Prologue

  "He's coming!  He's coming!  Aim for the chest!" screamed the running gnome, his short legs beating the ground with speed uncharacteristic for his race.
  No sooner had the gnome, Geordus Wordweavor, run past a large warrior than a golden hued dragon's head appeared at the cave mouth.  It was hard to make out the beast with all the smoke issuing forth from his cave, but the head and chest were clear enough for a shot.  Without hesitation, the warrior, who had been holding a bow with an arrow pointed towards the cave mouth, loosed the shaft.  His aim was true and the missile struck the monster full in the chest.  At first the beast was still, as though stunned.  What happened next shocked and amazed the warrior Dethstroek.  The dragon exploded!
  Dethstroek, whose ears were ringing from the blast, was at a loss for words.  Geordus came up beside him and slapped his back.
  "Magnificent!  You hit him in the gas chamber as he was about to flame us!  The sudden expanding gasses and the flame he was in the process of spewing forth interacted and obliterated him!" Geordus was explaining rapidly as bits and pieces of the monster rained down from the sky. "You have won a great victory, this day!  Bards shall sing of this!" 
  Dethstroek sat down and tried to collect his wits. "WE have won a great victory!  Mine was the easy part!  Still, I'll need a trophy...proof of the battle..."
  Trophies were usually the heads of such beasts, but that was not possible in this instance.  Geordus inspected a fallen scale closely.  It looked to be an authentic golden dragon scale.  The scholarly gnome was no expert on dragon physiology, but he had seen many varieties of dragon scales on display in the museum of Gudron'ac-tol.  He presented it to Dethstroek.
  "Ah!  Tis not the head, but it will make a fine trophy, indeed.  I will gather more of these and present them to the Duke of V'rogg.  I shall be restored to my position with honor!" proclaimed the warrior.
  Dethstroek stopped speaking when he noticed another gnome issue forth from the cave, completely naked save for a large sack it, or rather obviously he, was carrying.  The new gnome approached the pair quickly and set the bag at Dethstroek's feet.
  "Oh, thank-you, great warrior!  You have saved me from becoming drogan..."
  "Dragon," whispered Geordus to the new gnome.
  "Uh...right, Dragon kibble!" amended the gnome.  "How are you called that I might speak your praises?"
  "I hight Dethstroek Homingraev, exiled knight of V'rogg," proclaimed the warrior, distractedly.
  "Geordus Wordweavor of Gudron'ac-tol," said the scholarly gnome.
  "Gunost Dethstroek," said the pseudo-gnome. "A fine name for a great champion!  I am called Pehnn...um...Pehnn Drogan."
  "Er, yes.  Please to make thy acquaintance," said Dethstroek.  Glancing over the gnome's form, he added, "Are you not...um...cold?"
  "Eh? Oh!" Pehnn was indeed naked and had just realized he would need cloths.
  "I have some extra clothing you may have," offered Geordus.  The gnome quickly rifled through the contents of his backpack and produced a tunic and a pair of breeches.
  "Thank-you, George!" said the second gnome as he accepted the proffered clothing.
  "George?" asked the warrior.
  "Let it drop," said Geordus.
  "Now both my life and my dignity have been saved!  And here is the dragon's hoard, recovered from the cave!" With that, Pehnn emptied the contents of the sack onto the ground.  It resulted in a handsome quantity of gold and jewels forming a pile.
  "Dragon hoards are usually much larger," observed Dethstroek who then shrugged and added, "Or so I have heard."
  "Well, the dragon did just move into the neighborhood.  I imagine it would take some time to build up a really impressive hoard," cut in Geordus. "At any rate, you two may divide this between yourselves.  I have little need of treasure."
  "You must take something!" insisted the warrior. "It would be highly unfair to go empty-handed after risking your life so!"
  Rather than argue, Geordus selected three fine gems, a ruby, an emerald and a diamond, and three small purses worth of gold.
  "I can scarcely carry more, Gunost Dethstroek," insisted the scholar.
  Pehnn accepted a share, though he also protested the need.
  Satisfied with the division of goods, the three set out for Etrice.  The pair of gnomes instructed Dethstroek further in reading and writing, and Dethstroek resumed his instruction of swordplay to the gnomes.
  When the trio occasionally passed other travelers, Pehnn loudly proclaimed the courage and valor of his new companions.  Geordus found it embarrassing, but Dethstroek accepted it as his due.
  "It is part of the game," the warrior explained to the scholar.  "Soon all will hear of the dragon's demise."


DETHSTROEK AND PEHNN

  "Let me see if I have adequately grasped the situation," said the gnome. "We are hiding in the brush while you train your crossbow on a mob of humans that seem anxious to lynch an elf-kin, who, by the way, is completely unknown to you."
  "Got it in one, Pehnn," replied the large human who was involved in aiming the afore mentioned crossbow.  He took careful aim on a particularly vocal member of the lynch mob, then sighed and started to unload the weapon.  "No.  It is not my concern.  For all I know, the mob has a genuine grievance against the man."
  The duo had been passing through the area on a trail through the woods when the gnome's keen ears detected the sound of a small group of people talking and yelling.  The human insisted that they be careful in approaching the situation, and took up a position behind some thick bushes.  From there, human and gnome espied a mob as it hoisted a man of elfish blood up onto a horse and placed a noose about his neck.  The rope was attached to a sturdy branch on an oak tree some distance above the elf-kin.  Tattered remains of old ropes tied to the branch suggested it had seen many such hangings in its time.
  "Would that grievance include children, Dethstroek?" Pehnn asked as he pointed back to the mob.  A child, perhaps eight winters old, grasped the leg of the man who was sitting on the horse with the noose on his neck.  One of the mobs members roughly grabbed the boy and threw him to the ground.  The elder elf-kin, perhaps the child's father, started to protest, but the noose was pulled tight, cutting off his response.
  Dethstroek observed the action and rose from his position behind the bushes.  "Now what did he go and do that for?" he said tersely.
  Pehnn had no opportunity to answer, as the warrior abandoned his hidden position and strode purposefully down toward the lynch mob.  Following quickly, Pehnn took up a position at Dethstroek's side as the warrior trod boldly up to the apparent leader of the mob.
  "Ho!  What transpires here?" Dethstroek demanded.  Instantly, all eyes turned to him.  The warrior was easily taller than all but the apparent leader of the mob.  As he walked down to the gathering, he moved with an easy grace that was unusual in so large and muscular a man.  There was confidence in his movements that all could readily sense.
  The leader, a particularly brutish looking human, replied, "'Tis no concern of yours, stranger.  Move along."
  Oh, that was a wrong answer, thought Pehnn.  He had been traveling with the human for a few weeks now and had come to know his moods and temperament.  Being spoken to in such a disdainful manner would surely invite trouble from the big warrior.  Dethstroek was a large burly man, with thick arms and broad shoulders.  Standing easily eighteen hands tall and weighing a good fifteen stone, he struck an impressive figure.  Added to his natural build was the banded armor and bastard sword at his side, which made him look every bit the fearsome adversary he could be.  His thick mop of rich auburn hair hinted at the temper within the warrior.
  Pehnn, far smaller than the human seemed almost comical standing at his side.  Slightly pudgy, with short brown hair, and short enough that he barely reached the human's chest, the gnome looked quite harmless.  Especially since he appeared to be unarmed.
  "What has this man done to deserve hanging?" demanded the warrior.  The majority of the mob seemed reluctant to speak, but the largest member boldly faced the newcomers.
  "He has brought goats through our sheep pastures," said the brutish man.
  "Trespassing, is it?  Seems to me there should be more," replied the warrior.  "Hanging is a bit extreme for so minor an offense, I should think."
  "He is also an elf-kin.  We don't tolerate his kind 'round here," roared the brute.
  "I see," Dethstroek turned to the elf-kin on the horse. "What have you to say for yourself?"
  "I was told these were public lands," said the elf-kin. "My son and I are just passing through on the way to market in Etrice from V'rogg."
  "Lands here 'bouts t'ain't public for your kind!" added the brute as he glared at the unfortunate elf-kin.
  "Very inconsiderate of him to have such poor judgment in ancestry," said Pehnn in mocking tones. "He should be ashamed of himself, what with having humans in the family and all..."
  "Be nice, Pehnn," gently warned Dethstroek. "Let me handle this." The warrior turned his attention to the elf-kin.  "What if I were to purchase your herd for, say, two Banes a head?" said Dethstroek.
  "What?  Why, that is hardly a fair price!  I would barely see a profit from the season!" replied the exasperated elf-kin.
  "Well, if you think you can do better..." shrugged the warrior.
  "Oh!  Ah...I see your point," returned the elf-kin as he quickly glanced at his captors. "On second thought, I accept your very generous offer, but with one modifier."
  "And that is?"
  "My son and I go with the goats," answered the elf-kin.
  "That seems fair enough," granted the warrior. "Who do I have the pleasure of doing business with?"
  "Molkin Greenleaf, and my son, Tolkin," Molkin inclined his head in a short nod, which Tolkin imitated.
  "Hold on, here!  You can't do that!" roared the brute. "You can't just come in here and buy his goats and release him!"
  "Quite right.  We should introduce ourselves first," interrupted Pehnn. "I am Pehnn Drogan."
  "Pendragon?" said the brute.
  "No relation," replied Pehnn with a dismissive wave. "And you are...?"
  "Pat Me'buhm," replied the brute.  Pehnn had to struggle mightily to keep from laughing out loud.  Pat turned to the warrior. "So who be you?"
  "I hight Dethstroek Homingraev of V'rogg," answered the warrior. "And it is not I that will cut him down...you shall!"
   The mob, hearing the warrior's name, began to mutter among itself.
  "Dethstroek!"
  "Ain't he a knight?"
  "The dragon-slayer?"
  "I heard he kilt a gold dragon out near Etrice last month..."
  "...great warrior..."
  "He once defeated five swordsmen with a broken knife!"
  "...I heard he cut off the dukes cousin's hand...
  "...heard he fed it to a wolf..."
  "The dragon?"
  "No, you idiot.  The hand!"
  "I heard you were exiled!" said Me'buhm in a less steady voice.  Despite the brute's greater size and impressive musculature, Pat was a farmer whose fighting prowess was limited to the occasional tavern brawl.
  "Some days less than others.  Now cut Fayne Greenleaf down," ordered Dethstroek.  Molkin Greenleaf, despite his peril, caught the warriors' use of the elfin title 'Fayne', which was a term of respect among elf kind.
  Cowed by the warrior's boldness, as well as his reputation, the mob moved quickly to comply.  In moments, the elf-kin was free and back on his own two feet.  Molkin bowed low with arms extended and hands clasped in the elfin gesture of gratitude.  Dethstroek inclined his head and placed the palm of his right hand on his chest in the return gesture of acceptance.
  "You know, Pehnn," Dethstroek said as he raised a hand to his chin, "I think Molkin is entitled some form of compensation for the delays he has had to suffer."
  Pehnn, quick on the uptake, agreed. "I do believe you are quite correct, Sir Dethstroek.  But how to make up for all his wasted time and trouble?"
  "Well, I should think a good horse would do it.  Oh, look, here is just the very thing," Dethstroek strode up to the horse that only moments before held Molkin upon its back. "I think this one would do most nicely."
  "Hey!  That's my stallion!" yelled Pat Me'buhm. "You'll take that horse over my cold and moldering corpse!"
  "If you insist," said Dethstroek as he placed his right hand on the hilt of his sword. "Then I will have to accept your terms."
  Stunned by Dethstroek's ready acceptance of the challenge, Pat Me'buhm quickly took stock of his situation and didn't like the odds.  Despite his size, Pat was a farmer, not a warrior, and didn't think highly of his chances in a duel with an experienced dragon-slayer.  Granted, there were the seven other men with him, but they were all clearly cowed by the warrior's reputation. "Then again, I think I could spare it, as I have another one at home."
  "Done, then!" interjected Pehnn. "Glad to see everybody is in agreement!"
  "Thank-you, Fel'dar Dethstroek," said Molkin, using the elfin title of respect for those not of elfin blood. "You are generous as well as brave."
  "You may send the proceeds of the sale to Count Grimmoer Homingraev of V'rogg," replied the warrior as he extracted a purse of silver from his backpack. "This should cover the goats."
  "Indeed, Fel'dar Dethstroek," bowed the elf-kin. "Many thanks!"
  "One other thing," said Dethstroek, addressing the mob. "If my goats, complete with their herders fail to make it to market, I will be very put out.  I expect to see a return on my investment," he turned to Pat and said in a low, quiet voice. "If they are molested in any way, I will kill you, specifically, Pat Me'buhm, and anyone with you, near you, or even looks like you!"

*     *     *

  "...or even looks like you," said Pehnn for the umpteenth time, laughing harder with each repetition.
  "All right!  It was a bit...over the top," said the thoroughly exasperated Dethstroek. "You may have noticed that I was out-numbered eight to one..."
  "Eight to two.  I was there as well, you know," pointed out the gnome.
  "As you say.  None-the-less, 'twas not good odds.  I had to make them think twice about forcing the issue," continued the warrior. "Had they rushed us, it would have gotten very messy."
  "Oh, please!" Pehnn rolled his eyes. "I've seen you take on five men at once in a bar brawl without even getting winded!"
  "Aye, in a bare-handed fight against a pack of besotted clods who knew not an elbow from an arse!" returned the warrior. "Farmers armed with sobriety, scythes and pitch-forks are a far more dangerous beast."
  "I dare say you would have beaten the lot of them," insisted Pehnn.
  "Mayhaps, but to what good end?" Dethstroek shrugged. "They were simply frightened of a strange being and acting on that fear.  Normally, I suspect they are peaceful, hard working and friendly.  Pat Me'buhm no less than the rest.  People often fear what they do not understand.  Elf-kin are somewhat rare in these parts."
  "And almost became even rarer," added the gnome. "Is it true you beat five men armed with swords with naught but a broken knife?"
  "You have good ears, Pehnn," replied the warrior. "It was indeed five men, but I had a perfectly serviceable sword in hand.  The rumor mill is prone to exaggerate ones deeds."
  "And you are prone to downplay them, I've noticed," retorted the gnome. "How did you know to use the elfin title of respect?"
  "I have some family of elfish and orkish blood," admitted Dethstroek.
  "Orkish?" Pehnn was surprised at this admission.
  "Aye.  My uncle Grimmoer be one such."
  "A count of V'rogg is an ork-kin?"
  "Well, he looks very human, with a few minor differences," explained the warrior.
  "Like what?" Pehnn inquired.  Human society was interesting to him for many personal reasons.  It was to learn more about it that decided Pehnn to join Dethstroek in his travels.
  "Well, his eyes are red, and he has a set of fangs..."
  "Fangs!  Like a vampyre?"
  "Um, not as pronounced.  Many ork-kin possess such.  His ears are slightly pointed as well, though he hides them with his hair."
  "He sounds like a vampyre to me."
  "Ah, well, he was one, for a time," admitted the warrior.
  "WHAT!" Pehnn stopped in his tracks and stared at Dethstroek. "And you are taking me to meet him?"
  "Calm down, Pehnn.  He was cured long ago," Dethstroek assured his friend. "A group of wizards cast a combination of spells that restored him to life.  I think it was a combination of Resurrect, Major Healing, Bless, and, um, Polymorph, I think.  Restored him to life, healed the wounds that killed him, blessed him to chase away any lingering evil, and altered his form.  That last I do not understand, but that is how he became more or less human in appearance, though he still has some orkish traits and abilities."
  "As long as he doesn't have any vampyric traits and abilities," said Pehnn, resuming his stride.  The mention of a polymorph spell upset him, though Dethstroek did not realize it.  Unknown to the big warrior, Pehnn was not a true gnome.  He wore a ring that allowed him to assume any shape he desired, but retained his true nature and abilities.  He feared what Dethstroek would do if he learned what Pehnn truly was.
  "I thought it was impossible to cure vampyrism," said Pehnn.
  "Almost impossible.  One of the wizards died from the strain, another was seriously injured and one even became deranged.  They were all healed as well, but were never quite the same afterwards.  Now, wizards will only attempt to cure cases caught in the first three days of their transformation.  The costs are prohibitive.  The same goes for lycanthropy, I understand."
  "I have heard there are charms that can allow a lycanthrope to maintain his true personality," offered the gnome.
  "Aye, but they can be even more expensive than the cure," countered the warrior.
  "You are surprisingly knowledgeable about magical creatures and such."
  "A warrior needs must stay current with events of such import.  In my time I have battled many creatures, both living and undead," explained Dethstroek. "Should I become harmed, infected or cursed, 'twould be to my advantage to know how best to treat the injury."
  Pehnn looked up at the warrior with new respect.  In the three weeks since they parted company from the gnome Geordus Wordweavor, Pehnn learned something new about his traveling companion every day.  Pehnn knew little of humans, at first, other than that they could be very dangerous.  In truth, Pehnn owed his current continued existence to the fact that he and Geordus tricked Dethstroek into thinking his true form was slain, and his current shape was rescued.  Dethstroek, unaware that Pehnn, the gnome, was in fact the same creature as the...
  "Pehnn?  What are you thinking of?  You have been very quiet these last few minutes," said Dethstroek, interrupting Pehnn's worried thoughts.
  "Nothing of consequence, friend Dethstroek," replied the pseudo-gnome.  "We have been traveling together these last few weeks and this is the first you have mentioned of your family."
  "Well, between you teaching me letters, and my instructing you in sword mastery, we have spoke of little else," observed the warrior. "In addition to my uncle, I have a wife and son in V'rogg.  You have said nothing of your own family, as well."
  Gadzooks, he is sharp, thought Pehnn.  Changing the conversation, Pehnn said, "It occurs to me that it is well passed mid-day, and we have yet to eat."
  "True enough!  There should be an inn nearby, as this is a well-worn path near a farming community.  We will break our fast there."
  "Maybe we will even finish our meal before you get into another brawl!" laughed Pehnn.
  Dethstroek put a 'who, me?' expression on his face before joining in the laughter.

*     *     * 
  The pair indeed completed their meal without incident, though that good fortune failed to last.  Dethstroek took offense from a comment directed at his companion and elected to teach a few more farmers better manners.  Pehnn refrained from joining the fray overtly, though he rendered one farmer insensate with a firm backhand to the skull.  The farmer in question had been preparing to break a chair over the warrior's back, and Pehnn assumed that in human society this was considered impolite, even though he suspected the chair would get the worst of it.  A normal gnome would have been incapable of so casually dispatching an opponent, but Pehnn was by no means a normal gnome.
  The battle was brief, and surprisingly bloodless.  Dethstroek settled with the barkeep for the damages, even going so far as to cover a round of drinks for his unconscious foes.
  "They will need a few ales to ease their ails," quipped the warrior as they left the tavern.
  "You didn't use a sword this time either, I noticed," observed the pseudo-gnome.  "Not going soft, I hope."
  "Bah!  The offense called for a thrashing, not a killing," replied Dethstroek. "Besides, those boys lacked the skill to truly threaten me.  There were only three or four of them."
  Pehnn neglected to mention the fourth farmer with the chair, but clearly Dethstroek had noticed.
  "It would appear that non-humans of any variety are rare in this area.  No doubt my presence will incite further such out-bursts," observed Pehnn.
  "Good!  I can make do with the exercise!" smiled the warrior.
  "I still have difficulty determining when you are jesting or not," Pehnn smiled back.
  Dethstroek's smile widened as he turned his attention to the road.
  "If I may be so bold, you do seem rather reluctant to kill, for a warrior that is," said Pehnn. "Not that I am complaining, mind you!"
  Dethstroek was quiet a moment before answering his companion. "I have killed enough men and beasts not to take pleasure in the act," he looked squarely at Pehnn. "Warriors are not common thugs who kill at every opportunity, Pehnn.  Not the better ones at any rate."
  "In the three weeks I have traveled with you, you have been in many brawls, yet you have never drawn your sword.  I admit I know little about humans in general and warriors specifically, but I thought those that lived by the sword tended to use it more often."
  "Some do," admitted the warrior. "They rarely last long."
  "Oh?"
  "There is always somebody better with a sword," explained Dethstroek, "Not to mention the fact that some carry enchanted weapons that grant them an advantage."
  "Is your sword enchanted?" Pehnn eyed the sword at Dethstroek's side.
  "Nay.  I did have such a sword, but it was stripped from me when I was exiled.  It was a Sword of Flame Mastery.  It would always stay sharp, and if it were exposed to fire, it would absorb it and release it on my command."
  "Even dragon flame?"
  "I never chanced to test it against a dragon."
  "How much longer to Rennibister?" said Pehnn, again changing the subject.
  "We should make Rennibister by sundown," estimated the warrior. "Best to enter after dark."
  "Why is that?"
  "Well, I was exiled for thrashing the dukes cousin, after all."
  "How far does that exile extend?"
  "Only to the city walls of V'rogg," explained Dethstroek. "The surrounding lands and vassal states are not included."
  "Then why the caution?  Surely none would challenge you in Rennibister..."
  "No need to bring any attention to myself," countered Dethstroek. "Plus, I like to test the security of the city when I visit.  I have family there, after all."
  "I suspect there is another reason..."
  "...and the duke's cousin lives there, now."
    Pehnn again stopped walking and looked at his companion. "Are you out of your mind!"
  "He has very little power in Rennibister, Pehnn.  Even if he caught me within the city walls, I am within my rights to be there," said the warrior. "Though he no doubt could invent a pretext on which I could be arrested.."
  "What is it between you and this...this..."
  "Thane Chulmoraiin Mak Dullaiin," supplied Dethstroek.
  "...this Thane Chulmoraiin Mak Dullaiin, anyway?" finished Pehnn.
  "I embarrassed him," said the warrior simply.
  "As I understand it, he challenged you to a duel."
  "Indeed.  Had I killed him, I might have been better off.  Instead I just punched him in the nose, assuming that would end the matter," explained the warrior. "I left him laying insensate on a tavern floor."
  "I thought you cut off his hand?"
  "Well, yes.  After he came to, he sought me out and tried to stab me in the back.  That was when I cut off his hand," Dethstroek shrugged. "I don't blame the duke for exiling me.  It was the least punishment he could give me for so maiming a nobleman."
  "Seems to me it is the duke's cousin that should have been punished," observed Pehnn. "Stabbing one in the back seems...inappropriate."
  "Indeed.  But nobles answer to a different set of laws.  Especially when they be in direct line of succession for the throne, as is the case with Chulmoraiin Mak Dullaiin."
  "Will not the slaying of the Golden Dragon of Etrice bring you back in good graces with the duke?"
  "I have decided not to mention it."
  Pehnn was stunned.  "Not mention it?  I thought you were anxious to reclaim your position in V'rogg!"
  "I am.  But the dragon will not be the way.  That was Geordus Wordweavor's task, and though I launched the arrow, Geordus was in harms way, not I.  I must prove myself with a mission of my own."
  Pehnn considered the warrior's words, and believed there was more to the situation than Dethstroek was telling, but realized it would be wise not to press him on the issue.  The warrior would elaborate when it suited him.
  "Then why risk the duke's cousin's wrath by going to Rennibister at all?"
  "My own uncle, Grimmoer, is a count in V'rogg..."
  "Yes, you have mentioned that."
  "Well, it was he that summoned me to Rennibister," continued the warrior. "Grimmoer does nothing without good reason."
  "A count is lower than a duke, is it not?  And how is it he is a count, anyway?"
  "Not by birth.  He was awarded a barony for a service to the king, and later purchased the properties of a nobleman who died without heirs.  With the property went the title and privileges.  He now possesses much power and influence in V'rogg.  I believe he could assist me in having my exile lifted."
  "Grimmoer," mused the gnome. "I can't wait to meet him."
  "I should warn you, my uncle might seem a bit...odd."
  "Oh?  Beyond what you have already mentioned?"
  "Yes.  In his youth he was a warrior-rogue.  He survived many years as a mercenary and a thief.  Such a life can leave its mark."
  "No doubt, but I suspect there is more," prodded Pehnn.
  "Aye," admitted Dethstroek. "'Tis a long story."
  "I dare-say we have some time.  I seem to recall a great warrior once said 'a good tale shortens a long road'."
  "You have me on that point," smiled the great warrior. "Very well, but pray do not be too free with this tale among human or elfin kind."
    


DETHSTROEK TELLS THE STORY OF GRIMMOER

  "Grimmoer, unlike most ork-kin, is also an elf-kin.  Such offspring are rare as elfin women often choose death before defilement by orks.  Those that fail to suicide will most often readily slay their offspring from such a union.
  "Sharrona Silvinsky was barely a woman, as elves measure such things, when she was commanded to marry by her father.  Such arranged marriages are common among the elves.  Sharrona's father, Taalsco Silvinsky, negotiated a particularly good settlement for his daughter.  She was to marry an elfin nobleman of some repute and wealth.  Like the good daughter she was she made ready for her upcoming nuptials and packed her belongings.  The marriage was to take place at the nobleman's castle far from her families' lands.
  "She was to travel with her family to the wedding in a caravan, along with a number of merchants.  The journey would have taken scarcely three days, but it was fated to never arrive.  On the second day of the voyage, a marauding tribe of orks under the command of Gol'for the Horrible attacked the caravan.
  "Gol'for slew most of the men and seized all of the young women, as well as looted the caravan for all it had.  Taalsco and his wife watched in horror as their only daughter was savagely taken away by the orkish raiders, perhaps never to be seen again.
  "One could well imagine the terror and disgust that raced through poor Sharrona's mind as she was stolen away by the brutish Gol'for.  Some of the maidens are said to have died of fright that thrice-cursed night.
  "Gol'for and his motley crew took their spoils back to their encampment some leagues away.  There, the maidens were bound and penned in to prevent their escape.  With their arms tied, none had the opportunity to suicide as is customary for elf-maids when captured by orks.
  "Gol'for, it seems, had a habit of selecting the most comely of the captured maidens to warm his bed after a successful raid.  It was Sharrona's misfortune to be so favored on that evil night.
  "It is said that she fought violently against Gol'for's attentions, and even wrested his dagger from his scabbard, but instead of slaying herself, she turned the blade on the ork, relieving him of his right eye, before he overpowered her.  Gol'for had his way with the maiden, then returned her to the pens with the others.
  "She was kept tied up and penned for months.  As the other maidens were ransomed or sold off as slaves, Sharrona was kept as Gol'for's personal toy.  She might have died in that pen had not a troop of barbarians, led by one Soaring Hawk, attacked the ork encampment during the Barbar-ork wars.  The Barbars made short work of the orks and rescued Sharrona, though Gol'for had managed to escape with his life.
  "However, the damage was done, and Sharrona was very much with child.  Soaring Hawk escorted her back to her parents, but they would not take her back.  Elfin custom demanded that she either slay the child within her, or herself.  Soaring Hawk was out-raged, to say the least.  He demanded they pay him the usual ransom, which they did in short order, then he took Sharrona to the city of Rennibister.
  "In Rennibister, he purchased a small house for the poor woman.  He also gave her the balance of the ransom he had extracted from her parents on which to survive, then took his leave and returned to his homeland and the ork Wars.  I think he even became something of a hero there.
  "Sharrona, safe in Rennibister, tried to make a life for herself as best she could.  She met a human man by the name of Lughlaiin Homingraev, and soon married.  Lughlaiin was a blacksmith by trade, and not very fair of face, though strong of arm and great of heart.  When her child was born, Lughlaiin accepted it as his own."
  "Dare I assume this child was Grimmoer?"
  "Aye, Pehnn, that it was.  As ugly an infant as ever was born, I understand.  Lughlaiin's own unfortunate features served to convince all that Grimmoer was his own.
  "As Grimmoer grew, he began to manifest some orkish traits, such as sharpness of tooth and thickness of sinew.  His ears, of course, were pointed from birth, but that is common among elf-kin as well.
  "Grimmoer was raised as properly as any child in such a home.  Lughlaiin taught him the family business of smithery while Sharrona educated him in elf-lore.  He was an apt student for both parents."
  "Why was he not slain outright as elfin custom required?"
  "Lughlaiin would not allow it, and Sharrona agreed.  Besides, elfin custom had caused her to become a pariah among her own kind, so she turned her back on elfin ways.
  "Lughlaiin fathered two children by Sharrona.  Cuchulmar and Shanara.  Cuchulmar is my father, by the way.  Shanara grew up and married an elf-kin by the name of Tolkien.  But I digress...
  "Grimmoer grew tall and strong.  He was quite adept at smithery.  My father said Grimmoer was almost tireless, pounding out metal from dawn 'til dusk.  I have done my time as a blacksmith and I can tell you, it is hard, tiring work!
  "Grimmoer might have remained a blacksmith if not for the ork raids that besieged Rennibister.  He was in his eighteenth year when the raids started.  Caravans were robbed, women were stolen away, farmers were burnt out...it was a bad time for all.
  "The city guard was out-numbered, so a call went out for volunteers to take arms and fend off the raiders.  Lughlaiin and Grimmoer were quick to come forward.  Over the next several weeks, the city defenders did bloody battle with the ork raiders.  Lughlaiin was killed while selling his life dearly.  It is said six orks met their end 'neath the power of his hammer 'ere he was brought low.  Grimmoer actually fought the orkish leader, receiving a wicked scar across his left eye.  The ork leader escaped, but the raids came to an end.
  "It was not until Grimmoer told his mother of the ork he had fought that he learned the leader of the raids was Gol'for, his true father.  She then told him the truth of his heritage and how Lughlaiin had taken her in before he was born.
  "To say the least, Grimmoer was put out of sorts.  Gol'for had raped his mother and, indirectly, slain the man who was a father to him.  After that, Grimmoer became a bounty hunter.  He apprenticed himself first to a warrior called Abraxus Mak Torn. Then later to a rogue called Edred Swiffingre.  With the family business in Cuchulmar's hands, Grimmoer left Rennibister.
  "Grimmoer took the skills he acquired from his apprenticeships and hunted orks.  In truth, he took any job that had even a remote chance of finding and killing orks.  Mostly, he was searching for Gol'for, of course.  He wanted revenge far more than mere money.
  "After some years, Grimmoer joined up with a band of experienced adventurers.  They were hired to clean out a castle that was infested with various forms of undead creatures.  There was Valkor of the Thunderhammer, a warrior who was said to possess a Belt of Titan Strength, Grodo the rogue, possessed of many rings, Nirulat the elf, a sorcerer of some skill, Muzlok the barbarian, and Dax the sauron, a Red Claw.
  "The hearty band did battle with lichs, zombies, ghouls, wights and vampyres.  They wiped out almost the lot of them until one of their number betrayed them to the vampyres.  Grimmoer was transformed into a vampyre, and the rest of the party, so far as anyone knows, was slain.  But Grimmoer succeeded in destroying his destroyer before he was brought low.
  "When Grimmoer arose from his grave three days later, he was a free vampyre, as his master was already dead.  Now it is believed by most that vampyres are automatically evil when they first arise.  This is not really the case.  In truth, the Red Thirst that never is fully quenched corrupts them over time.  Grimmoer, horrified by what he had become, had at first intended to destroy himself.  However, he had a duty to his fellows to see to it that they were put to rest.
  "He found Valkor and Grodo, both drained of blood and beheaded.  He took their belongings and burned their bodies, lest they be further defiled.  Later, he found Muzlok, shambling through the darkness of the castle halls, made into a zombie.  Grimmoer beheaded and burned the poor undead barbarian.  Of Nirulat and Dax, naught is known.
  "Grimmoer was prepared to expose himself to sunlight, thus quickly destroying himself, and left the protection of the castle.  Daylight was still some hours away, so, despite his ever-growing thirst, he set down to wait.
  "He might well have succeeded in destroying himself had not a party of orks approached the castle.  Faced with the one thing he hated above all, he gave in to his thirst and attacked.  He drained, beheaded and burned the lot of them.
  "Having tasted blood, even vile ork blood, the Red Thirst began to take him over.  No longer did he intend to destroy himself.  Instead, he became a hunter of orks and fed on them.  In this way the Red Thirst fools novice vampyres.  They think they are only harming those that deserve harm.  Some begin by feeding on criminals, others attack hereditary enemies, and some feed on those that they feel have wronged them in life.  Over time, the thirst takes over and the vampyre becomes its slave, attacking anyone they find.
  "Grimmoer's hatred of orks was enough to keep him focused on them for a very long time.  He fed on orks almost exclusively for twelve years.  For the last three of those years, I was by his side, trying to keep him in check."
  "You were?  How did that happen?"
  "He came back to Rennibister looking for help.  He knew he couldn't control himself much longer.  Sharrona and Cuchulmar were horrified to see him, at first, but they took him in.  Cuchulmar forged great chains of the dwarvin metal called iron to keep him from attacking any of the family while he was in our home.  I was sixteen and doing smith-work then.  We kept Grimmoer locked in the cellar, and fed him animal blood while Sharrona sought aid from various mages.
  "Finally, the great wizard Morgannus ensorcelled a silver chain that, when worn by a vampyre as a belt, would help him to control the Red Thirst, at least for a time.  This was intended to buy us time to find a cure.  Grimmoer, fearing he would do harm to the family if he remained, left Rennibister, unaware that I had followed him out of the city."
  "Why did you follow him out?  Surely you knew the danger!"
  "Bah!  I was foolish and convinced of my own immortality, like all young men.  I had developed powerful arms and broad shoulders from working with metal, and my grandmother had educated me well.  I thought I was ready for anything the world could throw at me."
  "I just realized!  You are one-quarter elf-kin!"
  "Indeed, but so small amount of elf blood does little.  I am considered completely human by elf and human alike."
  "If you were educated by an elf woman, surely she taught you to read."
  "She tried, but I was too busy learning the family business and chasing wenches for her to get my attention long enough to teach me words and letters."
  "Interesting.  Pray continue your tale..."
  "Well, I caught up with Grimmoer as he was digging in for the day.  I mean literally making himself a grave to protect himself from the sun.  He was horrified to see me there and ordered me to return home.  Naturally, I refused.  That was when he bore his fangs and lunged at me.  I screamed like a little girl and almost fainted, (stop snickering, Pehnn!) but I held my ground.  Grimmoer decided he could not force me to return home without doing me serious harm, and relented.
  "During the next three years I was his apprentice.  I kept a variety of holy relics with me, as well as garlic and wolves bane, lest the silver chain fail to keep him in control of himself.  He taught me how to use swords, axes, spears and bows.  I knew well enough how to use a hammer, already.  He also taught me a few ways to keep a vampyre at bay.
  "We continued to seek out orks and their ilk, of course, though Gol'for was his main target.
  "After three years, we came to Etrice.  There, we found a strange tavern called Mak Morns.  From the outside it seemed normal enough, but inside it was decorated from top to bottom with doors of every size, shape and color.  The damnedest things would come out of those doors, too, let me tell you!
  "Anyway, we met this group of mages there who spotted Grimmoer for what he was in an eye-blink.  One started a spell that created a tiny sun between his hands.  Grimmoer was badly burned and would have been destroyed had I not stepped in front of him.
  "'Why do you protect this undead thing, boy?' asked the first wizard.
  "'He is my family,' I replied.
  "'He would be better off dead.'
  "'He is dead,' I argued.  Ah, the arrogance I enjoyed in my youth.
  "That was when the barkeep stepped forward.  I later learned his name was Sean O'Barre.  'None of that in here,' he said. 'Vampyres are permitted sanctuary as long as they don't snack on the other patrons.'
  "Well, that was when I spoke up and said, 'Can't you just cure him, instead?'
  "'Does he want to be cured, boy?' asked the second wizard.  About this time I was getting very annoyed at being called 'boy', and was about to say so when Grimmoer stepped out from behind me and said, 'More than anything!'
  "'What you ask may not be possible,' said the third wizard.
  "'Well, if you think your skills are lacking...' I taunted.
  "'Hold your tongue, boy.  You sneer at magics you know naught of,' warned the fourth wizard.  Well, I decided to hold my tongue.  Actually, I think one of the wizards put a spell on me, because I literally reached my hand up and took hold of my tongue with it.  It was very uncomfortable, not to mention humiliating.
  "Anyway, while my tongue was drying out in my hand, the wizards all gathered together and discussed the situation.  I could hear comments like 'ramifications' and 'side-effects' and 'backlash' and 'risk'.  It would seem they were intrigued by the idea of curing vampyrism and discussing how to safely go about it.  By the time I was able to release my tongue and take a drink, they had turned back to us. 
  "'We accept your challenge.  We will need three days and three nights to prepare, and the ritual must take place beneath a full moon,' said the first wizard
  "'There will also be the matter of our fee,' added the third wizard."
  "Did you ever get the names of these wizards?"
  "Oh, let me try to remember...one was called Doctor Fake, one was called D'ranged, one was Manduck the Mage, and the forth was Tooth-Arman, or something like that, I think.  You can be sure Grimmoer remembers the aright."
  "What is a 'Doctor'?"
  "I am not certain if it was a title or a name.  At any rate, we settled on the fee, and let me tell you, it was steep!  Not only did they hit us up for a heavy advance we were also stuck with their bar tab.  I took a count of their limbs just to be sure they weren't four-fisted drinkers!
  "Well, the night of the full moon came and Grimmoer was told to lie down in the middle of this design that was drawn on the floor with some white powder.  He had been instructed not to partake of blood for three nights, which made him weak and jittery.  I feared he might lose control at any moment and attack.  Fortunately, the enchantment on the silver chain belt still held.
  The ritual was being performed in the middle of the tavern.  Something about it being a nexus of power or something.  Sean sold tickets and we had a sizable audience by the time the wizards were ready to start.
  Well, they started whispering and chanting and muttering and throwing powder in the air, saying things like 'By the Scarlet Scarves of Ohara', and 'By the Scintillating Scales of Set" and 'Deruc Eb Ecaf Gnaf' and 'Look into my eyes'.
"They poured liquids and powders on him, made gestures over him, burned smelly incense around him and stuck long needles in him, among other strange things that defied classification, all the while dancing around him.
  "Grimmoer, lying in the floor, began writhing and snarling like a wounded beast.  I know not how long the ritual lasted.  At some point, the wizards all bent down low, and reached for Grimmoer.  I would have sworn they never touched him, but when they stood up, two of them were holding Grimmoer, and the other two were holding something that looked like a demon of some sort.  They cut the demon's head off and it burst into flame.
  "When the flames died down, the demon was gone, and Grimmoer was changed.  He appeared to be more...human in aspect...and more peaceful than I had ever seen him.  I started to move toward him, to help him up, but the wizard called Doctor Fake stopped me.
  "'He must not be moved until sunrise.' He said.  
  "I looked at the other wizards and noticed that one was bleeding from hundreds of cuts all over his body.  Another was lying still on the floor, and the third was sitting in a corner of the room gibbering nonsense to him self.
  "'What happened to them?' I asked.  Well, Doctor Fake looked at me and said, 'Powerful forces were brought to bare here, tonight.  The combining of such powerful magics take a terrible toll on those that wield them.'
  "Fake took his cronies to a nearby temple to get them all fixed up.  The mage was far too drained to do the job himself it would seem.
  "When the sun started to rise, I picked up Grimmoer and carried him outside.  For the first time in twelve years, he saw the morning come."
  "That is a very moving tale, friend Dethstroek.  Were you with him when he gained his barony in V'rogg?"
  "No.  My apprenticeship was over and I struck out on my own, though not before Grimmoer and I returned home to give our family the good news.  Grimmoer was still determined to find Gol'for, while I wanted to just travel for a while.  Spending so much time with Grimmoer, I missed a lot of sunrises myself."
  "Was Grimmoer bothered by being made more...human?"
  "Actually, no.  It improved his looks considerably!  Besides, for many years, he thought he was half-human, anyway."
  "And the scar over his eye...was that healed?"
  "Funny thing about that.  The scar is still there, as are the canine fangs, though somewhat smaller than before.  I suspect the polymorph spell was intended to leave him a reminder of what he had been."
  "How many years ago was that, Dethstroek?"
  "Oh, about fifteen years or so,"
  Pehnn looked at Dethstroek and studied his face for a moment. "I must admit, I am no expert on humans, but you seem younger than that."
  "It's the elf blood in my veins," said the warrior. "Elves enjoy a lifespan many times that of most races."
  "Ah, um, of course," covered Pehnn. "Everybody knows that."
 

PSEUDO-DRAGON

  The journey from Cuchul Mak Torn to Rennibister by way of Etrice was circuitous to say the least.  To save time, Dethstroek and Pehnn left the established paths and trails and cut through the wooded countryside.  Most people would not dare such a trek, as there are numerous strange and oft-times dangerous beasts that stalk the untamed lands.  Dragons and wolfdeer and barions.
  "Oh, my!"
  "What is it, Pehnn?"
  "I was struck by the beauty of the undefiled forest," said the gnome. "I have always admired unspoiled nature as a fine work of art."
  The warrior and gnome had emerged from the thickly wooded forest into a colorful and fragrant glade.  The sight was breathtaking in its wild splendor and Pehnn wanted to drink it in with his eyes and nose.  Dethstroek, however, took a far more pragmatic view.
  "A work of art that can kill you," said the warrior. "Beautiful and deadly in so many ways."
  "True, but that is the way of nature." Pehnn actually looked wistful as he walked through the trees.
  "You surprise me, Pehnn," said Dethstroek. "I knew that gnomes are a poetic philosophic people, but are you not a subterranean race?"
  "Mostly," agreed Pehnn.
  "I would think a sunlit glade would be of little interest to you."
  This charade is becoming tiresome, thought Pehnn. "Do not your kind appreciate the metals and gems extracted from the earth?"
  "Sometimes too much, I'll vouch," admitted the warrior.
  "Just as I enjoy the bounty that is the purview of the sun," finished the gnome.
  "My apologies, Pehnn," said Dethstroek. "I am simply trying to learn more about your people."
  "No apologies needed, Deth," said the gnome dismissively. "Don't forget that I was raised away from gnomic society.  In many ways, I am far from normal for the kind."
  "I will keep that in mind," smiled the warrior. "This looks like a good place to rest and eat before we continue our journey."
  "Ah, I am hungry enough to eat an entire tree by myself!" Pehnn even went so far as to pull a leafy branch down to snap up a few of the leaves.  Dethstroek watched his companion chewing contentedly and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
  "I am going to try to scare up a hare or pheasant for lunch." Dethstroek loaded his crossbow with a bolt then looked about for signs of potential prey.
  "You should try a vegetarian diet," said the gnome. "Do you have any idea how bad red meat is for the heart?  I had an uncle that ate red meat and he died of a hearts... um...heart attack!  Struck down in his prime by poor eating habits, he was!"
  "Please, Pehnn," said the warrior. "I have been eating game for years without incident.  Besides, everybody knows that good meat keeps up one's strength."
  Pehnn muttered something about humans under his breath.  Sniffing the air, he caught a recognizable scent. "There is a rabbit in that direction, about fifteen paces, I would hazard."
  Dethstroek looked at Pehnn in surprise, then turned his attention to the direction the gnome was pointing.  Sure enough, a hare hopped into view.  With a single smooth motion, the warrior raised, aimed and fired his crossbow.  The bolt struck true, thus providing Dethstroek with his meal.
  "My thanks, Pehnn," said the warrior after he collected his kill.
  "Please, don't mention it...ever!" The gnome went a little green as Dethstroek skinned and gutted the hare...literally.
  Dethstroek completed his grisly task and set the carcass down on its hide, then stood up and said, "I am going to find some firewood to cook with, Pehnn.  I'll be back in a second."
  Pehnn nodded and held a hand over his mouth.  The vegetarian gnome always got nauseous when the warrior caught his dinner.  Dethstroek walked into the woods and collected a number of dry twigs as he went.  Next to a large gray boulder he saw a number of thick dry branches that would make excellent kindling.  Dropping his armful of twigs, the warrior attempted to pick up a branch.  Unfortunately, the best branches, like the one Dethstroek was attempting to pick-up, were trapped under the boulder.
  Trapped under the boulder? wondered the warrior.
  Boulders in the middle of a forest tend to remain in a static location until something moves it away.  There were no signs of anything that could have deposited the boulder in place, which raised the question of how the branches became trapped under it.  Carefully, Dethstroek placed a hand on the boulder.  It was cool and hard, as expected, but the texture was wrong; it felt like scales.
  "Ye gods!" exclaimed the warrior. "DRAGON!"
  
  Pehnn, trying to take his mind off of the rabbit carcass, started to whistle.  It was a strange sensation for the ersatz-gnome to send wind through pursed lips in a manner that generated a musical sound.  In his natural form such a feat would have been impossible.
  Pehnn again considered telling Dethstroek the truth about himself.  The charade was beginning to wear on the faux gnome.  Geordus Wordweavor had suggested that Pehnn wait until Dethstroek slew a dragon before confessing his deception to the warrior.  The problem with that was the likelihood that the dragon, should he ever meet one, would kill Dethstroek.
  "DRAGON!"
  Pehnn was startled out of his reverie by the warrior's shout.  Leaping to his feet, the gnome raced into the direction he had seen the warrior go scant moments before.  As an afterthought, Pehnn grabbed up the crossbow Dethstroek had laid next to his prospective lunch.  Pehnn was well on his way before he chanced to consider that he might well be racing into the open maw of a hungry dragon.

  No sooner did the shout leave his throat than the warrior had his sword out and in defense position.  As he had expected, and feared, he had been touching the scaly posterior of the wyrm.  The great head of the monster rose and cast about in a strange fashion, then did something the warrior never expected.
  "Where?" it said in a startled voice.  The beast quickly rose from its resting position and looked about.
  By way of answer, the warrior was about to swing his sturdy bastard sword into the dragon's hindquarters, but stopped himself.  After all, the dragon had not attacked him...it was he who had disturbed the dragon.  Besides, to attack a foe from behind lacked honor, even if the foe was a wyrm.
  "Here, dragon!" Dethstroek yelled. "Behind you!"
  The wyrm twisted his long neck to face the source of the voice.  There was Dethstroek waving a nasty looking sword at him, and a gnome with a crossbow running up behind the warrior.
  "I surrender!" screamed the dragon. "Please don't hurt me!"
  "Huh?"  Dethstroek, whether he knew it or not, had never faced a true dragon before, but this struck him as odd behavior for the kind.
  Pehnn, still carrying the crossbow, ran up to the warrior's side.  He gave the warrior and wyrm a quick once over, then turned to Dethstroek.
  "You can lower your sword, Deth," said the gnome. "This creature will not harm you."
  "Thou art certain?" asked the warrior, slipping into his formal dialect.
  "Oh, yes," asserted Pehnn. "I am an expert in this area."
  "Pehnn?" said the dragon. "Is that really you?"
  "Hello, Inque," greeted the gnome. "Why the dull gray scales?  I hardly recognized you like that."
  "YOU hardly recognized ME?" said Inque incredulously.
  Gadzooks! thought Pehnn, I forgot I am in disguise!
  "Ah, I would like to introduce my companion," said Pehnn in an attempt to change the subject. "Inque, this is Dethstroek Homingraev of V'rogg.  Deth, Inque."
  "An honor," said the warrior as he sheathed his sword.
  "Charmed," replied the dragon guardedly, "I am sure."
  "Inque, please show Deth your true color," asked the gnome, "Gray is good camouflage, but hardly flattering."
  "Certainly, as long as we are among friends," said Inque with a serpentine nod of his head.  The dragon's scales seemed to shimmer ever so slightly, then settle on a hue.
  "That is much better, Inque," said the gnome.
  Dethstroek looked hard at the scales, but try as he might, he failed to see any difference.
  "Pehnn," whispered the warrior, "I don't see any difference."
  "What?" Pehnn pointed at the dragon with a thumb and said, "Before Inque was done up in a humdrum gray, now he is brilliant in his beryllium best!"
  "I...see...very becoming." In truth, it all looked gray to the warrior, but there was no harm in humoring a dragon.  In fact, it could extend ones lifespan beyond the present moment. "I think that is a good hue for a dragon."
  "DRAGON!" screamed the wyrm. "I'll have you know that I am a..."
  "Pseudo-dragon," cut in Pehnn. "This is a fairly harmless species, Deth.  Vegetarian, in fact."
  "Fairly harmless?" said Inque with a touch of disdain. "I'll have you know..."
  "Good thing, too.  If he were dangerous, you would most likely have to slay him," added the gnome pointedly.
  "...that I am completely harmless," finished the pseudo-dragon.
  "Ah, good to know," said Dethstroek. "Would you...uh...care to join us for lunch?  You and Pehnn could catch up."
  "Catch up?" asked the pseudo-dragon. "Sounds like a condiment."
  "A condiment called 'catch up'?" returned the gnome. "What ever would you do with it?"
  "I don't know...dip stuff in it, I guess," said Inque.  The gnome and pseudo-dragon enjoyed a small laugh.
  Dethstroek was under the impression that he was being played with, as he had no idea what Pehnn and Inque where on about.  None-the-less, he sensed no malice in the dragon...correction...pseudo-dragon.  Gathering up his firewood, Dethstroek led the way back to the glade.  As the trio proceeded, the warrior noticed the crossbow in Pehnn's hand.
  "By the way, Pehnn, crossbows are at their most effective when they are loaded," said Dethstroek as he nodded at the weapon.
  The gnome looked at the crossbow he was carrying, remembered he was taking it to face a dragon, or so he thought it was, and almost fainted.  Back at the glade, Dethstroek arranged his firewood then took out his tinderbox.
  "Do you wish to start a fire?" inquired Inque. "I can save you some trouble."
  Before the warrior could reply the pseudo-dragon took in a great breath, then shot forth a blast of flame that instantly incinerated the firewood and blew Dethstroek and Pehnn back several feet.  Pehnn, recovering first, ran back to Inque waving frantically.
  "Stop that!" yelled the gnome. "We only need a tiny fire for Deth to cook his rabbit!"
  "Cook a rabbit?  Whatever would he do with it?"
  "I had some faint hope of eating it," said the approaching Dethstroek.  Unlike the gnome, the warrior was a little singed around the edges.  Pehnn, now familiar with the warrior's body language, could tell he was close to drawing his sword.
  "Eat it!" said Inque with disgust. "Eeeeewww!"
  Dethstroek, wondering briefly how pseudo-dragon haggis would taste, trod over to where he had left the skinned hare.  Surprisingly, it was still uncooked, let alone charred to a blackened crisp.  Apparently Inque's blast was reflected upward from the point of impact, instead of outward across the ground.  This was extremely fortunate, as such an outward-bound sheet of flame would have set the entire glade afire, endangering the surrounding forest as well.
  "He is a human, Inque," said Pehnn. "They eat meat as well as plants."
  "That is so...so...disgusting!" Inque's reptilian features managed to convey his revulsion even to the human Dethstroek.  Finally, the pseudo-dragon released an impressive sigh, then said, "I shouldn't judge, Sir Dethstroek.  Not everybody is as enlightened as my kind.  If you like, I will even roast that for you."
  Dethstroek was hesitant, but Pehnn urged him to accept Inque's offer.  With some trepidation the warrior spitted the carcass and held it out to the pseudo-dragon.  Inque accepted the hare-on-a-stick, squinted at it, rubbed his massive chin with an equally massive talon, then looked to Pehnn.
  "I would say a number three blast for about seven heartbeats," said the pseudo-dragon.
  "I would recommend a number four flame," countered the gnome. "Deth prefers his game medium to well done."
  "Number four it is." Inque held the spit out at arms length, about thirty human hand-spans, and exhaled a stream of bluish flame.  Dethstroek watched, half amazed and half fearful that his dinner was about to be ruined.  Inque maintained his flame for a few heartbeats before ceasing and offering the cooked meat to the warrior. "I hope this is correct.  I have never cooked meat, before."
  Dethstroek quickly assessed the appearance and aroma of the hare.  "It looks good, Inque," said the warrior.  He cut out a piece and tasted it. "Well done!  Thou art an accomplished chef."
  Inque briefly turned a light red, then returned to his natural grayish hue.  Dethstroek and Pehnn sat down around the ruined fire pit while Inque took a reclining position much like that of a large dog, allowing him to keep his head low enough to be sociable.
  "I must say, Pehnn, that you have changed quite a bit since last I saw you," said the pseudo-dragon with a raised brow-ridge.  "I hardly know where to begin."
  "I prefer not to discuss my current appearance in front of the human, Inque," said Pehnn in a strange language that Dethstroek had never heard before.  The gnome turned to the warrior. "Sorry, Deth.  It has been a long time since I last saw Inque, and I couldn't resist the opportunity to speak to him in his own language."
  "Feel free, Pehnn," said the warrior after he swallowed his mouth-full of cooked rabbit. "I often practice orkish and elfish when the opportunity presents itself."
  In the common tongue, Inque said, "You must be way behind on the current drag-gos."
  "Drag-gos?" asked Dethstroek.
  "Dragon gossip," explained the gnome. "Pseudo-dragons always have their ears up for any news in the dragon community.  Inque, here, is one of the best when it comes to gathering drag-intel...that is, dragon intelligence."
  "Oh, you flatter me, Pehnn." The pseudo-dragon made a dismissive gesture that was startlingly human-like. "Oh, have you heard?  The Drag Queen is calling for a new census."
  "Drag Queen?" asked Dethstroek. "What is a Drag Queen?"
  "The queen dragon, of course," said Pehnn. "What did you think it was?"
  "Ah, of course," said the warrior uncomfortably. "And the census?"
  "Dragons have laws and rules of conduct," explained the gnome. "One of these laws is a prohibition against crossbreeding."
  "With other species?" asked the warrior.
  "Well, that, too," said Pehnn, "But primarily against different subgroups from mating with each other.  Copper dragons are prohibited from mating with blue dragons and the like.  Ideally, it is to keep the different races distinct.  Violators tend to be censured.  Then there are the occasional dragons that mate with pseudo-dragons.  These are killed outright when they are discovered."
  "Quite right, Pehnn," added Inque. "There is a rumor that the great White, sometimes called Platinum, Dragon has a dro-...um...pseudo-dragon in his ancestry."
  "Why would they object to crossbreeds?  A dragon is a dragon, after all," offered the warrior.
  "Not quite, Deth." Pehnn put on his 'I'm giving a lecture' face and continued. "Each class of dragon has its own traits.  Red dragons have tremendous firepower, green dragons possess superior magical ability, black dragons have surpassingly tough scales, etc.
  "Some millennia ago, a red and a green mated, creating the golden dragons.  As a result, goldens possess great firepower as well as tremendous magical ability.  Such half-breeds are deemed a threat to the natural order.  There is a legend of a dragon that is the offspring of many such cross matings."
  "The Technicolor Wyrm!" said Inque with a certain degree of reverence. "He, or she, is said to be the most powerful of all dragon kind."
  "If it exists," countered the gnome. "Some pseudo-drags believe that the Technicolor Wyrm is a sort of spiritual being that looks out for them."
  "So this census is to track down any new crossbreeds?" asked Dethstroek.
  "And to gage each dragon's point of view regarding the current laws," added Inque.
"The Drag Queen is very sensitive to changes in the drag community.  That is why she sends out the Major Drag to take the census."
  "Major Drag?" said the warrior. "Is this a kind of soldier dragon?"
  "Not at all," explained the pseudo-gnome. "Major is the closest I can come to pronouncing his title in your language.  Basically, he is the census taker, and a pain in the tail to be around.  Most dragons hate to sit still and answer questions, so when the Major Drag comes around, they all try to avoid him.  In some circles, the title Major Drag is synonymous with unpleasantness."
  "What is the king drag called?"
  "There isn't one.  The Drag Queen killed him long ago.  Fried him up extra-crispy."
  "That is why," added Inque, "she is often referred to as the Flaming Drag Queen."
  "In dragon society, it is the queen that holds the power, not the king," continued Pehnn. "Lineage is very important to dragons, and familial lines are always traced back through the females."
  "There is another rumor that it was really the queen who was killed, and the king assumed her appearance with his magic," said Inque. "This would allow him to retain power."
  "If true, he'll be found out the first time he molts in front of his retainers," said Pehnn.
  "Dragons shed their skins like snakes?"
  "Absolutely, Deth," said Inque. "The shedding of the outer skin is sometimes called a Drag Strip by their kind.  We dro-, we pseudo-drags shed our skins as well, though far more often than dragons do."
  "Dragons molt about once every three hundred years after they reach maturity," added Pehnn.  
  "Then the Drag Queen is actually a male?" Dethstroek was having difficulty assimilating all he was hearing.  Imagine, a male dragon disguising himself as a female?  Preposterous!
  "Do these dragons pay taxes?" asked Dethstroek.
  "What are 'taxes'?" asked Inque.
  "It is a tribute paid by members of a community to support their governing body," explained the warrior. "I paid taxes to the Duke of V'rogg, who in turn pays tribute to the King of Orkney.  Those monies are used to build roads, maintain the military, and so on."
  "Well, the Drag Queen has no use for such tribute beyond sleeping on it," explained Inque. "Dragons have no military and build no roads.  The Queen simply upholds cultural standards, like the business of interspecies breeding.  She has a few retainers, but no government such as humans are familiar with."
  "I see.  Does she, or he, hunt for food, or is that the function of a retainer?"
  "Retainer, defiantly," said Pehnn.
  "Do pseudo-dragons have a similar society?"
  "No," said Pehnn. "They are a scattered and disorganized lot that lack the organization of true dragons.  On the other hand, they are better educated."
  "How so?"
  "We are a curious race," supplied Inque. "Inquisitive and nosey, provided we feel safe enough.  Then there is our racial memory..."
  "Racial memory?"
  "Every pseudo-dragon is born with the memories of his parents, and his parents parents, back through the ages," explained Pehnn.
  "Incredible!" Dethstroek found he had some difficulty accepting the concept.
  "You are a warrior, yes, human?" inquired Inque.
  "Aye," replied Dethstroek.
  "Dragon-slayer?"
  "Ah..." Dethstroek was uncertain how to answer, given the dubious nature of his success in Etrice with the gnome Geordus Wordweavor.
  "Dethstroek is modest about his accomplishments, Inque," supplied Pehnn. "I hope to aid him in such a venture, someday."
  "Perhaps he will succeed and experience the Dra-met," suggested the pseudo-dragon.
  "That is only a legend," said the gnome dismissively.
  "What is this, um, Dra-met?" asked Dethstroek.
  "It is said that a dragon can confront his slayer after his death," explained Inque. "Such meetings generally occur in the dreams of the victorious slayer."
  "I have yet to hear of such a meeting ever actually happening," argued Pehnn. "I would not give much stock in that old drag's tale."
  "Whatever could a dragon have to say to his slayer?" wondered the warrior.
  "Slay one and you may find out," chuckled Inque.
  Pehnn said something in that strange language that Dethstroek could not understand, and Inque snarled something back in the same tongue.  In moments the pair were having what could only be perceived as a heated argument.  Dethstroek, unable to glean the tiniest information from the barrage of hisses, growls and clicks, turned his attention back to his rabbit dinner.
  Once the rabbit was consumed, the warrior decided to forage for some wild berries.  Pehnn and Inque, still engrossed in their 'discussion', failed to notice the warrior's departure.
  Dethstroek walked a ways until he discovered a large bush with a number of ripe berries on it.  Trying the first berry, he started wolfing them down as fast as he could pluck them.  After a few minutes the warrior was sated and turned to go back when he spotted a young maiden less than a dozen paces to his right.  She was short, about the same height as Pehnn, with golden tresses flowing down over her shoulders.  Her features were suggestive of elfin ancestry.  The maiden boldly returned the warrior's gaze with a wide smile.
  "Ho, there!" Dethstroek called out. "Are you in need of aid?"
  Instead of answering, the maiden approached the warrior, all the while holding something behind her back.  Dethstroek, as an experienced warrior in the magic steeped lands of Orkney, was immediately suspicious.  Beautiful maidens rarely wandered blithely through thick forests.
  "How came you here?"
  "I live here, warrior," replied the lass with her musical voice. "This is my home."
  Dethstroek began to get nervous.  For so small a maiden to survive in the forest she would have to have some form of formidable defense, or she could be some manner of magical creature.  The warrior heard tales of a woman that would steal men's souls and keep them in an orb for as long as she was amused with them.
  "Come no closer, lass," the warrior warned. "Who are you, and what is your purpose alone in these woods?"
  "I be Sh'ah-rohnn U-bihn'sky, good warrior," replied the maiden. "Ye be a fine form of a mon.  Would ye like to stay with me?"
  Dethstroek found himself beginning to sweat. "I be spoken for, lass," he replied. "Surely so lovely a maiden as yourself has many suitors..."
  "Many men have come to me, but in time I grow bored with them and send them on their way."
  Dethstroek looked the maiden over.  She was comely enough, to be certain, but many dangerous surprises came in attractive packages.  The warrior found himself fingering the hilt of his sword.
  "I like you, warrior," said Sh'ah-rohnn. "You must stay with me."
  "Nay!" Dethstroek protested, his voice rising with his trepidation.
  "Yes!" countered the lass.  She brought he hand out from behind her back to reveal a glowing blue orb.
  Dethstroek, his worst fears confirmed, turned to run...to late.

  Pehnn and Inque were enjoying their debate when Pehnn turned to Dethstroek seeking a second opinion, only to discover the warrior had absented himself.  At first the gnome was unconcerned.  Granted, there could be all manner dangerous beasts about, but Pehnn was reasonably confident that Dethstroek would not hurt them unnecessarily.
  "Should we go look for your friend?" inquired Inque.
  "Dethstroek is more than capable," said Pehnn. "Maybe he is looking for another rabbit."
  "Ick!" The pseudo-dragon could still smell the remains from Dethstroek's meal. "Why do you travel with that creature?  His care and feeding must be very demanding on your time."
  "He is not my pet, Inque.  He is my friend."
  "A friend that would have killed you outright," countered the faux wyrm. "Whatever possessed you to join him in his travels?"
  "Well, he and I traveled for a week along with another gnome and got to know each other a bit.  He was not out to kill me personally, but a golden dragon believed to be in those parts."
  "Mistaken identity, eh?" said Inque, shaking his head. "Been there, done that."
  Pehnn was about to elaborate further when he heard Dethstroek's frightened shout.  Pseudo-dragon and faux gnome exchanged a quick look, and then Inque said, "It came from over there."
  Pehnn leaped to his feet and raced off in the direction of the shout.  After a moment, Inque followed, muttering to himself.

  Sh'ah-rohnn was admiring her latest acquisition when she noticed the gnome and the pseudo-dragon racing toward her.  Despite Inque's dragon-like appearance, the maiden showed no sign of being afraid.
  "Ooo!  A gnome!  I never had a gnome before!"
  Pehnn saw the maiden and warrior as he approached and was mildly surprised to see that Dethstroek appeared to be unfettered as well uninjured.  After the warriors shout, the gnome expected Dethstroek to be either hurt or captured.  Instead, the warrior just stood there staring at nothing in particular.
  "Deth?" said Pehnn. "Are you well?"
  The warrior continued to stare into space, saying nothing.
  "He cannot answer you, gnome," said the maiden. "He is mine now."
  "What have you done to him!" demanded Pehnn.
  Inque took hold of the gnome and said cautiously, "Pehnn, that is an Ubu!"
  "What is an Ubu?"
  "It is a subspecies of faerie.  She can steal men's souls and store them in that sphere she is holding."
  Pehnn looked at the glowing orb and thought he saw a tiny Dethstroek pounding on the interior.  "Release him!" he demanded.
  "No," said Sh'ah-rohnn. "I caught him, he is mine."
  "Surely there are more interesting creatures to capture?"
  "Like your friend, there?" teased the Ubu.  Inque became very pale, assuming a slate gray hue. "My orb can only hold humanoid beings like this warrior."
  "Then we shall take him by force!" Pehnn cried.
  "We?" said Inque, becoming even paler.
  "Yes, we!" snarled the gnome.
  "It won't do any good, Pehnn," said Inque. "Only vampyres and certain magical weapons can harm an Ubu."
  A look of distaste crossed the Ubu's features. "Vampyres have no souls," she said. "They are no fun at all."
  Pehnn considered his options then hit upon a risky plan. "You said you never had a gnome before, yes?"
  "Aye, gnome," confirmed the Sh'ah-rohnn.
  "Then I will take Dethstroek's place in the orb," said the gnome.
  "Pehnn!" cried Inque. "You can't!"
  "Well, Ubu?  Will you take me in place of the human?"
  The maiden looked at Pehnn and then at Dethstroek's soulless shell.  After a moment, she turned to the gnome. "Very well, gnome.  This should be so much fun!" The Ubu held up her glowing orb and tapped it three times.  There was a blinding explosion of blue light.
  Dethstroek blinked and looked about him.  There was Inque, the maiden, and Pehnn where before there was only the maiden.  Inque was fidgeting as if he were covered with ants.
  "Pehnn, what transpires here?"
  The gnome just stared ahead, oblivious to the warrior.
  "He is inside the orb, human," explained Inque. "He took your place within."
  "What!" Dethstroek turned to face the Ubu, his face betraying anger and concern for his friend. "Release him, wench, or face my blade!"
  Dethstroek reached for his sword, only to discover his fingers would not grasp the hilt.
  "Be nice, warrior, or I will have to punish you," said the Ubu with a girlish giggle.  She was clearly enjoying the situation. "Now be off with you while I play with your friend."
  "Never!" Roaring with rage, the warrior launched himself at the Ubu, only to be seized by two mighty talons.
  "No, Dethstroek," warned Inque, "Pehnn knew what he was doing.  We must leave and let his hand play out."
  "Leave!  Pehnn is your friend, too!  How can we just leave him to this ... this ... creature?"
  "Because we have no choice," stated the pseudo-dragon.
  Keeping a tight grip on the struggling warrior, Inque moved away from the Ubu back toward the glade.  Try though he might, Dethstroek could not free himself from Inque's grip.  By the time they returned to the glade, the warrior had exhausted his strength and ceased his struggles.
  "Now what," Dethstroek tersely inquired.
  "We wait here for Pehnn," said Inque.

  Sh'ah-rohnn looked into her orb and watched as Pehnn examined his new home.  There was something very odd about the gnome.  He wasn't struggling to escape like the warrior had been.  There was also something odd going on with the orb itself.  It was trembling slightly.  The Ubu had constructed and employed many such spheres before, and never once had one behaved in this manner.  It was almost as if the gnome were not really a gnome, but that was silly.  His body was right there, staring blankly as all soulless husks do.
  Well, not all.   Vampyres were soulless husks, but they still possessed their personalities.  Ubu-kind hated vampyres on general principle.  Walking, talking humanoids should have souls to borrow, but the undead rarely did.
  The trembling in the orb became more severe.  Sh'ah-rohnn looked at Pehnn again, only to see that the gnome was changing into something ... else.  Tearing her eyes away from her orb, the Ubu looked over at the gnome's body.  It, too, was changing.  The maiden watched for a moment longer, then realized she had been tricked.  The gnome was not a gnome!  It was a ...
  Before the Ubu could finish her line of thought, the orb shattered into a thousand pieces.

  "We have to go back!"
  "We have to wait here."
  Dethstroek and Inque had been arguing since their return to the glade.  The warrior attempted to go back and retrieve Pehnn only to be balked by the pseudo-dragon.  Inque was having a difficult time of blocking Dethstroek's departure, as the human was amazingly quick and agile.  The faux wyrm was getting winded fast while the warrior seemed almost tireless despite having wasted so much energy earlier trying to escape Inque's grasp.
  "I don't want to hurt you, Inque!" warned the human.
  "Good," nodded Inque. "I don't want you to hurt me, either.  At last we agree on something."
  Dethstroek was momentarily at a loss for a reply, then he noticed someone approaching them from the forest.  It was Pehnn, dressed in tattered rags.
  "Pehnn!" cried Dethstroek with joy. "You escaped!  How?"
  "I can't say," said the gnome. "My memory is hazy."
  "Aye!" nodded the warrior. "I, too, have no recollection of what occurred within the orb."
  "See?" said Inque triumphantly. "I told you he would be back."
  
   Sh'ah-rohnn kneeled on the grass over the shattered remains of her orb.  It would be another week before the moon was full, and she needed the full moon to construct another sphere.
  "Its not fair," she said through her tears. "I just wanted to play.  He shouldn't have tricked me like that!"
  Looking back the way Pehnn had gone after reclaiming his soul, the Ubu sniffed and stood up.  She stomped her petite food in anger, then turned on her heel and stalked away.  At her back was a shimmering as something became visible.
  "I'll make a new sphere!" she muttered to herself, "A stronger one that will even hold one of his kind."
  Her mind set on a course of action, the Ubu spread her colorful dragonfly-like wings and took to the skies.
  


RENNIBISTER

  Sunset found Dethstroek and Pehnn just outside of the city gates of Rennibister.  The pair had taken some pains to time their arrival so, and even greater pains to remain discreet.  It would not do for Dethstroek to be spotted in Rennibister environs, as it would no doubt provoke Chulmoraiin Mak Dullaiin.  Such provocations, when discovered, usually resulted in the execution of the provocateur.  Pehnn, of course, was free to wander about the city as he saw fit.
  "So, great Dethstroek, mighty destroyer of royal appendages, how are we to gain entrance to yon mighty city?" Pehnn inquired with a smirk.  The gnome was struggling with his own trepidation over entering the city.  Prior to meeting Dethstroek, the faux gnome had never been in the company of one human, let alone hundreds, or even thousands of them.
  Dethstroek examined the fortification that surrounded the city. "I had intended to scale the wall.  I have been away too long, though.  The wall has been built up considerably since my last visit.  I would need a siege tower to gain access in that manner, now.  If Inque were here, he could fly us over the walls."
  "If you could get him over his fear of humans," countered the gnome. "Do we really need to go through all this?"
  "I told you, Pehnn, the guards may have been bribed to by Thane Chulmoraiin to arrest me on some false pretext if they find me within the city.  I would be loath to injure one of the cities defenders because of a silly grudge that concerns them not."
  "Well, we could try a disguise on you, cover you with heavy robes, perhaps." said Pehnn. "Then again, I dare-say you would not be very convincing in a dress or priests garb."
  "Now it is my turn to be unsure if you are jesting," retorted Dethstroek. "It is not met for a warrior to hide 'neath the garments of a woman.  I am not like that Drag Queen you and Inque were talking about."
  "No, I imagine not," Pehnn considered the obstacle the wall presented.  In his true form, it would be as nothing to fly over it.  Unfortunately, despite the fact that he retained his true nature and abilities while in gnomic form, flight required wings with which to beat the air, and his current body lacked those vital appendages.  On the other hand, climbing should not present any problems.  With his beyond gnomish strength, he could easily transport himself and the warrior up the barrier, but then how would he explain where he acquired such power.  "Perhaps I can climb to the top and lower a rope."
  "You can scale such a sheer wall?  Geordus never mentioned such an ability among his, that is, your kind." Dethstroek examined the stone edifice and thought, such a barrier would balk even a beggan or senrat, and they are accomplished climbers.
  "Very few gnomes can climb as well as I, I daresay," said Pehnn, thinking quickly. "I was trained by my father how to scale almost any vertical surface at a very young age," There was nothing inherently untrue about the statements when taken separately. "Just hand me that rope from your pack and I'll get started."
  Dethstroek handed Pehnn his heavy rope and watched in quiet admiration as the gnome quickly scrambled up the wall.  Pehnn was careful to go far slower than he was capable of, lest Dethstroek become overly suspicious.  Once at the top, he quickly looked to, fro and down the other side to be sure he was unobserved.  He then lowered the rope down to Dethstroek.
  The warrior quickly grasped the rope and effortlessly climbed to the top of the wall.  Pehnn suggested that Dethstroek proceed him down the other side, as the pseudo-gnome could climb down without the rope.  This way Pehnn could drop the rope and the warrior could replace it in his pack.  Dethstroek agreed and proceeded back down the rope as Pehnn held it tight.  Once the warrior was aground, Pehnn dropped the rope and climbed down after it.  Had not Dethstroek been so preoccupied watching out for the city guard, he might have wondered how so small a gnome could support his far greater weight as he climbed up and down the long rope.
  "Ah, Deth, you never mentioned why we are risking your life coming here," Pehnn, of course, was in no danger, unless the city guard had a rule about guilt by association.
  "I knew I forgot something," smiled the warrior. "Grimmoer sent word to me via dream-spell to come here and meet with him.  Such spells are expensive, and Grimmoer is tight with a Midan, so it must be important."
  "Would it not have been safer for him to designate a neutral location to meet at?"
  "Mayhap.  But as a count of V'rogg, he has duties that cannot be ignored.  It would also be very difficult for him to travel unnoticed.  Fortunately, he frequently visits his mother, my grandmother here in Rennibister.  Even nobles don't ignore their families."  
  "I suppose not," agreed Pehnn. "Still, I would think he should take some sort of precautions..."
  "Hold," Dethstroek whispered. "City guard."
  "Two of them, I see.  Leave them alive, I take it?"
  "You catch on quick, my friend..."

  Dethstroek led the way to his grandmother's house near the center of the city.  It was necessary to avoid a few more guard patrols on the way, but the pair made it to the front door without incident.  A soft whistle and three short knocks resulted in the door opening and the duo quickly entering the building.
  Inside, a large, heavily muscled man holding a hammer greeted Dethstroek. The man quickly appraised the warrior and gnome with a critical eye.  "I know for a fact your parents taught you better manners than to pound on doors in the middle of the night," grumbled the man.
  "Aye, father," nodded Dethstroek. "They indeed did."
  "Father?" inquired Pehnn. "I think introductions are in order, Dethstroek."
  "Aye, Pehnn," said Dethstroek. "Father, I present to you my friend and traveling companion, the gnome Pehnn Drogan."
  "Pendragon?" 
  "No relation," said warrior and gnome together.
  "Pehnn, this is my father, Cuchulmar the smith."
  "I am honored, good sir," said Pehnn bowing low.
  "Humph!  At least your companion possesses proper manners," said Cuchulmar.  Suddenly, the smith scooped up Dethstroek in a bear hug that threatened to crack the warriors back.  "'Tis good to see you again, boy!  Your mother will be well pleased, as will your grandmother."
  "'Tis good...to see...you, father!" replied the near breathless warrior.  When Cuchulmar released his hold, Dethstroek inhaled mightily to regain his breath.  Pehnn suppressed a chuckle at seeing the powerful warrior so overcome.  Cuchulmar had clearly developed great strength working as a smith.
  "I must say, you look more like you could be Dethstroek's brother than his father," commented the gnome.  Cuchulmar's face was unlined and there was no hint of gray in his hair or beard.
  "I be half elf, Fayne Pehnn," replied Cuchulmar. "Elf-kin do not age as swiftly as pure-blood humans do.  In fact, I am in my sixth decade.  I understand gnomes enjoy very long life-spans, as well."
  "Very true, as compared to humans, though not so great as the elves." This was true of gnomes as well as my own kind, thought Pehnn.
  "Father, Pehnn, if we may continue this elsewhere?" Dethstroek prodded.
  "Forgive my poor manners!" said the smith. "Come with me to the study.  There is somebody I want you to see.  We should do something about your friends clothing, while we are about it."
  "I had an unfortunate encounter with an Ubu," explained Pehnn.
  "Saving my life in the process," added Dethstroek.
  Dethstroek and Pehnn followed Cuchulmar down a long hall past numerous rooms into the study where two men met them.  When Grimmoer became a baron, he paid to have his mother's home rebuilt and enlarged.  The study was a relatively new addition to the Homingraev home.  It was tastefully decorated, no doubt by Sharrona, and lined with shelves holding a variety of books and scrolls.
  Upon seeing who was in the study, Dethstroek had to fight the urge to shout out loud.  It was his uncle, Count Grimmoer, with a tiny dragon lounging across his shoulders, and with him was Bran Mak Dullaiin, the Duke of V'rogg!
  "Might I assume this is bad?" asked Pehnn seeing the expression on Dethstroek's face.  The gnome had never met, or even seen the duke, but Grimmoer was readily identifiable from Dethstroek's description.  Tall and solidly built, with a thick mop of black hair as well as a shock of red running back from the middle of his forehead.  The oft-mentioned fangs were not visible as his lips were sealed in a tight, toothless smile, but the red irises and faint red scar over his left eye provided the defining characteristics.  The mini-dragon was an unexpected addition.  The reptile looked over at the gnome and let loose a short hiss.
  The duke was a medium height slender man sporting brownish hair streaked with white and bright green piercing eyes.  His stance and demeanor clearly marked him as one accustomed to rule, yet lacked the haughty arrogance normally associated with high nobility.
  "Not at all, good gnome," said the duke. "It was I who requested Grimmoer to summon Dethstroek here."
  "Milord, I am at your service, of course," said Dethstroek, bowing low.  Pehnn quickly followed his example.
  "Be at ease," said the duke. "I should properly introduce myself to our new friend.  I am Lord Bran Mak Dullaiin, Duke of V'rogg, fourth in line to the crown."
  "Pleased to make thy acquaintance, Milord.  I am Pehnn Drogan."
  "Pendragon?"
  "No relation."
  "Oh."
  "Your Lordship..."
  "Yes, Grimmoer, I will be getting to the point," continued the duke. "Dethstroek, it was I who asked your uncle to summon you here for a special mission.  Can your friend be trusted?"
  "'Pon my life, I say 'aye'," replied the warrior.  Pehnn felt a twinge of guilt over the deception he was perpetrating.  He would have to correct that...soon.
  "Very well.  As you know, I am charged with keeping the peace throughout this region.  However, there is a small village, called Cughmaiin, which has been cause for concern of late.  I have sent a number of emissaries to Cughmaiin, only for them to vanish.  Nor has there been any tribute from that village for some time.  I have need of a man I can trust to bring me information."
  "I am at your service, as always, Milord," said the warrior. "My role is clear."
  "There is more, I fear," added the duke.
  "More?" interjected Pehnn.  Dethstroek gave the gnome a 'don't interrupt the noble' look, and Pehnn shrugged in return.  After all, this wasn't his ruler.
  "Yes," replied Bran, ignoring the gnome's impertinence. "There are rumors of a dragon of some size a day's travel north of the village, putting it between yourself and your objective.  It has seized the local baron's daughter and taken up residence in a large mountain cave near there."
  "Is this land riddled with Wyrms?" said Pehnn, earning another look from the warrior.
  "Ah, yes, I heard of the dragon near Etrice," replied the duke. "Handled that well, I hear."
  "'Twas the gnome, Geordus Wordweavor, who deserves the credit," said Dethstroek.
  "You are a humble man, Dethstroek.  And possessed of remarkable restraint.  I dare say I would have killed that idiot cousin of mine, Chulmoraiin, had I been in your place."
  "He was a child to mine eyes, Milord, in need of a lesson."
  "And the hand?" inquired the duke.
  "I felt he would live longer and learn to be more polite if he could not draw a sword for a time."
  The duke shook his head. "That altruistic streak may get you killed, some day."
  "What is an 'altruistic'?" inquired the former knight.
  "In your case it means you place yourself in harms way for no good reason," explained Pehnn.
  "I will try to be careful, milord," replied the warrior. "How fares Thane Chulmoraiin Mak Dullaiin these days?"
  "The royal mage restored his lost hand, and I have ordered that he receive additional training in both swordsmanship, and grace in defeat," replied the duke. "His new instructors will not be so lax as his former teachers."
  "Could somebody tell this poor ignorant gnome what is going on, here?" interrupted Pehnn. "I thought this man exiled you!"
  "And now he needs my help, Pehnn.  Not for himself, but for a village.  I am going to check it out for him," said Dethstroek, "and maybe slay a dragon as well."
  "How can you be so willing to aid this man?" demanded the gnome. "He exiled you!"
  "With great sadness and regret," said Bran. "It was my only available option.  Otherwise, it would have been necessary to execute or dismember him."
  "Dethstroek knew this and accepted it," added Grimmoer. "It was a tame punishment, considering how he enjoys traveling so much."  The mini-dragon continued to eye the gnome.
  "Tis true, Pehnn.  The duke must not appear weak in the royal court, and allowing me to go unpunished would endanger his position.  The duke is a good ruler who cares for his people.  I would be loath to see him replaced."
  "We are taking the mission, then?"
  "I am.  You, of course, are not required to go, though your company would be greatly appreciated."
  "You will both be amply, if discretely rewarded," said the duke. "Naturally, this conversation never took place.  If it did, Dethstroek would have to be executed, and Grimmoer exiled for violating a royal edict."
  "Why?  I thought he was permitted to enter Rennibister," said the gnome.
  "The Duke of V'rogg is the living symbol of the city he rules," explained Grimmoer. "Any edifice he inhabits is an extension of that city, so by entering his presence, Dethstroek would be in technical violation of his exile."
  Pehnn shook his head. "Humans are very strange people..."
  "That we are," agreed the Duke Bran Mak Dullaiin of V'rogg. "That we are."



MIDNIGHT MEETING

  "...And suicidal by nature!" Pehnn had ranted all the morning and well into the evening.  He was appalled that Dethstroek should risk his life on behalf of the duke who exiled him.
  After Grimmoer provided a feast in Dethstroek's honor, a very sparsely attended affair consisting of the duke, Grimmoer, Dethstroek, Pehnn, Cuchulmar, Sharrona and Sanandra, Dethstroek's human mother, the warrior and gnome were giving lodgings for the night.  The next morning, Grimmoer supplied the travelers with a pair of horses, as well as heavy robes with concealing hoods, to speed them on their way.  Dethstroek turned over the lions share of his booty from the 'Golden Dragon's" hoard to Grimmoer to be given to his wife, Dearbhforgail, in V'rogg.
  "Pehnn, I am a warrior by trade, a knight by appointment, and loyal to the duke by choice.  This is the life I choose to lead, and I accept the duties and dangers that come with it."
  "You are too forgiving by far!" ranted Pehnn. "What would have happened to you if you had killed the duke's cousin in the first place?"
  "Well, I would have felt bad about it, for one thing," said the warrior. "He was young and inexperienced.  He thought challenging me to a duel would win him a ladies attention.  I doubt he ever did battle with anyone save his trainers who, no doubt, gave him an inflated view of his skills.  I will not kill a man for so frivolous a reason ... especially when he is incapable of truly threatening me."
  "And nothing would have happened to you?" Pehnn inquired.
  "Oh, I would no doubt have been censured, but you misunderstand the nature of my offense."
  "Pray, enlighten me!"
  "You believe I was exiled for doing the little bugger physical harm, yes?" Dethstroek shook his head in negation. "That was not the problem.  I had made him look like a fool!  If he were to become king someday, his power would be uncertain, for nobody wants a fool for a king!  Killing him out-right would have allowed him to save face.  His family could well afford a resurrection spell, but there is no magic to restore his dignity."
  "And the duke's decision to send Chulmoraiin to Rennibister?"
  "The duke sent him to Rennibister to teach the little brat some humility, I think.  He is unknown, there, so he has a chance to build a new, better reputation.  He even changed his name, I heard."
  "Oh, right, you told me that.  Why did the duke send him there instead of another city?"
  "I suspect that the duke wanted him to go to my home city as a reminder to the little brat to behave."
  "The duke may not be as bad as I thought," admitted the gnome. "Something else has been gnawing on my mind..."
  "And that is?"
  "Well, you said his family could well afford a resurrection spell."
  "Indeed," confirmed the warrior. "They are very well to do."
  "Are such spells common?" asked Pehnn. "I mean does anybody stay dead among your kind?"
  "I thought many gnomes were practitioners of magic, Pehnn," said Dethstroek. "Was I mistaken?"
  Gadzooks! Thought Pehnn. "Ah, yes, but I was raised away from the gnomic cities, and have spent much of my time in dragon studies, so in many ways even gnomic society is a mystery to me," said Pehnn, his mind racing.
  "Oh, well," started the warrior, thinking. "Well, resurrection spells are far from perfect.  For one thing the deceased has to have the prerequisite will to continue existence on this plane of reality or the all the wizards in V'rogg won't succeed."
  "That makes sense," nodded Pehnn.
  "This looks like a good place to spend the night," observed Dethstroek as he studied a small clearing. "I see remnants of previous occupants.  There is even an old fire pit."
  Pehnn felt apprehensive about the spot.  He sensed a strange energy in the area, but could not identify what it was.  However, there was no smell of death, so the gnome agreed it to be a good spot.
  "Capital idea, my friend," said the gnome as he climbed down from his saddle and pulled on his horse's reins.  
  The pair stopped for the night and made camp.  Pehnn collected firewood while Dethstroek took his crossbow in search of small game for his dinner.  Looking quickly to and fro to be certain Dethstroek was not watching him, Pehnn lowered his head and did something impossible for a gnome; he exhaled a thin stream of fire, instantly igniting the campfire.
  "Pehnn!"
  The gnome jumped a little at hearing his name.  Did Dethstroek see? He wondered.
  "How did you get such a fine blaze going so quickly?" inquired the warrior.
  "Ah," replied Pehnn brightly, "I have a knack for starting fires, or so my mother always told me."
  "Indeed!" agreed Dethstroek.  The knight had never seen so fine a blaze started so quickly, but made no further mention of it.
  The warrior had returned with a large stag over his shoulders just as Pehnn stopped breathing fire on the tinder.  Pehnn was momentarily concerned that Dethstroek might have witnessed his unusual method of fire starting, but relaxed when the warrior failed to comment on it.
  "Hunting was much better than I had expected, Pehnn," said the warrior. "No small game, but this fellow all but volunteered to be dinner, tonight."
  "How will you eat all of that by yourself?" Pehnn, a vegetarian, would naturally pass on eating any of the meat.
  "Tis wasteful, I agree," admitted the warrior. "I'll cure and salt whatever I don't eat."
  Pehnn crinkled his nose at the thought and dug out some apples and carrots from his own supplies while Dethstroek skinned the stag.  Pehnn watched as he nibbled his carrot with a certain morbid fascination.
  "Why are you doing that?" asked the gnome after a moment.
  Dethstroek looked up at the gnome. "Doing what?"
  "Draining all that blood into that wine skin?"
  The warrior had indeed been carefully catching the stag's blood and pouring it into an empty skin.  Dethstroek blinked, then sat up, pausing in his task.
  "Old habits die very hard, it would seem," declared the warrior. "When I traveled with Grimmoer I always saved the blood for him.  Since we separated, I oft-times found myself carrying a couple wine skins full of spoiled blood.  I guess seeing him again, well..."
  "I quite understand, Deth.  Can we can pour it out later?" suggested Pehnn. "I am just as happy I won't have to smell it all night."
  "You can smell blood?" asked the surprised Dethstroek.
  I have got to learn to keep my big mouth shut, thought the gnome.  "A product of my wild upbringing, I would have to say," said Pehnn, half truthfully.  Dethstroek seemed to accept the gnome's account without comment, much to Pehnn's relief.
  Once the warrior was finished skinning and gutting the stag he constructed a spit and started roasting a sizable chunk of the meat on it.  The aroma of roasting flesh soon filled the camp, mildly upsetting Pehnn's sensitive nose.  While the meat cooked, Dethstroek picked up a large stick and dragged it in the earth in the shape of a crescent.  The design encompassed the entire campsite save the eastern area where it curved inward to touch the edge of the campfire at the apex of the curve.
  "What are you doing?" inquired the curious gnome.
  "One sec, Pehnn," was the warrior's reply.  At the corners of the crescent Dethstroek sketched the holy symbol of the bright god Lugh.  That done, the warrior stood up straight and proclaimed, "I declare this camp my private home for the duration of the night."
  Pehnn stared at Dethstroek as though the warrior had taken leave of his senses.  The warrior caught Pehnn's expression and explained, "This will prevent any vampyres from attacking us over the night."
  "How will it do that?" asked the gnome.
  "This boundary in the shape of tonight's waxing moon, with Lugh's sacred mark at each end serve to designate our territory," Dethstroek explained. "Now that I have proclaimed this piece of land our home, we are protected from any uninvited vampyres in the area "
  "A little something you learned from your association with Grimmoer?"
  "Indeed," confirmed the warrior. "He often insisted I perform this rite in case the Red Haze took him."
  "Red Haze?"
  "When a vampyre fails to feed often enough, a redness obscures his vision and then he becomes incredibly wild," explained the warrior. "This is also called 'seeing red'.  During the Red Haze, a vampyre will attack friend and foe alike to slake the overwhelming thirst."
  "I wonder if they ever attack dragons?" wondered the gnome out loud.
  "I doubt even the most powerful vampyre would survive such an encounter," offered Dethstroek.
  "I suspect you are right," agreed Pehnn. "Fang-proof scales and tremendous fire-power would make them a poor choice for victims.  Anyway we were discussing the relative merits of magic spells..."
  "Where were we?" asked Dethstroek.
  "Resurrection spells," supplied the gnome. "The victim needed to have a strong will to live in order to be brought back."
  "Just so.  Then there is the age and condition of the corpse," continued the warrior. "A man that dies of old age makes a very poor candidate for resurrection.  If the body has been beheaded or burned to ash, it becomes impossible to restore it by normal, magical means."
  "Are there not golems made of dead body parts?" inquired the gnome.
  "That is not true resurrection," countered Dethstroek. "Such creatures are usually mindless automatons employed by dark mages, totally lacking in self volition."
  "I see..."
  "Then there is the error rate."
  "Error rate?"
  "Indeed.  Sometimes the resurrection spell goes awry, creating all manner of undead creatures," explained the warrior. "The corpse could become a zombie, a wight, a ghoul or even a vampyre!  Then it becomes far more difficult to restore the poor creature back to true life, as my uncle Grimmoer can certainly attest to."
  "So, then, very few people ever actually get restored to full life."
  "That would be the case, Pehnn," agreed Dethstroek. "Young and healthy men and women of significant means have the best chance of being restored to life, as a rule."
  "Have you ever been killed and brought back?"
  "Nay!" exclaimed the warrior. "I prefer to assist others to make that journey."
  "Can a werewolf be resurrected?"
  Dethstroek considered for a moment then said, "I really don't know.  I can't imagine that a mage ever tried it...at least, not knowingly."
  "Well, have you ever heard of any other creature being restored to life?" Pehnn found himself wondering if such magic would work on non-humanoid creatures.
  "I have heard that apprentices practice various spells on small animals," supplied the warrior. "I should think that would be the case before a mage would attempt to raise up a human or gnome or any other humanoid."
  "That would make sense," agreed the gnome.  Pehnn was about to ask another question when his finely tuned sense of smell detected something nearby.  Whatever it was, it smelled of earth and blood and death.  Behind Dethstroek, the gnome saw something moving with shocking swiftness and absolute silence approaching the warrior from the darkness.  
  "Behind you!" screamed the gnome, knowing it would be too late.
  What happened next was even more surprising to the gnome.  The human, or so it appeared to Pehnn's eye, fairly flew through the air as it attacked Dethstroek from behind, only to be repulsed as if it had struck an invisible wall.
  Dethstroek leaped from his sitting position, twisted about and launched himself at his attacker.  With amazing speed, the stranger recovered and fairly flew at the warrior.  Dethstroek, displaying impressive speed of his own, reached his hands up, grabbed his attacker by the arms, and threw him over his body into the air.
  The attacker twisted in mid-flight and landed on his feet with cat-like agility.  Scarcely had Dethstroek's attacker landed before he again launched himself at the warrior.  Dethstroek, having no time to draw a sword, reached out and took hold of his attacker's head as it came toward him.  Using his foes momentum to his own advantage, the warrior jerked and twisted his attacker's head to the side.  The sound of the man's neck snapping filled the campsite.
  Dethstroek dropped the body near the campfire outside of the crescent border to get a better look at its face.  Warrior and gnome alike were surprised at what they saw.  The eyes of the man were moving back and forth, looking at Dethstroek, then Pehnn, then back to Dethstroek.
  "Hello, Dethstroek," said the head. "Who's your friend?"
  "He's still alive!" blurted the gnome.
  "In a manner of speaking, Pehnn," said Dethstroek. "Hello, Bela.  What brings you here?"
  "I was in the forest looking for a bite to drink when I saw your campfire," explained Bela. "I apologize for my poor manners, but it has been a while since I've fed, and the thirst got the best of me."
  "You're a vampyre!" exclaimed the gnome.
  "And an old acquaintance of Grimmoer's, and mine" added the warrior.
  "Ah, Dethstroek, if you would not mind?" said the vampyre.
  "Oh, certainly," replied Dethstroek as he reached his hands down and reset the vampyre's neck. "Now mind your manners," he warned.
  With the neck reset, the vampyre was able to quickly heal and regain his mobility.  He was tall and lean, with dark hair combed back in the style that was common a decade before.  Like most of his kind, Bela was pale with red, piercing eyes.
  "Thank you." Bela slowly stood up and rubbed his neck. "That is the second time you broke my neck.  Not that I am complaining, mind you!"
  "Had I not recognized you, you would have been staked as well," admitted the warrior. "Here, have some of this."
  Dethstroek tossed the blood filled wineskin to the vampyre.  Bela took a long pull then sat on a rock carefully avoiding the earthen boundary.
  "I see you are using the temporary residence spell," Bela observed. "Very effective."
  "I think some explaining is in order," grumbled the gnome. "You know this...this... creature?"
  "Aye, Pehnn," said Dethstroek. "Bela was an associate of my uncle's back before he was cured."
  "Cured?" Bela seized upon the word like a hungry dog on a bone. "Grimmoer now walks in the daylight?"
  "For some years, now," said the warrior. "Sit, and I will tell his tale."
  Bela sat cross-legged as he listened to Dethstroek tell the story of Grimmoer's restoration to mortality.  Pehnn, having heard the expanded version, kept close watch on Bela, lest he attempt another attack.  When the warrior finished his story, the vampyre looked disappointed.
  "Not much chance they will try that trick again," said Bela, "if the magicians were so sorely damaged the last time."
  "Other mages might see fit to make the attempt," countered the warrior, "with sufficient incentive, of course."
  "Sounds like it would take a dragon's hoard of gold to provide such incentive," muttered the vampyre.
  "I am an authority on dragons, but know little of werewolves or vampyres," said the gnome.
  Bela laughed.  "Let me tell you something of the nature of my kind, friend Pehnn.  We are not a gregarious lot.  In fact, we see each other as competition.  Perhaps that is why we keep our numbers down." Bela took another sip of his drink.  He seemed to enjoy it and yet hate himself because he enjoyed it.  "Now most of us are careful about how we choose our victims.  Grimmoer snacked on orks as I recall, then beheaded and burned the bodies so as not to let them rise up against him later.  I personally attacked criminals when I was first turned.  Rogues, bandits, the occasional bard...I felt their ranks could stand the thinning."
  "I thought your kind had control over the fledglings you sire," interrupted Pehnn.
  "For a time, we do," admitted Bela, "but after a while the fledglings become more confident of their abilities and the darker nature corrupts them.  You know about the 'Red Thirst'?"
  "Dethstroek explained it to me," said Pehnn. "It affects the mind of the new vampyre, making it easier to do things they normally would abhor."
  "Well put," nodded the vampyre. "Having a master makes it easy to blame somebody else for the evil one does.  I, like Grimmoer, never had a master, so I was forced to face my conscience.  These days, unless the Red Haze is upon me, I generally prefer the blood of animals.  When a vampyre goes too long without blood, the mind tends to shut down and the body takes over," explained Bela. "It takes a severe shock to bring the mind back in control."
  "Like a broken neck?" supplied the gnome. "Dethstroek was just telling me about it."
  "Just so," agreed Bela. He considered for a moment then continued, "The meanest vampyres are the ones that don't have a problem with being vampyres.  Orks are particularly nasty examples.  After that comes physical size and power."
  "Grimmoer was a large, powerful man before he was infected," added Dethstroek, "He was more than a match for most vampyres before he was turned.  You could well imagine how much more powerful he became when he arose from the grave."
  "You are the first vampyre I have met, second if we can still count Grimmoer, and neither of you seem particularly evil," observed Pehnn.
  "Most of us aren't," said Bela. "Some are before they are bitten, then get really nasty, but most of us are just dealing with a bad situation."
  "So, all it takes is a bite to sire a new vampyre?"
  "Not hardly, Pehnn.  Maybe one in a two hundred will arise after a simple bite.  That was the case with Grimmoer, I recall.  Most fledglings are created by first being bitten, then drinking the blood of the vampyre that bit them.  This has a one in fifty chance of success.  Not everybody is strong enough to survive the transformation."
  "Why don't vampyres and other supernatural creatures use magical weapons?" asked Pehnn.
  "Well, mostly because we can't," said the vampyre. "Most weapons were actually designed to work against us, making it impossible for us to use.  We can use the odd ring or amulet, but armor and weapons are generally out."
  "Is that the only reason?"
  "Well, I suspect it is also because magic users draw their powers from the sun.  Mages spend long hours in the sunlight to build up their energies.  That power likely suffuses all of the mages enchantments to some degree.  Such power is anathema to most supernatural creatures like myself." Bela sat up and sniffed the air. "There is someone approaching."
  Sure enough, a large, hairy man in tattered breaches stepped out of the brush and hailed the trio.  He was solidly built with dark hair and dark eyes that seemed frozen in a look of heartfelt sadness.  Despite the forlorn nature of his face, the man's deep voice was cheerful and friendly. "May I approach the camp?"
  "We have meat to spare, friend," said Dethstroek.  Pehnn said nothing as he watched the man take a place next to Bela.
  "My thanks," replied the newcomer.
  "Might we know the name of our guest?" asked Pehnn.  The gnome sniffed the air and sensed a wolf scent mixed with a human scent.
  "I am called L'on ... L'on Ch'ayhnie," said the newcomer with a nod.  Introductions were made all around, then L'on asked, "What are a human, a vampyre and a...a gnome doing in the forest together?"  L'on gave Pehnn a meaningful look as he sat down between Dethstroek and Bela.
  "Pehnn and I are on a...personal mission," said the warrior. "Bela is an old friend of mine who also chanced upon us here.  And yourself?"
  "Hunting," replied L'on.
  "Half-naked with no equipment in the middle of the night?" Pehnn was quick to point out the flaw in L'on's story.
  "Werewolves don't need any equipment," said L'on as if he were simply stating that the grass was green. "And hunting is always best at night."
  Pehnn gasped, Bela was unaffected and Dethstroek instinctively reached for his sword, though he checked the motion.
  "My apologies," said L'on. "I had not thought my admission would have been so upsetting in this company."
  "The apologies are mine to make," said Dethstroek. "You were invited to join us, and we almost became inhospitable."
  "Would you care for some meat?" asked Pehnn nervously. "Cooked or raw?"
  "Cooked, please," smiled L'on. "In human form I prefer human food."
  Dethstroek spitted the meat and placed it over the fire to roast while Pehnn ate his apple and Bela sipped from his wineskin of blood.  L'on looked at Pehnn with a curious expression on his face.
  "Dethstroek, would you object to my practicing my gnomish and dwarfish with Pehnn?  I would not wish to insult you by speaking covertly with your friend," said the werewolf.
  "I trust Pehnn, and doubt you could conspire with him to do me harm," smiled the warrior. "I take no offense."
  "My thanks," said L'on.  Turning to Pehnn he said in dwarfish, "Do you speak the tongue of the dwarves?"
  Pehnn replied in the same language, "Indeed, as well as gnomic, elfish, orkish and some other tongues."
  "Good," nodded the werewolf. "You are not a gnome."
  Pehnn was afraid that the werewolf had sensed something.  "No, I am not."
  "Your scent is much like a dragon's, but not exactly so," said L'on. "I caught it in my wolf form before I approached the camp."
  "I am...something else...with a ring that allows me to alter my shape, but not my nature," explained Pehnn. "My associate is as yet unaware of this, and I ask that you not alter that."
  "You are a vegetarian," stated L'on. "I could tell by your scent."
  "Yes."
  "This vampyre is also aware of your deception, no doubt, though his senses are not quite as sharp as my own," said the werewolf. "I will say nothing about your true nature." Returning to the common tongue, L'on added, "It is good to practice my linguistic skills.  It has been a while since the opportunity presented itself."
  "My pleasure," said Pehnn. "It seems that we have an opportunity to learn something from each other."
  "Like what?  How to kill vampyres and werewolves?" asked Bela with a tight, fangless smile.
  "I already possess such knowledge," said Dethstroek. "As you well know, Bela."
  "Quite right, 'Stroek," agreed Bela.
  "I have heard that the older the vampyre, the more powerful," added L'on.
  "Very true," nodded Bela, "but it takes centuries to get really powerful.  When we do, we can summon storms, transform into mist, force our will upon others...lots of interesting abilities."
  "Does anything affect a vampyre besides religious icons and sunlight?" asked Pehnn.
  "And wooden stakes, of course," added L'on.
  "Well, there is garlic and wolf's bane and roses," continued Bela, "as well as silver and some magics."
  "Silver?" said Pehnn. "I thought that only affected werewolves."
  "Many supernatural creatures are affected by silver and fire, Pehnn," said Dethstroek.
  "Very true," added L'on.
  "What about that business with mirrors?" asked the gnome.
  "Well, actually, we have reflections, but mortal minds reject the images, seeing nothing," said Bela. "I, however, can see my reflection.  No vampyre likes what he sees in a mirror, and will smash it if he can."
  "What about crossing over running water?" Pehnn found he was genuinely curious.
  "Even we do not know why that is," admitted the vampyre. "Same with entering a home uninvited.  Some unknown force keeps us out until we are invited."
  "And sleeping in your native earth?" prodded Pehnn
  "True, but since I am native to Orkney, all the lands are acceptable for me," replied Bela.
  "I can't understand how a wooden stake in the heart destroy you, though," continued the gnome. "If your heart does not beat, what does it matter if it is pierced?"
  "Whoever said my heart does not beat?" said the vampyre. "My heart pounds just as Dethstroek's does.  However, during the daylight, it does stop beating, forcing me into a dormant state until nightfall."
  "Then the wooden stake?"
  "Doesn't truly destroy my kind, but forces us into a prolonged dormancy until the stake is removed," explained Bela. "To do the job right you have to hut off the head and burn the remains, then spread the ashes in the wind."
  "Takes a lot of work to properly destroy vampyre," added Dethstroek.
  "In most cases," nodded Bela. "Sunlight will do the job quick enough, as will fire if it is hot enough.  Then there are our natural enemies."
  "Vampyre hunters?" asked Pehnn.
  "Worse!" said the vampyre emphatically. "Ghouls!"
  "Ghouls?" repeated Pehnn. "The eaters of the dead?"
  "Exactly!  Unlike my kind, they can be active during daylight hours, though they still shun the sun.  Using subterranean caverns and tunnels, ghouls can break into a vampyre's grave and enjoy a little snack.  I know of vampyres that arose to find themselves missing an arm or a leg.  If the head or heart is eaten, the vampyre is just as dead as getting burned by the sun.  We destroy every ghoul we find when we are active."
  "Incredible!" said the gnome. "I never imagined that supernatural creatures could have natural enemies."
  "Many do, though not all," said Bela.
  "How long have you been a vampyre?" inquired the werewolf.
  "One hundred and thirteen years," was Bela's answer.
  "What?" Pehnn looked to Dethstroek then back to Bela. "Dethstroek said Grimmoer was losing control of himself after a decade or so.  How is it you are...ah...that is to say..."
  "Able to keep myself from ripping your throat out?" supplied Bela. "Grimmoer was half ork on his father's side.  Orks generally become corrupted very quickly.  It was only his mother's elfin blood that allowed him to keep his darker nature in check for as long as he did.  Elves can hold out for centuries against the Red Thirst.  I am mostly human, though there are some elf-kin in my familial line, which is how I managed to maintain my better nature for so long."
  The group was quite for a time, then Dethstroek turned to L'on and said, "L'on, what can you tell us of the nature of werewolves?"
  L'on considered as he chewed his food, then swallowed and said, "Well, there are many different kinds of werewolves.  The three most common are hereditary, artificial and cursed.  And none of them have any natural enemies that I am aware of.
  "Hereditary wolf-kin, like myself, are born with the ability to shape-shift.  There are three indications: connecting eyebrows, hairy palms, and a star shaped birthmark." L'on winked and added, "Mine is on my posterior.  The ability to change is inherited from father to son.  Hereditary werewolves are never female.
  "Artificial wolf-kin use talismans or spells in order to become werewolves.  Shamen would be a prime example, as they often assume animal forms for religious rites.  I should point out that Shamen prefer full conversion to the animal form as opposed to the partial transformation of the demi-wolf form.  I'll demonstrate in a moment.  There are a number of male and female practitioners of magic that can assume wolf form.
  "Now cursed wolf-kin operate under a completely different set of rules.  The human thus ensorcelled has no say about the form he takes, or even the actions taken by the lupine persona.  With hereditary and artificial wolf-kin, it is the nature and personality of the shape-shifter that controls the wolf form.  Cursed wolf-kin are generally berserkers that attack anybody they meet."
  "What about the full moon?" asked Dethstroek. "Does it not force the change?"
  "Only on the cursed," replied L'on. "Shamans, talisman users and hereditary wolf-kin change whenever they want.  Also, werewolves are not usually evil.  If the human is not, then the wolf is not, except for the cursed, of course."
  "What of silver and wolf's bane, and contagion?" prodded the warrior.
  "Well, cursed wolves tend to be vulnerable to those.  It is part of the punishment, as is the contagious aspect.  Hereditary wolf-kin are also affected by silver and wolf's bane, but we are not contagious.  Shamans tend to be vulnerable to everything a mortal wolf is, but is not contagious, either.  Talisman users are hard to nail down, as the ring or amulet or whatever is spelled by a mage.  Whatever the affect the mage was going for, that is how the talisman will work."
  Pehnn rubbed his own ring uncomfortably.
  "Then there are the loonies that only think they are werewolves," said L'on.  "Relatively normal humans that will run around biting people and howling at the moon." The werewolf crinkled his nose. "Very distasteful, not to mention insulting."
  "You mentioned a demonstration?" prodded Pehnn.
L'on began to sprout hair all over the visible parts of his body.  Teeth became long and sharp.  Tanned hands became brownish talons.  When the transformation was complete, Pehnn was almost disappointed.  L'on was large and strong looking, but the face seemed wrong, somehow.  Aside from the pointed ears, sharp teeth and blackened tip of the nose, L'on looked like a very hairy human.
  "You seem a little disappointed, Pehnn," said Dethstroek.
  "I suppose I expected L'on to look more...wolfish, I guess," admitted the gnome.
  L'on said something incomprehensible, and then began to change even more.  His body remained fairly static, but his muzzle extended and forehead flattened until the head assumed wolf-like proportions.  L'on growled low, yet strangely without a hint of threat.
  "That would be it!" laughed the gnome.
  L'on reverted to human and joined in on the laughter.  "It is hard to speak in the semi-wolf form, and impossible with a wolf's muzzle."
  "I know what you mean, L'on," agreed Bela. "I can't speak worth a damn as a wolf or a bat."
  At the mention of 'a bat', Dethstroek closed his eyes and shook his head, then acted as if nothing was wrong.  Pehnn noticed a glint of metal at L'on's waist.
  "Your dagger...is it silver?" asked the gnome.
  "Oh, yes," said L'on. "I crafted it myself."
  "You can touch silver?" Pehnn was confused. "I thought it was lethal for you."
  "Wooden stakes are lethal to vampyres, more or less, but they can handle wood without harm," pointed out the wolf-man.  Bela nodded in support. "Unless I am stabbed with my own blade, I am quite safe.  Unless the silver in question is blessed silver, then it is harmful for me to even touch it."
  "The same is true of my kind," added Bela.
  "Why would blessed silver harm you if you are not evil?" asked Pehnn.
  "The blessing is designed to affect supernatural beings," explained L'on. "Not evil ones, as a rule."
  "We appear to have more company," said Bela as he looked out into the darkness.  Sure enough, a very large man-like creature stepped into the firelight.  He, it was far too muscular to be a 'she', was easily two heads taller than Dethstroek.  The newcomer was wearing tattered clothing, with equally tattered skin.  There were scars covering every visible body part.  As the scarred giant approached, his face became better illuminated, revealing a head with multihued hair, a blue eye and a green eye and a ravaged face.
  All rose as the giant approached.  Dethstroek put a hand on his sword while L'on assumed the flat-faced werewolf form.  Bela acted unconcerned and Pehnn fingered his ring.
  "What is your business here?" demanded Dethstroek.
  The thing pointed a scarred hand at the roasting venison and said, "Foooood.  Pleeeease."
  "The forest is just full of surprises, tonight," commented Pehnn dryly. "Who, and dare I ask, what are you?"
  "I...no...name," rumbled the man. "I...creation...of Vik'torr."
  "I believe this is a sort of golem," said Bela.
  "A golem made of flesh," stated Dethstroek. "I have seen such before.  But never one that could speak."
  "Fooooood?" repeated the scarred man.
  Pehnn looked about at his companions and shrugged.  "I have no objections if you don't, Deth.  At least he was polite enough to ask"
  "By all means, join us," said the warrior though he kept hold on the hilt of his sword.
  The golem gratefully sat down and held out a hand for Dethstroek to place a haunch of meat in.
  "Thaaank yooou," rumbled the man monster.
  "We will need to give you a name," added Bela, looking at the new arrival. "Ideas anyone?"
  "Hmmm.  A big fellow like this should have a name that fits his stature," suggested Pehnn.
  "I think Bor'iss is a good name for him," said L'on. "It means 'warrior'."
  "What do you think?" Dethstroek asked the golem. "Do you accept the name?"
  "Booor'issss," rumbled the scarred man. "Goooood!"
  "Bor'iss it is, then!" said Dethstroek.  Releasing his sword hilt and reaching into his backpack, the warrior produced a large wineskin and five small cups. "Let us drink a toast to our new comrades name." Dethstroek filled the various cups and distributed them about.
  "I do not drink...wine," said Bela.  When the group looked at him, the vampyre broke out in laughter and accepted the proffered liquid. "Sorry.  It is an old joke among my kind."
  "I must say, Bela, you have something of a 'biting wit'," punned Pehnn, who received a round of groans from all save Bor'iss, who only looked puzzled.
  "So, Bor'iss," said Dethstroek, "What can you tell us about yourself?"
  The hulking patchwork man lowered his head for a moment, then raised it up and said, "I...ex-per-i-ment.  Vik'torr make...me from...many men."
  "So you are a golem made of flesh and bone, then?" asked L'on.
  "Yesss.  Vik'torr take...many bodies...make me," continued Bor'iss. "Vik'torr say...I special...I can...think."
  As the man monster continued to talk, his halting speech slowly improved, becoming smoother.  Bor'iss told the group of his first awakening, strapped to a long table as a thunderstorm raged about him.  Vik'torr, his creator, performed strange gestures and chanted over the bound golem, calling down the sky-fire to strike him again and again.
  The sky-fire seemed to energize Bor'iss, granting him great strength and vigor.  When the mage finally unbound his patchwork creation, Bor'iss tried to stand, only to collapse to the surface of the tower's roof.  The golem had not yet learned to walk.  Rather than be disappointed, Vik'torr took this as a good omen.  Mindless flesh golems could walk and obey commands from the moment they were activated, but lacked the ability to think for them selves.  Bor'iss, like a newborn baby, would have to learn how to walk, talk and reason.  And learn he did.
  At first Bor'iss would crawl across the floor, as would an infant.  Unlike an infant, however, the patchwork man progressed to bipedal locomotion in days, instead of months.  Under the mage's tutelage, Bor'iss learned to read and write in a fraction of the time it would have taken a normal human child, but the patchwork creation remained mute.  However, Vik'torr deemed this particular flaw in Bor'iss' design unimportant.  As long as the golem obeyed his commands, the mage was satisfied.
  One day, Vik'torr approached Bor'iss and told him his purpose.  The golem was created to destroy a rival mage who also dabbled in patchwork reanimation by the name of Daknar.  Bor'iss was horrified by this admission, but remained mute.  That night, the patchwork man escaped his creator's tower and never looked back.
  "I have been running...for three months," concluded Bor'iss. "If Vik'torr find me...he will destroy me."
  "Do you think he can?" asked Pehnn. "He must have made you pretty tough if he expected you to kill a rival mage."
  "If Vik'torr created him," Dethstroek conjectured, "He surely knows how to destroy him."
  "I wonder why he hasn't found you already," wondered L'on as he looked at the burly golem. "Wizards have spells that can locate people pretty quickly."
  "Only when they know your true name," added Bela. "Up until now, Bor'iss didn't have one."
  "By giving him a name, have we made him more vulnerable to detection?" asked Pehnn.
  "Only if Vik'torr learns of it," said Bela. "If anything, a true name will make him harder to locate."
  "We will need a nom de voyage for our friend," said L'on.
  "How about, um, Kahr'lof?" suggested Pehnn. "I had an uncle by that name who was also terribly scarred from a set-to with a dragon."
  "What do you think about that, Bor'iss?  Kahr'lof sound good to you?" asked the warrior.
  "Yess," nodded Bor'iss. "Thaaaank yooooou."
  "Is it really that simple?" asked Pehnn.
  "Pretty much," said L'on.  "The first name given to a person is always his true name.  The next name is the protective alias that prevents curses from taking root.  No reason to think it will work differently for Bor'iss here."
  "I think Bor'iss should travel with me for a while," suggested Bela. "I can teach him a bit about the world, and maybe he can keep me in check should the Red Haze take me."
  "I was thinking much the same," added L'on. "Bor'iss, would you like to travel with Bela and me?  He a vampyre, I a werewolf, and you a patchwork man, I think we would make a classic trio."
  "I...go with you?" Bor'iss considered for a heartbeat, then nodded his head. "Yess."
  "I think this calls for another round," proclaimed Dethstroek as he refilled each cup with more wine. "To friendship!"


BLACK DRAGON

  The next morning found Pehnn and Dethstroek alone in the clearing.  The gnome looked about, searching for Bela, L'on and Bor'iss.  Only the disturbed earth where the trio had sat the night before remained in mute testimony that they were ever there.
  "That was some strong wine, Deth," commented the gnome. "I doubt I would have slept without it."
  "Indeed," agreed the warrior. "Twas fortunate Bela could be trusted."
  "Why Bela?  Wasn't he kept at bay by your earthen border?"
  "Aye, but L'on and Bor'iss were not," pointed out Dethstroek. "I knew them not long enough to determine if they could be trusted.  Bela would have warned us had they attempted anything untoward."
  Pehnn considered the warrior's casual statement and shuddered a bit.  Protected by a vampyre while he slept...it was the stuff of nightmares!
  "Do you not think it odd we chanced on such a strange trio last night?" asked Pehnn.
  Dethstroek tied up his sleeping pad and said, "Indeed, but I felt a strange energy when we made camp.  I think this may be a nexus point."
  "Nexus point?"
  "A place where two or more lei lines intersect," explained the warrior. "Dok'tarr Phait told me about them when he and the three other mages cured Grimmoer.  Mak Morn's Tavern was situated on a similar such nexus.  We were discussing vampyres, werewolves and flesh golems, and they appeared shortly afterwards.  Such things can happen at a nexus point."
  "Traveling with you is becoming a real education for me," said the gnome.
  "Now, if we can turn our minds to more pressing matters?" asked Dethstroek as he mounted his horse.
  "Yes, of course," agreed Pehnn as he clumsily climbed onto his steed.
  "You told Geordus and I that you were something of an expert on dragons," said the warrior. "If I had any doubts, your friend, Inque, convinced me otherwise."
  "You intend to do battle with the dragon, then?"
  "I do."
  "But the duke wanted you to investigate the reason for his missing messengers."
  "You have to...um...what was that expression Geordus used?  'Read between the lines' . . . when conversing with a ruling noble."
  "Meaning..." prodded the gnome.
  "He thinks the dragon IS the reason the messengers have disappeared," explained the warrior. "He wants the dragon gone, at the very least, but cannot ask me directly to dispatch it."
  "Why not?  Nobles make unrealistic demands all the time."
  "It would place him in an embarrassing position to request my aid after exiling me, Pehnn."
  "Humph!  I would think so," agreed Pehnn. "Humans are very strange creatures, indeed."
  "Can you give me any useful information before I meet up with the dragon?"
  "Indeed, I can," started Pehnn. "First of all, they have absolutely terrible eating habits!  Chomp, chomp, and belch!  I mean, really!  Then there is the matter of their breath..."
  "Ah, I was hoping for something more...useful.  Motivations, strengths, weaknesses...that sort of thing."
  Pehnn considered for a moment.  Dethstroek had never truly slain a dragon, before, despite what he may think happened near Etrice.  He would need considerable help if he were to survive his first real encounter with one.
  "Well, there are many different kinds of dragons and pseudo-dragons..."
  "Pseudo-dragons...like Inque."
  "Yes.  Superficially, these reptiles resemble true dragons, but are far less dangerous," explained Pehnn. "Most are vegetarians that avoid any kind of conflict with other species.  In fact, true dragons like to hunt them for sport."
  "How would I tell the difference?" asked the warrior. "Inque looked very much like a dragon to me."
  "Well, they tend to be much smaller than true dragons, about three times the size of a large horse," continued Pehnn. "Though there are species of true dragons that are also fairly small.  The hard and fast rule is the eyes."
  "How so?"
  "True dragons have their eyes set forward, like humans, while the pseudo-drag's eyes are on the sides of their heads, much like a horse."
  Dethstroek thought back to his encounter with Inque.  The eyes were on the sides of the head, all right. "Anything else?"
  "Horns.  Many male pseudo-drag's will grow horns, but true dragons rarely do."
  "Any way of guessing which we are about to find near Cughmaiin?" 
  "I guess we should start with what we know about this particular dragon...namely, that he has taken up residence near a human community and captured a maiden.  That is pure dragon behavior.  A pseudo-drag wouldn't be caught dead pulling a stunt like that."
  "Go on," prodded the warrior.
  "Well, this is going to be a bit surprising, but I think this dragon wants to die."
  "Wants to die?  I do not understand."
  "Well, to begin with, dragons rarely die of natural causes.  They live for thousands of years, in general.  Now, they do get old, and as they age, they become uncomfortable, much like humans.  Their eyes become weak, their backs always hurt, they have to get up several times a night...all the usual drawbacks of old age, without the normal release of death.  Now, dragons can't suicide...it is against their nature, so they put themselves in harms way, instead.
  "Some dragons will pick a fight with a younger, stronger dragon.  This rarely works, as an old dragon is almost always bigger and more experienced than a young dragon.  Some become senile and try to chase the moon, only to tire and come crashing back to the earth.  This practice is called Drag Racing.  This has a higher successful mortality rate, but not a perfect one.
  "So, the wiser dragons try to goad humans into coming out and killing them.  Of course, the best way to do that is to build up a vast hoard of gold, then capture a maiden of some beauty and station.  The maiden's father, usually a nobleman or wealthy merchant, will put a bounty on the dragon, and offer the maidens hand in marriage.  Well, if the bounty is high enough, and the maiden fair enough, the suitors will be lined up to take a crack at the dragon."
  "Amazing!  But the dragon usually slays the challenger.  Seems counter-productive to his goals."
  "Well, dragons do have some pride.  They can't very well allow themselves to be slain by just any fool with a sword.  It just isn't done.  No, they will make their foe earn his victory.  Dragons can be very, very patient, especially when food, i. e. defeated foes, is plentiful.  It will often take years before the dragon is finally slain.  Meanwhile, a special magic keeps the maiden young and beautiful, as well as healthy, the entire time she is held captive."
  "What is the longest a maiden was held thusly?"
  "Three hundred nine years, two months, six days," said Pehnn. "He was killed by a George something or other."
  "Patient indeed!" exclaimed the warrior.
  "Well, you have to remember that while the dragon wants to die, his death must come at the hands of a worthy foe.  That is a real important issue for a dragon."
  "Is this always the case?"
  "Well, no," admitted the gnome. "Sometimes a young dragon will think it is a great way to amuse himself.  He gets to do battle with a few knights and build up a hoard to sleep on.  When he gets bored with killing potential suitors, he simply eats the maiden and flies off."
  "'Chomp, chomp, belch'."
  "Just so.  Another thing...not all dragons breath fire.  Some have caustic venom, some use smoke, and some use steam.  A few even breath ice, though they are very rare.  I heard of one aquatic dragon that shot lightning from his maw.  Not all dragons can fly, either, despite having wings.  Most fire breathers, and a few venom users fly, but rarely will you see a flying smoker or steamer."
  "Why is this?"
  "Dragons have hollow bones, like birds, and tremendous wing-spans, but they are still very heavy.  To offset their weight, they build up a lot of hot gasses within their bodies.  This makes them buoyant, in much the same way an inflated bladder will float on the water; these gasses allow dragons to float in the air.  While they are in the air, they must use their flame very sparingly, as the same gasses that allow them to fly also fuel their flaming breath.  If they expend too much of these gasses while flying, they will lose buoyancy and come crashing to the earth.
  "Venom spitters build up the same gasses, but have separate sacks to hold their venom.  Like Fire-breathers, they have four lungs, two for breathing, two for the gasses, but they lack the "special tooth" necessary to set the gasses aflame."
  "Special tooth?"
  "Yes.  It protrudes from the roof of the dragon's mouth and generates an electric charge, much like an eel.  Pseudo-dragons also have this tooth.  The electricity creates sparks that ignite the gasses as they are expelled from the third and fourth lungs.  Smokers and steamers also lack the special tooth, and they do not build up the same type of gasses."
  "What is an 'eel'?"
  "Um, a sort of snake-like fish that carries a charge of lightning in his body.  An eel can use his lightning to defend himself."
  "Fascinating!  Thou art amazingly well versed in dragon lore, friend Pehnn.  I am amazed a dragon didst take thee unawares."
  "It amazes me that you keep slipping in and out of that flowery dialect."
  "Force of habit," said Dethstroek. "I tend to use it when I get a little nervous.  Pray, continue."
  "Let me see...flame...gasses...death-wish...Weak points!  Dragons do not, I repeat, do not, possess soft underbellies," Pehnn poked a finger at Dethstroek's armored abdomen to underscore his statement. "Those armor-like scales cover almost all exposed portions of their anatomy.  There are a few hard to get at spots that are more vulnerable, though.  The roof of a dragon's mouth is pretty soft and easily cut through, provided the dragon doesn't cook you first.  The eyes and nostrils are also vulnerable.  Then there are the dragon's armpits.  Very little protection, there."
  "Why is that?"
  "I suspect the need for flexibility may have something to do with that."
  "Hmmm...I may be able to take advantage of that."
  "Not very likely.  It would take a very long blade indeed to reach a vital organ from such an entry point."
  "Are dragons vulnerable to flame?"
  "Externally, not very.  Dragon scales are pretty much fire-proof."
  "And internally?"
  "Nobody knows for sure.  I suspect not, though."
  "Why is that?" asked Dethstroek.
  "Have you never eaten dragon steak, Deth?" Pehnn asked in return.
  "Yes.  Very expensive, but well worth every Midan..."
  "Raw?"
  "Not it all.  Medium-well done..." Dethstroek paused mid-sentence. "I see what you mean, Pehnn.  So if a flame got past the scales, the flesh beneath would most certainly be cooked."
  "Surely.  But I fail to see how this will help."
  "Grimmoer gave me a little something before we left Rennibister."
  "What would that be?"
  "This," Dethstroek reached his arm up to grasp something behind his neck.  There was the sound of metal sliding on leather as the warrior produced a long, silvery blade from a hidden scabbard in his backpack. "Say hello to Madbulaiin, Sword of Flame Mastery."
  "The duke returned your enchanted sword!"
  "Did I not tell you the duke was a fair man?" 
  "You still have to get passed the dragon's scales, and I doubt that even this sword can do that."
  "A lucky strike in the right spot might do it."
  "Since when do you place luck over skill?"
  "I don't," admitted the warrior. "But as I am likely facing a dragon, soon, I will take all the luck I can get!"
  "'Fortune favors the well informed'?"
  "Indeed."
  "What do we know about this particular dragon?" asked Pehnn.
  "Well, reports have it that he flies and breathes fire."
  "That is the most common type of dragon.  Any reports on the color of his scales?"
  "Black as a moon-less night."
  "Oh.  Not good.  Black dragons have a nasty temper and a lot of firepower.  On the other hand, they are big on ceremony."
  "Ceremony?"
  "Oh, yes.  Formal declaration of hostilities, rules of engagement, no fighting after sundown...that sort of thing."
  "Very civilized," commented the warrior.
  "Indeed, as long as you play by the rules.  That is where the nasty temper comes in," said the gnome.  "I just wish we knew his name."
  "Name?"
  "Oh, yes.  Dragons tend to build up reputations," explained Pehnn.  "There was a nasty venom spitter called V'nom that stalked the Barbarlands some decades back."
  "George' friend Bloodwolf defeated that one.  That is where George' poisoned tipped arrows came from...the monster's own teeth made into arrowheads and dipped in its own venom."
  Pehnn shuddered briefly remembering those arrows.  One had been intended for him, and not in a good way!
  "Well, V'nom didn't play well with others and got in a lot of fights with other dragons.  To the experienced eye, the scars of those battles would be readily apparent.  That Bloodwolf fellow might have had an easier time of it if he knew about those scars and took advantage of any weaknesses they provided."
  "So if we knew the name of the dragon I am to battle, we might know of any previous injuries he may have incurred?"
  "Precisely!"
  "Well, if he is as civilized as all that, I suggest we just ask him."
  Pehnn sat dumbfounded for a moment, then burst out laughing.
  "You are right!  Here is what we should do..."

  Dragons, like humans, tend to sleep in later as they get older, and this particular dragon was very old indeed.  Still, when the sun started its ascent over the mountaintops, the Wyrm roused himself and started about his daily routine.
  First, he had to feed the maiden.  The magic that kept her young and healthy did not provide for nourishment.  Before he captured the lass, he had raided a few merchants for their stores of food and clothing.  The magic failed to keep the maiden's wardrobe in good repair, as well.
  The dragon had to shove a lot of old armor and weapons out of the way to get at his provisions.  He had to hide the evidence of previous battles lest potential challengers be frightened away.  He would have buried the lot, but the ground was hard and rocky, and the Wyrm's claws were not what they used to be.
  Grabbing a few amphorae, the dragon exited his cave and strolled over to where the maiden was tethered to a tree.  A golden line of silken rope connected the girl's ankle to the massive base of a Blackthorn tree.  The same magic that kept the maiden young also made the rope unbreakable, so long as the dragon lived.
  "Good morn to you, Colleanna," the dragon rumbled, "Care for breakfast?"
  "Any chance I could get some fresh meat?" replied the maiden, hopefully.
  "I fear not.  All the ready game is gone from the area.  Maybe I can get a bull from a farmer, tomorrow."
  The girl sighed and accepted the amphorae.  One was full of white wine, the other dried venison.  "If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times!  Venison goes with red wine!"
  "My apologies, but the red wine is all gone.  I will need to do another raid, soon," said the dragon as he rubbed his left shoulder.  It always bothered him most in the mornings, when the air was cool.
  "Oh, don't worry about it.  I should not drink so much wine.  It gives one a large red nose, you know," the maiden had been in the company of the dragon for some months, now, and was familiar with his moods and habits.  She did not understand why she had been abducted, but knew the dragon was not interested in doing her any real harm.  At least, not as yet.
  Of course, human perception of beauty was lost on the dragon, but he accepted that a large red nose was not acceptable for a young lady. "I will try for some fresh water on my next raid, then."
  "Oh-oh!  Here we go again!" said Colleanna, raising her voice.  Following her gaze, the dragon saw a large man, as humans go, approaching with a buck over his shoulder.  With him was a gnome. "Look!  He has fresh meat!  Oh, please don't kill him!  At least not until after we have eaten!" 
  "Please be quiet and I will see what he wants," the dragon turned to face the new arrivals and took a sitting position similar to that of a large dog.  A very large dog!  The dragon was easily three times the size of Inque.
  "Ho, dragon.  May we approach?" called out the human.  His sword was still in its scabbard, and the gnome did not appear to be armed at all.
  "You may," replied the dragon.  The pair approached with a brisk stride that showed no hint of fear.  This was surprising in the extreme. "What is your business, here?"
  The human dropped the buck on the ground between them the said, "Well, breakfast to start with.  We should discuss other matters afterwards, as befits proper decorum."
  The dragon considered this for a moment, then nodded his ponderous head. "Very well.  If you would clean and dress the buck, I will gather wood and start a fire."
  In short order, the buck was spitted and roasting over an open pit.  As expected, the dragon used his flaming breath to start the fire.
  "Since we are sharing a meal, it would only be proper to introduce ourselves.  I hight Dethstroek Homingraev of V'rogg.  This is my companion, the gnome Pehnn Drogan of...ah, Pehnn, you never did mention where you hail from."
  "I was born in the wilderness, so I have no actual home city."
  "Pehnn...Drogan, you say?" asked the Dragon.
  Pehnn was apprehensive as he answered, "Yes.  Pehnn Drogan, oh great one."
  "I see," replied the dragon.  While dragon features lack the range of movement that humans enjoy, Dethstroek was none-the-less left with the impression that the dragon was raising an eyebrow at the gnome.  As Pehnn had said, the dragon's eyes were in the front.
  "And may I inquire the name of this lovely maiden?" asked Dethstroek.
  "I am the Lady Colleanna Dougal, daughter of Baron Mak Dougal." Colleanna said as she gave a little curtsy. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Knight."
  "It is a rare pleasure, milady," said Dethstroek, bowing low. He then turned to the dragon. "And you, sir?"
  "I am Tin'dar the Black," replied the dragon.  Pehnn started at the name, but said nothing. "Am I to assume you are here to rescue the Lady Colleanna?"
  "I regret to say that I am," said the warrior. "I thought we should have a meeting and discuss the rules."
  Tin'dar glanced at Pehnn then returned his gaze to the warrior. "You apparently have had some instruction in proper dragon etiquette, Dethstroek.  I am honored you would trouble yourself so," Dethstroek bowed his head. "Shall we eat first, then talk shop?"
  "Certainly, Tin'dar," agreed the warrior. "Say, do you have any wine or ale to wash down our food?"
  "Will white wine suffice?" asked Tin'dar.
  "Certainly!" replied Dethstroek. "I was never partial to red wine."
  The group sat down to eat and make small talk.  Naturally, the buck was hardly a mouthful to the gigantic Tin'dar, but the dragon insisted that the knight, gnome and Lady take their fill first.  Dethstroek noticed that the golden tether seemed to stretch, allowing Colleanna a degree of freedom.  He also noticed Tin'dar displayed far more sophisticated dining etiquette than Pehnn had led him to expect.  When the meal was over, Dethstroek and Tin'dar formally opened discussion for the upcoming battle.
  "Well, if you are amenable, no sneak attacks by ether party," Tin'dar began.  "No poisoned arrows from behind a tree or the like.  However, if you possess magical weapons, I have no objection to their use."
  "Really?  I would think you would be opposed to that," said Dethstroek.
  "Not at all," replied the dragon. "I am several times your size and strength, and I possess natural armor as well as flaming breath.  It is only fair you be allowed an equalizer."
  "Very accommodating of you," said Dethstroek. "I would prefer you did not use your wings, then.  It would be most un-sporting for you to fly up and rain fire down upon me."
  "My wings will remain furled, then," agreed the dragon. "No invisibility.  I had a cousin who was spied on by some little thief with a magic ring.  Cost him dearly."
  "I have no such ring," said Dethstroek. "A face to face at mid-day, then."
  "Indeed!  Will your...companion...be aiding you?" asked Tin'dar, glancing meaningfully at Pehnn.
  "Only in an advisory capacity," said Pehnn, quickly.
  "You may be giving up a significant advantage, there," stated the dragon.
  Dethstroek was surprised at that admission.  While Pehnn was invaluable for his knowledge, gnomes were not regarded as great dragon-slayers.
  "Be that as it may, I prefer to meet you in single battle," countered Dethstroek. "I would appreciate it if he was permitted to leave unmolested if the battle goes against me."
  "Hmmm...there is no precedent for that, but I will agree, so long as he does not directly involve himself," agreed Tin'dar.
  "Thank-you, o' mighty Tin'dar," said Pehnn with great relief.
  "Have you ever slain one of my kind before?" inquired the dragon of Dethstroek.
  Dethstroek considered his answer. "In truth, I am uncertain."
  "Uncertain?" said both Tin'dar and Pehnn at once.  Tin'dar continued, "One should be very certain about something like that.  When and where did this uncertain battle take place?"
  "A little over a month ago, near Etrice..." Dethstroek proceeded to relate what he knew of the events surrounding the destruction of the 'Golden Dragon'."
  "It exploded?" Tin'dar was intrigued by Dethstroek's tale. "May I see the golden scale you recovered," Dethstroek produced the item from his backpack.  Pehnn fought with himself to keep from fidgeting. "It looks quite genuine, but the scent is wrong," Tin'dar reached over and plucked a loose scale from his shoulder. "Here, smell for yourself."
  Dethstroek did as he was bid and sniffed the two scales.  Both had a musty aroma, though the golden scale was tainted by a hint of sulfur.  But there was definitely a difference.
  "Would not all dragons have a distinct odor of their own?"
  "Well, yes and no," admitted Tin'dar.  "Any hunting dog will readily track any rabbit by its scent.  The scent would be different in subtle ways from rabbit to rabbit, but it would still be the scent of a rabbit to the dog.  It is the same with dragons, though in a different way.  All fire-breathers would be much alike, but different from a venom-spitter or a smoker."
  "Then what of this scale?"
  "I will have to think on it for a time.  If I may, I would like to keep this scale.  You may have mine in exchange, if you like."
  Dethstroek did not hesitate to agree.  If he defeated Tin'dar, he could recover the scale soon enough.  If Tin'dar defeated him, the warrior would have no need of the scale or anything else ever again.
  "This has been pleasant, Dethstroek," said Tin'dar. "Whatever the morrow brings, it will have been an honor to have met you."
  "And you, as well," replied the warrior. "I hope you have what you seek, soon."
  "Since you are about to risk your life on her behalf, perhaps you should speak with the Lady Colleanna?" offered Tin'dar. "Your companion and I can wait here and grant you some privacy."
  "Do you mind Pehnn?" asked Dethstroek.
  In fact, the gnome minded very much, but said, "Not at all!"
  Dethstroek nodded and walked with the maiden to her tree, beyond the range of normal human hearing.
  Tin'dar turned his attention to Pehnn and said softly, "How did you do it?"
  "Do what?" started the gnome.
  "Do not try to play me for a fool, drogan!" rasped Tin'dar. "It is your scent on that scale...the scent of a drogan!"
  "Please, keep your voice down!" said Pehnn frantically. "Dethstroek is unaware of my true nature!"
  "Do you plan to eat him, later?" inquired the dragon.
  "Eat him?  How disgusting!" retorted Pehnn. "He is my friend, not my food!  Besides, I am a strict vegetarian!"
  "How did you manage this disguise?"
  Pehnn held up his left hand and spread his fingers. "This ring allows me to alter my size and shape."
  "Interesting." Tin'dar studied the ring for a moment. "How did you come by it?"
  "A true gnome gave it to me to save my life...from Dethstroek."
  "You travel with the human that was going to slay you?" Tin'dar was amazed. "Why?"
  "Well, he thought I was a real dragon, not a drogan, and I am sure it was nothing personal..."
  "Why remain with him?"
  "I am studying him and humankind," replied the gnome.
  "You instructed him in how to approach me?"
  "Yes, Tin'dar."
  "And you will take no direct action against me in the battle tomorrow?"
  "Even if I tried, Dethstroek would not allow it.  His word is his bond."
  "Very well," Tin'dar sighed. "You may assist the human in any manner you choose, as long as you sit out the fight." The dragon glanced at the warrior and lady as they conversed by the Blackthorn tree. "I am surprised he did not try to have my firepower declared off-limits.  He seemed very bright for a human."
  "I told him no self-respecting dragon would forego his flaming breath in a battle," lied Pehnn, trying to cover for the warrior.
  "True," agreed Tin'dar.
 "My I assist Dethstroek verbally during the battle?"
  Tin'dar considered for a moment. "I don't see how it will help him, or hurt me...Very well.  Just don't get between us, or it will get very unpleasant...for you!"

  "You will likely die, tomorrow, you know," warned Lady Colleanna. "I'll not think less of you should you choose to flee."
  "I would think far less of myself, though," countered the warrior. "Though I be exiled, still am I a knight of V'rogg, sworn to protect its peoples."
  "V'rogg!  I think I have heard of you," said the Lady. "Something about a duel and a wolf?"
  "'Pon my honor, I have never had a duel with a wolf," smiled the warrior.
  "Oh! You!" Colleanna punched Dethstroek playfully in the shoulder. "So, are you after my hand if you survive?"
  "I regret to say that I am already promised, Milady," said the warrior. "I have a wife and son in V'rogg.
  "Then you expect to be pardoned if you rescue me?"
  "Indeed, there is that possibility," agreed Dethstroek. "But I would seek your rescue in any case."
  "You would?"
  "Aye," smiled the warrior. "A lady should not be treated in such a manner, especially one so fair as thee."
  "Ah...um...your friend," Colleanna said, changing the subject nervously, "Tin'dar is suspicious of him.'
  "Oh?" said Dethstroek. "Has he said something?"
  "Oh, no!  He wouldn't even if he had the opportunity," replied the Lady. "I have been here for some time and have learned to interpret his moods and reactions."
  "Well, if Pehnn makes Tin'dar nervous, so much the better for me!"
  "I imagine that could be so..."
  "Milady, I have a question," interrupted the warrior.
  "Yes?"
  "There has been no news from Cughmaiin in sometime," said Dethstroek, "Has Tin'dar destroyed it?"
  "Not at all!" protested the Lady. "He makes occasional raids to supply me with food, drink and clothing, but does very little damage.  He claims that by leaving the town whole, he can go back again and again, rather than going further away to new towns and cities."
  "Then why has the city failed to meet its obligations of tribute and information?"
  "It must be the doing of Gh'ahtorr and For'log," spit the Lady. "They are common bandits that have taken residence in Cughmaiin!"
  "They hold the city hostage?"
  "Actually, they are rival forces, but they both bleed the town of gold and resources," Colleanna explained. "Gh'ahtorr is a brideck that runs a band of ogres, bridecks and barbarians.  For'log has a band of orks and ork-kin."
  "Why does not your father, the baron, summon help from V'rogg?" asked Dethstroek.
  "Before I was taken, I know he sent three messengers.  I know not their fate."
  Dethstroek considered this new information.  "When I have settled affairs here, I will look into the situation in Cughmaiin."
  "I wish I had your confidence," said the Lady.
  "Actually, I wish I was as confident as you think I am," admitted the warrior.

    "You took a huge chance, you know," Pehnn said.
  "It was your plan, as I recall," replied the warrior as he tended their campfire.  When the flame was high, Dethstroek took out his sword and lay the blade down across the blaze.
  "Don't remind me!  I took a huge chance as well!" Pehnn considered for a moment before speaking again. "Dethstroek, there is something you should know...about me."
  "Is it likely to upset me?"
  "I dare-say it could."
  "Then save it for after the battle," insisted the warrior. "I will need my mind very much on what I am doing, and cannot afford any distractions that will put me off my game."
  "It could be important to you."
  "Will it help me slay Tin'dar?"
  "I think not."
  "Then it can wait," Dethstroek's tone made it clear he was firm on the matter. "I would much rather you share any insight you may have gleaned from our meeting with Tin'dar."
  "Very well.  Tin'dar is known to me, though only by reputation," Pehnn began, "He is what you would call a dragon of the 'old school'...meaning, he is quite civil and completely honorable.  You can take him at his word, so there will be no tricks or betrayals of his agreements with you."
  "Good to know," replied Dethstroek. "I noticed he took very good care of the Lady Colleanna."
  "Oh, yes.  Better than I expected.  Many dragons think of the maiden only as bait, but Tin'dar is making a real effort to keep her comfortable.  That golden tether, for example, allows the Lady considerable latitude.  Most dragons tie the damsel to a tree without any freedom to move about.  By the way, did you notice the shoulder he plucked the scale from?"
  "Yes.  It was grayish.  Many of the scales were loose, there."
  "That is the result of dragon venom."
  "Venom?" Dethstroek looked up from his sword.
  "Yes.  Tin'dar was in a fight with the rogue dragon V'nom about three hundred years ago.  That Tin'dar survived the fight says much about his power.  The scales still do not grow, as they should though, even after all this time.  That is a very vulnerable spot."
  "Precisely where would his heart be located?"
  "Roughly the same spot it would be found on a human."
  "He only possesses the one heart?"
  "Oh, yes.  Dragons are not like...some other reptilian creatures,"
  "I wonder if he knows V'nom is dead?" said Dethstroek in a sudden shift of subject.
  "Probably not.  Not unless he learned of it from a human.  Dragons don't gossip with each other, as a rule."
  "I will gift him with that news before we fight.  He should die happy."
  "Death is what will make him happiest.  If not his, then yours."
  "Then I shall see to it he doesn't settle for second best," smiled the warrior grimly. "I must sleep now.  A tired dragon-fighter is likely a dead dragon-fighter."
  "I will tend the fire, and your sword, while you sleep, Deth," replied the gnome.
  Dethstroek lie back on his woolen mat and quickly fell asleep.  The big warrior breathed quietly in his slumber.  Pehnn tended the fire, adding a number of broken branches to the blaze.  The sword, Madbulaiin, appeared to glow slightly brighter with the added flame.
  "You like the flame that feeds your power, I see," said Pehnn softly to the sword. "Perhaps I can grant Dethstroek a little more power for his upcoming battle."
  Checking Dethstroek to insure he was fully asleep, Pehnn gathered up the sword and stepped away from the camp.  The gnome moved quickly and silently to an open area well away from his sleeping companion.  Holding the sword before him, he exhaled a thin stream of flame toward the sword's blade, just as he did to light the campfire the night he and the warrior chanced across Bela, Bor'iss and L'on.  Madbulaiin seemed to drink in the fiery stream.  After a moment Pehnn stopped and inspected the blade.
  "You seemed to like that, Madbulaiin," whispered the gnome.  Close scrutiny failed to produce any indication that the sword was damaged.  "I daresay you could take my mightiest blast!" said the gnome in awe. "Let's find out!  If you cannot withstand what I have to offer, you will be of no use to Dethstroek against Tin'dar!"
  For three hours Pehnn breathed fire upon the sword blade, until he was well and truly exhausted of the least little spark.
  The next morning Dethstroek arose to see Pehnn still tending the campfire.  The gnome was breathing heavily, as though he had just finished a long race.
  "Have you taken ill, Pehnn?" asked the warrior with concern.
  "Nay, Deth," replied the gnome. "I was most active last night insuring your sword was well fed."

  Mid-day found Dethstroek, sword in hand, facing the dragon Tin'dar.  The two were separated by a distance of thirty paces and watched each other carefully.  Pehnn, standing off to the side near Colleanna, was holding a large staff cut from the Blackthorn tree.  The Lady Colleanna watched from behind her tree.  She had seen many battles between the dragon and potential suitors and wanted to avoid any unpleasantness that might accidentally come her way.
  "Tin'dar, I have news for you, before we begin," called out Dethstroek.
  "What news?" Tin'dar called back.  His attention had been on his opponent's sword.  Was it glowing, or was it a trick of the sun? 
  "The Wyrm V'nom is long dead...slain by a barbarian."
  "Oh-ho!  The world is a better place without him!" It was impossible to tell if the dragon was smiling, but his tail started to move back and forth, much like that of a happy puppy.
  Pehnn, still holding the staff, called out. "The time is upon us.  When I have dropped this staff, hostilities may commence."
  When Pehnn dropped the staff, Tin'dar leaped high into the air.  Technically, this was not in violation of their agreement, as the dragon's wings did not unfurl.  Dethstroek, unsure what to expect, ran off to the side from his first position.  Wherever Tin'dar landed, Dethstroek had no intention of being there.
  The dragon landed with earth shaking force that nearly knocked the warrior off his feet.  Thinking fast, Dethstroek reversed his direction and ran toward the dragon and leaped onto his back.  Strategically, this was the one place Tin'dar could not reach with fang or claw.  The dragon was easily ten times Dethstroek's size, so the warrior sought to stay beyond the monster's reach.
  From his position between the dragon's wings, Dethstroek had an open shot at the injured shoulder.  The warrior had placed his sword blade in his campfire the night before, hoping to build up a significant charge.  Quickly taking aim, Dethstroek willed his Sword of Flame Mastery to discharge a measure of its stored energy.
  The blast of flame, while far more impressive to see than expected, failed to penetrate the dragon's tough scaled flesh.  Tin'dar was not oblivious to the pain it brought him, though.  The dragon ceased his futile efforts to grab the human with his claws and proceeded to buck like a wild horse.  Dethstroek, lacking anything to take a firm hold onto, leaped from the monster's back and returned to the ground with a surprisingly agile roll, despite his heavy armor.
  Enraged by the pain in his shoulder, Tin'dar let loose with a searing blast of flame at the dodging warrior.  Dethstroek barely raised his sword in time to shield himself from the blast.  True to its nature, the blade absorbed all the hellish fury directed at it.
  Surprised, the dragon hesitated.  Never before had Tin'dar's flame failed him.
  "Nice sword, human," roared out the dragon, as he recovered from his surprise. "It will make an excellent toothpick."
  "This 'toothpick' will see you to the afterlife, Wyrm!" roared Dethstroek in defiance.
  Dethstroek was quick to seize the advantage and returned a portion of the monster's own power back at him...directly into his face!  The flame blinded the dragon, granting Dethstroek the initiative.
  Tin'dar, lashing out blindly in pain, again spewed forth his fiery breath.  Some of the conflagration was again absorbed by Dethstroek's blade, but most was spread in every direction.  Pehnn, seeing the danger Colleanna was in, rushed to place himself between the blaze and the helpless maiden.  A significant blast of flame struck the gnome full in the chest, burning away his clothing, and searing the flesh underneath, though not fatally.  A normal gnome would have been instantly destroyed, but Pehnn was only injured, albeit severely.
  Dethstroek, seeing the dragon in great pain, again leaped forward with his sword held high before him.  Dodging the flailing limbs, Dethstroek waited for the injured shoulder to come into range.
  By chance, one talon as long as Dethstroek's forearm struck the warrior full in the chest, puncturing his banded armor.  Pehnn saw this, and cried out in shock.  Such a blow would be instantly fatal to any normal human.  But to Pehnn's surprise, Dethstroek was merely knocked back.  The warrior quickly recovered his feet and continued to dodge the dragon's flailing limbs. 
  As Tin'dar thrashed about, the injured shoulder dipped close to the ground, granting Dethstroek his best chance at victory.  With both hands on the hilt, blade pointed for a downward thrust, the warrior raced forward and leaped high into the air.  Using all his strength, the warrior thrust his sword into the damaged flesh of the dragon's shoulder.  The blade sunk all the way to the hilt into Tin'dar's flesh.
  Roaring at this new injury, Tin'dar brought up a massive limb to slap away the source of his agony.  At the same moment Dethstroek willed his sword to discharge all its pent-up power, a huge claw found the warrior and sent him flying away.  As the human was sent flying through the air, the trapped blade sent a bolt of pure flaming fury ripping through the length of the Wyrms body.  So great was the release of energy from the sword, flame shot out from the dragon's eyes, nostrils, maw and nether regions!
  Pehnn was amazed at the spectacle.  Apparently, the flame from the sword ignited the stored gasses in Tin'dar's third and fourth lungs, increasing the power of the flame.  Since the sword had already penetrated past the dragon's scales, Tin'dar had no defense against the fiery blast.  The black dragon seemed to thrash about for an eternity, but in truth it was only for the briefest of moments, then was still.  The scent of cooked dragon flesh was strong in the air.
  "Pehnn!" called out the Lady Colleanna. "Look!"
  Pehnn looked in the direction Colleanna was pointing only to see Dethstroek, broken and bloodied upon the rocks.
  "Dethstroek!" cried out the gnome.  Pehnn raced over to Dethstroek's battered body, followed by Colleanna, whose magical golden tether vanished with Tin'dar's death.
  "Deth!  Can you hear me?" Pehnn shouted at the prone warrior.  He placed a hand on the human's neck, and detected a pulse, but it was weak.
  "What can we do?  He won't survive without help, but we dare not take him on your horses," cried the Lady.
  Pehnn quickly ran into the dragon's cave.  There, as he had hoped, he found a tall shield, big enough to use as a stretcher.  He took the tower shield and a few staffs he also found, and ran back out to his friend and Colleanna.
  "Help me put him on this shield.  I am strong enough, but I need help to do it without doing him even more harm.  Good.  Now, as I straighten his limbs, we have to tie these staffs to them to keep them straight," Pehnn and Colleanna worked quickly to bind Dethstroek's wounds and splint his broken bones.  Pehnn knew little about human anatomy, but could still readily see that without immediate attention from a healer, Dethstroek would die.
  "Milady."
  Colleanna did not speak, but looked up at the gnome.  Tears flowed freely down her cheeks.
  "I must reveal my true self if we are to save Dethstroek," said Pehnn in quiet tones. "Do not be afraid.  I will not harm you, but my true self may give you a start."
  "Do what you must.  I will not be afraid."
  Pehnn doubted the accuracy of her statement, but had no time to waste.  Using the ring that transformed him into a gnome over a month before, Pehnn willed himself to assume his true form.  His remaining clothing stretched to their limit, them tore away as his body expanded in length and girth.  His face expanded and grew a long serpentine snout that sprouted long, sharp teeth.  Short, stubby fingers grew to long sharp talons.  His back sprouted wings, then a long whip-like tail.  Golden hued scales grew out of soft flesh.  When the transformation was complete, Pehnn was revealed as his true self...a drogan!
  "Another dragon!" screamed Colleanna.
  Here we go again, thought Pehnn.  "Drogan!  Not dragon.  I will explain on the way as I fly both of you to your village.  You do have a healer or a mage there, yes?"
  "Yes!  Just outside of town.  His name is Mon'darc the Mage," Colleanna considered the situation, "Would you not be faster without me," she asked, quickly getting over her shock.  She well remembered Pehnn shielding her from a blast of flame with his own body.
  "Not enough to risk leaving you here alone.  I would hate for Dethstroek to kill me for leaving you behind!"  That said, Pehnn gathered up the warrior and Lady and took flight.  His wings worked furiously to carry the combined weight of himself and his two passengers.  Clearly, he had not yet built up enough of the needed gasses to make himself properly buoyant.  "Hold on tight, Lady Colleanna!" warned the drogan. "This will be a bumpy ride!"

  Dethstroek carefully opened his eyes, though they did not truly open.  It seemed to him that a thick fog had rolled in.  He sat up, though his body never moved.  He looked all about, yet his neck never shifted.
  "What is this place?" he said through still lips.
  "Now that would be the question, wouldn't it?" came a strange voice.
  "Who are you, and how did I come to this place?" demanded the warrior.
  "This is not really a place, Faynnus," replied the voice.
  "You know my true name!" said the shocked Dethstroek. "Yet I have told this to no-one!"
  "There are no secrets, here, warrior," replied the strange voice.
  "Where is Pehnn?" demanded Dethstroek.
  "Your companion is safe, Faynnus, as is the Lady Colleanna."
  "Dethstroek!  Call me Dethstroek!" shouted the warrior.
  "As you wish, Dethstroek."
  "Where am I, and who are you," Dethstroek cast all about trying to locate the source of the voice, but it seemed to come from every direction.
  "This is a place that is not a place in a time that is not a time.  This is Limbo, doorway to the land of the dead," explained the voice.
  "I am dead, then?  Tin'dar slew me?"
  "Very nearly, yet, not so much.  You are just visiting.  As to your other question, I am the keeper of this non-place."
  "Then, you are Death?"
  "Nah.  More like his apprentice.  Death has many like me to handle administrative duties.  He does have a rather heavy workload, you know," explained the voice. "Your uncle used to keep things hopping around here.  For years I was up to my non-existent neck in orks!"
  "If the dragon did not slay me, then why am I here?"
  "Somebody wishes to thank you."
  "Thank me?  For what?"
  "For ending my pain, human," came a rumbling voice.  This time, Dethstroek knew the source of the voice.  It was the dragon, Tin'dar.
  "You are most welcome, great Wyrm.  You put up a fight that shall be remembered in song and saga," though stunned, Dethstroek sought to keep his head and spoke politely. "It was an honor to meet thee in battle."
  "The honor was mine, warrior," continued Tin'dar. "No doubt Pehnn explained how dragons will seek death when they feel it is their time."
  "He did."
  "What he did not know, was that my pain was all the greater for having suffered from V'nom's venomous attack low the last three hundred years.  The scales never were up to snuff, and the venom never completely stopped burning the flesh, there.  You have done me a great service."
  "I wish we could have met under better circumstance."
  "I don't.  I would have had to eat you, as a matter of form," admitted the Wyrm. "You know, your companion is not what he seems."
  "Aye.  I suspected as much.  Pehnn is odd, for a gnome.  Should I be worried?"
  "Nay.  He is truly your friend, and will reveal his true nature in time."
  "I believe he tried last night, but I would not allow it.  Surprises before a battle are not healthy for warrior."
  "No, I imagine not.  I trust my death will end your exile?"
  "You know of that?"
  "There are no secrets, here, warrior," repeated the strange voice.
  "Oh, right.  I imagine my exile will be nullified with the conclusion of my mission."
  "Good.  Then my ending has served us both.  Fare thee well, Dethstroek Homingraev of V'rogg."
  "Rest in peace, O' mighty Tin'dar the Black," replied Dethstroek.
  "Time to return, warrior," returned the strange voice.
  "Do you always allow dragons to make their farewells to their slayers?"
  "Rarely.  However, Tin'dar was most insistent.  Now, back to your body.  You still have much to do before you come back here, again."

  Dethstroek carefully opened his eyes.  The image he faced made him doubt he was awake.  Scarcely an arms length away was a Golden Dragon, albeit a relatively small one.
  "No," groaned the warrior. "I have had my quota of dragon for the day."
  "Drogan," came the Lady Colleanna's voice. "Not 'dragon'."
  "The difference is?" groaned Dethstroek.  I must be awake to hurt this much, thought the warrior.
  "Better table manners," said Pehnn and Colleanna together.  Dethstroek noted that Pehnn's voice issued forth from the dragon's...correction...drogan's muzzle.
  "Is this your big secret, Pehnn?" Pehnn nodded in the affirmative. "What a let-down.  I thought it would be something really risqué," that said, Dethstroek again lapsed into unconsciousness.
  "Everybody's a critic," said Pehnn with a reptilian grin.

  "No strenuous activity for at least a week.  A month would be better," instructed the mage. "I have enough to keep me busy in this town without having to patch you up again."
  "Yes, wizard Mon'darc," replied Dethstroek. "I can do with a rest." 
  While Mon'darc the mage was able to mend the warrior's breaks and cuts with magic, Dethstroek still needed to recover his strength.  Magic could only do so much.
  "I can't help but be amazed that I should find you in this small community after all these years."
  "Curing your uncle took a lot out of me, as well as my colleagues," returned the mage. "Tell me, did he ever catch up with that ork he was after?"
  "Indeed!  Separated head from neck," Dethstroek replied, "Or so he claims.  I was on my own at that time."
  "Excellent!" nodded Mon'darc. "I must say you have a knack for finding unusual traveling companions."
  "While traveling with a vampyre is unusual," interrupted Pehnn, "Traveling with a drogan should be considered an honor!"
  Dethstroek smiled and added, "It is always an honor to travel with a trusted friend, regardless of his race or form."
  "Well said!" agreed Mon'darc. "Now be off with the pair of you.  I have others that need my attention."

  Next to Dethstroek stood Pehnn, once again in gnomic form.  He needed no encouragement to again assume his disguise.  In a city of humans recently terrorized by a dragon, he was much safer by far as a gnome.  They made their farewells and proceeded to an inn.  Dethstroek fully intended to relax while he studied the situation in the village.
  "Are you really going to take it easy, or are you going to get into another brawl?"
  "I'll leave the brawling to you for a few days, Pehnn," replied Dethstroek. "Now that I know you can handle it.  I think I will relax, have a few ales, and eat something other than dragon meat." Pehnn had dragged the huge, pre-cooked carcass of Tin'dar back to Cughmaiin as proof of Dethstroek's victory.  The entire town enjoyed the rare feast of dragon meat.  Dethstroek was fed nothing but dragon steaks and the dragon's heart for a week.  Pehnn had to assure him that Tin'dar would have wanted it that way, and would have done the same for him.
  "You're still angry."
  "No.  Not at you, nor Geordus," retorted the warrior. "Geordus had not known me long enough to know how I would react to your situation.  He sought to save your life and my honor.  His intentions, and yours, were good.  Besides, I suspected something was amiss, and said so in my letter to Geordus before we parted his company."
  "So you do not take offense at being deceived?"
  "Everybody is deceived about something.  Usually, people deceive themselves.  I doubt the deception was comfortable for you.  Walking instead of flying, and on much shorter legs!"
  "Oh, I rather enjoyed it!  Being around people without being attacked was a welcome change!"
  "Tell me, Pehnn, as long as you wear that ring, you can assume any form, true?"
  "Within reason, I imagine so."
  The pair reached the inn and took a table.  Pehnn called for a vegetable platter while Dethstroek ordered two ales and a roast goose before resuming their conversation.
  "Then why stay a gnome?" Dethstroek asked in low tones, so as not to alarm the other patrons. "You could blend in among humans better if you assumed human form."
  "Well, as a gnome, I am assumed to be harmless, so none seek to challenge me, as there is no sport in it," explained Pehnn. "Also, I do not understand your society well enough.  As a gnome, I am not expected to, so my faux paus are ignored."
  "Not to mention it is to your advantage for others to underestimate your abilities." Dethstroek pointed out.
  "Spoken like a true warrior" retorted Pehnn. "You do the same thing, you know."
  "What do you mean?"
  "You allow people to assume that you are less intelligent than you are."
  "True," admitted the warrior. "People find intelligent warriors much too intimidating to be trusted."
  "Well, oh wise one, what are your intentions for the Lady Colleanna?"
  "I can't marry her, if that is what you mean."
  "Why not?  Surely she will find you worthy," countered the gnome. "Do you not find her pleasant to look upon?"  Drogans were as ignorant of human beauty standards as dragons.
  "Oh, she is a fine form of a girl!"
  "But you feel no attraction?"
  "I have been attracted to only two women in my life, Pehnn," replied Dethstroek. "An elf maiden and a human woman.  The elf maiden could not stay with me, the human married me."
  "Then, your culture is against polygamy?"
  "What is that?"
  "The practice of taking more than one wife," Pehnn explained.
  Ye gods! thought the warrior as he pictured himself married to two Dearbhforgails, better to face Tin'dar naked and barehanded!
  "That's not it," waved Dethstroek dismissively.  "Many well-to-do merchants and nobles take more than one wife.  However my current wife would object.  She can be most disagreeable about such things.  Besides, the baron cannot marry off his daughter to an exiled knight.  It would get him barred from the royal court."
  "But your exile is surely going to be lifted."
  "Maybe.  But the baron doesn't know that, and we can't tell him."
  "Oh, right, the secrecy of the mission and all that.  Well, what about the bounty on Tin'dar."
  "Well, I hardly need it, but as a matter of form, I will demand double the payment."
  "Why double?"
  "Because the baron will have to renege on the marriage offer.  And my associate is due compensation as well," Dethstroek nodded at Pehnn.
  "Got it all figured out, eh?"
  "Not all.  I still have to relocate Tin'dar's hoard from his cave before it gets looted."
  "Not to worry.  A large Golden Dragon is currently guarding the cave."
  "What!" Dethstroek nearly spilled his ale.
  "Not to fear...it is only an empty skin I stuffed with rocks and grass," explained Pehnn.
  "Ah, like the one I 'killed' near Etrice," referring to the 'Golden Dragon' he and Geordus had destroyed some weeks back.
  "Just so," Pehnn nodded.
  "Well, there is also the matter of securing Tin'dar's usable remains: bones, teeth, claws, scales..."
  "Why?"
  "Such items are used in the creation of magical weapons, armor and potions."
  "That explains the line of mages offering to dispose of the carcass."
  "Aye.  And dragon meat does not spoil the way more domestic fare does," Dethstroek seemed to get a little green around the gills remembering his morning, noon and night meals of dragon the past week.  Apparently, one could have too much of a good thing. "We will have to send some dragon meat to V'rogg as additional proof of my victory."
  "I am curious about something."
  "You should assume the form of a cat, then."
  "Funny.  You were stabbed in the chest with one of Tin'dar's talons.  Your armor has the hole to prove it, yet you were not killed instantly.  How did you manage that little trick?"
  "Tin'dar gave me a shield for my heart."
  "A shield?"
  "Yes.  The dragon scale he gave me in trade for the golden one," explained the warrior. "I wore it under my tunic.  I think he intended that I use it so."



CUGHMAIIN

  While Dethstroek recovered from the injuries he received from fighting the dragon Tin'dar, Pehnn busied himself in several ways.  First, he secured Tin'dar's remains.  After harvesting all usable parts, as per Dethstroek's request, the rest of the dragon's remains were incinerated in a somber and private ceremony, attended only by Dethstroek, Pehnn, and the Lady Colleanna.  Dethstroek would have liked to burn the head as well, but custom required it be stuffed and retained as a trophy, proof of his victory.
  "Barbaric custom, Deth," groused Pehnn.
  "No doubt the practice started with the Barbars in the south and caught on," admitted Dethstroek. "I will also need to commission a custom-crafted sword using one of Tin'dar's ivory teeth for the hilt.  This I will send to the duke, as tribute and proof of my victory, along with the head and some meat."
  "Would you object to my doing the same for me?  I am beginning to feel undressed without a sword of my own in your company," said Pehnn. "I will also need some further instruction in its use."
  "Certainly.  I would have thought you would be opposed to the idea, though."
  "Oh, not at all.  Dragons and drogans are natural enemies.  Dragon-kind hunts my kind for sport, you know."
  "I didn't know," admitted Dethstroek. "Tin'dar seemed an okay sort, for a dragon."
  "Age mellowed him, I would say.  I was lucky he didn't slay me as I entered his camp."
  "He was no doubt in awe of your boldness, Pehnn," smiled the warrior. "As am I, knowing the chance you took on my behalf."
  Pehnn waved the comment aside.  He was not accustomed to such praise.  Dethstroek would no doubt be surprised and disappointed had he seen Pehnn's reaction when Geordus Wordweavor cornered him in his cave.  If drogans were capable of blushing, Pehnn's hue would be very scarlet indeed!
  Pehnn cleared his throat then said. "I have purchased a small tavern on the outskirts of the town.  I think I will call it 'The Black Dragon Tavern', since I bought it with Tin'dar's gold."
  "Whatever for?  You never mentioned you knew anything of being a merchant."
  "I don't.  I don't even fully understand the concept of currency.  I suspect I was taken advantage of in the price negotiations.  Anyway, I hired a crew of personnel to handle that sort of thing," admitted the drogan. "We may be here for some time and will need a place to stay.  Since you are on a secret mission, I assumed you would need a secure base of operations.  As co-owner of a tavern, you have a plausible cover."
  "Pehnn!  That is brilliant!  However did you come up with such an idea?" Dethstroek was genuinely impressed with Pehnn's plan.
  "Of late I have become quite versed in the use of a cover identity," said the pseudo-gnome.
  "Indeed!" agreed the warrior. "Have you also devised a plan to remove the brigands from Cughmaiin?"
  "I must confess that I have not," admitted Pehnn.
  "Well, we will think of something," winked the warrior.

  Dethstroek and Pehnn spent the following week gathering information on the rival factions of invaders in Cughmaiin.  Dethstroek spent a great deal of time going from tavern to tavern, speaking with barkeeps, trollops and townies.  In order to remain discreet, he borrowed Pehnn's ring to disguise himself assuming many different identities.  Pehnn felt some trepidation over handing over his ring, as he did not know if his gnomic form would remain intact if the ring were elsewhere.  But as he did not immediately transform back to his true shape when he removed it, he was happy to loan it to the warrior.
  Dethstroek would engage citizens in friendly discussion over a few ales, discreetly pumping them for information.  Pehnn would use his magic ring to assume a variety of humanoid forms and listen in on private conversations whenever possible.  His ability to climb up sheer surfaces allowed him to listen in at windows where normal humanoids would not gain access.
  Their efforts to gather information thusly proved highly effective.  By the end of the week, the pair had a good grasp of the situation.
  The first faction consisted of a variety of humanoids led by a brideck called Gh'ahtorr, just as Colleanna had said.  Gh'ahtorr was typical for his kind in that he enjoyed tremendous physical strength, equal to that of an ogre, as well as a thick leathery hide that was resistant to most small blades.  His band consisted of ogres, saurans, bridecks and renegade barbarians.
  The second faction consisted entirely of orks and ork-kin led by an ork chief called For'log.  For'log wore a hood that completely obscured his face.  Rumor had it that he was either ugly beyond belief, even for an ork, or his face was maimed in a battle long ago.  Possibly both rumors were true.
  In the normal course of events, Gh'ahtorr's band would easily destroy For'log's crew.  But For'log was a good tactician, able to keep things in balance.  In addition, the ork possessed some form of secret weapon.  Thus, the two factions were locked in a balance of power.
  Both factions had taken control of taverns on opposite ends of the village, along with sizable townhouses to use as barracks.  Both factions also limited their depredations to the surrounding countryside, robbing passing caravans and travelers, as well as eliminating messengers attempting to travel to or from V'rogg.  Apparently, they each wanted to avoid coming into direct conflict with each other, or with the baron, who might call for help from V'rogg by other means if pressed into a corner.
  The baron lacked the necessary manpower to remove the factions himself, so he settled for an uneasy truce with his rivals, hoping some miracle would solve his dilemma for him.  Unknown to the baron, Dethstroek intended to be that miracle.
  
  "Learned anything new of value?" asked Pehnn as the disguised Dethstroek staggered back to their tavern.
  "Aye," nodded the warrior. "The opposing factions hate each other with rare passion.  Each desire complete control of Cughmaiin, but dare not face each other in open combat, lest they weaken themselves and fall prey to the barons forces.  The baron lacks the manpower to challenge both factions, so he pretends not to be aware of them," related the warrior. "And that the people in this town will only confide in those who drink with them."
  That explains the staggering, thought Pehnn. "Why not just ally himself with one faction against the other?"
  "He has no faith that either faction would not betray him afterwards.  He has enough wit to know that neither side is to be trusted," Dethstroek explained. "Gods, I think I drank half of Cughmaiin!"
  The warrior willed his form to return to normal, then removed the ring from his finger and passed it to Pehnn. "Thank you for the loan of the ring."
  "We will have to get that ring a check-up, soon," grumbled the drogan. "Magical items rarely possess infinite magical energy.  We may need to get a re-charge, soon."
  "Some items recharge themselves under the right circumstances" said Dethstroek. "Some recover lost energy when exposed to sunlight or moonlight.  Madbulaiin requires exposure to flame to maintain 'her' power.  At least, she used to."
  "Just so, I have no idea if this ring can be recharged or not.  It was a gift from George."
  "Yes, from his adventure against a Slime Ghoul.  I helped him to identify its power."
  "Mon'darc might be of help, here.  He has already seen me in my drogan form."
  "Aye.  On the morrow," said Dethstroek. "I have drunk many ales these passed days and need to recover."
  "Any progress on your plan of attack?" asked the faux gnome.
  "Aye.  I will join both groups, making each think I am spying on the others camp, and sow discord."
  "So you intend to play the rival gangs off against each other?" asked Pehnn.
  "Indeed.  Gh'ahtorr on one side, For'log on the other..."
  "...And you right in the middle," finished Pehnn.
  "Well, what do you think?"
  "I think either your parents dropped you repeatedly on your head as a babe, or Tin'dar scrambled your brains but good."
  "So you like it, then," smiled Dethstroek.
  "What's not to like?" asked Pehnn. "Two blood-thirsty gangs of monsters against one brain-dead warrior and a faux-gnome.  Sounds just ducky to me."
  "Good.  I was afraid you would be opposed to the plan."
  Pehnn sent a glance at the warrior that made it clear he was less than enthusiastic.  But Pehnn had to admit, Dethstroek had a knack for survival.
  "I suggest one alteration to your plan.  You join one group, I the other."
  "This is not really your mission, Pehnn.  You should not put yourself in such danger."
  "Two months ago, you were my greatest danger!" Pehnn well remembered that Dethstroek would have put a poisoned arrow in him had not Geordus tricked the big warrior.  "Oh, I am not sore about that.  If I had a Bane for every drogan mistaken for a dragon, I could buy another tavern." Pehnn may not understand currency, but he picked up well on human expressions.
  "I am well and truly sorry about that, Pehnn."
  "No harm done," Pehnn waved the apology aside. "I think it all worked out for the best."
  "I still think you need not endanger yourself..."
  "Danger, nothing!  Despite my appearance, I am still a drogan.  Armor-like scales, beyond-human strength, finely tuned senses...I can go toe-to-toe with an ogre and come out on top!"
  "I can manage well enough.  Even in my current weakened state," Dethstroek had not yet recovered his full strength, "I can beat any three orks single handedly, with nothing but a knife and a loincloth,"
  "Well, just as insurance, I had a little something made for you," Pehnn reached under the table and produced a leather-bound package. "Here."
  Dethstroek accepted the package and opened it to find a course tunic made of some strange animal hide and a heavy vest made of black scales.
  "The tunic was made from Tin'dar's wings.  The vest is constructed of his smaller scales," explained the Drogan. "I doubt any blade or missile will penetrate that vest, and the tunic will add additional protection against fire.  I have some breaches, boots, gloves and a cod-piece on the way, as well."
  "Pehnn, this is wonderful!  How can I ever thank you for so wonderful a gift?"
  "Staying alive will suffice.  And keep that scale Tin'dar gave you over your heart at all times!"
  "What about yourself?  Surely you should have some armor as well?"
  "I do.  Not as good as Tin'dar's, but drogan scales are pretty tough, too."
  "Too bad Madbulaiin was ruined.  I could well use her, now."
  "Oh, I almost forgot!  The blade survived well enough, but the hilt was destroyed.  So, I commissioned a craftsman to make a new one from Tin'dar's 'special tooth'.  The sword is at the shop awaiting examination and, if needed, re-enchantment by the local wizard."
  "Pehnn, you think of everything!" beamed the warrior.
  "Not everything.  I haven't figured out how to talk you out of this foolishness...yet!" Pehnn considered for a moment then said, "I will need a lot more instruction on sword-play."
  "Good!" replied the warrior. "I was wondering how to talk you into practicing more!  I, too, need the exercise to regain my strength."

  "I cannot re-enchant your weapon, Sir Knight," explained Mon'darc the mage.
  "Please, just call me Dethstroek," insisted Dethstroek. "What is wrong with the sword?"
  "Well, the original enchantment is mostly intact, but slightly altered in nature.  The extent of the alteration defies my scrying spells.  Also, it has acquired some additional enchantments.  Again, my spells fail to fathom the purpose or function of these new magics," the mage ran a finger across the new hilt on the sword. "Dragon ivory is often used in a number of potions and enchantments, but this is the first time that I have ever seen it used to replace a component of an already enchanted item.  Usually, when a magical weapon is damaged, it is destroyed and the magic escapes.  Also, there is this gem..."
  "That is a dragon's eye sapphire," interrupted Pehnn. "I recovered it from Tin'dar's cave.  I thought it would offset the ivory well."
  "Aesthetics aside, that may not have been wise," retorted the mage. "There are at least three separate enchantments on the gem itself."
  "Can you scry the enchantments on the gem?" asked Dethstroek.
  "No.  The enchantments are all enter-twined," replied the mage. "This is a potentially dangerous item, Dethstroek.  You may be in great danger by carrying it."
  "I'll be careful," assured the warrior. "What else?"
  "Pehnn added two gold rings, at the base and apex of the hilt," continued the mage. "It appears that these also possessed a magic quality."
  "Meaning what?" asked Pehnn.
  "Well, a single gold ring, without magic, is often used in enchanting a weapon to make it adhere to a single user.  This is called an Enchantment of Sole Possession.  The sword will obey only one user...sometimes his descendants after he has passed.
  "I do sense the Sole Possession spell.  This sword will obey only you, Dethstroek.  Of that I am certain.  The ring beneath the hilt seems to be a ring of polymorph."
  "Is this land riddled with that type of ring?" exclaimed Pehnn.
  "I'll get to that in a moment," said Mon'darc. "Dethstroek, pick up the sword and will yourself to change shape." Dethstroek did as he was bid, but without effect. "Now try to change the shape of the sword." Again, Dethstroek did as he was bid, again, without effect. "The spell is active, but altered.  I know not what form the magic will take."
  "And the ring at the base?" asked the warrior.
  "That is a Ring of Spell Storing," explained the mage. "Normally, it would store up to thirty spells and invoke them on command.  The nature has been corrupted, though.  I cannot even tell what enchantments it was already imbued with."
  Pehnn looked up at his companion. "I am so sorry, Deth.  I thought I was making it better for you!  Instead, I may have ruined your fine sword."
  "Mayhap not, Pehnn," said Dethstroek, placing a hand on Pehnn's shoulder. "Mon'darc?"
  "Well, there is still the matter of the gem, and the original enchantment of the blade," said Mon'darc. "I will call on my old colleagues and see if our combined power can scry the full nature of Madbulaiin.  For now, it would be dangerous to use."
  "Shall I leave it in your care?" inquired Dethstroek.
  "By the gods, nay!" declared the mage. "The Possession spell makes it dangerous for any save yourself to keep it."
  "I will put it in a safe place until we can test it properly," Dethstroek said as he sheathed the sword.
 "What about the ring?" prompted Pehnn.
  "He means his ring, not Madbulaiin," supplied Dethstroek.
  "Yes, of course.  Well, as it happens, it is not a Ring of Polymorph," began the mage.
  "What?  But it allows me to alter my shape!" exclaimed Pehnn.
  "True," nodded Mon'darc. "But it also changes your size and mass.  Polymorph spells only change ones shape.  A dragon..."
  "Drogan," said Pehnn and Dethstroek together.
  "Sorry, a 'drogan', polymorphed into the shape of a gnome will still be as big as a drogan," continued the mage. "This is a ring of Shape Changing.  Much more powerful than mere polymorph."
  "What about the magical energy?" asked Pehnn. "Does it need to re-charge?  If so, how?"
  "Well, at full power, it will allow about thirty transformations.  It recharges itself by absorbing sunlight...about one to two uses worth per day.  Right now, I would say it is good for another three to five uses before it has exhausted the current energy," explained the mage.
  "We will have to be sparing in its use for a time," said Dethstroek.
  "If I lose the ring while in gnomic form, will I remain a gnome forever?" asked Pehnn.
  "Not at all!" said Mon'darc. "After three to six days, the spell would ware off, slowly restoring you to your true form, unless you recover the ring.  As long as you ware it, the spell will remain intact."
  "Then all that is left is to test Madbulaiin and learn its new magics," said Dethstroek.
  "I would like to be present when you do," said Mon'darc. "This is a unique opportunity."
  "Nothing unique about getting killed while being reckless..." grumbled Pehnn.

  "Dethstroek, I am truly sorry.  I should have checked with the mage first, then the craftsman," Pehnn said to Dethstroek after the left Mon'darc's shop.
  "Pehnn, relax!  You could not have known!  I thought Madbulaiin destroyed, anyway.  I count myself ahead that I still have her, regardless of the dangers."
  "You intend to carry it...her, still."
  "Of course.  My sword would never turn against me."
  "You should change your name from Dethstroek to Deathwish!"
  "Pehnn, I am confident that all will be well.  I will just take Madbulaiin out to Tin'dar's cave and test her.  That way, no innocents will be in harms way, save for Mon'darc, who, no doubt, can protect himself."
  "Oh, no you don't!  I can't stop you...maybe...but I will make you wait until you have proper protection!  Come on!"
  "Where are we going," Dethstroek decided to humor the drogan.  It was clear that Pehnn was concerned, and Dethstroek was forced to admit it was with good cause.
  "First to the tavern to collect up more dragon scales, then to the Armorer!"
  Tortu the Armorer said it would take at least a week to get the proper equipment. 
  "I have no tools that will pierce the scales, nor effectively weave them together," complained the Armorer. "These are much thicker and stronger than the scales you brought for that vest I made."
  "I can bring in a dragon's fang to pierce the scales and some more gut to tie it together," said Pehnn. "Any competent mage can merge it into a single unit afterwards."
  "What type of armor do you want, then?"
  "Full body protection...head to toe," said Pehnn.
  "Plate armor with helm, boots and gauntlets?"
  "Yes.  How soon can it be ready?"
  "I am not sure," replied Tortu. "I never worked with dragon scale, before.  If I put off my other projects, and put both of my apprentices to work with me, it would take perhaps a week, more likely two.  It will be expensive, though."
  "Name your price and you shall have it, Tortu," said Dethstroek.
  After some discussion, a price was agreed upon then the gnome and warrior took their leave.
  "Really, Pehnn.  Is all this necessary?" asked Dethstroek as the pair exited the shop.
  "You bet your arse, it is!" growled Pehnn. "Playing with unknown magics is dangerous business!  Dragon scale armor is the best protection possible."
  "You are correct, of course," sighed the warrior. "Very well.  We have other matters to attend to in the meantime."

  One of the 'other matters' was the re-location of Tin'dar's hoard of treasure.  Dethstroek was concerned that the 'Golden Dragon' ruse would eventually be penetrated.  So, Pehnn, under the cover of night, resumed his natural form as a drogan and flew out to the cave to recover the treasure.  It took thirty-nine trips in all to transport the lot.
  "Where are we going to put all of this?" asked a breathless Pehnn when he was finished.  The treasure filled the entire drinking hall of the tavern.  Fortunately, Pehnn had dismissed the staff for the evening and closed the tavern to the public.
  "In an empty wine cellar, if it will all fit, I suppose."
  "I can dig out a section of earth next to the cellar, then brick it over," Pehnn suggested.
  "Excellent, Pehnn."
  "I wish we could get rid of some of this, though."
  "Well, we can do away with the Tears and Minors.  Apparently, Tin'dar was not very discriminating in his forays for treasure.  We will spend it on supplies, and maybe hire some people to do some repairs on this tavern.  It could do with a bit of work."
  "The what and the what?" asked Pehnn. "Drogans do not hoard treasure the way dragons do.  I understand precious metals and gems, but not what humans call the various denominations of coinage."
  "Well, Minors are small coins made of a dwarvin metal called iron.  Only dwarves know how to mine and smelt this iron, let alone work it, so it has little value among most of the other races.  Then there are Tears, which are made of copper.  This is a little more valuable.  One Tear is valued at five Minors."
  "I imagine Minors are called such for the low value, or possibly because dwarves are largely minors by trade, but why are the copper coins called 'Tears'?" inquired the drogan.
  "Well, legend has it that poor folk are only able to get copper coins to live on, thus they weep over their poverty."
  "Interesting."
  "Now silver coins are called Banes and are valued at twenty Tears to the Bane."
  "Why Banes?"
  "Because silver is the bane of werewolves, vampyres and a number of other supernatural creatures."
  "That makes sense, I guess," said Pehnn. "And the gold coins?"
  "Ah, that is a bit different.  It seems a Chronomancer was looking far into the future, one day, and saw a king in a far land that could transform anything he touched into pure gold.  This king was called Midas or Midan or the like.  Well, the story caught on and gold coins came to be called Midans.	  One Midan is worth ten Banes."
  "Whatever happened, or will happen, to this 'Midas'?"
  "I confess, I am uncertain.  The Chronomancer was unable to see very much.  No doubt this King Midan shook hands with a lot of his enemies."
  Pehnn roared in laughter at the mental image Dethstroek's comment summoned up.
"Deth, you slay me!"
  "Very nearly so, as I recall," smiled Dethstroek.  Pehnn began to gasp for breath after the new burst of laughter seized him. "Finally, there are the Platinum coins called Starrens, because they gleam like the stars at night.  One Starren is worth five Midans."
  "Very complicated, as well as poetic," gasped Pehnn. "How do you keep it all straight?"
  "Well, I have used this system since I was very young, so I am used to it," said the warrior. "By the way, it was clever of you to use the ring to darken your scales.  In the night sky, you were nearly invisible."
  Pehnn, having regained gnomic form, smiled broadly. "That was not the rings doing, Deth.  Some drogans, myself being one such, can change the hue of their scales."
  "How many other abilities do you possess?" asked the surprised warrior.
  "A few," admitted Pehnn. "Drogans developed along slightly different lines than did dragons.  Dragons developed mostly offensive abilities: Flame, venom, powerful claws for slashing, special magics and what not.  Drogans also possess flame and tough scales, though nowhere near as good as true dragons.  We are physically weaker, slower in flight and lesser in flame.  So we developed a number of abilities that allow us to hide or escape.  I can change color at will, though Pyrite is my natural hue.  I can shed my skin, leaving a hollow decoy of myself.  I am also an accomplished digger, allowing me to quickly burrow into the earth.  Then there is my tail..."
  "What of it?"
  "If it were trapped, I could disengage it and escape."
  "You would leave your tail behind?" Dethstroek was incredulous. 
  "It is painless, and it grows back," shrugged the drogan.
  "Then, your tail must not possess any bones in it, unlike a dragons tail."
  "Correct.  It is all sinew and cartilage."
  "Does any other part grow back?"
  "Most, as long as I don't lose my head."
  "Then you must heal faster than normal."
  "I don't really know what you consider 'normal', but we do heal quickly," granted Pehnn.
  "Good to know," said Dethstroek. "Say, how many languages do you speak?  I have seen you speak common and gnomic."
  "Well, ah, let me see...there is elfish, orkish, beggan, sauran, goblin, dragon, ogrish and brideck.  You?"
  "Elfish and orkish," said Dethstroek. "A little Barbarish."
  "Why do you ask?"
  "Tomorrow, we begin our crusade to clean out Cughmaiin," announced the warrior. "And I have another idea."
  "I can't wait," Pehnn said, though with little enthusiasm.
  "Oh, it will be fun.  Here is how we will begin..."

  A new arrival entered Cughmaiin shortly after sunrise.  As people in the street noticed him coming, they gave the stranger a wide birth.  His features clearly marked him as an ork-kin: thick brow-ridge, pointed ears, cruel mouth that was open just enough that all could see the large, sharp teeth within.  The ork-kin's hair was long and black, tied back with a strip of leather.  Across one eye was a long scar.
  The stranger wore no armor, favoring a leather vest and breaches.  The vest failed to cover a number of old scars on his chest and arms.  Across his back was a large bastard sword in its scabbard.  A long knife adorned his belt.
  The stranger directed his horse to a water trough in front of a tavern then dismounted.  On the front deck of the tavern, three orks of pure blood, if orkish blood could be so considered, observed the newcomer and approached.
  "You can't do that," one of them said.
  "Do what?" asked the newcomer.
  "Water that nag here!" sneered the ork. "This is 'The Ork's Haven', For'log's tavern and only customers water their horses here.
  "After my horse has had his fill, I will come in and have mine," replied the ork-kin.
  "You can't.  We don't open until mid-day."
  "Then I will be a customer at mid-day.  My horse will be a customer, now."
  The exchange between the newcomer and the orks began to draw attention from the townsfolk.  Shop owners poked their heads out their doors to see what was going on.  Among them, across the street from 'The Ork's Haven', was the town undertaker, Unterurth.
  "Your horse will wait until mid-day, halfling," growled the ork.  In ork society, calling one 'halfling' was a considerable insult.  The ork picked up a rock and threw it at the horse, striking it in the left flank.
  Startled, the horse reared up and bolted away.  The orks roared with laughter as the horse ran to the edge of town.  The newcomer watched the orks chortle in glee, then walked away.  Calling insults and laughing all the louder, the orks were clearly pleased with what they thought was an act of cowardice on the part of the stranger.
  Unterurth was surprised when the stranger strode purposefully in his direction and addressed him.  "You the corpse-planter, here?" asked the newcomer.  Unterurth nodded.  The stranger pulled out three silver coins and pressed them into Unterurth's palm.  "I will need three caskets.  The quality is of no consequence."
  "How soon?" asked the undertaker as he jingled the silver coins.
  "Very soon," answered the ork-kin, who then turned and walked back to the tavern where the orks were still laughing.
  "I will need an apology from each of you," demanded the ork-kin.
  "For calling you a 'halfling'?" asked the ork that threw the rock. "Ha!"
  "No," said the stranger. "For upsetting my horse."
  The three laughed even louder at this pronouncement for a moment.  In their eyes, the stranger was some madman.  "Orks apologize to no one," said the rock-thrower, "least of all a horse!"
  "Then this will be an exception," insisted the stranger. "My horse needs an apology."
  The apparent leader again spoke up. "And if we don't provide you with one?"
  "Then I will just have to kill the three of you," the stranger maintained a steady gaze as he spoke.  The three orks stepped down from the deck and drew their swords.
  "Be our guest," said the lead ork as he lunged at the stranger's open chest.
  Moving with almost inhuman speed, the ork-kin twisted out of the way of the sword thrust and sent a powerful fist into the orks jaw, as his other hand reached up and drew the sword from his back-scabbard.  Before the ork could recover, or his cronies come to his aid, the sword was whipped out of the scabbard and sent deep into the ork leader's throat.  The blade pierced the windpipe of the brute, incapacitating him, though not killing him...yet.
  The other two orks, more cautious than their leader, sought to attack the stranger from two sides.  Try as they might, though, they could not land a hit on the ork-kin.  No matter how fast they moved, or where they sought to hit, the stranger's blade was there to deflect the attack.
  While the second and third orks fought the stranger, a fourth ork stepped out of the tavern, carrying a crossbow.  Unable to take a shot with his comrades so close to the stranger, he took aim and waited for his chance.  The opportunity came when the strangers flashing blade beheaded the third ork, who was closest to the tavern.  The fourth ork launched his bolt straight at the ork-kin, only to see the stranger twist out of the way, allowing the missile to skewer the second ork full in the chest.  Before the fourth ork could reload, the stranger turned and threw his sword at him.  The sword cleaved into the brute's chest, piercing his heart.
  The newcomer retrieved his sword, then, after cleaning the blade on the tunic of the fourth ork, stalked back over to Unterurth.  "My error," said the stranger as he tossed another silver coin to the undertaker. "Four caskets."
  "That one is still twitching," Unterurth pointed to the leader of the foursome.
  "Give it a moment," after a few feeble attempts to rise, the ork collapsed and moved no more. "As I said.  Four."
  "For an extra copper each, I'll behead them before I bury them," said Unterurth. "Might save you some trouble later.  Well worth the extra four...excuse me, three coppers."
  "Done."
  "May I know the name of the man with whom I am doing business?"
  "Grim'jo the Mercenary."

  On the opposite side of the village, another stranger was arriving.  Unlike the first newcomer, this one was clearly a dwarf, complete with long silvery beard, incredibly stout body, and short, muscular limbs.  He had no horse, but he carried a backpack with all manner of equipment poking out of it.  The dwarf walked straight to a tavern that was near the edge of the village and entered it.
  Inside, the tavern was dimly lit with candles.  The patrons consisted of a motley variety of ogres, saurans, bridecks and barbarians.  The barkeep was a haggard looking human with an unhappy expression on his face.  The bar was crowded with bodies, all clamoring for a refill.
  Closer examination of the bodies revealed that one of them was a zoard.  Zoards were so rare as to be almost unique.  Many believed they were the hybrid offspring of bridecks and saurans.  The zoards themselves had no interest in confirming or denying that belief.
  The dwarf walked up to the bar and tried to get the barkeeps attention.  His height, or lack thereof, prevented him from being noticed by the harried barkeep through the wall of bodies.  After a few attempts to politely gain access to the bar, the dwarf grabbed the zoard by its stump of a tail and pulled.  The zoard, shocked by such audacity turned to see what had attacked his posterior.
  "Excuse me, good sir, but could you permit me access to the bar?" said the dwarf.  "It has been a long journey, and I could do with a few good ales, or whatever passes for ale in this place."
  The zoard roared something incoherent and took a swipe at the dwarf with a thick, clawed hand.  The dwarf easily dodged the flailing limb.  The entire tavern became silent as all eyes turned to the zoard and the dwarf.
  "Now, I ask you, was that at all polite?" demanded the dwarf.
  The zoard, stunned by the dwarf's reaction was silent for a moment, then bent down low and said, in brideckese, "Who...you?"
  "Kwihll the dwarf," answered the dwarf. "And you are...?"
  It took the zoard a moment to realize the dwarf expected an answer.  "Tsaht," he said.
  "Zot?"
  "No...TSAHT!"
  "Tsaht.  Got it," replied Kwihll. "Join me in an ale, Tsaht.  Get me to the bar and I'll buy you one, too."
  "TAIL!" roared Tsaht.
  "Not tail...ale.  Drinkee ale," retorted the dwarf. "No drinkee tail."
  "You...pull...tail!" said Tsaht.
  "Again?" said the dwarf.
  "YOU...PULL...TAIL!" Tsaht insisted. "NO...PULL...TAIL!"
  "Well, now, make up your mind!" insisted Kwihll. "You want me to pull your tail or not?  I mean, really, I should charge money for that, I think..."
  Unable to penetrate the salvo of wit launched at him, the zoard decided to repeat his earlier attempt at displaying his displeasure.  He roared something incoherent and took a swipe at the dwarf with a thick, clawed hand.
  "Now that is just plain rude," said Kwihll as he again dodged the flailing limb. "Here we are, having a pleasant conversation, and you get all anti-social."
  From all over the tavern, voices began to grow load.
  "Kill the dwarf, Tsaht!  Kill the dwarf, Tsaht!"
  Goaded by the crowd, the zoard started to attack in earnest, swinging his massive clawed hands in an attempt to get the ever-dodging dwarf.  Kwihll, deciding enough was enough, threw a bare fist into the zoards chest.  To the onlooker's amazement, Tsaht was knocked off his feet and over the bar.  The entire bar became silent as the zoard struggled to his feet and climbed back over the bar.
  Not waiting for another attack, Kwihll sent a punch into the zoard's slightly distended face, knocking Tsaht sideways into a table surrounded by a group of ogres.  The ogres tried to get the zoard back on its feet, but it was to no avail.  Tsaht was unconscious.
  Kwihll returned his attention to the barkeep. "I'll have a dwarvin ale, no foam, if you please." The barkeep rushed to comply.
  "Where do you hail from, dwarf?" came a booming voice from across the room.
  Kwihll turned to the direction the voice issued from.  There, he saw a brideck of above average size.  "Lot's of different places," Kwihll replied. "Who wants to know?"
  "I am Gh'ahtorr, leader of this band of besotted idiots," replied the brideck.  The crowd chuckled at their leader's reply.  "What business have you in this village?"
  "Just looking for some work," returned Kwihll before taking a long pull from his ale.
  "What do you do, besides starting tavern brawls?"
  "Well, mostly that, but the pay is lousy.  Otherwise, I am a Mercenary."
  "Are you good?"
  "My mother always complained I was evil incarnate, but I don't think I was all that bad."
  Gh'ahtorr took a moment to digest the reply then roared in laughter. "You have a quick tongue and a sharp wit, Kwihll.  We could use more of that around here," Gh'ahtorr cast a meaningful glance around the room.  "Tell me, though.  How does a dwarf defeat a zoard so easily?  Tsaht is the strongest of my followers, though a bit thick of skull."
  "Clean living, good food, and the right wardrobe," said Kwihll, patting his belt.
  "HA!  A Belt of Strength!  I should have guessed as much," Gh'ahtorr eyed the dwarf more thoroughly. "Bracers?"
  "Dragon level.  Belt, too."
  "Hmmm...tell me, Kwihll, why I shouldn't have you killed and take those items for myself?"
  "Two reasons: One, I would sell my life most dearly. Two, spell of Sole Possession."
  "So they only work for you, and none other?"
  "Just so."
  "I think you are lying," accused the brideck.
  "Choose a volunteer.  I'll let him try the Belt on," offered the dwarf.
  Gh'ahtorr considered for a moment, then pointed to one of the barbarians.  "L'narmek Moorlok (Dark Squirrel).  Put on the Belt."
  The barbarian looked uncomfortable at being chosen.  Barbarians have little love for magic, as a rule.  L'narmek Moorlok did as he was bid, however, and accepted the Belt from the dwarf.
  After the barbarian put on the Belt, Gh'ahtorr ordered him to punch through a thick, bricked wall.  The barbarian dutifully punched the wall, but broke only his knuckles.
  "It seems you spoke truly, dwarf," Gh'ahtorr observed. "Now, tell me why I shouldn't kill you now, while you are vulnerable."
  "Because a live dwarf with a Belt of Dragon Strength is far more useful than a corpse and a belt that only holds up your breaches," replied Kwihll calmly.
  Gh'ahtorr was forced to agree.  "Return his Belt, Moorlok.  Kwihll, you work for me now.  Full share of all booty we bring in from the caravans we hijack."
  Kwihll put his Belt back on and raised his mug.  "To good times, ahead!" he smiled.

  Grim'jo entered the Orks Haven Tavern just after mid-day.  It had taken him some time to coax his horse back into the village, and he was more than ready for food and drink.  The barkeep was an ork-kin that very much favored his human ancestry in appearance.
  "Orkish beer," Grim'jo ordered.  The barkeep quickly filled a mug and placed it in front of the Mercenary.
  "That'll be three Tears," Grim'jo fished out a purse full of copper and iron coins. "Let me know when this runs out," he said as he handed the purse to the barkeep. "Food?"
  "Lot's of Dragon Steak," said the barkeep. "Had a Dragon-slayer through here, recently.  Took care of a black dragon nearby, and left us well stocked for meat.  Good price, too."
  Grim'jo held a bland expression for a moment. "Sure...everybody likes dragon," he said.
  "White wine with that?"
  "Aye, a lot of it," agreed Grim'jo. When his order arrived, he took it to a table in the corner where he could keep an eye on the drinking hall.  He ate slowly, as if the meal bored him.  As he finished, the hall began to fill up with the tavern's day trade: orks and ork-kin.
  Despite the growing din, Grim'jo was able to catch snippets of conversations.
  "Unterurth said it was an ork-kin what killed Bal'nar and his cronies."
  "He also said that the newcomer beheaded the lot of them."
  "Ha!  That old corpse-planter offers a service where he decapitates the corpses, just so nobody can raise 'em up again."
  "As if anybody would waste good gold bringing those mutts back to life!"
  At another table, the topic was different.
  "That human what killed the dragon, whazzis name, hasn't been seen lately."
  "Think his injuries caught up with him?"
  "I think he took off when he heard that another dragon came around."
  "Nah.  He killed one, why run from another."
  "First one near kilt him.  Maybe he saw it smart not to take a chance a second time."
  "Can't be too smart if he tried the first time, heh!"
  "True.  Guy could get kilt messin' wit' drag's."
  And at another table...
  "For'log's gotta do sum'tin' 'bout them bridecks an' what-not."
  "You wanna fight that bunch?  I don't!"
  "They, don't wanna mess wit' us, neither.  For'log's got them, whattayacallit, stymied."
  "Thanks to that hammer o' his."
  "Something gotta give, sooner or later."
  "What if Gh'ahtorr's gang worked with the baron?  Hammer or no, that is to big for us."
  "Baron wants no truck wit' da bridecks.  He too scared."
  "Hey!  I just thought a sump'tin!"
  "Truly a first time event!"
  "Well, I hear that dragons have lot'sa gold and jools and stuff."
  "Yeah.  Me too.  So?"
  "Well, if For'log took on a drag wit dat hammer..."
  "Forgeddaboudit.  Takes more than a magical weapon to beat a dragon.  That, whazzis name, Dead-stroke, near got kilt, an' I heard he had a magical sword..."
  "Who are you?"
  It took Grim'jo a moment to realize he was being addressed.  That'll teach me to eavesdrop, he thought.  
  "Who wants to know?" he said.
  "Rhatt'phinc, For'log's under-chief."
"Well, Rhatt'phinc the under-chief, I am a man who prefers not to be disturbed after a meal."
  "Then eat somewhere else.  Give me you name...now."
  "Very well.  I be Grim'jo the Mercenary.  What of it?"
  "Did you kill four men?"
  "I dare-say I have killed far more than just four..."
  "Today!  Did you kill four men today?"
  "That would depend on your definition of a 'man'."
  "This morning four orks were slain in front of this tavern.  Did you slay them."
  "Aye."
  At that moment, Grim'jo noticed the entire tavern was watching him and Rhatt'phinc.
  "Then you will come with me," ordered the under-chief.
  "No."
  "What?" Rhatt'phinc was taken back. "Perhaps you do not recognize the situation here.  You are one man, alone, in a tavern filled to overflowing with orks and ork-kin, ready to slay you on my command."
  "Perhaps you do not recognize the situation," countered Grim'jo. "I could kill you, where you stand, before you could finish a single word."
  "You would still die."
  "After you."
  Rhatt'phinc considered the Mercenary's words then tried another tactic.
  "Grim'jo the Mercenary, would you be so kind as to come with me?  For'log, our chief, has requested that you join him in his chambers."
  "Lead the way," Grim'jo stood, adjusted his scabbard, and followed the under-chief.  The patrons silently moved out of the way as the pair proceeded to the back of the tavern.  Grim'jo kept a wary eye out for any sudden movement as he followed Rhatt'phinc.
  In the back of the tavern were a number of rooms where the orkish leader made his home.  Rhatt'phinc knocked twice on a door then opened it without awaiting a reply.  The pair entered the dimly lit room and the under-chief closed the door behind them.
  Grim'jo tried to take in the room as quickly as possible in case an ambush was in the offing.  Instead of an ambush, there was only a single being, sitting in an elaborate throne-like chair.  The being was hooded, obscuring his face completely in the dim candlelight.
  "I understand you had a disagreement with a few of my men, this morning," said the hooded figure in a sepulchral voice.
  "If you intend to thank me, you are welcome," said Grim'jo.
  "Perhaps I should," chuckled the hooded figure. "Bal'nar was a fool.  We are well rid of him.  But the others were competent, save for their choice of leadership.  Letting you go your way would undermine my authority.  I can't just let the slaying of four loyal men go unchallenged."
  "Well, I am sure you would understand if I elected not to cooperate if you choose to have me killed," retorted the Mercenary.
  "No, I imagine not.  That would be a waste, in any case," agreed For'log "What would you do in my place?"
  "Train my men better."
  "You would do well to use you wit sparingly in my presence."
  "Have you best fighter challenge me to a duel.  He wins, I'm dead and he gets my possessions.  I win, he dies, I get his possessions, and you have made an effort to deal with me in your men's eyes."
  "I suspect you have done this before.  No doubt you are confident my champion will fall to your blade," said the ork chief. "Very well.  The challenge will be issued at sundown.  That should give you time to settle your affairs," As Grim'jo turned to leave, a bony claw grasped his wrist. "Do not seek to leave Cughmaiin before this is settled."
  "I wouldn't dream of it," smiled the mercenary grimly.
  For'log studied the Mercenary's face for a moment then said, "Have we met before?  You seem vaguely familiar to me."
  "I am certain I would recall such an encounter," replied Grim'jo as he walked out.
 
  The ork-kin sat down next to Grim'jo at the bar of the Black Dragon Tavern.
  "It's me, Deth."
  "Ye gods, Pehnn!" whispered Grim'jo. "You near took a decade off my life!  Why the ork-kin disguise?"
  "Dwarf-kind and ork-kind do not get along," pointed out the disguised drogan  "It would attract attention if a dwarf sat down next to you.  Especially one from an enemy camp."
  "Oh, right!" winced Grim'jo. "I knew that.  To much dragon steak and ale, lately.  It has addled me a bit."
  "I must say, you chose a particularly hideous face to use," commented Pehnn.
  "Thanks," grinned the mercenary. "I will pass it along to the original owner."
  "You actually knew somebody that looked like that?"
  "Aye.  Uncle Grimmoer, before he became a vampyre."
  Pehnn shuddered at the thought.  "He looked a lot better when you introduced him to me."
  "Well, he is more human, now," pointed out the warrior. "How did it go?"
  "They bought the line about the Belt and Bracers," Pehnn said. "I had to beat a zoard to do it."
  "He didn't hurt you, did he?"
  "Not at all," replied the drogan. "Fortunately, the Pehnn is mightier than the zoard."
Pehnn started to roar in laughter, but then saw the look on Dethstroek's face.  "Tough room," he sighed. "George would be rolling on the floor, about now,"
  "Somehow, I very much doubt it," smiled Dethstroek, wondering why Pehnn always called Geordus 'George'.  Maybe it was an idiosyncrasy of his species. "How did you happen to select that particular face?"
  "I just thought of myself as an ork-kin, and this is what I became."
  "Is that how your gnome-form was selected?"
  "Yes.  I think the ring just transforms me into my idea of an ork-kin or gnome."
  "Hmmm..." Dethstroek considered Pehnn's statement. "That must be it.  I thought of Grimmoer's old face, and got it."
  "How is that holding up, by the way?" Pehnn asked. "Mon'darc said you would change back over time without the ring."
  "It has only been a day.  He said the transformation would hold up for three to six days, and then gradually fade.  I suspect I will be okay for a while, yet," said Grim'jo, then added, "He finds my face familiar, somehow."
  "Maybe he ran into Grimmoer at some point?"
  "Few are the orks that survived such a meeting," replied Grim'jo. "Perhaps I chose my guise unwisely.  Grimmoer was well known as the scourge of orks before he was cured and made human-like.  Perhaps one did survive and described his face to others."
  "I doubt it will be a problem," said Pehnn with a dismissive wave. "You said yourself, few who met him survived."
  "Few orks," Grim'jo corrected. "For'log could be anything under those robes.  Even his face is obscured.  I'll have to watch him closely."
  "Good idea in any case.  I hope this mission does not last too long," muttered Pehnn. "The dwarf-shape isn't as comfortable as the gnomic form.  Besides, a dwarf in a pack of bridecks and ogres tends to stand out a bit."
  "Why didn't you choose an ogre form?"
  "Same reason I stay a gnome in human company.  Any mistakes I might make regarding dwarfish behavior will likely go unnoticed among ogres and such, but an ogre making such mistakes would be quickly found out."
  "Good thinking, Pehnn," said Grim'jo. "You have a real knack for subterfuge."
  "How did your own infiltration go?"
  "Killed four orks to get their attention.  It worked.  Tonight I fight their champion.  I win, I'm in."
  "And if you lose?"
  "We can well afford a resurrection spell."
  "Are you insane?  Resurrection spells are far from perfect!  You told me yourself that sometimes the recipient comes back as a zombie or ghoul, or even something worse."
  "I am less concerned about that than I am about what the orks will do to my body if they kill me.  I need all my parts intact if the spell is to work.  If I am dismembered or burned, it's all over."
  "How do you think you will do?  Against their champion, I mean?"
  "Well, I never met an ork I couldn't kill in a fair fight...or even an unfair one," Dethstroek spoke as if he were discussing the weather. "But I may not be fighting an ork at all, so we will just have to wait and see."
  "What else could it be?"
  "I don't know...that's what concerns me."

  In his three years of traveling with his uncle, Grimmoer, and all the years afterwards, Dethstroek faced numerous orks in battle, observed their tribal customs, and studied their social interactions.  One of the things he learned was that orks were creatures of ceremony.  If there were a ritual challenge, there would be a lot of pomp and ceremony involved.  Another was that orks had an almost superstitious reverence for the power of fire.
  So, when Dethstroek, in the guise of Grim'jo, stepped out into the street at sundown for his fight with the ork's champion, he was not surprised to find a dozen blazing torches set one high staffs arranged in a circle approximately nine paces wide.  The ork tribe formed a silent semi-circle on the opposite side of the ring of torches with the ork leader standing centered before them.
  "You came, Grim'jo," rasped the hooded ork chief. "I am impressed."
  "You thought me a coward?"
  "I thought you wise," For'log raised a bony hand, and the tribe behind him parted. "I have a special warrior for you to do battle with.  He was very costly to acquire, but has been well worth it."
  A slow-moving figure plodded up between the parted orks and stepped into the ring of torches, stopping in the exact center.  Grim'jo looked at his opponent, appraising him.  It was not an ork.  It was not even truly alive.  It was a Wadman.
  "My champion is waiting, Grim'jo," taunted For'log. "Surely you will not disappoint us, now?"
  Was this the secret weapon I was told of? thought Grim'jo.  He quickly reviewed what he new of Wadmen.  They were not men at all, for one thing.  They were a kind of golem, made from the woven hair of dead warriors and filled with honey.  Possessed of only rudimentary intelligence, still they were skillful with weapons, as were the warriors whose hair was harvested for their creation.  In addition, the Wadman would adhere to anything, covering a live opponent and smothering it.  Swords were useless, as they would become trapped in the Wadman's body.
  I am in big trouble, thought Grim'jo.

  "Did you hear the news?" rumbled the brideck called Namm. "The orks are having a party, tonight."
  "A party?" repeated Kwihll. "Somebody getting married or buried?"
  "Buried, most like," laughed Namm. "Some half-ork killed four of For'log's men, now they are gonna have 'im fight their so-called champion."
  "Oh?  This champion is tough?"
  "It's a Wadman.  Can't be killed 'cause it ain't livin'," rumbled the brideck. "For'log uses it to keep control of his men."
  "How does one defeat a Wadman?" asked Kwihll.
  "One doesn't," smiled Namm.

  "What are the rules of this engagement, For'log?" demanded Grim'jo.  He was actually stalling for time, trying to think of a way to kill his unliving opponent.
  "Do not leave the circle, or you will be cut down by my bowmen," rasped For'log from the depths of his hood. "All else is fair game."
  "You have a singular concept of fair," Grim'jo muttered under his breath.  If I had Madbulaiin, thought Grim'jo, I would make short work of this thing, but that would reveal my true nature.
  "You will enter the circle, now, Grim'jo," ordered For'log.
  Having little other option, Grim'jo drew his sword and knife and entered the circle of torches.

  What am I going to do? thought Pehnn.  He excused himself from the brideck's company claiming to need to use the privy.  Instead, he assumed his natural shape and flew over to the part of the village controlled by the orks.  Using his natural ability to camouflage himself, Pehnn darkened his scales to remain unseen. 
  Taking up a position on top of a high building, Pehnn observed the events unfolding before him.  He suspected a powerful blast of flame would destroy the Wadman in seconds, but he dared not interfere, lest Dethstroek become found out.
  Drogans, being a largely vegetarian race, rarely thought in terms of "kill them all and let the Gods sort them out" the way carnivorous dragons might.  Pehnn, however, had spent a great deal of time in the company of a certain warrior of late.
  "I won't interfere, directly, but if Dethstroek dies, he will have a large parade of orks to carry him to the next life," Pehnn said to himself.

  Inside the circle, Grim'jo slowly moved around his opponent.  One good grab on the part of the Wadman and Grim'jo was done for.  Few men could wrest free of the sticking grasp of a Wadman.  Once captured, the unliving thing would flow over him, suffocating him ton death.
  In Grim'jo's favor was the fact that the Wadman was slow.  Very, very slow.  It was easy to stay out of reach, but eventually, Grim'jo would tire, or make a mistake, and the Wadman would have him.
  Using his knife, Grim'jo made stabbing motions at his opponent.  This was purely for show, as he did not dare to actually make contact with the sticky body.
  This can't go on, thought Grim'jo, I have to take the offensive...somehow.
  With few options open to him, Grim'jo flipped his knife into a throwing position and let loose.  The blade spun lazily in the air before embedding itself in the Wadman's left foot.  The blade pierced the foot and took hold in the ground beneath.
  Grim'jo's intent had been to make a tear in the woven hair, in the hopes some of the honey within would leak out, weakening the Wadman, but the tear sealed itself instantly around the blade.  Instead, the Wadman was trapped in place, as the blade was stuck in the creature's foot and the earth below it.
  Grim'jo watched as the sorcerous construct slowly bent down to wrest the blade free.  It took several minutes before the Wadman succeeded in freeing itself.
  Now that is interesting, thought the disguised warrior, perhaps I have a chance after all.
  Grim'jo quickly ran behind his opponent and swung his sword low, catching the Wadman's legs deep on the blade.  Though the Wadman felt no pain, the sword, now adhering to both legs from behind, prevented it from walking until it freed itself.  The constructs own strength was thus made into a weakness.  Grim'jo released the sword and leaped back.
  Turning its torso full around in a manner no human could ever do, the Wadman twisted a full one hundred eighty degrees at the waist, then bent over and took hold of the sword.  Slowly, ever so slowly, it began to work the blade free.
  Grim'jo could see he had little time to act.  Running to the nearest torch, he pulled it out of the ground.  With this new weapon, Grim'jo tried first to burn the creature.  Though it smoldered a bit, and the honey beneath boiled a little, it was clear that the flame would not destroy, or even significantly damage the Wadman.  Having no other options, Grim'jo spun the torch-staff about and used the pointed end to spear the Wadman through it's back, down it's torso and into the ground.
  The Wadman, pinned in place, tried to stand slowly sliding its body up the shaft of the staff.  Grim'jo, seeing this, unearthed another torch and again stabbed the Wadman, this time at an angle through it's torso and right leg.  No sooner was the second torch staff secure in the earth Grim'jo ran and procured another.  He repeated this action until there were six of the torch-staffs protruding from the Wadman's body, effectively rendering it motionless.
  "Will this count as a victory, or must I gather the remaining torches and try to set this thing on fire?" demanded Grim'jo.
  "You have won, mercenary," rasped the ork chief. "Thus, I extend an offer to join my band."
  "I will accept on one condition."
  "And that is?"
  "You have somebody clean and return my sword and knife," said Grim'jo.
  For'log rasped out a harsh chuckle. "Agreed."

  In the shadows above, Pehnn released a long sigh then took flight.

  "This is to be your room," Rhatt'phinc had been delegated the responsibility of showing Grim'jo to his quarters, much to his chagrin.
  "There is somebody else's belongings here," Grim'jo observed.  Indeed, the room was littered with clothing, armor and weapons of various sizes.  Most were filthy, the rest just foul in appearance and stench.
  "No need to worry," sneered Rhatt'phinc. "They managed to conveniently die at you hand this morning."
  "Ah.  Am I to have the room to myself, then?" Grim'jo asked.
  "Most likely," said Rhatt'phinc. "The other men are leery of you."
  "I must have made a bad first impression," said Grim'jo wryly.

  "This is to be your room," said Gh'ahtorr.
  "There is somebody else's possessions here," Kwihll observed.  The room had two large bed racks, one of which held a number of items that defied description.
  "That is Tsaht's place.  No one else will share quarters with him," smiled the brideck chief.
  "How did I become so favored?" inquired the dwarf.
  "Well, none of the others want you in their quarters, and Tsaht is sufficiently cowed by this mornings events that he will not disturb you," Gh'ahtorr explained, "much."
  "I must have made a bad first impression," said Kwihll wryly.

  "Whatever happens, never enter that room."
  "Why not?" inquired Grim'jo.
  Rhatt'phinc hesitated a moment before answering.  "For'log's woman is in there.  None are permitted to see her save For'log and myself."
  "Sex slave, eh?" Grim'jo leered. "Didn't think the old dragon had it in him."
  "No.  She is something else," said Rhatt'phinc. "Something best not discussed."
  "As you wish," said Grim'jo, eyeing the door.

  "That room is forbidden."
  "Oh?" said Kwihll.
  Gh'ahtorr looked warningly at Kwihll. "I have a weapon of great power in that room.  It would be dangerous for any save myself to attempt to wield it."
  "Why have you not used it against For'log and his band?" asked Kwihll.
  "All things in good time, Kwihll of the Dragon Belt," replied the brideck.
  "You're the chief," said Kwihll, eyeing the door.

  Grim'jo did little sleeping that night.  First, he removed the rank clothing of the previous occupants from his quarters.  This resulted in a sizable bonfire behind the building.  Next, he inspected the weapons left in the room.  Most were beyond repair, but one long sword and two knives could be worked back into serviceable condition.  Grim'jo set these aside and took the rest out to the main hall, where he dumped them on a table for any who would want them.
  Grim'jo took a piece of wood and wedged it tight under the door before allowing himself to relax.  Any seeking to slay him in his sleep would have to make a lot of noise pushing in the door.  In the four bunks, he stuffed pillows and extra sheets under the blankets, creating the illusion that all the beds were full of bodies.  Satisfied he had taken all necessary precautions, Grim'jo took up a position under a bunk, grasped his sword, and finally slept.

  Kwihll slept well that night, though his roommate had some difficulty.  As soon as the dwarf's head hit the woolen pillow, he lapsed into a heavy sleep.  Tsaht did not fair so well, as Kwihll's snoring was loud enough to wake the dead.

  "There is a wagon, loaded with gold, coming through the pass on the other side of Tin'dar's mountain in the next three days.  It is intended for a dwarvish smithery far to the north, but it is destined for us," For'log held a council of six orks to plan the attack on the wagon.  The council consisted of For'log, Rhatt'phinc, Grim'jo and three orks of little distinction.  "Grim'jo, you will lead this raid."
  "Hey!" cried one of the orks. "He's the newest of us!  He shouldn't be allowed to lead more seasoned members of the band."
  "We could have a duel to decide the matter," Grim'jo said with a cruel smile.
  "Um...I don't think that will be necessary," stammered the ork.  Grim'jo's reputation had preceded him.
  "That is why Grim'jo will lead you sorry cowards," For'log rasped. "Now you must all be on guard.  Gh'ahtorr will no doubt also be aware of the shipment, and will seek to seize it, either before we get it, or after.  Carry crossbows just in case."
  "I would suggest taking the party to scout the area in advance," said Grim'jo. "Familiarity with the terrain will be to our advantage."
  "Agreed," said For'log.

  "There is a shipment of gold that will pass near here on it's way to a dwarvin smithery sometime in the next three days," rumbled Gh'ahtorr as he addressed Kwihll, a brideck, and two ogres. "I intend to take possession of that shipment.  Kwihll, you four will do this for me.  You will lead."
  "Why does this runt lead?" demanded the brideck.
  "He has wit and courage," rumbled back the Chief. "In this instance, wit has the greater advantage."
  "You flatter me, great one," Kwihll bowed.
  "Prepare yourself and your crew as you see fit."
  "Scouting the area might be wise."
  "Good thinking.  Make it happen, dwarf."

  "Are you going to assume a different form every time we meet?" demanded Grim'jo/Dethstroek.  Kwihll/Pehnn had approached the warrior in the guise of a human, this time.
  "It will make it harder to catch us this way," replied Pehnn.
  "Where are you getting all these different clothes?" asked Dethstroek.
  "It seems the ring will supply them if I concentrate hard enough."
  "Actual clothes, or is it still part of your body?" Dethstroek appraised the drogan's attire, but could not decide if it was real or not.
  "I don't want to know," admitted Pehnn. "As a precaution, I will avoid removing anything, lest I lose the equivalent in scales when I resume my true form."
  The two had met up at the tavern as before to compare notes.  After discussing the gold shipment, Dethstroek worked out a plan.
  "Since you dislike direct killing, Pehnn, I have a way to take care of this that will not be as upsetting for you."
  "But you still intend to kill them," it was a statement, not a question.
  "Yes," admitted the warrior. "If another way was open to me, I would take it.  I have no love of orks or ogres, but I have no animus for bridecks and barbarians.  Still, the people here suffer under their tyranny."
  "What is your plan?"
  "It is simple enough, Pehnn, as I think you will agree..."

  The sun was bright and hot as it shined down on the orkish party.  They walked out rather than bring mounts, lest a horse's whinny betray their presence.
  "This looks like the perfect place to launch an ambush," said Grim'jo as the group approached a low depression in the hillside.
  "So, we make camp here?" asked Snar'glopp, a singularly unpleasant example of the ork race.
  "No," countered Grim'jo. "We take up a position just above and dig in."
  The three orks looked to each other in confusion, but did as instructed.  None of them wanted to challenge this strange mercenary who faced a Wadman and lived to tell of it.
  "I want each of you to have your crossbows at the ready," ordered Grim'jo. "We are not the only ones who want this gold, you can be sure."
  "Are we to expect company, then?" sneered Snar'glopp.
  "Yes." Grim'jo spoke with such finality none sought to argue with him.

  "So, have any of you ever raided a gold shipment before?" inquired Kwihll.  He received a few grunts in reply.  It was clear the others had no respect for the dwarf, despite his victory over Tsaht the day before.  That, at least, made sense to Kwihll.  Gh'ahtorr seamed all to ready to trust the dwarf with so great a task.  Kwihll suspected that the brideck, Ghortt, was watching him, ready to slay him if the mission failed, or he proved less than loyal.
  "We need a good position from which to launch an ambush," Kwihll looked about him.  Actually, he had flown over this area earlier, and memorized the terrain.  This information he had passed back to Dethstroek/Grim'jo before returning to Gh'ahtorr's tavern.  Thus, Kwihll knew exactly where he was going and, more importantly, what was going to happen next.

  Grim'jo quietly observed Kwihll's group as it took up position in the depression.  The orks were anxious to attack, but Grim'jo held them back.  He wanted the other group to relax, be off-guard.  Kwihll was clearly in view, but the dwarf did not look up at Grim'jo's position.
  The two ogres sat down and started playing a game of Three Bone with a set of three ivory dice while the brideck took up a position that allowed him to view the road below.
  From above, Grim'jo and his trio of orks stealthily took up positions and carefully aimed their crossbows.
  "Snar'glopp, you take the ogre on the left," whispered Grim'jo. "Vol'dun, you take the ogre on the right.  Pat'hos, you take the brideck.  The dwarf is mine."
  The orks took aim and awaited the command to fire their crossbow bolts.  Grim'jo waited until he could be sure the dwarf was not in the direct line of fire.  Pehnn had assured Dethstroek that his scales were proof against such missiles, but the warrior wanted to be certain before taking any risks.  In dwarfish form, Pehnn had no scales, though the magic of his ring only altered the drogan's appearance, not his nature.
  Kwihll moved over to the edge of the depression and sat down.  That was the queue Grim'jo needed.  "Now," he said.  
  Instantly, four bolts shot out, three striking their targets.  One, Grim'jo's, landed in the space between Kwihll's torso and arm.  Kwihll, surprised at first, as he was expecting the bolt to actually strike him, covered by closing the space between his arm and torso, then rolling on his side.  This would give the illusion he had been skewered clean through.
  The ogres were killed instantly, but the brideck still clung to life.  Grim'jo drew his sword as he leaped down.  Just as the brideck turned to face his new foe, Grim'jo swung his blade taking the brute's head clean off.
  Seeing an apparently easy victory, the orks came down after their leader.
  "Good job, Grim'jo!"
  "Made it look easy!"
  "For'log will be impressed!"
  Hearing the last comment, Grim'jo turned and said, "Too bad you won't be there to tell him."
  The orks barely had time to process Grim'jo's statement when his flashing blade was launched through Snar'glopp's throat.  Stunned, the two remaining orks were slow to react.  This proved fatal for both of them, as Grim'jo moved from opponent to opponent cutting them down quickly and silently.
  "There is no tip on this bolt." Kwihll said as he sat up and examined the crossbow bolt that had 'killed' him.
  "I wanted to be certain  you were not harmed, Pehnn," said Grim'jo.
  "How will you explain all this to For'log?" asked the pseudo-dwarf.
  "Well, it seems that Gh'ahtorr's thugs attacked and killed my men," said Grim'jo. "Fortunately, I succeeded in slaying all but one.  This brideck's head will go a long way towards supporting my story."
  "Then my story is the same, save that it was orks who attacked us and died," said Kwihll. "We should dispose of the bodies."
  "Agreed.  I can get a shovel..."
  "No need," interrupted Kwihll. "I will fly them back to Tin'dar's cave and set them afire near the pass.  This will add to the belief that a new dragon has taken up residence there."
  "Good idea, Pehnn!  Here," Grim'jo moved to one of the dead orks and removed it's head with a quick swipe of his sword, "You will need this to support your story."
  "Ugh!  You humanoids with your ghastly trophies!" Kwihll took the head between two fingers and stuffed it in a sack. "Disgusting!"
  Grim'jo smiled and nodded. "It is a grisly business at times.  But, we must be convincing in our charade, lest we be found out."
  "If this doesn't get your exile lifted, me and the duke will have words," grumbled Kwihll.  "Does not all this killing bother you?"
  Grim'jo was silent for a moment before answering. "It bothers me that I can find no alternative," the disguised warrior looked at Kwihll with a sober expression. "We live in violent, dangerous times, Pehnn, when might most often makes right.  In the cities like Rennibister and Etrice, there are city guards and prisons to deal with creatures like Gh'ahtorr and For'log, and even then many escape to cause trouble elsewhere, if they haven't been executed first.  Out here, it is just you and I against two warring factions.  We are very much out-numbered," as Grim'jo spoke, he selected a knife from the brideck's belt and gave himself a shallow cut on his left forearm. "Then there are the innocents caught in the middle, unable to adequately defend themselves," Grim'jo shook his head sadly. "Even if I succeeded in scaring them away, they would likely become somebody else's problem, or even return after we have left.  No, killing them is the only option I can see.  I only hope I can destroy them before they do more harm."
  "I see your point, Deth," Pehnn said, eyeing Grim'jo's self-inflicted wound. "Very well.  But I hope you will not think me weak if I avoid killing as much as possible."
  "Pehnn, you possess power enough to kill any number of men, but you choose not to use it," said the warrior, "That is not weakness, that is true strength."

  "All dead?" roared Gh'ahtorr. "How could they all be dead?  And you without a scratch!"
  "Yes, Chief," replied Kwihll. "But the orks suffered for it," the dwarf extracted the head of Snar'glopp and set it on the table. "Only my bracers preserved me from harm."
  "How many?" asked the brideck.
  "Three dead, one escaped," replied Kwihll. "I regret not being able to capture or kill the last one, but he was very fleet of foot.  We dwarves are not known for our running prowess."
  "True enough.  You clearly did your best, dwarf," said Gh'ahtorr. "You take the day to recover.  I will send another crew out for the time being."
  "My thanks to you, great chief."

  "All three dead?" rasped out For'log. "How?"
  "Gh'ahtorr's henchmen," replied Grim'jo. "There were four of them, now there is one," Grim'jo dropped the bridecks head on the table.
  "One escaped?" asked the ork.
  "I was busy with this one," Grim'jo nodded at the severed head on the table, "leaving no time to give chase.  Better to kill the brave ones and let the cowards flee."
  "Humph.  Good enough," rasped For'log as he glanced at Grim'jo's injured fore arm. "I will send another group out.  You may take the night for yourself."
  "As you wish, For'log."

  Unlike his first night in For'log's employ, Grim'jo slept soundly, though with the same precautions he always took.  As always, his slumber was quiet.

  "Who is there?" called Pehnn in gnomic.
  "I was unaware you could speak, let alone in the tongue of the gnomes." said a hidden voice.
  "Oh, yes, indeed.  And why shouldn't I?  I speak many languages, in fact.  I can read, as well." Pehnn raised his snout and sniffed the air. "You are a gnome, yes?  You smell of parchment and ink, but also of leather and earth and...and...DRAGON VENOM!" Pehnn leaped up suddenly and flew, literally, to the end of the cave, where he began clawing at the dirt in apparent panic.  "Go away!  Leave me alone!" he cried.
  "What are you doing?" asked the surprised gnome.
  "Trying to escape, of course!" cried the panicked Pehnn, still frantically clawing at the dirt and rock.  Impressive amounts of the cave wall fell to the ground, but failed to provide any egress for the drogan.
  "I do not understand.  You...are afraid...of me?" came the gnome's voice.
  "YES!" wailed the Wyrm.
  Pehnn/Kwihll awoke with a start.  He had been dreaming about his first encounter with the gnome Geordus Wordweavor.  The result of that meeting had actually worked to the drogan's benefit, but he still recalled the overwhelming terror he had felt when he thought he was going to be killed by the gnome.
  Drogans are not predatory like dragons, being largely vegetarians and omnivores.  When threatened, a drogan will normally choose flight over fight.
  "I can't allow myself to be afraid," said Pehnn to himself. "I just can't!"

  When the duo met this time, Pehnn had assumed the form of a beggan.  Pehnn informed the warrior that the bodies had been disposed of.  Dethstroek suggested it was time to change tactics.
  "It is time to up the ante, Pehnn," Dethstroek told his friend. "Here is what we will do next."

  "Where is she!" rasped For'log as he tore through the main hall.
  "Who?" asked Rhatt'phinc.
  "Sarrella!" roared the ork chief.  From within the folds of his hood, his eyes were dimly visible as glowing red orbs.
  "Perhaps Gh'ahtorr has her," submitted Grim'jo.
  "What!" For'log was beside himself in rage. "How?"
  "I cannot answer that, but I think I can help get her back."
  "Speak!" demanded the ork chief.
  "I suggest we get something of his he values highly, and force a trade."
  "Do so and I will cover you in gold!" rasped For'log. "Failure is not an option!"

  "It is gone!" roared Gh'ahtorr.  All eyes turned to him as he stomped into the tavern's main room.
  "What is?" asked Kwihll, the picture of innocence.
  "The Robttt!" rumbled out the brideck.  His rage was clearly written all over his face.
  "Did For'log get it?" inquired the dwarf.
  "He must have, though I cannot imagine how!"
  "Maybe we should get something of his and demand an exchange," suggested the dwarf.
  "Do it!  Anything!  Just get me back that Robttt!"
  "This would be very dangerous, Gh'ahtorr," added Kwihll.
  "Get my Robttt back and you will have gold enough to make a suit of plate armor," growled the brideck. "Complete with helm and gauntlets!"

  Early morning found the two Chiefs glaring at each other at opposite ends of the street.  Grim'jo stood on one side of the street while Kwihll stood on the other.
  "Ho, For'log!" called out Gh'ahtorr. "I have your woman!  Safe and in good health...for now!
  "I have your Robttt, Gh'ahtorr!" For'log rasped back. "I propose a trade."
  "Agreed," Gh'ahtorr made a motion with one huge hand and two barbarians brought out the woman.  She was clearly of elfin blood, with long platinum tresses flowing over sharply pointed ears and bright blue eyes.  She had a surreal sort of beauty, only slightly clouded by her apparent sadness.
  The Robttt, however, was a form of Iron Golem, and was quiescent, forcing six strong orks to carry it out.  The orks stood the Robttt up and backed away from it.
  "Back away from the Robttt and I will release your woman," ordered Gh'ahtorr.  For'log decided not to argue and stepped back.  Unknown to Gh'ahtorr, For'log ordered half his men to the rooftops with crossbows.  Any sign of betrayal, and Gh'ahtorr's group would be cut down in a hail of bolts.  Unknown to For'log, Gh'ahtorr ordered a number of his band into the surrounding buildings, ready to race out and attack in the event For'log was less than accommodating.
  True to his word, Gh'ahtorr allowed the elf maid to walk toward For'log's band.  Once she was passed the Robttt, Gh'ahtorr sent two ogres to collect his property.  Sarrella was quickly taken back to For'log's abode.
  Grim'jo and Kwihll smiled at each other from across the street then went their separate ways.

  "What exactly did we accomplish with that little swapping party?" asked Pehnn, this time back in his ork-kin disguise.
  "Did Gh'ahtorr reward you well?" asked Dethstroek.
  "Yes.  Quite well," answered Pehnn. "What of it?  We have more gold than we know what to do with already."
  "True.  But this is gold Gh'ahtorr, and For'log, by the way, no longer have," said Dethstroek. "First we cut into their men, then their finances."
  "To what end?"
  "Take gold away from either of them, and they will have to get more," pointed out the warrior. "Now that shipment coming through will be more important."
  "So?"
  "Now I have more I can kill away from their reinforcements.  Four at once I can handle, even without Madbulaiin."
  "Dethstroek.  You truly frighten me at times," said Pehnn. "What of the elf maid?"
  "Hmmm...I think I will have to do something more permanent about that."
  Pehnn looked shocked. "Surely you don't mean to kill her!"
  "Pehnn!  How could you think such a thing?" chided the warrior. "We will simply help her escape."
  Pehnn released a long breath of relief. "I confess, you have had me worried, of late."
  "Killing is messy business, and I will be glad when we have had done with it," granted Dethstroek.
  "Deth," started Pehnn.  He swallowed then continued; "Are you certain you don't think me a coward?"
  Dethstroek looked at his companion openly. "Not at all, Pehnn.  I thought we settled this."
  "Well, I have been leaving all the killing to you..."
  "'Tis my mission, not yours.  I thought we had settled that as well."
  "Still..."
  "Pehnn, killing does not make one brave.  Often a coward will kill perceived foes for no good reason.  Sometimes, it takes greater courage not to kill."
  Pehnn looked unconvinced, so Dethstroek continued, "I saw you place yourself between Tin'dar's flame and the Lady Colleanna.  I doubt you even had time to consider whether you would be able to withstand such a blast, yet, without hesitation, you used your body to protect hers," Dethstroek leaned forward and pointed a finger at Pehnn's chest. "That is true courage," the warrior leaned back on his seat. "If anything, you have been braver than I during this part of the mission."
  "How is that?" Pehnn was surprised at this statement.
  "You have infiltrated Gh'ahtorr's band, shared quarters with a zoard, led a band of his thugs into an ambush, and even stole his pet Robttt, all without the benefit of a warriors training," Dethstroek pointed out. "I have lived with danger such as this for many years.  I am well trained and highly proficient with many weapons.  For me, this is another day on the job.  For you, it is all new and terrifying.  Overcoming your fear is the greatest courage, I think."
  "Ha!  I bet you have never been afraid of anything!" challenged the disguised drogan.
  "Actually, there is something that frightens me very badly," admitted the warrior. "Bats."
  "Bats?  You are afraid of bats?" Pehnn was near dumbfounded at the warrior's admission. "How could you be afraid of harmless little bats?"
  "It is not rational, I know, but there you have it," said Dethstroek. "We all have fears we must face and overcome."
  Pehnn reflected on Dethstroek's words.  The drogan well remembered his blind panic when the gnome Geordus Wordweaver invaded his cave for the purpose of slaying him.  Dethstroek was not witness to what occurred there. "The final chapter is not yet written.  Let's hope I don't disappoint either of us."

  That night, Dethstroek, still in his guise as Grim'jo, approached the elf maid Sarrella's door.  Two orks were guarding it, armed with swords and knives.
  "Halt!" demanded the ork on the left. "What is your business here?"
  "I am to escort the Lady Sarrella to For'log," Grim'jo said.
  "Liar!  None but For'log enters this room!" growled the ork on the right.
  "Well, yes, you got me there," admitted Grim'jo. "Actually, I just wanted to introduce myself to the Lady.  Would you mind if I just popped in to say 'hello'?"
  The two orks drew their swords and glared at the mercenary.
  "My mistake!" said Grim'jo. "Here.  Let me give you a little something by way of apology," Grim'jo reached behind him with both hands, then, with dazzling speed, sent two knives flying into the chests of the two orks.  Both were dead before they hit the floor. "Tried to do this nicely, but, oh, no, just had to make me kill you," muttered Grim'jo as he retrieved his knives. "Pehnn is going to be very cross with me."
  Grim'jo opened the door and stepped in.  The room was spartan, having only the single chair, a bed, a small table and a wardrobe within.  There was a single barred window, with closed shutters in the wall.  Grim'jo had seen the room before, when he had taken the elf maid out the day before.  As before, Sarrella was reclining on her bed.
  "Come to kidnap me again, ork-kin?" demanded Sarrella.
  Grim'jo was surprised.  When he took her before, he wore a hood, lest she identify her abductor to For'log. "You know it was me?"
  "A simple spell of identification," said Sarrella. "Please answer my question."
  "Yes.  But not to do you ill," replied Grim'jo. "Will you trust me?"
  "I have little choice in the matter," said Sarrella with lowered eyes. "For'log denies me the items I need to protect myself with spells and you have slain my jailers."
  "Then, please step over here, quickly," Grim'jo ordered.  When Sarrella was standing at his side, Grim'jo whistled a short tune.  Moment's later; large talons smashed through the shutters and grasped the bars of the window.  The bars resisted for a moment, then tore away from the window, taking a sizable piece of wall with it.
  Pehnn, in his true form, though with darkened scales, poked his serpentine head in through the opening and said,   "Somebody whistle for a ride?"
  "What took you?" said Grim'jo lightly.
  "Tsaht was feeling chatty," quipped Pehnn. "It takes him forever just to say 'hello'."
  Sarrella, stunned at Pehnn's sudden appearance stammered out, "A...a...drogan!"
  "That's dr...oh, wait, you got it right!" Pehnn said with some surprise. "Call me 'Pehnn'."
  "Can we do the introductions elsewhere?" said Grim'jo. "It is about to get crowded in here!" The faux ork-kin could hear the sound of many feet running toward them.
  "Indeed.  Deth, on my back!" Pehnn said as he scooped up the elf maid and turned away from the building. "Hang on, everybody, it's gonna be a bumpy ride!"
  Pehnn leaped forward as he spread his wings.  In seconds, he was high over Cughmaiin.  Dethstroek fought to keep a firm hold between the drogan's flapping wings while Sarrella nearly fainted.
  "Where to?" asked Pehnn.
  "What do you mean?" asked Sarrella.
  "Well, I assume you wish to return home," said Pehnn. "Just tell me where it is, and you will be on your way, courtesy of Pehnn-Air.  Pehnn-Air, for when you have to get there without being eaten!"
  As usual, Dethstroek failed to understand the full gist of Pehnn's humor, but Sarrella seemed to take comfort in what the drogan was saying.
  "I am from Etrice," said Sarrella. "Will you take me there?"
  "In a trice, my lady," said Pehnn.
  "You can drop me off just over that rise, Pehnn," added Grim'jo.
  "Why?"
  "Got some bandits to clean out before I return to the tavern," replied Grim'jo darkly.
  "Why are you doing this?" asked the elf maid.
  "Rescuing 'Damsels in Distress' is what he does, milady," said Pehnn. "Just ask the Lady Colleanna."

  Grim'jo returned to his room through the window just before daybreak.  He had succeeded in eliminating both groups of bandits, and had to wash himself off in the stream near town due to all the blood.  He had a few minor cuts that he hid by donning a woolen tunic.
  No sooner had he removed his sword and knives than the door to his room was smashed inward, allowing several orks to quickly enter his room.  The orks swarmed over Grim'jo and trussed him up with thick ropes.  Bound, he was then hauled out into the main hall where For'log, sitting in his throne-like chair, was waited for him.
  "Where is she?" rasped the ork chief.
  "Could you be a little more specific?" said Grim'jo.
  "I will not banter with you, Grim'jo," rasped For'log. "Where is Sarrella?"
  "Did you check her room?" Grim'jo asked.  For'log raised a claw-like finger and a large, brutish ork stepped forward and punched Grim'jo hard across the jaw.  Grim'jo saw stars for a moment then quickly shook his head. "I take it she was out, then?"  That earned him another blow.
  "Grim'jo, I know that the exiled knight Dethstroek was sent here to rid this village of mine and Gh'ahtorr's bands.  Dethstroek has been absent of late, but I think you are working with him," rasped For'log. "I cannot recall exactly where or when, but I have seen your face before, Grim'jo."
  "I can honestly say I am not working 'for' Dethstroek," replied Grim'jo.
  "Liar!" another punch "You gave slain at least six of my men!  Maybe even the three that accompanied you on the scouting party."
  Add four more to that, thought Grim'jo remembering the men he killed outside of town just hours before.  To For'log, he said, "What proof have you that I am responsible for Sarrella's escape?"
  "Two guards dead before they could give warning outside her door!" rasped For'log. "You are the only new addition to my band in some time, and my problems started just after you arrived."
  "What is so important about a mere elf maid, anyway?" Grim'jo stalled.
  "She was keeping the Robttt quiescent!" roared For'log. "Without her, Gh'ahtorr will have his greatest weapon ready to attack us in no more than three days!"
  "Sounds bad for you," taunted Grim'jo.
  "Oh, I assure you, it will be far worse for you, mercenary," growled the ork chief. "Tell me where she is, and I will grant you a quick death."
  "I would say she is flying over V'rogg, about now," smiled Grim'jo.
  "Very well, fool," sneered For'log.  He turned to his band. "Take him down to the cellars.  Do whatever you must, but make him talk."
  This is going to be a long night, Grim'jo thought as he was dragged away.

  Something bothered Pehnn as he returned from Etrice.  It started gnawing at him as he flew over Tin'dar's cave, and kept nibbling at the back of his mind.  After the drogan landed, he used his ring to return to dwarvin form and returned to Gh'ahtorr's Tavern.  As Kwihll, he entered the tavern and took a seat at the bar.
    "Ho, Kwihll!" came a voice behind the dwarf. "You look most out of sorts.  Does something trouble thee?" It was Gh'ahtorr.
  "Not at all, Gh'ahtorr," said Kwihll. "My curiosity has the better of me, though."
  "Oh?"
  "What is a Robttt?" asked the dwarf thinking quickly. "It looked like a golem of some sort."
  "It is a special sort of iron golem," explained the brideck chief. "It possesses to power to discharge magical energy from its eyes, and can electrify its body.  Combined with the power and hardness of a Golem, it is virtually indestructible."
  "Incredible!" agreed Kwihll. "What else?"
  "Well, it is also supposed to possess the trapped soul of a warrior, so it has a certain degree of free action, instead of just mindlessly following simple commands, it can do far more complicated tasks."
  "Why haven't you used it against the orks?" Kwihll was now genuinely curious.
  "Somehow, they have cast a spell that prevents the Robttt from hearing its name," grumbled Gh'ahtorr. "With out the name, it can't be activated."
  "It has a name?" Kwihll was mildly surprised.  Drogans do not name lifeless objects.
  "T'ho'mas," said Gh'ahtorr.
  "Robttt T'ho'mas," mused Kwihll.  Absently, the dwarf gazed into the great mirror behind the bar where he could see all manner of decoration adorning the walls behind him; Shields, crossed swords, pieces of armor, numerous skulls from several species of humanoid, crossed arrows, a lyre...
  Pehnn stopped in mid-thought and turned his gaze to the crossed arrows.  Looking at the arrows, Kwihll remembered something Tin'dar had said to Dethstroek before their battle. "No poisoned arrows from behind a tree or the like."
  Tin'dar knew Dethstroek was coming!  Somebody had betrayed the warrior and sent word to his enemies to be on the lookout for him!
  "Something wrong, Kwihll?" asked the brideck.
  "Just, ah, wondering if the baron will ever send for help from V'rogg," said Kwihll weakly. "Humans are known to cry for help, you know."
  "Indeed, but not the baron.  He is a fool," said the brideck. "However, we did receive a messenger that a warrior was coming to do us all in.  I thought that dragon-slayer fellow was it, but he disappeared days ago."
  "Any idea who your friend is?" asked Kwihll absently.
  "Nay," rumbled Gh'ahtorr. "Though the writing on the message suggested high education.  The paper was a fine vellum...expensive stuff, I hear."
  "Very expensive," agreed Kwihll.  The dwarf stretched and feigned a yawn. "I think I will take a nap.  Tsaht's snores tend to keep me awake half the night."
  Gh'ahtorr laughed as Kwihll went to his room.  Tsaht had often complained about Kwihll's snoring the morning before.

  Grim'jo was having a very bad day.  Three orks had taken turns beating on him with their fists and feet.  So badly beaten was he, that one eye was completely swollen shut, at least three ribs were cracked or broken, his left hand had two broken fingers, his nose was smashed, and his right leg had a broken tibia.  Bruises covered most of his body, and he bled from multiple wounds.
  The orks had removed his bindings so they could make sport of his weak attempts to defend himself.  In addition, the brutes had poured salt on his wounds, and denied him food and water.  Through it all, Grim'jo denied working for Dethstroek, and would say nothing about where Sarrella was.
  For'log, running out of patience, ordered the battered Grim'jo locked in the cellar, and called his men together.  Grim'jo could not hear what For'log was planning, put the sounds of his angry voice drifted down the stairs.
  Left alone, Grim'jo managed to get back on his feet, leaning heavily on a piece of wood he fashioned into a makeshift cane.  He looked all about him in the dim torch light, seeking a means to escape.  If not for the onerous beating he had received, he might have been able to break through the door.  It was a wine cellar, not a dungeon, and the door was not that strong.  But his injuries made breaking even this door impossible.
  "Time to get creative," Grim'jo said to himself.  Taking the torch from it's setting in the wall, the battered pseudo ork-kin carried it to the door and set if down at the bottom.  The door was old and dry and soon began to catch fire.  The room also began to fill up with smoke, making Grim'jo cough and retch.  He staggered off to the far side of the cellar where he lay down and hid behind a pile of broken wine barrels and other debris.
  Grim'jo, from his hiding spot, began to wonder if his plan would work before he suffocated to death.  After a few minutes, he heard footsteps on the staircase, quickly approaching the cellar.  A key rattled in the lock then the door flew open to admit one angry looking ork.  Seeing the torch on the floor, and the condition of the door from within, he quickly concluded that the prisoner had attempted to escape.
  "Nice try, halfling," taunted the ork.  The room was thick with smoke, and the ork was coughing and squinting.  As quietly as he could, Grim'jo crawled out of his hiding place and tried to get to the door past the smoke-blinded ork.
  "Ah-ha!" cried the ork, reaching down to grab the near-helpless Grim'jo. "Crawling like the worm you are, I see!"
  Seeing no other way out, Grim'jo swung his cane up into the ork's groin, eliciting the usual result.  The ork grabbed his crotch and fell to his knees.  Using all his remaining strength, Grim'jo swung his cane full into the ork's face, toppling the groaning brute.
  Lacking the strength to even try to stand, Grim'jo crawled up the stairs, burning himself as he passed over the floor where the torch had been.
  At the top of the staircase, Grim'jo could see the battered down doorway of his room, and crawled to it.  He crawled through the room to the window, noticed it was night already, and painfully hauled himself up and through, only to fall to the hard packed ground outside.  The impact broke yet another rib, taking Grim'jo's breath away from the pain.  From his position outside the window, he could see Unterurth's wagon across the street.  Gritting his teeth, the injured warrior proceeded to crawl, inch by painful inch to what might be his only hope at escape.
  
  Kwihll did not go up to take a nap.  Instead, he shed his outer skin, as he had done before, stuffed the hollow skin with pillow-down and placed it in his bed.  In this manner he had gone unnoticed whenever he went to meet Dethstroek.  Leaping out the door, he assumed the shape of a small bird.  The ring would not grant the power of flight with the shape, but Pehnn was a drogan, possessed of flight on his own merits.  The bird form was just to be less noticeable when leaving through the window.  Even in darkness, a drogan is hard to miss so close to the ground.
  I have to warn Dethstroek, he thought.  Turning in the direction he last saw his friend; Pehnn flew with all the speed he could muster out of the village.

  The journey across the street had been slow and torturous, but successful.  Grim'jo hauled himself up onto the wagon and crawled to a coffin.  The two orks he had slain the night before, while freeing Sarrella, occupied the first and second coffins he tried.  The third was empty, so he crawled in.  Three years I traveled with a vampyre and never had to get into a coffin, he though wryly, Look at me now.
  Grim'jo waited for several minutes before Unterurth came out of his shop and inspected his cargo.  Sometimes death didn't take, resulting in zombies and other unpleasantness, so Unterurth always made an extra inspection of the deceased before hauling them away.  Silver blade in hand, he checked the first two coffins, satisfying himself they were dead and staying that way, then he opened the third and nearly dropped his blade.
  "I am still alive...but I won't be...if you call attention to me," rasped Grim'jo.
  In his time, Unterurth had dealt with many strange things.  Occasionally, he would find a victim of catalepsy, hence his habit of holding a small, dull knife near his client's nose, to check for breath.  There had been some vampyres, a few zombies, the odd ghoul and even a flesh golem, once.  However, this was the first time he had ever found a warm breathing conscious body in one of his coffins.  Especially one he had not placed there himself.
  "You're Grim'jo, yes?" asked the undertaker, barely able to recognize the ork-kin through all the blood and bruises. "Hard to tell with the beatin' somebody put on ye."
  "Grim'jo...yes..." nodded the warrior.
  "Stay down and keep quiet, then," warned Unterurth. "I'll get you out of here."
  The corpse-planter climbed onto his wagon and took up the reigns.  "Gee-yup!"  The horses slowly plodded forward.
  Moving slowly through the town, Unterurth's wagon was forced to go passed Gh'ahtorr's Tavern to reach the graveyard.  In front of Gh'ahtorr's tavern For'log and his band were taking aim with crossbows sporting flaming arrows.
  "You've thrown in with that warrior, Gh'ahtorr!" rasped For'log. "Send him out and we will spare you!"
  "He is not here, For'log!" shouted Gh'ahtorr from within the tavern.
  "You lie!" screamed the ork chief.  He turned to his men. "Kill them all!" he ordered.
  Grim'jo, peering through the slightly opened lid of his coffin, watched as For'log's men shot arrow after flaming arrow at the tavern.  The dry wood of the building quickly caught fire and blazed uncontrollably within minutes.  As ogres and bridecks and barbarians sought to escape, crossbow bolts cut them down.
  Grim'jo was horrified to think that Pehnn might be trapped in the inferno the tavern had become.  The warrior did not know how fast the drogan could fly, but Pehnn had assured him he would be back well before nightfall.  Helpless to take action, and sick at the sight of it, he closed his coffin lid.  The thought of Pehnn dying in the fire did what the beatings and torture by the orks had failed to do.  Grim'jo the Mercenary, slayer of many men, who was also Dethstroek the dragon-slayer, began to weep.
  
  "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" muttered the drogan to him self. "Dethstroek had more than enough time to deal with For'log and Gh'ahtorr's thugs and make it back to town while I flew to Etrice and back!"  Pehnn had found the results of Dethstroek's work littering the countryside away from the village.  Four of For'log's men, as well as four of Gh'ahtorr's underlings now lie dead and decapitated.  Dethstroek had been very busy, indeed.  No doubt he was fast asleep in his cot back at For'log's Tavern, Pehnn thought, I'll just take a quick look-see to be sure.  Darkening his scales, Pehnn sped back to the village.
  As the Drogan approached the village, he could see the fire and smoke rising from Gh'ahtorr's tavern.  The grim tableau of orks cutting down the bridecks band unfolded as he drew closer.  Further down the street, Unterurth's wagon was slowly making its way out of the village.
  Pehnn briefly wrestled with himself mentally.  He felt he should aid the brideck's band, but his first concern was Dethstroek's well-being.  Choosing Dethstroek, the drogan continued on.  Circling about, he set his sight on For'log's tavern and flew over to it.
  Landing behind the tavern, Pehnn assumed the ork-kin form he first used to speak with Dethstroek in secret.  Quietly, his senses tuned to Dethstroek's scent, Pehnn approached his comrade's window.  The Drogan's sensitive nose readily determined that the trail of blood that came through the door and out the window had Dethstroek's scent.  Pehnn followed the blood trail across the street to the corpse-planter's shop.  The trail ended before it got to the door.  Looking closely at the ground, Pehnn could see ruts that had to have been made by wagon wheels.
  Unterurth's wagon was headed out of town! Pehnn remembered.  Making sure there were none to spy on him, Pehnn transformed back into a drogan and took flight.  In seconds he could see Unterurth's wagon with it's cargo of coffins leaving the village limits.  Pehnn raced ahead of the wagon and alit on the road out of sight.  Transforming into his gnomic form, Pehnn stepped out of the bushes and waved the undertaker down.
  "Ho, Unterurth!" called out Pehnn.
  "Pehnn!" cried out Unterurth. "What are you doing out here?  And where is Dethstroek?  The orks are taking over the village!"
  "Have you seen the ork-kin, Grim'jo?" asked Pehnn quickly.
  "Aye.  In back," Unterurth used a thumb to point at the coffins. "He was treated unkindly by the orks, I think."
  Rushing back, Pehnn opened each coffin until he found the unconscious Grim'jo.
  "I will need to borrow this coffin, Unterurth," before the corpse-planters amazed eyes, the gnome transformed into a small dragon, snatched up the coffin and took flight.
  "Oh, Gods!" wailed the undertaker. "Another dragon!  Just when the dragon-slayer has gone missing!"

  Dethstroek slowly opened his eyes.  It took several seconds before his vision achieved any degree of focus.  Finally, he could see the roof of a large cavern above him.  Off to one side, a dragon was cooking something in a pot.
  A dragon?  No...not a dragon...a drogan!
  "Pehnn?"
  Instantly, the drogan's head whipped about to focus on the prone warrior. "Deth!" he yelled. "You're awake!"
  "I must be," replied the warrior. "My body hurts too much for this to be a dream."
  "I've been worried.  You took quite a thrashing from those orkish thugs."
  "How long have I been unconscious?"
  "Two days."
  "Two days!"  Dethstroek struggled to sit up.  Pehnn assisted him into a sitting position then brought the warrior a steaming flagon of broth. "What have I missed?"
  "Well, For'log is tearing the town apart to looking for you," explained Pehnn. "I should say both of you, as he is looking for Grim'jo and Dethstroek."


"Gh'ahtorr was burned out, most of his band slain."
  "I saw the start of that, I think," Dethstroek was unsure if what he saw was a dream or reality. "Sarrella?"
  "Safe in Etrice," said Pehnn. "You'll have another reward to collect next time your are there."
  "Reward be hanged!" growled the warrior. "What the baron and Colleanna?"
  "For'log has not attacked them as yet," said the Drogan. "I think he fears reprisals from V'rogg if he harms them."
  "Indeed," said Dethstroek between mouthfuls of broth. "He will have a reprisal very soon."
  "How does you leg feel?" asked the Drogan.
  "Better.  My ribs, too," Dethstroek looked up at Pehnn. "Mon'darc?"
  "Couldn't come for fear of being followed," said Pehnn. "He gave me a few potions and poultices to speed up your healing."
  "It will be a few days before I get back up to full strength."
  "Longer, I should think," commented the drogan. "I confiscated your gear from For'log's while you were resting."
  "Those toys no longer matter," said Dethstroek. "The time for subterfuge is passed."
  "What are you going to do?"
  "Get off my arse and try to work out the knots in my muscles, for starters," growled the warrior as he struggled to his feet. "May I borrow your ring, Pehnn?" The drogan extended a paw with the ring in the palm.  Dethstroek put it on a finger and concentrated.  In seconds, he looked as if he were fully healed.
  "I didn't know the ring could heal wounds!" exclaimed Pehnn.
  "Only superficial damage, it would seem," said Dethstroek. "I still have all the aches and pains, just not the visible scars and bruises."
  "Will it last, or fade away like your ork-kin disguise, did?" Pehnn had not mentioned it, but Grim'jo faded away and was replaced by Dethstroek's true form as he slept.
  "We'll know in a few days, I guess," replied the warrior. "My sword.  I must practice."
  "I have something else for you, as well," Pehnn said. He stepped out of the cave and returned with a large sack, which he gave to the warrior.
  It was the Dragon Scale armor.
  "Perhaps this would be a good time to learn Madbulaiin's abilities?" suggested the drogan.

  In Cughmaiin, For'log was beside himself in his ire.  Grim'jo had escaped, Sarrella was gone and the band he had sent out to waylay the gold shipment came up dead.  The only upside was he succeeded in destroying Gh'ahtorr's power in Cughmaiin.  Orks were digging through the burned out remains of Gh'ahtorr's tavern searching for any gold or weapons that may be there, as well as looking for the Robttt.
  Rhatt'phinc stood behind his master, ever ready to follow his commands, but fearful as well.  For'log was still out of sorts, and that made him dangerous.
  "How did he get out of the village?" demanded For'log. "He could barely crawl!"
  "He must have had help, For'log," said Rhatt'phinc in low tones.
  "Of course he had help, you idiot!" rasped the ork Chief. "But who? Who would dare defy me, now?"
  "All were hiding in their homes when we razed Gh'ahtorr's tavern...except..." The under chief let his voice trail off.
  "Except who?" demanded For'log.
  "The corpse-planter...um...Unterurth," replied Rhatt'phinc.
  For'log turned his gaze on his second in command.  With a quiet voice, he commanded; "Bring him to me."

  Dethstroek heard the sound of great, leathery wings flapping and walked out to meet the returning Pehnn.
  "What news, Pehnn?" asked the warrior.
  Pehnn looked at Dethstroek for a moment before answering in low tones, "Unterurth has been seized by For'log.  They are demanding to know what happened to Grim'jo."
  "What has he told them?" asked Dethstroek.
  "That he hauled the mercenary out of the village in a coffin, and that a dragon stole the coffin and flew away."
  "By Lugh!" exclaimed the warrior. "They will never believe that last part!"
  "No, they haven't," confirmed the drogan. "They beat him and hung him in the Grand Platz by his wrists," Pehnn lowered his great head. "He won't last long, like that."
  "He won't have to," Dethstroek turned and went back into the cave.  Pehnn followed and watched as the warrior put on his dragon leather tunic, breaches and boots.  Over the tunic, he pulled on the dragon-scale vest.  At his side he sheathed Madbulaiin.  "It is time."
  "You have not yet tested the swords new magics," Pehnn pointed out.
  "No matter," said the warrior.
  "Then do me one favor," said the drogan as he picked something up.
  Dethstroek saw what the drogan was holding and smiled. "Good idea, Pehnn."
  "And that is not the only thing..."

  For'log had decided enough was enough.  Commandeering the Grand Platz, the ork chief and his band demanded tribute from the entire village.  To ensure the baron's cooperation, he also seized the Lady Colleanna.  His band brought out the throne-like chair and set it near the water fountain in the middle of the Platz.  Behind the throne, next to the fountain, Unterurth dangled from a pair of ropes that held his wrists.  It was evident to all that the corpse-planter had been ill treated by the ork band.
  "You will turn over all your gold and silver to us!" yelled Rhatt'phinc. "Failure to yield, to For'log will result in your immediate execution!"
  The villagers, believing they had no choice, obediently lined up and proceeded to surrender their valuables. Occasionally, For'log would demand a family surrender a comely daughter, as well.
  The line progressed until it came to two large men, one was human, the other an ork-kin, dressed in black.  The men both wore a thick leather helm that covered his head from the nose up, with only two narrow slits for eyeholes.
  "Surrender your gold, human!" demanded an ork from in front of the line.
  "Take it, ork," smiled the human. "If you can."
  Such challenges were to be expected sooner or later, so the ork accepted the human's challenge.  Taking out his sword, he menaced the masked human in an attempt to cow him.
  The human extracted his own sword from its scabbard and took up a fighting stance.  The ork swung his blade in an attempt to disarm his foe, only to discover the human was well versed in the sword's use.  What at first seemed a simple task rapidly became a life or death battle for the ork.  The human seemed well at ease as he parried every attack.  
  After a few minutes, the ork began to tire, making him desperate.  He swung wilder as it became apparent that the human was more than his match.  Finally, the ork tried a desperate lunge for the human's chest.  The target of the lunge simply stepped aside and brought down his sword, relieving the orks neck of the onerous burden of supporting a head.  The severed head rolled a short distance into a puddle.  The body, slow to realize what had happened, swung once more at the air, then fell over to lie still.
  The humans' companion, the masked ork-kin, stepped back to avoid being splashed by the bloodied water.
  For'log, amused at first by the display, ordered his archer to shoot down the masked human.  The archer quickly obeyed and let fly with a crossbow bolt, only to see it snatched out of the air by the masked ork-kin with a lighting fast motion of one arm.  The archer nervously fired off a second crossbow bolt, this time striking the masked human in the center of his chest.  The force of the impact caused the human to take a step back, but he remained standing, with the bolt still lodged in his tunic.
  "Is that the best you can do, For'log?" demanded the masked human as he extracted the arrow from his chest.
  For'log, surprised at the seemingly invulnerable human and his inhumanly fast companion, ordered four swordsmen to attack.  Approaching from four sides, the orks attacked almost simultaneously.  The human seemed unimpressed as he met the attack with lightning speed of his own.  In seconds, one ork was down, grasping his throat as it spurted blood.  The second ork lost his sword when the hand that had been holding it was separated from its arm by the masked ork-kin, who simply grabbed his opponent's limb and pulled, hard.  The third ork, losing his nerve after seeing his companions so readily defeated, began to look about for a means to escape.  This was to prove fatal, as the masked human seized on his opponent's distraction and ran him through.  The fourth attacker was struck by the masked ork-kin's open hand and sent flying six paces back, where he remained still.
  After wiping his blade on the tunic of his slain foe, the human turned and again faced the ork chief.  His companion stood at his side.
  "Your men aren't very proficient, For'log," he taunted. "Have you nothing better?"
  For'log, becoming nervous, again ordered his archer to fire.  This time two bolts flew into the human's chest, knocking him completely off his feet.  For'log, who was beginning to smile within the hidden depths of his hood, let the smile escape as the human rose to his feet and again plucked the shafts from his chest.
  For'log turned to Rhatt'phinc and whispered in his under chief's ear.  Rhatt'phinc nodded and quickly ran down the street.  For'log returned his attention to the masked pair.
  "Show me your faces," demanded the ork chief. "I want to know who dares to defy me!"
  The masked human reached up and removed his helm with his left hand, while his companion removed his own with his right.  There stood revealed the faces of Dethstroek the dragon-slayer and Grim'jo the mercenary.
  "You are working together!" screamed For'log.
  "You could say that," smiled Grim'jo.
  "I think he did, Gim'jo," smiled Dethstroek.
  "You are correct," agreed the ork-kin. "I heard him say it with my own ears!"
  "Good trick, that," granted the warrior. "For'log speaks so low."
  "Indeed, he does," nodded Grim'jo
  For'log watched the pair as they mocked him.
  "After we kill you," the ork rasped, "I will set fire to this village as a reminder of what it means to challenge me!  Everybody," rasped For'log to his thugs. "Attack them together!"
  Hesitantly, the whole band started forward.  The unmasked duo backed away for a few steps, then Dethstroek raised his sword and pointed it at the advancing orks. "This is as good a time as any to see what will happen, Pehnn," said the warrior. "Try to get the villagers to safety, just in case." Pehnn, wearing the form and face of Grim'jo, nodded and moved towards the line of people.
 There was a blinding flash and a blast of searing heat.  When everyone's vision cleared, the orks were gone, leaving ashes in their place.
  Dethstroek, stunned by the brightness, blinked rapidly in hopes of clearing his vision.
  For'log leaped to his feet and faced the human.
  "Who are you?" he rasped. "Are you some god of death come to destroy me?"
  "God, For'log?" replied Dethstroek human. "Nay."
  "Then you are a demon from the depths!" growled the ork chief. "Show me your true face!"
  "You first, For'log!" taunted Dethstroek.
  Hesitantly, For'log reached up and grasped his hood, as the human raised his left hand to his face. For'log tore away his hood, while Dethstroek simply lowered his hand.
  "You!" roared the warrior.
  The human was still revealed as Dethstroek Homingraev, exiled Knight of V'rogg.  The ork was revealed as...Gol'for, former ork chief and abductor of the elf maid Sharrona, Dethstroek's grandmother.
  "I do not know you, other than by reputation!" rasped Gol'for. "How do you know me?"
  "By your face!" said the warrior. "The resemblance between yourself and the child of Sharrona is strong!  Grimmoer says he killed you...took your head from your neck!"
  "So he did!" agreed Gol'for/For'log. "Now see the price of my resurrection!"
  The ork threw back his robes to reveal a patchwork body constructed of parts from numerous species.  Ork, human, brideck, ogre and others, stitched together into a misshapen mass, all supporting the head of Gol'for.
  "It took three years for Daknar the necromancer to put this body together for me!" rasped the patchwork ork. "Three years of my head sitting in a glass bowl, helpless while Daknar practiced all manner of vile experiments upon me!"
  "I will take great pleasure in undoing Daknar's work, foul thing!" yelled Dethstroek.
  "Bah!  You, who laugh at lethal injury!" rasped Gol'for. "How can I fight a man who cannot be killed by crossbow bolts in his chest?"
  "Oh.  That," Dethstroek reached under his tunic and produced...Tin'dar's scale! "Dragon armor is truly the best, don't you think?"

  In the background, Pehnn, now in his guise as Kwihll, worked to chase the crowd of villagers away from the Grand Platz.  The lot was still blinking away the effects of the searing brightness that had emanated from Dethstroek's sword.
  In the back of the crowd, were Kwihll could not see him, hunched the brideck, Gh'ahtorr.  Seeing the dwarf, Gh'ahtorr drew his sword and waited for his opportunity.

  "You will find I am even stronger than when I faced your mentor!" rasped Gol'for.
  "He is my uncle, Gol'for," retorted Dethstroek.
  "Uncle!  Then I am your grandfather, fool," taunted the Patchwork ork. "Can you slay your own kin?"
  "You are no kin to me, ork!  My grandfather was Lughlaiin Homingraev of Rennibister, who died during your raids on that city," said Dethstroek in a low voice. "You are just an abomination animated by foul sorceries.  Sending you back to whatever hell will have you will be my greatest pleasure!"
  "HA!" laughed Gol'for. "I still have the Lady Colleanna!  Kill me and she dies!"

  Pehnn's sharp ears allowed him to hear the exchange between Dethstroek and Gol'for as he herded the villagers away from the Grand Platz.  This called for a change of plans.  Originally, Pehnn was to get the villagers out of harms way, then return as a great black dragon and scare the orks away.  However, with most of the orks destroyed by Madbulaiin, a fortunate occurrence to say the least, Dethstroek could easily hold his own.  But with Lady Colleanna as For'log's...correction...Gol'for's hostage, Dethstroek would not dare to slay the ork chief.
  "Continue on to your homes!" ordered Pehnn/Kwihll. "It is not safe out here!"
  Without waiting to see if his commands were being obeyed, Kwihll turned and ran down the street.  Dwarves, possessing short legs, are not known for their speed and endurance afoot, but Kwihll set an impressive pace as he raced for 'The Ork's Haven' tavern.  Gol'for will have her there, he thought.  Behind him, the pseudo-dwarf failed to notice the large brideck following him.

  "Come, human!" taunted Gol'for as he swung a large war-hammer. "Kill me if you can!  Kill me if you dare!  I'll go to hell in good company!"
  Dethstroek, daring not to kill the ork while Colleanna was his prisoner, none-the-less engaged Gol'for in battle.  It was his hope that he could wound the ork severely enough to take the fight out of him, while leaving him alive.  Then he could hold the monster as his own hostage and demand the return of the Lady Colleanna.
  "I am in no hurry, Gol'for," said the warrior. "Besides, I can make to with the exercise after the beating your men gave me."
  "What?" said Gol'for.  He made a swing at Dethstroek's chest, only to have his hammer turned, though barely, by the warrior's sword. "I have only today set eyes on you!"
  "Ah, but you did not know that I have been working in your band low these past few days," smiled the warrior.  He dodged another thrust, then jabbed at Gol'for's shoulder, only to be countered by the ork. "I have been wearing the face and form you know as Grim'jo!"
  "Grim'jo!" rasped the ork. "Wait!  Grim'jo was at your side a moment ago."
  "That was another ally of mine," said the warrior. "He is skilled in the arts of disguise."
  "Had I known, I would have killed you when I had the chance!" growled Gol'for.
  "You have your chance, now," taunted Dethstroek. "If you possess the strength and skill to take advantage of it!"
  Despite Dethstroek's bravado, he was beginning to tire.  He was far from recovered from his injuries, and Gol'for seemed to possess inhuman strength and speed.  It was only the warrior's consummate skill that kept Gol'for from bludgeoning him to death.  But he would soon weaken if he did not end this battle quickly.  That would prove fatal.

  Kwihll kicked in the door to the tavern and boldly marched in.  He had anticipated a long search requiring him to kick in every door in the building.  To his surprise, he found the Lady Colleanna bound to a chair surrounded by four orks in the main drinking hall.
  "Well," said Kwihll, "This will be much easier than I had expected."
  "Hold, dwarf!" demanded one ork. "Approach and the girl dies."
  Kwihll decided to try a bluff. "Be my guest, ork.  She means nothing to me," said Kwihll. "Just another useless human.  Of coarse, I normally prefer my food still kicking."
  Kwihll willed his ring to slowly restore his true form.  First, the hair and beard faded away, then his body increased in length and girth.  His face expanded and grew a long serpentine muzzle that sprouted long, sharp teeth.  Short, stubby fingers grew to long sharp talons.  His back sprouted leathery wings, then a long whip-like tail.  Golden hued scales grew out of flesh and clothing.  When the transformation was complete, Pehnn was revealed as his true self...a drogan!
  Colleanna had seen this transformation before and recognized Pehnn, but played along with his ruse.
  "Oh, no!" she cried. "Don't let him eat me!"
  Three of the orks looked to their comrade for instructions.  The fourth ork, who was Rhatt'phinc, was frightened into immobility.
  Seeing the obvious uncertainty among the orks, Pehnn let loose a small blast of flame into the air.  A table caught fire near the bar.
  "Now, gentlemen," said Pehnn in a low voice. "This is the part where you run away.  Screaming is optional."
  That settled things.  Almost as a single unit, the four orks bolted for the door and made their escape.  One, Rhatt'phinc, exercised the screaming option.
  Colleanna, with great difficulty, refrained from laughing out loud until her former captures had left the building.  Unable to hold it in any longer, she burst out laughing, joined by Pehnn.  It took a few moments before they were able to control themselves well enough to speak.
  "Pehnn, you simply kill me!" gasped Colleanna. "Figuratively speaking, of course!"
  "Of course," agreed the drogan with a serpentine bow.  Pehnn used one long talon to sever Colleanna's bindings. "We must hurry back to the Grand Platz.  Dethstroek needs to see that you are safe."

  Outside of The Ork's Haven, Gh'ahtorr was marching up to the door, when four orks came running and screaming out of the tavern.  Taken by surprise, he had no opportunity to dodge out of the path of the foursome before they collided into him.  The force of the collision knocked the brideck back into a horse trough.  The orks, barely aware of the collision, raced on down the street toward the Grand Platz.  Pehnn, again in dwarf form, followed the orks out of the tavern and down the street, Lady Colleanna in tow. Gh'ahtorr, mostly submerged in the water, went unnoticed by the drogan and the Lady.

  Dethstroek's injuries were taking their toll.  He was slowing down, and Gol'for sensed a rapid victory.  Dethstroek had ignored numerous opportunities to slay the ork for fear that Colleanna would suffer for it. Dethstroek could have used Madbulaiin's power to incinerate the ork at any time.  Gol'for, not so encumbered, relentlessly pressed his advantage.
  From the edge of the Grand Platz, four orks came running toward their chief.
  "Dragon!" they yelled.
  Dethstroek instantly grasped the meaning of their terror, and what it likely meant.  No longer on the defensive, the warrior threw himself into his duel with gusto.  Gol'for, recognizing his men, also grasped the significance, and understood.
  "Now, you die, monster!" Dethstroek's furious attack forced the ork to give way.  Gol'for tried to mount a defense, only to find it was not good enough.  Dethstroek scored numerous cuts on the ork chief as he continued his assault.

  Pehnn and Colleanna entered the Grand Platz and saw the warrior and ork chief dueling.  Pehnn, having seen Dethstroek in many fights, could see that the warrior was slowing down.  Colleanna, unaware of Dethstroek's weakening, called out encouragement.
  Gol'for could tell that Dethstroek was losing strength, but it was cold comfort in the light that his own strength was failing.  Despite the great power of the body Daknar had provided him, it had been many years since the ork had done his own fighting, especially against so powerful a foe.  The patchwork body was also slower than his original, though it possessed tremendous strength.
  Skill was not going to win the day, Gol'for decided, Time to resort to trickery.  With his free hand, Gol'for reached into his robes and withdrew a small talisman.  Muttering a spell under his breath, he invoked the talisman's power.
  "Did you know, Dethstroek, that dragon's teeth can make powerful magic?" rasped Gol'for as he barely countered his opponent's blade. "You were careless with the disposition of the dragon's remains.  I salted this ground with many of its teeth in case I found myself in dire straits.  Now see the results!"
  Leaping back, Gol'for pointed at the ground between them.  Dethstroek, carefully sparing a glance where Gol'for was pointing, saw the ground begin to move.  A skeletal hand burst up from the earth, then another and another.  In seconds, there were dozens of skeletal warriors raising up, armed with swords and knives.  Dethstroek stepped back as the undead soldiers started for him.

  Across the Grand Platz, Pehnn and Colleanna watched as Dethstroek and Gol'for separated.  Gol'for seemed to be taunting the warrior.  After a moment, Dethstroek began swinging his sword at the air, thrusting and stabbing as though he was beset by and army of foes.  Pehnn's keen eyes peered at Gol'for, who was holding a small glowing object in one claw-like hand.
  "He is using magic against Dethstroek!" Pehnn exclaimed, and then he yelled to the warrior. "Dethstroek!  It is not real!  Whatever you are seeing, it isn't there!"

  Dethstroek could hear Pehnn yelling at him.  What is he saying? He thought, Of course it's real!  Dethstroek swung at another skeleton, taking its head off.  He marveled at the sharpness of Madbulaiin's blade that cut bone as if it were air!
  As if it were air! Dethstroek realized.
  With great trepidation, the warrior lowered his sword and allowed the skeletons to attack him.  He was mildly surprised when the blades went through his body, but did no harm.  It was an illusion, intended to make him waste his strength on phantom foes.
  "Nice try, Gol'for," said Dethstroek. "I should have expected you to cheat."
  Dethstroek advanced on the patchwork ork, sword raised high.  "I am tired of playing with you, ork." Dethstroek aimed Madbulaiin at Gol'for and willed for the same searing light that incinerated his previous attackers to strike the ork chief.
  Nothing happened.
  Madbulaiin needs a recharge, thought Dethstroek, or that light was a one-time event.
  Gol'for dropped his talisman and raised his hammer in a defensive position. "Yours is not the only magical weapon, knight!" taunted the ork chief. "Know you that this is a Hammer of Lightning, the secret weapon that held Gh'ahtorr's gang at bay!  Let's see how you fair against its power!"
  Gol'for held his weapon high over his head and the hammer began to glow and spark.  Dethstroek, sensing the imminent danger, leaped to his left as a bolt of pure energy blasted the ground where he had stood, leaving scorched and molten earth.
  "Now, let us end this!" rasped the ork as he lunged forward.
  Warrior and ork both swung their weapons.  Madbulaiin and the Hammer of Lightning came together with a thunderous clash and a blinding light.  When Dethstroek's eyes cleared, he saw that Gol'for was also trying to regain his vision, but more importantly, the Hammer of Lightning was gone!
  Warrior and ork chief both cast about searching for the weapon.  Failing to locate it, the pair again faced each other. "You appear to be at a slight disadvantage, Gol'for!" said Dethstroek. "By all means, select another weapon.  I would hate to stain my honor on a villain such as you with an unfair victory."
  Gol'for quickly snatched up a sword from the ground.  The previous owner was a charred corpse, having no further need of it.
  "Come, then, knight," rasped Gol'for. "Let us end this!"
  The patchwork ork rushed forward, swinging with all his might.  It was the last effort of one who knew he was going to fail.  Dethstroek met the charge with all the strength he had left.  The blades came together, not with a thunderous clash, but with a bone-jarring ring.  Gol'for's blade shattered, as if made of glass, while Dethstroek's blade stayed strong to continue on through Gol'for's neck.  The ork's head flew free from its place on the patchwork shoulders and fell to the ground.
  Dethstroek, believing the battle to be over, lowered his sword.  Thus, he was taken completely by surprise when the headless body threw a vicious punch into his jaw.  Knocked from his feet, the warrior rolled into a sitting position and stared at his attacker.
  "My head existed for three years without a body, fool!" rasped Gol'for's severed head. "On or off the neck, the body is still mine to control!"
  "Then control this!" roared Dethstroek.  The warrior pointed Madbulaiin at the headless body and willed it to action.  Once again, the searing brightness leapt from its blade, striking the patchwork corpus and vaporizing it.  Naught but ashes remained.
  "Now, Gol'for, what ever shall we do with what's left of you?" said the warrior as he marveled that Madbulaiin had regained its energy.
  Dethstroek and Colleanna quickly approached the warrior and heard his last comment.
  "I say we hang it up in the Grand Platz and let all the village beat it with sticks!" snarled the Lady Colleanna.
  The gentler sex, indeed! reflected Dethstroek. "Nay, Milady, tempting as that is," the warrior turned to the severed head. "I will grant you a choice, Gol'for.  Final death, or you go back to Grimmoer as a trophy."
  Gol'for's face took on a look of utter terror.  He well knew that Grimmoer would treat him most unkindly. "Death, then!" rasped the head. "And know I will await thee in hell, warrior!"
  "Somehow, I think not," again Madbulaiin glowed, destroying for all time the head of the vile ork chief, Gol'for.
  "You are gracious in your victory, Dethstroek," said Colleanna.
  "I," added Pehnn as he cut down the ill-used undertaker, "am pleased to see the end of this adventure."
  "I think we are forgetting something, Pehnn," said Dethstroek, thinking about Rhatt'phinc and his cronies..
  "Like what, Deth?" inquired the drogan.  Pehnn gently placed Unterurth on the ground as the Lady Colleanna brought water from the fountain to the undertaker.
"Where is that back-stabbing dwarf!" roared the outraged Gh'ahtorr, still soaked and dripping from his unexpected swim in the horse trough.  Spotting Kwihll/Pehnn, the brideck added, "You're dead!"
  "Ah, like that, Pehnn." Dethstroek was surprised to see the brideck alive, but managed to hide it.
  "I want your hide, dwarf!" roared the brideck chief.
  Hearing this statement, Dethstroek roared with laughter.  Pehnn, not seeing the humor, turned a quizzical eye on his friend.
  "Pehnn, he wants your hide!" gasped Dethstroek. "By all means, let him have it!"
  Grasping the warriors meaning at last, the dwarf took hold of his chest and pulled.  As the 'dwarf flesh' peeled away from his body, Pehnn willed his ring to slowly restore his true form.
  Gh'ahtorr watched in stupefied horror as the dwarf ripped away his flesh to reveal...
  "A dragon!" cried the brideck.
  "That's 'drogan'," said Dethstroek, Colleanna, and Pehnn together.  Pehnn smiled and added, "Will this hide do, or would you like something in a gnome?"
  Gh'ahtorr, amazed at what he had just seen, froze in place.  Pehnn approached the brideck.
  "I'll give you a choice, Gh'ahtorr," said Pehnn. "Me or the baron."
  "Y-you?  Bah-baron?" stammered the brideck.
  "You can surrender to me," said Pehnn, showing off his impressive array of sharp teeth, "or you can surrender to the baron.  Choose!"
  Gh'ahtorr dropped his sword and said, "The baron."
  "Good choice," said Dethstroek.

  "Why is it the bravest of men are often the greatest of fools!" grumbled Mon'darc the mage. "I said 'take it easy', not 'go get yourself killed'!"
  "See, Deth?" taunted Pehnn, again in gnome form. "I told you he would be mad."
  "Not mad, Pehnn," retorted the mage. "Overworked!"
  "I had no choice, Mon'darc," said Dethstroek. "I could not let Unterurth suffer on my behalf."
  Mon'darc grunted as he applied a poultice to Dethstroek's leg.  Unterurth laid on a table in the back if the room.  The warrior had insisted the undertaker be treated first.
  "That is all for now," said the mage. "Too much magical healing could damage you.  You will have to recover the hard way, though I can help you along with some herbs and salves."
  "I feel much better already, Mon'darc..." started the warrior.
  "Pehnn, keep him out of trouble for at least a week," interrupted the mage.
  "I'll sit on him, if need be," agreed Pehnn. "In drogan form if necessary."
  "Nay!" protested Dethstroek, smiling. "From that I may never recover!"
  The trio enjoyed a brief chuckle, then Pehnn changed the subject.
  "What about Dethstroek's sword?" asked the drogan.
  "Ah!  Yes." Mon'darc went to a cabinet and withdrew two items...a ring and a drinking stein. "This is a Ring of Invisibility, and a Flagon of Excess."
  "Flagon of what?" inquired the warrior.
  "Excess," explained the mage. "Fill it with any liquid, and it will stay full of whatever you fill it with until midnight."
  "Sounds useful," said Pehnn.
  "Very," allowed Mon'darc. "Dethstroek, strike the flagon with your sword."
  Dethstroek raised an eyebrow as he lifted Madbulaiin and struck the stein.  As before, when he struck Gol'for's hammer, there was a blinding light.  When the trio could again see, the stein was gone.
  "Seems like a waste, to me," commented Pehnn.
  "Maybe," grinned the mage. "Dethstroek, will the sword to become a flagon."
  Again, the warrior raised an eyebrow, but did as he was bid.  There was a much smaller flash of light and Madbulaiin was gone!  In its place was the Flagon of Excess!
  "Great Lugh!" exclaimed the warrior.
  "Will it back!" said Pehnn quickly.
  Another flash of light and Madbulaiin returned.
  "What happened?" asked Dethstroek.
  "It is the magic of the Ring of Spell Storing and the Ring of Polymorph that are now a part of your swords enchantment," explained the mage. "Any magical item struck by Madbulaiin's blade is absorbed.  You simply will it and it becomes that item!"
  Pehnn, quick to understand, said, "Will it to become the Hammer of Lightning."
  Dethstroek did so and found himself holding Gol'for's hammer.  Another flash, and Madbulaiin again returned.
  "How long have you been holding the sword?" asked Mon'darc.
  Dethstroek was surprised to realize the answer. "Since I drew it in the Grand Platz this morning!  I did not even realize I was still holding it!"
  "Ah-ha!  Now lay it down on the floor and walk away."
  Try as he might, the sword refused to leave the warriors hand.
  "Can you re-sheath it?"
   Dethstroek raised the sword up and slid it into the sheath strapped to his back.  His hand easily came away from the hilt.  But when the warrior attempted to remove the sheath, it refused to come away from his body.
  "I suspected that would happen," said Mon'darc. "It is the Enchantment of Sole Possession.  Once Madbulaiin was drawn, it bonded to you, and only you.  The only time you will be able to release it is when you throw it at an enemy, then it will return to your hand."
  "Um, is this bad?" asked Pehnn.
  "I will always have it on my person, regardless of what I may desire," said Dethstroek in a low voice. "Can anything be done?"
  "Strike the ring," instructed the mage.  Again, there was a blinding light and the ring was gone. "Now will the sword to become the ring." Dethstroek did so and found himself holding the ring. "Now you can carry Madbulaiin everywhere without it getting in the way.  Simply place the ring on any finger, and will the sword back whenever you need."
  "Excellent!" said Pehnn. "But why waste a magic ring, Mon'darc?"
  "The sword will only absorb magical items, Pehnn," explained the mage. "Otherwise it would have absorbed the various swords used against it...hmmm..." Mon'darc again went to his cabinet and withdrew a sword. "Dethstroek, this is a Sword of Giant Slaying.  Strike this sword, if you please."
  The warrior restored Madbulaiin to its normal shape and struck the mage's sword.  There was the normal spark of metal striking metal, but Mon'darc's sword did not vanish.
  "Well, there you have it," said the mage.
  "Have what?" asked Dethstroek.
  "Madbulaiin will only absorb one item of each basic shape," explained Mon'darc. "It will never absorb another ring, or sword, or hammer, or flagon.  However, there is an infinite number of different magical items that can still be absorbed if you are not careful."
  "Life just keeps getting more interesting around you, Deth," said Pehnn. "One more thing, Mon'darc, do you have any cure for Dethstroek strange laugh?"

  The baron accepted Gh'ahtorr's surrender in a public display in the Grand Platz.  Gh'ahtorr, surrounded by soldiers, bowed low and laid his sword at baron Mak Dougal's feet, then stepped back.  The baron, showing he was firm, but just, ordered all of Gh'ahtorr's assets seized, such as they were after his tavern had burned to the ground, and the brideck exiled from Cughmaiin for all time.
  Prior to the display, Dethstroek had had a private conversation with Gh'ahtorr.  The conversation consisted of words like "drogan kibble" and "decapitation".  Gh'ahtorr took instruction well, and knew he had no chance against the dragon-slayer, nor his pet dragon...correction...drogan.

  "Now, what do we do with the Wadman and Robttt?" asked Pehnn.  The drogan had remained in his gnome disguise.  The Robttt was discovered in the ruins of Gh'ahtorr's Tavern before Gh'ahtorr was turned over to the baron.  The Wadman was in a room at The Ork's Haven Inn.  Neither would function without being first commanded.
  "I say we store them with our treasure," suggested Dethstroek. "We can't haul nine wagon loads of gold everywhere we go, and we will need dependable guardians to protect it from thieves.  All we need is the Robttt's name.  The Wadman will obey whoever slays its previous owner, I am told by Mon'darc."
  "T'ho'mas," supplied Pehnn. "Gh'ahtorr told 'Kwihll' before his tavern was razed."
  "Excellent!" said Dethstroek. "That solves everything."
  "Not quite," countered Pehnn. "Gh'ahtorr, Gol'for and Tin'dar were all warned of your coming.  You have an enemy in the shadows, Deth."
  "Faynnus."
  "Come again?"
  "My true name is 'Faynnus'," said Dethstroek. "Dethstroek is my nom de guerre."
  "That is a relief.  I had some very serious concerns about your family," smiled Pehnn. "Mind if I continue to use Dethstroek, though?  It does seem to suit you."
  "In public, I would have to insist upon it.  None would be intimidated by 'Faynnus the Warrior'," laughed Dethstroek.
  "What does it mean?" inquired the gnome.
  "'Honorable One," replied Dethstroek. "It is derived from the elfish title of respect meaning 'honored'.  What of your name, Pehnn?"
  "The nearest translation would be something like 'Bright Scales'," explained Pehnn. "Any idea whom it was that might have tipped off For'log and Tin'dar that you were coming?"
 "It might be Chulmoraiin Mak Dullaiin."
  "The dukes cousin?"
  "None other," said Dethstroek. "I think we should journey to Rennibister to discuss it with him.  After V'rogg, of course.  My wife and son must miss me as much as I miss them."
  "Of course," agreed the Drogan.  Pehnn had learned much about humans while traveling with Dethstroek, and looked forward to learning more. "I can hardly wait!"
  "Tell me, Pehnn," asked the warrior, "do you really think I have a strange laugh?"


EPILOGUE

  "I had Mon'darc send the dream spell to Grimmoer explaining that all was well in Cughmaiin," announced the warrior. "I had to be cryptic lest Mon'darc know of the duke's involvement."
  Dethstroek took a stool at the bar of the Black Dragon Tavern.  It was early in the morning, and not yet open for business, so the warrior and the gnome were able to speak freely.
  "No doubt you will be recalled to V'rogg and have your exile lifted," replied the gnome.
  "I do hope so."
  "So, what is next for us?  I suspect you will become well known and become a figure of myth and legend."
  Dethstroek raised an eyebrow at the gnome. "Well, there will be some talk of my slaying Tin'dar, but most people will disbelieve the rumors and hardly give me any notice after a time."
  "Even so, I think you will find yourself very busy for some time," said Pehnn airily.
  "Doing what?"
  "Slaying suicidal dragons, of course."
  "And how do you come to that conclusion?"
  "Well, dragons don't gossip as a rule, but humans, elves and dwarf-kind do.  Word will get around that a powerful dragon-slayer brought down Tin'dar, and every dragon with a death wish will be beating down your door."
  "How would a dragon know where to find me?" countered the warrior.
  "They'll ask the first being they meet before eating him, of course," replied the gnome.
  "Dragons do that?  I never heard of it."
  "That's because the only people to hear of it get eaten."
  "Well, with Madbulaiin at my side, I dare say I can take care of any dragon that seeks me out."
  "Overconfidence is a predator even more dangerous than a dragon," warned Pehnn.
  "Just so," nodded Dethstroek. "I suspect I have some time before dragons start calling me out, though."
  "Let's hope!" agreed Pehnn. "I think it is your turn to make breakfast."
  "Certainly." Dethstroek got up and headed for the kitchen. "Care to try some bread?  I ordered some special made without eggs."
  "I'll give it a try," said Pehnn. "And some of that, what did you call it, 'juice'.  We drogans never thought of squeezing the liquid out of fruit."
  Pehnn was setting down plates and flatware when there was a loud banging on the door.  "We open at noon," called out the ersatz gnome.  Again there came a thunderous pounding on the door. "I swear, humanoids must all be deaf," grumbled Pehnn as he walked over to the door and pulled it open.
  Despite the thick early morning fog, Pehnn could make out the form of a large blue dragon.  To Pehnn's experienced eye, the faded scales, long blunt fangs, chipped and cracked talons and slouched posture proclaimed this to be a truly ancient representative of the species.
  Pehnn stepped away from the door and called out loudly, "Dethstroek!  It's for you!"


