Sapphire's Place - author 's - " The Gate to Aragnatha"

The Gate to Aragnatha

by Lynn Lefey

Chapter One: Dungeons of Fantasy

It was Wednesday, 5:30 PM, and Andrea Thomas walked toward the comic and game shop. The bell cuffs of her sagging denim shredded against the concrete. The hot late-summer wind blew through her excruciatingly short haircut. In a few more weeks, she intended on getting her hair dyed green, but for now, there wasn't enough to worry about.

She pushed against the glass door leading into "Dungeons of Fantasy". At least the air conditioning cut some of the horrible summer humidity. A quiet ping chimed as she broke the light beam crossing the entrance. Tony looked up from his pen-whipped copy of "Comics Preview".

"An-DEE!" he shouted.

"Yo, what up, To-NEE!" she replied, flashing a nonsensical mock gang sign.

"Latest issues of Gen-13 and the summer pin-up from Marvel are on the rack. Hey… I'm digging your "Disturbed" tee-shirt," Tony said.

Andy didn't know if Tony actually liked her or just faked it, so that she'd do all her business at the shop. It didn't really matter.

She slid her backpack off and dropped it beside the vending machine. She dug in her deep pockets and retrieved a handful of coins, dropping them in the machine. She selected the button marked "Mountain Dew" and listened to the machine disgorge her beverage of choice.

She walked through the shop, looking at the various titles that might interest her. The hardcover collected volume of "Astro-City" with the Steeljack story was on the shelves. She grabbed it and carted her treasure to the front of the store. She'd missed two issues of the arc, and hated leaving a story unfinished, especially one that well done. She had a soft spot in her for the underdog hero.

"Hey, could you put this in my pull box?" she asked.

"No problem. Hey… you're, like, three dollars short of getting your twenty five-dollar bonus. You pick up, like, one issue of anything and you'll be good to go," Tony said enthusiastically.

"Dude, you know I want nothing more in life than to one day do what you do for a living. You've gotta just LOVE it," she said.

"Well, the pay sucks, but any job that allows me to read comics all day, draw, and see all the newest games when they first get released… Yeah, I guess it could be worse. I could be flipping burgers," Tony said, smiling.

She flipped through her pull stack and found the latest "Amazing Spider-Man". She'd been following it for a while, since she heard about the movie… and since JMS was now writing it. She got hooked on J. Michael Straczynski after seeing "Babylon 5". Any sci-fi series with a lesbian as second in command of a space station just HAD to rock. And honestly, Claudia Christian was HOT!

She retrieved her wallet from her back pocket, mostly by following the heavy length of chain connected to it. She unbuttoned the heavy buttons securing it, and withdrew a five. She also rummaged through the dice bin, finally finding a smoke gray dodecahedron (a twenty sided die). Tony rang up her new acquisitions.

"You want the hardcover for the bonus?" he asked.

"Yep. Sweet! A hardcover, for less than five bucks." She knew that she'd spent hundreds in this shop and it wasn't really "free"… but it still felt nice.

She unzipped her backpack, and slid the new stuff in between her game books. The backpack bore two emblems. One was a patch of a rainbow triangle, the other a pin proclaiming "Grrl Power!"

Andy wandered to the back of the shop and opened the door that led into the basement. The lights were on. She thought the DM must already be in.

Only moments passed before the ping sounded again. This time, Tony looked up to see another regular, someone else here for the Wednesday night game. Michael Dickinson wore his usual shabby sweats and white Manga tee shirt. The shirt showed Aoi Futaba-Chan, a cute girl from "You're Under Arrest", a comic series Tony had never seen. Michael's long unkempt hair obscured his face. He stormed across the shop to the soda machine. Another Mountain Dew was dispensed. Tony didn't even get a word in before Michael was down the stairs, but he could have sworn Michael's lip was quivering like he was on the edge of tears. Tony tried not to think about it. Michael was a nice guy, but a total geek and a fairy.

Phil Johnson and Larry Carroll came in together a few minutes later. Both were fairly big game nuts as far as Tony could tell, and both were older… perhaps mid-thirties. Phil was rather soft around the middle, although he exercised like a madman. He spoke constantly of the curse of "Fat Genes". Larry, on the other hand was the type with a fast metabolism. He also lifted weights, but to little avail. He was still thin, at best.

"Good evening Gentlemen. I think the rest of the group is assembled and waiting. Can I do anything for you before the game?" Tony asked in his most professional tone.

"Yeah. Can I see my pull box? And, did the special order small-press stuff come in?" Phil asked.

Tony pulled the reserved books for Phil, then began flipping through inventory lists.

"Sorry, dude… the small press stuff is delayed. Some hold up in distro," Tony apologized.

"No problem. Is the Stronghold Builder's Guide on the shelf yet?" Phil went on.

"Yep. Three copies left," Tony replied without needing to look.

Tony knew Phil was a fairly strong supporter of the game industry, and tried to keep such customers well pleased. Tony rang him up, and bagged the new books.

"I'll probably stop by Saturday to give the Guide a quick flip-through. Don't worry if you've cleared the three copies before then. It's no big thing," Phil said, picking up his bag.

"Great, I'll be here," Tony said.

Larry had dug out a handful of dice.

"Could you ring these up… my other dice have been rolling for shit lately. I think they're out of juice," He stated.

"No prob," Tony said, completing the transaction.

The shop owner had come across a good idea using some of their basement storage for a game night. It brought in decent business.

Phil and Larry descended into the basement. Tony went back to his copy of "Comics Preview".

…

The cramped basement smelled of moist cardboard. Old faded cutout figures and game isle-caps lay strewn in the shadows. Inventory boxes were mostly kept in the storeroom upstairs, so there was really nothing to fear from a group being down here unattended. The concrete floor, folding metal chairs and table, and unadorned fluorescent light fixture all sang to the heart of any real gamer.

As Phil and Larry approached, Phil took notice of Michael. He sat with his head laying left side down in his folded arms. Andrea busied herself with arranging her "Player's Handbook", character sheet, dice, and sheets of notes. Phil sat on the left of the table, next to Andrea. Larry sat next to Michael. At the head of the table, behind the quad-fold DM screen sat the feared Dungeon Master, Carl Asair.

The players were mostly unaware that they had graduated, by process of elimination into this Wednesday game. Phil had stayed up late nights discussing the finer points of plot with Carl, and knew he had very specific things he wanted to see in his players. These four were some of the best he'd had in a while.

Carl finally looked up from his notes, and took notice of Michael.

"Michael… what's wrong? Do you feel all right?"

Carl was a man who loved getting into a game, and could seem sadistic and cruel in his creation of horrifying situations in which to place his players, but he was also very clear to separate that from the real world. Michael lifted his head, and looked at Carl. The area around Michael's left eye was purple and swollen. The white of the eye was red; looking like it had a broken blood vessel. His lip still trembled and he sniffled as a tear ran down his cheek.

"I got jumped again at school." He looked at Carl pathetically.

A general burst of frustration and anger erupted in the small group.

"Mikey, you gotta learn to stand up for yourself," Larry began.

"Larry, wasn't it you that used to get beat up in High School all the time for being skinny?" Phil commented.

"Yeah… but that was a different time," Larry returned.

"Fuck all that! Michael, tell me who did it, and I'll go kick their asses!" Andrea said.

"Yeah, great. 'If you don't leave me alone, I'll have my bull-dyke friend here bust your face'… Oh, THAT would help!" Michael stated sarcastically, his face contorting with pain.

"The term is 'Stone-Butch'… thank you," Andrea returned.

"Are you sure you want to be here tonight? One of us could give you a ride home, if you want," Carl said sympathetically.

"No. I want to be here. Actually… I DON'T want to be here. I want to be HERE," Michael said, pointing at the large-scale map of the lands of Aragnatha lying on the table. "I'd rather be Tilara."

A moment of silence followed.

"I hesitate to say it, but I don't know if it's healthy burying yourself in fantasy if you have more pressing real-world problems," Phil started. "The issues aren't going to go away, and ignoring them just allows them to fester."

"You're one to talk there, Phil. When was the last time you had a date?" Larry pointed out.

"Look… I'm a fat, middle-aged geek-boy. Where, EXACTLY, are the ladies that are interested in such a catch, Larry? I'm not here avoiding my reality. I'm here because this is more entertaining than sit-coms. It seems obvious to me that Michael needs to fess up to the fact that he's… well… gay at least, and most likely some variation on transgendered, considering his propensity for playing female characters. With that truth may come the courage to face his reality, and make it what he needs it to be," Phil orated.

"What about you? You're playing a female character as well, Phil. Does that make YOU gay or transgendered?" Larry returned.

Carl and Andrea seemed nearly confounded by this exchange.

"True, I play a female character, but if you recall, my characters have not CONSISTANTLY been female. This is not wish-fulfillment for me, it's simply stretching my role-playing repertoire," Phil argued.

"It doesn't matter why I play these characters. I could never go through transition. My dad would kill me. I have nightmares about it all the time," Michael said softly.

Andrea circled around the back of the table and stood behind Michael, hugging him. Phil and Larry, being well beyond the age of the two younger players, simply watched. Larry made a vague attempt at comforting Michael by patting his arm, but in general felt lame. Neither knew how to handle interaction with a young man so open with his emotions. They'd both grown up in an era where being a man meant sucking it up and not showing your feelings.

Larry quickly lost interest in the human drama, and began readying his books and papers.

Phil sat watching as the two high school kids walked to the staircase and sat down. He contemplated the difference in Andrea's gruff presentation and her affection and sensitivity toward Michael's plight.

"We really can call the game for one night if you don't feel up to being here," Phil said to the two at the stairs.

He thought that maybe it would be better if the two went off to Andrea's house, giving Michael some time to think.

"No. Really, I want to play… Just give me a few minutes, okay?" Michael mumbled.

Michael rarely seemed enthused about anything. A few times in the game, Phil thought he'd seen real excitement in the young man's eyes. Otherwise he seemed to live in a constant state of apathy. Phil's own experience as "the fat kid" gave him some appreciation for what Michael was going through, but he had no idea what the constant torment of being a "girly-boy" or whatever, was like.

"I can't even imagine a kid being openly gay when I grew up," Larry said quietly to Phil. "Really… I can't imagine being gay, for that matter."

"Some kind of homophobia there, Larry?" Phil asked lightly.

"No… come on, man. In college, I experimented with… well… virtually everything: drugs, sex, religion. There's a point where you just know you don't like something. Thinking about doing guys just does nothing for me," Larry said, somewhat flushed.

"Carl… what's your take on all this?" Phil threw a glance sideways at Carl, sitting at the far end of the table.

He'd been staring intently at something behind the DM screen.

"Sorry… what?" He snapped back to reality.

"Did you ever think you'd live to see the day when youth were able to be openly gay in the public school system? I mean, you're from about the same age group as Larry and I, right?" Phil questioned.

"Honestly?" Carl took a breath and exhaled. "I didn't grow up in the American school system. But, in my homeland, homosexuality wasn't all that well accepted either. I guess like here, it's something of an individual basis, but the culture just didn't really approve. Maybe with the exception of the extremely wealthy, where it was almost something of a status symbol," Carl stated, still rather distracted.

"And where ARE you from? I never caught any accent from you," Larry interrogated.

"Why, Mr. Carroll… I am from the MYSTERIOUS lands of Aragnatha!" Carl said with a horribly campy over-exaggerated gesture that nearly sent both players at the table into fits of laughter.

Andrea and Michael returned to the table. Michael held the cold can of soda to his swollen eye.

"So, if your character isn't wish-fulfillment, what is it?" Larry asked Phil.

"Nightshade? I was brought up in a strict southern Baptist home. Nightshade is my look at the world through the eyes of a person not fettered with all the moral baggage I was given," Phil stated.

Carl raised an eyebrow, impressed with how gracefully Phil had summed up the genesis of his character.

"Why female then?" Larry continued.

"I think someone as sneaky as Nightshade would have more innate power as a female. It's easier to sneak into some place if people take you to be harmless. It's also easier to seduce the people in power, which are usually male. And what about Hroken? Why did you make him?" Phil returned the question to Larry.

"I don't know. It's my first divine spell caster, but at heart, I can't get away from wanting to hack the shit out of beasties. So, I decided to play a cleric of a God of War. Maybe the dwarf thing is a bit connected to being tired of being skinny. I know you bitch about your childhood, and how you got reamed for being overweight. I got it at least as bad for being rail-thin. At least when you're fat, you have the mass and muscle to kick some ass. I took Kung-Fu for six years after high school just to regain some sense of personal security," Larry admitted.

"You know, Larry, you're the only player running a character that matches their actual physical gender in this game?" Carl interjected.

"Yeah, I had thought about that once, and what it said about our group. Since you picked the players, maybe you have a better idea why that happened." Larry returned the ball to Carl's court.

"I knew Michael would play a female character. I actually expected others to play characters that matched their own gender," Carl admitted.

"So, Why did you play a male character, Andy?" Larry looked at the young woman across the table.

"Because I wanted to play a big, intimidating motherfucker. I'm not talking about like Xena. I wanted someone who people would fear just by looking at. That, and I wanted someone with a huge raging wanker." She added for shock value.

The table erupted with laughter. Even Michael managed a smile.

"Forgive me if this question sounds stupid, but you told Michael you preferred the term 'Stone Butch'. What exactly does that mean?" Larry asked Andrea.

"Well, it's like… I love women. I mean, they drive me nuts, but I only want to be the one doing the touching and stuff. I don't want them to touch me back." She explained.

"Why?" Larry asked, honestly curious.

"I don't know. Maybe it's some freaky control thing. Some of it is I don't really want to be reminded that I have the… The parts I have." She said, trailing off a little.

"You don't want to be female?" Larry pressed.

"I mean…" Andrea stalled, looking at the others. "No, not really. It sucks, the whole being on the rag thing. And like, I get no respect as a girl. Plus… there are a lot more hetero chicks than dykes," She added.

Somewhere inside, she felt like she was breaking some sacred lesbian oath. Men are bad, being a man is bad, wanting to be a man is bad, but it was how she felt. She'd spent the last two years accepting she was a lesbian, and finding a safe haven in their collective arms. There was the sense of belonging to a real community, and her statement was like an admission that some of their rhetoric was bullshit, and moreover, she was not truly one of them. She stared down, feeling vaguely like some part of her world was eroding at the edges.

"What does that make you?" Larry asked.

"I…" Andrea was totally at a loss.

"It makes her a human, like the rest of us. We all face confusion and the difficulty of coming to grips with who we are. She's still in the process. Why try pigeonholing her into a label?" Phil jumped in.

"Sounds like you're a trans-man," Michael said softly.

Andrea looked across the table at her friend, meeting his gaze, but saying nothing.

"What the hell is a trans-man?" Larry asked, somewhat confused by the new term.

"Well, transsexuals go both ways, you know? Men become women, and women become men. Trans-men would be the counterpart to M-t-F's… umm, that's 'Male-to-Females'. They are F-t-M's… Female-to-Males." Michael stated.

He usually spoke with little force of presence in his manner. Here, he showed a bit of confidence in his statement.

"Damn! It sounds like we're not the first to bring to your attention that you have transgendered tendencies," Larry stated.

"No. Look… I know I'm a boy. I know people think I'm gay, but I don't think I'm gay. I know gay guys. I get hit on by them all the time. I give off the vibe or something, but there is a fundamental difference between me and them," Michael explained.

"And that is…?" Larry cajoled.

"They want to keep their penis. I don't. I admit I like boys, but the thought of doing it with boys as a boy does nothing for me. I want to be… well, I want to be a girl. No… that's not exactly true. In some ways, I AM a girl. I mean, when I sleep, I dream of being with guys as a girl. I relate to other girls better than I do with boys. I mean, even you and Phil, I see it in your eyes when I'm around. Something about me makes you both uncomfortable," He pointed out.

"I have to admit, I don't know how to read you most of the time, Michael… but I'm not disturbed by you. And I certainly don't dislike you," Phil assured his young friend.

"Yeah. Do you think Phil and I would be here every Wednesday to game with you if you freaked us out?" Larry verified.

"I guess not," Michael conceded.

A moment of silence followed.

"Well… if we're all done with our little 'psychology of role-playing 101', perhaps we could get on with the game?" Carl stated lightheartedly.

The players shuffled briefly through their character sheets and notes, reading up on events from the previous game. Phil, in particular rifled through copious notes. The others mostly spent a few minutes reacquainting themselves with the nuances of their characters.

"We ready?" Carl asked after a few minutes.

The chorus of positive replies told him it was show time.

"Okay. Last game you all discovered that there may be an heir to the throne in Hron-Borin, a daughter of the king, somewhere in the High Mountains to the North and West. Kulnak, this is your old stomping ground, and not too far from Hrokin's Clan. You've all been hoofing it for nearly a week. The mountains loom near, and the Wandering Plains sweep out to your East. The severe winter had forced many of the mountain's inhabitants into the plains in search of food, and two encounters with goblin raiders went fairly easily. Because of these raids though, you've been keeping watch at night, rotating shifts. The order I have listed is …Nightshade, then Kulnak, then Tilara, and finally Hrokin taking last shift and doing morning prayer then." Carl stopped briefly, rolling some dice from behind the screen.

"Tilara, on your shift, the light of the small fire seems to be reflecting off something glistening some forty feet or so away, sort of hidden in the high grass," Carl stated.

"Is it like the eye of an animal or something? How tall does this thing look?" Michael asked.

"No, not like an eye, and lying close to the ground. It's reflecting greenish light. Perhaps an emerald or some such," Carl baited.

Michael sighed.

"Okay, I gather my spear and creep over to where I see the reflection, trying to move as quietly as possible. Maybe I'll get a chance to pocket some juicy gem like Nightshade did," Michael said, throwing a glance at Phil.

"That's out of game knowledge, remember. No one caught her," Phil interjected.

"No, but we suspect," Larry said flatly.

"Okay, Tilara. Give me a 'Move Silently' roll," Carl requested, looking at something in his notes.

Michael shook his purple D20, and dropped it. The die came up reading 16. He looked at his character sheet.

"Seventeen total," He stated. "What is this thing?"

Carl set an elaborate jeweled artifact on the table from behind the screen. It appeared to be an intricately carved horseshoe-shaped item, crafted of gold, with a great shining emerald set at the top of the arch. Along each side, other emeralds were placed, smaller, yet still beautiful. The group looked en masse at the item with fascination. Carl brought some beautiful props to the game, but this was a new level of realism.

"Whoa," Larry stated, thoroughly impressed.

"Wow… Carl! Dude… is this REAL?" Andrea asked.

Michael reached forward and picked up the item, holding it for a moment. In his mind there was a sudden feeling of drunken disorientation.

Chapter 2: What Passes for Reality

He held the beautiful trinket but realized the lights in the room had gone out. No… not entirely. Behind him was a dim orange flickering flame. He now stood in high grass. He looked away from the golden arch, up at the sky. The totality of darkness made the stars stand out perfectly. His eyes seemed to drink in the starlight. Never before had they seemed so vivid. He turned to see three figures sleeping around a tiny fire. Michael's mind glitched for a moment. He had totally immersed himself in the story. He listened, trying to hear Carls voice as it described the scene. There was no voice, only the whistling of the wind and the rustling of the high grass in the light breeze.

He looked again at the item, moving closer to the fire. Faint crackles and pops sputtered from the burning wood. He instinctively brushed the fine silk robes beneath him as he sat on the vacant bedroll. His body felt odd. He tore his mind away from the object, and stared at his hands. They were fine and delicate. The nails were short, extending only slightly over the tips of the fingers, and had no polish. Still, they appeared buffed nearly to a shine. On his slender forearms were arm guards made of brilliantly polished steel, traced with etchings inlaid in gold.

"My Magical Bracers," he thought absently to himself.

He set the spear down and touched his face. His nose was fine and narrow, slightly upturned at the tip. His lips were large and soft. His jaw was narrow and ended in a delicate chin. He stopped for a moment, then hesitantly ran his hands slowly up the jaw again to the ear. In the lobe was a hoop earring. He traced his hand farther, and realized that his ear ended in small point. He broke out into laughter, and flopped back on his bedroll. He was a half-elf! He was Tilara. Lying there, he confirmed the rest of the anatomy. Small breasts rested on his… HER chest. She reached for her crotch through the soft robes, and found no trace of a bulge. Her breathing accelerated… she felt like she might hyperventilate. She forced herself to take deep breaths. She'd said that she wanted to be here, and now she was. She took stock of the items around her. Her backpack, her spear… and perched on a small wooden stand was a red tail hawk, sound asleep. She smiled deeply at the thought. She listened to the nearby mule shift it's footing. She could smell the late spring grass, the mule… the other people with her.

She sprang back to her feet.

"Wake up!" she screamed.

The still figures launched into a flurry of action. To her left, Nightshade reflexively rolled into a kneeling position, and fumbled to knock an arrow. Across the fire, Kulnak sprang to his feet, a bit wobbly, still half asleep, but with sense of mind to grab his axe. Hrokin grabbed his shield, as well as his war hammer. Tilara laughed with excitement and amusement.

"Stay calm. We are not under attack, my friends. I simply wanted to enlighten you to our new surroundings," She said.

The voice was foreign to her, as was her own accent and manner of speech. Somewhere in her head, she realized she was speaking a language other than English. She nearly laughed again. "Trade Tongue" or "Common" as it was sometimes called. She stopped and thought for a moment, then spoke a short poem in Elven. She thought that by all the stars in heaven, certainly it was the most beautiful language she'd ever heard. The others stared at her as if she'd gone mad.

"Aye… well… now that I'm up, I'd best go put out that brush fire," Kulnak said in his thick native accent.

He waded through the grass a ways off, yawning like a waking bear, and scratching his ass. He relieved himself with a great sigh. Hrokin chuckled his deep guttural laugh at the crudeness of his comrade.

"What's got you all up and excited, Tilara?" He finally said, after scanning around their camp.

"We're HERE, Larry…," she stated, looking the dwarf in the eyes, waiting for the moment of recognition.

Tilara suddenly felt a moment of panic. Perhaps she alone would remember who they really were. Perhaps she alone had been transported. Again she felt her breaths coming faster. She looked imploringly into the eyes of the dwarf. His stout frame was heavily muscled. His long black beard was peppered with gray. He wore only a nightshirt, but held a large metal shield with signs of heavy usage. His thick hand gripped the leather-wrapped haft of a war hammer. He looked at her somewhat suspiciously, furrowing his brow, trying to remember. Tilara watched the emotions play across his course features.

"We were talking before… Someone had struck you in the face. You're eye was swollen." He strained to remember.

"That's right. You're real name is Larry Carroll," she stated in a soft voice.

Her heart slowed somewhat.

"I have no idea what you're going on about. If you two want to speak in some odd code, then feel free, but keep it down. I want to sleep. And see to it that you issue no more false alarms, half-blood," Nightshade warned coldly.

Tilara stared at her. She was… beautiful. She wore a linen tunic and breeches, and through the material could be seen a soft and shapely form which was unmistakably female. Tilara wondered if she looked even half that good. Nightshade plopped back down in the bed of high grass lined with a bedroll, covered herself with a light blanket, and went back to sleep.

Something else Nightshade had said… "half-blood". Tilara remembered her life before meeting the others. She'd been cast out by the elves, and raised by a small settlement of humans. But… she was really Michael. She looked into the eyes of Hrokin. He studied her face.

"Are your realities colliding?" he asked her softly. She only nodded.

"Nightshade and Kulnak don't seem to remember," she said sadly.

"By the bright sky! I have a HUGE wanker!" came the bellow from Kulnak off in the weeds.

The sadness in Tilara was replaced with a shock of laughter. Hrokin just smiled and shook his head.

"What an idiot," he muttered.

"Shut UP!" Nightshade screeched from under her blanket.

"Honestly, this thing is a beast," Kulnak said, coming back toward the camp.

He was tugging his leather breeches, and hiking his leg up every other step, trying to adjust his manhood.

"I need a damned third leg in me pants!" he roared, looking honestly surprised.

"If you don't stop playing with yourself, I'll pound that gardener snake of yours flat!" Hrokin said, almost laughing.

"It'd take a bigger hammer than THAT. I mean, seriously, this thing's a monster!" Kulnak exclaimed.

Tilara could see the bulge in the leg of his breeches. It looked at least eight inches long. She didn't think it was anywhere near fully erect either. She felt herself blush momentarily, and looked away.

"Kulnak… Do you know anyone named Andrea?" Hrokin asked.

"Andrea? … Andrea…" He wracked his brain. "It has a familiar ring to it, but I can't place it."

"It's you, Kulnak. You're real name is Andrea. Think. Think hard," Hrokin demanded.

"What are you going on about? Look, I know I'm not all book-learned, but I know my name. It is, and has always been Kulnak," he stated flatly.

"Why are you suddenly so fascinated with your manhood then?" Hrokin asked.

"I don't know, it's just so…" Kulnak paused.

"New? Different?" Hrokin suggested.

"In a way, I guess. I'm not used to…" Kulnak's jovial expression melted. "Damn. Damn it all. Andrea is a girl in a dark cellar, sitting at a table with four men. I see her now. But it doesn't seem like me. It's like a tale I was told long ago, about a world where there are carriages drawn by no horse, and great steel birds." Kulnak looked troubled.

"Well, that's our world, Kulnak… or was. I wonder how long we'll be here?" Hrokin stated, thoughtfully stroking the hairs of his beard.

He stopped for a moment and lifted a great handful of the masterfully braided beard hair to examine it. Satisfied with the results, he dropped the braids, and went on about examining himself.

Kulnak returned to his bedroll and quickly fell back to sleep.

"I thought somehow that everyone would be as excited as me, but those two don't seem much to care… almost like this was little more than some amusing puzzle. Why am I so clearly aware of who I am… or was, and the other two are so oblivious?" Tilara pondered quietly.

"You were awake when the … manifestation occurred," he surmised.

"And you?" Tilara looked the priest in the eyes.

"I don't know. Perhaps it has to do with our strength of will. With my years of meditation and connection with Mahnook… Maybe I have better tools to see across the gulf," he contemplated.

It didn't matter overmuch to Tilara why Hrokin was so clearly aware, only that he was. She thought this might be easier to handle with someone else understanding it. Hrokin busied himself with retrieving paper and quill from his scroll case. Tilara watched curiously.

"Hrokin… you still have a few more hours if you wish to return to your slumber," she said softly.

"I fear sleep will only wipe away more of the memories of my past. I wish to capture as many of them as possible before I go back off to sleep. I don't think it's fair for Larry to fade from my memory. Perhaps it would be wise for you to do the same," he pointed out.

Tilara saw the wisdom in this, and retrieved her own writing utensils. She drew out pages from her scroll case, as well as a piece of lead for writing. She tapped it against the paper, waiting for the memories to return, then began to write.

"My name is Michael Dickinson.

I am seventeen years old and attend Marshal High School in Zanesville, Ohio.

I like Manga Comics, and video games.

I have an older brother, Todd. He's a jock ass-hole.

I think, deep down inside that maybe I'm a girl.

I get beat up regularly at school because people think I'm gay."

Tilara stopped for a moment. She again tapped the lead against the page.

"I hate my life."

She sat staring off into the darkness of the night. Maybe she was made to remember so she would appreciate what she was given. Maybe… It didn't matter why. She put the writing lead away. She stared at the list of facts from her other life. She sat, thinking long and hard, trying to remember all the things that she would miss. Her cat… She almost laughed. It was the only thing really bothering her at the moment. She kissed the sheet of paper, and tossed it into the fire.

"So little that you'll miss, Michael?" Hrokin asked.

"Yeah. I really rather wish I had been asleep during the crossing. I think I could get used to this life very quickly," Tilara replied.

She sat down beside Hrokin. His demeanor was often gruff, stern, hard like the stone he was raised around, but she needed to be close to someone right now.

"It's alright. I like you better this way," he said, smiling.

He put an arm around her, and she leaned against his massive frame. Somewhere in the back of Hrokin's mind, he thought what an odd scene this made. A dwarven cleric hugging a half elf. It didn't matter. He held clan and family sacred, and there was no doubt in his mind that this woman was his family.

Tilara stayed awake another hour or so, then wandered over to her bedroll and lay down to sleep.

…

Hrokin spent the next few minutes putting his armor back on, strapping the thick metal plates in various places. The creaking of leather straps and rattling of metal didn't wake his allies, for which he was grateful. They needed their rest. This could be a tough period of adjustment for them all.

He stared at the fire, feeding it as needed. Several times, he stood up and stretched his legs. He felt somewhat out of place in his new form. His thick, stout body was only slightly more than four feet by his reckoning, but the heavy musculature put him at over a hundred and seventy pounds. If his body matched the statistics listed on the fictitious character sheet from the game, he was every bit as strong as Kulnak. Certainly, he felt that he could move easily enough, even in the fifty pounds of armor he donned. Night wore on, and eventually, the faint glow of dawn crept up.

As the sun crested the plains to the East, he knelt in reverence, and gave homage to the great Mahnook, protector of his clan, and bearer of the mighty hammer, Brathnar foe-crusher. He spoke his vows every morning at dawn, and humbly asked for the power to smite his enemies, whatever form they may take.

It was at this moment that Hrokin realized what being a priest meant. He was flooded with the sense that Mahnook looked upon him with favor. He lay prostrate, humble before his God, and awash with Mahnook's power. He stood when finished, nearly in tears. He never knew… perhaps more accurately, Larry never knew, the great sense of belonging this brought.

He thought back to the wee hours of the morning, when Tilara had tossed her paper into the fire. He understood more now what motivated that action.

Tilara's bird shifted on its perch, and fluttered open it's eyes. It leapt into the morning sky and sped off in search of food. Hrokin knew it wouldn't wander far. It had some mystical bond to her. They never wandered too far from one another.

Hrokin went about building the fire up for breakfast. In a small pot he heated water. When it began to boil, he scooped two handfuls of oats from the feed sack and dropped them in, stirring the thickening paste.

…

Kulnak sat up, blinking.

"I just dreamed of a strange world, and of sweet bubbly liquid the color of piss," he said somewhat absentmindedly.

Hrokin found his simple manner fairly amusing. He knew some humans had culture, but Kulnak came from wandering tribes. He was simpler. He was likely to say exactly what was on his mind, without thinking first. In some ways, Hrokin found that a refreshing trait.

Kulnak stood and stretched. His ribs cracked at the sternum, as did his shoulders and back. He rolled his neck a few times, then turned away from the small camp. He covered one nostril and blew hard, discharging the contents of his nose on the weeds, then repeated the process with the other side. It sounded like a goose honking.

Over his leather jerkin, he pulled a shirt of quilted baffling. Over that, he pulled on his shirt of chainmail. Next, he put on his belt, including two throwing axes. Finally, he slung his quiver and picked up the massive composite bow he'd fashioned himself. He briefly looked into the pot on the fire.

"I'm off to hunt. If I can't find something, I may eat some of your glue." He smiled, patting Hrokin on the shoulder.

He sped off through the high grass, running toward a knoll several hundred yards off. Unlike the others, this was not so much the wilds for Kulnak, as it was his home. The others were accustomed to being in large communities. The noise in such places was insufferable to Kulnak. He reached his destination, atop the small knoll. He looked all about, checking for the smoke of other fires. He could see something faint to the East, but it was so far away, it didn't concern him. He watched the grass, looking for movement not made by the wind.

He felt somewhat distracted, finding his mind sliding back to a dream. He saw a world where huge steel birds with their bellies full of people roamed the sky. He had dreamed of a conversation last night with Hrokin about someone. He remembered something about a girl.

He looked at his large hands, covered in calluses. At over six feet tall, he towered over everyone else in the group, nearly a head taller than even Nightshade.

Now there was a beautiful woman, he thought. The mere reminder of her stirred something in his pants. He laughed. If he tried anything with her, she'd likely have his snake for a trophy. That only left Tilara. She was every bit as lovely as Nightshade, and certainly more friendly, but there was something about her that didn't fire his blood. It was like she was more of a sister to him than a piece of ass.

He felt a need to protect her. Certainly, she'd shown the ability to bewitch people with some charm, and he had wondered if he himself had fallen for such devilry, but he thought not. They had been together too long. His feelings for her were his own. She also seemed of too gentle a nature to use her comrades that way.

The grass stirred some fifty feet off. He stared intently. His strong shoulders drew the bow. It creaked under the tension. He saw a brief glimpse of brownish fur, and let the shaft fly. There was no more rustling in the brush. He walked over to the spot where his arrow had landed, searching the weeds. He found his shaft buried in the ground, with no game skewered. Then, near his foot, he saw a small brown rabbit trembling, paralyzed with fear. He reached down slowly and put his fingers around the neck of the young rabbit. With a quick twist of his wrist, the rabbit was dead. It would do for breakfast.

He withdrew a small blade from his belt, expertly field-dressing the animal. He tied its back legs together with a leather chord and started back to camp. He emitted a piercing whistle into the morning air. Tilara's bird knew that the sound meant if it hadn't caught its own game, it was free to share Kulnak's. The rabbit was small, but would be enough for everyone to have a bite for breakfast, including the hawk.

…

Nightshade awoke to a familiar whistle. Either Kulnak or Red had just caught some breakfast. She lay on her belly looking at the campfire. She watched Hrokin dump raisins into the pot on the fire. She realized her chest hurt from laying on it. She found it odd that she'd unconsciously rolled into this position. She sat up, trying to recapture something she'd been dreaming.

She felt small and weak. She was by far the least muscular of the group. Even Tilara was reasonably well built, for a girl at least. But Nightshade suffered from having a very feminine, soft body. While it worked as a great asset in some situations, it was horrible for lugging her necessities through the wilderness. She smelled bad, and felt that she needed a bath. She hated the wilds, but could not deny that it was incredibly lucrative when they managed to find some unlooted ruins. She slid into the skintight black leather bodysuit that passed for armor. She tightened the straps around her ribs and on her thighs. She then proceeded to slip on her soft boots, and tighten the laces. She finished with her archery bracers. Hrokin looked up from the pot.

"Interested?" he asked, motioning toward the oatmeal. She shrugged and dug in her pack for a wooden spoon.

"It's always after about a week on the trail that I want to go crazy. I get really sick of oatmeal, nuts, and dried fruit. The elfy-girl there seems to be happy with that fare indefinitely. I think if it weren't for Kulnak's carnivorous streak, I'd go totally over the edge. Let's just hope it isn't skunk he's coming back with," She said with a wicked grin.

"Nightshade… do you remember anything odd happening last night?" Hrokin asked.

"I remember Tilara waking us up for no good reason. Is that what you mean?" she asked, in a bit of a nasty tone.

"Yes. Do you remember why she woke us up then?" Hrokin prodded.

"No. I'll never understand the way of elves, and the elf-blood is thick in her, even if she is a half-breed. Plus, she has that witchy way about her." Nightshade eyed the sleeping half-elf.

Hrokin paused, trying to find a better approach. He finally decided on the direct one.

"Do you know someone named Phil Johnson?" he pressed.

It took him a minute to pull the name up himself. He feared the memories would fade even more if not constantly accessed.

"Never heard of him. Why?" she returned, seeming disinterested.

"Bear with me. Try very hard to remember the name." Hrokin watched her as she sat back, thinking.

She absently licked oatmeal from her spoon. Her eyes moved, looking off into nothingness. Then, a brief flash of something crossed her face, her brow furrowed, and she frowned.

"No. I don't remember anyone by that name." She stated, standing up.

Hrokin was almost certain she was lying, but simply looked down at the thickening paste in the pot. He pulled it off the fire. Kulnak wandered back into the small camp with his catch, followed by Tilara's bird, Red.

"I'm up!" Tilara mumbled, as if responding to someone calling her name. "Yes, Red, that's great, dead rabbit."

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Red perched on Kulnak's thigh, which was protected from the sharp talons by his chain shirt. Kulnak cut strips of flesh from the small rabbit and fed them to Red.

Tilara sat, watching. She thought that Kulnak often seemed more comfortable with animals than with people. Even so, his seemingly peaceful nature was at odds with the utter heartlessness of his hunting… and particularly with the savagery of his fighting. Maybe he was simply a true predator.

Nightshade had crept away silently from the others, and squatted in the high grass, trying to relieve herself. Something was wrong. She'd never felt so odd. Her life and livelihood were all built around her utter flowing grace, and yet now, for some reason, she found herself feeling out of sorts. Hrokin's bidding to remember "Phil" had awakened a sense in her that over her shoulder, a disapproving eye was watching. She had lived her life building impenetrable shields around her conscience. She allowed herself to be judged by no one. Do whatever it takes to get ahead in life. That had been her moral compass. Now, she had been infected with some sick sense of morality.

Her eyes scanned the horizon instinctively, and the sight of riders approaching drove off her thoughts. She could see perhaps half a dozen riders, but could make out no other details at this range. She finished her business and crawled on her belly back to the small camp.

The others looked at her with amusement as she returned. She didn't say anything. She only began to hastily don her sword belt, sling her arrows and retrieve her bow. Finally she spoke.

"Six riders to the East. I'm going to circle South to flank them, in the event they want to make trouble," she stated softly.

She didn't wait for approval of her plan by the others.

Chapter Three: The Color of Blood

Tilara found a piece of cured leather in her right hand almost before she was aware why she'd retrieved it. The riders were barely to be seen at this range, but experience had taught her she should get her protections in order before things had a chance to get ugly.

"Misnah nath, kell hathuin," she muttered softly.

Her left hand was held with index, middle, and pinky fingers extended, the ring finger folded. With a soft pushing motion, she completed the incantation. A floodgate in her mind opened and arcane energies erupted forth. She felt the fine hairs on her body waiver, creating a tickling sensation. Though she could not see it, she knew a layer of force enshrouded her. This sorcerous armor would endure for hours, by which time she felt certain that this potential conflict would pass.

Hrokin glanced briefly over toward her, but seemed occupied with the winching mechanism used to cock his massive crossbow. He expertly loaded the weapon in less than ten seconds.

Kulnak stood watching the riders approach. He drew out an arrow marked with red fletchings. The head was not made to pierce, but rather to emit a shrill whistle. Wandering tribes often kept encounters from becoming deadly simply by warning each other off with such arrows. If an approaching group still wanted to make trade, or speak, they would send one representative. He gauged the wind and waited. They rode fast, and in only seconds they would be within reach of his mighty bow.

The arrow soared off, screaming as it went. It would come nowhere near to the riders, but still close enough for them to hear. Kulnak waited for them to rein in their mounts. There was no such luck. The riders spurred their horses, and charged ahead. The steppe riders of these parts, as hunters of men, were brutally efficient and very fast.

"Tilara," Kulnak said, "maybe you need to persuade them more strongly."

"They're still well out of range of my magics," she returned.

At this, Kulnak only frowned. He knocked another arrow and waited. He would likely only get one good shot before the riders were upon them.

The three waited, watching the riders coming fast. They were now less than a hundred yards away. Hrokin released his crossbow bolt, but missed to the rider's left. Kulnak fired a shaft, also missing. Both knew the riders would be upon them in seconds. Kulnak drew his battle axe in his right hand and a hatchet in his left. Hrokin retrieved his hammer, and positioned his shield. Tilara fell in behind the other two.

She felt a sick fear growing in her, realizing that they were about to be set upon by marauders. She attempted to calm herself. Again, she chanted her incantations.

As the lead rider approached, she released two bolts of jade energy from her palm. The bursts flew forth to the lead rider, striking him unerringly. While he jerked in response, and screamed in rage and pain, he pressed on.

The riders charged into the small camp, with bared swords swinging.

Kulnak leapt up, swiping his great axe into the side of the first rider. The blade sheared the chain links of the rider's armor, nearly spilling his entrails. The hand axe in Kulnak's off hand bit into the rider's thigh as he passed. In response, the rider lunged with long sword, biting into the flesh of Kulnak's left shoulder. He managed to dance around the blade of a second rider, but concentrated his effort in eliminating the first.

Hrokin likewise paired off against two riders. Their blades beat against the thick plates of his fine dwarven made armor ineffectively. He patiently waited, and picked his target, finally shattering the knee of one rider with a massive strike of his hammer.

Tilara ducked around her pursuers, avoiding their blows, and tried to come up with some plan of action.

From the weeds nearby, a shaft whistled into the fray. Tilara watched the man she'd hit with her energy bolts take an arrow into the side of the head. His screams of agony were horrible. His wracked, convulsing body slid from the saddle and crumpled to the ground. Although Tilara knew the source of the arrow, she couldn't see Nightshade anywhere. The woman knew her craft well.

She risked another incantation, even in the midst of melee. As her single foe wheeled his mount, Tilara managed to complete her third spell of the day.

"Gently now! There is no need for such actions. Be at peace!" she spoke to him.

He seemed unmoved by her charms, instead looking all the more hostile.

"Witch! I'll have your head!" he screamed.

Tilara stepped to the off hand side of the horse as he came near, and the rider nearly cut himself with his own hasty swing.

Kulnak focussed on his foe, biting deep with his shining axe. The rider's eyes glossed over, and he slumped in the saddle, dropping his sword. Then he turned his attentions on the second rider, but his hand axe could find no chink in the fine rings of his opponent's mail. Still, the adversary likewise could not bring a telling blow against Kulnak, and their dance of death continued.

Hrokin's opponent tried wheeling his horse to protect his injured leg, but Hrokin ducked under the great steed, grabbing the injured limb and wrestling the rider from the saddle. A sharp blow on the back of the rider's skull followed the ungraceful fall. The rider fell without so much as a gurgle. Meanwhile, Hrokin's second rider placed a fine strike that would have run most warriors through. Still, the blade was turned aside by the dwarven plate mail. He turned to face the rider with teeth bared.

A shaft whistled from the brush again, sticking into the chest of Tilara's second foe. He coughed blood and staggered, trying in vain to bring his horse about. His arms were seizing up. Again he coughed blood and slid from his saddle, one foot caught in the stirrups. Tilara looked in horror at the death around her as a second shaft whistled into the side of Kulnak's foe.

Free from attack, Tilara turned her attention to the only uninjured rider, who faced off against Hrokin. Again, she attempted her charms.

"Come, lay down your arms and be at peace with us!" she beseeched.

The rider turned his mount to face her, but she could tell from his eyes that he was no longer a danger. He slid from his saddle, ignoring the threat of Hrokin. He sheathed his blade and approached in a trance like state.

"My… lady. Forgive me. I know not what came over me. I am forever your humble servant." He spoke sincerely. He took her hand gently and kissed it tenderly.

Hrokin stared in disbelief. Even as Kulnak clashed steel with another rider, This one had simply surrendered to the half-elf. He almost laughed at the absurdity, but quickly turned his attentions back to the commotion.

Kulnak battled against the rider for a few seconds. This one seemed determined not to be taken easily. He used his sword deftly to deflect several strikes of Kulnak's battle-axe, but eventually left himself open for a small cut from the hand axe. His undoing came in misjudging his allies. Hrokin had approached from his rear, landing a crippling blow into the rider's kidney. As he fell forward, Kulnak caught him in the side of the face with the axe. The rider toppled, and lay in a spreading pool of blood.

With the fall of the last rider, Nightshade crept cautiously out of the grasses. She moved to check to fallen riders, and collect any shafts she could salvage.

Tilara pulled a sheet of paper from her scroll case, and rolled it tight. She bound it in a small piece of chord.

"Dear rider" she said to her new friend, " I beg you to take this important message to the traveling caravans to the south. On these plains, you cannot miss them. They are two days ride from here. Will you do this for me, dear friend?" she pleaded most sincerely.

"For you my dear, I would do anything." The marauder acquiesced.

"Tilara… see if he might loan you some coins as well," Nightshade said softly as she passed.

Tilara looked at her sourly. She handed the rolled paper to the rider, who mounted his steed and sped off.

"And what, exactly, was on that piece of paper?" Hrokin asked.

"Nothing. The charm will only last until about noon, but that will put him half a day's ride from us when he comes to his senses," She said calmly.

"Nice of you to let him go. You know, he would have killed you, given the chance," Nightshade interjected.

"It doesn't matter. I will not stoop to his level. I refuse to loot or murder someone when nonviolent options are available!" Tilara returned sharply.

"I think you should know that your decisions affect all of us. The equipment these men carry, and their mounts, are worth several hundred crowns per man. Letting him go deprives us of that, not to mention releasing a man whom just a minute ago was trying to run you through. Even though we would beat him handily in another encounter, he might catch us at night, unaware, or come back with reinforcements." Nightshade's temper was rising.

"I will only say this one more time. I am not a killer. My duty is to defuse the situation, and remove the threat. That he attacked us does not automatically give us claim to his life and property. I cannot feel any remorse in depriving you of some of your precious swag." Tilara locked eyes with her.

"Your gutless actions will...," Nightshade began.

"Enough!" Hrokin barked. Silence fell for a moment.

"Is anyone injured?" He asked.

"I took a small cut, but nothing threatening," Kulnak stated.

He was busy wiping blood from his axes. Even so reassured, Hrokin turned to move to him.

"Hrokin… I'm glad you wish to heal me, but it can wait. These horses need corralled, and we still need to break camp," Kulnak said through winded breaths.

Veins stood out on his neck, and his face was flushed. Hrokin knew the look well. A few seconds more of fighting, and Kulnak would have gone berserk, frothing foam about his lips and snarling like a beast. He let Kulnak go about tending to the horses.

Nightshade busied herself with stripping the bodies of the marauders. Their armor and weapons were placed in a pile. Kulnak brought in the horses and removed their saddlebags. He sorted through the contents as Hrokin dressed the wound on his shoulder.

Tilara simply found herself staring at the bodies of the fallen men. What kind of existence was this, fighting for your life against murderers in lawless lands? It seemed she'd discovered the bitter twist to her wish. Yes, she was now a woman, and one possessing great magical powers. The down side was she was getting the chance to experience death firsthand. It did make being punched in the eye seem insignificant in comparison. Again, something was disturbing her. Why were they here? As it had often bothered her in her other life… the WHY remained unanswered.

"Ladies and gentledwarf!" Kulnak announced at some length. "I have good news. It seems the men we beat were heavy with coins. There is more here than I can count, but I would guess a score of great crown coins and two pounds of gold crowns each. I'm not one for numbers, and trust Nightshade will make fair tally here."

"By all the light and shadows…," Nightshade whispered, drawing near.

She grabbed a platinum coin, and examined it. It appeared genuine.

"Can you… make sure this isn't disguised with some magical glamour?" she asked, looking at Tilara.

Nightshade's anger was completely lost, replaced with the fascination of the shiny coins.

Tilara came back to the small camp. The gourd in her throat just didn't want to go down. She felt nauseated and cared nothing for coins. Perhaps that was not entirely true. Somewhere in her mind, she understood the vast amount of wealth they had just gained, but the way it was acquired left her feeling very disturbed.

She extended her index finger and thumb of her left hand, pointing them parallel to one another. Her pinky lay with only the last two digits extended, so that it was at a ninety-degree angle from the other two. The middle and ring fingers were tucked into her palm.

"Luasniah" she spoke softly, as she rotated her left hand outward until the pinky pointed away from her.

She stared at the piles of coins, laid out on the bedroll. There was no sight of any magic about them.

"No magic," she said softly to Nightshade.

She continued looking at the others, and her own arms, seeing the arcane energies flowing from certain items like coronas. There were various colors and intensities. Her bracers glowed, as did Kulnak's battleaxe. Hrokin had magical bolts in his quiver… all these things Tilara had known. Somewhere on Nightshade was another aura of which she had been previously unaware. She stared, waiting for the magics to reveal themselves more fully. She could finally see that the aura, while faintly surrounding Nightshade, actually emanated from a ring. None of the magic she and her allies carried was terribly powerful. She knew she'd cast this simple cantrip hundreds of times… but all those memories seemed only partially real, and doing it now seemed fascinating to her. She was a sorceress. She only hoped she could come to grips with the bloody lifestyle of adventurers.

Nightshade made four equal piles of coins. The total ended up being twenty-six great crowns and one hundred twenty eight gold crowns in each stack, leaving two gold crowns remaining. Kulnak and Hrokin eyed the piles briefly, both agreeing the split looked equal. They gathered up the neat stacks of coins. Hrokin put his in the heavy leather belt pouch at his side. Kulnak swept his into a small sack, tied the top in a knot, and dropped it into his backpack. Tilara sat cross-legged on the ground, clinking the coins into her palm, one at a time. Clink-clink-clink. Nightshade watched her while expertly scooping her share into a leather coin pouch.

"A skilled craftsman may make up to five gold crowns in a week. This pile is more than one would make in a year," she said absently.

"That's right. And it will buy me a few nights stay at a very comfortable inn, maybe buy off a few town guards," Nightshade commented.

Kulnak's mind had already turned to more practical matters.

"Hrokin, I'm hoping you don't mind riding a horse. You've been perched atop the mule long enough. If we're all on horseback, we'll make much better time. I hope no one minds." Kulnak said as he checked the saddles and bridles of the horses.

He slung the saddlebags back on the horses. He then chose the largest horse and loaded his gear. The others followed, and soon all that remained of the tiny encampment was the fire, Hrokin's pot, and a skewered rabbit on a spit.

"If we can find a buyer for the odd horse in a village ahead, that'd be another fifteen or so crowns to each of us," Nightshade pondered, as she rotated the spit.

"Well, these horses should mean we only have another two days until we reach the mountain villages." Kulnak said, trying to make a guess of distance.

He was fiddling with moving backpacks and other equipment to the last of the rider's horses. At some length, he seemed happy with the arrangement, and returned to the fire.

Hrokin laboriously dragged the bodies away from the fire. They were human, and he really didn't feel a need to perform burial rites on them. Still, he didn't want them around. It dawned on him that neither Kulnak nor Nightshade felt a need to bury them either. Only Tilara seemed at all phased by the indignity these men faced in death. She was only half human, but was brought up amongst humans. Certainly she felt some kinship. She eventually showed up with a small shovel, and made a good effort of digging a hole for them. Hrokin eventually assisted, after some breakfast. The graves were very shallow, and not likely to survive a hard rain, but at least it was something.

Tilara finally returned to the fire and watched her three companions consume the rabbit. It didn't make her ill, certainly, but meat didn't seem to appeal to her. She paused, trying to think of her habits before the crossing. Had she been a big meat-eater? The memories were fuzzy.

Chapter 4: An Answer

Kulnak ate his breakfast, staring off into the distance. The others chattered away. He could hear them, but his thoughts were on the spot on the horizon at which he stared.

"Tilara, I think maybe your friend is coming back," he finally said.

The others turned their eyes toward the horizon. A speck grew clearer, becoming a horse and rider. Kulnak moved to grab his bow. Hrokin began winching his crossbow again.

"Isn't there any rest this morning?" Nightshade asked rhetorically.

"Whoever it is, they're not in any hurry," Hrokin said, waiting as the rider slowly approached.

At a range of nearly five hundred yards from the camp, Kulnak launched another whistling arrow at the rider. This time, the mounted figure reigned in the mount. He produced a piece of white cloth and waived it, then began approaching again.

Tilara noted that Nightshade had crept off again. It irritated her that Nightshade removed herself from harm's way, thereby making all the others suffer more chance of injury. Still, she had to admit Nightshade's ability to place killing shots when she was undetected was uncanny.

The rider moved to about a hundred yards and dismounted. He held no weapon in hand, and leisurely led his spotted horse toward what remained of the camp.

"He seems to be no threat, and for certain is not our friend from earlier." Kulnak stated. "Still, keep up your guard," he cautioned, glancing toward Hrokin.

The smiling stranger wore a bright green tunic, tan breeches, and thigh high leather boots. On his back was slung a minstrel's mandolin. A sword hung from the man's belt, but he made no motion for it. His hair was long, curly, and blonde, held out of his face by a twisted cloth headband.

"Hail!" he finally said, from perhaps thirty yards off.

"Well, Tilara, with Nightshade off in the weeds hiding, that leaves you as our spokesman, as it were," Hrokin said.

"All right. Cover me," She said. With spear in hand she wandered toward the approaching man… human from the looks of him.

"Greetings traveler. What news?" she asked.

It seemed a proper neutral greeting.

"Good morrow, Tilara Otienna. I am Calisair. Perhaps in another time and place, you know me by a different name." He smiled merrily.

"Calisair?"

She rolled the name in her mind. It rang so familiar. How did he know her family name? She stepped back, afraid that he might be manipulating her with some foul craft of magic.

"Michael… I know you. I know all of you. I brought you here." The bard continued.

"Cal… Carl Asair." She squinted her eyes closed. "You weren't joking to the others when you said you were from Aragnatha, were you?" she questioned, recovering a fragment of conversation she'd overheard.

"No, I wasn't. Come, let us talk. All of us," He said leading the horse on. Tilara fell in beside him.

The two approached the camp, where Kulnak and Hrokin waited. Within about twenty feet of them, Calisair turned and scanned the weeds to either side. Finally, seeming unable to see what he was looking for, he bellowed loudly.

"Nightshade! I mean no harm. Come, join with us!"

At his statement, both Kulnak and Hrokin tensed. The man had them at an advantage.

"Who are you?" Hrokin growled, as the traveler neared.

"Easy, Larry. I am known as Calisair," he said, looking soberly at the dwarf.

From behind the rider and Tilara, Nightshade stood from her hiding spot and approached with short bow at the ready.

"I have heard this all before, Hrokin referred to as 'Larry', Tilara as 'Michael'. I tire of this game. State your business." Nightshade hissed.

"Ah… yes… Not all of you have crossed over with equal grace," Calisair began. "I have brought you to these lands as my agents. As it was in the game, I need you to discover this heir to the throne of Hron-Borin. They are near to civil war, and I fear agents move to place minions of Rhansoroth on the throne in the stead of a rightful heir," he stated, looking at the others.

"Who is Rhansoroth?" Kulnak asked, quite puzzled.

"Son of Lychanthor… master of the moon. Rhansoroth's followers are those of his banished father, the lycanthropes… shape shifters. Why do you face the minions of Rhansoroth, Calisair?" Hrokin spoke.

"Very good, Hrokin. Not a surprise that you would know such lore. Rhansoroth is not the only child of Lychanthor. I am Rhansoroth's half brother. I cannot watch him throw those lands into chaos, so I have sent you four on the quest. I cannot stay long. I am masked from my brother's divinations for now, but I cannot hold back his gaze forever. If he finds me, he finds you, and my plans will be ruined. Please, stay your course, but make haste," Calisair stated passionately.

"You're a God?" Tilara looked at the bard with wonder.

"I am the child of a God. Perhaps the word demigod would be more accurate," he corrected, looking at her evenly.

"Is that how you made the…" Tilara paused.

"The Gate? Yes," Calisair conceded. "Now, however, I must ask you to retrieve it."

At his bidding, Tilara drew forth the gate from her belt pouch.

"Let me show you a trick. I need twelve gold coins." He smiled wryly.

Tilara shook her head slightly, feeling like she was watching a stage magician, but complied.

"Hold them in your hand with the gate. Concentrate on the gem. Now listen to me…" Calisair's voice took on hypnotic tones.

…

"The stranger mounts his horse, turns and rides off to the North. The sun steadily rises in the morning sky… Let's call it there for a night," Carl said softly.

There was a sharp breath of surprise from the four players, as if awakened abruptly from deep sleep.

"Jesus Christ! What was that?" Larry almost shouted. "Was that real?"

"Oh MAN… that was intense." Andrea blinked rapidly, and rubbed her face.

Phil sat silently, trying to sum up his feelings on the matter. Michael held the gate in his hand, finally setting it down. He smiled. He felt an overwhelming burst of emotion flood over him, and tears welled in his eyes.

He moved his closed hand over Larry's Player's Handbook, and on the sheet of notes on top of it, he dropped something… clink, then another something… clink…clink…clink. Four gold coins sat atop the book. He repeated the process with Phil and Andrea.

"It was real. That was so awesome." Michael stated softly.

He reached forward, and cracked open the can of Mountain Dew. Carl smiled at him.

"Ten minutes to closing time!" Tony called down the stairs.

Larry packed his books and papers away in a hurry. He was almost frantic with excitement.

"Is there a chance of running another session on Saturday or something?" he asked, almost pleading.

"I guess, if we can find a suitable gaming location," Carl said flatly.

"How can you be so nonchalant about all this, Carl? You just transported us to another reality, and informed us that you're a God. I don't know about everyone else, but I'm having a bit of trouble with this." Phil said hotly.

"Man… are you trying to tell me that that was not the most awesome thing you've ever done?" Andrea asked, almost beaming light.

"No. I'm sorry. It wasn't. Maybe it all goes back to the whole wish fulfillment issue, but just because I play a character doesn't mean I want to BE that character, and I honestly found the whole experience of being a cold unfeeling bitch a BIT unnerving."

The others watched Phil as he spoke. None of them had ever seen this kind of emotion from him before. He was usually so reserved. He gathered his books and papers, swiped the dice into a pouch, along with the four gold coins, and stood to leave.

"Phil… Are you going to show up if we do this again on Saturday?" Larry asked softly.

"No" Phil said, moving toward the stairs.

"Phil, the group will likely not succeed without you." Carl stated flatly.

"That's real cute. Pull some guilt trip on me. Funny that everyone else seemed to love the experience, but no, they can't make it unless I'm there. Well… run Nightshade as a Non-Player Character, I don't care." Phil turned again.

"That won't work. She needs the spark of consciousness that you bring to her." Carl said.

"Tough Shit." Phil mumbled, and climbed the stairs.

Carl folded the Dungeon Master screen. He stared forward, looking somewhat distracted.

"Well, that's fucking great!" Andrea swore. "So, we can't play without him? Is he going to be back on next Wednesday?"

"I don't know," Carl said.

Larry thought he read just a hint of concern in Carl's eyes.

"Don't worry. Phil will get over it and be back. He's utterly faithful to his games." Larry reassured.

Chapter 5: Out of Game

"Your parents are going to be pissed if they catch you ditching school again," Andrea warned Michael. She drove them toward a jeweler Michael had found in the phone book. He held a piece of paper with a printout from MapQuest, directing her.

"After last night… I just don't want to deal with school at the moment," he said.

"Ditto… but we're going to have to go back soon, or we'll get totally busted," Andrea stated, looking a little anxious.

She pulled into the parking lot where Michael indicated.

"Do you have the coins I gave you last night?" he asked.

She dug in her pocket, retrieving the coins and handing them to him.

They exited the aging Tracker, and entered the coin and jewelry shop.

"Excuse me. I was wondering if you buy gold?" Michael began.

The shop owner came near, looking at the two youth.

"We do. What do you have?" he asked.

Michael laid out the eight gold coins. The shop owner looked at the rough minting of the coin, seeming fascinated.

"Where did these come from?" He asked.

Michael had not been prepared to answer the question.

"A friend of ours" He finally said.

"I mean, where were the coins minted? I've never seen this style before, but they seem to have been made with fairly crude stamping processes. They may be worth much more as coins, if you could tell me their origin."

The owner examined one through a jeweler's monocle.

"Honestly, the guy is just an artist, and made these as a project. I don't care for them, and was just wondering if I could reclaim their gold weight," Michael said softly.

He didn't know how sincere he sounded, and didn't want to explain more in the event authorities got involved.

The shop owner graded the metal, and weighed the coins. He then checked daily metal pricing, and typed numbers into a calculator. The tiny machine spit out a ribbon of paper, and the owner finally handed it over to Michael, after circling the final total.

"Six hundred forty three dollars," Michael said to Andrea, who was trying to read the faint print over his shoulder. "That's fine. I'll take it," Michael said calmly.

He didn't feel calm. He wanted to shout and whoop. He allowed himself a small smile. The shop-owner laid out a pile of ten fifty dollar bills, followed by seven twenties, and three ones.

"Thank you sir, and please feel free to come back again," the owner stated professionally.

"Just curious… How many of these could you handle if I brought more?" Michael asked.

"Well… we don't usually do transactions over ten thousand dollars without special arrangement, but we can handle pretty much any size transaction. Gold is a pretty easily traded commodity, and if you don't mind me taking my twelve percent, I'll be more than happy to arrange whatever transaction you wish," he said with a little enthusiasm.

"Thanks," Michael said and stepped out of the shop.

Once back in Andrea's Tracker, he counted out five fifties, and four twenties. He handed the bills to Andrea. She stared at the cash.

The two spent the day finding creative ways to enjoy their newfound wealth.

Chapter 6: The Foothills

Phil pulled up to the ranch style home of Larry Carroll. It was early Saturday afternoon, and he sat for a moment, watching the patterns of light on the road, made from the trees above. He couldn't quite come to terms with what had transpired three nights before. It just defied any reason.

He exited his Saturn, and walked across the dry lawn, toward the door. He rapped twice with his knuckles, and watched through the small diamond shaped window in the door as Larry approached.

"Hey," Larry said, opening the door, and motioning for Phil to come in.

The others were already assembled in the dining room at the oval oak table. "You doing okay?" he asked.

"I don't know. It's blowing my mind, quite honestly," Phil admitted.

The others greeted Phil in turn. He looked over the group. It was funny. He had gamed with these people for nearly a year. He knew them pretty well and knew the nuances of their characters, but for the first time, he had very different feelings approaching them.

Warily, he approached. He finally sat the books down in his customary position, to Carl's left.

"We don't really need the sheets, do we?" Phil asked.

"No, not really." Carl verified. The group sat in momentary silence. They'd collectively held their breath, wondering if Phil would come at all. "Are you okay with this?" he added.

"Tell me something, Carl… Is it real? Is what we experienced real, or was it some kind of mass hallucination?" Phil locked eyes with Carl.

"You know the truth already, Phil. It was more real than any words could have conveyed. You remembered the entire life of Nightshade, didn't you? Do you think I could have inserted that sort of reality?" Carl asked.

"Then what is it? As you pointed out, it was more real than you could have imagined. For that matter, it was more real than I could have imagined. Even having created Nightshade, I hadn't thought her out to that detail. If she's not a character that I made up, then what is she?"

Carl looked down for a moment, trying to formulate a proper analogy.

"Imagine that what you know is like a two dimensional plane. When you stick your finger through the plane, that portion of you is seen in this reality. You are seen as a cross section of that finger. But what if you stuck in a second finger? There would be two different 'people', but both would be you. Now consider that we may have a finger in many different planes at many different times. The things that motivate us are sometimes from the self we perceive in this reality, and sometimes from a higher understanding of self. I selected you all because you are starting to feel those other selves. They come to you as what others may term imagination. You didn't create Nightshade, but you and she are both part of a greater whole," Carl explained.

"Come on… this is a crock of shit," Phil said angrily. "You're telling me we're all these great beings of tremendous power, but only see what this portion of us can perceive? Why? What's the point?"

"I don't know. Perhaps it's to gain certain perspectives," Carl hypothesized.

"I thought you said you were a demigod. You're that powerful, and YOU don't know?" Phil said in doubt.

"Sorry. That's how it is. I understand the mechanics of being… that we are more than our eyes can see. I was born with that knowledge, I didn't have to learn it like you have. But that is about as far as my understanding leads. I am half mortal. To consider me a God in any way is folly. Think of me more as the Greek Heroes. I am more than mortal, but far less than a true God," Carl stated.

"Prove it," Phil demanded.

"Phil… I don't do parlor tricks for people's entertainment," Carl began, somewhat haughtily.

"That's crap. You want me back in the game? Prove to me you're not just fucking with my head." Phil was in his intense interrogation mode, and would not be dissuaded.

Carl briefly looked at the others. His dark brown hair softened to blonde and tightened into curls. His facial features melted into a new form. His frame smoothly flowed into slightly different proportions. Before them now was the visage of the bard they saw in the realms of Aragnatha.

"Satisfied?" Carl asked, now with a somewhat different voice.

Phil sat back, staring in wonder.

"I… I don't know if I will ever get used to stuff like that," Phil whispered.

He looked stunned. The others seemed equally startled.

"Wow. This all just kind of blows away a lot of notions we hold as truth," Michael said softly.

Carl set the small golden artifact back on the table.

"Are you all ready?" he asked softly, handing the gate to Michael.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Phil stated.

Phil closed his eyes. He was suddenly assaulted with an odd sense that there was no proper "up" any more. Vertigo consumed him. The sick, drunken sense of being spun in wholly unnatural ways finally made him jerk involuntarily. His hand touched hard ground. His eyes rolled down to their normal direction and snapped open to reveal bright morning sun. He exhaled… knowing who and where he was instantly.

He was Nightshade. He was now she. She stopped for a moment, realizing she could no longer deny the existence of the other. The one Hrokin had called "Phil". He was not some hidden memory. He was in here, in her mind with her even as she struggled to stand up. She thought that perhaps she might want to slide a dagger between the shoulder blades of that bard if he ever returned. The other immediately chastised the involuntary thought. She was infuriated. She felt utterly invaded.

"Get out of my mind…," she whispered through gritted teeth.

She pushed back the phantom awareness, clamping down with years of practice on any mental voice she didn't want to hear.

Tilara stood up quickly, looking about. She could still see the bard, far off now. She tucked the Gate back into her belt pouch. She looked at Nightshade, who trembled slightly.

"Are you alright?" Tilara asked.

"I'm fine. Stop acting so concerned for my well being," Nightshade snapped back.

She moved quickly to the waiting horse, and mounted, spurring it ahead.

"Shit, what's got her all bent out of… shape." Kulnak paused. "I see her now, this sister of mine in the other world. I spoke in her manner just now." He laughed and sprang for his horse.

"Oh, hell…," Hrokin murmured as he struggled into his saddle.

Tilara gave what assistance she could. He finally managed fairly comfortable seating, and flicked the reins of the horse gently.

Tilara moved to her own horse. Kulnak had the extra horse in tow as they rode to catch up with Nightshade. Tilara took the rope tied around the mule, and followed the others.

As they rode, Nightshade wandered off in daydream. The odd sensation of her breasts bouncing from the horse's motions filled her with a sense of wrongness. She cursed under her breath, realizing he had returned… the other. She feared for a moment that she might never again be rid of him.

"She's not taking it well," Tilara said softly, riding alongside Hrokin.

"No. Neither was Phil. I am curious where the difficulty lies," he pondered.

Tilara thought she had a good idea of the source.

The day stretched on, and long before dusk, the sun disappeared behind the High Mountains. They began their ascent into the foothills, and in the distance smoke curled into the sky from the settlements ahead.

The sky would remain light for several more hours, allowing plenty of time for them to reach a small village. Kulnak rode in front, watching the trail ahead. Shortly, they passed two humans struggling with a mule and cart.

"Hail" Kulnak said softly as they passed.

Nightshade watched them as they rode by, but said nothing. She took lead as they entered the settlement, riding toward a small inn. She dismounted and tossed the reins around the hitching post in front of the humble inn, then strode into the establishment gracefully. She finally felt more in her own element. A small bell tinkled as she opened the door. She looked over the place quickly. The dim light inside made it hard to see anything but the fireplace. She waited for her eyes to adjust, then, after seeing where the front bar lay, she made for it quickly.

"Do you have individual rooms?" she asked the aging sun-withered barkeep.

"That we do," he replied, looking at her appreciatively. She ignored his ogling, and drew out a coin purse.

"We need two. We also need stabling for our horses. Do you have a bath house in this village?" she asked again.

"Just down the way there," the barkeep gestured.

"Good," she stated under her breath. The others were filing in now. The barkeep slid her the keys to two locks, and pointed down a hall to the rooms.

"That's four gold crowns, my lady," the barkeep said flatly. Nightshade didn't feel like haggling, or trying to persuade this ugly man of a better deal. She handed over the four coins and turned to the others.

"We have two rooms. One for Tilara and I, and one for you two. The horses will be tended to. Now, if you'll excuse me," she walked past them to her horse, retrieved her pack, and walked off down the street.

"What a pleasant young woman," Hrokin commented.

Nightshade stopped briefly at a winery, and purchased two bottles of wine, then continued on to the bathhouse. It was simple, but fairly clean. She walked in, and was soon met by a middle-aged woman in peasant clothing. She arranged for a hot bath to be drawn. Nightshade turned over a gold coin, and asked to kindly not be disturbed.

Even in the small room of the bathhouse, with the door barred from the inside, Nightshade still arranged her short sword and daggers to be within easy reach. From her pack, she also retrieved some soap. While they supplied soap with the bath, she had purchased this particular type some time back, and found it vastly better than others, particularly the harsh lye soap found in backwoods communities such as this.

She pealed off the black leather armor, setting it in a neat pile on the floor. Then she removed her linen tunic and breeches. They reeked from many days' sweat. She pulled clean clothing from her pack, and set it out, ready for her when she finished. Finally, she removed her loincloth, and stepped into the hot water in the large tub. She settled in slowly. After adjusting to the heat of the water, she opened one of the bottles of wine, and began drinking from the bottle.

It was when she began washing that she again noticed the feeling of being watched by the other. It was not a sick leering voyeurism, but more curiosity. She was nearly halfway through the bottle of wine, and decided to make a show of it. First, her hair. She washed it, rinsed it, and bundled it with one of the towels provided. Then she began soaping her body, caressing it gently, Her arms, face, neck, and finally to her breasts, where she spent just a little extra time and attention. Then she started again with her feet and long shapely legs. She felt a strange sense of disapproval at the short hair on them.

She stopped to think. Ah, but of course… in the place that Phil came from, women shaved their legs. Well, tough shit, she thought, this was her world, and here, there were no such things as triple bladed disposable razors. She almost laughed. She felt the mental recoil of her other self.

She finally stopped and finished the rest of her first bottle. She felt very mellow, and perhaps a little tipsy.

"Just sit back," she spoke in her head to her other half, "and enjoy the ride". With this she opened the second bottle, and slid her hand under the water, down her belly, and between her legs. She gently rubbed her clitoris with her middle finger of her right hand. She leaned back, resting her head on the edge of the tub and relaxed.

…

Kulnak found a buyer for the extra horse in short order. With saddle and bridle included, he was given 60 crowns. He felt that was fair, and wandered through the village, back to the inn as afternoon turned to evening. Near the inn, he spotted a fairly attractive young woman, standing, smoking a long pipe.

Her clothing seemed, to Kulnak, to say pretty clearly that she was for sale ... or at least for rent.

"Hello," she said as Kulnak approached. He looked her up and down. She was not beautiful, but certainly acceptable.

"What's a lovely woman like you doing out on the streets?" Kulnak asked.

"Waiting for some handsome man to invite me in for a drink," she returned. He took her arm and led her into the tavern. They sat at a booth in the corner. He went to the bar, and ordered two mugs of ale. He let her chat away as they drank.

"How much?" Kulnak asked, hoping he had understood her intent. She looked shocked for a moment and then turned to business.

"Twenty silver," she said flatly.

"Done," he agreed, taking her by the hand, and leading her to the room he would share with Hrokin. He walked into the unlocked room. Hrokin turned with some surprise as he entered.

"Damn it Kulnak, What's this about?" Hrokin asked, but having a fair idea of the answer.

"Sorry friend, I need the room for a bit. No more than an hour," Kulnak said, smiling. "Well, honestly, you COULD stay, if you wanted."

"That'd cost you extra," The woman chimed. Hrokin ignored her.

"I think not. Just don't make a mess of the place," he said sourly. Prostitution was something fairly unique amongst humans. Dwarves, with their longer life span, didn't have the constant libido that humans did. Hrokin just tried not to think of humans having sex. It made him feel queasy. Dimly, he was aware of the affront to his other half. Larry obviously had no problem with humans mating.

Hrokin left the room, heading to the tavern. Kulnak wasted little time in stripping the woman before him. He expertly loosened the lacing on her bodice, allowing her ample breasts to spill out. He laid her on the bed and began suckling her breasts. She seemed to him an enthusiastic participant. He busied his hands with pulling up the layers of skirt she wore. He could feel himself stiffen as he ran his hands up her legs. He could smell her strong scent. His muscular hand massaged her soft thigh, up to her crotch. She was ready for him. Kulnak felt nearly that he was possessed, and for the first time, Andrea felt what it was like to penetrate a woman.

…

Hrokin found Tilara sitting at a table in the tavern, looking out a window. He plopped himself down on the stool on the other side of the table with a grunt.

"I was wondering how we might go about finding the princess. Do you have any thoughts on the matter, Tilara?" Hrokin began.

"I suppose we can talk to the folks around here, and see if they know anything. That may arouse suspicion though, if Rhansoroth's followers are about," Tilara said softly.

"Good point. I think Nightshade is best at such dealings… certainly the most subtle, when need be. I think I'll see if I can find her." Hrokin stood.

"Check the bathhouse," Tilara suggested, then returned her attention to the comings and goings of the street outside.

Hrokin wandered the street, making a general line for the bathhouse. He was in no hurry, and the site of the mountains looming so near comforted him. He passed other dwarves in the street, and signaled friendly greetings.

He found it odd that he could speak dwarven. He knew he'd spoken it most of his life, but it had the same unfamiliar feeling he was getting used to. He laughed at the paradox. He sat and thought about Larry for a moment. Larry knew a wealth of things Hrokin himself didn't. There might be some advantage in all that.

…

Nightshade toweled herself off, feeling dizzy from the two bottles of wine. She smiled, feeling warm inside and out. The gross layer of dirt and sweat had been washed away, and she pulled on her clean clothing. After finishing all the buckles, straps, and laces, she packed her dirty clothing and the empty bottles back into her pack and slung it over one shoulder. She slid the bolt open and swung the door wide, stepping into the main hall.

She was immediately confronted with five men, looking less than friendly. Perhaps they were local miners, or maybe just thugs. Regardless, they jumped at her ferociously.

Even through the haze of alcohol, she moved at blinding speed. Her reflexes had served to save her more than once. The two to either side of her made grabs for her, but she ducked and twisted from their grasp. One in front of her lunged with a dagger, and nearly cut the arm of one of his comrades.

She drew her short sword and thrust it hard into the chest of the man directly in front of her. The blade pierced him nearly all the way through, puncturing his heart. He stepped back, first with only a dazed expression of surprise, then crumpled to the floor, as his blood flowed freely from the chest wound.

She jumped backward through the door behind her and tossed the pack aside, hoping to force a one-on-one fight.

One of the others came for her, shoulder down, trying to knock her back. She crouched and met his mass with an uncomfortable collision, but remained standing. The last of the men hurled a dagger into their midst, narrowly missing both her and her opponent.

She felt more certain that these men were untrained, probably just local thugs, but still, four to one were tough odds. Another assailant managed a strike around the door jam, but the blade was deflected by her light armor, leaving a gash in her fine, dark leather. A second dagger twirled into the room, sticking in her thigh for a moment before falling to the floor. She felt the bite of metal as it pierced her. The wound didn't seem deep, and she tried to ignore it.

She clanged her blade against the dagger of her foe several times, attempting to get past his defenses, finally managing a cut on his off-hand forearm. It was not life threatening, but would slow him down, she hoped.

He made another attempt to shoulder her back into the room, but she held her footing, even against his superior mass. If she failed, and they had the chance to surround her, she'd likely die. Her position limited the other's ability to attack, and she focussed on the one in front of her. She drew her dagger in her off hand, waiting for his defense to move for the block, then delivered a viscous thrust into his abdomen. He shrieked in pain, staggering back, and fell over the body of his comrade. He was still conscious, but he had no more desire to tempt his fate against her. His allies were not so bright. While they came at her savagely, she held the doorway. Two of them were unable to get good shots on her.

In her struggle, she forced her adversary back, only to move into range of his friend, who inflicted a nasty wound on the back of her right arm. The cut made using her sword a painful proposition, but as before, she tried to ignore the pain, and concentrate on the matter at hand.

Her anger seethed as she positioned herself for her next strike. Finally seeing her opening, she thrust her blade, aiming for the man's throat. He ducked sideways, taking it in the trapezius. He grabbed her sword arm and back fisted her in the face with the pommel of his dagger. Nightshade saw a brilliant flash of color and realized her nose was likely broken. She pulled her sword free, lunging again, but her hand was struck in the scuffle, and her short sword was jostled free, falling behind her opponent. She quickly switched the dagger in her off hand to her primary hand as the others still struggled to attack her.

With her dagger in hand, she changed her fighting style somewhat, to compensate for the shorter blade. She stepped in on the man, catching him in the armpit, and stepped back out. Like the other before, he had enough, and fell back. The other two did not advance, but held daggers to throw. Each threw and missed. Nightshade threw her own, while drawing her other dagger to replace it, but her foe ducked to the side.

Another man finally stepped in against her, and she anticipated his move, jabbing him in the thigh. This gave her a moment of surprise, but she was unable to capitalize on the attack. He retaliated with a cut across her abdomen. It was not deep, but it hurt horribly. She could feel the accumulation of injuries slowing her down… slowly crippling her. She tried again to force fear and pain from her mind.

She made a daring move, feigning a lunge against her assailant, then deftly snatching up her lost sword. She gripped it loosely feeling its balance. She was resolute to kill these hooligans.

Another thrown dagger flew in over the shoulder of her foe, missing her by a large measure.

She stood back a bit, letting her foe advance, watching, and calculating. As he stepped in and swung, she stepped in as well, sliding her sword under the man's chin, and driving it up into his skull. His eyes glossed over immediately, and his weight fell against her. She slid her blade free and stepped aside, letting the body fall. She saw at the end of the hall several women who worked in the bathhouse watching the struggle in awe.

One man remained. She didn't wait to see if he'd press the attack. She lunged at him with savage fury. She knocked aside his dagger and cut a deep gash across the man's chest. She continued with a flurry of blows, dancing around his attempts to injure her. She finally thrust into his stomach, sinking her blade to the hilt. He screamed in agony, as she slowly twisted the blade. He looked at her in fear and amazement, before slumping to the floor. One man still crawled toward the exit down the hall. She picked up a fallen dagger, taking careful aim, and hurtling it expertly into the man's back. She had no doubt that it pierced his heart.

She stopped for a moment, snorting in and spitting the contents of her sinuses on one of her fallen foes. It was all blood. She realized her mouth was also full of blood. Her eyes watered slightly from the pain in her nose, but she wanted more than anything to finish this. She wanted to see her last attacker dead. Four men lay around her. From the expression on the bathhouse girls' faces, the last must have run past them. She followed.

She crept toward the door leading out into the streets. If he was waiting for her, he would wait there. She opened the door rapidly, stepping through, anticipating attack. It came from her left. The man lunged with a dagger toward her. Despite her pain, she parried the blow. Death flashed in her eyes.

A second swipe from the blade dug into the oak of the door behind her. She thrust at him, but he was ready, leaping to the side. His wounded trapezius bled profusely, and she thought that maybe she could use the wound to her advantage. He swished again, and she ducked, stepping in on him. With her off hand, she jabbed her thumb into the wound, gripping his shoulder with strength generated from anger. His reflex to reach up proved fatal. As his hand raised, she slid the short sword between his ribs, into his lung. The hiss of air and gurgling blood told her she had finished him. He lay, gasping for breath.

She smiled at his misery. She rolled him on his back. His breaths were rapid and shallow. She knew his lung had collapsed. The poor dear, she thought. He looked up to see her blood-streaked smile.

"You're the one that did THIS to me," she said to him, wiping blood from her face, and showing it to him as evidence. "I think it only fair to return the favor," she added.

With brutal accuracy, she brought the pointed pommel of the short sword down on the bridge of his nose, pulverizing it. He blacked out immediately. She stood up, listening to his breath coming harder. She knew he was drowning in his own blood. She turned to go when something in her broke. The other was with her again. To shut him up, Nightshade kicked her foe over, rolling him onto his belly. Let the cur live… he'd never attack her again.

…

Hrokin saw the last moments of the struggle. He broke into a sprint. He saw clearly that Nightshade was bleeding from multiple wounds. Her opponent looked on the verge of death, as she stepped away from him. Hrokin didn't know what the nature of the dispute had been, but felt a need to come to her defense.

He stopped briefly at Nightshade's foe. She had wandered into the bath house. He checked the man on the ground, who was slipping away. Hrokin concentrated for a moment withdrawing the silver chain and pendant he wore around his neck. He touched the man in the chest, muttering soft incantations in dwarven. Energy flooded down his arm, spreading across the fallen man. While the magic seemed to repair much of the injury to the face, and sealed the chest wound, the man was still obviously going to need quite a lot of time to recover.

Hrokin followed into the bathhouse, where Nightshade kneeled among the bodies of others. Four men lay in the corridor, in pools of blood. She deftly cut purses from them, then moved back into the bathing room.

"Miss… what happened here?" Hrokin asked a young human.

"I think that woman there was attacked by these men. They sometimes wander into town, making trouble. I don't think they'll bother anyone any more," she stated, looking amazed.

Nightshade reshouldered her pack, dropped in the scuffle. She was coming down from her adrenaline rush, and feeling every pain in her body. She coughed blood onto the floor. Of all her injuries, the broken nose was by far the most debilitating. Her eyes watered. She refused to call it crying. It was from the broken nose, not her emotions. She refused to feel anything for these men. Despite her resolution, she felt her emotional walls crumbling.

Hrokin stopped at the bodies of the others. Three were beyond any aid. One other had a chance of living. He laid his healing hands upon the human. When he finished, he stepped into the bathing room with Nightshade.

"You fought well, Nightshade," He said truthfully.

"Not 'for a woman', or 'for a human', Hrokin?" She said through a broken voice. Her spiteful spirit seemed weak, even to her.

"No. Anyone could be proud of themselves for besting five attackers. Let me help you," he demanded, stepping forward. She was not so proud as to refuse the healing he offered. She knew his power was great, and wished only to alleviate her misery.

He imparted to her a massive surge of energy, which flooded her with cool comfort. She nearly staggered back from the intensity of the divine power dancing through her. She fluttered her eyes open, feeling none of her previous pain. She moved to the bath, splashing water on her face to wash away the spilled blood. When finished, she found no injury remaining.

Hrokin left her to clean up again, and dragged the dead from the building. The workers mopped up the puddles and streaks of blood remaining. Several townsfolk arrived and asked about the incident, but quickly surmised that the miscreants had gotten what they deserved. By the time Nightshade had finished her second bath, the matter was settled.

…

Tilara sat in the tavern, looking at a map of the plains and the High Mountains. She was not the strategist in their midst. She had no plan for where they might find this princess. She glanced up when she noticed Kulnak entering the tavern. There was a woman beside him. She was struck with an odd feeling. It took her a moment to realize that she was jealous. Kulnak was her friend, but seemed unwilling to see her as anything else. He was more than happy to stick his dick in whores, but managed never to notice someone who actually cared for him. She looked away from him as a tear began to form.

She felt somehow betrayed. More than just Tilara, Michael also echoed the emotion. Michael had imagined that if things had been different, he might be with Andrea. No one else understood what Michael was going through.

Kulnak wandered over to the table, looking immensely satisfied with himself. Tilara could barely meet his eyes.

"What troubles you, Tilara?" He said when he saw her distress.

"Andrea… I can't believe you…," she said, looking deep in his eyes.

"What?" He asked, not understanding his crime.

"I thought… I thought if we were… right… I thought we would be lovers," Tilara/Michael confessed. She turned her head down to hide her features as she broke into tears.

Kulnak, now feeling with the heart of Andrea, moved over next to her, encircling her with his powerful arms.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know how you felt," he said sincerely.

"How could you NOT know?" she whispered. "We've been friends forever. Now, I'm a woman, and I had hoped I would be pretty enough for you to… you know, for you to want me." She looked up at him.

Kulnak could feel the hurt Andrea felt. He could feel the pain Tilara felt. HE was not equipped for dealing with these kinds of emotions. He felt rushes of love for Tilara and Michael. He felt stupid for not seeing this all.

"Tilara… Michael… you ARE beautiful. Don't think otherwise. I'm sorry if what I did hurt you. I was thinking with my cock. I'm new at this. I'm sorry," he fumbled.

"You're a thoughtless ass-hole," she said softly.

"I am," he agreed, smiling at the dig.

Hrokin and Nightshade entered the tavern. Tilara noticed Nightshade looked a little wobbly. She dropped herself wearily onto a stool at the table. Hrokin followed suite.

Kulnak released his embrace and drew from his pouch three small leather pouches, setting one in front of each of his companions.

"This is what I got for the horse," he stated flatly. Nightshade quickly counted hers, then dumped it into her belt pouch. She had nearly ten pounds of gold on her.

"We can reasonably expect this much from selling the riders' armor as well. Not to mention their swords," Nightshade said, looking rather tired.

"I don't suppose you're interested in talking to the locals, maybe see if any of them have an idea about where to look for the King's daughter?" Tilara asked, looking at Nightshade.

Instead of the usual sarcastic comment, Nightshade simply exhaled.

"I'm sorry. I'm really tired, and think I'll retire early," she said flatly. She lifted herself wearily and walked out.

"She got jumped at the bathhouse by five thugs. Just leave her be." Hrokin said, seeing Tilara's desire to protest.

…

Chapter 7: Into the mountains

Kulnak rode ahead of the others. The sun stood almost directly overhead, as they ascended the winding mountain trail. The scent of fir trees filled the cool mountain air. The streams were filled nearly to flooding as the heavy snows of winter melted. This made the trails muddy and a bit treacherous.

"We were robbed." Nightshade stated.

"We're not going to start this again. You know as well as I do that in a village like that, you're not likely to get fair market price for things such as armor. The shirts still brought forty crowns each. The swords brought what they were worth, about 8 crowns each." Hrokin responded.

Kulnak, as usual, ignored the talk. As they rode, he scanned the trail, and the trees around them. He saw ahead of them, off the trail, an abandoned cart. It was tipped over, and the contents had spilled down the mountainside. He hopped off his horse for a closer look.

"Hrokin, you might want a look at this," he said grimly.

Hrokin dismounted, walking with stiff legs toward the cart. Iron ingots lay strewn about, along with various metal wares. Down the hill about ten yards was the mutilated body of a dwarf. Hrokin sighed deeply. From the pile of goods he grabbed a shovel. He began digging while Kulnak continued looking about.

There were what looked like drag marks, where something made off with a pack animal. Kulnak followed the trail for some distance, finally seeing a large paw print in the soft earth. At this his heart raced a bit. He instinctively drew his axe, and scanned the woods around him. He continued a bit further, finally finding some of the remains of a pony. It had been chewed on by more than its killer, from the looks of it. The kill was likely only a few days old. There were a few carrion birds circling overhead, but none came down to feed yet.

He trudged back up the steep hill, suddenly spotting another track he'd neglected to see earlier, a single print from a large cloven hoof.

Hrokin buried the bodies fairly quickly, with the aid of Tilara. Nightshade remained on her horse, with bow ready, ostensibly to cover them in the even of a sneak attack. Tilara thought more likely, it was to avoid labor.

"Their pony has been killed and eaten," Kulnak explained.

"By what?" Hrokin asked, looking up from his grim duty.

"It looked like a large cat, perhaps the size of a lion," Kulnak speculated.

"Lions wouldn't range this far into the mountains. Were the tracks clear?" Hrokin continued.

"Very. This thing is as large as five or more grown men, judging from its weight. It may also be some magical beast. I saw a cloven hoof print of an animal weighing about the same as well," Kulnak announced.

"A chimera?" Hrokin spoke with a hint of fear.

"Perhaps," Kulnak confirmed.

Neither had faced such a wicked beast before, but the folk of the mountains held the chimera among its nightmare creatures, with trolls and dragons.

"Wonderful," Tilara said, sarcastically.

She tromped back to her horse, bringing the shovel she'd grabbed. She seemed to be digging a lot of graves lately. She might as well keep the right tool for the job.

Day wore into evening, but this time they were higher in the mountains, and could see the sun longer. In the saddle of a ridge, they made their camp. Kulnak selected a spot where they could build a fire that was surrounded by large rocks. No one would see it from below.

The sky darkened to pitch black. The stars shone brightly in the night. As usual, the four took their turns on watch. Nothing happened through the evening, to their immense relief.

As they traveled along the saddle of a ridge in the early morning, Nightshade caught up with Kulnak.

"Do you see it?" she asked. "It's circling above".

"I saw it a few minutes ago. I guess there's no way to run from it," Kulnak stated, looking up into the sky. Silhouetted against the pale blue were the ominous outlines of massive bat-like wings. He could just make out the three heads of the beast as it circled. He turned to address the others.

"We have trouble," He said, pointing to the sky.

Tilara quickly cast her incantation for sorcerous armor, then repeated the process, bestowing the magic to Nightshade. Nightshade looked somewhat shocked at the boon.

They rushed to find a suitable place to defend themselves, finally settling on an open area of rock. It would allow them to spread out, and hopefully flank the beast if it landed. Kulnak and Nightshade readied their bows. Hrokin readied his crossbow. Tilara waited, trying to judge distance.

The great beast circled, finally landing some forty feet away, on a stone outcropping. The front part of the body appeared to be that of a lion, covered in tan fur. The rear of the body faded slowly to that of a goat, with a dirty white fir. It's great leathery wings folded at its side. From behind it snaked a serpentine tail, covered in glistening white scales. The center head was that of a lioness, having no mane. The left head was like a goat, but marred with glowing red eyes. The right side was a draconic visage, horned and serpentine. The fine coat of scales covering it was white, while the horns and teeth were a darkened ivory color.

It roared, bleated, and hissed simultaneously, giving everyone a momentary pause. In that fraction of a moment, the beast leapt forward. From the dragon head, a plume of white mist spilled forth. The rolling, billowing cloud caught Kulnak full on and Hrokin on it's periphery. The cloud froze Kulnak's exposed flesh, biting like the most horrid winter wind. Hrokin felt the numbing cold as well, but his shield blocked the worst of it.

Nightshade's shaft stuck between the lion and goat head, barely breaking the hide of the beast. Tilara began an incantation, and again stepped over to touch Nightshade. To her utter amazement, she faded from view.

"Once you attack, you'll become visible again, so make this count!" Tilara demanded.

Kulnak fired at the dragon head, but his shaft bounced harmlessly off the thick scales. Hrokin fired his crossbow with similar effect. He pitched the weapon aside, drawing his massive hammer.

The beast leapt toward Kulnak with ferocious intensity. The dragon and lion heads snapping fiercely. His chain armor managed for the moment to hold against the vicious teeth. He was not so lucky against the raking claws, which tore at his leg and side. Hrokin stepped in to swing against the beast, only to be met with the powerful butt of the goat head. It staggered him for a moment, leaving his ears ringing.

A shaft appeared from nowhere, sticking deep into the creature's side, near the kidney. It's heads roared in unison. Nightshade faded back into view, and quickly drew her short sword, to attack it from the rear.

Tilara spoke soft incantations, launching two bolts of arcane force into the dragon head. It recoiled from the sting.

Kulnak trembled with rage. His jaw clenched, and he threw himself at the creature with reckless abandon. His battleaxe cut into the thick hide of the dragon head, leaving a gash above its right eye.

The beast recoiled its goat head, narrowly escaping the wrath of Hrokin's hammer. It focussed its fury on Kulnak. The dragon head snapped down in his left arm, crushing through the chain links, slicing flesh to the bone. The lion head bit at his face, catching just the tip of Kulnak's chin. A claw ripped across the chain shirt, never breaking the armor. It's second paw raked down his should, nearly toppling the mighty warrior.

Even in his fury, Kulnak seemed almost dazed. Blood poured from his arm, but he didn't seem to notice it. Hrokin wished he would fall back, but knew speaking to him was pointless. He was in a blood fury. Nothing but the death of the beast would bring him to his senses.

Nightshade waited, watching the beast's movements, then struck the creature in the groin from the rear. The sword dug deep, nearly severing an artery. It roared, and turned the fierce dragon head toward her. Two more emerald pulses sank into the body of the beast from Tilara.

Kulnak lunged in, slicing the dragon head along its thick scaly neck with his battle axe, then swiped at the side of the lion head with his hatchet, his own blood spraying as he swung. He roared like a beast, frothing at the mouth.

Hrokin swung his hammer, but the creature was already leaping into the air. It spun as it ascended, blasting another burst of freezing air toward Nightshade. She deftly jumped out of the way, as it sped off. She again retrieved her bow, and made a shot. The shaft flew far under the beast, as it made a bee-line for a mountain peak several miles off. Tilara managed another burst of two energy darts in the creature before it was out of range.

Kulnak's breathing slowed, and finally his face showed the pain his body was feeling. He could not speak through the agony in his arm. Tilara had never seen someone so mutilated remain on his feet.

Hrokin quickly began his healing. He expended his three most powerful spells, watching as each repaired only a fraction of the wounds to Kulnak. He finished with a forth, less powerful incantation to repair the last of the injuries.

Kulnak lay on the ground for a minute, waiting for the ghost of pain to pass.

"Should we follow it? See if it has anything of value in its lair?" Nightshade asked.

"YOU follow it!" Kulnak relied bitterly. "I'm going to lay here a minute."

"I know it fairly well mutilated you, but that thing was barely able to fly when it left. I think we could finish it. If you simply show me the lair… I'll go in after it myself." Nightshade stated confidently.

Kulnak shook his head, utterly disbelieving the level of greed he saw in her.

"It's your hide, I guess," he finally conceded.

Hrokin cast another healing spell, curing the freezing damage he'd taken earlier.

"I must caution you that I don't have much magical healing left for the day. Fixing Kulnak took most of my strength," Hrokin reminded.

"I understand. Tilara, are you up for accompanying me into it's layer? You have much better eyes in the dark than I," Nightshade offered.

"I don't know," Tilara hesitated.

She realized it was the first time Nightshade had ever asked for her help.

"I'm certain that if I can get one more good shaft into it, that will be the end of our beast. For that matter, one of your incantations might finish it as well," Nightshade said enthusiastically.

Kulnak followed the spotty trail of blood above the tree line and across several miles of snowy peak, to the entrance of a small cave. At the mouth, Tilara cast a minor incantation on one of Nightshade's arrows, making it illuminate like a torch. She repeated the spell on the head of another arrow she held.

Tilara again laid her hand on Nightshade's shoulder, speaking soft flowing sounds. Again, Nightshade faded from sight. She did the same for herself. Now, only the light would give away their location, and perhaps the beast would not succeed in an attack against them until it was too late.

"Are you ready?" Tilara asked.

"I'm going in," she replied.

The two women climbed down the dry rocks of the cave. Tilara could see that the tunnel went perhaps thirty feet, then opened. They could smell the beast as they drew near. Down in the darkness, they saw menacing, glowing red eyes. The creature emitted a low growl. Nightshade let loose the lit arrow. It landed near the beast, showing it clearly as the lioness head licked its wounds. It was tense and crouched as if readying to pounce.

Nightshade refused to give it the chance, but her next shaft splintered as she released.

"Damn!" she cursed, as her magical concealment faded.

The creature pounced forward on powerful legs. Nightshade fired in a near panic. Her shafts missed the creature entirely. Tilara calmly completed the incantation as the creature charged. The green light flashed down the tunnel, into the lion head, and the creature fell in its tracks. It struggled weakly to regain it's footing. Nightshade regained her composure, and closed to about twenty feet. She took slow, careful aim, and planted an arrow into the lion skull. The beast fell limp.

"I think I pissed myself," Nightshade admitted.

The two laughed softly. Tilara managed one last incantation, making Nightshade fade again.

"Go ahead. In the event there are any other of these things in here." Tilara explained.

They crept to the bottom of the lair, a natural cavern about eight feet high. It was perhaps thirty feet long, and twenty feet wide at it's widest spot. The place was littered with bones, tatters of clothing, and an occasional piece of broken or rusted equipment. Glints of metal could be seen in the soft earth, including occasional coins. There were no other exits to the cave, and no other creatures. The two returned for sacks and Tilara's little shovel.

Soon, the four of them were sifting through the debris. In an hour or so of digging, they found forty pounds of silver trade coins, 8 pounds of gold coins, two gems and a shirt of chainmail which seemed untouched by rust. Tilara confirmed the magic of the shirt with a simple cantrip. Nothing else with a magic aura remained hidden or buried.

"I think Kulnak should get the chain. He took the most punishment from the beast," Hrokin reasoned.

"Agreed," Tilara said.

Nightshade put up no argument. She held two gems in her hand, waiting for the bright light of day to get a good look at them.

Kulnak busied himself with cutting claws, horns, and teeth from their kill. He kept them as trophies.

After another ten minutes, they were back on the mountainside, returning to the trail. Nightshade stared at the fine dwarven cut of the gems. One was an amethyst, a deep flawless purple. The other was a rich yellow topaz. She had shown them to Hrokin in the cave, but rode beside him again, letting him view them in full light of day. She handed them over to his keeping until they could be sold, and their value split evenly. Hrokin marveled at this new development in Nightshade. Something in her was changing, for certain.

The mood lightened, and the group sped along the trail at a good clip. Night grew near, and they set their regular watches. Night passed uneventfully, to the vast relief of all.

As Hrokin made breakfast the next morning, Kulnak wandered nearby, again in search of game. He returned after nearly an hour. There were many tracks, even at this altitude, but small game was scarce. Red's best efforts only gained a raven. No one other than the hawk cared for such fare.

The morning wore on to afternoon as they rode and the fires of a small village could be seen below. As the four neared, it became evident that the village wall, made of small trees lashed together with leather, had been battered down, and at least one structure within was on fire. Kulnak quickened his pace, readying his axe as he rode. The others followed.

Entering the village, the source of the trouble became evident. A band of large humanoids corralled the villagers, threatening with huge clubs. Tilara quickly completed her enchantment to armor herself.

"Ogres!" Hrokin growled. He clambered from his horse, charging forward and yelling fiercely. The ogres moved toward him without hesitation.

"I guess that means we won't parlay." Nightshade said softly.

Kulnak and Nightshade launched arrows as they closed. Nightshade's shaft barely pierced the thick skin of one of the brutes.

Tilara targeted one and let her pulses of energy fly. It eyed her angrily and ran toward her. She thought she could count eight in all. This was not good.

Six ogres faced Kulnak and Hrokin, divided equally between the two. The last of them came for Nightshade. The three ogres facing Hrokin swung in vain. One of three against Kulnak managed a horrible hit across the side of his head that sent his mangled steel cap spinning. Kulnak was knocked to one knee, bleeding from the ear.

Nightshade made a move to step around the ogre approaching her, but took a blow from the massive club on her back, nearly toppling her. She flanked Kulnak's opponent but couldn't get in a solid hit through its layers of filthy animal hides.

Tilara faded from sight as her adversary neared. He looked perplexed for a moment, then turned back to the fighting.

Another ogre smashed his club into the stunned Kulnak, knocking him to the ground, where he lay motionless. Nightshade leapt in, pouring a vial of healing liquid into his mouth. The ogre who had followed her took the opportunity to land a thundering blow across her back. She was certain several ribs were now broken. This was going very badly. At least Kulnak would not slip into death.

Hrokin landed a hit with his hammer, but the huge monster shrugged off most of the effect. He had bitten off more than he could chew. They surrounded him. Kulnak was out, and Nightshade was suffering.

In the next few moments, another vicious blow struck across Nightshade's side, knocking her unconscious. Hrokin felt a wave of fear and anger. His impulsive actions had gotten them into this. He reached down, releasing his healing to Nightshade. Regardless of the magic, she did not move, but her breathing was clear and stable. The thunderous blow of an ogre's club as he kneeled over her sent him into oblivion.

Chapter 8: One Against Many

Tilara studied the ogres for a moment. Their skins were dark, nearly purple, and not uniform in color. They bore spots of a gray-green as well. Their thick sloping foreheads and elongated arms reminded her somewhat of apes. They wore animal skins crudely lashed together. The clubs they used, on closer inspection, appeared to be young trees ripped from the ground, roots and all.

She watched as the nearly ten foot tall humanoids stripped her comrades of their belongings, and tossed them into a stone building. The ogres had barred any exit that might allow them to escape.

The small fort still had arrow slits though. All her comrade's equipment had been thrown into a hasty pile. She crept over to the pile, quietly taking Nightshade's belt.

One of the ogres said something in a tongue she didn't comprehend. She sat the bundle down and slowly stepped away, as an ogre approached. She walked softly around the corner of a building, waiting for them to wander off again.

She made another attempt at the stash, once the ogres went back to looting the