effects of the curse. Ployer was really not much of fighter, and even though severely weakened, Jaheira's skill was still formidable, and she was gaining the upper hand. But my handiwork was not making

the progress I had hoped for, and the third mage was able to cast a summoning spell. A great earth elemental warped in and slammed his fist into Jaheira. She flew across the room and slumped to the floor, the little wind she had knocked from her unnaturally aged body.

"JAHEIRA!!" I shouted. I left my mage to position myself between her and harm. The elemental moved to continue to attack her, but found me instead. Blow after blow I parried, occasionally landing a strike against it. Mazzy, Nalia, and Valygar had vanquished the first two mages and were now engaging the third in my stead. Aerie rushed over to try to heal Jaheira, but Ployer knocked her aside and began choking Jaheira. Aerie was even less of a fighter than the baron, and was now hurt and unconscious.

I could sense Jaheira loosing her battle. Under normal conditions, Ployer would be dog meet by now, but in her weakened condition from the curse, and the blow from the elemental, she was not fairing too well. I was slowly gaining the upper hand in my battle with the elemental, but would not be able to kill it in time to save her outright.

I knew I had to act quickly, or Ployer would choke the life out of Jaheira long before the curse would. I devised a plan of action to engage both the elemental and Ployer at once. It would have to be perfectly timed as I would be turning my back to the elemental.

"So Jaheira, how does it feel to look into the eyes of your destruction!" Ployer shouted, but she could only gasp.The elemental brought his huge hands up, and as they came down on me, I quickly moved aside, spinning, and leveling my sword.

The massive blade caught Ployer just below the neck, severing his twisted mind from his body. His now useless body collapsed to the floor, and his hands fell from Jaheiras neck. I could hear her cough as I returned my attention to the elemental. She would be ok, for the moment, and I was quietly pleased with myself for making my first threat against him come true.

The third mage now fallen, Mazzy and Valygar joined me in attacking the elemental. Nalia was helping Aerie. As the last blow sent the elemental to his end, I was rushing over to Jaheira.

"Jaheira, are you ok," and I bent down to help her sit up."I, I think so. Though I am still cursed. We'll have to look around to see if there is a cure here."I began to search Ployers body. In one of the pockets, I found a lock of hair, pulled it out, and handed it to Jaheira."This… this is my hair. So that is how he was able to fabricate the spell in advance to target me. I know of this magic, and with this,

should be able to dispel the curse." Jaheira could barely speak now, and was coughing between nearly every word. We had come just in time, and her words lifted my spirits beyond measure. I could see the relief in everyone's eyes as I helped her to her feet.

"Notcho, bosha, eerialish," Jaheira exclaimed, holding the lock of hair in her hands close to her chest. As she finished the incantation, her body glowed a slight bluish, hue, then slowly faded. Almost before our eyes, the wrinkles in her skin vanished, and her youthful glow was back.

Nalia had since revived Aerie, and was helping her up. "Jaheira? I know we've had our differences, but I want you to know that I was very scared for you. I'm glad you're ok." Aerie said.

"Thank you, Aerie. You are very kind to say so. And I appreciated the way you rushed to my aid. I hope you are alright as well." Jaheira's voice was clearly steadier now, though not fully restored.

"I'm ok. Just more of a pride thing, I guess.""Good. And thank you Arelius. That was quite a move you displayed, though I must admit my eyes were somewhat strained at the

time.""I couldn't think of anything else to do. It was more out of desperation than anything else.""Whatever the motivation, I am grateful for your actions. I hate to be a further burden on the party, but I will need a day to recover

from this. The wrinkles may have faded quickly, but the effects are deep within me, and will take some time heal. I would ask that we head to the Copper Coronet and settle in. If you want, you may leave me there, and continue on without me. I do not wish to slow your progress."

"Nonsense, Jaheira," I said. "I didn't fight this battle to abandon you as soon as it's over. No, this sounds like a good opportunity for some much needed rest. We've been pressing really hard and I can see it in all your faces. We'll rent a couple of rooms. I'll stay with you, Jaheira, and help get you back on your feet. The rest of you can relax as you see fit. We'll continue on in a day or two, once Jaheira is able."

Nalia turned to Aerie and Mazzy and whispered wryly, "You think there's something going on between those two.""Such a compelling story. The noble Paladin. The lady warrior. I do so enjoy when love blossoms," Mazzy said below her breath."It would explain a lot," Aerie said quietly as she turned away.

* * * * *

We settled in to our room and Jaheira crawled into bed. I laid out a blanket on the ground, my bed for the duration of the stay. I was relieved that we had finally eaten, and a good night's rest, even on the floor, would feel like a godsend. The thought of some time with Jaheira alone was also a pleasant one. Jaheira was still awake and resting comfortably, staring off into space.

"Arelius?" she called."Yes.""Thank you.""My pleasure. Now will you tell me what for."She was quiet for a moment, choosing her words carefully."For staying with me through this curse. I… I do not know how I would feel right now had you decided to continue on without me.""Jaheira," I said, "that was not an option I could have chosen.""Why?"I was not expecting that. I looked at her, not knowing what to say now. Once again, her directness had caught me unprepared. She

was apprehensive, yet eager for my answer. Why wasn't my leaving her a choice? I'm not sure I had even thought about that till she spoke it. I walked up to the bed and sat down beside her. I couldn't help but think she looked more beautiful at that moment than at any other moment before. I felt myself becoming lost in her, and quickly pulled back.

"Because you are my most trusted companion, my best friend, and I care for you deeply." These were the words she wanted spoken, or she wouldn't have asked. I wanted them spoken as well, and indeed, her face relaxed at them. I wasn't finished though. "But maybe because I also feel responsible for your loss of Khalid. And maybe because of the sorrow and difficulties I have caused you. It hurts me greatly to think I have caused you pain."

"Oh my most omnipotent one," she said more warmly than she had ever spoken that phrase before. "You are not responsible for Khalid. I do not blame you for what has happened. We knew the choices before us. Khalid would not want you to think that way. I do not want you to think that way."

We both fell silent for a moment, looking at each other, neither one knowing what the next step would be, and both aware that the next words could be critical in our relationship.

"Jaheira, I…""Please, Arelius. Do not bear this burden alone on your shoulders. Allow me to share this with you." She reached out to touch my

hand. "I am willing."I paused a moment. "If I knew how to share it with you, I would. But the weight of being a godchild, the god of murder no less, is

beyond what I am prepared to let you share. How would I? I barely know what it means. I am a Paladin for god's sake. I have sworn my life to the cause of righteousness. And simply because of who my father was, people have died. People close to me. Strangers. Many have fallen by my hand. My father must be so proud of me."

"Gorion was your true father, Arelius, and you should not so quickly forget that. You may have Bhaal's blood, but you have Gorion's upbringing, and he was indeed proud of you. We have stood with you through nearly all of it because we…" She paused a moment, then firmly sat up and continued. "I believed in who you are. Who Gorion thought you are. You were never told this, but he thought you

would be the key to everything. That's why he had us stay close to you. He wanted the Harpers to see that you would be a force for good. A balance to the great evil that may one day come."

"And now we have made enemies with the Harpers. How is that going to affect you? Have you thought about that? Your involvement with me may end up costing you that as well. I know that I cannot leave your friendship behind. Why you don't run from me, however, is beyond me." I stood up and turned away, apprehensive about the words I just spoke.

"I… I do not know," she posed an answer to what I hoped was my first question. "I know we did right in challenging them, that you are good." She hesitantly paused. "But they might not think as such. Time will tell, Arelius. Forgive me. This is not how I wanted this conversation to go, and I am feeling quite weak. We will talk again soon."

She rolled over and all I could do was look her back at her. It wasn't how I wanted the conversation to go either, and I felt guilty about the way I spoke to her. She didn't deserve to be put aside, but I still did not know my feelings for her. And I didn't believe she knew her feelings for me, either. There were just too many conflicting aspects of our adventure together. I needed time to think and walked over to my bed and lay down. I could hear her sleeping after only a few moments. She was really drained. It's amazing she was able to converse at all. I was tired beyond measure as well, but sleep was not forthcoming.

I continued to think on her words. Why did Gorion think me the key? His death came much too early. He should have told me more. Something, anything, about who I was would have been nice.

I thought of Aerie, who was obviously attracted to me as well. She was so sweet and pretty, almost like Imoen. Imoen. Sweet Imoen. At one time, I considered a relationship with her. I wondered how she was, what evil the Cowled Wizards were putting her through. The effects of our first encounter with Irenicus had left her bruised in ways I couldn't imagine. We needed to rescue her, but I realized I felt no more than friendship for her.

I thought of Aerie again. No, I did not see the toughness in her that one would need to walk with me to the end. I would help her in any way I could, but I could give her no more than that.

Finally, my thought's returned to Jaheira and my feelings for her. I had just come so close to losing her, and it made me realize I was falling in love with her. But to what end? I was the child of an evil god. Bhaalspawn. The word made my stomach revolt. Should thoughts of love be entering my head? Could I afford to… love, with so much riding on my success of failure? I wanted badly to share my burden with her, as she asked. I could think of no other who might carry it with me. Her strength of will was astounding sometimes, only to be equaled by her beauty. But I did not think she was done with her relationship with Khalid. No, Jaheira would need time, as well as myself, before these issues would be resolved. It just could not be rushed. I was starting to drift off when…

"No, no… what… where... where are you…" Jaheira's nightmares had returned. Once again, Khalid was coming back to haunt her, and now possibly me. I got up and walked over to her.

"It's ok, Jaheira. Shhh." I tried to reassure her."NO! Don't, don't leave me… Arelius!… Arelius… Arelius?" as she began to wake up and notice me. I held her in my arms and did my

best to comfort her. She was crying and embarrassed, but I don't think she knew this was really happening, and she quickly fell back to sleep. I kissed her on the forehead, and lay with her in my arms for quite some time afterwards. This episode had given me insight into her feelings beyond her words. I now knew the direction my heart would lead me, and where hers had already gone. I had replaced Khalid in her dreams. Though they were nightmares, she was not dreaming of Khalid anymore, she was dreaming of me. It was an insight I would not take unfair advantage of, but one that gave me hope for the future. Our future.

Call of the Monkey GodJason Niehaus

Part 1Call of the Monkey God

The Ducal palace was a bustling hive of activity, the first annual "Hero's Appreciation Dinner." The dinner, the brainchild of Duke Eltan, was originally created to honour a brave band of hero's who saved his life and adverted a bloody war with Amn. Like so many celebrations it grew during the planning as each duke had a party they wished to invite, then wealthy merchants requested permission to invite bands in their employ, soon half the adventuring bands in the Sword Coast were invited to the Ducal palace, including the Raging Fools.

"Don't wear that robe Lordin, it's covered in grime!" Vadriana scolds Lordin, who has been wandering around the groups suite leafing through one of his many tomes. "Wear your good robe, the one with golden embroidery."

"Huh?" Lordin stops his meandering to look at the cleric, "Must I? That robe is so hot, can't I just cast a cleaning spell on this one?""No, that robe is all threadbare and ratty, change it." Before Lordin can respond she's off to prepare the other members, leaving

Lordin to shrug to himself and return to his book.She finds Thorin, Yurt, Jasper and Hanuman, not surprisingly in the taproom, Thorin is trading stories with a burly caravan guard

while Jasper, Yurt and Hanuman are playing darts, Hanuman is beating the other two soundly."What are you people doing down here? Thorin, polish your armour, Jasper get out your good jerkin and that new hat I bought you,

Hanuman groom yourself and get that vest I had made for you. Hurry! This is our chance to make friends is high places. Remember first impressions are most important. Yurt, clean your armour and repair that headdress of yours. Were's our elf?"

Jasper is the first to overcome the shock of Vadriana's diatribe and ventures his guess as to Shiasta's current location. "Try searching in one of the many parks and green spaces that grace this city. Elves seem to be more comfortable in woodland settings." Before the gnome can complete his, lengthy, thought, Vadriana has left the taproom to find Shiasta.

"It's your turn shorty, beat that throw you stubby imp.""Shorty? I'll show you, you walking pile of flea food!" Jasper angrily turns back to the game, and promptly buries a dart into the wall,

causing his friends to erupt into fits of laughter.Storming through the street, Vadriana mutters to herself, "Of all the times to commune with nature! Am I the only one in this group

who cares about our future?" Her mutterings are interrupted by a slight hand placing itself on her should, causing Vadriana to jump."Please Shiasta, try to make more noise when you approach me from behind. You took two years off my life, which is a lot for us

humans!.""I am sorry friend Vadriana, I will try make more noise, maybe I should stomp around like Thorin?" the elf smiles at her joke"Shiasta, do my ears deceive me our did you make a joke?" the elf nods assent "Will wonders never end. If this is a night for miracles

mahapes the others will try to be ready for tonight. I've so much to do, I fear I can't be den mothering them all night." She sighs and looks at the worn cobbles on the street.

"Fear not friend. I will make sure they are ready, you attend to your needs."A gleam of hope appears in the young clerics eyes "Really? Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!" With that she almost skips down the street to the dress shop. Shiasta shakes her head at the task she has taken on herself to perform.

Back in the Three Old Kegs, the Fools current home, not much has changed. Hanuman is still winning at darts, Thorin has started a new story, the one about the goblin warren they cleared out last year, and Lordin has started a new book.

"What are you all doing? Are not you supposed to be getting ready for the dinner tonight?" The elf's voice is quite yet somehow manages to arouse feelings of guilt in everybody.

"Bah! Hobnobbing with puffy-fluffy pantalooned fools taint me idea o'fun." The others nod agreement with the dwarf."Nor is it mine stout one. But it is important to our friend and companion, Vadriana. We are her friends and as such should try our

utmost to let her enjoy it. How many times has she accompanied you drinking dwarf? Our to the fighting pits with you Yurt?" With some

well placed guilt, she has succeed in accomplishing what a day of pleading by Vadriana failed to, motivate the group to clean themselves up. Her mission accomplished she goes upstairs to confront the absent minded mage.

"Lordin, change into your good robe or I will personally see that your right hand will never work again!" Lordin stops short, he is quite sure this is the first time the elf has ever raised her voice.

"You can do that? How's it work?" She tells him all the grisly details and Lordin pales considerably."Amazing, and you would do that to someone? To me?" she nods "I'll just go change then. Good day." He stumbles into his room,

noises associated with frantic searching emanate from behind the door, Shiasta smiles to herself and retires to her room to find her good green tunic and comb her bright orange hair.

Five hours latter the party is ready. Lordin looks exceptionally regal in his blue, gold rob, his white beard neatly trimmed (courtesy of Shiasta's dagger) and his long hair braided down his back. Thorin literally gleams in the setting sun, every inch of his armour polished, every dent and scratch repaired and his beard and hair braided in the manner of his people. Yurt stands tall, the polished black granite of his magical chailmail gleams much like Thorin's armour, the vibrant colours of his headdress glow with a light of their own. Shiasta is just beautiful in the manner of all elves, her orange hair doesn't even seem out of place tonight. Jasper resembles the successful jeweller he once was, his new hat making him seem taller, and his prize ring is worn upon his right hand. Hanuman is cleaned and wearing the "darling little vest" purchased by Vadriana, his constant adjusting of it makes it obvious that after tonight the vest will 'mysteriously' disappear.

But it is Vadriana who steals the show, her dress, a beautiful pale blue, transforms her from the sisterlike companion they all knew her as, into a magical princes. As she descends the stares the Raging Fools stop their small talk and stare, Shiasta smiles that knowing smile common to all elves. Lordin's jaw starts to move, but no sound comes out.

"My dear little Vadriana, you look truly beautiful tonight," translate Hanuman on behalf of Yurt, "Please accept this gift." The giant man reaches up, removes one of the magnificent feathers of his headdress, and places it in her hair.

"Why thank you Yurt." the young woman blushes slightly as she brushes her hand over the feather."Please, I wish you to wear my ring tonight. It should be displayed on you, the only thing of greater beauty that I have seen, not on a

little frump like me." Jasper places his prized ring on her finger, and adds "I will of course, require it's return when the evening is compete."

"I'm speechless, thank you Jasper." She holds her hand up to gaze at Jasper's master piece. "Well, it's time to be going, mustn't keep the dukes waiting." She brushes past the group and is off to the palace, the others follow, except for Lordin, who is still rather incoherent. Thorin chuckles to himself and nudges his oldest friend.

"Come along mage. We've a party to attend.""What, Oh yes, the party. Come Thorin we have much networking to do.""Networking?" the dwarf raises a questioning eyebrow."I read it in a book. I'm not sure what it means, but it's what one does at these functions."

"If it involves ale, ya can count me in.""I think it might.""Then come along. We've much networking to do!"With that the two friends laugh and hurry after the rest of the Raging Fools eager to network all night long.The area outside the Ducal palace was full of nobles, wealthy merchants and their sponsored adventures milled about, waiting to be

announced by the heralds."Were is our sponsor for this evening of foppery?" grumbled Thorin, scanning the crowd for Leorion Kwal, a wealthy merchant who

was impressed with the speed the Fools cleared out a nest of spiders in one of his warehouses."He is over their, friend dwarf, by the portcullis," responds Shiasta."Well, best to be gettin it done with, lets go," grumbled Thorin as he plows his way through the assorted nobles.As the near Leorion, he begins waving at them, "Ho Fools, over here! Hurry we are next in line to be introduced. I was afraid you

would not make it. Hurry, hurry." The merchant keeps talking as he herds the group towards the door and presents his card to the door man.

"Announcing Leorion Kwal and his guests, Lordin Granderson, Thorin Goblinstomper, Jasper Gnarlson, Yurt, Hanuman, Shiasta the elf (no one could ever properly pronounce her last name) and Vadriana Oran, The Raging Fools!" announced the footman, and the networking was on.

Given the Fools behaviour at previous social functions, they behaved exemplary in the grand ball room. Lordin mingled with the mages and nobles, discussing magic, philosophy, history and assorted other topics, learning much (including the actual meaning of networking) and teaching a little.

Thorin found a group of adventuring dwarves, who immediately started trading war stories, ranging from battling giants to a valiant battle with two kegs of strong dwarven ale. They eventually wandered off to the greens to drink under the stars and talk of mines and treasure.

Jasper, wearing some of his better creations, attracted quite a crowd of young women, requesting commission of the gnome, most of which were turned down, the commissions he accepted got dirty looks from the other women. Eventually the business offers faded and he was able to wander and talk to the few gnomes and craftsmen present, trading trade secrets and discussing the developing trends in fine jewel and gold work.

Vadriana was immediately cut off from the rest of the group by a pack of eager young nobles, each trying to out fawn the other and gain her attention, much to the chagrin of Lordin. For a farm girl she took to the situation like a goblin to a cave. She succeed in drifting away from the young fops and gravitated to the elder statesmen, and immediately charmed them as if she was socialite born to this kind of thing. Soon she had numerous wealthy merchants and nobles wrapped around her finger.

Yurt had a much less enjoyable time. The giant mute spent the night avoiding the stares and whispers of people too afraid to approach him, and those who did work up the nerve to talk to him wanted to know if they could purchase Hanuman or in the case of one drunk, if his colouration was due to goblinoid ancestry. Yurt reached out one giant arm and lifted the sot off his feet, he was about to toss the man throw a window when Shiasta placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"No my friend, we must not ruin this evening for Vadriana. Come, let us walk in the green, for I have felt the stares of others all night and do not appreciate it either." The giant nods and follows the elf out, but not without giving Hanuman a parting thought.

"Wise one, that one has caused great dishonour to me and the Great Wise One, see he never does so again."Hanuman smiles a wicked smile, displaying all his canines in an almost vicious manner. "Your will is my command oh great one," he

laughs as he jumps off Yurt's shoulder and into the crowd. Shiasta raises a questioning eyebrow which is met by Yurt's reassuring smile and nod. With no further words the two walk into the garden.

Meanwhile, Hanuman follows the drunk back to the bar."What an uncouth lot that feathered goon is. He actually threatened me bodily harm." complained the noble as he picked up another

wine, obvious to Hanuman's deft paw dropping a pinch of a special mushroom that causes terrifying hallucinations when ingested, but leaves no lasting effect. Hanuman almost pitied the man, being beaten by Yurt would probably have been less traumatic. His work competed, and his companion with no need of him, he scampered off to the buffet table. And the evening continued uneventfully until a young drunk started raving about bugs crawling under his skin and had to escorted out.

Near dawn, something amazing occurred. Hanuman dropped the apple he was chewing on and ran screaming into the garden. The remaining Fools broke off their conversations and ran out after their monkey companion. What they saw would stay with them for the rest of their lives. There, in the middle of the palace garden, was Yurt, sitting with legs crossed staring into space, his black granite armour pulsed with light of it's own, each feather of his grand headdress burned with a bright blue and yellow flame, his spear, which

he had not brought with him, floated, suspended in the air before him, the blade burning with the intensity of a small sun. Beside him was Hanuman, prostrating himself to the image Yurt was staring at.

Before the two, floated what could only be a god. It appeared as an old, bearded monkey, but it stood upright like a man and grasped a spear in one hand and a scroll in the other. It appeared almost translucent and ethereal, yet at the same time infinitely solid and eternal. He looked at each of the Fool's and smiled. It opened it's mouth to speak when another force appeared, crashing into the monkey god with a resounding clash and explosion, destroying half the garden. Suddenly, above the spires of the Ducal palace appeared a giant, pulsing, red feline headed female, she roared in an unknown language with a voice that shook the palace, and to punctuate her point threw a bolt of power at a tower, disintegrating it. This apparition was greeted with an angry shout from Hanuman, in the same language, and a glare from Yurt that would cause a dragon to reconsider.

And then it was all gone. Yurt's fire, the apparitions, and the quite state of awe, as the palace erupted into a panic frenzied and Yurt collapsed. The Fools rushed to their fallen comrades side. Vadriana muttering a prayer to he god for healing. They crowd around their friend, none of them knowing exactly what to do. A sigh of relief escapes each Fool as they see Yurt's eyes flutter open, followed by some gasping as Lordin and Jasper had forgotten to breath while watching their friend. Then mute was immediately assailed by questions concerning exactly what had happened, the questions clamoured against each other resulting in an incomprehensible babble, a babble that ended with Yurt making his gesture for quiet.

"I have to go home." whispered Hanuman.The Raging Fools, for the first time since their conception, had no idea what to do next. They just stood there, seven silent sentinels

amidst a world of chaos.

Part 2Old Enemies and New Plans

"Well that's it then, we're off to the island of... er, Yurt's home. Come on everybody we've packing to do." Lordin pauses and looks down at the giant hand grasping his robe "Yurt, would you kindly let go of my robe, its rather expensive?" Yurt's face is grim, he shakes his head slowly. "You don't want us to come is that it? Well tough dragon skin! I've travelled with you for over four years and I'll be Cyric blessed if I'll let you make this journey alone." Yurt's face turns threatening and he moves as if to toss Lordin into the air. "Fine, toss me aside, preferably into that pool over their, the one with the ducks, but I'll just get up, sopping wet, and follow you, making those annoying slaushing noises I make when I'm wet. Can you imagine that, days and days of squish squash, squish squash, squish squash, well you get the idea. Wouldn't it be better if you didn't throw me into the pool, and let me accompany you, blessing you with my sparkling wit and cheery demeanor." The mages face is split into an insolent grin, but his eyes are hard, staring directly into the big man's eyes, daring him.

Yurt grins, shakes his head, his body shaking with silent laughter, and drops the mage (none too gently) to the ground. Lordin stands up, dusts the dirt from his robe, stands up straight, adjusts his hair and smiles, a real smile, one that touches his eyes and lights up his face. "Now that that foolishness is behind us, lets go pack. We've a jungle island to explore. RAGING FOOLS, MARCH!" The slim mage puffs out his chest and marches off like a drill Sargent, the rest of the fools shrug and follow step, even Shiasta tromps a little.

There are nights that seem made for late night strolls, clean air, bright stars, dead quite broken only by the sound of your feet on the cobbles, this would have been one of those nights if not for the noise made by a band of friends strolling down the alleys and streets. There's a reason their the Raging Fools and not the Quiet and Polite Fools.

"What a splendid evening! It's a shame that is had to end so soon. No offense Yurt. I met so many interesting and influential people. I even met someone who could get you into Candlekeep and get your ban from Silverymoon lifted Lordin." gushes Vadriana.

"Candlekeep? He could get me, Lordin "banned from all libraries in the Realms for life because of one fireball in a wing containing especially old tomes" Granderson, into Candlekeep, the most secure and important library in the realms . Who was this man? Elminster?" laughs the mage.

"Elminster, yes that was it. Such a sweet old man.""You met Elminster? Thee Elminster? Elminster of Shadowdale? Jasper did you know Elminster was at the party? Thee Elminster?

Thee Elminster wants to help me get access to Candlekeep. Elminster....." Lordin's words become incomprehensible hero worship babble as Vadriana continues.

"Oh, and Jasper, I showed a noble your ring, and he absolutely fell in love with it. Do you know how much he offered to pay me? Twenty thousand gold coins. Can you imagine that kind of money. Of course I turned him down..." Jasper stumbles to a halt, his merchant upbringing calculating exactly how much gold that would be, and how it would permanently establish his reputation as one of the best jeweller in Fereun, allowing him to pick and chose his customers and live a life of comfort and ease.

"Friend Jasper, is everything all right." Shiasta's voice breaks into his dreams of averice."What, oh, no, no, nothings wrong, just a rock in my boot." he mutters hastily, running to catch up to the groups, his mind filled with dreams of gold and comfort. He catches up and notices their party is down one. "Were's Vadriana?"

"Arr, the lass skipped on ahead, don't ya know" Hanuman's imitation of Thorin is dead on, he even manages to waggle his beard, despite the noticeable handicap of no having one."Shut up ya little rodent." grumbles Thorin.

"I'll have you know that I am not a rodent, you puny rock breaking gold grubber," everyone laughs as Thorin throws a rock, which the monkey dodges easily. The general good mood is shattered by a most unwelcomed sound.

"HHHELLLP!""Vadriana!" Lordin's dagger appears instantly in his hand as he bolts towards the scream, the other Fool's quick on his heels. They

turn a corner and find a most unwelcomed sight. Before them is a score of scruffy men, mercenaries of the Red Blades, each equipped with the trademark red painted swords. A particularly large one holds a rusty dagger to Vadriana's neck. Their leader, a short, stocky man with thin greasy hair, spits at Lordin, just missing the irate mages robes.

"Vrok!" Lordin's voice is almost a growl, "don't you ever get tired of being beaten by us? Let her go and I promise not to hunt you down and send you to the lower planes to be a daemons plaything for all eternity!"

The mercenary captain grins, revealing several missing teeth. "Let her go? And lose my strategic advantage? I'm not as stupid as you think, mage. Here's what I think is going to happen, you and your friends will drop your weapons, and accompany us to our headquarters were I will receive the substantial bounty placed on your head."

"Right, the bounty. I'd forgotten about that, what's it up to now?" Lordin snaps his fingers, as if just remembering something, only Shiasta notices that he has managed to draw a small device from his robe, and smiles, her hands straying from her weapons. She knows this wont take long.

"For your big friend and the dwarf, its up to one thousand gold apiece, for you mage, its only two hundred gold." Vrok spits again and laughs.

"Only two hundred you say." Lordin places one finger on his chin while cradling the elbow with the other, contemplative, his fingers adjusting the various switches on the device. "Well, I think its time I raised the ANTE." the figurine flashes, blinding everyone momentarily, when the dots and tears clear from everyone eyes, all the mercenaries are frozen, faces just beginning to register the shock of the light.

"Damn you mage! If'n I could see ya, ya'd be missing an arm!!" bellows Thorin as he stumbles around the street."Quiet dwarf, it worked didn't it. Yurt help me untangle Vadriana form this ruffian. Stupid spell, it's not supposed to freeze friends. A

well, I'll just have to tinker with it some more." Everyone shudders silently as Lordin mentions "tinker," images of fire balls and noxious gases fill their heads, Shiasta absentmindedly fingers her bright orange "tinkered" hair. "Thanks Yurt, I can take it from here." the grey giant shrugs and lets go of Vadriana's still form, which promptly topples onto Lordin. "A little help here? Yurt, are you laughing at me?"

queries the mage from under Vadriana. Recovering form his silent laughter, Yurt gently picks up Vadriana and places her carefully on a nearby bench were Shiasta attempt to rouse her. Lordin stands up, straighten his robe, and grins. "Now, its time for some fun," he says, holding up a flask.

Behind him Hanuman and Jasper are comparing the contents of the mercenaries pockets."I got seven gold, twenty silver, forty copper, and this ring. Lets see what you got gnome boy.""I have managed to appropriate six gold, twenty five silver, fifty five copper, and this necklace which I appraise at twenty gold. Your ring is a fake, the emerald is only coloured glass and the metal is plated with gold, poor quality at that. I appraise it at mabey five coppers. Which means I win this round you silly simian." the gnomes face splits into a wide grin, his nose twitching.

"I'll get you next time, Jasper oh loudest thief in all the realms." The monkey laughs as he sidesteps a half hearted swipe by the gnome, who then proceeds to pocket the spoils.

"Have you finished your work Lordin?" Shiasta's gentle voice carries from the bench were she is watching Vadriana."Yes my dear Shiasta. Come Fools, we have an expatiation to plan.""What did you do to Vrok oh most wise and powerful mage,"asks Hanuman from his perch atop Lordin's shoulder."Just tweaked with his personality a bit.""What right do you have to alter a man's innermost being, mage Lordin?""Oh don't you worry your pretty little orange head, it's only temporary. I simply used a potion made of some flowers I found while we

cleaned out that goblin nest in the CloakWood last week. You remember purple smoke that exploded from my house, and for a day I did everything you told me to. Oh, by the way, you never paid me back the five gold you borrowed from me that day Thorin. Well that's when I discovered the plants ability to make you susceptible to suggestions. With the amount I gave him, he should be very accommodating for about three days. Oh, he will also perform various love ballads in the centre of the fair, wearing a dress and Elminster hat." an impish grin streaks across his face, and the Fools burst out laughing, all except Vadriana of course.

The dawn seems to beckon for new experience, the weather is clear, the wind gentle, the day just seems to call to adventurers to arise and experience it. It's a call the most of the Fools seem determined to ignore. Yurt is sprawled out on a couch, snoring, Hanuman is curled up in a blue ball on his stomach. Jasper might be curled up on his bed, there are too many blankets and no gnome in sight to be sure, quiet snores emanate from under the blanket testify to his existence under the blankets. Thorin, sometime in the night had fallen on off his bed, and is now unceremoniously drooling on the floorboards. Lordin, on the other couch is curled up, his back to the world. This peaceful scene is disturbed by a loud pounding on the door.

"Wake up you lazy louts! Lordin, how dare you use one of your toys on me." Vadriana's normally pleasant voice had somehow managed to become shrill and disagreeable, not something you wanted to wake up to.

"Do you think if we ignored her she would go away?" mumbles Hanuman through a massive yawn, displaying his impressive teeth."Groumph thuuble mushrm" comes the muffled reply from under the pile of blankets."You can say that again shortly," replies the simian.A head whose hair and beard don't seem to know about gravity and who's every hair seems to be escaping in a different direction ,

peeks out from the mound of blankets, grumps, "Don't call me short!" and disappears."Hanuman, don't you think it's a little early to be teasing our friend Jasper," Lordin's words somehow manage to bounce off the couch

back and into the room, perfectly audible."Mff Fu," comes the thanks from under the mountain."Can't you wait till after we break fast? I need my sleep." finishes Lordin.

The mound of blankets emits a huff and stirs as Jasper turns his back to his friend."I can hear you in their! What kind of heros sleep past the noon meal? Shiasta and I have been up for hours.""Well aren't you the industrious ones, at least you got a bed." retorts the grumpy wizard. "Magic requires that I be fully rested to

work properly, you wouldn't want one of my spells to misfire would you?""Only one? That would be great, you'd set some kind of record. Imagine only one of Lordin's spells misfiring. Wow." replies the voice

behind the door."Sarcasm noted, now please go away, we need out beauty sleep."The stomping of angry boots fades down the hall, and the male Fools gradually slip back into sleep, except for Thorin who once slept

through a dragon attack. Just as they are on the cusp of sleep, the world of dreams just a heart beat away, their door explodes into a shower of splinters. The suite erupts in a flurry of movement. Jasper, desperate to see what just happened, struggles to escape his wooly womb, hopelessly entangling himself in the blankets and falling with a thud onto the floor, were he lay, squirming. Hanuman, his animal instincts taking over, shrieks a blood curdling scream and springs to the top of the dresser across the room. Yurt bolts upright, promptly tripping over a table next to the couch. Lordin turns around on the couch, promptly falling off the edge. Thorin sits up and draws his axe from under his pillow, ready to meet the intruder. In the doorway is an angry Vadriana, her large mace in hand. For a split second, no one moves, then the woken fools realize that they are largely naked and in the presence of a lady. A new form of panic ensues as they hurry to find shirts and pants to cover their small clothes, Lordin just jumped into the nearby wardrobe. Thorin looked around confused, and shrugged, he never did understand his human friends modesty around Vadriana and Shiasta, they were adventurers and companions, he had no secrets from them, the fact that neither of them were of his race or particularly attractive to him. The commotion ended when Lordin exited the wardrobe wearing one of Jasper's shirts, or rather crammed into one of Jasper's shirts and Yurt grabbed a sheet from Thorin's bed and fashioned a crude toga. Vadriana eyed the commotion and rolled her eyes. Jasper managed to free his head and looked around.

"What are you trying to accomplish by wearing my second best shirt Lordin?" asked the bushy headed gnome."Shut up Jasper, just shut up." snaps Lordin, opening the wardrobe to find one of his shirts. Vadriana shakes her head, laughing,

"When your ready, meet me in the taproom." "Could someone please assist in extricating me from this mess?" pleads the entangled gnome.Twenty minutes later, they managed to stumble down the stairs, clothed and cleaned. The taproom was empty except for Shiasta

and Vadriana, the other patrons of the inn having long since eaten and left. They sat down and ordered, porridge and black crusty bread, both cold. This elicited numerous complaints from around the table, all of which were ignored. Thorin wiped his mouth with a handkerchief he kept for that purpose, signalling that at three bowls, he was done.

"So, Hanuman, how are we supposed to reach your home island? The way you describe it, ships don't go their often, or at all.""Don't worry, my lord has arranged passage. It should be here by mid-afternoon.""That be one well organized god you got their." burps Thorin."I should hope so, he is a god of wisdom after all. We should be home within a month."

"A month at sea? Should we not gather provisions for this trip. It would do no one any good if we were to starve on our way.""That has also been taken care of. Do not worry, my lord has made all the preparations necessary. We merely need to be at the

docks when the ship arrives.""Would you care to explain why we are going back to your island? As I remember your people ostriscised you and left you to die in

the jungle." Lordin looks intently at Yurt, noticing the slight grimace that comes across the giants face at the memory."It's a complicated story, but I will fill you in as well as possible. Thousands of years ago, Yurts people, who worship my lord, and the

Zazil, who worshipped that demon you saw above the Ducal palace, were at constant war. This suited the Zazil deity just fine as he thrived on warfare and chaos, but it pained my master greatly. One day, my master witnessed a particularly brutal battle were both sides were decimated and decided it was time to intervene. He sought out the Zazil deity and engaged in a dialogue with him. He managed to convince the daemon that if the war kept on both sides would be destroyed and he would loose his minions, and a truce should be declared. The daemon did not want to listen but my masters great wisdom prevailed and a truce was declared, on one condition. Every five centuries a battle is to take place, between the champion of the Zazil and my lord for rulership of the Island. Last

time the Zazil won, and while they are not aloud to destroy them under the truce, life has been increasingly hard for Yurts people. We need to go back to the island and escort Yurt to the Fighting Ground. All these years of adventuring have been leading up to this event, all the battles, all the training, all the experience, all have been leading up to this event. I failed my lord last time, but this time, we will win."

"So the life and freedom of an entire people rest on Yurt's broad shoulders?" Lordin asks, eyebrow raised inquisitively."Basically, yes.""Well we've as good as won then haven't we. Those shoulders could carry any burden. Come Fools, gather your tools, sharpen you

blades and adjust your armour, we've an adventure to undertake. Lets go and make the bards sing our praise!""To the journey ahead!" toasted Jasper."To the glory of a noble quest!" toasted Vadriana."To the battles to be won!" bellowed Thorin"To friends and companions," toasted Shiasta."To the Raging Fools!" yelled Lordin, to which everyone shouted their agreement and quaffed their drinks.