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Ανθιμος και τα μυαλά στα κάγκελα...

3/23/2008 05:40:00 μ.μ.

. ΠΩΣ ΝΑ ΧΑΡΑΚΤΗΡΙΣΕΙ ΚΑΝΕΙΣ ΤΟΝ ΜΗΤΡΟΠΟΛΙΤΗ ΑΝΘΙΜΟ ΤΗΣ ΘΕΣΣΑΛΟΝΙΚΗΣ ΤΟΝ ΠΟΙΜΕΝΑ ΑΥΤΟ, ΠΟΥ ΕΓΚΑΤΕΛΕΙΨΕ ΤΟ ΦΤΩΧΟ ΠΟΙΜΝΙΟ ΤΗΣ ΑΛΕΞΑΝΔΡΟΥΠΟΛΗΣ...

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ΠΩΣ ΝΑ ΧΑΡΑΚΤΗΡΙΣΕΙ ΚΑΝΕΙΣ ΤΟΝ ΜΗΤΡΟΠΟΛΙΤΗ ΑΝΘΙΜΟ ΤΗΣ ΘΕΣΣΑΛΟΝΙΚΗΣ ΤΟΝ ΠΟΙΜΕΝΑ ΑΥΤΟ, ΠΟΥ ΕΓΚΑΤΕΛΕΙΨΕ ΤΟ ΦΤΩΧΟ ΠΟΙΜΝΙΟ ΤΗΣ ΑΛΕΞΑΝΔΡΟΥΠΟΛΗΣ -ΕΚΕΙ ΠΟΥ ΦΥΛΟΥΣΕ ΘΕΡΜΟΠΥΛΕΣ- ΓΙΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΘΕΙ ΝΑ ΠΟΙΜΑΝΕΙ ΤΟ ΠΛΟΥΣΙΟ ΠΟΙΜΝΙΟ ΤΗΣ ΘΕΣΣΑΛΟΝΙΚΗΣ;
ΕΤΣΙ ΕΓΚΑΤΑΛΕΙΠΟΥΝ ΤΟ ΠΟΙΜΝΙΟ ΤΟΥΣ ΟΙ ΒΟΣΚΟΙ, ΟΙ ΑΞΙΩΜΑΤΙΚΟΙ ΤΗ ΜΟΝΑΔΑ ΤΟΥΣ, ΟΙ ΗΓΕΤΕΣ ΤΟ ΛΑΟ ΤΟΥΣ; ΑΥΤΟ ΔΕΝ ΛΕΓΕΤΑΙ, ΚΥΡΙΕ ΑΝΘΙΜΕ ΠΡΟΔΟΣΙΑ; ΑΙΣΧΟΣ ΠΟΥ, ΕΧΕΙΣ ΤΟ ΘΡΑΣΟΣ ΝΑ ΚΑΝΕΙΣ ΤΟΝ ΥΠΕΡΠΑΤΡΙΩΤΗ...
Γ.Α.

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  1. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 5:49:00 μ.μ.

    ΑΛΑΒΑΝΟΣ&ΔΗΜΟΨΗΦΙΣΜΑΣχετικά με το δημοψήφισμα για το ασφαλιστικό που ζητά ο φαιδρός κ. Αλαβάνος έχω να του απαντήσω τα εξής :1) Κανείς Νόμος ποτέ στα χρονικά του τόπου, εκτός σπανίων εξαιρέσεων , δεν έχει υπέρ του, την πλειοψηφία του Ελληνικού λαού, αλλά μόνο της βουλής.Δεν το ξέρεις αυτό κ. Αλαβάνο ;ευκαιρία να το μάθεις. 2)Με δημοψήφισμα στον Ελληνικό λαό , ούτε ο Πολιτικός γάμος θα ήταν σήμερα Νόμος του κράτους .----ούτε το θρήσκευμα θα αφαιρείτο από τις ταυτότητες. Δεν το ξέρεις αυτό κ. Αλαβάνο ;ευκαιρία να το μάθεις .Και θέλεις τρομάρα σου, να κάνεις νόμο τον γάμο των ομοφυλοφύλων, .άντε να τον πας και για δημοψήφιασμα-.3)Εάν εφήρμοζες δημοψήφισμα στους ψηφοφόρους του κόμματος σου , να είσαι σίγουρος δεν θα ήσουν επί τρείς πενταετίες Ευρωβουλευτής , σίγουρα θα υπάρχουν και άλλοι ικανοί σαν και σένα στο κόμμα σου,εκτός και αν σαν άλλος Χίτλερ πιστεύεις στην μοναδικότητα σου. Δεν το ξέρεις αυτό κ. Αλαβάνο ;ευκαιρία να το μάθεις ΜΕ ΑΥΤΑ ΤΑ ΟΛΙΓΑ ΜΕΓΑΛΕ ΠΟΛΙΤΙΚΕ , θέλω να σου εξηγήσω ότι τα προβλήματα αυτού του δύσμοιρου τόπου δεν λύνονται με δημοψηφίσματα και αν υπήρχε σήμερα στο ΠΑΣΟΚ αρχηγός αντάξιος του κομματός του, θα είχες πάει από εκεί που ήρθες , μ’αυτήν σου την πρωτοβουλία περί Δημοψηφίσματος. Μ ε σεμνότητα ευχαριστώ όσους με διάβασαν.

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  2. πατερούλης Στάλιν23 Μαρ 2008, 6:00:00 μ.μ.

    Ο Λαζόπουλος επικρίνει τον Τσίπρα?!?

    -Που πας Αλέξη? Που πας ντυμένος σαν αλβανός?
    -Στον πρόεδρο της Δημοκρατίας πας, δεν πας σε οικοδομή! Δεν σου έμαθε η νταντά σου Αλέξη ότι όταν πας να συναντήσεις κάποιον ντύνεσαι ανάλογα! Αλέξη!
    -Από την πίσω πόρτα θα σε βάλουνε (μετά συγχωρήσεως) σαν το υπαλληλικό προσωπικό!
    -Αλήθεια Αλέξη την ξέρεις την οικοδομή?
    -Είναι αυτά τα μεγάλα κτήρια τα οποία χτίζει ο μπαμπάς σου Αλέξη! Που σου δίνουν κιόλας τα χρήματα να αγοράσεις και μηχανή!
    -Μηνμουπειςοτιδούλεψεςκαιτηναγόρασεςγιατίθατρελαθώ! Αλέξη! Μια εβδομάδα στο γραφείο του μπαμπά να σηκώνουν το τηλέφωνο δεν είναι δουλειά Αλέξη! Ούτε οι καφεδιές στο Da Capo είναι δουλειά Αλέξη!
    -Αλήθεια Αλέξη! Η λέξη «ένσημα» σου λέει τίποτα ή μήπως είναι το αντίθετο του «διάσημα»?Ε! Αλέξη?
    -Έγινες πρόεδρος κόμματος Αλέξη! Το δακτυλίδι που δέχτηκες δεν θα μας το δείξεις Αλέξη!!!
    -Αλέξη! Μαθαίνω πως έχεις πέραση στις συντρόφισσες Αλέξη! Ξέρεις αυτές με το ταγάρι και με την τρίχα στο πόδι να, από την αξουρισιά θεέ μου φύλαγε!
    -Αλέξη! Η δύναμη του ΣΥΡΙΖΑ Αλέξη μου είναι τα βόρεια προάστια! Άντε και το Paradise στην Μύκονο! Εκεί είναι η δεξαμενή των ψηφοφόρων Αλέξη! Εκεί θα βρεις την Κυρία Προέδρου!
    -Αλέξη! ανέβα στην μηχανή σου και ξαμολήσου Αλέξη! Όπου δεις κάμπριο με ξανθιά ρίχτεις αυτό το μακρινό σου χαμόγελο (σαν την Άπω Ανατολή ένα πράμα) και πες της… «Έχω και κόττερο! Πάμε μια βόλτα?»
    -Και πηγαίνετε σε μακρινές θάλασσες και τόπους!
    -Δεν θα μας λείψεις Αλέξη! Δεν θα μας λείψει ο πολιτικός σου λόγος Αλέξη! Δεν θα μας λείψουν οι ιδέες σου Αλέξη! Δεν θα μας λείψουν οι πολιτικές σου θέσεις Αλέξη γιατί ποτέ δεν τις ακούσαμε από τα χείλια σου!
    Καλό ταξίδι!
    Καλό ταξίδι!
    Καλό το ξύδι!

    Μετά ξύπνησα!

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  3. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 6:02:00 μ.μ.

    Ο συνάνθρωπος μας Δημήτρης Χουρμουζιάδης χρειάζεται επειγόντως αίμα!

    Χρειάζονται 50 φιάλες αίμα μηδέν αρνητικό (0-).

    Επειδή τα πράγματα είναι πολύ σοβαρά και η κατάσταση του Δημήτρη κρίσιμη θα παρακαλούσαμε όσους έχουν ομάδα αίματος 0- (μηδέν αρνητικό) και μπορούν να δώσουν αίμα να περάσουν από ένα από όλα τα νοσοκομεία της χώρας δίνοντας το όνομα και το νοσοκομείο στο οποίο πάει το αίμα για τον Δημήτρη Χουρμουζιάδη στο Παπανικολάου Θεσσαλονίκης.

    Πρέπει να μαζευτούν πάνω από 50 φιάλες αίματος και οι φίλοι και οικογένεια έχουν μαζέψει μόλις 8. Κάντε ένα repost, πείτε το στους φίλους σας, ίσως κάποιος να μπορεί να τον σώσει.

    Ο Δημήτρης ήδη σας ευχαριστεί όλους ακόμη και αν βρίσκεται σε κώμα αυτή τη στιγμή.

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  4. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 6:16:00 μ.μ.

    Αλλοδαπή γκόμενα προς Γκουσγκούνη... "Fuck me!"
    ΓΚΟΥΣΓΚΟΥΝΗΣ: "Σκάσε μωρή μη σε γαμήσω"
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    "Θα μου φέρεις λίγο νερό;
    ΑΑΑΑ φιρί φιρί το πας να σε γαμήσω..."
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Γκουσγκούνης: Γεια σας κορίτσια, ξένες είσαστε;
    Κορίτσια: Όχι καλέ, ντόπιες από τη Μυτιλήνη
    Γκουσγκούνης: Α! Δηλαδή λεσβίες!
    Κορίτσια: Εεε όχι και λεσβίες!
    Γκουσγκούνης: Εε αποδείξτε το τότε!!!
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Τώρα πούρθαμε στη βίλα, έλα κάνε μου .....πιπίλα
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Το μουνί δεν είναι αρνί να το κλείνεις στο παχνί
    Το μουνί θέλει παιχνίδια με τον πούτσο και τ'αρχίδια
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Της ψωλής μου το κεφάλι πιάσανε πονοκεφάλοι τα χειλάκια σου λοιπόν πιο
    καλά και από Depon
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΓΚΟΥΣΓΚ: Γυναίκα τι φαϊ έχουμε;
    ΓΥΝΑΙΚΑ: Μακαρόνια...
    ΓΚΟΥΣΓΚ: Τη γάμησες !!
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Ο Γκουσγκούνης, έπειτα από υπόδειξη του σκηνοθέτη, ότι πριν ...γαμήσει,
    πρέπει να πει και δυο - τρία λόγια για εισαγωγή, ώστε το έργο να έχει ...
    πλοκή!
    Έρχεται η γκόμενα στο σπίτι:
    Γκουσγκούνης: Θες αχλάδι;
    Γκόμενα : όχι
    Γκουσγκούνης: έεεε τότε δεν μένει τίποτα άλλο παρά να σε γαμήσω!!!!
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Είναι ο Γκουσγκούνης σε ένα μπαρ
    Η μπαρ-γούμαν πλένει τα ποτήρια...και πίσω της είναι ένα ρολόϊ Τοίχου Ο
    Γκοσγκούνης προσπαθεί να δει την ώρα...
    κάνει δεξιά... κάνει και η μπαρ-γούμαν δεξιά...
    κάνει αριστερά... και η μπαρ-γούμαν αριστερά....
    αυτό γινότανε συνέχεια. Ο Γκουσγκούνης είχε συφιλιαστεί απαίσια...
    τον βλέπει η μπαρ-γούμαν και τον ρωτάει....
    «.......γιατί είσαι τσαντισμένος» ;
    ....και ο Γκουσγκούνης.... «γιατί δεν βλέπω την ώρα να σε γαμήσω»!!!!!
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Βγαίνει ο Γκουσγκούνης από τη θάλασσα με μια γκόμενα. Φοράνε και οι δυο
    στολή. Όταν η γκόμενα πάει να βγάλει τη μάσκα, τη βλέπει ο μεγάλος και
    λέει:
    ".....μη βγάλεις τη μάσκα γιατί θα σου πετάξω τα μάτια έξω!!!!!"
    ------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Ο Γκουσγκούνης έχει ..ατσαλώσει την πούτσα του .και λέει στην γκόμενα που
    την έχει γυρίσει από πίσω: "βάστα τοίχο, γιατί θα ζμπρώξω γερά"!!!!!
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Ο Γκουσγκούνης, με Γαλλίδα παρτεναίρ σε τσόντα:
    Γαλλίδα: "aahhh tres joli"
    Γκουσγκούνης: "τι ζολή μωρή, .... ψωλή το λένε"
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Η πρωταγωνίστρια είναι μπρούμητα, ... ο γκουζγκου .σπρώχνει από
    πίσω, εκείνη φεύγει μπροστά. Εκείνος απορεί... και λέει: "έεε, που πας:
    τοίχος!!!!!"
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΣΚΗΝΗ 1η (Σουρεαλισμός)
    Ο Γκουζγκούνης, είναι πρώτη μούρη στο πλάνο και φυσικά πηδάει την
    γκόμενα.
    Σε μια στιγμή μουρμουρίζει κάπως δυνατά:
    - "Πω, πω, να είχα μια μπύρα τώρα..."
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΣΚΗΝΗ 2η (Ατάκα)
    Ο Γκουζγκούνης είναι και πάλι πρώτη μούρη στο πλάνο και η τύπισσα του κάνει τσιμπούκι.
    Σε μια στιγμή τελειώνει ο Γκουζγκούνης, οπότε η Tσιμπουκίδου γυρνάει και
    αρχίζει να τα φτύνει.
    Η ατάκα που ακολουθεί απογειώνει τον αισθησιασμό της, ούτως ή άλλως,
    ρομαντικής σκηνής:
    - "Τι φτύνεις μωρή; Κουκούτσια έχουν;;"
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΣΚΗΝΗ 3η (Σενάριο)
    Χαλάνε τα υδραυλικά μιας γκόμενας. Ο Γκουζγκούνης έρχεται ως υδραυλικός
    στο σπίτι της στρογγυλοκάθεται στο τραπέζι της κουζίνας όπου έχει μια μεγάλη
    φρουτιέρα με πορτοκάλια. Παίρνει ένα πορτοκάλι στο χέρι του και ρωτάει
    όλος αβρότητα:
    - "Πορτοκάλι θέλεις; "
    - "Όχι! " απαντά αυτή.
    - "Να σε γαμήσω θέλεις; "
    - "Δεν έχω πρόβλημα!!! " απαντά αυτή.
    Και η συνέχεια επί της οθόνης.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΣΚΗΝΗ 4η (Ατάκα)
    Και πάλι ως υδραυλικός έρχεται στο σπίτι μιας τσαχπίνας.
    Στρογγυλοκάθεται, ως είθισται, στο τραπέζι της κουζίνας όπου ακολουθεί ο
    εξής διάλογος:
    - "Καφέ θέλεις; " ρωτά αυτή.
    - "Ναι. " απαντά ο Μεγάλος.
    - "Πως τον πίνεις; "
    - "Πολλά βαρύ και όχι, με δύο φουσκάλες "
    - "Είσαι και μερακλής! "
    - "Έχεις γαμώ τις κωλάρες, θα σε ..γαμήσω!!! "
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΣΚΗΝΗ 5η (Έγκλημα και Τιμωρία)
    Ο Γκουζγκούνης γυρνάει στο σπίτι κουρασμένος - έφτιαχνε υδραυλικά ντε!
    Aφήνει την τσάντα με τα σύνεργα κάτω. Χαιρετάει βαριεστημένα την γυναίκα
    του και την ρωτάει:
    - "Τι φαΐ έχει; "
    - "...δεν έκανα φαΐ..." απαντά εκείνη απολογητικά, με ψιλοπονηρό όμως
    ύφος
    - "Τι; Δεν έκανες φαΐ; Θα σε γαμήσω!! "
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΣΚΗΝΗ 6η (Ο παΤΕΡΑΣ)
    Ο Γκουζγκούνης παίζει τον ρόλο του πατέρα!
    Έρχεται η κόρη του στο σπίτι με μια καινούργια φίλη της.
    Κάθονται στον καναπέ. Έρχεται και ο Αρχηγός στο σαλόνι και τις βλέπει.
    Κάθεται και αυτός, χωρίς να πει τίποτα, κοντά τους.
    Περνάει ένα λεπτό απόλυτης ησυχίας (δεν έχουν ανταλλάξει κουβέντα μέχρι τότε).
    Ξαφνικά, ο Μεγάλος, γυρνάει προς την φίλη της κόρης του και την ρωτάει:
    - "Τον παίρνεις απ' τον κώλο; "
    - "Μπαμπά τι είναι αυτά που λες; " πετάγεται έκπληκτη η κόρη του
    - "Προσπαθώ να σπάσω τον πάγο!!! " απαντά αυτός
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΣΚΗΝΗ 7η (Ο πιτσαράς)
    Ο Γκουζγκούνης παίζει τον ρόλο του πιτσαρά!
    - "Έφερα τις πίτσες. "
    - "Μα δε παραγγείλαμε πίτσες " απαντούν οι γκόμενες
    - "Παραγγείλατε, δε παραγγείλατε, εγώ θα σας γ*μήσω!!!
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Είναι στην παραλία δύο γκόμενες, ολομόναχες. Σε κάποια φάση εμφανίζεται
    από το πουθενά ο Γκουσγκούνης να κόβει βόλτες εκεί κοντά.
    Σε κάποια φάση ρωτάει τις γκόμενες:
    - Τι κάνετε κορίτσια εδώ ;
    - Περιμένουμε να έρθει κάποιος να μας γαμήσει.
    - Α! Ευτυχώς που πέρναγα!
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    -> Γκουζγκούνης: Γειά.
    -> Γκόμενα: Γειά
    -> Γκουζγκούνης: Πως σε λένε;;
    -> Γκόμενα: Μαρία!
    -> Γκουζγκούνης: Κώστας... Στήσου!

    ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή
  5. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 7:15:00 μ.μ.

    Κατω τα βρωμοχερα σας τσογλανοι απο τον ΑΝΘΙΜΟ δεν ειστε αξιοι ουτε το βλεμμα σας να σηκωσετε επανω του μεταλλαγμενα κνιτακια..

    ΟΥΣΤ κοπροσκυλα της ΤΣΥΡΙΖΑ η οργη μας εφτασε προ των πυλων πια..

    προσεχτε

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  6. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 7:20:00 μ.μ.

    Chapter 1

    Dorin hated this city, a term used loosely by the locals in a vain effort to bolster its importance. Stromguarde was a small, wide open, backwater town, mostly filled with vacant buildings and the few odd shops. Dorin knew someone who had a surname of "Stromguarde", although anyone proud of such a heritage was probably the spawn of two siblings or more.

    Dorin could hear the din of battle coming from across town. This was his only comfort: the fighting was nowhere near him. He glared at the gold mine he was guarding. Why it wasn't raided, or even why they had to guard it was beyond him. Had the town used this gold, they could have boosted industry, built decent housing, constructed a tower filled with trapped beautiful maidens, anything to increase productivity in Stromguarde. Yet here the gold sat, and here Dorin stood, guarding that which was not used.

    His job had been less eventful than plant growth for the last two days, yet his companions were tense, always ready for some forthcoming skirmish. Dorin had other assignments where guards would take breaks, play a few card games, at least look in his direction, but not this group. Sneers were etched into their jaws, and not one of them grunted an acknowledgment. They even slept standing up! Dorin couldn't relate to such dogged commitment.

    He couldnÂ’t help but feel a bit repulsed by the current company. Sure, every bandit was a brutish, scar-faced, monstrous mishap of the human race, but someone had customized this mercenary purchase with double the ugly. The leader, who would only answer to "M'lord", was a rancid pile of flesh that barked out orders and saliva more often than he got off his horse. Dorin had never seen him leave his horse for that matter.

    On the verge of snapping, Dorin opted for a bit of banter, anything to break the monotony.

    "Ok, I understand we are to guard this mine for an undetermined amount of time. I don't suppose we've finally determined what that particular time was, did we?"

    The Bandit Lord leered at Dorin. "You aren't being paid to ask questions!"

    "Oh, IÂ’m offering this for free," Dorin quipped.

    "ENOUGH TALK!" screamed the bandit, showering Dorin with spittle vile enough to knock out the undead. Dorin smirked; the poison on his daggers would be no match against that.

    He debated a retort liable to win him a new eyeball made of knife, when he felt a small constant tremor. He cursed to himself. Most people would stand in a gaping stupor as the curious vibration would steadily grow and increase. Dorin knew perfectly well what it was, and knew that this was the best point in time to flee as opposed to waiting till some huge creature would burst through the trees sinking it's teeth into your head. However, he was on a job. That and the Bandit Lord's Devotion Aura pinned him from running away while screaming and soiling himself. (Well, it pinned him from running away, anyways.)

    In the distance, he could see around ten orcish grunts, a few support units behind them, and a dreaded BladeMaster leading the fray. The small army was around fifteen strong, three times the size of their little bandit encampment.

    "An orcish horde," grinned the Bandit Lord, "Prepare yourself for battle, the hour we have waited for has come."

    Dorin gaped. He certainly wasnÂ’t waiting to be butchered. Battle against one orc was difficult enough. He wondered if the Bandit Lord was myopic and didnÂ’t see the horde. More likely, he probably couldn't count higher than the fingers he had on one hand (which was three, due to a couple of mishaps in previous misjudged battles).

    Dorin whimpered at the green mass of destruction charging in a direction directly counter to Dorin's best interests. He hoped that they were just on their way to the goblin market, or maybe a happy light orcish festival, or whatever orcs do when they aren't playing axe-the-human.

    A nervous habit caused him to check his spear. Just sharp enough to annoy the bejonkers out of an orc. The poison on the tip may just cause a rash, if he was lucky.

    The Bandit Lord bellowed a bolstering laugh, "The orc death is almost at hand, charge on my mark!"

    "Easy for you to say," whispered Dorin to himself, "with your O-look-at-me-I-have-Divine-Shield spell. If it wasn't for your blasted Devotion Aura rooting me to the spot-"

    "CHARGE!" screamed the Bandit Lord, and Dorin felt himself running to the embrace of death.The orc horde enveloped the resisting company of bandits. The Bandit Lord was pretty competent at fighting, surprising Dorin, whose expectation of the rogue's usefulness didn't extend much farther than congealed animal fat.

    The Bandit Lord sliced down the nearest orc shaman before he could frenzy yet another orc grunt to the bloodlust they were legendary for. Unfortunately, this had been his downfall as all the grunts quickly surrounded him intent on a hacking spree.

    Dorin breathed a small sigh of relief. If the orcs we're so keen on taking down the leader, that gave him at least ten more seconds to live. He lobbed his spear at a shaman in the middle of casting bloodlust and actually wounded him. Feeling jubilant with his success, he pulled out two daggers and attacked one of the grunts busy taking the Bandit Lord down.

    The orc's skin was a bit tougher than Dorin had remembered, which made sense since he never before had the lack of sensibility to attack an orc. After withstanding a few futile dagger jabs, the orc turned around and, with nary an effort, batted Dorin back about ten feet. It was at this point in time that the orc Blade Master, a bit ticked that the bandits weren't dead yet, swung a blade rivaling most flagpoles in length through the thick neck of the Bandit Lord.

    His horse whinnied and fell. With the Bandit Lord dead, the oppressive Devotion Aura had lifted and the remaining bandits realized they had the opportunity to flee. But orcs were equipped with powerfully huge axes which proved to be quite a hindrance to anyone's retreat. In less time than it takes to swat dead flies in winter, Dorin was soon the only bandit left.

    Intense fear slowed time to a crawl and Dorin watched the Blade Master run towards him. His orcish eyes gleamed with victory, and his impossibly long blade dripped with blood. A flag was attached to his back, which puzzled Dorin. Doesn't it get in the way? What was it for? It's not like the Blade Master was difficult to spot in a battle, what with a sword the length of tree swinging around like the blades of a gyrocopter.

    "I'm going to die," became the mantra of choice and Dorin wondered if a well-aimed dagger at the throat would annoy the Blade Master or damage the dagger. He looked up as the Blade Master lifted his sword to strike and noted that at least it was a cloudless night.

    "Night? WHAT AM I DOING?" screamed Dorin in his mind, and he quickly rolled to a nearby tree, a hairs breadth away from joining the same fate as his leader, and vanished.

    The Blade Master bellowed, "WHERE'S A WITCH DOCTOR?!"

    A shaman came up to him, "They're back at the base, and a few of us need to go back for healing."

    The Blade Master's eyes burned, for his blood lust was still not satiated, but he regained a bit of control, and ordered his troops back to the main base, "Get a peon and a witch doctor up here! I want that human killed! Cursed Shadowmeld."

    Dorin held his breath tensely as he watched the orcs leave. As soon as they were out of sight, Dorin slipped off into the night.

    Chapter 2

    Dorin was in trouble. Again. He stood in the office of Master Jin, the head of the Assassin's Guild, and was being reviewed for yet another mission he had utterly failed at. Master JinÂ’s gaunt and morose face was staring at a scroll, long fingers slowly tapping the ebony desk he was seated at. Dorin shifted restlessly in the uncomfortable silence that he was well acquainted with but could never get used to.

    Master Jin sighed and looked at Dorin long and hard. "You do know what your assignment was, don't you?" asked Master Jin.

    "Yes, Master, very well. It wasn't too difficult really, I was supposed to guard the gold mine," replied Dorin. Master Jin raised an eyebrow.

    "With my life, I may add, I was supposed to guard the gold mine with my life," Dorin continued.

    "Which you--"

    "Did quite marvelously if you ask me," interrupted Dorin, "I mean, I guarded that gold mine like no stationary unused object's been guarded, and I certainly thought there was no point in guarding it with my death, that's for sure, because then it technically isn't guarded, so I made every effort to stay alive to keep it guarded. Highest honours should be awarded, if you ask me."

    Master Jin sighed once again, "We've been over this before, Dorin."

    "Yes, yes, we have. I know, the code of Assassin's clearly state that commitment to an assignment is of utmost priority and failure should only be because of death. We learned that when we were first trained."

    "And penalty for failure?" prompted the Master.

    "Death. Slow, drawn out, and painful death," replied Dorin.

    Master Jin rubbed his eyes in frustration, "I can't protect you forever Dorin."

    "No Master, nor should you," Dorin replied. The fact of the matter was, however, that Dorin didn't need any protection. The Guild of Assassins were a competitive lot, and rising in the ranks meant that someone ahead of you had to die. Assassins were always trying to discretely assassinate themselves, and a constant vigilance was common in the daily course of life. Being caught assassinating an assassin, however, was considered a gross dishonour and such practice was punishable by death. (They were a strict lot. There weren't too many misdemeanors not punishable by death). The Punishment of Death was fulfilled by the members of the Assassin's guild: it became permissible to kill the punishee in public if need be.

    But Assassin's were also quite proud, and the ancient craft of stabbing someone in the back relied on secrecy, stealth, and not being caught. Lowering one's self to the level of a common street thug was a surefire way to invite the ridicule and derision from one's peers. So life would still continue as normal for the one sentenced to death. Avoiding the clandestine attempts at one's life came as natural as walking.

    Dorin had four death sentences. Three for where he had failed both the mission and the fourth when he had walked into a room of a fellow Assassin only to have found him dead with a knife in his chest. Four other assassins had passed the room and immediately assumed that Dorin had really screwed up an assassination attempt and a warrant was immediately put out for his deathÂ…again.

    But the effort to kill Dorin far exceeded the worth one would get out of such an action. Dorin was still a Level 1 assassin, a mere scratch in the maimings of life. Killing Dorin was less beneficial than a Cloak of Shadow for a Night Elf. And it was later found out that Dorin couldn't have killed the assassin, because Dorin abhorred killing. This really put a damper in career advancement.

    "Did you at least kill anyone?" asked Master Jin.

    "Well, I did throw my spear at an orc Shaman," started Dorin.

    "And?"

    "I hit his hand in mid spell. I'm pretty sure I almost took it off!" explained Dorin.

    Master Jin rubbed his temples, "You may leave and retire to your room, Dorin."

    "No listen, his hand was seriously damaged. Sure, a witch doctor could heal that no sweat, but it will be stiff for months, I know it! And when the wet weather comes, he'll be cursing me with the most sinister curses he knows!"

    "Thank you, Dorin, you may go..."

    "It was his writing hand too. He'll be incapacitated for eons! What a blow against the Orcs!"

    "Thank You!"

    "Yes, my room, thank you Master Jin, for your patience," and with that, Dorin bowed and left Master Jin to his frustration in silence.The next morning, bright and early, Dorin found himself in the office of Master Jin again. Normally, a reprimand from the master only occurred at the mission debriefing, subsequent visits were not needed. He could not imagine getting into trouble while he slept, but he did have a knack for such things.

    Dorin didn't think he was a bad assassin. In fact, he considered himself quite good. He knew all the poisons, was quite versed in a variety of weaponry that can fit in your sleeve, boot or pants without cutting or castrating yourself, could shadowmeld almost well into dawn and way before nightfall, and he had an almost supernatural talent at staying alive. It was just this killing thing that got them all worked up. One simple skill he was incapable of doing, and they treated him like an outcast. No assassin had tried to kill him in years, not that he was complaining, but this was the highest insult ever dealt. Sure he had death warrants, it's not like anyone ever followed through with them.

    The door opened, and Master Jin strolled to his normal place behind his desk. "Good morning Dorin. So pleased you are on time. I have another assignment for you."

    The shock Dorin felt was only betrayed by his silence. And his jaw. And the completely ridiculous expression on his face. His posture too, while weÂ’re at it.

    "Ha! Orc cut your tongue? A good day indeed if Dorin himself cannot think of a word to utter," chided Master Jin.

    Dorin was confused. Assignments did not come readily to Dorin, because ninety-nine percent of the time, assassins are hired to assassinate. Guard missions were only given to the Assassin's guild if some rich fool wanted to show off how much money he could blow. Assassins were trained for the night with small weapons and quick turn around times. None of this standing in the middle of the day in open view with a spear which had as much effectiveness as lobbing spit at a Tauren.

    "Don't worry, dear Dorin, it's not an assassination. We could not risk our reputation by you failing our most prestigious calling."

    Despite that Dorin agreed whole heatedly with this statement, it didn't keep him from feeling a bit miffed. Master Jin handed a scroll to Dorin, which Dorin opened and perused.

    "You have heard of 'The Lost Temple', haven't you?" queried the Master.

    "Yes, who hasn't? It's known to be a place where whole armies have disappeared. Any search team, adventuring team, or even anyone wishing to disappear would head off to this place, and would never be heard of -- Ah crud, you want me to go there, don't you," replied Dorin disheartedly.

    "This isn't a suicide mission, Dorin. On the contrary, it is because of your... 'unique' ability not to die that I personally chose you. I can't afford failure on this mission, and even information in regards to the Lost Temple would be a boon as opposed to a missing Assassin."

    Master Jin waited for a response, and not hearing any, continued, "As you may also know, there is a Fount of Healing in the center of the Lost Temple. Your assignment is to get a sample of that water."

    "You want a flask of healing water? Good grief Master Jin, Healing Fountains are more plentiful than wolf droppings in an orc encampment."

    "Why, you are so right Mr. Dorin. How good of you to show me the error of my ways, why bother search for some mythical place when an easy to reach Healing Fount just happens to be in our courtyard?"

    Master JinÂ’s piercing gaze brought that uncomfortable silence back again.

    "I'm sorry, continue," mumbled Dorin.

    "Since, despite your training, curiosity permeates your very soul, I will tell you why this particular fountain is important. The Lost Temple was, and still is, a magically potent area, due to whatever mystical explanation you wish to attribute to it: druidic ley lines, undead sacrificial altars, night elf mating grounds, the list goes on. The fact of the matter is, it has been fought over, for centuries, and probably will be fought over in years to come when humans have finally mastered the air and would take to the stars."

    Dorin hated it when Master Jin would dream about life in the distant future. Dorin was more concerned about life in the present, particularly his life and it's continuance in the present.

    "Countless lives have been lost fighting over this place, more than any other location on this world. Literally, rivers of blood have been poured onto that land, soaked into the ground, and has seeped into the foundation of the Fountain of Healing. As any person knows, blood is the most powerful reagent in the forming of magic. With blood and sacrifice, energies unparalleled can be mastered and manipulated. No other place has known death more than the Lost Temple."

    So far, Dorin had been mildly interested. Had it not been the head master of the assassins, he would have discarded such nonsense along with Psychic Jill on 5th street, always screaming that death loomed over him. Of course death loomed over him, he was an assassin.

    "It is rumored," continued Master Jin, "that the waters of the Lost Temple Fount is of such a potency, that one flask is equal to that of thirty resurrection spells In fact, it can create life from that which was not there. That's what our employers want, and may I say he is willing to pay quadruple our normal rate, with a quarter of it up front."

    Dorin's interest was peaked. Some assassins get bonuses for a job well done, especially if it was a well paid assignment. If all he had to do was bring a flask back to the Guild, he may get a bonus that would enable him to...well, maybe buy another set of daggers. Dorin actually didn't need much.

    "Who's this freak?" asked Dorin as he pulled out a profile of someone who was obviously a hero. With the blond hair, thick jaw, cleft chin, and massive sledge hammer, he couldn't possibly be anything other than a hero. Dorin's face scrunched up in disgust.

    "That's Percival Pureheart, the Paladin," replied Master Jin, "you'll be helping him with the assignment."

    "Helping? I have to go with him? Mister I-use-alliteration-in-my-name-because-I'm-a-moron? You've got to be joking! Assassins work alone!"

    "When's the last time you worked alone, Dorin."

    "Well...uh...we're supposed to work alone. Ah crudbuckets. You can't be serious. I heroes! I don't want to be someone's lap boy! Why do they need an assassin?" exasperated Dorin.

    "Dorin, choice is a luxury you have long ago relinquished."

    Dorin sulked.

    "I take it by your silence that you concur. Then we may continue. *AHEM* Dorin, Level 1 Assassin, you have been honoured with Assignment #FB8901. In the event that you fail, or are discovered, the Guild of Assassins will disavow any knowledge of your existence..." and Master Jin continued with the normal rhetoric that preceded every mission about danger, death penalties, and who gets your room afterwards.

    Dorin continued to sulk and was in a sour mood for the rest of the day.The dungeons of the Assassin's guild were only called dungeons because they were in the basement and the sinister connotations were too tempting to pass up. In truth, Assassins never kept prisoners. "Tis easier to decapitate than to incapacitate" was an old saying amongst assassins, although "Assassination by decapitation brought exasperation" was yet another maxim commonly whispered (the Assassin's Guild originally was the Poet's Guild, but due to the ridicule and abuse of their audience, they found killing them far more rewarding).

    But the dungeons were well utilized. It was here that all research in assassination and espionage were done. The knowledge and technology almost rivaled that of the dwarves or the goblins, but on a more micro scale.

    Dorin had never been down here before. Only those of at least level 8 were entrusted with assignments that would even need to utilize such equipment. He gazed in awe at the complicated mish mash of machinery, tubes, bellows, pipes, and smoke. It looked exactly like a goblin laboratory, and as a gnarled, yellow-eyed goblin sidled past him, he realized why.

    "Uh, excuse me," interrupted Dorin.

    "whatwhatWHAT!!!" screamed the goblin.

    "You wouldn't happen to know where Master Jin is, do-"

    "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" screeched the goblin, catching Dorin by surprise. The goblin then gave an indecipherable look to Dorin and scuttled off into the smoke.

    "You never disturb a goblin when he's working. They're a very focused lot," stated a voice beside him.

    "Master Jin! Oh, sorry, uh..." Dorin hesitated.

    "Come, you are meeting the hero Percival in two hours time, and I need to show you a few things." Master Jin proceeded to a table filled with a variety of objects. He took a small velvet bag, almost at random, and pulled from it a vial. "This bag will be yours. In it is this indestructible vial, to safeguard the water you will collect in it."

    After replacing the vial, he handed the bag to Dorin, who took it greedily. Dorin looked inside the bag, and found nothing else aside from the vial.

    "That's it? Nothing else?" asked Dorin.

    "Just the vial is all you will need, along with your normal assortment of assassin equipment, of course. But nothing out of the ordinary."

    "My normal assortment consists of a couple daggers and poisons!"

    "Well, then I shan't keep you waiting! You probably want to get started soon."

    "You brought me all the way down here to give me a vial?

    "No, no, actually. You'll also be needing this," prompted Master Jin as he pulled up a large backpack and gave it to Dorin.

    "Ah, that's more like it," replied Dorin with satisfaction, as he began to open the bag.

    "No no no! It's not yours, don't open it. We've also equipped Percival Pureheart with a few things. When you meet him today, please give him that bag."

    The elation Dorin felt rivaled that of a cat stuck in a moonwell. Biting his tongue, Dorin slung the heavy backpack on his shoulders, not without quite a bit of difficulty.

    "Heavy it is, isn't it? Thanks so much for bringing it upstairs for me," thanked Master Jin cheerfully.

    If it wasn't nigh impossible, Dorin would have overcome his aversion and killed the master himself.

    Chapter 3

    It was late afternoon by the time Dorin lugged the heavy backpack all the way to a small tavern clear across town. A sign with "The Happy Harpy", hung swaying over the door. Dorin paused for a second to stare at the sign. He couldnÂ’t believe a tavern could have such a ridiculous name. He turned, half expecting to find "The Furry Furbolg", and to his surprise, it was across the street. Shaking his head, he entered the Harpy.

    The tavern was busy and filled with loud, burly people grunting and shouting as all people tend to do when thrust into a bar setting. Waiting for the token beefy barkeep to come up to him with a rag in hand asking in a gruff accent, "What'll it be?", he spotted Percival sitting at a table.

    "Sitting", however, may have been too common of a word to describe the position Percival Pureheart the Paladin was posturing at the moment. Chiseled chin held high, arm resting on his weapon, feet planted firmly on the ground, Percival was engaged in a fierce display of...grinning, Dorin had to keep himself from checking to see if an artist was finishing his latest series on "The Hero Wastes More Time".

    Spotting Dorin, Percival raised his gauntleted hand and beckoned, grinning all the while. Dorin swore he heard some tavern girl swoon at Percival's movement and he waded his way to the table.

    "Please to meet you, Dorin," boomed Percival, his baritone voice deep and rich. Dorin hoped he wouldn't try to convert him to the light, or something. "I see that you brought my equipment. Now I feel even more confident at the success of our mission!" Dorin managed a sardonic smile as Percival shook Dorin's hand and took the backpack. Dorin was both upset he was stuck with someone so unbelievably cliché and relieved he wasn't expected to carry the backpack for the whole journey.

    Percival suddenly leaned in close. Eyes darting suspiciously left and right, he lowered his voice to a whisper.

    "You know that this is a risky adventure we are partaking in: highly dangerous, dishonest skullduggery, and hopefully the odd girl or two!" Percival sat up with an even larger grin and gave a knowing wink. Dorin was stupefied. If this whole mission was just a ruse to get him to kill someone, it certainly was working.

    "Questions are probably racing through your mind but it is not safe to talk of such things here!" hissed Percival, trying to be covert again. He raised his arm and a serving girl immediately appeared at the table, cheeks all flushed and eyes batting faster than a hummingbird.

    "Don't worry, Dorin, I'll get this," generously offered Percival, which was just as well since Dorin didn't order anything.

    "It was a pleasure meeting you, and here is a little extra," said Percival, to which the serving girl giggled.

    With a flourish reserved only for those foolish enough to believe it garnered respect, (although in Percival's case, it did), Percival rose from the table, collected his belongings, and strode out. Dorin wondered if he should wait for a "Here boy," but not willing to risk it actually happening, he followed after.

    Percival Pureheart the Paladin purposely made his way towards the outskirts of town. Dorin sulked after him wondering how long this assignment would take. He was mildly curious where they were going but speaking may have given the Paladin an impression that Dorin wished to be the comical, buoyant sidekick, and he definitely wasn't going to be that.

    "In an hours time we will reach the Lich's lair. Unfortunately, it will be dark then, when the undead are at their strongest, but there's no helping that. I was hoping that-"

    Forgetting himself, Dorin interrupted, "Wait! Whoa! What Lich? I don't remember no Lich being in the contract!"

    "That's a double negative, you realize," corrected Percival. Dorin couldn't believe his grammar was being corrected by this doofus.

    "Look, Perk, there wasn't a Lich-"

    "Percival. My name is Percival Pureheart,"

    "Ya, whatever. Look, there wasn't any undead in the mission. And you want to go after a Lich? What gives here?"

    "The Lich has a map to the Lost Temple," explained Percival.

    "What? That's the stupidest thing I've heard in my life! Why would a Lich have a map to the Lost Temple? Why, in fact, in order to get anything done, you have to go clear across the world just to find an object, which is always guarded by some insanely strong monster, that will only help you get what you want?"

    "Look, I don't write the rules here, I just know the Lich has the map," reasoned Percival.

    "Well, how come there's only one map? We have a city full of scribes, and the imbecile who made the first one decided one was enough? What kind of moronic sense is that? Are you sure there's not another copy of this map? Maybe guarded by nothing more fearsome than a crotchety librarian?"

    "You talk an awful lot for an assassin," replied Percival.

    "Sorry for shattering your assassin stereotype. Pity it wasn't likewise," bit Dorin. However, Percival missed it altogether and continued, "Look, this is the only map I know of. I think it's amazing there is a map at all. So we have to get it from this Lich, and I was hoping you could sneak in and assassinate it, thereby making this a lot easier."

    Percival looked pleased. Dorin could tell he came up with this ingenious plan all by himself.

    "Let me guess, the Lich currently lives in a Necropolis swarming with ghouls, fiends, and a whole host of other nefarious traps which, you suppose, I would be completely immune to because I'm an assassin."

    "Correct! That's the spirit!" beamed Percival.

    "Sorry to disappoint you Perk, but I failed my Assault-on-Undead-Fortresses course and dead things give me the willies," glared Dorin.

    "Well, no matter, we could always do it the old fashion way, which I personally prefer anyway," Percival excitedly said.

    "Oh. Great. Much better. I don't suppose I could wait outside," dejectedly replied Dorin.

    Percival gave out a booming laugh, "You ARE a riot Dorin! I believe you and I will be good friends!"

    "Ooooh, this day gets better and better," muttered Dorin.

    "Doesn't it? Come, we should hurry!"The howl of a lone wolf signaled the night. Dorin and Percival stood behind a gnarled tree, twisted and marred by the blight the undead had caused by settling the land.

    Before them, floating ominously as gravity-defying objects the size of small mountains tend to do, was the Lich's Necropolis. Dorin never understood this. Evil overlords always base their headquarters in fortresses that hovered high in the sky. Since these evil overlords were always looking for power to overthrow pretty much everyone, why not utilize the energy required to float an object the mass of a city? If he became an evil overlord, he'd forgo the whole easily-broken-into-floating-castle and just drop an ocean on any kingdom that pissed him off.

    "Ok, Assassin, this is where you come in. We need to get up there," pointed Percival the Pureheart.

    "Oh, IÂ’m supposed to get us in that thing?"

    "Yes! Then we'll fight through the enemies, kill the Lich, grab the map, and then make a beeline for the exit because the forces needed to keep the Necropolis afloat would have dissipated by then," stated Percival proudly.

    "You know, I can't even lift your hammer let alone you. Was that the plan you had for this?"

    "Oh no! My original plan was for you to assassinate the Lich, don't you remember? This is plan B!"

    "Plan B sounds like every other plan you heroes come up with."

    "Well, it is a resourceful plan. Go in, kill everything, get out. Nothing beats that yet."

    Dorin sighed. "Look, I don't know how to get in the Necropolis. I don't even know where the doorway is. It's not like I come here on my off days."

    At that moment, a hooded Acolyte came into view, gliding towards them.

    "Hmm, that guy is going to see us," pondered Percival, "we may as well just start the attack now, kill all the ghouls that come after us, and then worry about getting in the Necropolis."

    "No, wait! We wait for some more acolytes, grab their cloaks, and pretend weÂ’re acolytes!" Dorin said excitedly, despite himself.

    "Why would we collect gold for the Lich? That seems rather counter-productive," Percival puzzled .

    "Perk you pinhead, we then go back to the Necropolis and see if we can find some entrance. If those acolytes came from there, there has to be a way in. Ghouls drop off lumber there too so there must be an accessible way from the ground!"

    "Perfect! You're brilliant, what an original plan!" piqued Percival.

    "Oh yes, I don't think I've ever seen anyone try the dress-as-the-enemy ploy. If they actually fall for this, we may get that dumb map yet."

    Dorin turned on hearing the muffled cry of the acolyte and saw Percival in the process of purloining the Acolytes cloak. With a bit of difficulty, Percival pulled the cloak over his armor. He gave off the impression of a shoplifting acolyte trying to swipe a bit too much at his local goblin store. Grinning, he waved his hammer at Dorin.

    Something witty was called for but Dorin's brain failed him as it was bombarded by the fact they were most certainly going to die.

    Chapter 4

    Percival was having the time of his life. Undead Acolytes seemed to pop out of the Necropolis at regular intervals, proceed to the copse of trees that Dorin and Percival were hiding behind, where upon Percival would then bash them on the head.

    "Perk! That's enough! Why we aren't discovered is beyond me," scolded Dorin.

    "But they're so cute when they die! The way they wave their arms in a futile effort to fight back."

    "Great, take one home and stick him on your front lawn but now we have to get inside!" Dorin couldn't believe he was arguing against staying outside where it was relatively safe.

    "How about one more?"

    "NO! Here, throw me a cloak." Percival threw him a cloak from the pile of five which Dorin quickly put on.

    "Ugh, this one still has some goo on it," muttered Dorin. Trying to clean himself as best he could, he glanced at Percival, who had a strange look on his face.

    "Perk! You ok?" asked Dorin. Perk blinked, looked at Dorin, and grinned a huge smile.

    "I have another cunning plan!" said Percival excitedly. Dorin winced.

    "As you may have perceived, my weapon cannot fit under this cloak," pointed out Percival. Percival didn't fit under the cloak but Dorin didn't feel like arguing. Percival then took off his disguise, removed his backpack, and then put the cloak back on. (This belittles the process, which actually took thirteen minutes to complete and resulted in two torn cloaks, another dead acolyte who almost got away as Percival tried to kill him with a cloak over his head, and one cynical assassin even more skeptical about their chances).

    While holding his weapon, Percival looped the backpack over its head and then threw a cloak over top.

    "Ta daa! Instant acolyte! Why, if we had a few more items, we could haunt a whole gold mine ourselves!" proudly displayed Percival. Dorin gaped. Yes, Percival now just looked like an acolyte with an eating problem but Dorin still couldn't bring himself to categorize the idea under "cunning"Â…or "good" for that matter. Lacking anything better, he just nodded defeatedly.

    After getting rid of the remaining cloaks, Percival confidently tried to glide towards the Necropolis, holding his makeshift acolyte in front. Dorin followed, not fairing any better at the gliding. Shortly, another Acolyte came their way.

    "This is it!" hissed Percival, excitement obvious. Dorin stiffened.

    The real acolyte's head was to the ground and his gliding looked like real gliding. The fake acolytes were trying not to run into each other and their gliding looked like real walking.

    "I live for Ner'zhul," rasped the Acolyte as he glided past.

    "By the Light!...uh...dark! By the death! Death comes for ye!..er.. I live nasally too!" stammered Percival, not raspy at all. The acolyte had now turned to get a better view of the three strange acolytes. Unfortunately for him, one acolyte jumped in the air and gave him a fatal head butt.

    Percival grabbed the newly deceased acolyte and held him in front to now form four unconvincing undead acolytes.

    "That went rather well, don't you think?" asked Percival.

    "You suck at this Perk," criticized Dorin.

    Percival and Dorin continued until they stood at the base of the Necropolis. It was even larger and ominous from the base and fear didnÂ’t so much as strike DorinÂ’s heart, it skewered it.

    "See? Our plan worked, we're here, and no alarms have been raised," boasted Percival.

    "You were right, I was wrong, let's go now!" pleaded Dorin.

    "That's the spirit! Anxious to get your hands wet with some undead blood!"

    "No, I meant home!"

    Percival laughed and slapped Dorin on the back, causing him to stumble and then disappear. After Percival finished laughing, he noticed DorinÂ’s absence. Searching around, he found a small, acolyte sized, circle of power.

    "Crum, that Dorin sure has guts, racing into the Necropolis like that," and Percival stepped on the glowing circle.Dorin hated anything that moved him from point A to point B without him being anywhere in between. It was unnatural, disobeyed many laws of the universe as he saw it, and felt like someone froze his spine and began kneading it with a rolling pin. Trying to recover, he noted Percival popping in beside him.

    "Brrr! That felt good!" Percival said exuberantly. Dorin's shuddering kept him from commenting.

    "Tell me that you don't have a town portal," stated Dorin.

    "Of course I do! Standard equipment! Never leave home without one!" piped Percival.

    "Great."

    Percival removed a small crystal on a chain from his backpack, and placed it around his neck, he peered at it for a bit, and then announced, "Ok, we go this way."

    "Wait, what do you have there?" asked Dorin.

    "You're awfully curious for an assassin. If you must know, it's one of your newfangled assassin-made miniature mini-maps. *laugh* A mini-mini-map!" Percival found great amusement at his observation.

    "And you know where the Lich is?" questioned Dorin.

    "Of course,” assuredly commented Percival as he displayed the crystal. Dorin peered in and saw a tiny little map with some glowing dots.

    “See, here is where we are,” Percival pointed to two white dots in the upper left hand corner of the map.

    “And this is where the Lich is," indicated Percival, shifting Dorin’s attention to a pulsating circle with a blinking exclamation mark.

    "This thing knows where the Lich is?" suspiciously queried Dorin.

    "Where have you been for the last decade? Of course it knows where the Lich is, it always knows where our objective lies!"

    "And by the looks of it, we are stuck on one side of this building, and have to traverse the whole Necropolis just to get to the Lich. And we're not talking as the goblin flies. No, we're talking a twisty maze of passages with waygates interspersed and chock full of undead goodness waiting to suck on your eyeballs."

    "That's pretty much right on!"

    "I hate this world," complained Dorin.

    "You're so grim, buck up! Once we kill this Lich, it's smooth sailing!"

    "Why can't this amazing mini-map show us where the Lost Temple is? Couldn't we just journey in the general direction, set the mini-map on high sensitivity, and just see if we run into it?"

    "I don't think it works that way. We're stuck here anyways and I bet the way out is near the Lich."

    "Stuck?? What do you mea-" Dorin cut himself off as he looked around. There were no circles of power to teleport out. They were in a closed off passage, the engulfing darkness taunting them to continue.

    Dorin let out a small, "Crud."

    "Exciting isn't it? It's my first real adventure! Forward!" pressed Percival as he marched into the passageway. To be expected, the Necropolis was dark, sported a skeletal motif, and smelled of death. Percival and Dorin followed the corridor with surprisingly no interruptions.

    "This place is boring! Not a single soul in sight!" Percival pouted.

    "Or even those lacking one. I find this a good thing," responded Dorin.

    "You are one peculiar assassin, Dorin."

    "Ya, but I'm also one alive assassin as well--STOP!" commanded Dorin, eyes wide in panic.

    "What? What now?" impatiently asked Percival. Dorin pointed at the passageway ahead of them. It was a long single corridor, too long to see the end, and lining it was an array of skeletons standing at arms.

    "No worries Dorin. These are statues! Decoration! We've passed many of these on the way here!"

    Dorin looked at Percival in exasperation, "Yes, they're statues now, but once we get in the middle of that corridor, they'll come to life and start hacking us to bits, and my daggers are useless on beings with no flesh!"

    "You have daggers?"

    "This is no time to be funny, we need to find an alternate route!"

    "Look, Dorin, there is no alternate route. This is the only way. Here, see the mini-map?” Dorin dejectedly looked at the minimap, knowing Percival was right.

    “At least do me a favor and knock down each skeleton statue. That way, when they do come to life, we only have to worry about our front flank.”

    “Fine,” acknowledged Percival. He walked down the corridor, smashing the skeletons in succession.

    “Willful destruction of property, the Lich is really going to be angry,” joked Percival.

    “I think a lawsuit is the least of our worries, Perk,” spoke Dorin, eyes searching for the slightest hint of movement from the skeletons.

    After about a minute of no incident, Dorin started to worry about other traps. He examined the walls. They were completely made of bone. The whole passageway was one big death trap, and he had a great aversion to adding himself to the décor.

    Another ten minutes of worrying and DorinÂ’s paranoia paid off: a soft wail drifted to DorinÂ’s ear. Dorin glanced at a skull previously knocked down by Percival. The sockets of the skull started to glow a sickly blue.

    “RUN! FORGET THE BASHING! RUN!” and he pushed hard against Percival, knowing that running by himself into a horde of skeletons would mean instant death.

    “Quit pushing me! That’s annoying!” complained Percival, who, despite Dorin’s valiant efforts, had not moved an inch.

    “MOVE! RUN! THEIR EYES ARE GLOWING!” screamed Dorin.

    “You don’t function well in high stress situations, do you,” perceived Percival.

    “It’s better than not functioning at all which will be the situation if we don’t get out of here! WHY ARE YOU JUST STANDING THERE?”

    Percival stretched and flex, to the exasperated perplexity of Dorin, and calmly said, “I think here’s a good a place as any to make our stand.”

    “STAND? WHAT STAND? WHY—WHAT—WH—“ stammered Dorin.

    “Look, skeletons are easy to kill, they’re one of the weakest creatures out there next to peons, stationary critters, and sidekick assassins. This is a great place for me to gain experience and learn,” explained Percival.

    “LEARN? GAIN EXPERIENCE? ARE YOU MAD? LET’S …wait a minute…I am NOT your sidekick!!” spat Dorin.

    “Heads up,” Percival warned, as he swung his hammer in a wide arc, taking down three skeletons about to skewer Dorin. Dorin glanced around, and noticed the army of skeletons had indeed come to life and were closing in slowly. He debated running back from where they came, only to see that the skeletons Percival had destroyed had assembled themselves magically and encroached from the rear.

    “Great, they don’t die either. This gets better and better,” sighed Dorin, suddenly past caring.

    “Hmmm, I do believe there’s a flaw in my plan,” muttered Percival.

    Chapter 5

    Skeletons were everywhere, feverishly attacking. Each skeleton that went down would rejoin the battle as soon as it could assemble itself. A narrow corridor was the only thing keeping Percival alive right now.

    Percival, although performing to the peak of his powers, started to worry. He had been swinging and bashing skeletons for the last half an hour and there wasnÂ’t any sign of reprieve. How long he could last before dropping from simple exhaustion, Percival couldnÂ’t tell.

    “Dorin! If you have any ideas, they would be greatly appreciated,” puffed Percival as he dodged two skeletons with scimitars.

    A voiced answered from somewhere, “I’m working on it.”

    “Where are you?” asked Percival, crushing three skeletons into the wall.

    “I’ve shadowmelded of course! It’s so dark in here you could shadowmeld an ogre in front of an elf and still not worry of discovery.”

    “What? I need you! You can’t hide on me!” Percival shouted as he stooped and took the legs out of four more skeletons.

    “Oh, that’s rich. Let me join in your heroic effort to vanquish the evil that has infected this place by using my body as a shield! Oooh, the terror I could strike into their hearts.”

    “I can’t believe that an assassin was considered the best choice to accompany me,” grunted Percival as he kicked the ribs of one skeleton while blocking the blows of two others.

    “Hey, it’s no picnic for me either, Perk! Don’t you have some turn undead spell or something?”

    Yellow light prodded the darkness and encircled the paladin. Glowing tendrils slowly encompassed Percival as he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. The skeletons stopped their attack, confused, since they could not pierce this shield of light.

    “No, I don’t have that spell. I do have Divine Shield, which will give me a bit of rest for ten seconds,” panted Percival.

    “Well, I’ve not been completely useless. Every time a skeleton falls, I take some vital part of their anatomy and throw them down the corridor, so it takes longer for them to reassemble. Of course, that makes me visible, but I can shadowmeld quickly enough- TEN SECONDS?”

    It dawned on Dorin that there had not been a Devotion Aura clinging him blindly to the side of this foolish paladin. Holy Light, another common spell which had the potential of actually destroying a skeleton permanently, was never cast (although the removal of one skeleton wasnÂ’t about to turn the tides of battle here) and PercivalÂ’s Divine Shield only lasted ten secondsÂ…

    “You’re only a Level 1 Paladin,” whispered Dorin. Percival grimaced in the direction of Dorin’s voice. The Divine Shield ran out and the bone bashing continued.

    “A lot more useful than you are,” countered Percival as the skeletons, seemingly impatient with the delay, had attacked with a renewed frenzy.

    “Hey, I’m not the melee fighter here! Don’t you have anything in that backpack we gave you?”

    “Nothing that can help now,” Percival said through gritted teeth. A quick blade broke through and sliced his shoulder.

    Dorin looked over theÂ…over theÂ…he paused. What was the collective noun for skeletons? Strange, he pondered, how one thought of the oddest things when sitting invisible in the midst of the undead.

    Another half an hour had passed and in that amount of time, Percival had gained sufficient experience that he advanced to Level 2. Dorin never understood this either. How did a hero suddenly increase in abilities just by fighting a bunch of enemies? In the AssassinÂ’s Guild, one only advanced in level by passing exams (and the small matter of killing a guy a level above you).

    Percival activated his Divine Shield again. His breathing was more labored and sweat dripped freely from his brow, “We’ve run into a bit of a snag here,” Percival glumly admitted.

    “Clattering! A clattering of skeletons! I think that’s rather clever, don’t you?” blurted Dorin.

    Percival stared in disbelief. In a rage of anger he threw his hammer in the direction of Dorin’s voice, and screamed, “I’M FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE WHILE YOU HIDE AND BABBLE LIKE AN IDIOT! At one point in time I thought you were USEFUL!!”

    Percival wearily picked up his weapon, wanting to be armed before his shield petered out. He had strength to continue but if numeric values were used to measure his attributes, morale would have been depleted to zero.

    “You cracked the wall,” came Dorin’s voice.

    “Sorry, I was aiming for your skull,” grumbled Percival.

    “Hit the wall again, NOW!” demanded Dorin.

    Percival complied, more out of rage than obedience, and the hammer broke through. The wall crumbled away, revealing a passage.

    “RUN!” screamed Dorin and this time Percival needed no prodding. After about five minutes of mad fleeing, Dorin slowed to a stop and stood hogging the air.

    “Stop,” panted Dorin heavily, “Stop! I need to catch my breath”.

    Percival was back in prime condition, his mood greatly improved.

    “Ha! We showed them who’s a hero and who’s not! Sorry about that outburst back there. They must have a morale-debilitating aura, those fiends! Will their evil madness never end? But they knew they were outmatched since they didn’t follow!”

    Dorin merely stared at Percival; he liked him better when fighting and angry.

    “Usually,” started Dorin, “when a throng of minor minions completely capable of overwhelming a hero gives up chase, it’s because the hero is going somewhere of a nature even more menacing and deadly.”

    “You are a cheery puppy, aren’t you?” exclaimed Percival. “No worries, that last encounter only strengthened me! I’ve divined the secrets of Holy Light and can strike the undead with a death even deader than the dead they are!”

    “That made absolutely no sense whatever! Stick to the clichés, don’t make it up please,” snorted Dorin.

    “So antagonistic! Look, I’m sorry I was angry with you. I can understand why that may have hurt you deeply, inside. I admit I was wrong and should not have said those things,” Percival spread his arms out, “Forgive me?”

    Dorin jumped backed, “ACK! FINE! YES! You’ve been cooped up in Paladin school too long there Perk!” Dorin eagerly changed the subject, “Look at the mini-map. How far are we from the Lich?”

    Percival glanced at the crystal around his neck, “A bit up this way! Hopefully we’ll get there soon!” He bounded northward. Dorin followed warily, keeping at least an arm’s distance away.

    After a few minutes of walking, Dorin detected a low sound in the air. Barely audible, it would rise and lower in pitch, sometimes stopping suddenly, but then starting up again. Fearing the worst (although that shouldnÂ’t come as a surprise to anyone by now), he slowed to a stop.

    “Do you hear that,” Dorin whispered.

    Percival looked at him, and then made a face, “No, but I can certainly smell something. By the Light, it smells like we’ve entered the main sewage area of the Necropolis. I thought it was bad before, but this is unbearable”

    Dorin noted the stench. It WAS getting unbearable. It was also vaguely familiar. Not your normal festering, rotting corpse familiarity, but a certain uniqueness that you could attribute to a particular creature. Dorin knew that putrid smell.

    Then the sound came again. Dorin closed his eyes, focusing all his energies into pinpointing the source. The sound also seemed vaguely familiar and it was getting louder. He discerned the direction and opened his eyes.

    He was staring at Percival.

    DorinÂ’s mouth hung open, he knew the sound.

    “PERCIVAL! This is NO time to be HUMMING!”

    Percival blinked and stared at him, grinning.

    “You don’t understand! I gained a LEVEL! I’ve finally been in a battle that was able to give me a Level! I’m no longer stuck as a beginner Level 1! I’m LEVEL TWO! I’M READY FOR YOU NOW LICH!”

    “SHHHH! Keep your voice down! Are you MAD?!” accused Dorin frantically.

    “YOU HAVE COME TO THE END LICH! MARK MY-“

    A grunting roar came from the end of the passageway. Dorin blanched. He recognized the roar, and finally recalled the stench. His knees trembled as he heard it lumbering towards them.

    “HA! Finally we have some more action! None of this skulking around like dogs!” boasted Percival.

    It came into view, a large monstrosity of nature. Twisted and mutilated beyond recognition, this creature was a patchwork of animal and human parts, crudely sewn and held together by forces as corrupted as itself. It was pale, bloated, and its stomach had burst open, spewing blood, entrails, and maggots. ItÂ’s non-symmetric limbs were armed with bloodied hooks, chains and cleavers. Flailing about, they were ready to render any enemy to ghoul fodder. It was an Abomination.

    Dorin had encountered one of these before in a previous failed assignment where he ran away. Dorin was very much prepared and willing to fail his current assignment. Being stuck in a Necropolis, however, hindered this.

    “Now we can prove our mettle! You jump on its back and stab it with one of your quick acting poisons while I distract it,” planned Percival.

    “It has that limb on its back with that huge cleaver,” whispered Dorin, fear rooting him to the spot.

    “Hmm, good point. Cut that off first and then jump on it’s back,” instructed Percival.

    The Abomination lurched towards them with a quickness that surprised them both. Its impossibly long arm swung an equally impossibly huge cleaver at their midsection. Dorin sprang back and rolled while Percival ducked and parried with his hammer. The Abomination followed through with a hook, which swung and wrapped around PercivalÂ’s weapon. The Abomination yanked its arm back and PercivalÂ’s weapon clattered into the darkness.

    “Those two other limbs seem to be in the way of its back. Should I cut those off as well?” questioned Dorin.

    “Yes, please. See if you can retrieve my weapon while you’re at it,” replied Percival.

    “This place sucks,” commented Dorin.

    Chapter 6

    The Abomination let out another roar and swung its cleaver downwards towards Percival. He dodged and the cleaver embedded itself into the floor. It was at this precise moment that Percival shouted, “By the Light!” and a blinding bolt seared the Abomination. In agony, the Abomination straightened up abandoning his cleaver, which Percival immediately retrieved for himself. Dorin, wanting to be left out of the action and wondering why no one ever considered his needs, unsheathed his daggers and rolled between the Abomination's legs, letting the motion of his body guide his arms as he sliced and cut.

    Angered by the pain of the Holy Light, the Abomination swung its hook around wildly which connected with Percival. Although it didnÂ’t pierce his armor, he was momentarily stunned, giving the Abomination a chance to grab him with his free hand.

    Percival tried to slice the festering arm with his newly acquired cleaver, but the Abomination threw him against the wall.

    “Shouldn’t be thrown through the air with a sharp object Perk, it’s like running with scissors,” warned Dorin as he dodged another attack intent on severing vital parts from his body.

    Percival didnÂ’t comment nor move.

    “Oh crud, don’t be dead Perk,” Dorin stated with concern. The Abomination also noted the still body and bellowed in delight. It lifted its arm to bash Percival but before it made contact, Percival rolled clear and with a heroic yell, arced his cleaver upwards and sliced the hand off of the Abomination. Not stopping in his motion, he brought it downwards and sunk the cleaver deep into the side of the monster. “HAVE AT YOU!” roared Percival, his blow hacking off a considerable chunk of Abomination flesh.

    The Abomination didnÂ’t even flinch. With its bloody stump, he batted Percival into the wall again and raised its leg to stomp on him.

    “HOLY LIGHT!” screamed Dorin and Percival complied. The Abomination stiffened in pain as the brightness once again burned away at him. Dorin rolled underneath as before and sliced the stitches around one of the Abominations legs. With all his might, he kicked at the leg, and surprisingly enough, it separated. Still unaware of his missing appendage, the Abomination started towards Percival in anger, but the only thing that felt its wrath was the ground as the Abomination attacked it with its face.

    Ungracefully, Percival hacked away at the AbominationÂ’s head until it lay dead.

    “BRING EM ON, LICH!” triumphantly yelled Percival.

    “SHUT UP you maniac!” hissed Dorin.

    “Um, excuse me, but your weapon landed over here,” weakly came a voice. Both Dorin and Percival whipped around and for the first time noticed a small prison cell. Percival immediately ran to the enclosure, retrieved his weapon and destroyed the cell door, freeing the six footmen trapped inside.

    “By the light, how long have you been imprisoned here?” asked Percival.

    “Far too long, m'Lord,” said one of the footmen, “I can’t even remember when last we saw light.”

    “The Lich will pay for his crimes! Come, my brethren. Join me in my quest to destroy this Lich, once and for all!” offered Percival.

    “For Honour!” yelled one footmen.

    “FOR HONOUR!” echoed the rest.

    “Hold up a minute here,” interrupted Dorin. “I don’t mean to break up your bosom buddy bonding time, but you guys have been imprisoned for years on end in cramped and awful conditions, and you should be emaciated, starving, and disease ridden, which for some reason, you aren’t, and by the beckoning call of some fool hero you don’t know, you’re ready to charge into a battle against a Lich which you should realize will result in either a gruesome death or an even worse imprisonment?”

    The footmen blinked, as if noticing Dorin for the first time.

    Dorin turned to Percival, “I mean, wouldn’t it be great just to Town Portal out of here, now that we have some people that probably need attending to? We could pick up some more supplies, rest these poor folk up, find a more sizable force, I can stay home and watch the kids…”

    “You have a very peculiar sidekick, m’Lord,” commented one footmen.

    “I’ve noted that myself,” replied Percival.

    “I AM NOT HIS SIDEKICK!” protested Dorin, but Percival continued onward, the footmen on his very heels.For once, Dorin couldn’t wait to find the Lich. The footmen were no better in their attitude towards Percival than the barmaids back in town and they clung to his every word like flies around dung. Percival was in his element, relating all of his past battles, which, as Dorin knew, really amounted to just two, with one of them fully witnessed by the footmen, but Percival was milking it for all it was worth. Dorin was also annoyed that his part diminished in each telling.

    As they made their way towards the Lich, they encountered many minor beasties: spiders, kobolds, and skeletons. These battles, although not very challenging, were added to PercivalÂ’s accomplishments, and the footmen were proud to be part of such a heroic epic.

    Percival destroyed a crate lying nearby, “Look! We’ve found another healing potion!”

    Dorin couldn’t take it anymore, “Doesn’t this strike anyone as being odd? Valuable items lying around in old dusty crates ready to take, monsters hanging out by themselves in out of the way corners doing nothing but holding on to other valuable items, which they can’t even use. It didn’t even make sense why that Abomination back there was holding a Wand of Illusion! Doesn’t this sound a bit off? Why not just take all these bad guys and have them hang out at the entrance of the Necropolis?? Any intruders come in, WHAM, they get slaughtered before even uttering some obscure relationship with light!!”

    Percival and the footmen looked briefly in DorinÂ’s direction.

    “You know, this sidekick of yours does nothing but complain,” commented a footmen to Percival.

    “I AM NOT-“

    “True,” interrupted another, “in my day, there was nothing I wouldn’t give to be a part of such a party as this! Beats hanging around collecting wood day and night fearing whatever creature came over the next hill.”

    “Remember back when we still had a navy? You try collecting oil. Smelly, dirty work! Living on a boat that stunk of fish, oil, and cranky, unbathed sailors. And if there was an accident involving fire, forget it!”

    “A navy? I’ve been around when we still had to build roads! That was backbreaking work!”

    Dorin realized he was forgotten again. He glanced at Percival, who was off in his own world, probably humming and mentally increasing the number of abominations he fought off. Dorin scowled, trying to close off the footmenÂ’s chatter.

    Soon, they came to a huge set of double doors with intricate designs and patterns indicating a powerful entity lay behind it. Dramatically, Percival turned towards his men and paused.

    “This is it men,” he started, “here is where the evil finally ends. The blight wiped away from this land, our children safe, our grandchildren able to play freely in the fields! The demons of our nightmares bound and destroyed once and for all!”

    “FOR HONOUR!” yelled the footmen.

    So much for a surprise attack, thought Dorin.

    Percival kicked the doors and they effortlessly opened inward. With enthusiasm (minus one), the party entered a huge hall, which looked like it had been uninhabited for years. On the far side, barely visible, a pale light illuminated a dark figure. They had finally found the Lich.

    “Welcome, I’ve been waiting,” the Lich beckoned with a cold and hollow voice, echoing slightly and probably deserving a different font.

    Dorin paused. He knew that some fool would yell “For Honour” and there would then be a mad rush into a trap which had certainly been set. He decided to do some passive reconnaissance hopefully avoiding whatever spikes, pits, or any other miscellaneous vile trap the Lich had set.

    Percival lifted his sword, “FOR—“

    He was cut off. Dorin himself could not move nor feel his body. Unable to move his lips, Dorin cursed to himself; they had walked into a Stasis Trap.

    The Lich remained still, staring at the small company with a restrained fury. Dorin could not discern any features other than it hovered over a dais, a black cloak concealing his skeletal form. Behind him hung two torches spouting blue flame, more for effect as opposed to light. Pedestals flanked him and on each was a magical item, obviously heightening the LichÂ’s powers and awareness.

    “Two hundred years,” the Lich said. “Two hundred years have I waited for someone to penetrate my fortress. When word came about that you were coming, I was delighted. When word came about clarifying who you were, I was horrified. A First Level Paladin and his sidekick, the nerve!”

    Had it been possible, both Dorin and Percival would have squirmed. The Lich picked up a Mana Stone, which sat on one of the pedestals and slowly stroked it.

    “First, you encountered my skeletons and no one realized that skeletons do not reassemble on their own nor last that long of a time! You could have theorized a magical source! Did you try and find it? Maybe on the ceiling? The balls casting ominous blue rays?”

    Dorin thought back and couldnÂ’t believe he missed them. The Lich was probably sore they broke his wall.

    “I had to pull two of my Abominations off of guard duty so that you could rescue those footmen, and even then I thought you were done for. At least the assassin did not hide this time.”

    Dorin felt a smirk from his companions. He knew they couldnÂ’t physically perform one, but it was there never the less.

    “I have not had a decent battle in two hundred years and I fear that I will not have one now,” sighed the Lich. He nodded his head and the sound of a number of portcullises rising echoed across the room. Around twenty ghouls scurried in, drooling, frenzied, and hungry. The Lich returned the Mana stone and began stroking an amulet, talking more to himself than to his trapped prey. Dorin thought the Lich was sorely missing a cat.

    “But, you are my last hope. No one else has tried in centuries to find the temple, and I will not count on any others coming. There are only a few seconds remaining on that Stasis trap. I beg of you, make this worth my while,” pleaded the Lich. He nodded once more, and the ghouls scurried towards the men.

    “—HONOUR!” cut in Percival, limbs now functioning. The men were primed and ready, if not with a few muscle cramps, and the fighting began.

    Chapter 7

    When it came to intellect, Percival knew he was a few peons shy of a working economy. Thus, he made sure that his mind had focused entirely on his vocation: fighting. To the utmost of his ability he studied how to swing a hammer, how to throw a hammer, how to wield a hammer, and every other known use that could exist for a hammer (In regards to combat that is. Other courses were available on Non-Combatal, Practical and Sensual uses of the weapon, but Percival had no time for electives). He knew every creature that existed in his world and he knew how to best hit it with his hammer. Furthermore, what he lacked in brains, he made up for in naivety. He, along with his Paladin brethren, fully believed they would always win. Surrender was never an option. Losing was a concept lost on him, along with fleeing, someone not following his orders, and words exceeding three syllables.

    So Percival wasnÂ’t boasting; he was prepared for the Lich. He knew how strong a Lich was, what spells a Lich was capable of, and what defenses a Lich had.

    “Ignore the ghouls!” Percival ordered loudly as the ghouls closed in on them, “and focus everything on that Lich! Spread out so his Nova Frost will affect the least amount of men!”

    In turn, the ghouls also ignored the footmen and rushed straight for Percival. Disproportionate gangly arms with long bloodstained claws reached out, intent on PercivalÂ’s flesh. Grabbing the Wand of Illusion, Percival created five phantom images of his men, completely harmless but otherwise indistinguishable from its source. This would bide them time to kill the Lich.

    Then, Percival ran.

    Not in the flee-for-your-life-Dorin way but around the hall which was large and cluttered enough that the ghouls would have trouble surrounding Percival. He glanced at his men and noted a number of them with frost on their beard and moving at a rate geriatric sheep would make fun of. They were hit by a Nova Frost. Cursing to himself, Percival started spinning his weapon and did an abrupt about face, now running into the ghouls. Taken by surprise, a few ghouls were incapacitated as Percival bashed through their rank running straight for his men. With his eyes set on the Lich, he cast Holy Light. The Lich cried out in agony.

    It was as if he tortured the wind.

    Grinning in triumph, Percival yanked a healing scroll from his backpack and cast it on his men. Enveloped in a warm bath of greenish light, the men felt their injuries disappear along with any apprehension they had. They charged the Lich with renewed fervor.

    Percival gasped as a ghoul swiped at his side and pierced his armor. A quick swing resulted in smashed ghoul. Grunting, Percival overturned a large oak table causing a minor hindrance to the ghoulsÂ’ pursuit. He ran again, doing his best to stall.

    With an eerie calm, the Lich threw off his cloak revealing sharp metal claws attached to his arms. Pausing only slightly, the footmen attacked but were deftly parried. Barely missing a beat, the Lich flicked a hand and cast another Nova Frost. A bolt of ice suddenly shattered on a manÂ’s chest, razor-like shards hitting those surrounding him. Freezing cold struck once again, their very bones seemingly encased in ice. In agony they attacked, limbs leaden and cumbersome.

    The LichÂ’s blades continued to block the swords that attacked but now they also sliced at the men too slow to block. A blue cold light burned in the LichÂ’s sockets and he laughed. It was not unlike his cry of pain.

    With a glance, the Lich noticed the assassin and for the first time felt a shadow of concern. Not that the assassin posed any immediate threat but he couldnÂ’t read him and this, the Lich didnÂ’t expect. The Lich disliked wild cards in the games he played, and he signaled the ghouls.

    Ten ghouls broke off from Percival, and headed straight for Dorin. Percival, getting used to the running, jumping, blocking, and bashing routine, didnÂ’t notice. Unfortunately, neither did Dorin.

    The guttural sounds of the ghouls signaled Dorin to their approach but it was too late. Claws were thrust deep into DorinÂ’s back and he let out a choked cry. The ghouls pulled him quickly to the ground and dismembered him a little less methodically than a butcher would.

    Percival heard Dorin and turned to see him being swarmed and then mutilated by ghouls.

    Percival screamed.

    Chapter 8

    Fury burned in Percival, which he honed and wielded like a weapon. Quickly, he tossed two wards of healing near his men and then stopped to face the six ghouls who didnÂ’t go after Dorin. His body was driven by an anger tempered by grief and it functioned with a zeal and ferocity that surprised Percival himself. As efficiently as one could be with a weapon designed to crush concrete, Percival eliminated the six mercilessly.

    The remaining ten ghouls were immediately upon Percival, for DorinÂ’s death was quick, if not clean. Percival met them as calmly as an owlbear guarding her cubs. His first swing shattered the spine of the speediest ghoul of the lot. Nine remaining ghouls howled in rage.

    Percival didnÂ’t understand his response of loss and anger. Yes, Dorin had died, but Dorin was an assassin. A mercenary! Mercenaries were hired to die, not to be lifelong pets. The death rate of Mercenaries alone surpassed that of birth rates for years, baffling statisticians to no end.

    Percival rammed his shoulder into a nearby ghoul, who fell back onto two others. Percival then followed up with a hammering fist into another ghoul, and with the momentum of that punch, spun around, grabbed hold of his hammer with both hands, and swung it in a huge 180 degree arc, incapacitating two more ghouls. There were seven ghouls left, and they were currently confused and stunned.

    Dorin must have known that he would die! As everyone knew, dying came with the job. In fact, Dorin was hired with the expectation of dying! Percival only knew Dorin for two days, for crying out loud! He didn’t even share his token “Why I Became a Paladin” story with him yet, denying future readers the Protagonist Emotional Attachment sorely needed in any epic tale!

    A ghoul was immediately up and charged Percival, arms flailing and deadly. With a well-timed kick, PercivalÂ’s spiked boot crushed the neck of the oncoming ghoul and it tumbled to join PercivalÂ’s growing collection of ghoul flesh. Raising his hammer, he smashed the legs of another ghoul too slow in recovering. It lashed about in pain, trying to drag itself to Percival, until its head met the same fate as its legs. Five ghouls were left to contend with.

    If Percival were to feel the same way about every mercenary that came by, they would call him soft. Someone would nominate him to be the spokesperson for Mercenary rights and then would come the rallies, the meetings, the dinners, the fundraising. He was not prepared nor eager for the political life.

    The ghouls organized themselves and slowly circled Percival. On some unseen signal they charged, claws slashing and slicing in a blind frenzy, ready to catch Percival in a living blender. That isÂ…undead blender. Percival simply threw his hammer at one ghoul and dove towards it. The odds of hammer versus ghoul had curiously favored the hammer so far and this encounter proved to be no exception. The remaining ghouls met and skewered themselves in the middle. Percival was glad that there were enemies dumber than him.

    Percival glared at the Lich. The footmen lay dead, blood pouring from a multitude of wounds and, disgustingly enough, a multitude of footmen parts. The Lich had been responsible for DorinÂ’s death, the death of the footmen, and probably countless other deaths. According to his (and probably every) standard code of revenge, the Lich had to die, a thought process more within PercivalÂ’s realm of understanding. Personal reflection had never surfaced before and the heat of battle did not seem an optimal time to start. The familiar security of glowing light encased him as he cast Divine Shield and he raced towards the Lich.

    Percival was very quick with his weapon and could best most men armed with swords. But warhammers were no more designed for fighting than abominations were designed for glass sculpting. A person could not spar with a hammer. When you wield a hammer, all of your strength will go into swinging it and hoping it stops because it hit a) the target, b) the ground and c) not you. The best defense, obviously, was to get out of the way and hope that the attacker would fail to comply with c). But once the hammer had stopped, it took enormous amount of energy for it to be swung again, and for all the attacker could do, any fool could easily step in and stab the attacker with a dagger, sword, or even a rabid cat.

    Warhammers were designed for killing, or, at the very least, serious maiming. The head was designed to be massive and heavy, to decrease the amount the attacker missed and increase the amount of damage inflicted. To hit the Lich, PercivalÂ’s hammer should have been the size of a small village.

    The Lich floated out to meet Percival, and Percival either didnÂ’t notice or forgot that the Lich previously fended off about ten men simultaneously. Frustration and shock continually played on PercivalÂ’s face as he never failed to miss the Lich. After ten seconds of brutally assaulting the air, Percival's Divine Shield ran out and the Lich cast a Nova Frost.

    Percival froze, literally. His movements became laboured as he fought with great effort against the chill striving to control his body. Slowly, but not without a great amount of strength, Percival lifted his hammer and would have smited the foe before him if said foe hadnÂ’t turned around and glided back to his original position on the dais. Two abominations sundered in and, without even giving Percival his right to smite anyone, grabbed him and threw him against the wall.

    "What is it with you lummoxes and throwing? It is never as effective, as, let us say, grabbing them by the legs and bashing their heads repeatedly on the ground. Yet all huge creatures feel compelled to throw their opponent," scowled the Lich.

    Percival was struggling to get up, the effects of the Nova blast just starting to wear off. Two abominations and a Lich he couldn't hit were making this quest a bit more difficult than he anticipated. He turned, but before he could decide which enemy to attack first, the Lich hit him with another Nova Frost. By the Light, Percival hated that spell.

    "Now, instead of grabbing and throwing him again, just bring the Paladin over here and give his weapon to me," commanded the Lich. He removed the attack blades he had been wearing as well as an Amulet of Speed, which he placed on one of the pedestals lining the dais. From another pedestal, he picked up a simple glass sphere.

    "Remove his armour, throw the hero on his back, and spread out his arms and legs," ordered the Lich. The freezing effect of the Nova Frost kept Percival from resisting (well, from effectively resisting), and the Abominations, surprisingly enough, skillfully and deftly removed Percival's armour. Such delicacy they didn't apply to Percival as they smashed him on the ground and arranged him as per orders. With Percival's weapon in hand, the Lich glided towards him.

    "You are probably expecting to hear, 'You have impressed me, hero,' but that would be lying."

    THUNK. The heavy weight of Percival's hammer crushed the bones in Percival's right arm.

    "My my, are we not such a brave little hero? Not even a little cry of pain?"

    THUD. Percival's right arm matched his left.

    "I have a small dilemma. I could convert you, always need a good Death Knight, or I could entrap your soul in this Soul Gem."

    KaTHUD. Percival's right leg was rendered useless.

    "If I kill you, I can place you in my Soul Gem," indicating the sphere in his hands, "but then what? You have no information to me that is useful. And who needs a soul of a low level hero? A Death Knight can be useful, but the last thing I need is another incompetent fool botching up assignments and always needing direction. That is the problem with mind-controlled servants, they have absolutely no initiative."

    KaRUNCH. Percival head swam as pain blurred his senses. The Lich peered down at him and dropped the hammer on his chest, as if discarding a used tissue. The weight of the hammer winded Percival but thankfully, his ribs remained intact. With effort, Percival lifted his head to see the Lich, still fondling the Soul Gem, return to his dais.

    Percival felt like fainting. Although a viable option, it wasn't one that would ensure a successful outcome to his situation. He tried grabbing his hammer and almost threw up from the pain. He was exhausted and spent, not enough energy to cast a Divine Shield nor a Holy Light, and the Lich was aware of that.

    "You bore me, hero. Kill him," ordered the Lich.

    Chapter 9

    Percival closed his eyes. He had a few seconds to come up with a cunning plan before the abominations closed in and forced him to commune more intimately with the floor. He felt two objects being pressed into his hand. Shocked, he turned his head, only to have his attention interrupted by a great commotion and a surprised, "URK!"

    If the Lich's eyes hadn't rotted away centuries ago, they would have bulged in alarm. The two abominations lay sprawling on the floor, each with only one leg attached and the other leg still happily idling at attention.

    "HEY, Lich Boy! Here Lichee-lichee!" came a cry.

    The Lich swung his head to see Dorin waving his arms, who would have been, had it not been a story, accompanied by triumphant brass instruments, excited strings, and a timpani.

    "You should be dead," remarked the Lich, not one for drama nor musical accompaniment. Calmly regaining his composure, he shot off a bolt of Nova Frost at the assassin. Dorin shadowmelded and the spell harmlessly discharged on the wall behind him.

    "Tsk, tsk, and you're worried about us destroying the place," scolded Dorin.

    The Lich turned to reproach the abominations but burning pain interrupted. His hollow wail echoed in agony as Holy Light burned from within. Before he could even question how the paladin had gained the magical energy to do so, a warhammer crushed the Lich's skull into the wall.

    Dorin watched in awe as the Lich's body slumped to the ground. The spectral image of the now dead undead Lich floated upwards and then halted suddenly, as if caught by a fishing line. With his hardened features of bone, it was difficult for the Lich to display shock or dismay, but he pulled it off convincingly as his ghostly form was sucked into the Soul Gem he previously carried.

    "Ding, dong, the Lich is dead!" sung Dorin merrily.

    "FOR HONOUR!" belted Percival as he stood up, although not too sturdily.

    "I take it those stones of health and mana came in handy," commented Dorin as he grabbed Percival's backpack and started filling it with loot from the Lich. A distant explosion sounded and a small tremor shook the floor.

    "Yes, but I think you broke my fingers as you crushed the stones in my hand with your heel," complained Percival. The abominations, knowing that the necropolis would collapse at any moment, crawled towards the exit.

    "Poor wittle Percival has a wittle boo boo," mocked Dorin.

    "By the Light, Dorin, you were torn to bits! How did you SURVIVE?" asked Percival.

    "Simple. You made illusions of us remember? As soon as I saw you made a copy of me, well, I instantly shadowmelded. No point in me having to get hit by those Nova Frosts," explained Dorin as he searched the Lich. "Aha! Here's that stupid map, good thing Liches aren't gooey when dead."

    A stronger tremble shook the walls and a large chandelier shook loose and crashed to the floor.

    "But how did you get all those items to me?" persisted Percival.

    "I can move when I shadowmeld. Not very fast, but I can move, especially in this darkness. Despite what people think, I'm a very skilled Assassin," bragged Dorin. He tossed the backpack to Percival.

    "Now use that Town Portal scroll, because although it's more heroic to dash out of here with an engulfing inferno licking at our heels while pillars of stone fall and narrowly miss us, I just don't have the energy."

    Percival grabbed a scroll and the two immediately winked out, but not without the expected slab of concrete smashing the floor they had previously occupied milliseconds after they had successfully teleported.

    Chapter 10

    A room.
    A figure.
    A minion.
    “Master, the Lich is dead.”
    A nod.
    “The map is retrieved, but the Twelve are planning his arrest.”
    “Help them.”
    A bow.


    -------------------------------------------------

    Healing hurts. Whether it be the irritating itch from a crusty scab or battling infections from a nasty head wound, the process can be draining for weeks. Having your wounds instantly healed doesnÂ’t bypass any of this pain, but rather compresses it into one agonizing instance. Percival awoke, feeling as if a rock golem had collapsed on him.

    “Hey Perk! Glad to see you’re awake! Great constitution you’ve got there!”

    Percival looked around and found himself on a small cot in a sparse but elegant room, dimly lit by a small lamp. An Elven priest was nearby collecting his belongings. Dorin was at the side of the bed the minute Percival opened his eyes.

    “Good thing you’re rich Perk. The healing stone was able to knit your bones together, but how you managed to throw that hammer and cast a spell at the same time is beyond me. This priest spent the rest of the day healing your wounds. You need a lighter weapon.”

    Percival nodded a thanks to the Priest, who bowed and then left by a small door.

    “You collapsed as soon as we teleported to town. I could barely move you but luckily this temple was nearby.”

    Percival sat up. The room spun for a bit and his muscles protested the sudden flurry of activity, but Percival managed a grin.

    “Nothing can stand in the way of those who seek truth and justice!” proudly whispered Percival.

    “There’s the Perk I know.”

    “Have you looked at the map?”

    “Don’t waste any time, do you. Yes, the Lost Temple is nested amongst some mountains in the far north,” Dorin explained as he handed the map to Percival. Percival studied the map for a bit and a small chime sounded from the minimap still hung around his neck.

    “It’s recorded onto the minimap. We shouldn’t lose our way now and by the looks of it, we will need to rent a goblin zeppelin to get past these mountains.”

    Dorin turned pale. “Uh....I’m allergic to flying.”

    “Oh, don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights too! You’re an assassin! You can’t be afraid of heights!”

    “I’m not afraid of heights! I can scale any tower you want. Flying, on the other hand, requires you being in the air without being attached to the ground in any way! It’s unnatural! If we were meant to fly, the ground would have been closer to the sky!”

    “You were in the Necropolis and that thing flies.”

    “Being attacked by the undead kinda takes your mind off of these things.”

    “Well, it doesn’t matter, there is no other way to the Lost Temple accept over these impassable mountains. Look at it this way, think of all the monsters we can avoid!”

    “Oh great. So we ONLY have to worry about harpies, gargoyles, phoenixes, dragons, as well as plummeting to our death.”

    “There’s the Dorin I know,” sighed Percival as he stood up from the bed.

    “Come, there’s a goblin lab on the edge of town where we can rent a zeppelin.”

    “What? It’s the middle of the night!”

    “We can sleep on the zeppelin. It may take us a while to get there so we may as well start now.”

    After a bit of stammering, Dorin gave in, “Fine, I’ll get the rest of our stuff. It’s in the next room.”

    As Dorin left, Percival tested his muscles out. He was sore and stiff, but nothing debilitating. It was in the middle of a heroic flexing pose when the door opened.

    “Percival Pureheart the Paladin?” came the bored voice of a city guard, obviously the captain of the eight other guards who stood behind him, all fully armed and dressed. In stark contrast, Percival was still in a night gown and still sporting a pose not meant to be in a nightgown. Embarrassed, he quickly composed himself and answered, “Yes, that’s me.”

    “You are under arrest for high treason,” came the reply as two guards grabbed the arms of Percival. They tried to be rough about it but ended up using Percival as support.

    “What? There must be a mistake!” protested Percival, trying to keep the guards from leaning on him.

    “Yes, I get that a lot,” droned the captain.

    “Can I at least get dressed?” asked Percival.

    “Fine, get your things on. Where is the assassin?”

    “What assassin?”

    The captain nodded at one of the guards. The chosen guard gave a pained look and with a huge sigh, gave Percival the customary prisoner-talked-back punch across the face. Percival, however, had mastered the art of being bashed by an abomination, and besides, any less effort on the guardÂ’s part would have had the punch stopped by mere air friction.

    “Your feigned innocence won’t help your friend. The temple is surrounded. Every window and every door has one of my men guarding it with a crossbow. If he’s hiding or shadowmelding, daylight will reveal all and he’ll be shot on sight.”

    Percival calculated his odds. Most of the guards were not paying attention, and carried their swords as if made of lead. But Percival was a man of honour and killing guards only doing their job (albeit not very well) was not an option. Percival decided on using his wit.

    “Will you let me go free?”

    “No.”

    Wit failing, Percival decided on surrendering.

    Chapter 11

    “I will go peacefully,” gave in Percival.

    The captain paused for a second, the only indication that PercivalÂ’s surrender surprised him. Heroes were never known to surrender, especially to city guards. He motioned for two volunteers. All the guards looked at one another. No direct order to an individual meant it was up to the guardÂ’s discretion and the guardÂ’s discretion vied towards not doing anything.

    Sighing, the captain pointed at the two guards leaning on Percival. “Shackle his wrists,” came the order. The two guards looked at each other and then checked their pockets. Considering that armour had no pockets, no shackles were produced and they whispered to the other guards, “who brought the shackles?” Blame and misdirection murmured throughout the room until finally it was admitted that no one had foreseen any need for shackles, since no one had ever surrendered peacefully.

    “Fine,” said the captain as he pointed at a guard, “Corporal Al, where’s your crossbow? Keep it trained on the paladin.”

    Corporal Al blinked at the captain, “Wasn’t my watch to carry one, sir.”

    “And who’s was it?”

    The corporal indicated another guard, “I do believe Corporal Al has it.”

    The captain looked at this guard, who protested, “I traded crossbow duty with Corporal Al, sir.”

    Another guard piped up, “That was last week!”

    The captain sighed again and asked, “Does anyone have a crossbow?”

    The guards remained silent.

    Percival watched this in shock.

    “Uh, excuse me captain,” Percival interrupted. The captain looked at him as if he had forgotten he was there.

    “Are all the guards named Al?”

    The captain stared at Percival. A few uncomfortable minutes later, Percival cleared his throat and said “Uh, you did mention that there were men outside stationed with crossbows.”

    The guards mumbled in agreement, the mystery of the crossbow duty now solved.

    “Ok, that’s enough. We will walk in formation to guard the paladin. Two in front, behind and on either side of him, is that clear?”

    The guards started to grumble, upset that a new formation had to be learned.

    “Enough, let’s go.”

    Much to Percival’s surprise, the guards were able to navigate out of the door and still maintain their positions without getting confused. He was at least relieved that they had stopped leaning on him. Outside the temple, they met two more guards armed with crossbows. (Although, “armed” may have been too strong of a word to have used. “In the general vicinity of” would have been a better description.)

    “Keep an eye out for the assassin. Shoot any movement on sight.”

    Percival couldnÂ’t tell if the guards nodded in deference or bobbed their heads trying to fight off sleep. Even Dorin should be able to elude these guys.

    They marched off in direction of the guard house, albeit at a pace a steam tank could have outrun. Percival debated running. If he ran away, no guards would get hurt and he wouldnÂ’t have to go through any legal proceedings to clear up this obvious mistake. The guards were in rather tight around him, but he was certain that nothing more than a stiff breeze could disrupt their vigilance.

    They turned into an alleyway and Percival tensed. Impatience gnawed at him and he debated whether the timing was right, when, much to his surprise, they were mugged.

    For a split second, Percival couldnÂ’t believe anyone would consider mugging nine armed men and a hero, but then he noticed the muggers: four abominations came into view.

    “Muggers don’t take any chances around here,” commented Percival. He looked at the captain, “Don’t worry, we can deal with this. Abominations are my specialty. One will probably hit me into a wall, but that’s our advantage! I can grab-”

    Percival stopped short. The captain was giving him a disapproving look. Percival felt as if someone had soiled in the local Healing Fount and he had been caught with his pants down.

    “You will stay here, Percival Pureheart the Paladin,” ordered the captain, “Corporal Al, you will keep the Abominations occupied as we take an alternate route.”

    One of the guards started whining. Percival couldnÂ’t tell which was more surprising, that one guard was to be sacrificed when they all could take the oncoming threat, or how the guards were able to discern who was talking to whom.

    “But captain-” started the guard.

    “No buts! If I remember correctly, you weaseled out of shield carrying duty yesterday.”

    “Strict lot,” thought Percival.

    “Look,” Percival protested, “I will not stand by and see an innocent man die for no reason. We can all-”

    The captain signaled the company to turn around, cutting Percival off again. Percival was about to continue arguing when he noticed three more abominations coming from the rear.

    “Now you need my help, I can take the-”

    The captain raised his hand, halting Percival in mid sentence.

    “Corporal Al.”

    “I did guard duty this morning!” complained another guard.

    “That’s enough! I will tolerate no more insubordination,” he commanded.

    The two guardsmen walked to their prospective targets, sulking. PercivalÂ’s sense of duty overcame his odd compliance to the captainÂ’s authority and he would have charged into battle if his jaw didnÂ’t impede the way.

    The first guardsman, with his sword, had caught the chain whipped at him by one of the abominations. This was nearly impossible to do and Percival couldn’t believe that the impact from the hook didn’t shatter his blade or his arm. The guardsmen then threw the hook at another abomination in the middle of random bellowing. With its neck exposed, the chain neatly rapped around it, the hook embedding itself in the throat with a meaty “chunk”. With annoyed fury, the owner of the chain yanked it roughly, severing the head of the entrapped abomination. The third came roaring in and tried its luck at guardsman flaying while the first abomination swung its cleaver with the neatness and efficiency of an abattoir. Deftly, the guardsman not only dodged both blows but also picked up the discarded cleaver of the dead abomination and rolled forward to hack off the leg of the first. Like many of its other brethren, the abomination fell for the missing leg trick and collided with the third. A well aimed cleaver sliced through the air to find rest in the base of the skull of the downed monstrosity. The third abomination was temporarily trapped under his fallen comrade but that was all the time needed for the guardsman to lop off its head.

    PercivalÂ’s gaping maw was starting to attract homeless insects. He turned around to see how the other guardsman was fairing. Apparently, he had finished off his abominations and was now arguing with another guardsmen about trading armour cleaning duty. Percival turned his attention back to the last doomed abomination.

    Stubbornly ignoring the fact that his adversary had downed three of his mates, the fourth abomination lunged, intent upon maiming, mauling and other practices which encouraged dismemberment. The guardsman easily evaded the attack and managed to swing himself onto the back of the abomination while blocking wild thrashings of the arm attached there. The guardsman grabbed and ripped off the protruding appendage and, in what must have been a fit of bravado, wrapped it around the neck of the abomination and then choked it to death with itÂ’s own arm.

    Finishing the battle, the guardsman skulked back to formation, dreading that he would probably be the one assigned for clean up duty.

    “Captain sir, the Paladin has disappeared.”

    The captain quickly glanced where Percival was standing moments before.

    “You did check him for cloaks, scrolls, and the normal hero riff-raff?”

    “Yes sir, he only had his armour on and the mini-map. We did find this on the ground.”

    The captain looked at a small ribbon, normally used to tie a magical scroll together.

    “Did you see him reading a town portal scroll?” asked the captain.

    “No captain.”

    “Did anyone notice any sorceresses around?”

    “No captain.”

    “Did anyone remember to bring a gem of seeing?”

    A guardsman was about to say how he had traded gem carrying duty to Corporal Al, but he thought better of it and kept silent.

    “Right, we will head back to the Town Hall. The assassin’s guild may have come up with some mini town portal. ALL of you will now add extra guard duty above your normal duties until that paladin is found.”

    The guards started to whine.

    Chapter 12

    “Perk, they’re gone, where are you?” questioned Dorin as he slowly faded into view.

    “Percival! Move or take the cloak off, I can’t see you!”

    “Did you see that?” came a voice. Dorin turned and saw Percival still staring at the dead abominations.

    “That one guy…took down four abominations. Didn’t even look like he was trying that hard. Just a little guy, too,” stammered Percival.

    “Ya, their fitness program must be amazing. We better go Perk, guards will be looking for us everywhere.”

    “But...but...how did he do that?”

    “Who cares! We’re free, let’s get out of here!”

    “Even armed and buffed to the max, I would have had trouble taking down two abominations...hey, where’s my weapon?” asked Percival.

    “Oh, that! Uh…that thing is HEAVY. Luckily you guys were marching slow enough that I could keep up and stay shadowmelded, but I couldn’t do it lugging that stupid overgrown hammer around. Soooo..uh..it’s still at the temple.”

    “You left my weapon behind???”

    “I had to climb to the roof of the temple with your heavy backpack and not get caught! Your weapon is basically a cement block on a stick! It’s not exactly light, y’know!”

    “A Paladin’s weapon is his life!”

    “Hey, you’re lucky I brought the backpack! Had I not found that Cloak of Shadows in there, you’d be in the dungeons by now!”

    “I had a Cloak of Shadows?”

    “Ya. It was hard getting it to you, what with those guards practically leaning against you. But they shifted a bit trying to get a better view of the battle and I slipped it on you.”

    “I don’t recall having a Cloak of Shadows.”

    “Ya, well, you probably couldn’t even recall yesterday.”

    “I can too! We killed the Lich yesterday!”

    “That was just yesterday?”

    “Yes, of course it was!”

    “Seems like long ago.”

    “Yes, sure does.”

    Percival and Dorin looked pensive.

    “What were we talking about?” asked Percival.

    “Got me, I’m still remember watching those ghouls tear me to bits. It’s a very chilling experience.”

    “MY WEAPON!” remembered Percival.

    “Oh, ya, right, sorry about that.”

    “I have to get it back,” Percival stated, walking back to the temple.

    “You’re MAD! The guards are still there looking for me! We’d never get in and I’m the only one that can move when shadowmelded. There is no way I can carry that bulky mallet of yours.”

    Percival glared at Dorin.

    “Fine, I’ll just pick up another at the weapons shop by the Goblin Laboratory, but you owe me a warhammer!”

    Dorin was shocked that Percival gave in so easily, “Sure, whatever you say Perk.”

    “It’s Percival!”

    Chapter 13

    A large circle of power dominates the room. A room with no decoration, no structured design, no doors. The circle of power glows, and around the perimeter are twelve smaller circles. A pillar of light materializes. Within it, a cloaked figure. Eleven others appear in succession and the Circle of Twelve commences.

    "The Paladin and assassin have escaped," comments one. His announcement is not unknown to the others.

    “This pair seems to best the most insurmountable odds,” replies another.

    A figure in grey speaks, “Our failure to prevent the assignment and now the arrest has now taken a turn for the worst.” Deep concern furrows his brow and with reluctance he continues, "We are now at a point which we debated years ago but hoped would never come to pass. The death of a hero is as permanent as a young man's promise of love, so we must make the decision on using a soul gem. We can't afford Percival being resurrected and seeking out the Lost Temple again."

    A man dressed in pink immediately protests, "I still cannot promote the use of the vile artifact. The more that exist, the more dangerous it becomes. We should destroy them, destroy them all!"

    "Has the status changed?" questions a man in brown. Above the circle an image winked into existence: a map of the lands focused on the Lost Temple. Smaller bluish highlights spotted the map, but none rivaled the large glowing mass encompassing the Lost Temple itself.

    "No, it has been stable for the last 200 years."

    "Could Percival and his companion tip those scales?"

    "Unknown, but it's a risk no one is willing to take."

    The man in grey speaks, ceasing all questions.

    "We have, as I've said, debated all this before and it comes down to this: the use of another soul gem. You will cast your will."

    A large sphere rises in the center of the circle of power.

    "As you know, a majority cast of black is negative, while one of white is positive. In the case of a tie, the sphere will reflect black."

    The grey man searches the group; all are ready. "Begin casting...now."

    The sphere barely flickers, settling on white. The grey man nods to the figure in red. He turns towards the Circle.

    "We have a perfect candidate. A Blade Master of the tenth level. He will be given the impression that Percival killed his brother.. The 'hero' will then be bound to seek blood vengeance and his desire for revenge should negate any questions he has. He will come across a soul gem, which he will then believe to be the ultimate punishment for Percival. Once he has trapped Percival's soul, we will collect it from him."

    "And the assassin?"

    "Ever known a blademaster in bloodlust that letÂ’s his enemies live?"

    “And if someone gets the soul gem with Percival’s soul before we do?”

    “It won’t happen.”

    Silence befalls the Twelve.

    The figure in red continues, “My people will be in charge of this soul gem and the arrangements are in place.”

    The man in grey lifts his head, "That concludes this council, if there are no further questions..." Silence follows.

    "The Circle is complete," concludes the grey man.

    "The Circle is complete," echoes the rest and the twelve teleport out.

    Chapter 14

    Renting a zeppelin wasnÂ’t as easy as it seemed. Apparently, rented zeppelins were never returned, most of them destroyed in mid-flight. This put Dorin further on edge, but a herd of thunder lizards couldnÂ’t keep Percival from purchasing the newest deluxe model GMW Z-8 for the ultimate in flying pleasure. With cramped but comfortable sleeping cabins, a crew of eight, and an onboard hot fount of healing, one can experience a high-performance war vehicle effortlessly blending remarkable power with exceptional smoothness. Percival was immensely proud of his latest toy and explored every nook and cranny of the airship.

    “This thing has everything! Look a storeroom that could hold the weapons of a huge army! Aaaaa, smell that! Can you smell the interior? Nothing beats that! Feel that! Feel that! That’s high quality wood, this is not your cheap plywood model, nosirree! Look, it even has a ramp large enough to load steam tanks on! Somebody gut me!” gushed Percival.

    “Mmmm, let me,” muttered Dorin, “You know, traveling by steam tank would have been pleasant. We’d be on the ground, puttering at a nice leisurely pace and we could knock down trees for kicks.” Dorin spoke without conviction. He had found a spot on the zeppelin which had given him the best view of the floor and the least view of the edge. Lying on the deck in horror, he could hear the engines work harder as the zeppelin lifted into the air. Percival was practically hanging over the edge trying to squeeze in every bit of zeppelin experience that he could. Every so often some word vaguely resembling a nautical term would issue forth from his mouth.

    A few hours of uneventful flying had unmercifully passed slowly, depending on ones perspective. Percival was still excitable as ever, commenting every ten minutes on how everything on the ground looked so small. Dorin was still rooted to the spot and had just reached enough courage to try moving. With stiffened limbs, he got to his hands and knees and crawled inside to one of the cabins.

    Dorin was deathly tired, but sleep came in fitful spurts. Dreams of falling continually played at his mind. After being jerked awake numerous times, he finally sat up. The light outside indicated it was close to sunrise, although he didnÂ’t feel an ounce rested.

    Looking for ways to occupy himself, he decided to study the Lost Temple map, hoping to find an alternate route to the Lost Temple and thus giving him a reason to be angry with Percival. Rummaging around in Percival’s backpack, he heard a small voice, “Please refrain from jostling me.”

    Dorin jumped back. Small voices coming out of backpacks were not uncommon, but they had not acquired any imps or poltergeists since last he remembered. He searched the backpack once more for the source of the voice and found the soul gem containing the Lich.

    “Hey, I forgot about you,” Dorin spoke as he stared at the soul gem, now silent.

    “I’ve never seen one of these things occupied before. I’ve never seen a soul gem at all in fact. I think they’re outlawed or something.”

    The soul gem remained quiet. It was quite unremarkable, nothing more than a glass sphere filled with mist.

    “You’d think that a vessel containing a soul would look a bit more spectacular than just a glass ball on which someone heavily breathed.”

    The soul gem didnÂ’t respond.

    “Hey, I know you can talk, talk back!” ordered Dorin.

    “Spare me the light conversation,” replied the imprisoned Lich.

    “How dull, you don’t even pulsate or anything when you talk,” complained Dorin.

    The soul gem ignored the comment.

    “Look, I heard somewhere that souls entrapped in a soul gem are bound to tell the truth, can you tell me something about our mission?”

    “You will most likely die,” replied the Lich.

    “Tell me something I don’t know. You’re no better than a fortune teller I know back home.”

    Despite the lack in facial features, the soul gem somehow emanated disdain.

    “You undead are so grumpy.”

    Dorin was just formulating another question when a loud alarm went off.

    “What’s that?” Dorin asked.

    “An alarm,” replied the Lich.

    “I KNOW that, it’s just...oh never mind,” glowered Dorin as he rushed outside.

    Outside, the crew was rushing about the deck, turning cranks, randomly pulling ropes, and screaming. In the midst of them was Percival, both hands resting on the hilt of his hammer, calmly staring at a black cloud.

    “What is it?” asked Dorin, the fear of an attack short-circuiting his fear of heights.

    “Gargoyles, about twenty strong, heading this way,” replied Percival with a huge grin on his face.

    “They’re intent on attacking us, aren’t they,” asked Dorin.

    “Correct!”

    “And we’re not running away, are we.”

    “Not on your life.”

    “I was afraid of that.”

    “What aren’t you afraid of?”

    Dorin scowled.

    Chapter 15

    Percival never took his eyes off of the approaching gargoyles, but he barked out orders to the crewman.

    “You four,” he indicated by a sweep of his hand, “arm yourselves with crossbows and aim for the wings of the gargoyles. It won’t kill them but will hamper they’re flying. Dorin and the rest of you will concern yourselves with repairing the zeppelin. We must stay aloft!”

    Despite himself, Dorin was impressed by the change in the men. Now infused with purpose, they diligently went to their tasks, the morale so high it was almost palpable. One of the crewmen handed him a bucket and a long pole with a brush on the end.

    “What’s this?”

    “We calls it ‘liquid thread’, though t’aint nuttin like youse ever seen. Any tears them goyles rip, you slap on this stuff, and it will solidify and hold the rip closed. Iffen you run out, you kin refill from yonder barrel. Strap yerself down too, the pilot‘ll be doin’ evasive maneuvers.”

    Following the lead from the crew around him, Dorin tied a rope around his waist while thoughts of being tethered to a falling zeppelin played through his mind. He glanced at Percival, and noted the huge crossbow.

    Dorin was still carrying the soul gem, and he placed it into a small carrying bag at his side.

    “Are we going to live through this?” he asked the Lich nervously.

    “I do not foretell future events, but if I did, I would say no,” replied the Lich.

    Dorin couldnÂ’t see why soul gems were sought after, especially if it resulted in your enemy taunting you 24 hours a day.

    “Get ready men and fire on my mark,” commanded Percival.

    Dorin tensed and held his breath. The gargoyles were fast approaching the side of the zeppelin, yet Percival and the armed men were at the fore of the airship, not even facing the encroaching enemy. Within seconds, Dorin could hear the shrieks of the gargoyles and could see claws primed for shredding.

    “BANK TO STARBOARD!” bellowed Percival, and despite it’s ungainly bulk, the zeppelin turned sharply into the gargoyles.

    “FIRE!” Percival commanded, as the gargoyles swerved to avoid the armoured front of the zeppelin. Crossbow bolts ripped through the leathery wings of the more unfortunate gargoyles, but too many were able to avoid damage and swooped around for another attack. Percival and his men were frantically loading and shooting but it was not enough to quell the tide of razor sharp claws that ripped multiple holes in the side of the zeppelin.

    The ship banked suddenly, but it didn’t keep Dorin and the remaining crew from quickly patching up the gaping holes. Dorin was amazed by the ‘liquid thread’. With a sweep of his brush directly perpendicular to a tear, the liquid instantly hardened and then shrank, pulling the rip closed. He and the rest of the repair men could mend almost any hole the gargoyles tore.

    Soon, the gargoyles were all over, swooping in and out causing as much damage possible while avoiding crossbows. Some tried to land on deck, but they were no match against Percival and his warhammer. Noting the success of the repairmen, a few gargoyles pulled off from the main attack. Dorin, in an amazing display of bravery, was hanging a bit over the ledge trying to reach a difficult hole. Only the sound of a mad fluttering of wings saved him from a skewering and he dodged just in time. Unfortunately, it was in a direction favouring non-zeppelin and he flew over the edge, his plummet stopped short by the rope he had tied earlier.

    Not wanting to be robbed of their prey, the gargoyles renewed their attack, sights set on cutting the rope. Dorin, now beset with fear of gargoyles, fear of heights, and fear about whether he used a proper knot on the rope, swung his brush around in a wild panic. Fortune begrudgingly smiled upon him and DorinÂ’s brush connected with two of the gargoyles. The gargoyles let out a loud screech as the liquid dried and then shrunk, causing them to collide into each other. Dorin didnÂ’t have the satisfaction of watching them fall as another gargoyle slashed at him. He dodged just in time as he felt himself jerked upwards. Percival had hauled him onto the deck and slapped him hard on the back.

    “Good SHOW Dorin!” proudly beamed Percival.

    A loud shriek interrupted him as two gargoyles landed on deck. Without hesitation, Percival swung Dorin around and used him as a mace to knock one of the gargoyles off the ship. In the same motion, he grabbed DorinÂ’s bucket, dipped it in one of the barrels, and dumped it squarely on the other gargoyleÂ’s head. Dorin winced upon hearing the sickening crunch as the liquid shrunk and crushed the skull of the gargoyle. Percival kicked the gargoyle overboard.

    “You don’t make an effective weapon Dorin, that gargoyle wasn’t even stunned.”

    “Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I think you shattered my spine.”

    Another cry came from behind and Percival refilled his bucket and covered the surprised gargoyle with the liquid. The wings were instantly pinned and it fell to its death.

    “This stuff is great! “ laughed Percival, as he started using the liquid thread more amply, gargoyle after gargoyle falling to their death as their wings became crushed or pinned. A few gargoyles were remaining, and it didn’t take long for Percival and his men to take them down.

    “FOR HONOUR!” bellowed Percival, holding his bucket high. Dorin couldn’t believe it, but Percival still managed to look heroic wielding a bucket.

    “Put that thing down,” Dorin hissed, “you look ridiculous!”

    “Uh, excuse me sir,” mumbled a crewman.

    “Actually, I can’t get it off my gauntlet, I think it fused with it or something,” remarked Percival.

    “You can’t remove your gauntlet?” asked Dorin.

    “Um, ahem,” ahemed the crewman.

    “Not really, that stuff has compressed it too tightly, I can’t undo any bindings nor slip my glove off.”

    “Oh...that’s almost funny. Hey, it’s getting quite breezy, don’t you think?” asked Dorin.

    “M’lord Percival, we have suffered some major damage to our air balloon, and unfortunately, we’ve run out of liquid thread,” explained the crewman. Percival checked the barrel and noted he had drained it dry.

    “We’ll be crashing in about 10 minutes, please secure your belongings,” advised the crewman.

    “By the light, I hate you, Percival,” groaned Dorin.

    Chapter 16

    Dorin stirred. He felt like some thunder lizard had mistaken him for a chew toy. He was lying down and his eyes were closed, the state of which he didnÂ’t want changed on the probability that he was dead and sight would only confirm his morbid suspicions via visions of fire, brimstone, and scantily clad succubi.

    He risked a curious peak, since succubi didnÂ’t frequent his part of town, and much to his relief, and a sad twinge of dismay, he saw Percival.

    “HO! Dorin, you awaken!” smiled Percival. Dorin wondered who, other than heroes, used the word “Ho” as an interjection. His eyes then focused on the wreck of the goblin zeppelin.

    “There were a lot of injuries,” explained Percival, “but fortunately I cast a Divine Shield before impact. I was able to heal some of you with the use of healing wards, Holy Light, and...” Percival paused for dramatic effect. He stood up, held his hands before him, and in the purest baritone voice he could muster, “BEHOLD! THE LOST TEMPLE!”

    Dorin spun around quickly to see the eight crewmen, now fully equipped with armour salvaged from the zeppelin, grinning profusely around a Fountain of Healing.

    “You’re kidding, right?” asked Dorin.

    “No! This is it!” defended Percival.

    “Where’s the temple?”

    “It’s LOST. That’s why it’s called the Lost Temple.”

    “We stumble upon some shabby, run-of-the-mill Healing Fountain and naturally you assume it’s the Lost Temple?”

    “Well, we were so close before the attack of the gargoyles-”

    “This CAN’T be the Lost Temple!”

    “I’m pretty sure it is!”

    “Let me see that mini-map of yours,” Dorin argued, hand outstretched, waiting.

    “Uh, yes, well. We didn’t need it anymore once finding the temple, so...uh...”

    “Don’t tell me you lost it.”

    “We WERE just involved in a zeppelin crash you know. In which, I might add, I saved the lives of countless many, which included you!” Percival retorted.

    Dorin sighed, Percival was right, and accidents do happen.

    “Fine, I’m sorry, and thanks for saving our lives,” Dorin apologized. He stared at the healing fountain again. The crewman were still sitting around it, grinning.

    “What’s up with them?” asked Dorin.

    “They’re scared actually. I told them this was the Lost Temple and they knew the rumours of never coming back. Now they’re too scared to leave the safety of the Fountain of Healing.”

    “For light’s sake, this can’t be it. Does the map itself say that this is the Lost Temple?”

    “Well, uh...it’s pretty vague on details...”

    “Don’t tell me you lost that too!”

    “I didn’t lose it! A potion shattered and soaked the map during the crash. Fortunately, it was just one potion.”

    Dorin rubbed his temples. Sighing, he asked, “Ok, why are you so keen on this being the Lost Temple?”

    “Well,” explained Percival, “what do you expect when looking for some all powerful temple shrouded in legend?”

    “Death, severe injury, mental breakdowns, more death.”

    “Yes, yes, yes, that’s normal. But don’t you expect some gigantic temple rising hundreds of feet into the air, guarded by a host of evil minions ready to defend whatever secrets the ancients have hidden?”

    Dorin looked at Percival skeptically.

    “Thousands of expeditions looking for the Lost Temple, all in vain. Maybe because it’s something we DON’T expect. Something small, diminutive, something no one would even think of. Makes sense, doesn’t it!”

    “You’re a loon, Perk.”

    “I’m telling you, this is it!”

    “Look, I can straighten this out once and for all,” argued Dorin, as he pulled out the Soul Gem. “Hey, Lich, is this the Lost Temple?”

    “No,” replied the Lich.

    “There. He doesn’t lie either,” Dorin grinned triumphantly.

    “Hey, that’s the Lich!” noticed Percival.

    “Ya, although he’s a bit grumpy,” critiqued Dorin.

    “We’ve had that thing all along?” asked Percival.

    “Ya, pretty crazy eh?”

    “Do you know how powerful one of these things are?”

    “Uh...no. I know how annoying they are.”

    “All the accumulated knowledge that this Lich has .. uh... accumulated... is at our disposal!”

    “Great. Hey Lich, do you know where the Lost Temple is?”

    “Yes,” replied the Lich.

    Before anyone could question further, a deep loud cry interrupted their interrogation.

    Dorin, Percival and company looked up to see a Blademaster in the distance waving angrily in their direction.

    “Wow, a tenth level Blademaster. Don’t see those often,” commented Percival.

    The Blademaster started toward them. He was joined by a few ogres and orc shamen.

    “He’s angry at us, isn’t he Perk. And I bet he wants to kill us too.”

    A gutteral chanting droned through the air as the shamen raised their hands and made slow but complicated gestures. Red fire flashed about the approaching army and their cries of bloodlust echoed throughout the morning dawn.

    “I don’t understand how that spell makes them bigger. That’s just not fair,” complained Dorin.

    The Blademaster was now close enough for Dorin to make out a bone necklace hung around the thick neck of the Blademaster.

    “Oh great, he has one of those too, what’s that thing called Perk?”

    “Scourge Bone Chimes.”

    “And all we have are healing wards and a stupid soul gem. Any plans oh fearless leader? I noticed you have Devotion Aura finally. I was wondering why I was standing here rooted to the spot while bloodlusted vampire ogres are about to chew off my head.”

    “I’m going after the Blademaster. Arm yourself with a crossbow and see if you can kill anything.”

    “Don’t count on it,” sulked Dorin.

    “I’m not.”

    Chapter 17

    With his standard battle cry, Percival charged the Blademaster. Dorin went to search the remains of the fallen zeppelin to find a crossbow that worked. The remaining soldiers huddled in fear around the fountain of healing.

    Within a tooth chatter, the Ogres were upon them. The men did their best to stand their ground, but one savage grin was all it took for their fear to get the best of them. An ogre grabbed a soldier and started bashing him. The rest of the soldiers hacked away at the attacking ogre but the slightest wound, and the wounds were slight indeed, were instantly countered by the healing fount. Furthermore, the vampiric ogres gained life from the blood of its victims and with a large chomp, the ogre tore a huge strip from the leg of the soldier. With a cry of shock and pain, the soldier whacked the ogre with the sword he miraculously still carried, causing the ogre to drop him into the healing waters of the fountain. Instantly, the soldierÂ’s leg healed over. The ogres were overjoyed at this new development and zealously grabbed each soldier. To their horror, each man had huge chunks of flesh ripped off and then were unceremoniously dipped into the healing fount.

    The anguished cries of the men got DorinÂ’s attention and he yelped at the grisly feast before him. One ogre, upset about the portions he was allotted, spotted Dorin and started after him. Dorin looked for an escape but daylight hindered any shadow melding and the Devotion Aura kept the radius of fleeing to a minimum. He desperately didnÂ’t want to get involved in the ogreÂ’s snack dip party and ran in the only direction he could: towards Percival and the Blademaster.

    Unfortunately, PercivalÂ’s perception of his battle prowess was taking a savage beating. The same could be said about his battle with the Blademaster. He was constantly on the defensive and it was all he could do to just block and dodge the deadly attacks. He couldnÂ’t believe anyone could move so fast. In a suicidal move, Percival swung his hammer back in preparation for a devastating blow. The deadly blade shot forth intent on introducing PercivalÂ’s innards to the outside world. A flash of light and PercivalÂ’s Divine Shield deflected the skewering. The orc was stunned only for a millisecond but that was enough for PercivalÂ’s hammer to follow through with his swing and connect squarely on the orcÂ’s breastplate. The orc stumbled backwards and then let out a deafening roar. His bloodlust blinded him with rage and he tore after the closest target to him: Dorin.

    The ogre who had dibs on Dorin began to protest but dense as it was, it knew better to come in-between a Blademaster and his victim. Dorin didnÂ’t even have time to curse his luck as the blade came close to severing any type of verbal communication. Although quite skilled at death avoidance, Dorin knew it was only a matter of moments before the blade found the flesh it was hungering for. Fortunately, PercivalÂ’s hammer connected squarely on the BlademasterÂ’s head.

    “I’m invulnerable, not incapacitated,” pointed out Percival.

    “Wow, two big words in one sentence, impressive Perk.”

    “Could you at least TRY and fight back?”

    “That WAS trying. Aw crap, Perk, he’s heading for the footmen.”

    The toll had been too great on the men and now they were too weakened to resist. Percival rushed to their aid but was soon in battle with the vampiric ogres, still surprisingly hungry. With a quick spin of his sword, the Blademaster initiated a ritualistic gesture. A gust of wind came from nowhere and accompanied the graceful movements of the Blademaster, now involved in some archaic dance. Suddenly, he was just a blur and the men found themselves being sliced to ribbons by the BlademasterÂ’s devastating final attack: the Bladestorm. Spinning round and round, the BlademasterÂ’s weapon was impossible to avoid. The men screamed and tried to run away as this new torture was thrust upon them.

    Dorin grabbed the closest thing to him and threw it at the twirling Blademaster. The closest thing to him happened to be a stick of wood, a fragment of the destroyed zeppelin. The stick of wood was attached to a rope, which in turn was attached to the remains of the canvas used as the zeppelinÂ’s balloon. Soon, ogre and human alike were on the ground avoiding the blade, the ropes and wood whipping around and pulling everything into the storm itself.

    The dust settled and Dorin slowly opened his eyes. The Blademaster lay there, wrapped in a blood soaked cocoon made out of zeppelin. Sharp shards of wood stuck out at odd angles and the BlademasterÂ’s weapon lay on the ground. The ogres looked at their fallen leader in shock.

    Percival was up in flash and grabbed the Blademaster’s sword. With a few slashes, he cut open the canvas tomb to reveal the heavily wounded orc inside. Percival reach down and a sharp “SNAP” sounded as he pulled something from the orc..

    Bodies rose from the healing fountain. They were shadows of men, the continual drainage of blood was hard on their constitution. But now they felt vengeance and above all, hunger. They grinned. Carnivorous teeth bared. Dorin himself felt his teeth grow as he looked at Percival, now wearing the Scourge Bone Chimes.

    The ogres looked at one another; one grunted a sound not unlike “Uh oh.” The soldiers gathered their swords and their banquet began.

    Dorin went up to Percival and the fallen Blademaster. His new fangs felt uncomfortable in his mouth. He had to resist the urge to chase and devour a squirrel he spotted.

    “OW! I think I poked a hole in my tongue! These things are sharp!”

    Percival ignored Dorin and questioned the Blademaster, “Who are you? Why did you attack us?”

    The Blademaster wheezed, and coughed up blood. Percival grabbed a beam of wood embedded in the shoulder of the orc and yanked it free. The Blademaster grunted in pain but Percival splashed him with a bit of healing water. The wounds healed and the BlademasterÂ’s breathing became less laboured.

    “You’re not even Level 6,” were his first words.

    “Why am I constantly graded around here?” Percival asked exasperated.

    “Better than being a sidekick,” mumbled Dorin.

    “There’s been a mistake, you could not have killed my brother,” continued the orc.

    “Unless your brother was a Lich,” added Dorin.

    “I have no quarrel with you,” the Blademaster said with sorrow.

    “Oh very nice! NOW you have no quarrel with us. Now that you LOST. Very nice indeed I must say!” retorted Dorin.

    “Call off your men!” commanded Percival.

    “I think you have to call off yours,” came his reply.

    Percival turned to see an ogre trying to bash a soldier currently attached to the back of another ogre. At the last minute, the soldier jumped away and the predictable ogre bashing ensued. The men were all over the ogres, clinging to their backs and dining on ogre blood as the ogres ran around trying to rid themselves of the human parasites. Quelling the desire to join in, he tossed the bone necklace to Dorin, “Pack this away, it’s disgusting.”

    Dorin could feel his teeth return to normal proportions. The men started coughing and spitting out blood as their appetite receded. The ogres took this chance to flee into the forest.

    “Now, what are you talking about orc?”

    “My name is Grimoire,” corrected the Blademaster.

    “I’m Dorin, pleased to meet you.”

    “Oh, and I’m Percival Pureheart the Paladin. Pleased to make your- ... forget that! Why did you try and kill us?”

    “I have traveled far to find you,” started Grimoire.

    “Great. I sure hope this isn’t one of those long and boring hero stories. There’s gotta be a way to skip over these,” complained Dorin.

    “Quiet!” Percival scolded.

    “I was lead to believe that you had killed my brother. He was killed ten years ago, but his death was a mystery. His remains were found, but he could not be resurrected. I have been searching for answers ever since. Then I found out about you.”

    “Ten years ago? I couldn’t even lift my hammer ten years ago.”

    “Yes, you are far too young. I realized that after my bloodlust died down. And now, I won’t be able to avenge my brother’s death.”

    “Ooh, way to work the guilt trip Grimmy,” responded Dorin.

    “Look, we’ve been going up against a bit more resistance than can be attributed to random chance. This little case of mistaken identity must’ve been a setup. Someone is trying to keep us from getting to the Lost Temple,” deduced Dorin.

    Grimoire sat up suddenly, grimacing slightly with pain, “The Lost Temple? You seek it? My brother was too! Let me join you! Maybe the answer to both our problems lie there!”

    A bright glow enveloped the orc as Percival cast his healing spell, “You’re on, Grimoire.”

    Chapter 18

    “WHAT?” Dorin exclaimed, “This guy just about slices each of us into small, easy to chew morsels for his vampire pets and we’re all ok with that?”

    “He was avenging his brother, Dorin,” explained Percival.

    “Ya, sure. Who out there isn’t? It’s either their brother, or sister, or father, or pet goat! He could be part of the setup! This could be all a ruse to get us off our guard and then, WHAM! We’re appetizers at the next ogre shindig.”

    “Ogres don’t normally eat humans!”

    “They looked like they were enjoying themselves a bit too much with that whole double dipping episode at the fountain.”

    “Dorin! He’s coming with us, and that’s final!”

    “Fine. My opinion doesn’t seem to count for much around here anyways.”

    “Well, when you actually get around to doing your JOB, then you’ll be the first on my advisor list!”

    “EXCUSE ME! Might I add I’M the one that took down ol’ Grimmy here?”

    “Grimoire, actually,” corrected Grimoire.

    “Probably because you couldn’t HIDE away in some shadow!” shouted Percival.

    “Well, if we wouldn’t go charging headlong into certain death, maybe we could actually THINK things through a bit more strategically!”

    “RUNNING AWAY isn’t strategic!”

    “IT KEEPS YOU ALIVE!”

    “WE’RE ALIVE NOW!”

    “Ahem,” interrupted Grimoire, “we could leave you two alone if you alike.”

    “WE’RE FINE!” screamed both Dorin and Percival.

    Percival looked around at his men. Struck with the universal desire to be somewhere else when in the presence of bickering couples, they were keenly interested with the general cleanliness of the healing fountain. Grimoire was trying to figure out how his mini-map worked.

    “You have a mini-map,” Percival said.

    “Yes, standard issue.”

    “May I have it?” asked Percival. Grimoire nodded and handed the mini-map to Percival. Percival stared at the mini-map until the familiar chime of a quest being recorded rang out.

    “Aha! I was right!” Percival beamed.

    “What? What do you mean?” asked Dorin.

    Percival showed him the face of the mini-map.

    “According to this, we’re at the Lost Temple,” triumphed Percival.

    “What? That thing’s been spun around too many times. It’s broken!”

    “It’s not broken! Admit it, I was RIGHT!”

    “The Lich said this wasn’t the Lost Temple!” argued Dorin as he pulled out the Soul Gem.

    “The Lich hasn’t left the sanctuary of his necropolis in over 200 hundred years. How would he know where it is?”

    “Well, he had a map, didn’t he?”

    “Interesting,” interrupted Grimoire again, “I’ve never seen a Soul Gem in all my life. Yet now this is the second time in the last month.”

    “Second?” asked Dorin.

    “Yes, I have one, for when I was to kill Percival.”

    “Oh, well, you wouldn’t want to waste it, would you?” Dorin said as he glowered at Percival.

    Percival looked at the Soul Gem for a minute.

    “Where did you get the Soul Gem,” he asked Grimoire.

    “From one of my chief witch doctors. In fact, it was his vision that sent me on this quest to find you.”

    “And he happened to have a soul gem just lying around in his tent?” asked Dorin.

    “Hmmm, true, I never thought to ask him.”

    “Has this witch doctor ever been wrong?”

    “Never.”

    Percival stared hard at the Soul Gem Dorin was carrying. There was so much he didnÂ’t understand. Why did the witch doctor pinpoint him as the killer of GrimoireÂ’s brother? Why did the mini-map say they were at the Lost Temple when the Lich said otherwise? If the mini-map was correct, then their quest was over, but why didnÂ’t he feel the resultant euphoria that accompanied every final quest completed? (An assumption really, since Percival had never completed any major quest before this.)

    “Lich,” Percival finally spoke, “what is your name, by the way?”

    The Lich paused before answering, “I do not know.”

    “Ooooh. All powerful, all knowing Lich can’t even remember his name,” mumbled Dorin.

    “It was stolen from me, I am nameless now,” responded the Lich.

    “C’mon, you must have had a name when you were once not undead,” persisted Percival.

    “I was a king,” came the hollow reply.

    “A king, eh? Impressive. What was your name as a king?”

    Once again the Lich paused.

    “He’s doing this on purpose…this whole dramatic schtick. I hates it!” whispered Dorin.

    “My name,” interrupted the Lich, “was King Richard the XXVII.”

    In shock, the others decided to take their turn at pausing. After a few moments, Dorin spoke, “Richard. Rich the Lich. Oh that is too rich.”

    “Ahem. Well met, Rich,” greeted Percival.

    “Richard. And it is no longer my name,” corrected the Lich.

    “Richie! Oh RICHIE! How’s Richie Lich today?”

    “SHUT UP you sorry excuse for an Assassin!”

    “Temper temper, Richie Lich!” laughed Dorin.

    “Richie! You said this wasn’t the Lost Temple!” interrogated Percival.

    “I did...Perk,” returned the Lich.

    “Touché,” Percival acknowledged, “but my mini-map says that the Lost Temple is here.”

    “It does.”

    “So you must be lying,” accused Percival.

    “I am unable to lie.”

    “Well, I do believe we have a contradiction here,” observed Percival.

    “Believe what you will then,” Richard responded.

    “This is going to take all night!” complained Percival.

    “Told you I hated that thing,” replied Dorin.

    Chapter 19

    “I may be of assistance,” suggested Grimoire. All eyes turned to him.

    “A number of years back in my home village, Lindogar, when Veratall, son of Evantuller, was Chief of our Clan, Thundering Ridge, a renegade troll, named Flowgly, was menacing the nearby village, Rutabar. A blood oath to my second cousin, Bogar, another story in it’s own right, bound me to bring that troll to justice.”

    “Great. Here we go,” groaned Dorin.

    “The troll was an expert tracker and had an uncanny sense of direction. It was said that even a Night Elf could not shake Fowgly once he had caught the scent. Fortunately, he wasn’t as skilled at being hunted. I brought along two other trolls, expert trackers in their own right, and we started out at once. The night was clear, as was the days that followed, but it still took us a week of tracking. Eventually, my mini-map lead me to an old bridge deep in the Wastelands.”

    “Mini-maps seem to take the sport out of it, don’t you think?” commented Dorin.

    “The area he had chosen for refuge was the Badlands of Mijjigurr. Wild animals of every kind lived there and were driven into a maddened frenzy by the noxious gasses which spurted from the ground. The stench was unbearable and I assumed just as bad for Fowgly with his keen sense of smell. Fowgly, however, stood his ground, and we closed in. The land was infected by vile creatures of all sorts. They came in droves, enraged beast after another. The fighting was fierce and every wound we inflicted and received was exacerbated by the deadly air itself. We had to use many healing artifacts to counter the poisons which seeped into our lungs. After what seemed days of combat, we finally found ourselves at a blackened stone bridge over a river which we couldn’t classify as water. To my dismay, the bridge was empty.”

    “Wow, great story Grimmy. Perk, what are we going to do about shelter?”

    “SHHHH!” Perk motioned.

    “I stood on the bridge, perplexed. My mini-map verified that my location was the correct one, but there was nothing. I was in the right place. But there was... no... troll.”

    Dorin couldnÂ’t understand this love of the dramatic which had engrossed the other men. Dorin knew Grimoire had a possible solution for their problem, but to endure this gruelling story complete with Orc geneology was maddening. Dorin didnÂ’t trust Grimoire, but then again, Dorin didnÂ’t trust any hero.

    “Then...it came to me,” explained Grimoire, pausing slightly as the men leaned forward in anticipation.

    “A mini-map, is two-dimensional, but this world we inhabit is-”

    “YES YES YES, the Troll was UNDER the bridge! We get the POINT already!” shouted Dorin.

    “YOU SPOILED THE ENDING!” screamed Percival.

    “Oh come on! It was OBVIOUS!” argued Dorin.

    “BY THE GODS, SHUT YOUR MOUTH ALREADY!” Percival bellowed once more.

    Dorin huffed, and then went and sat by the fountain in frustration. Percival watched him go, ready to nail DorinÂ’s mouth shut if he even uttered a peep. With an apologetic nod, Percival motioned for Grimoire to continue.

    “Ahem”, Grimoire started, the attention of all the men ( minus one) enraptured as if by magic.

    “A mini-map, is two-dimensional, but this world we inhabit is three-dimensional. And once, long ago, trolls used to live under bridges.”

    An “ooo” of amazement parted the lips of the audience, genuinely impressed by the intelligence of the Orc warrior.

    “Oh, for love of light,” muttered Dorin under his breath.

    “The map, and the Lich, may both be right. The location of the Lost Temple may be ... beneath us.”

    The men stood entranced, the weight of the revelation crushing all other thought. After a long period of silence that just about pushed Dorin’s sanity over the brink, one of the men spoke up, “We were in the fountain. We tried in vain to find some passageway that we could escape through. But there was nothing, not even any magic sigils or markings.”

    Percival jumped up and went immediately to the fountain, pushing every stone, searching every cranny, feeling every nook. Dorin sidled away and watched the rest of the men join in on the search. Men jumped in, examing the waters, while Percival began tapping the fountain a tad bit too forcibly with his hammer.

    Dorin turned his attention towards the orc. He had been insulting the orc ever since he set eyes on him so he wasnÂ’t expecting a warm reaction. However, the Blademaster ignored him. His attention was solely on Percival and the men, who were currently quite successful at discovering rock, water, and not much else.

    “Hmmmf, don’t even rate high enough to get a disapproving glance,” muttered Dorin.

    “When I was younger,” spoke Grimoire, barely audible above the noise of the fountain molestation, “I learned an important lesson from my then Chieftain, Oldar.”

    The men froze. Bodies strained to catch every sound that came from Grimoire.

    “The Clan, Smokeless Leaf, began raiding our food supplies. Oldar’s son, Ungar, was sent with some troops to protect our lands, but the Chief of Smokeless Leaf, Mintjar, had a very wise warrior, Udvisar. Udvisar was always once step ahead of Ungar, and the raiding continued.”

    Dorin sat down and propped his head up with his hands. The men glared at him, thinking he had done this a bit too noisily for their taste. Wearily, Dorin watched GrimoireÂ’s lips move as more names and yet even more events poured out, and the battle against some orc turned into a war between three clans, a quest for a powerful artifact, and a naked dwarf.

    It was well into nightfall by the time Grimoire finished his tale. Dorin had dozed off many times and the men were now gathered by a fire that Dorin couldnÂ’t recall ever being made. It had now advanced to question and answer time.

    “So Funderbar, son of Hunda, found Genshin locked in Jyhgg Cave, but the Quor Gem was previously purloined by Thugtar the Thief, who took it to...uh...”

    “To Maugit Isle! Oldar had known that from the beginning!” interrupted Percival.

    Grimoire nodded. Dorin roused from his stupor, amazed that another cast of characters had entered the epic since last he dozed.

    “So we need Spirit Walkers,” deduced one soldier.

    “Correct!” Grimoire smiled.

    “Couldn’t he have just said we needed Spirit Walkers at the beginning?’” wearily asked Dorin.

    “I sense a strong presence of magic in this area and what we cannot see may be seen in the Spiritual plane,” explained Grimoire.

    “But we don’t have any Spirit Walkers,” noted another soldier.

    “I have a few at a base camp I set up a days walk from here. Spirit Walkers can communicate regardless of distance. They will be here by early morning.”

    “You set up a base camp?” asked Percival.

    “Yes, and what an ordeal that was! It was three days ago, and I thought I had lost track of you-”

    “That’s it! I’m going to bed!” announced Dorin, but he was ignored. The new tale of Grimoire had gripped the attention of the men tighter than Percival’s helmet strap. Dorin frowned and went off to find a quiet place to sleep.
    __________________

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    Chapter 1

    Dorin hated this city, a term used loosely by the locals in a vain effort to bolster its importance. Stromguarde was a small, wide open, backwater town, mostly filled with vacant buildings and the few odd shops. Dorin knew someone who had a surname of "Stromguarde", although anyone proud of such a heritage was probably the spawn of two siblings or more.

    Dorin could hear the din of battle coming from across town. This was his only comfort: the fighting was nowhere near him. He glared at the gold mine he was guarding. Why it wasn't raided, or even why they had to guard it was beyond him. Had the town used this gold, they could have boosted industry, built decent housing, constructed a tower filled with trapped beautiful maidens, anything to increase productivity in Stromguarde. Yet here the gold sat, and here Dorin stood, guarding that which was not used.

    His job had been less eventful than plant growth for the last two days, yet his companions were tense, always ready for some forthcoming skirmish. Dorin had other assignments where guards would take breaks, play a few card games, at least look in his direction, but not this group. Sneers were etched into their jaws, and not one of them grunted an acknowledgment. They even slept standing up! Dorin couldn't relate to such dogged commitment.

    He couldnÂ’t help but feel a bit repulsed by the current company. Sure, every bandit was a brutish, scar-faced, monstrous mishap of the human race, but someone had customized this mercenary purchase with double the ugly. The leader, who would only answer to "M'lord", was a rancid pile of flesh that barked out orders and saliva more often than he got off his horse. Dorin had never seen him leave his horse for that matter.

    On the verge of snapping, Dorin opted for a bit of banter, anything to break the monotony.

    "Ok, I understand we are to guard this mine for an undetermined amount of time. I don't suppose we've finally determined what that particular time was, did we?"

    The Bandit Lord leered at Dorin. "You aren't being paid to ask questions!"

    "Oh, IÂ’m offering this for free," Dorin quipped.

    "ENOUGH TALK!" screamed the bandit, showering Dorin with spittle vile enough to knock out the undead. Dorin smirked; the poison on his daggers would be no match against that.

    He debated a retort liable to win him a new eyeball made of knife, when he felt a small constant tremor. He cursed to himself. Most people would stand in a gaping stupor as the curious vibration would steadily grow and increase. Dorin knew perfectly well what it was, and knew that this was the best point in time to flee as opposed to waiting till some huge creature would burst through the trees sinking it's teeth into your head. However, he was on a job. That and the Bandit Lord's Devotion Aura pinned him from running away while screaming and soiling himself. (Well, it pinned him from running away, anyways.)

    In the distance, he could see around ten orcish grunts, a few support units behind them, and a dreaded BladeMaster leading the fray. The small army was around fifteen strong, three times the size of their little bandit encampment.

    "An orcish horde," grinned the Bandit Lord, "Prepare yourself for battle, the hour we have waited for has come."

    Dorin gaped. He certainly wasnÂ’t waiting to be butchered. Battle against one orc was difficult enough. He wondered if the Bandit Lord was myopic and didnÂ’t see the horde. More likely, he probably couldn't count higher than the fingers he had on one hand (which was three, due to a couple of mishaps in previous misjudged battles).

    Dorin whimpered at the green mass of destruction charging in a direction directly counter to Dorin's best interests. He hoped that they were just on their way to the goblin market, or maybe a happy light orcish festival, or whatever orcs do when they aren't playing axe-the-human.

    A nervous habit caused him to check his spear. Just sharp enough to annoy the bejonkers out of an orc. The poison on the tip may just cause a rash, if he was lucky.

    The Bandit Lord bellowed a bolstering laugh, "The orc death is almost at hand, charge on my mark!"

    "Easy for you to say," whispered Dorin to himself, "with your O-look-at-me-I-have-Divine-Shield spell. If it wasn't for your blasted Devotion Aura rooting me to the spot-"

    "CHARGE!" screamed the Bandit Lord, and Dorin felt himself running to the embrace of death.The orc horde enveloped the resisting company of bandits. The Bandit Lord was pretty competent at fighting, surprising Dorin, whose expectation of the rogue's usefulness didn't extend much farther than congealed animal fat.

    The Bandit Lord sliced down the nearest orc shaman before he could frenzy yet another orc grunt to the bloodlust they were legendary for. Unfortunately, this had been his downfall as all the grunts quickly surrounded him intent on a hacking spree.

    Dorin breathed a small sigh of relief. If the orcs we're so keen on taking down the leader, that gave him at least ten more seconds to live. He lobbed his spear at a shaman in the middle of casting bloodlust and actually wounded him. Feeling jubilant with his success, he pulled out two daggers and attacked one of the grunts busy taking the Bandit Lord down.

    The orc's skin was a bit tougher than Dorin had remembered, which made sense since he never before had the lack of sensibility to attack an orc. After withstanding a few futile dagger jabs, the orc turned around and, with nary an effort, batted Dorin back about ten feet. It was at this point in time that the orc Blade Master, a bit ticked that the bandits weren't dead yet, swung a blade rivaling most flagpoles in length through the thick neck of the Bandit Lord.

    His horse whinnied and fell. With the Bandit Lord dead, the oppressive Devotion Aura had lifted and the remaining bandits realized they had the opportunity to flee. But orcs were equipped with powerfully huge axes which proved to be quite a hindrance to anyone's retreat. In less time than it takes to swat dead flies in winter, Dorin was soon the only bandit left.

    Intense fear slowed time to a crawl and Dorin watched the Blade Master run towards him. His orcish eyes gleamed with victory, and his impossibly long blade dripped with blood. A flag was attached to his back, which puzzled Dorin. Doesn't it get in the way? What was it for? It's not like the Blade Master was difficult to spot in a battle, what with a sword the length of tree swinging around like the blades of a gyrocopter.

    "I'm going to die," became the mantra of choice and Dorin wondered if a well-aimed dagger at the throat would annoy the Blade Master or damage the dagger. He looked up as the Blade Master lifted his sword to strike and noted that at least it was a cloudless night.

    "Night? WHAT AM I DOING?" screamed Dorin in his mind, and he quickly rolled to a nearby tree, a hairs breadth away from joining the same fate as his leader, and vanished.

    The Blade Master bellowed, "WHERE'S A WITCH DOCTOR?!"

    A shaman came up to him, "They're back at the base, and a few of us need to go back for healing."

    The Blade Master's eyes burned, for his blood lust was still not satiated, but he regained a bit of control, and ordered his troops back to the main base, "Get a peon and a witch doctor up here! I want that human killed! Cursed Shadowmeld."

    Dorin held his breath tensely as he watched the orcs leave. As soon as they were out of sight, Dorin slipped off into the night.

    Chapter 2

    Dorin was in trouble. Again. He stood in the office of Master Jin, the head of the Assassin's Guild, and was being reviewed for yet another mission he had utterly failed at. Master JinÂ’s gaunt and morose face was staring at a scroll, long fingers slowly tapping the ebony desk he was seated at. Dorin shifted restlessly in the uncomfortable silence that he was well acquainted with but could never get used to.

    Master Jin sighed and looked at Dorin long and hard. "You do know what your assignment was, don't you?" asked Master Jin.

    "Yes, Master, very well. It wasn't too difficult really, I was supposed to guard the gold mine," replied Dorin. Master Jin raised an eyebrow.

    "With my life, I may add, I was supposed to guard the gold mine with my life," Dorin continued.

    "Which you--"

    "Did quite marvelously if you ask me," interrupted Dorin, "I mean, I guarded that gold mine like no stationary unused object's been guarded, and I certainly thought there was no point in guarding it with my death, that's for sure, because then it technically isn't guarded, so I made every effort to stay alive to keep it guarded. Highest honours should be awarded, if you ask me."

    Master Jin sighed once again, "We've been over this before, Dorin."

    "Yes, yes, we have. I know, the code of Assassin's clearly state that commitment to an assignment is of utmost priority and failure should only be because of death. We learned that when we were first trained."

    "And penalty for failure?" prompted the Master.

    "Death. Slow, drawn out, and painful death," replied Dorin.

    Master Jin rubbed his eyes in frustration, "I can't protect you forever Dorin."

    "No Master, nor should you," Dorin replied. The fact of the matter was, however, that Dorin didn't need any protection. The Guild of Assassins were a competitive lot, and rising in the ranks meant that someone ahead of you had to die. Assassins were always trying to discretely assassinate themselves, and a constant vigilance was common in the daily course of life. Being caught assassinating an assassin, however, was considered a gross dishonour and such practice was punishable by death. (They were a strict lot. There weren't too many misdemeanors not punishable by death). The Punishment of Death was fulfilled by the members of the Assassin's guild: it became permissible to kill the punishee in public if need be.

    But Assassin's were also quite proud, and the ancient craft of stabbing someone in the back relied on secrecy, stealth, and not being caught. Lowering one's self to the level of a common street thug was a surefire way to invite the ridicule and derision from one's peers. So life would still continue as normal for the one sentenced to death. Avoiding the clandestine attempts at one's life came as natural as walking.

    Dorin had four death sentences. Three for where he had failed both the mission and the fourth when he had walked into a room of a fellow Assassin only to have found him dead with a knife in his chest. Four other assassins had passed the room and immediately assumed that Dorin had really screwed up an assassination attempt and a warrant was immediately put out for his deathÂ…again.

    But the effort to kill Dorin far exceeded the worth one would get out of such an action. Dorin was still a Level 1 assassin, a mere scratch in the maimings of life. Killing Dorin was less beneficial than a Cloak of Shadow for a Night Elf. And it was later found out that Dorin couldn't have killed the assassin, because Dorin abhorred killing. This really put a damper in career advancement.

    "Did you at least kill anyone?" asked Master Jin.

    "Well, I did throw my spear at an orc Shaman," started Dorin.

    "And?"

    "I hit his hand in mid spell. I'm pretty sure I almost took it off!" explained Dorin.

    Master Jin rubbed his temples, "You may leave and retire to your room, Dorin."

    "No listen, his hand was seriously damaged. Sure, a witch doctor could heal that no sweat, but it will be stiff for months, I know it! And when the wet weather comes, he'll be cursing me with the most sinister curses he knows!"

    "Thank you, Dorin, you may go..."

    "It was his writing hand too. He'll be incapacitated for eons! What a blow against the Orcs!"

    "Thank You!"

    "Yes, my room, thank you Master Jin, for your patience," and with that, Dorin bowed and left Master Jin to his frustration in silence.The next morning, bright and early, Dorin found himself in the office of Master Jin again. Normally, a reprimand from the master only occurred at the mission debriefing, subsequent visits were not needed. He could not imagine getting into trouble while he slept, but he did have a knack for such things.

    Dorin didn't think he was a bad assassin. In fact, he considered himself quite good. He knew all the poisons, was quite versed in a variety of weaponry that can fit in your sleeve, boot or pants without cutting or castrating yourself, could shadowmeld almost well into dawn and way before nightfall, and he had an almost supernatural talent at staying alive. It was just this killing thing that got them all worked up. One simple skill he was incapable of doing, and they treated him like an outcast. No assassin had tried to kill him in years, not that he was complaining, but this was the highest insult ever dealt. Sure he had death warrants, it's not like anyone ever followed through with them.

    The door opened, and Master Jin strolled to his normal place behind his desk. "Good morning Dorin. So pleased you are on time. I have another assignment for you."

    The shock Dorin felt was only betrayed by his silence. And his jaw. And the completely ridiculous expression on his face. His posture too, while weÂ’re at it.

    "Ha! Orc cut your tongue? A good day indeed if Dorin himself cannot think of a word to utter," chided Master Jin.

    Dorin was confused. Assignments did not come readily to Dorin, because ninety-nine percent of the time, assassins are hired to assassinate. Guard missions were only given to the Assassin's guild if some rich fool wanted to show off how much money he could blow. Assassins were trained for the night with small weapons and quick turn around times. None of this standing in the middle of the day in open view with a spear which had as much effectiveness as lobbing spit at a Tauren.

    "Don't worry, dear Dorin, it's not an assassination. We could not risk our reputation by you failing our most prestigious calling."

    Despite that Dorin agreed whole heatedly with this statement, it didn't keep him from feeling a bit miffed. Master Jin handed a scroll to Dorin, which Dorin opened and perused.

    "You have heard of 'The Lost Temple', haven't you?" queried the Master.

    "Yes, who hasn't? It's known to be a place where whole armies have disappeared. Any search team, adventuring team, or even anyone wishing to disappear would head off to this place, and would never be heard of -- Ah crud, you want me to go there, don't you," replied Dorin disheartedly.

    "This isn't a suicide mission, Dorin. On the contrary, it is because of your... 'unique' ability not to die that I personally chose you. I can't afford failure on this mission, and even information in regards to the Lost Temple would be a boon as opposed to a missing Assassin."

    Master Jin waited for a response, and not hearing any, continued, "As you may also know, there is a Fount of Healing in the center of the Lost Temple. Your assignment is to get a sample of that water."

    "You want a flask of healing water? Good grief Master Jin, Healing Fountains are more plentiful than wolf droppings in an orc encampment."

    "Why, you are so right Mr. Dorin. How good of you to show me the error of my ways, why bother search for some mythical place when an easy to reach Healing Fount just happens to be in our courtyard?"

    Master JinÂ’s piercing gaze brought that uncomfortable silence back again.

    "I'm sorry, continue," mumbled Dorin.

    "Since, despite your training, curiosity permeates your very soul, I will tell you why this particular fountain is important. The Lost Temple was, and still is, a magically potent area, due to whatever mystical explanation you wish to attribute to it: druidic ley lines, undead sacrificial altars, night elf mating grounds, the list goes on. The fact of the matter is, it has been fought over, for centuries, and probably will be fought over in years to come when humans have finally mastered the air and would take to the stars."

    Dorin hated it when Master Jin would dream about life in the distant future. Dorin was more concerned about life in the present, particularly his life and it's continuance in the present.

    "Countless lives have been lost fighting over this place, more than any other location on this world. Literally, rivers of blood have been poured onto that land, soaked into the ground, and has seeped into the foundation of the Fountain of Healing. As any person knows, blood is the most powerful reagent in the forming of magic. With blood and sacrifice, energies unparalleled can be mastered and manipulated. No other place has known death more than the Lost Temple."

    So far, Dorin had been mildly interested. Had it not been the head master of the assassins, he would have discarded such nonsense along with Psychic Jill on 5th street, always screaming that death loomed over him. Of course death loomed over him, he was an assassin.

    "It is rumored," continued Master Jin, "that the waters of the Lost Temple Fount is of such a potency, that one flask is equal to that of thirty resurrection spells In fact, it can create life from that which was not there. That's what our employers want, and may I say he is willing to pay quadruple our normal rate, with a quarter of it up front."

    Dorin's interest was peaked. Some assassins get bonuses for a job well done, especially if it was a well paid assignment. If all he had to do was bring a flask back to the Guild, he may get a bonus that would enable him to...well, maybe buy another set of daggers. Dorin actually didn't need much.

    "Who's this freak?" asked Dorin as he pulled out a profile of someone who was obviously a hero. With the blond hair, thick jaw, cleft chin, and massive sledge hammer, he couldn't possibly be anything other than a hero. Dorin's face scrunched up in disgust.

    "That's Percival Pureheart, the Paladin," replied Master Jin, "you'll be helping him with the assignment."

    "Helping? I have to go with him? Mister I-use-alliteration-in-my-name-because-I'm-a-moron? You've got to be joking! Assassins work alone!"

    "When's the last time you worked alone, Dorin."

    "Well...uh...we're supposed to work alone. Ah crudbuckets. You can't be serious. I heroes! I don't want to be someone's lap boy! Why do they need an assassin?" exasperated Dorin.

    "Dorin, choice is a luxury you have long ago relinquished."

    Dorin sulked.

    "I take it by your silence that you concur. Then we may continue. *AHEM* Dorin, Level 1 Assassin, you have been honoured with Assignment #FB8901. In the event that you fail, or are discovered, the Guild of Assassins will disavow any knowledge of your existence..." and Master Jin continued with the normal rhetoric that preceded every mission about danger, death penalties, and who gets your room afterwards.

    Dorin continued to sulk and was in a sour mood for the rest of the day.The dungeons of the Assassin's guild were only called dungeons because they were in the basement and the sinister connotations were too tempting to pass up. In truth, Assassins never kept prisoners. "Tis easier to decapitate than to incapacitate" was an old saying amongst assassins, although "Assassination by decapitation brought exasperation" was yet another maxim commonly whispered (the Assassin's Guild originally was the Poet's Guild, but due to the ridicule and abuse of their audience, they found killing them far more rewarding).

    But the dungeons were well utilized. It was here that all research in assassination and espionage were done. The knowledge and technology almost rivaled that of the dwarves or the goblins, but on a more micro scale.

    Dorin had never been down here before. Only those of at least level 8 were entrusted with assignments that would even need to utilize such equipment. He gazed in awe at the complicated mish mash of machinery, tubes, bellows, pipes, and smoke. It looked exactly like a goblin laboratory, and as a gnarled, yellow-eyed goblin sidled past him, he realized why.

    "Uh, excuse me," interrupted Dorin.

    "whatwhatWHAT!!!" screamed the goblin.

    "You wouldn't happen to know where Master Jin is, do-"

    "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" screeched the goblin, catching Dorin by surprise. The goblin then gave an indecipherable look to Dorin and scuttled off into the smoke.

    "You never disturb a goblin when he's working. They're a very focused lot," stated a voice beside him.

    "Master Jin! Oh, sorry, uh..." Dorin hesitated.

    "Come, you are meeting the hero Percival in two hours time, and I need to show you a few things." Master Jin proceeded to a table filled with a variety of objects. He took a small velvet bag, almost at random, and pulled from it a vial. "This bag will be yours. In it is this indestructible vial, to safeguard the water you will collect in it."

    After replacing the vial, he handed the bag to Dorin, who took it greedily. Dorin looked inside the bag, and found nothing else aside from the vial.

    "That's it? Nothing else?" asked Dorin.

    "Just the vial is all you will need, along with your normal assortment of assassin equipment, of course. But nothing out of the ordinary."

    "My normal assortment consists of a couple daggers and poisons!"

    "Well, then I shan't keep you waiting! You probably want to get started soon."

    "You brought me all the way down here to give me a vial?

    "No, no, actually. You'll also be needing this," prompted Master Jin as he pulled up a large backpack and gave it to Dorin.

    "Ah, that's more like it," replied Dorin with satisfaction, as he began to open the bag.

    "No no no! It's not yours, don't open it. We've also equipped Percival Pureheart with a few things. When you meet him today, please give him that bag."

    The elation Dorin felt rivaled that of a cat stuck in a moonwell. Biting his tongue, Dorin slung the heavy backpack on his shoulders, not without quite a bit of difficulty.

    "Heavy it is, isn't it? Thanks so much for bringing it upstairs for me," thanked Master Jin cheerfully.

    If it wasn't nigh impossible, Dorin would have overcome his aversion and killed the master himself.

    Chapter 3

    It was late afternoon by the time Dorin lugged the heavy backpack all the way to a small tavern clear across town. A sign with "The Happy Harpy", hung swaying over the door. Dorin paused for a second to stare at the sign. He couldnÂ’t believe a tavern could have such a ridiculous name. He turned, half expecting to find "The Furry Furbolg", and to his surprise, it was across the street. Shaking his head, he entered the Harpy.

    The tavern was busy and filled with loud, burly people grunting and shouting as all people tend to do when thrust into a bar setting. Waiting for the token beefy barkeep to come up to him with a rag in hand asking in a gruff accent, "What'll it be?", he spotted Percival sitting at a table.

    "Sitting", however, may have been too common of a word to describe the position Percival Pureheart the Paladin was posturing at the moment. Chiseled chin held high, arm resting on his weapon, feet planted firmly on the ground, Percival was engaged in a fierce display of...grinning, Dorin had to keep himself from checking to see if an artist was finishing his latest series on "The Hero Wastes More Time".

    Spotting Dorin, Percival raised his gauntleted hand and beckoned, grinning all the while. Dorin swore he heard some tavern girl swoon at Percival's movement and he waded his way to the table.

    "Please to meet you, Dorin," boomed Percival, his baritone voice deep and rich. Dorin hoped he wouldn't try to convert him to the light, or something. "I see that you brought my equipment. Now I feel even more confident at the success of our mission!" Dorin managed a sardonic smile as Percival shook Dorin's hand and took the backpack. Dorin was both upset he was stuck with someone so unbelievably cliché and relieved he wasn't expected to carry the backpack for the whole journey.

    Percival suddenly leaned in close. Eyes darting suspiciously left and right, he lowered his voice to a whisper.

    "You know that this is a risky adventure we are partaking in: highly dangerous, dishonest skullduggery, and hopefully the odd girl or two!" Percival sat up with an even larger grin and gave a knowing wink. Dorin was stupefied. If this whole mission was just a ruse to get him to kill someone, it certainly was working.

    "Questions are probably racing through your mind but it is not safe to talk of such things here!" hissed Percival, trying to be covert again. He raised his arm and a serving girl immediately appeared at the table, cheeks all flushed and eyes batting faster than a hummingbird.

    "Don't worry, Dorin, I'll get this," generously offered Percival, which was just as well since Dorin didn't order anything.

    "It was a pleasure meeting you, and here is a little extra," said Percival, to which the serving girl giggled.

    With a flourish reserved only for those foolish enough to believe it garnered respect, (although in Percival's case, it did), Percival rose from the table, collected his belongings, and strode out. Dorin wondered if he should wait for a "Here boy," but not willing to risk it actually happening, he followed after.

    Percival Pureheart the Paladin purposely made his way towards the outskirts of town. Dorin sulked after him wondering how long this assignment would take. He was mildly curious where they were going but speaking may have given the Paladin an impression that Dorin wished to be the comical, buoyant sidekick, and he definitely wasn't going to be that.

    "In an hours time we will reach the Lich's lair. Unfortunately, it will be dark then, when the undead are at their strongest, but there's no helping that. I was hoping that-"

    Forgetting himself, Dorin interrupted, "Wait! Whoa! What Lich? I don't remember no Lich being in the contract!"

    "That's a double negative, you realize," corrected Percival. Dorin couldn't believe his grammar was being corrected by this doofus.

    "Look, Perk, there wasn't a Lich-"

    "Percival. My name is Percival Pureheart,"

    "Ya, whatever. Look, there wasn't any undead in the mission. And you want to go after a Lich? What gives here?"

    "The Lich has a map to the Lost Temple," explained Percival.

    "What? That's the stupidest thing I've heard in my life! Why would a Lich have a map to the Lost Temple? Why, in fact, in order to get anything done, you have to go clear across the world just to find an object, which is always guarded by some insanely strong monster, that will only help you get what you want?"

    "Look, I don't write the rules here, I just know the Lich has the map," reasoned Percival.

    "Well, how come there's only one map? We have a city full of scribes, and the imbecile who made the first one decided one was enough? What kind of moronic sense is that? Are you sure there's not another copy of this map? Maybe guarded by nothing more fearsome than a crotchety librarian?"

    "You talk an awful lot for an assassin," replied Percival.

    "Sorry for shattering your assassin stereotype. Pity it wasn't likewise," bit Dorin. However, Percival missed it altogether and continued, "Look, this is the only map I know of. I think it's amazing there is a map at all. So we have to get it from this Lich, and I was hoping you could sneak in and assassinate it, thereby making this a lot easier."

    Percival looked pleased. Dorin could tell he came up with this ingenious plan all by himself.

    "Let me guess, the Lich currently lives in a Necropolis swarming with ghouls, fiends, and a whole host of other nefarious traps which, you suppose, I would be completely immune to because I'm an assassin."

    "Correct! That's the spirit!" beamed Percival.

    "Sorry to disappoint you Perk, but I failed my Assault-on-Undead-Fortresses course and dead things give me the willies," glared Dorin.

    "Well, no matter, we could always do it the old fashion way, which I personally prefer anyway," Percival excitedly said.

    "Oh. Great. Much better. I don't suppose I could wait outside," dejectedly replied Dorin.

    Percival gave out a booming laugh, "You ARE a riot Dorin! I believe you and I will be good friends!"

    "Ooooh, this day gets better and better," muttered Dorin.

    "Doesn't it? Come, we should hurry!"The howl of a lone wolf signaled the night. Dorin and Percival stood behind a gnarled tree, twisted and marred by the blight the undead had caused by settling the land.

    Before them, floating ominously as gravity-defying objects the size of small mountains tend to do, was the Lich's Necropolis. Dorin never understood this. Evil overlords always base their headquarters in fortresses that hovered high in the sky. Since these evil overlords were always looking for power to overthrow pretty much everyone, why not utilize the energy required to float an object the mass of a city? If he became an evil overlord, he'd forgo the whole easily-broken-into-floating-castle and just drop an ocean on any kingdom that pissed him off.

    "Ok, Assassin, this is where you come in. We need to get up there," pointed Percival the Pureheart.

    "Oh, IÂ’m supposed to get us in that thing?"

    "Yes! Then we'll fight through the enemies, kill the Lich, grab the map, and then make a beeline for the exit because the forces needed to keep the Necropolis afloat would have dissipated by then," stated Percival proudly.

    "You know, I can't even lift your hammer let alone you. Was that the plan you had for this?"

    "Oh no! My original plan was for you to assassinate the Lich, don't you remember? This is plan B!"

    "Plan B sounds like every other plan you heroes come up with."

    "Well, it is a resourceful plan. Go in, kill everything, get out. Nothing beats that yet."

    Dorin sighed. "Look, I don't know how to get in the Necropolis. I don't even know where the doorway is. It's not like I come here on my off days."

    At that moment, a hooded Acolyte came into view, gliding towards them.

    "Hmm, that guy is going to see us," pondered Percival, "we may as well just start the attack now, kill all the ghouls that come after us, and then worry about getting in the Necropolis."

    "No, wait! We wait for some more acolytes, grab their cloaks, and pretend weÂ’re acolytes!" Dorin said excitedly, despite himself.

    "Why would we collect gold for the Lich? That seems rather counter-productive," Percival puzzled .

    "Perk you pinhead, we then go back to the Necropolis and see if we can find some entrance. If those acolytes came from there, there has to be a way in. Ghouls drop off lumber there too so there must be an accessible way from the ground!"

    "Perfect! You're brilliant, what an original plan!" piqued Percival.

    "Oh yes, I don't think I've ever seen anyone try the dress-as-the-enemy ploy. If they actually fall for this, we may get that dumb map yet."

    Dorin turned on hearing the muffled cry of the acolyte and saw Percival in the process of purloining the Acolytes cloak. With a bit of difficulty, Percival pulled the cloak over his armor. He gave off the impression of a shoplifting acolyte trying to swipe a bit too much at his local goblin store. Grinning, he waved his hammer at Dorin.

    Something witty was called for but Dorin's brain failed him as it was bombarded by the fact they were most certainly going to die.

    Chapter 4

    Percival was having the time of his life. Undead Acolytes seemed to pop out of the Necropolis at regular intervals, proceed to the copse of trees that Dorin and Percival were hiding behind, where upon Percival would then bash them on the head.

    "Perk! That's enough! Why we aren't discovered is beyond me," scolded Dorin.

    "But they're so cute when they die! The way they wave their arms in a futile effort to fight back."

    "Great, take one home and stick him on your front lawn but now we have to get inside!" Dorin couldn't believe he was arguing against staying outside where it was relatively safe.

    "How about one more?"

    "NO! Here, throw me a cloak." Percival threw him a cloak from the pile of five which Dorin quickly put on.

    "Ugh, this one still has some goo on it," muttered Dorin. Trying to clean himself as best he could, he glanced at Percival, who had a strange look on his face.

    "Perk! You ok?" asked Dorin. Perk blinked, looked at Dorin, and grinned a huge smile.

    "I have another cunning plan!" said Percival excitedly. Dorin winced.

    "As you may have perceived, my weapon cannot fit under this cloak," pointed out Percival. Percival didn't fit under the cloak but Dorin didn't feel like arguing. Percival then took off his disguise, removed his backpack, and then put the cloak back on. (This belittles the process, which actually took thirteen minutes to complete and resulted in two torn cloaks, another dead acolyte who almost got away as Percival tried to kill him with a cloak over his head, and one cynical assassin even more skeptical about their chances).

    While holding his weapon, Percival looped the backpack over its head and then threw a cloak over top.

    "Ta daa! Instant acolyte! Why, if we had a few more items, we could haunt a whole gold mine ourselves!" proudly displayed Percival. Dorin gaped. Yes, Percival now just looked like an acolyte with an eating problem but Dorin still couldn't bring himself to categorize the idea under "cunning"Â…or "good" for that matter. Lacking anything better, he just nodded defeatedly.

    After getting rid of the remaining cloaks, Percival confidently tried to glide towards the Necropolis, holding his makeshift acolyte in front. Dorin followed, not fairing any better at the gliding. Shortly, another Acolyte came their way.

    "This is it!" hissed Percival, excitement obvious. Dorin stiffened.

    The real acolyte's head was to the ground and his gliding looked like real gliding. The fake acolytes were trying not to run into each other and their gliding looked like real walking.

    "I live for Ner'zhul," rasped the Acolyte as he glided past.

    "By the Light!...uh...dark! By the death! Death comes for ye!..er.. I live nasally too!" stammered Percival, not raspy at all. The acolyte had now turned to get a better view of the three strange acolytes. Unfortunately for him, one acolyte jumped in the air and gave him a fatal head butt.

    Percival grabbed the newly deceased acolyte and held him in front to now form four unconvincing undead acolytes.

    "That went rather well, don't you think?" asked Percival.

    "You suck at this Perk," criticized Dorin.

    Percival and Dorin continued until they stood at the base of the Necropolis. It was even larger and ominous from the base and fear didnÂ’t so much as strike DorinÂ’s heart, it skewered it.

    "See? Our plan worked, we're here, and no alarms have been raised," boasted Percival.

    "You were right, I was wrong, let's go now!" pleaded Dorin.

    "That's the spirit! Anxious to get your hands wet with some undead blood!"

    "No, I meant home!"

    Percival laughed and slapped Dorin on the back, causing him to stumble and then disappear. After Percival finished laughing, he noticed DorinÂ’s absence. Searching around, he found a small, acolyte sized, circle of power.

    "Crum, that Dorin sure has guts, racing into the Necropolis like that," and Percival stepped on the glowing circle.Dorin hated anything that moved him from point A to point B without him being anywhere in between. It was unnatural, disobeyed many laws of the universe as he saw it, and felt like someone froze his spine and began kneading it with a rolling pin. Trying to recover, he noted Percival popping in beside him.

    "Brrr! That felt good!" Percival said exuberantly. Dorin's shuddering kept him from commenting.

    "Tell me that you don't have a town portal," stated Dorin.

    "Of course I do! Standard equipment! Never leave home without one!" piped Percival.

    "Great."

    Percival removed a small crystal on a chain from his backpack, and placed it around his neck, he peered at it for a bit, and then announced, "Ok, we go this way."

    "Wait, what do you have there?" asked Dorin.

    "You're awfully curious for an assassin. If you must know, it's one of your newfangled assassin-made miniature mini-maps. *laugh* A mini-mini-map!" Percival found great amusement at his observation.

    "And you know where the Lich is?" questioned Dorin.

    "Of course,” assuredly commented Percival as he displayed the crystal. Dorin peered in and saw a tiny little map with some glowing dots.

    “See, here is where we are,” Percival pointed to two white dots in the upper left hand corner of the map.

    “And this is where the Lich is," indicated Percival, shifting Dorin’s attention to a pulsating circle with a blinking exclamation mark.

    "This thing knows where the Lich is?" suspiciously queried Dorin.

    "Where have you been for the last decade? Of course it knows where the Lich is, it always knows where our objective lies!"

    "And by the looks of it, we are stuck on one side of this building, and have to traverse the whole Necropolis just to get to the Lich. And we're not talking as the goblin flies. No, we're talking a twisty maze of passages with waygates interspersed and chock full of undead goodness waiting to suck on your eyeballs."

    "That's pretty much right on!"

    "I hate this world," complained Dorin.

    "You're so grim, buck up! Once we kill this Lich, it's smooth sailing!"

    "Why can't this amazing mini-map show us where the Lost Temple is? Couldn't we just journey in the general direction, set the mini-map on high sensitivity, and just see if we run into it?"

    "I don't think it works that way. We're stuck here anyways and I bet the way out is near the Lich."

    "Stuck?? What do you mea-" Dorin cut himself off as he looked around. There were no circles of power to teleport out. They were in a closed off passage, the engulfing darkness taunting them to continue.

    Dorin let out a small, "Crud."

    "Exciting isn't it? It's my first real adventure! Forward!" pressed Percival as he marched into the passageway. To be expected, the Necropolis was dark, sported a skeletal motif, and smelled of death. Percival and Dorin followed the corridor with surprisingly no interruptions.

    "This place is boring! Not a single soul in sight!" Percival pouted.

    "Or even those lacking one. I find this a good thing," responded Dorin.

    "You are one peculiar assassin, Dorin."

    "Ya, but I'm also one alive assassin as well--STOP!" commanded Dorin, eyes wide in panic.

    "What? What now?" impatiently asked Percival. Dorin pointed at the passageway ahead of them. It was a long single corridor, too long to see the end, and lining it was an array of skeletons standing at arms.

    "No worries Dorin. These are statues! Decoration! We've passed many of these on the way here!"

    Dorin looked at Percival in exasperation, "Yes, they're statues now, but once we get in the middle of that corridor, they'll come to life and start hacking us to bits, and my daggers are useless on beings with no flesh!"

    "You have daggers?"

    "This is no time to be funny, we need to find an alternate route!"

    "Look, Dorin, there is no alternate route. This is the only way. Here, see the mini-map?” Dorin dejectedly looked at the minimap, knowing Percival was right.

    “At least do me a favor and knock down each skeleton statue. That way, when they do come to life, we only have to worry about our front flank.”

    “Fine,” acknowledged Percival. He walked down the corridor, smashing the skeletons in succession.

    “Willful destruction of property, the Lich is really going to be angry,” joked Percival.

    “I think a lawsuit is the least of our worries, Perk,” spoke Dorin, eyes searching for the slightest hint of movement from the skeletons.

    After about a minute of no incident, Dorin started to worry about other traps. He examined the walls. They were completely made of bone. The whole passageway was one big death trap, and he had a great aversion to adding himself to the décor.

    Another ten minutes of worrying and DorinÂ’s paranoia paid off: a soft wail drifted to DorinÂ’s ear. Dorin glanced at a skull previously knocked down by Percival. The sockets of the skull started to glow a sickly blue.

    “RUN! FORGET THE BASHING! RUN!” and he pushed hard against Percival, knowing that running by himself into a horde of skeletons would mean instant death.

    “Quit pushing me! That’s annoying!” complained Percival, who, despite Dorin’s valiant efforts, had not moved an inch.

    “MOVE! RUN! THEIR EYES ARE GLOWING!” screamed Dorin.

    “You don’t function well in high stress situations, do you,” perceived Percival.

    “It’s better than not functioning at all which will be the situation if we don’t get out of here! WHY ARE YOU JUST STANDING THERE?”

    Percival stretched and flex, to the exasperated perplexity of Dorin, and calmly said, “I think here’s a good a place as any to make our stand.”

    “STAND? WHAT STAND? WHY—WHAT—WH—“ stammered Dorin.

    “Look, skeletons are easy to kill, they’re one of the weakest creatures out there next to peons, stationary critters, and sidekick assassins. This is a great place for me to gain experience and learn,” explained Percival.

    “LEARN? GAIN EXPERIENCE? ARE YOU MAD? LET’S …wait a minute…I am NOT your sidekick!!” spat Dorin.

    “Heads up,” Percival warned, as he swung his hammer in a wide arc, taking down three skeletons about to skewer Dorin. Dorin glanced around, and noticed the army of skeletons had indeed come to life and were closing in slowly. He debated running back from where they came, only to see that the skeletons Percival had destroyed had assembled themselves magically and encroached from the rear.

    “Great, they don’t die either. This gets better and better,” sighed Dorin, suddenly past caring.

    “Hmmm, I do believe there’s a flaw in my plan,” muttered Percival.

    Chapter 5

    Skeletons were everywhere, feverishly attacking. Each skeleton that went down would rejoin the battle as soon as it could assemble itself. A narrow corridor was the only thing keeping Percival alive right now.

    Percival, although performing to the peak of his powers, started to worry. He had been swinging and bashing skeletons for the last half an hour and there wasnÂ’t any sign of reprieve. How long he could last before dropping from simple exhaustion, Percival couldnÂ’t tell.

    “Dorin! If you have any ideas, they would be greatly appreciated,” puffed Percival as he dodged two skeletons with scimitars.

    A voiced answered from somewhere, “I’m working on it.”

    “Where are you?” asked Percival, crushing three skeletons into the wall.

    “I’ve shadowmelded of course! It’s so dark in here you could shadowmeld an ogre in front of an elf and still not worry of discovery.”

    “What? I need you! You can’t hide on me!” Percival shouted as he stooped and took the legs out of four more skeletons.

    “Oh, that’s rich. Let me join in your heroic effort to vanquish the evil that has infected this place by using my body as a shield! Oooh, the terror I could strike into their hearts.”

    “I can’t believe that an assassin was considered the best choice to accompany me,” grunted Percival as he kicked the ribs of one skeleton while blocking the blows of two others.

    “Hey, it’s no picnic for me either, Perk! Don’t you have some turn undead spell or something?”

    Yellow light prodded the darkness and encircled the paladin. Glowing tendrils slowly encompassed Percival as he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. The skeletons stopped their attack, confused, since they could not pierce this shield of light.

    “No, I don’t have that spell. I do have Divine Shield, which will give me a bit of rest for ten seconds,” panted Percival.

    “Well, I’ve not been completely useless. Every time a skeleton falls, I take some vital part of their anatomy and throw them down the corridor, so it takes longer for them to reassemble. Of course, that makes me visible, but I can shadowmeld quickly enough- TEN SECONDS?”

    It dawned on Dorin that there had not been a Devotion Aura clinging him blindly to the side of this foolish paladin. Holy Light, another common spell which had the potential of actually destroying a skeleton permanently, was never cast (although the removal of one skeleton wasnÂ’t about to turn the tides of battle here) and PercivalÂ’s Divine Shield only lasted ten secondsÂ…

    “You’re only a Level 1 Paladin,” whispered Dorin. Percival grimaced in the direction of Dorin’s voice. The Divine Shield ran out and the bone bashing continued.

    “A lot more useful than you are,” countered Percival as the skeletons, seemingly impatient with the delay, had attacked with a renewed frenzy.

    “Hey, I’m not the melee fighter here! Don’t you have anything in that backpack we gave you?”

    “Nothing that can help now,” Percival said through gritted teeth. A quick blade broke through and sliced his shoulder.

    Dorin looked over theÂ…over theÂ…he paused. What was the collective noun for skeletons? Strange, he pondered, how one thought of the oddest things when sitting invisible in the midst of the undead.

    Another half an hour had passed and in that amount of time, Percival had gained sufficient experience that he advanced to Level 2. Dorin never understood this either. How did a hero suddenly increase in abilities just by fighting a bunch of enemies? In the AssassinÂ’s Guild, one only advanced in level by passing exams (and the small matter of killing a guy a level above you).

    Percival activated his Divine Shield again. His breathing was more labored and sweat dripped freely from his brow, “We’ve run into a bit of a snag here,” Percival glumly admitted.

    “Clattering! A clattering of skeletons! I think that’s rather clever, don’t you?” blurted Dorin.

    Percival stared in disbelief. In a rage of anger he threw his hammer in the direction of Dorin’s voice, and screamed, “I’M FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE WHILE YOU HIDE AND BABBLE LIKE AN IDIOT! At one point in time I thought you were USEFUL!!”

    Percival wearily picked up his weapon, wanting to be armed before his shield petered out. He had strength to continue but if numeric values were used to measure his attributes, morale would have been depleted to zero.

    “You cracked the wall,” came Dorin’s voice.

    “Sorry, I was aiming for your skull,” grumbled Percival.

    “Hit the wall again, NOW!” demanded Dorin.

    Percival complied, more out of rage than obedience, and the hammer broke through. The wall crumbled away, revealing a passage.

    “RUN!” screamed Dorin and this time Percival needed no prodding. After about five minutes of mad fleeing, Dorin slowed to a stop and stood hogging the air.

    “Stop,” panted Dorin heavily, “Stop! I need to catch my breath”.

    Percival was back in prime condition, his mood greatly improved.

    “Ha! We showed them who’s a hero and who’s not! Sorry about that outburst back there. They must have a morale-debilitating aura, those fiends! Will their evil madness never end? But they knew they were outmatched since they didn’t follow!”

    Dorin merely stared at Percival; he liked him better when fighting and angry.

    “Usually,” started Dorin, “when a throng of minor minions completely capable of overwhelming a hero gives up chase, it’s because the hero is going somewhere of a nature even more menacing and deadly.”

    “You are a cheery puppy, aren’t you?” exclaimed Percival. “No worries, that last encounter only strengthened me! I’ve divined the secrets of Holy Light and can strike the undead with a death even deader than the dead they are!”

    “That made absolutely no sense whatever! Stick to the clichés, don’t make it up please,” snorted Dorin.

    “So antagonistic! Look, I’m sorry I was angry with you. I can understand why that may have hurt you deeply, inside. I admit I was wrong and should not have said those things,” Percival spread his arms out, “Forgive me?”

    Dorin jumped backed, “ACK! FINE! YES! You’ve been cooped up in Paladin school too long there Perk!” Dorin eagerly changed the subject, “Look at the mini-map. How far are we from the Lich?”

    Percival glanced at the crystal around his neck, “A bit up this way! Hopefully we’ll get there soon!” He bounded northward. Dorin followed warily, keeping at least an arm’s distance away.

    After a few minutes of walking, Dorin detected a low sound in the air. Barely audible, it would rise and lower in pitch, sometimes stopping suddenly, but then starting up again. Fearing the worst (although that shouldnÂ’t come as a surprise to anyone by now), he slowed to a stop.

    “Do you hear that,” Dorin whispered.

    Percival looked at him, and then made a face, “No, but I can certainly smell something. By the Light, it smells like we’ve entered the main sewage area of the Necropolis. I thought it was bad before, but this is unbearable”

    Dorin noted the stench. It WAS getting unbearable. It was also vaguely familiar. Not your normal festering, rotting corpse familiarity, but a certain uniqueness that you could attribute to a particular creature. Dorin knew that putrid smell.

    Then the sound came again. Dorin closed his eyes, focusing all his energies into pinpointing the source. The sound also seemed vaguely familiar and it was getting louder. He discerned the direction and opened his eyes.

    He was staring at Percival.

    DorinÂ’s mouth hung open, he knew the sound.

    “PERCIVAL! This is NO time to be HUMMING!”

    Percival blinked and stared at him, grinning.

    “You don’t understand! I gained a LEVEL! I’ve finally been in a battle that was able to give me a Level! I’m no longer stuck as a beginner Level 1! I’m LEVEL TWO! I’M READY FOR YOU NOW LICH!”

    “SHHHH! Keep your voice down! Are you MAD?!” accused Dorin frantically.

    “YOU HAVE COME TO THE END LICH! MARK MY-“

    A grunting roar came from the end of the passageway. Dorin blanched. He recognized the roar, and finally recalled the stench. His knees trembled as he heard it lumbering towards them.

    “HA! Finally we have some more action! None of this skulking around like dogs!” boasted Percival.

    It came into view, a large monstrosity of nature. Twisted and mutilated beyond recognition, this creature was a patchwork of animal and human parts, crudely sewn and held together by forces as corrupted as itself. It was pale, bloated, and its stomach had burst open, spewing blood, entrails, and maggots. ItÂ’s non-symmetric limbs were armed with bloodied hooks, chains and cleavers. Flailing about, they were ready to render any enemy to ghoul fodder. It was an Abomination.

    Dorin had encountered one of these before in a previous failed assignment where he ran away. Dorin was very much prepared and willing to fail his current assignment. Being stuck in a Necropolis, however, hindered this.

    “Now we can prove our mettle! You jump on its back and stab it with one of your quick acting poisons while I distract it,” planned Percival.

    “It has that limb on its back with that huge cleaver,” whispered Dorin, fear rooting him to the spot.

    “Hmm, good point. Cut that off first and then jump on it’s back,” instructed Percival.

    The Abomination lurched towards them with a quickness that surprised them both. Its impossibly long arm swung an equally impossibly huge cleaver at their midsection. Dorin sprang back and rolled while Percival ducked and parried with his hammer. The Abomination followed through with a hook, which swung and wrapped around PercivalÂ’s weapon. The Abomination yanked its arm back and PercivalÂ’s weapon clattered into the darkness.

    “Those two other limbs seem to be in the way of its back. Should I cut those off as well?” questioned Dorin.

    “Yes, please. See if you can retrieve my weapon while you’re at it,” replied Percival.

    “This place sucks,” commented Dorin.

    Chapter 6

    The Abomination let out another roar and swung its cleaver downwards towards Percival. He dodged and the cleaver embedded itself into the floor. It was at this precise moment that Percival shouted, “By the Light!” and a blinding bolt seared the Abomination. In agony, the Abomination straightened up abandoning his cleaver, which Percival immediately retrieved for himself. Dorin, wanting to be left out of the action and wondering why no one ever considered his needs, unsheathed his daggers and rolled between the Abomination's legs, letting the motion of his body guide his arms as he sliced and cut.

    Angered by the pain of the Holy Light, the Abomination swung its hook around wildly which connected with Percival. Although it didnÂ’t pierce his armor, he was momentarily stunned, giving the Abomination a chance to grab him with his free hand.

    Percival tried to slice the festering arm with his newly acquired cleaver, but the Abomination threw him against the wall.

    “Shouldn’t be thrown through the air with a sharp object Perk, it’s like running with scissors,” warned Dorin as he dodged another attack intent on severing vital parts from his body.

    Percival didnÂ’t comment nor move.

    “Oh crud, don’t be dead Perk,” Dorin stated with concern. The Abomination also noted the still body and bellowed in delight. It lifted its arm to bash Percival but before it made contact, Percival rolled clear and with a heroic yell, arced his cleaver upwards and sliced the hand off of the Abomination. Not stopping in his motion, he brought it downwards and sunk the cleaver deep into the side of the monster. “HAVE AT YOU!” roared Percival, his blow hacking off a considerable chunk of Abomination flesh.

    The Abomination didnÂ’t even flinch. With its bloody stump, he batted Percival into the wall again and raised its leg to stomp on him.

    “HOLY LIGHT!” screamed Dorin and Percival complied. The Abomination stiffened in pain as the brightness once again burned away at him. Dorin rolled underneath as before and sliced the stitches around one of the Abominations legs. With all his might, he kicked at the leg, and surprisingly enough, it separated. Still unaware of his missing appendage, the Abomination started towards Percival in anger, but the only thing that felt its wrath was the ground as the Abomination attacked it with its face.

    Ungracefully, Percival hacked away at the AbominationÂ’s head until it lay dead.

    “BRING EM ON, LICH!” triumphantly yelled Percival.

    “SHUT UP you maniac!” hissed Dorin.

    “Um, excuse me, but your weapon landed over here,” weakly came a voice. Both Dorin and Percival whipped around and for the first time noticed a small prison cell. Percival immediately ran to the enclosure, retrieved his weapon and destroyed the cell door, freeing the six footmen trapped inside.

    “By the light, how long have you been imprisoned here?” asked Percival.

    “Far too long, m'Lord,” said one of the footmen, “I can’t even remember when last we saw light.”

    “The Lich will pay for his crimes! Come, my brethren. Join me in my quest to destroy this Lich, once and for all!” offered Percival.

    “For Honour!” yelled one footmen.

    “FOR HONOUR!” echoed the rest.

    “Hold up a minute here,” interrupted Dorin. “I don’t mean to break up your bosom buddy bonding time, but you guys have been imprisoned for years on end in cramped and awful conditions, and you should be emaciated, starving, and disease ridden, which for some reason, you aren’t, and by the beckoning call of some fool hero you don’t know, you’re ready to charge into a battle against a Lich which you should realize will result in either a gruesome death or an even worse imprisonment?”

    The footmen blinked, as if noticing Dorin for the first time.

    Dorin turned to Percival, “I mean, wouldn’t it be great just to Town Portal out of here, now that we have some people that probably need attending to? We could pick up some more supplies, rest these poor folk up, find a more sizable force, I can stay home and watch the kids…”

    “You have a very peculiar sidekick, m’Lord,” commented one footmen.

    “I’ve noted that myself,” replied Percival.

    “I AM NOT HIS SIDEKICK!” protested Dorin, but Percival continued onward, the footmen on his very heels.For once, Dorin couldn’t wait to find the Lich. The footmen were no better in their attitude towards Percival than the barmaids back in town and they clung to his every word like flies around dung. Percival was in his element, relating all of his past battles, which, as Dorin knew, really amounted to just two, with one of them fully witnessed by the footmen, but Percival was milking it for all it was worth. Dorin was also annoyed that his part diminished in each telling.

    As they made their way towards the Lich, they encountered many minor beasties: spiders, kobolds, and skeletons. These battles, although not very challenging, were added to PercivalÂ’s accomplishments, and the footmen were proud to be part of such a heroic epic.

    Percival destroyed a crate lying nearby, “Look! We’ve found another healing potion!”

    Dorin couldn’t take it anymore, “Doesn’t this strike anyone as being odd? Valuable items lying around in old dusty crates ready to take, monsters hanging out by themselves in out of the way corners doing nothing but holding on to other valuable items, which they can’t even use. It didn’t even make sense why that Abomination back there was holding a Wand of Illusion! Doesn’t this sound a bit off? Why not just take all these bad guys and have them hang out at the entrance of the Necropolis?? Any intruders come in, WHAM, they get slaughtered before even uttering some obscure relationship with light!!”

    Percival and the footmen looked briefly in DorinÂ’s direction.

    “You know, this sidekick of yours does nothing but complain,” commented a footmen to Percival.

    “I AM NOT-“

    “True,” interrupted another, “in my day, there was nothing I wouldn’t give to be a part of such a party as this! Beats hanging around collecting wood day and night fearing whatever creature came over the next hill.”

    “Remember back when we still had a navy? You try collecting oil. Smelly, dirty work! Living on a boat that stunk of fish, oil, and cranky, unbathed sailors. And if there was an accident involving fire, forget it!”

    “A navy? I’ve been around when we still had to build roads! That was backbreaking work!”

    Dorin realized he was forgotten again. He glanced at Percival, who was off in his own world, probably humming and mentally increasing the number of abominations he fought off. Dorin scowled, trying to close off the footmenÂ’s chatter.

    Soon, they came to a huge set of double doors with intricate designs and patterns indicating a powerful entity lay behind it. Dramatically, Percival turned towards his men and paused.

    “This is it men,” he started, “here is where the evil finally ends. The blight wiped away from this land, our children safe, our grandchildren able to play freely in the fields! The demons of our nightmares bound and destroyed once and for all!”

    “FOR HONOUR!” yelled the footmen.

    So much for a surprise attack, thought Dorin.

    Percival kicked the doors and they effortlessly opened inward. With enthusiasm (minus one), the party entered a huge hall, which looked like it had been uninhabited for years. On the far side, barely visible, a pale light illuminated a dark figure. They had finally found the Lich.

    “Welcome, I’ve been waiting,” the Lich beckoned with a cold and hollow voice, echoing slightly and probably deserving a different font.

    Dorin paused. He knew that some fool would yell “For Honour” and there would then be a mad rush into a trap which had certainly been set. He decided to do some passive reconnaissance hopefully avoiding whatever spikes, pits, or any other miscellaneous vile trap the Lich had set.

    Percival lifted his sword, “FOR—“

    He was cut off. Dorin himself could not move nor feel his body. Unable to move his lips, Dorin cursed to himself; they had walked into a Stasis Trap.

    The Lich remained still, staring at the small company with a restrained fury. Dorin could not discern any features other than it hovered over a dais, a black cloak concealing his skeletal form. Behind him hung two torches spouting blue flame, more for effect as opposed to light. Pedestals flanked him and on each was a magical item, obviously heightening the LichÂ’s powers and awareness.

    “Two hundred years,” the Lich said. “Two hundred years have I waited for someone to penetrate my fortress. When word came about that you were coming, I was delighted. When word came about clarifying who you were, I was horrified. A First Level Paladin and his sidekick, the nerve!”

    Had it been possible, both Dorin and Percival would have squirmed. The Lich picked up a Mana Stone, which sat on one of the pedestals and slowly stroked it.

    “First, you encountered my skeletons and no one realized that skeletons do not reassemble on their own nor last that long of a time! You could have theorized a magical source! Did you try and find it? Maybe on the ceiling? The balls casting ominous blue rays?”

    Dorin thought back and couldnÂ’t believe he missed them. The Lich was probably sore they broke his wall.

    “I had to pull two of my Abominations off of guard duty so that you could rescue those footmen, and even then I thought you were done for. At least the assassin did not hide this time.”

    Dorin felt a smirk from his companions. He knew they couldnÂ’t physically perform one, but it was there never the less.

    “I have not had a decent battle in two hundred years and I fear that I will not have one now,” sighed the Lich. He nodded his head and the sound of a number of portcullises rising echoed across the room. Around twenty ghouls scurried in, drooling, frenzied, and hungry. The Lich returned the Mana stone and began stroking an amulet, talking more to himself than to his trapped prey. Dorin thought the Lich was sorely missing a cat.

    “But, you are my last hope. No one else has tried in centuries to find the temple, and I will not count on any others coming. There are only a few seconds remaining on that Stasis trap. I beg of you, make this worth my while,” pleaded the Lich. He nodded once more, and the ghouls scurried towards the men.

    “—HONOUR!” cut in Percival, limbs now functioning. The men were primed and ready, if not with a few muscle cramps, and the fighting began.

    Chapter 7

    When it came to intellect, Percival knew he was a few peons shy of a working economy. Thus, he made sure that his mind had focused entirely on his vocation: fighting. To the utmost of his ability he studied how to swing a hammer, how to throw a hammer, how to wield a hammer, and every other known use that could exist for a hammer (In regards to combat that is. Other courses were available on Non-Combatal, Practical and Sensual uses of the weapon, but Percival had no time for electives). He knew every creature that existed in his world and he knew how to best hit it with his hammer. Furthermore, what he lacked in brains, he made up for in naivety. He, along with his Paladin brethren, fully believed they would always win. Surrender was never an option. Losing was a concept lost on him, along with fleeing, someone not following his orders, and words exceeding three syllables.

    So Percival wasnÂ’t boasting; he was prepared for the Lich. He knew how strong a Lich was, what spells a Lich was capable of, and what defenses a Lich had.

    “Ignore the ghouls!” Percival ordered loudly as the ghouls closed in on them, “and focus everything on that Lich! Spread out so his Nova Frost will affect the least amount of men!”

    In turn, the ghouls also ignored the footmen and rushed straight for Percival. Disproportionate gangly arms with long bloodstained claws reached out, intent on PercivalÂ’s flesh. Grabbing the Wand of Illusion, Percival created five phantom images of his men, completely harmless but otherwise indistinguishable from its source. This would bide them time to kill the Lich.

    Then, Percival ran.

    Not in the flee-for-your-life-Dorin way but around the hall which was large and cluttered enough that the ghouls would have trouble surrounding Percival. He glanced at his men and noted a number of them with frost on their beard and moving at a rate geriatric sheep would make fun of. They were hit by a Nova Frost. Cursing to himself, Percival started spinning his weapon and did an abrupt about face, now running into the ghouls. Taken by surprise, a few ghouls were incapacitated as Percival bashed through their rank running straight for his men. With his eyes set on the Lich, he cast Holy Light. The Lich cried out in agony.

    It was as if he tortured the wind.

    Grinning in triumph, Percival yanked a healing scroll from his backpack and cast it on his men. Enveloped in a warm bath of greenish light, the men felt their injuries disappear along with any apprehension they had. They charged the Lich with renewed fervor.

    Percival gasped as a ghoul swiped at his side and pierced his armor. A quick swing resulted in smashed ghoul. Grunting, Percival overturned a large oak table causing a minor hindrance to the ghoulsÂ’ pursuit. He ran again, doing his best to stall.

    With an eerie calm, the Lich threw off his cloak revealing sharp metal claws attached to his arms. Pausing only slightly, the footmen attacked but were deftly parried. Barely missing a beat, the Lich flicked a hand and cast another Nova Frost. A bolt of ice suddenly shattered on a manÂ’s chest, razor-like shards hitting those surrounding him. Freezing cold struck once again, their very bones seemingly encased in ice. In agony they attacked, limbs leaden and cumbersome.

    The LichÂ’s blades continued to block the swords that attacked but now they also sliced at the men too slow to block. A blue cold light burned in the LichÂ’s sockets and he laughed. It was not unlike his cry of pain.

    With a glance, the Lich noticed the assassin and for the first time felt a shadow of concern. Not that the assassin posed any immediate threat but he couldnÂ’t read him and this, the Lich didnÂ’t expect. The Lich disliked wild cards in the games he played, and he signaled the ghouls.

    Ten ghouls broke off from Percival, and headed straight for Dorin. Percival, getting used to the running, jumping, blocking, and bashing routine, didnÂ’t notice. Unfortunately, neither did Dorin.

    The guttural sounds of the ghouls signaled Dorin to their approach but it was too late. Claws were thrust deep into DorinÂ’s back and he let out a choked cry. The ghouls pulled him quickly to the ground and dismembered him a little less methodically than a butcher would.

    Percival heard Dorin and turned to see him being swarmed and then mutilated by ghouls.

    Percival screamed.

    Chapter 8

    Fury burned in Percival, which he honed and wielded like a weapon. Quickly, he tossed two wards of healing near his men and then stopped to face the six ghouls who didnÂ’t go after Dorin. His body was driven by an anger tempered by grief and it functioned with a zeal and ferocity that surprised Percival himself. As efficiently as one could be with a weapon designed to crush concrete, Percival eliminated the six mercilessly.

    The remaining ten ghouls were immediately upon Percival, for DorinÂ’s death was quick, if not clean. Percival met them as calmly as an owlbear guarding her cubs. His first swing shattered the spine of the speediest ghoul of the lot. Nine remaining ghouls howled in rage.

    Percival didnÂ’t understand his response of loss and anger. Yes, Dorin had died, but Dorin was an assassin. A mercenary! Mercenaries were hired to die, not to be lifelong pets. The death rate of Mercenaries alone surpassed that of birth rates for years, baffling statisticians to no end.

    Percival rammed his shoulder into a nearby ghoul, who fell back onto two others. Percival then followed up with a hammering fist into another ghoul, and with the momentum of that punch, spun around, grabbed hold of his hammer with both hands, and swung it in a huge 180 degree arc, incapacitating two more ghouls. There were seven ghouls left, and they were currently confused and stunned.

    Dorin must have known that he would die! As everyone knew, dying came with the job. In fact, Dorin was hired with the expectation of dying! Percival only knew Dorin for two days, for crying out loud! He didn’t even share his token “Why I Became a Paladin” story with him yet, denying future readers the Protagonist Emotional Attachment sorely needed in any epic tale!

    A ghoul was immediately up and charged Percival, arms flailing and deadly. With a well-timed kick, PercivalÂ’s spiked boot crushed the neck of the oncoming ghoul and it tumbled to join PercivalÂ’s growing collection of ghoul flesh. Raising his hammer, he smashed the legs of another ghoul too slow in recovering. It lashed about in pain, trying to drag itself to Percival, until its head met the same fate as its legs. Five ghouls were left to contend with.

    If Percival were to feel the same way about every mercenary that came by, they would call him soft. Someone would nominate him to be the spokesperson for Mercenary rights and then would come the rallies, the meetings, the dinners, the fundraising. He was not prepared nor eager for the political life.

    The ghouls organized themselves and slowly circled Percival. On some unseen signal they charged, claws slashing and slicing in a blind frenzy, ready to catch Percival in a living blender. That isÂ…undead blender. Percival simply threw his hammer at one ghoul and dove towards it. The odds of hammer versus ghoul had curiously favored the hammer so far and this encounter proved to be no exception. The remaining ghouls met and skewered themselves in the middle. Percival was glad that there were enemies dumber than him.

    Percival glared at the Lich. The footmen lay dead, blood pouring from a multitude of wounds and, disgustingly enough, a multitude of footmen parts. The Lich had been responsible for DorinÂ’s death, the death of the footmen, and probably countless other deaths. According to his (and probably every) standard code of revenge, the Lich had to die, a thought process more within PercivalÂ’s realm of understanding. Personal reflection had never surfaced before and the heat of battle did not seem an optimal time to start. The familiar security of glowing light encased him as he cast Divine Shield and he raced towards the Lich.

    Percival was very quick with his weapon and could best most men armed with swords. But warhammers were no more designed for fighting than abominations were designed for glass sculpting. A person could not spar with a hammer. When you wield a hammer, all of your strength will go into swinging it and hoping it stops because it hit a) the target, b) the ground and c) not you. The best defense, obviously, was to get out of the way and hope that the attacker would fail to comply with c). But once the hammer had stopped, it took enormous amount of energy for it to be swung again, and for all the attacker could do, any fool could easily step in and stab the attacker with a dagger, sword, or even a rabid cat.

    Warhammers were designed for killing, or, at the very least, serious maiming. The head was designed to be massive and heavy, to decrease the amount the attacker missed and increase the amount of damage inflicted. To hit the Lich, PercivalÂ’s hammer should have been the size of a small village.

    The Lich floated out to meet Percival, and Percival either didnÂ’t notice or forgot that the Lich previously fended off about ten men simultaneously. Frustration and shock continually played on PercivalÂ’s face as he never failed to miss the Lich. After ten seconds of brutally assaulting the air, Percival's Divine Shield ran out and the Lich cast a Nova Frost.

    Percival froze, literally. His movements became laboured as he fought with great effort against the chill striving to control his body. Slowly, but not without a great amount of strength, Percival lifted his hammer and would have smited the foe before him if said foe hadnÂ’t turned around and glided back to his original position on the dais. Two abominations sundered in and, without even giving Percival his right to smite anyone, grabbed him and threw him against the wall.

    "What is it with you lummoxes and throwing? It is never as effective, as, let us say, grabbing them by the legs and bashing their heads repeatedly on the ground. Yet all huge creatures feel compelled to throw their opponent," scowled the Lich.

    Percival was struggling to get up, the effects of the Nova blast just starting to wear off. Two abominations and a Lich he couldn't hit were making this quest a bit more difficult than he anticipated. He turned, but before he could decide which enemy to attack first, the Lich hit him with another Nova Frost. By the Light, Percival hated that spell.

    "Now, instead of grabbing and throwing him again, just bring the Paladin over here and give his weapon to me," commanded the Lich. He removed the attack blades he had been wearing as well as an Amulet of Speed, which he placed on one of the pedestals lining the dais. From another pedestal, he picked up a simple glass sphere.

    "Remove his armour, throw the hero on his back, and spread out his arms and legs," ordered the Lich. The freezing effect of the Nova Frost kept Percival from resisting (well, from effectively resisting), and the Abominations, surprisingly enough, skillfully and deftly removed Percival's armour. Such delicacy they didn't apply to Percival as they smashed him on the ground and arranged him as per orders. With Percival's weapon in hand, the Lich glided towards him.

    "You are probably expecting to hear, 'You have impressed me, hero,' but that would be lying."

    THUNK. The heavy weight of Percival's hammer crushed the bones in Percival's right arm.

    "My my, are we not such a brave little hero? Not even a little cry of pain?"

    THUD. Percival's right arm matched his left.

    "I have a small dilemma. I could convert you, always need a good Death Knight, or I could entrap your soul in this Soul Gem."

    KaTHUD. Percival's right leg was rendered useless.

    "If I kill you, I can place you in my Soul Gem," indicating the sphere in his hands, "but then what? You have no information to me that is useful. And who needs a soul of a low level hero? A Death Knight can be useful, but the last thing I need is another incompetent fool botching up assignments and always needing direction. That is the problem with mind-controlled servants, they have absolutely no initiative."

    KaRUNCH. Percival head swam as pain blurred his senses. The Lich peered down at him and dropped the hammer on his chest, as if discarding a used tissue. The weight of the hammer winded Percival but thankfully, his ribs remained intact. With effort, Percival lifted his head to see the Lich, still fondling the Soul Gem, return to his dais.

    Percival felt like fainting. Although a viable option, it wasn't one that would ensure a successful outcome to his situation. He tried grabbing his hammer and almost threw up from the pain. He was exhausted and spent, not enough energy to cast a Divine Shield nor a Holy Light, and the Lich was aware of that.

    "You bore me, hero. Kill him," ordered the Lich.

    Chapter 9

    Percival closed his eyes. He had a few seconds to come up with a cunning plan before the abominations closed in and forced him to commune more intimately with the floor. He felt two objects being pressed into his hand. Shocked, he turned his head, only to have his attention interrupted by a great commotion and a surprised, "URK!"

    If the Lich's eyes hadn't rotted away centuries ago, they would have bulged in alarm. The two abominations lay sprawling on the floor, each with only one leg attached and the other leg still happily idling at attention.

    "HEY, Lich Boy! Here Lichee-lichee!" came a cry.

    The Lich swung his head to see Dorin waving his arms, who would have been, had it not been a story, accompanied by triumphant brass instruments, excited strings, and a timpani.

    "You should be dead," remarked the Lich, not one for drama nor musical accompaniment. Calmly regaining his composure, he shot off a bolt of Nova Frost at the assassin. Dorin shadowmelded and the spell harmlessly discharged on the wall behind him.

    "Tsk, tsk, and you're worried about us destroying the place," scolded Dorin.

    The Lich turned to reproach the abominations but burning pain interrupted. His hollow wail echoed in agony as Holy Light burned from within. Before he could even question how the paladin had gained the magical energy to do so, a warhammer crushed the Lich's skull into the wall.

    Dorin watched in awe as the Lich's body slumped to the ground. The spectral image of the now dead undead Lich floated upwards and then halted suddenly, as if caught by a fishing line. With his hardened features of bone, it was difficult for the Lich to display shock or dismay, but he pulled it off convincingly as his ghostly form was sucked into the Soul Gem he previously carried.

    "Ding, dong, the Lich is dead!" sung Dorin merrily.

    "FOR HONOUR!" belted Percival as he stood up, although not too sturdily.

    "I take it those stones of health and mana came in handy," commented Dorin as he grabbed Percival's backpack and started filling it with loot from the Lich. A distant explosion sounded and a small tremor shook the floor.

    "Yes, but I think you broke my fingers as you crushed the stones in my hand with your heel," complained Percival. The abominations, knowing that the necropolis would collapse at any moment, crawled towards the exit.

    "Poor wittle Percival has a wittle boo boo," mocked Dorin.

    "By the Light, Dorin, you were torn to bits! How did you SURVIVE?" asked Percival.

    "Simple. You made illusions of us remember? As soon as I saw you made a copy of me, well, I instantly shadowmelded. No point in me having to get hit by those Nova Frosts," explained Dorin as he searched the Lich. "Aha! Here's that stupid map, good thing Liches aren't gooey when dead."

    A stronger tremble shook the walls and a large chandelier shook loose and crashed to the floor.

    "But how did you get all those items to me?" persisted Percival.

    "I can move when I shadowmeld. Not very fast, but I can move, especially in this darkness. Despite what people think, I'm a very skilled Assassin," bragged Dorin. He tossed the backpack to Percival.

    "Now use that Town Portal scroll, because although it's more heroic to dash out of here with an engulfing inferno licking at our heels while pillars of stone fall and narrowly miss us, I just don't have the energy."

    Percival grabbed a scroll and the two immediately winked out, but not without the expected slab of concrete smashing the floor they had previously occupied milliseconds after they had successfully teleported.

    Chapter 10

    A room.
    A figure.
    A minion.
    “Master, the Lich is dead.”
    A nod.
    “The map is retrieved, but the Twelve are planning his arrest.”
    “Help them.”
    A bow.


    -------------------------------------------------

    Healing hurts. Whether it be the irritating itch from a crusty scab or battling infections from a nasty head wound, the process can be draining for weeks. Having your wounds instantly healed doesnÂ’t bypass any of this pain, but rather compresses it into one agonizing instance. Percival awoke, feeling as if a rock golem had collapsed on him.

    “Hey Perk! Glad to see you’re awake! Great constitution you’ve got there!”

    Percival looked around and found himself on a small cot in a sparse but elegant room, dimly lit by a small lamp. An Elven priest was nearby collecting his belongings. Dorin was at the side of the bed the minute Percival opened his eyes.

    “Good thing you’re rich Perk. The healing stone was able to knit your bones together, but how you managed to throw that hammer and cast a spell at the same time is beyond me. This priest spent the rest of the day healing your wounds. You need a lighter weapon.”

    Percival nodded a thanks to the Priest, who bowed and then left by a small door.

    “You collapsed as soon as we teleported to town. I could barely move you but luckily this temple was nearby.”

    Percival sat up. The room spun for a bit and his muscles protested the sudden flurry of activity, but Percival managed a grin.

    “Nothing can stand in the way of those who seek truth and justice!” proudly whispered Percival.

    “There’s the Perk I know.”

    “Have you looked at the map?”

    “Don’t waste any time, do you. Yes, the Lost Temple is nested amongst some mountains in the far north,” Dorin explained as he handed the map to Percival. Percival studied the map for a bit and a small chime sounded from the minimap still hung around his neck.

    “It’s recorded onto the minimap. We shouldn’t lose our way now and by the looks of it, we will need to rent a goblin zeppelin to get past these mountains.”

    Dorin turned pale. “Uh....I’m allergic to flying.”

    “Oh, don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights too! You’re an assassin! You can’t be afraid of heights!”

    “I’m not afraid of heights! I can scale any tower you want. Flying, on the other hand, requires you being in the air without being attached to the ground in any way! It’s unnatural! If we were meant to fly, the ground would have been closer to the sky!”

    “You were in the Necropolis and that thing flies.”

    “Being attacked by the undead kinda takes your mind off of these things.”

    “Well, it doesn’t matter, there is no other way to the Lost Temple accept over these impassable mountains. Look at it this way, think of all the monsters we can avoid!”

    “Oh great. So we ONLY have to worry about harpies, gargoyles, phoenixes, dragons, as well as plummeting to our death.”

    “There’s the Dorin I know,” sighed Percival as he stood up from the bed.

    “Come, there’s a goblin lab on the edge of town where we can rent a zeppelin.”

    “What? It’s the middle of the night!”

    “We can sleep on the zeppelin. It may take us a while to get there so we may as well start now.”

    After a bit of stammering, Dorin gave in, “Fine, I’ll get the rest of our stuff. It’s in the next room.”

    As Dorin left, Percival tested his muscles out. He was sore and stiff, but nothing debilitating. It was in the middle of a heroic flexing pose when the door opened.

    “Percival Pureheart the Paladin?” came the bored voice of a city guard, obviously the captain of the eight other guards who stood behind him, all fully armed and dressed. In stark contrast, Percival was still in a night gown and still sporting a pose not meant to be in a nightgown. Embarrassed, he quickly composed himself and answered, “Yes, that’s me.”

    “You are under arrest for high treason,” came the reply as two guards grabbed the arms of Percival. They tried to be rough about it but ended up using Percival as support.

    “What? There must be a mistake!” protested Percival, trying to keep the guards from leaning on him.

    “Yes, I get that a lot,” droned the captain.

    “Can I at least get dressed?” asked Percival.

    “Fine, get your things on. Where is the assassin?”

    “What assassin?”

    The captain nodded at one of the guards. The chosen guard gave a pained look and with a huge sigh, gave Percival the customary prisoner-talked-back punch across the face. Percival, however, had mastered the art of being bashed by an abomination, and besides, any less effort on the guardÂ’s part would have had the punch stopped by mere air friction.

    “Your feigned innocence won’t help your friend. The temple is surrounded. Every window and every door has one of my men guarding it with a crossbow. If he’s hiding or shadowmelding, daylight will reveal all and he’ll be shot on sight.”

    Percival calculated his odds. Most of the guards were not paying attention, and carried their swords as if made of lead. But Percival was a man of honour and killing guards only doing their job (albeit not very well) was not an option. Percival decided on using his wit.

    “Will you let me go free?”

    “No.”

    Wit failing, Percival decided on surrendering.

    Chapter 11

    “I will go peacefully,” gave in Percival.

    The captain paused for a second, the only indication that PercivalÂ’s surrender surprised him. Heroes were never known to surrender, especially to city guards. He motioned for two volunteers. All the guards looked at one another. No direct order to an individual meant it was up to the guardÂ’s discretion and the guardÂ’s discretion vied towards not doing anything.

    Sighing, the captain pointed at the two guards leaning on Percival. “Shackle his wrists,” came the order. The two guards looked at each other and then checked their pockets. Considering that armour had no pockets, no shackles were produced and they whispered to the other guards, “who brought the shackles?” Blame and misdirection murmured throughout the room until finally it was admitted that no one had foreseen any need for shackles, since no one had ever surrendered peacefully.

    “Fine,” said the captain as he pointed at a guard, “Corporal Al, where’s your crossbow? Keep it trained on the paladin.”

    Corporal Al blinked at the captain, “Wasn’t my watch to carry one, sir.”

    “And who’s was it?”

    The corporal indicated another guard, “I do believe Corporal Al has it.”

    The captain looked at this guard, who protested, “I traded crossbow duty with Corporal Al, sir.”

    Another guard piped up, “That was last week!”

    The captain sighed again and asked, “Does anyone have a crossbow?”

    The guards remained silent.

    Percival watched this in shock.

    “Uh, excuse me captain,” Percival interrupted. The captain looked at him as if he had forgotten he was there.

    “Are all the guards named Al?”

    The captain stared at Percival. A few uncomfortable minutes later, Percival cleared his throat and said “Uh, you did mention that there were men outside stationed with crossbows.”

    The guards mumbled in agreement, the mystery of the crossbow duty now solved.

    “Ok, that’s enough. We will walk in formation to guard the paladin. Two in front, behind and on either side of him, is that clear?”

    The guards started to grumble, upset that a new formation had to be learned.

    “Enough, let’s go.”

    Much to Percival’s surprise, the guards were able to navigate out of the door and still maintain their positions without getting confused. He was at least relieved that they had stopped leaning on him. Outside the temple, they met two more guards armed with crossbows. (Although, “armed” may have been too strong of a word to have used. “In the general vicinity of” would have been a better description.)

    “Keep an eye out for the assassin. Shoot any movement on sight.”

    Percival couldnÂ’t tell if the guards nodded in deference or bobbed their heads trying to fight off sleep. Even Dorin should be able to elude these guys.

    They marched off in direction of the guard house, albeit at a pace a steam tank could have outrun. Percival debated running. If he ran away, no guards would get hurt and he wouldnÂ’t have to go through any legal proceedings to clear up this obvious mistake. The guards were in rather tight around him, but he was certain that nothing more than a stiff breeze could disrupt their vigilance.

    They turned into an alleyway and Percival tensed. Impatience gnawed at him and he debated whether the timing was right, when, much to his surprise, they were mugged.

    For a split second, Percival couldnÂ’t believe anyone would consider mugging nine armed men and a hero, but then he noticed the muggers: four abominations came into view.

    “Muggers don’t take any chances around here,” commented Percival. He looked at the captain, “Don’t worry, we can deal with this. Abominations are my specialty. One will probably hit me into a wall, but that’s our advantage! I can grab-”

    Percival stopped short. The captain was giving him a disapproving look. Percival felt as if someone had soiled in the local Healing Fount and he had been caught with his pants down.

    “You will stay here, Percival Pureheart the Paladin,” ordered the captain, “Corporal Al, you will keep the Abominations occupied as we take an alternate route.”

    One of the guards started whining. Percival couldnÂ’t tell which was more surprising, that one guard was to be sacrificed when they all could take the oncoming threat, or how the guards were able to discern who was talking to whom.

    “But captain-” started the guard.

    “No buts! If I remember correctly, you weaseled out of shield carrying duty yesterday.”

    “Strict lot,” thought Percival.

    “Look,” Percival protested, “I will not stand by and see an innocent man die for no reason. We can all-”

    The captain signaled the company to turn around, cutting Percival off again. Percival was about to continue arguing when he noticed three more abominations coming from the rear.

    “Now you need my help, I can take the-”

    The captain raised his hand, halting Percival in mid sentence.

    “Corporal Al.”

    “I did guard duty this morning!” complained another guard.

    “That’s enough! I will tolerate no more insubordination,” he commanded.

    The two guardsmen walked to their prospective targets, sulking. PercivalÂ’s sense of duty overcame his odd compliance to the captainÂ’s authority and he would have charged into battle if his jaw didnÂ’t impede the way.

    The first guardsman, with his sword, had caught the chain whipped at him by one of the abominations. This was nearly impossible to do and Percival couldn’t believe that the impact from the hook didn’t shatter his blade or his arm. The guardsmen then threw the hook at another abomination in the middle of random bellowing. With its neck exposed, the chain neatly rapped around it, the hook embedding itself in the throat with a meaty “chunk”. With annoyed fury, the owner of the chain yanked it roughly, severing the head of the entrapped abomination. The third came roaring in and tried its luck at guardsman flaying while the first abomination swung its cleaver with the neatness and efficiency of an abattoir. Deftly, the guardsman not only dodged both blows but also picked up the discarded cleaver of the dead abomination and rolled forward to hack off the leg of the first. Like many of its other brethren, the abomination fell for the missing leg trick and collided with the third. A well aimed cleaver sliced through the air to find rest in the base of the skull of the downed monstrosity. The third abomination was temporarily trapped under his fallen comrade but that was all the time needed for the guardsman to lop off its head.

    PercivalÂ’s gaping maw was starting to attract homeless insects. He turned around to see how the other guardsman was fairing. Apparently, he had finished off his abominations and was now arguing with another guardsmen about trading armour cleaning duty. Percival turned his attention back to the last doomed abomination.

    Stubbornly ignoring the fact that his adversary had downed three of his mates, the fourth abomination lunged, intent upon maiming, mauling and other practices which encouraged dismemberment. The guardsman easily evaded the attack and managed to swing himself onto the back of the abomination while blocking wild thrashings of the arm attached there. The guardsman grabbed and ripped off the protruding appendage and, in what must have been a fit of bravado, wrapped it around the neck of the abomination and then choked it to death with itÂ’s own arm.

    Finishing the battle, the guardsman skulked back to formation, dreading that he would probably be the one assigned for clean up duty.

    “Captain sir, the Paladin has disappeared.”

    The captain quickly glanced where Percival was standing moments before.

    “You did check him for cloaks, scrolls, and the normal hero riff-raff?”

    “Yes sir, he only had his armour on and the mini-map. We did find this on the ground.”

    The captain looked at a small ribbon, normally used to tie a magical scroll together.

    “Did you see him reading a town portal scroll?” asked the captain.

    “No captain.”

    “Did anyone notice any sorceresses around?”

    “No captain.”

    “Did anyone remember to bring a gem of seeing?”

    A guardsman was about to say how he had traded gem carrying duty to Corporal Al, but he thought better of it and kept silent.

    “Right, we will head back to the Town Hall. The assassin’s guild may have come up with some mini town portal. ALL of you will now add extra guard duty above your normal duties until that paladin is found.”

    The guards started to whine.

    Chapter 12

    “Perk, they’re gone, where are you?” questioned Dorin as he slowly faded into view.

    “Percival! Move or take the cloak off, I can’t see you!”

    “Did you see that?” came a voice. Dorin turned and saw Percival still staring at the dead abominations.

    “That one guy…took down four abominations. Didn’t even look like he was trying that hard. Just a little guy, too,” stammered Percival.

    “Ya, their fitness program must be amazing. We better go Perk, guards will be looking for us everywhere.”

    “But...but...how did he do that?”

    “Who cares! We’re free, let’s get out of here!”

    “Even armed and buffed to the max, I would have had trouble taking down two abominations...hey, where’s my weapon?” asked Percival.

    “Oh, that! Uh…that thing is HEAVY. Luckily you guys were marching slow enough that I could keep up and stay shadowmelded, but I couldn’t do it lugging that stupid overgrown hammer around. Soooo..uh..it’s still at the temple.”

    “You left my weapon behind???”

    “I had to climb to the roof of the temple with your heavy backpack and not get caught! Your weapon is basically a cement block on a stick! It’s not exactly light, y’know!”

    “A Paladin’s weapon is his life!”

    “Hey, you’re lucky I brought the backpack! Had I not found that Cloak of Shadows in there, you’d be in the dungeons by now!”

    “I had a Cloak of Shadows?”

    “Ya. It was hard getting it to you, what with those guards practically leaning against you. But they shifted a bit trying to get a better view of the battle and I slipped it on you.”

    “I don’t recall having a Cloak of Shadows.”

    “Ya, well, you probably couldn’t even recall yesterday.”

    “I can too! We killed the Lich yesterday!”

    “That was just yesterday?”

    “Yes, of course it was!”

    “Seems like long ago.”

    “Yes, sure does.”

    Percival and Dorin looked pensive.

    “What were we talking about?” asked Percival.

    “Got me, I’m still remember watching those ghouls tear me to bits. It’s a very chilling experience.”

    “MY WEAPON!” remembered Percival.

    “Oh, ya, right, sorry about that.”

    “I have to get it back,” Percival stated, walking back to the temple.

    “You’re MAD! The guards are still there looking for me! We’d never get in and I’m the only one that can move when shadowmelded. There is no way I can carry that bulky mallet of yours.”

    Percival glared at Dorin.

    “Fine, I’ll just pick up another at the weapons shop by the Goblin Laboratory, but you owe me a warhammer!”

    Dorin was shocked that Percival gave in so easily, “Sure, whatever you say Perk.”

    “It’s Percival!”

    Chapter 13

    A large circle of power dominates the room. A room with no decoration, no structured design, no doors. The circle of power glows, and around the perimeter are twelve smaller circles. A pillar of light materializes. Within it, a cloaked figure. Eleven others appear in succession and the Circle of Twelve commences.

    "The Paladin and assassin have escaped," comments one. His announcement is not unknown to the others.

    “This pair seems to best the most insurmountable odds,” replies another.

    A figure in grey speaks, “Our failure to prevent the assignment and now the arrest has now taken a turn for the worst.” Deep concern furrows his brow and with reluctance he continues, "We are now at a point which we debated years ago but hoped would never come to pass. The death of a hero is as permanent as a young man's promise of love, so we must make the decision on using a soul gem. We can't afford Percival being resurrected and seeking out the Lost Temple again."

    A man dressed in pink immediately protests, "I still cannot promote the use of the vile artifact. The more that exist, the more dangerous it becomes. We should destroy them, destroy them all!"

    "Has the status changed?" questions a man in brown. Above the circle an image winked into existence: a map of the lands focused on the Lost Temple. Smaller bluish highlights spotted the map, but none rivaled the large glowing mass encompassing the Lost Temple itself.

    "No, it has been stable for the last 200 years."

    "Could Percival and his companion tip those scales?"

    "Unknown, but it's a risk no one is willing to take."

    The man in grey speaks, ceasing all questions.

    "We have, as I've said, debated all this before and it comes down to this: the use of another soul gem. You will cast your will."

    A large sphere rises in the center of the circle of power.

    "As you know, a majority cast of black is negative, while one of white is positive. In the case of a tie, the sphere will reflect black."

    The grey man searches the group; all are ready. "Begin casting...now."

    The sphere barely flickers, settling on white. The grey man nods to the figure in red. He turns towards the Circle.

    "We have a perfect candidate. A Blade Master of the tenth level. He will be given the impression that Percival killed his brother.. The 'hero' will then be bound to seek blood vengeance and his desire for revenge should negate any questions he has. He will come across a soul gem, which he will then believe to be the ultimate punishment for Percival. Once he has trapped Percival's soul, we will collect it from him."

    "And the assassin?"

    "Ever known a blademaster in bloodlust that letÂ’s his enemies live?"

    “And if someone gets the soul gem with Percival’s soul before we do?”

    “It won’t happen.”

    Silence befalls the Twelve.

    The figure in red continues, “My people will be in charge of this soul gem and the arrangements are in place.”

    The man in grey lifts his head, "That concludes this council, if there are no further questions..." Silence follows.

    "The Circle is complete," concludes the grey man.

    "The Circle is complete," echoes the rest and the twelve teleport out.

    Chapter 14

    Renting a zeppelin wasnÂ’t as easy as it seemed. Apparently, rented zeppelins were never returned, most of them destroyed in mid-flight. This put Dorin further on edge, but a herd of thunder lizards couldnÂ’t keep Percival from purchasing the newest deluxe model GMW Z-8 for the ultimate in flying pleasure. With cramped but comfortable sleeping cabins, a crew of eight, and an onboard hot fount of healing, one can experience a high-performance war vehicle effortlessly blending remarkable power with exceptional smoothness. Percival was immensely proud of his latest toy and explored every nook and cranny of the airship.

    “This thing has everything! Look a storeroom that could hold the weapons of a huge army! Aaaaa, smell that! Can you smell the interior? Nothing beats that! Feel that! Feel that! That’s high quality wood, this is not your cheap plywood model, nosirree! Look, it even has a ramp large enough to load steam tanks on! Somebody gut me!” gushed Percival.

    “Mmmm, let me,” muttered Dorin, “You know, traveling by steam tank would have been pleasant. We’d be on the ground, puttering at a nice leisurely pace and we could knock down trees for kicks.” Dorin spoke without conviction. He had found a spot on the zeppelin which had given him the best view of the floor and the least view of the edge. Lying on the deck in horror, he could hear the engines work harder as the zeppelin lifted into the air. Percival was practically hanging over the edge trying to squeeze in every bit of zeppelin experience that he could. Every so often some word vaguely resembling a nautical term would issue forth from his mouth.

    A few hours of uneventful flying had unmercifully passed slowly, depending on ones perspective. Percival was still excitable as ever, commenting every ten minutes on how everything on the ground looked so small. Dorin was still rooted to the spot and had just reached enough courage to try moving. With stiffened limbs, he got to his hands and knees and crawled inside to one of the cabins.

    Dorin was deathly tired, but sleep came in fitful spurts. Dreams of falling continually played at his mind. After being jerked awake numerous times, he finally sat up. The light outside indicated it was close to sunrise, although he didnÂ’t feel an ounce rested.

    Looking for ways to occupy himself, he decided to study the Lost Temple map, hoping to find an alternate route to the Lost Temple and thus giving him a reason to be angry with Percival. Rummaging around in Percival’s backpack, he heard a small voice, “Please refrain from jostling me.”

    Dorin jumped back. Small voices coming out of backpacks were not uncommon, but they had not acquired any imps or poltergeists since last he remembered. He searched the backpack once more for the source of the voice and found the soul gem containing the Lich.

    “Hey, I forgot about you,” Dorin spoke as he stared at the soul gem, now silent.

    “I’ve never seen one of these things occupied before. I’ve never seen a soul gem at all in fact. I think they’re outlawed or something.”

    The soul gem remained quiet. It was quite unremarkable, nothing more than a glass sphere filled with mist.

    “You’d think that a vessel containing a soul would look a bit more spectacular than just a glass ball on which someone heavily breathed.”

    The soul gem didnÂ’t respond.

    “Hey, I know you can talk, talk back!” ordered Dorin.

    “Spare me the light conversation,” replied the imprisoned Lich.

    “How dull, you don’t even pulsate or anything when you talk,” complained Dorin.

    The soul gem ignored the comment.

    “Look, I heard somewhere that souls entrapped in a soul gem are bound to tell the truth, can you tell me something about our mission?”

    “You will most likely die,” replied the Lich.

    “Tell me something I don’t know. You’re no better than a fortune teller I know back home.”

    Despite the lack in facial features, the soul gem somehow emanated disdain.

    “You undead are so grumpy.”

    Dorin was just formulating another question when a loud alarm went off.

    “What’s that?” Dorin asked.

    “An alarm,” replied the Lich.

    “I KNOW that, it’s just...oh never mind,” glowered Dorin as he rushed outside.

    Outside, the crew was rushing about the deck, turning cranks, randomly pulling ropes, and screaming. In the midst of them was Percival, both hands resting on the hilt of his hammer, calmly staring at a black cloud.

    “What is it?” asked Dorin, the fear of an attack short-circuiting his fear of heights.

    “Gargoyles, about twenty strong, heading this way,” replied Percival with a huge grin on his face.

    “They’re intent on attacking us, aren’t they,” asked Dorin.

    “Correct!”

    “And we’re not running away, are we.”

    “Not on your life.”

    “I was afraid of that.”

    “What aren’t you afraid of?”

    Dorin scowled.

    Chapter 15

    Percival never took his eyes off of the approaching gargoyles, but he barked out orders to the crewman.

    “You four,” he indicated by a sweep of his hand, “arm yourselves with crossbows and aim for the wings of the gargoyles. It won’t kill them but will hamper they’re flying. Dorin and the rest of you will concern yourselves with repairing the zeppelin. We must stay aloft!”

    Despite himself, Dorin was impressed by the change in the men. Now infused with purpose, they diligently went to their tasks, the morale so high it was almost palpable. One of the crewmen handed him a bucket and a long pole with a brush on the end.

    “What’s this?”

    “We calls it ‘liquid thread’, though t’aint nuttin like youse ever seen. Any tears them goyles rip, you slap on this stuff, and it will solidify and hold the rip closed. Iffen you run out, you kin refill from yonder barrel. Strap yerself down too, the pilot‘ll be doin’ evasive maneuvers.”

    Following the lead from the crew around him, Dorin tied a rope around his waist while thoughts of being tethered to a falling zeppelin played through his mind. He glanced at Percival, and noted the huge crossbow.

    Dorin was still carrying the soul gem, and he placed it into a small carrying bag at his side.

    “Are we going to live through this?” he asked the Lich nervously.

    “I do not foretell future events, but if I did, I would say no,” replied the Lich.

    Dorin couldnÂ’t see why soul gems were sought after, especially if it resulted in your enemy taunting you 24 hours a day.

    “Get ready men and fire on my mark,” commanded Percival.

    Dorin tensed and held his breath. The gargoyles were fast approaching the side of the zeppelin, yet Percival and the armed men were at the fore of the airship, not even facing the encroaching enemy. Within seconds, Dorin could hear the shrieks of the gargoyles and could see claws primed for shredding.

    “BANK TO STARBOARD!” bellowed Percival, and despite it’s ungainly bulk, the zeppelin turned sharply into the gargoyles.

    “FIRE!” Percival commanded, as the gargoyles swerved to avoid the armoured front of the zeppelin. Crossbow bolts ripped through the leathery wings of the more unfortunate gargoyles, but too many were able to avoid damage and swooped around for another attack. Percival and his men were frantically loading and shooting but it was not enough to quell the tide of razor sharp claws that ripped multiple holes in the side of the zeppelin.

    The ship banked suddenly, but it didn’t keep Dorin and the remaining crew from quickly patching up the gaping holes. Dorin was amazed by the ‘liquid thread’. With a sweep of his brush directly perpendicular to a tear, the liquid instantly hardened and then shrank, pulling the rip closed. He and the rest of the repair men could mend almost any hole the gargoyles tore.

    Soon, the gargoyles were all over, swooping in and out causing as much damage possible while avoiding crossbows. Some tried to land on deck, but they were no match against Percival and his warhammer. Noting the success of the repairmen, a few gargoyles pulled off from the main attack. Dorin, in an amazing display of bravery, was hanging a bit over the ledge trying to reach a difficult hole. Only the sound of a mad fluttering of wings saved him from a skewering and he dodged just in time. Unfortunately, it was in a direction favouring non-zeppelin and he flew over the edge, his plummet stopped short by the rope he had tied earlier.

    Not wanting to be robbed of their prey, the gargoyles renewed their attack, sights set on cutting the rope. Dorin, now beset with fear of gargoyles, fear of heights, and fear about whether he used a proper knot on the rope, swung his brush around in a wild panic. Fortune begrudgingly smiled upon him and DorinÂ’s brush connected with two of the gargoyles. The gargoyles let out a loud screech as the liquid dried and then shrunk, causing them to collide into each other. Dorin didnÂ’t have the satisfaction of watching them fall as another gargoyle slashed at him. He dodged just in time as he felt himself jerked upwards. Percival had hauled him onto the deck and slapped him hard on the back.

    “Good SHOW Dorin!” proudly beamed Percival.

    A loud shriek interrupted him as two gargoyles landed on deck. Without hesitation, Percival swung Dorin around and used him as a mace to knock one of the gargoyles off the ship. In the same motion, he grabbed DorinÂ’s bucket, dipped it in one of the barrels, and dumped it squarely on the other gargoyleÂ’s head. Dorin winced upon hearing the sickening crunch as the liquid shrunk and crushed the skull of the gargoyle. Percival kicked the gargoyle overboard.

    “You don’t make an effective weapon Dorin, that gargoyle wasn’t even stunned.”

    “Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I think you shattered my spine.”

    Another cry came from behind and Percival refilled his bucket and covered the surprised gargoyle with the liquid. The wings were instantly pinned and it fell to its death.

    “This stuff is great! “ laughed Percival, as he started using the liquid thread more amply, gargoyle after gargoyle falling to their death as their wings became crushed or pinned. A few gargoyles were remaining, and it didn’t take long for Percival and his men to take them down.

    “FOR HONOUR!” bellowed Percival, holding his bucket high. Dorin couldn’t believe it, but Percival still managed to look heroic wielding a bucket.

    “Put that thing down,” Dorin hissed, “you look ridiculous!”

    “Uh, excuse me sir,” mumbled a crewman.

    “Actually, I can’t get it off my gauntlet, I think it fused with it or something,” remarked Percival.

    “You can’t remove your gauntlet?” asked Dorin.

    “Um, ahem,” ahemed the crewman.

    “Not really, that stuff has compressed it too tightly, I can’t undo any bindings nor slip my glove off.”

    “Oh...that’s almost funny. Hey, it’s getting quite breezy, don’t you think?” asked Dorin.

    “M’lord Percival, we have suffered some major damage to our air balloon, and unfortunately, we’ve run out of liquid thread,” explained the crewman. Percival checked the barrel and noted he had drained it dry.

    “We’ll be crashing in about 10 minutes, please secure your belongings,” advised the crewman.

    “By the light, I hate you, Percival,” groaned Dorin.

    Chapter 16

    Dorin stirred. He felt like some thunder lizard had mistaken him for a chew toy. He was lying down and his eyes were closed, the state of which he didnÂ’t want changed on the probability that he was dead and sight would only confirm his morbid suspicions via visions of fire, brimstone, and scantily clad succubi.

    He risked a curious peak, since succubi didnÂ’t frequent his part of town, and much to his relief, and a sad twinge of dismay, he saw Percival.

    “HO! Dorin, you awaken!” smiled Percival. Dorin wondered who, other than heroes, used the word “Ho” as an interjection. His eyes then focused on the wreck of the goblin zeppelin.

    “There were a lot of injuries,” explained Percival, “but fortunately I cast a Divine Shield before impact. I was able to heal some of you with the use of healing wards, Holy Light, and...” Percival paused for dramatic effect. He stood up, held his hands before him, and in the purest baritone voice he could muster, “BEHOLD! THE LOST TEMPLE!”

    Dorin spun around quickly to see the eight crewmen, now fully equipped with armour salvaged from the zeppelin, grinning profusely around a Fountain of Healing.

    “You’re kidding, right?” asked Dorin.

    “No! This is it!” defended Percival.

    “Where’s the temple?”

    “It’s LOST. That’s why it’s called the Lost Temple.”

    “We stumble upon some shabby, run-of-the-mill Healing Fountain and naturally you assume it’s the Lost Temple?”

    “Well, we were so close before the attack of the gargoyles-”

    “This CAN’T be the Lost Temple!”

    “I’m pretty sure it is!”

    “Let me see that mini-map of yours,” Dorin argued, hand outstretched, waiting.

    “Uh, yes, well. We didn’t need it anymore once finding the temple, so...uh...”

    “Don’t tell me you lost it.”

    “We WERE just involved in a zeppelin crash you know. In which, I might add, I saved the lives of countless many, which included you!” Percival retorted.

    Dorin sighed, Percival was right, and accidents do happen.

    “Fine, I’m sorry, and thanks for saving our lives,” Dorin apologized. He stared at the healing fountain again. The crewman were still sitting around it, grinning.

    “What’s up with them?” asked Dorin.

    “They’re scared actually. I told them this was the Lost Temple and they knew the rumours of never coming back. Now they’re too scared to leave the safety of the Fountain of Healing.”

    “For light’s sake, this can’t be it. Does the map itself say that this is the Lost Temple?”

    “Well, uh...it’s pretty vague on details...”

    “Don’t tell me you lost that too!”

    “I didn’t lose it! A potion shattered and soaked the map during the crash. Fortunately, it was just one potion.”

    Dorin rubbed his temples. Sighing, he asked, “Ok, why are you so keen on this being the Lost Temple?”

    “Well,” explained Percival, “what do you expect when looking for some all powerful temple shrouded in legend?”

    “Death, severe injury, mental breakdowns, more death.”

    “Yes, yes, yes, that’s normal. But don’t you expect some gigantic temple rising hundreds of feet into the air, guarded by a host of evil minions ready to defend whatever secrets the ancients have hidden?”

    Dorin looked at Percival skeptically.

    “Thousands of expeditions looking for the Lost Temple, all in vain. Maybe because it’s something we DON’T expect. Something small, diminutive, something no one would even think of. Makes sense, doesn’t it!”

    “You’re a loon, Perk.”

    “I’m telling you, this is it!”

    “Look, I can straighten this out once and for all,” argued Dorin, as he pulled out the Soul Gem. “Hey, Lich, is this the Lost Temple?”

    “No,” replied the Lich.

    “There. He doesn’t lie either,” Dorin grinned triumphantly.

    “Hey, that’s the Lich!” noticed Percival.

    “Ya, although he’s a bit grumpy,” critiqued Dorin.

    “We’ve had that thing all along?” asked Percival.

    “Ya, pretty crazy eh?”

    “Do you know how powerful one of these things are?”

    “Uh...no. I know how annoying they are.”

    “All the accumulated knowledge that this Lich has .. uh... accumulated... is at our disposal!”

    “Great. Hey Lich, do you know where the Lost Temple is?”

    “Yes,” replied the Lich.

    Before anyone could question further, a deep loud cry interrupted their interrogation.

    Dorin, Percival and company looked up to see a Blademaster in the distance waving angrily in their direction.

    “Wow, a tenth level Blademaster. Don’t see those often,” commented Percival.

    The Blademaster started toward them. He was joined by a few ogres and orc shamen.

    “He’s angry at us, isn’t he Perk. And I bet he wants to kill us too.”

    A gutteral chanting droned through the air as the shamen raised their hands and made slow but complicated gestures. Red fire flashed about the approaching army and their cries of bloodlust echoed throughout the morning dawn.

    “I don’t understand how that spell makes them bigger. That’s just not fair,” complained Dorin.

    The Blademaster was now close enough for Dorin to make out a bone necklace hung around the thick neck of the Blademaster.

    “Oh great, he has one of those too, what’s that thing called Perk?”

    “Scourge Bone Chimes.”

    “And all we have are healing wards and a stupid soul gem. Any plans oh fearless leader? I noticed you have Devotion Aura finally. I was wondering why I was standing here rooted to the spot while bloodlusted vampire ogres are about to chew off my head.”

    “I’m going after the Blademaster. Arm yourself with a crossbow and see if you can kill anything.”

    “Don’t count on it,” sulked Dorin.

    “I’m not.”

    Chapter 17

    With his standard battle cry, Percival charged the Blademaster. Dorin went to search the remains of the fallen zeppelin to find a crossbow that worked. The remaining soldiers huddled in fear around the fountain of healing.

    Within a tooth chatter, the Ogres were upon them. The men did their best to stand their ground, but one savage grin was all it took for their fear to get the best of them. An ogre grabbed a soldier and started bashing him. The rest of the soldiers hacked away at the attacking ogre but the slightest wound, and the wounds were slight indeed, were instantly countered by the healing fount. Furthermore, the vampiric ogres gained life from the blood of its victims and with a large chomp, the ogre tore a huge strip from the leg of the soldier. With a cry of shock and pain, the soldier whacked the ogre with the sword he miraculously still carried, causing the ogre to drop him into the healing waters of the fountain. Instantly, the soldierÂ’s leg healed over. The ogres were overjoyed at this new development and zealously grabbed each soldier. To their horror, each man had huge chunks of flesh ripped off and then were unceremoniously dipped into the healing fount.

    The anguished cries of the men got DorinÂ’s attention and he yelped at the grisly feast before him. One ogre, upset about the portions he was allotted, spotted Dorin and started after him. Dorin looked for an escape but daylight hindered any shadow melding and the Devotion Aura kept the radius of fleeing to a minimum. He desperately didnÂ’t want to get involved in the ogreÂ’s snack dip party and ran in the only direction he could: towards Percival and the Blademaster.

    Unfortunately, PercivalÂ’s perception of his battle prowess was taking a savage beating. The same could be said about his battle with the Blademaster. He was constantly on the defensive and it was all he could do to just block and dodge the deadly attacks. He couldnÂ’t believe anyone could move so fast. In a suicidal move, Percival swung his hammer back in preparation for a devastating blow. The deadly blade shot forth intent on introducing PercivalÂ’s innards to the outside world. A flash of light and PercivalÂ’s Divine Shield deflected the skewering. The orc was stunned only for a millisecond but that was enough for PercivalÂ’s hammer to follow through with his swing and connect squarely on the orcÂ’s breastplate. The orc stumbled backwards and then let out a deafening roar. His bloodlust blinded him with rage and he tore after the closest target to him: Dorin.

    The ogre who had dibs on Dorin began to protest but dense as it was, it knew better to come in-between a Blademaster and his victim. Dorin didnÂ’t even have time to curse his luck as the blade came close to severing any type of verbal communication. Although quite skilled at death avoidance, Dorin knew it was only a matter of moments before the blade found the flesh it was hungering for. Fortunately, PercivalÂ’s hammer connected squarely on the BlademasterÂ’s head.

    “I’m invulnerable, not incapacitated,” pointed out Percival.

    “Wow, two big words in one sentence, impressive Perk.”

    “Could you at least TRY and fight back?”

    “That WAS trying. Aw crap, Perk, he’s heading for the footmen.”

    The toll had been too great on the men and now they were too weakened to resist. Percival rushed to their aid but was soon in battle with the vampiric ogres, still surprisingly hungry. With a quick spin of his sword, the Blademaster initiated a ritualistic gesture. A gust of wind came from nowhere and accompanied the graceful movements of the Blademaster, now involved in some archaic dance. Suddenly, he was just a blur and the men found themselves being sliced to ribbons by the BlademasterÂ’s devastating final attack: the Bladestorm. Spinning round and round, the BlademasterÂ’s weapon was impossible to avoid. The men screamed and tried to run away as this new torture was thrust upon them.

    Dorin grabbed the closest thing to him and threw it at the twirling Blademaster. The closest thing to him happened to be a stick of wood, a fragment of the destroyed zeppelin. The stick of wood was attached to a rope, which in turn was attached to the remains of the canvas used as the zeppelinÂ’s balloon. Soon, ogre and human alike were on the ground avoiding the blade, the ropes and wood whipping around and pulling everything into the storm itself.

    The dust settled and Dorin slowly opened his eyes. The Blademaster lay there, wrapped in a blood soaked cocoon made out of zeppelin. Sharp shards of wood stuck out at odd angles and the BlademasterÂ’s weapon lay on the ground. The ogres looked at their fallen leader in shock.

    Percival was up in flash and grabbed the Blademaster’s sword. With a few slashes, he cut open the canvas tomb to reveal the heavily wounded orc inside. Percival reach down and a sharp “SNAP” sounded as he pulled something from the orc..

    Bodies rose from the healing fountain. They were shadows of men, the continual drainage of blood was hard on their constitution. But now they felt vengeance and above all, hunger. They grinned. Carnivorous teeth bared. Dorin himself felt his teeth grow as he looked at Percival, now wearing the Scourge Bone Chimes.

    The ogres looked at one another; one grunted a sound not unlike “Uh oh.” The soldiers gathered their swords and their banquet began.

    Dorin went up to Percival and the fallen Blademaster. His new fangs felt uncomfortable in his mouth. He had to resist the urge to chase and devour a squirrel he spotted.

    “OW! I think I poked a hole in my tongue! These things are sharp!”

    Percival ignored Dorin and questioned the Blademaster, “Who are you? Why did you attack us?”

    The Blademaster wheezed, and coughed up blood. Percival grabbed a beam of wood embedded in the shoulder of the orc and yanked it free. The Blademaster grunted in pain but Percival splashed him with a bit of healing water. The wounds healed and the BlademasterÂ’s breathing became less laboured.

    “You’re not even Level 6,” were his first words.

    “Why am I constantly graded around here?” Percival asked exasperated.

    “Better than being a sidekick,” mumbled Dorin.

    “There’s been a mistake, you could not have killed my brother,” continued the orc.

    “Unless your brother was a Lich,” added Dorin.

    “I have no quarrel with you,” the Blademaster said with sorrow.

    “Oh very nice! NOW you have no quarrel with us. Now that you LOST. Very nice indeed I must say!” retorted Dorin.

    “Call off your men!” commanded Percival.

    “I think you have to call off yours,” came his reply.

    Percival turned to see an ogre trying to bash a soldier currently attached to the back of another ogre. At the last minute, the soldier jumped away and the predictable ogre bashing ensued. The men were all over the ogres, clinging to their backs and dining on ogre blood as the ogres ran around trying to rid themselves of the human parasites. Quelling the desire to join in, he tossed the bone necklace to Dorin, “Pack this away, it’s disgusting.”

    Dorin could feel his teeth return to normal proportions. The men started coughing and spitting out blood as their appetite receded. The ogres took this chance to flee into the forest.

    “Now, what are you talking about orc?”

    “My name is Grimoire,” corrected the Blademaster.

    “I’m Dorin, pleased to meet you.”

    “Oh, and I’m Percival Pureheart the Paladin. Pleased to make your- ... forget that! Why did you try and kill us?”

    “I have traveled far to find you,” started Grimoire.

    “Great. I sure hope this isn’t one of those long and boring hero stories. There’s gotta be a way to skip over these,” complained Dorin.

    “Quiet!” Percival scolded.

    “I was lead to believe that you had killed my brother. He was killed ten years ago, but his death was a mystery. His remains were found, but he could not be resurrected. I have been searching for answers ever since. Then I found out about you.”

    “Ten years ago? I couldn’t even lift my hammer ten years ago.”

    “Yes, you are far too young. I realized that after my bloodlust died down. And now, I won’t be able to avenge my brother’s death.”

    “Ooh, way to work the guilt trip Grimmy,” responded Dorin.

    “Look, we’ve been going up against a bit more resistance than can be attributed to random chance. This little case of mistaken identity must’ve been a setup. Someone is trying to keep us from getting to the Lost Temple,” deduced Dorin.

    Grimoire sat up suddenly, grimacing slightly with pain, “The Lost Temple? You seek it? My brother was too! Let me join you! Maybe the answer to both our problems lie there!”

    A bright glow enveloped the orc as Percival cast his healing spell, “You’re on, Grimoire.”

    Chapter 18

    “WHAT?” Dorin exclaimed, “This guy just about slices each of us into small, easy to chew morsels for his vampire pets and we’re all ok with that?”

    “He was avenging his brother, Dorin,” explained Percival.

    “Ya, sure. Who out there isn’t? It’s either their brother, or sister, or father, or pet goat! He could be part of the setup! This could be all a ruse to get us off our guard and then, WHAM! We’re appetizers at the next ogre shindig.”

    “Ogres don’t normally eat humans!”

    “They looked like they were enjoying themselves a bit too much with that whole double dipping episode at the fountain.”

    “Dorin! He’s coming with us, and that’s final!”

    “Fine. My opinion doesn’t seem to count for much around here anyways.”

    “Well, when you actually get around to doing your JOB, then you’ll be the first on my advisor list!”

    “EXCUSE ME! Might I add I’M the one that took down ol’ Grimmy here?”

    “Grimoire, actually,” corrected Grimoire.

    “Probably because you couldn’t HIDE away in some shadow!” shouted Percival.

    “Well, if we wouldn’t go charging headlong into certain death, maybe we could actually THINK things through a bit more strategically!”

    “RUNNING AWAY isn’t strategic!”

    “IT KEEPS YOU ALIVE!”

    “WE’RE ALIVE NOW!”

    “Ahem,” interrupted Grimoire, “we could leave you two alone if you alike.”

    “WE’RE FINE!” screamed both Dorin and Percival.

    Percival looked around at his men. Struck with the universal desire to be somewhere else when in the presence of bickering couples, they were keenly interested with the general cleanliness of the healing fountain. Grimoire was trying to figure out how his mini-map worked.

    “You have a mini-map,” Percival said.

    “Yes, standard issue.”

    “May I have it?” asked Percival. Grimoire nodded and handed the mini-map to Percival. Percival stared at the mini-map until the familiar chime of a quest being recorded rang out.

    “Aha! I was right!” Percival beamed.

    “What? What do you mean?” asked Dorin.

    Percival showed him the face of the mini-map.

    “According to this, we’re at the Lost Temple,” triumphed Percival.

    “What? That thing’s been spun around too many times. It’s broken!”

    “It’s not broken! Admit it, I was RIGHT!”

    “The Lich said this wasn’t the Lost Temple!” argued Dorin as he pulled out the Soul Gem.

    “The Lich hasn’t left the sanctuary of his necropolis in over 200 hundred years. How would he know where it is?”

    “Well, he had a map, didn’t he?”

    “Interesting,” interrupted Grimoire again, “I’ve never seen a Soul Gem in all my life. Yet now this is the second time in the last month.”

    “Second?” asked Dorin.

    “Yes, I have one, for when I was to kill Percival.”

    “Oh, well, you wouldn’t want to waste it, would you?” Dorin said as he glowered at Percival.

    Percival looked at the Soul Gem for a minute.

    “Where did you get the Soul Gem,” he asked Grimoire.

    “From one of my chief witch doctors. In fact, it was his vision that sent me on this quest to find you.”

    “And he happened to have a soul gem just lying around in his tent?” asked Dorin.

    “Hmmm, true, I never thought to ask him.”

    “Has this witch doctor ever been wrong?”

    “Never.”

    Percival stared hard at the Soul Gem Dorin was carrying. There was so much he didnÂ’t understand. Why did the witch doctor pinpoint him as the killer of GrimoireÂ’s brother? Why did the mini-map say they were at the Lost Temple when the Lich said otherwise? If the mini-map was correct, then their quest was over, but why didnÂ’t he feel the resultant euphoria that accompanied every final quest completed? (An assumption really, since Percival had never completed any major quest before this.)

    “Lich,” Percival finally spoke, “what is your name, by the way?”

    The Lich paused before answering, “I do not know.”

    “Ooooh. All powerful, all knowing Lich can’t even remember his name,” mumbled Dorin.

    “It was stolen from me, I am nameless now,” responded the Lich.

    “C’mon, you must have had a name when you were once not undead,” persisted Percival.

    “I was a king,” came the hollow reply.

    “A king, eh? Impressive. What was your name as a king?”

    Once again the Lich paused.

    “He’s doing this on purpose…this whole dramatic schtick. I hates it!” whispered Dorin.

    “My name,” interrupted the Lich, “was King Richard the XXVII.”

    In shock, the others decided to take their turn at pausing. After a few moments, Dorin spoke, “Richard. Rich the Lich. Oh that is too rich.”

    “Ahem. Well met, Rich,” greeted Percival.

    “Richard. And it is no longer my name,” corrected the Lich.

    “Richie! Oh RICHIE! How’s Richie Lich today?”

    “SHUT UP you sorry excuse for an Assassin!”

    “Temper temper, Richie Lich!” laughed Dorin.

    “Richie! You said this wasn’t the Lost Temple!” interrogated Percival.

    “I did...Perk,” returned the Lich.

    “Touché,” Percival acknowledged, “but my mini-map says that the Lost Temple is here.”

    “It does.”

    “So you must be lying,” accused Percival.

    “I am unable to lie.”

    “Well, I do believe we have a contradiction here,” observed Percival.

    “Believe what you will then,” Richard responded.

    “This is going to take all night!” complained Percival.

    “Told you I hated that thing,” replied Dorin.

    Chapter 19

    “I may be of assistance,” suggested Grimoire. All eyes turned to him.

    “A number of years back in my home village, Lindogar, when Veratall, son of Evantuller, was Chief of our Clan, Thundering Ridge, a renegade troll, named Flowgly, was menacing the nearby village, Rutabar. A blood oath to my second cousin, Bogar, another story in it’s own right, bound me to bring that troll to justice.”

    “Great. Here we go,” groaned Dorin.

    “The troll was an expert tracker and had an uncanny sense of direction. It was said that even a Night Elf could not shake Fowgly once he had caught the scent. Fortunately, he wasn’t as skilled at being hunted. I brought along two other trolls, expert trackers in their own right, and we started out at once. The night was clear, as was the days that followed, but it still took us a week of tracking. Eventually, my mini-map lead me to an old bridge deep in the Wastelands.”

    “Mini-maps seem to take the sport out of it, don’t you think?” commented Dorin.

    “The area he had chosen for refuge was the Badlands of Mijjigurr. Wild animals of every kind lived there and were driven into a maddened frenzy by the noxious gasses which spurted from the ground. The stench was unbearable and I assumed just as bad for Fowgly with his keen sense of smell. Fowgly, however, stood his ground, and we closed in. The land was infected by vile creatures of all sorts. They came in droves, enraged beast after another. The fighting was fierce and every wound we inflicted and received was exacerbated by the deadly air itself. We had to use many healing artifacts to counter the poisons which seeped into our lungs. After what seemed days of combat, we finally found ourselves at a blackened stone bridge over a river which we couldn’t classify as water. To my dismay, the bridge was empty.”

    “Wow, great story Grimmy. Perk, what are we going to do about shelter?”

    “SHHHH!” Perk motioned.

    “I stood on the bridge, perplexed. My mini-map verified that my location was the correct one, but there was nothing. I was in the right place. But there was... no... troll.”

    Dorin couldnÂ’t understand this love of the dramatic which had engrossed the other men. Dorin knew Grimoire had a possible solution for their problem, but to endure this gruelling story complete with Orc geneology was maddening. Dorin didnÂ’t trust Grimoire, but then again, Dorin didnÂ’t trust any hero.

    “Then...it came to me,” explained Grimoire, pausing slightly as the men leaned forward in anticipation.

    “A mini-map, is two-dimensional, but this world we inhabit is-”

    “YES YES YES, the Troll was UNDER the bridge! We get the POINT already!” shouted Dorin.

    “YOU SPOILED THE ENDING!” screamed Percival.

    “Oh come on! It was OBVIOUS!” argued Dorin.

    “BY THE GODS, SHUT YOUR MOUTH ALREADY!” Percival bellowed once more.

    Dorin huffed, and then went and sat by the fountain in frustration. Percival watched him go, ready to nail DorinÂ’s mouth shut if he even uttered a peep. With an apologetic nod, Percival motioned for Grimoire to continue.

    “Ahem”, Grimoire started, the attention of all the men ( minus one) enraptured as if by magic.

    “A mini-map, is two-dimensional, but this world we inhabit is three-dimensional. And once, long ago, trolls used to live under bridges.”

    An “ooo” of amazement parted the lips of the audience, genuinely impressed by the intelligence of the Orc warrior.

    “Oh, for love of light,” muttered Dorin under his breath.

    “The map, and the Lich, may both be right. The location of the Lost Temple may be ... beneath us.”

    The men stood entranced, the weight of the revelation crushing all other thought. After a long period of silence that just about pushed Dorin’s sanity over the brink, one of the men spoke up, “We were in the fountain. We tried in vain to find some passageway that we could escape through. But there was nothing, not even any magic sigils or markings.”

    Percival jumped up and went immediately to the fountain, pushing every stone, searching every cranny, feeling every nook. Dorin sidled away and watched the rest of the men join in on the search. Men jumped in, examing the waters, while Percival began tapping the fountain a tad bit too forcibly with his hammer.

    Dorin turned his attention towards the orc. He had been insulting the orc ever since he set eyes on him so he wasnÂ’t expecting a warm reaction. However, the Blademaster ignored him. His attention was solely on Percival and the men, who were currently quite successful at discovering rock, water, and not much else.

    “Hmmmf, don’t even rate high enough to get a disapproving glance,” muttered Dorin.

    “When I was younger,” spoke Grimoire, barely audible above the noise of the fountain molestation, “I learned an important lesson from my then Chieftain, Oldar.”

    The men froze. Bodies strained to catch every sound that came from Grimoire.

    “The Clan, Smokeless Leaf, began raiding our food supplies. Oldar’s son, Ungar, was sent with some troops to protect our lands, but the Chief of Smokeless Leaf, Mintjar, had a very wise warrior, Udvisar. Udvisar was always once step ahead of Ungar, and the raiding continued.”

    Dorin sat down and propped his head up with his hands. The men glared at him, thinking he had done this a bit too noisily for their taste. Wearily, Dorin watched GrimoireÂ’s lips move as more names and yet even more events poured out, and the battle against some orc turned into a war between three clans, a quest for a powerful artifact, and a naked dwarf.

    It was well into nightfall by the time Grimoire finished his tale. Dorin had dozed off many times and the men were now gathered by a fire that Dorin couldnÂ’t recall ever being made. It had now advanced to question and answer time.

    “So Funderbar, son of Hunda, found Genshin locked in Jyhgg Cave, but the Quor Gem was previously purloined by Thugtar the Thief, who took it to...uh...”

    “To Maugit Isle! Oldar had known that from the beginning!” interrupted Percival.

    Grimoire nodded. Dorin roused from his stupor, amazed that another cast of characters had entered the epic since last he dozed.

    “So we need Spirit Walkers,” deduced one soldier.

    “Correct!” Grimoire smiled.

    “Couldn’t he have just said we needed Spirit Walkers at the beginning?’” wearily asked Dorin.

    “I sense a strong presence of magic in this area and what we cannot see may be seen in the Spiritual plane,” explained Grimoire.

    “But we don’t have any Spirit Walkers,” noted another soldier.

    “I have a few at a base camp I set up a days walk from here. Spirit Walkers can communicate regardless of distance. They will be here by early morning.”

    “You set up a base camp?” asked Percival.

    “Yes, and what an ordeal that was! It was three days ago, and I thought I had lost track of you-”

    “That’s it! I’m going to bed!” announced Dorin, but he was ignored. The new tale of Grimoire had gripped the attention of the men tighter than Percival’s helmet strap. Dorin frowned and went off to find a quiet place to sleep.

    ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή
  7. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 7:24:00 μ.μ.

    Ο Ανθιμος δεν ξέρω γιατί αλλά μου θυμίζει τον Πατριάρχη Ιεροσολύμων, που καθαιρέθηκε.

    Νομίζω ότι δεν θα το αποφύγει το μοναστήρι.

    Χωριάτης

    ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή
  8. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 7:35:00 μ.μ.

    Chapter 1

    Dorin hated this city, a term used loosely by the locals in a vain effort to bolster its importance. Stromguarde was a small, wide open, backwater town, mostly filled with vacant buildings and the few odd shops. Dorin knew someone who had a surname of "Stromguarde", although anyone proud of such a heritage was probably the spawn of two siblings or more.

    Dorin could hear the din of battle coming from across town. This was his only comfort: the fighting was nowhere near him. He glared at the gold mine he was guarding. Why it wasn't raided, or even why they had to guard it was beyond him. Had the town used this gold, they could have boosted industry, built decent housing, constructed a tower filled with trapped beautiful maidens, anything to increase productivity in Stromguarde. Yet here the gold sat, and here Dorin stood, guarding that which was not used.

    His job had been less eventful than plant growth for the last two days, yet his companions were tense, always ready for some forthcoming skirmish. Dorin had other assignments where guards would take breaks, play a few card games, at least look in his direction, but not this group. Sneers were etched into their jaws, and not one of them grunted an acknowledgment. They even slept standing up! Dorin couldn't relate to such dogged commitment.

    He couldnÂ’t help but feel a bit repulsed by the current company. Sure, every bandit was a brutish, scar-faced, monstrous mishap of the human race, but someone had customized this mercenary purchase with double the ugly. The leader, who would only answer to "M'lord", was a rancid pile of flesh that barked out orders and saliva more often than he got off his horse. Dorin had never seen him leave his horse for that matter.

    On the verge of snapping, Dorin opted for a bit of banter, anything to break the monotony.

    "Ok, I understand we are to guard this mine for an undetermined amount of time. I don't suppose we've finally determined what that particular time was, did we?"

    The Bandit Lord leered at Dorin. "You aren't being paid to ask questions!"

    "Oh, IÂ’m offering this for free," Dorin quipped.

    "ENOUGH TALK!" screamed the bandit, showering Dorin with spittle vile enough to knock out the undead. Dorin smirked; the poison on his daggers would be no match against that.

    He debated a retort liable to win him a new eyeball made of knife, when he felt a small constant tremor. He cursed to himself. Most people would stand in a gaping stupor as the curious vibration would steadily grow and increase. Dorin knew perfectly well what it was, and knew that this was the best point in time to flee as opposed to waiting till some huge creature would burst through the trees sinking it's teeth into your head. However, he was on a job. That and the Bandit Lord's Devotion Aura pinned him from running away while screaming and soiling himself. (Well, it pinned him from running away, anyways.)

    In the distance, he could see around ten orcish grunts, a few support units behind them, and a dreaded BladeMaster leading the fray. The small army was around fifteen strong, three times the size of their little bandit encampment.

    "An orcish horde," grinned the Bandit Lord, "Prepare yourself for battle, the hour we have waited for has come."

    Dorin gaped. He certainly wasnÂ’t waiting to be butchered. Battle against one orc was difficult enough. He wondered if the Bandit Lord was myopic and didnÂ’t see the horde. More likely, he probably couldn't count higher than the fingers he had on one hand (which was three, due to a couple of mishaps in previous misjudged battles).

    Dorin whimpered at the green mass of destruction charging in a direction directly counter to Dorin's best interests. He hoped that they were just on their way to the goblin market, or maybe a happy light orcish festival, or whatever orcs do when they aren't playing axe-the-human.

    A nervous habit caused him to check his spear. Just sharp enough to annoy the bejonkers out of an orc. The poison on the tip may just cause a rash, if he was lucky.

    The Bandit Lord bellowed a bolstering laugh, "The orc death is almost at hand, charge on my mark!"

    "Easy for you to say," whispered Dorin to himself, "with your O-look-at-me-I-have-Divine-Shield spell. If it wasn't for your blasted Devotion Aura rooting me to the spot-"

    "CHARGE!" screamed the Bandit Lord, and Dorin felt himself running to the embrace of death.The orc horde enveloped the resisting company of bandits. The Bandit Lord was pretty competent at fighting, surprising Dorin, whose expectation of the rogue's usefulness didn't extend much farther than congealed animal fat.

    The Bandit Lord sliced down the nearest orc shaman before he could frenzy yet another orc grunt to the bloodlust they were legendary for. Unfortunately, this had been his downfall as all the grunts quickly surrounded him intent on a hacking spree.

    Dorin breathed a small sigh of relief. If the orcs we're so keen on taking down the leader, that gave him at least ten more seconds to live. He lobbed his spear at a shaman in the middle of casting bloodlust and actually wounded him. Feeling jubilant with his success, he pulled out two daggers and attacked one of the grunts busy taking the Bandit Lord down.

    The orc's skin was a bit tougher than Dorin had remembered, which made sense since he never before had the lack of sensibility to attack an orc. After withstanding a few futile dagger jabs, the orc turned around and, with nary an effort, batted Dorin back about ten feet. It was at this point in time that the orc Blade Master, a bit ticked that the bandits weren't dead yet, swung a blade rivaling most flagpoles in length through the thick neck of the Bandit Lord.

    His horse whinnied and fell. With the Bandit Lord dead, the oppressive Devotion Aura had lifted and the remaining bandits realized they had the opportunity to flee. But orcs were equipped with powerfully huge axes which proved to be quite a hindrance to anyone's retreat. In less time than it takes to swat dead flies in winter, Dorin was soon the only bandit left.

    Intense fear slowed time to a crawl and Dorin watched the Blade Master run towards him. His orcish eyes gleamed with victory, and his impossibly long blade dripped with blood. A flag was attached to his back, which puzzled Dorin. Doesn't it get in the way? What was it for? It's not like the Blade Master was difficult to spot in a battle, what with a sword the length of tree swinging around like the blades of a gyrocopter.

    "I'm going to die," became the mantra of choice and Dorin wondered if a well-aimed dagger at the throat would annoy the Blade Master or damage the dagger. He looked up as the Blade Master lifted his sword to strike and noted that at least it was a cloudless night.

    "Night? WHAT AM I DOING?" screamed Dorin in his mind, and he quickly rolled to a nearby tree, a hairs breadth away from joining the same fate as his leader, and vanished.

    The Blade Master bellowed, "WHERE'S A WITCH DOCTOR?!"

    A shaman came up to him, "They're back at the base, and a few of us need to go back for healing."

    The Blade Master's eyes burned, for his blood lust was still not satiated, but he regained a bit of control, and ordered his troops back to the main base, "Get a peon and a witch doctor up here! I want that human killed! Cursed Shadowmeld."

    Dorin held his breath tensely as he watched the orcs leave. As soon as they were out of sight, Dorin slipped off into the night.

    Chapter 2

    Dorin was in trouble. Again. He stood in the office of Master Jin, the head of the Assassin's Guild, and was being reviewed for yet another mission he had utterly failed at. Master JinÂ’s gaunt and morose face was staring at a scroll, long fingers slowly tapping the ebony desk he was seated at. Dorin shifted restlessly in the uncomfortable silence that he was well acquainted with but could never get used to.

    Master Jin sighed and looked at Dorin long and hard. "You do know what your assignment was, don't you?" asked Master Jin.

    "Yes, Master, very well. It wasn't too difficult really, I was supposed to guard the gold mine," replied Dorin. Master Jin raised an eyebrow.

    "With my life, I may add, I was supposed to guard the gold mine with my life," Dorin continued.

    "Which you--"

    "Did quite marvelously if you ask me," interrupted Dorin, "I mean, I guarded that gold mine like no stationary unused object's been guarded, and I certainly thought there was no point in guarding it with my death, that's for sure, because then it technically isn't guarded, so I made every effort to stay alive to keep it guarded. Highest honours should be awarded, if you ask me."

    Master Jin sighed once again, "We've been over this before, Dorin."

    "Yes, yes, we have. I know, the code of Assassin's clearly state that commitment to an assignment is of utmost priority and failure should only be because of death. We learned that when we were first trained."

    "And penalty for failure?" prompted the Master.

    "Death. Slow, drawn out, and painful death," replied Dorin.

    Master Jin rubbed his eyes in frustration, "I can't protect you forever Dorin."

    "No Master, nor should you," Dorin replied. The fact of the matter was, however, that Dorin didn't need any protection. The Guild of Assassins were a competitive lot, and rising in the ranks meant that someone ahead of you had to die. Assassins were always trying to discretely assassinate themselves, and a constant vigilance was common in the daily course of life. Being caught assassinating an assassin, however, was considered a gross dishonour and such practice was punishable by death. (They were a strict lot. There weren't too many misdemeanors not punishable by death). The Punishment of Death was fulfilled by the members of the Assassin's guild: it became permissible to kill the punishee in public if need be.

    But Assassin's were also quite proud, and the ancient craft of stabbing someone in the back relied on secrecy, stealth, and not being caught. Lowering one's self to the level of a common street thug was a surefire way to invite the ridicule and derision from one's peers. So life would still continue as normal for the one sentenced to death. Avoiding the clandestine attempts at one's life came as natural as walking.

    Dorin had four death sentences. Three for where he had failed both the mission and the fourth when he had walked into a room of a fellow Assassin only to have found him dead with a knife in his chest. Four other assassins had passed the room and immediately assumed that Dorin had really screwed up an assassination attempt and a warrant was immediately put out for his deathÂ…again.

    But the effort to kill Dorin far exceeded the worth one would get out of such an action. Dorin was still a Level 1 assassin, a mere scratch in the maimings of life. Killing Dorin was less beneficial than a Cloak of Shadow for a Night Elf. And it was later found out that Dorin couldn't have killed the assassin, because Dorin abhorred killing. This really put a damper in career advancement.

    "Did you at least kill anyone?" asked Master Jin.

    "Well, I did throw my spear at an orc Shaman," started Dorin.

    "And?"

    "I hit his hand in mid spell. I'm pretty sure I almost took it off!" explained Dorin.

    Master Jin rubbed his temples, "You may leave and retire to your room, Dorin."

    "No listen, his hand was seriously damaged. Sure, a witch doctor could heal that no sweat, but it will be stiff for months, I know it! And when the wet weather comes, he'll be cursing me with the most sinister curses he knows!"

    "Thank you, Dorin, you may go..."

    "It was his writing hand too. He'll be incapacitated for eons! What a blow against the Orcs!"

    "Thank You!"

    "Yes, my room, thank you Master Jin, for your patience," and with that, Dorin bowed and left Master Jin to his frustration in silence.The next morning, bright and early, Dorin found himself in the office of Master Jin again. Normally, a reprimand from the master only occurred at the mission debriefing, subsequent visits were not needed. He could not imagine getting into trouble while he slept, but he did have a knack for such things.

    Dorin didn't think he was a bad assassin. In fact, he considered himself quite good. He knew all the poisons, was quite versed in a variety of weaponry that can fit in your sleeve, boot or pants without cutting or castrating yourself, could shadowmeld almost well into dawn and way before nightfall, and he had an almost supernatural talent at staying alive. It was just this killing thing that got them all worked up. One simple skill he was incapable of doing, and they treated him like an outcast. No assassin had tried to kill him in years, not that he was complaining, but this was the highest insult ever dealt. Sure he had death warrants, it's not like anyone ever followed through with them.

    The door opened, and Master Jin strolled to his normal place behind his desk. "Good morning Dorin. So pleased you are on time. I have another assignment for you."

    The shock Dorin felt was only betrayed by his silence. And his jaw. And the completely ridiculous expression on his face. His posture too, while weÂ’re at it.

    "Ha! Orc cut your tongue? A good day indeed if Dorin himself cannot think of a word to utter," chided Master Jin.

    Dorin was confused. Assignments did not come readily to Dorin, because ninety-nine percent of the time, assassins are hired to assassinate. Guard missions were only given to the Assassin's guild if some rich fool wanted to show off how much money he could blow. Assassins were trained for the night with small weapons and quick turn around times. None of this standing in the middle of the day in open view with a spear which had as much effectiveness as lobbing spit at a Tauren.

    "Don't worry, dear Dorin, it's not an assassination. We could not risk our reputation by you failing our most prestigious calling."

    Despite that Dorin agreed whole heatedly with this statement, it didn't keep him from feeling a bit miffed. Master Jin handed a scroll to Dorin, which Dorin opened and perused.

    "You have heard of 'The Lost Temple', haven't you?" queried the Master.

    "Yes, who hasn't? It's known to be a place where whole armies have disappeared. Any search team, adventuring team, or even anyone wishing to disappear would head off to this place, and would never be heard of -- Ah crud, you want me to go there, don't you," replied Dorin disheartedly.

    "This isn't a suicide mission, Dorin. On the contrary, it is because of your... 'unique' ability not to die that I personally chose you. I can't afford failure on this mission, and even information in regards to the Lost Temple would be a boon as opposed to a missing Assassin."

    Master Jin waited for a response, and not hearing any, continued, "As you may also know, there is a Fount of Healing in the center of the Lost Temple. Your assignment is to get a sample of that water."

    "You want a flask of healing water? Good grief Master Jin, Healing Fountains are more plentiful than wolf droppings in an orc encampment."

    "Why, you are so right Mr. Dorin. How good of you to show me the error of my ways, why bother search for some mythical place when an easy to reach Healing Fount just happens to be in our courtyard?"

    Master JinÂ’s piercing gaze brought that uncomfortable silence back again.

    "I'm sorry, continue," mumbled Dorin.

    "Since, despite your training, curiosity permeates your very soul, I will tell you why this particular fountain is important. The Lost Temple was, and still is, a magically potent area, due to whatever mystical explanation you wish to attribute to it: druidic ley lines, undead sacrificial altars, night elf mating grounds, the list goes on. The fact of the matter is, it has been fought over, for centuries, and probably will be fought over in years to come when humans have finally mastered the air and would take to the stars."

    Dorin hated it when Master Jin would dream about life in the distant future. Dorin was more concerned about life in the present, particularly his life and it's continuance in the present.

    "Countless lives have been lost fighting over this place, more than any other location on this world. Literally, rivers of blood have been poured onto that land, soaked into the ground, and has seeped into the foundation of the Fountain of Healing. As any person knows, blood is the most powerful reagent in the forming of magic. With blood and sacrifice, energies unparalleled can be mastered and manipulated. No other place has known death more than the Lost Temple."

    So far, Dorin had been mildly interested. Had it not been the head master of the assassins, he would have discarded such nonsense along with Psychic Jill on 5th street, always screaming that death loomed over him. Of course death loomed over him, he was an assassin.

    "It is rumored," continued Master Jin, "that the waters of the Lost Temple Fount is of such a potency, that one flask is equal to that of thirty resurrection spells In fact, it can create life from that which was not there. That's what our employers want, and may I say he is willing to pay quadruple our normal rate, with a quarter of it up front."

    Dorin's interest was peaked. Some assassins get bonuses for a job well done, especially if it was a well paid assignment. If all he had to do was bring a flask back to the Guild, he may get a bonus that would enable him to...well, maybe buy another set of daggers. Dorin actually didn't need much.

    "Who's this freak?" asked Dorin as he pulled out a profile of someone who was obviously a hero. With the blond hair, thick jaw, cleft chin, and massive sledge hammer, he couldn't possibly be anything other than a hero. Dorin's face scrunched up in disgust.

    "That's Percival Pureheart, the Paladin," replied Master Jin, "you'll be helping him with the assignment."

    "Helping? I have to go with him? Mister I-use-alliteration-in-my-name-because-I'm-a-moron? You've got to be joking! Assassins work alone!"

    "When's the last time you worked alone, Dorin."

    "Well...uh...we're supposed to work alone. Ah crudbuckets. You can't be serious. I heroes! I don't want to be someone's lap boy! Why do they need an assassin?" exasperated Dorin.

    "Dorin, choice is a luxury you have long ago relinquished."

    Dorin sulked.

    "I take it by your silence that you concur. Then we may continue. *AHEM* Dorin, Level 1 Assassin, you have been honoured with Assignment #FB8901. In the event that you fail, or are discovered, the Guild of Assassins will disavow any knowledge of your existence..." and Master Jin continued with the normal rhetoric that preceded every mission about danger, death penalties, and who gets your room afterwards.

    Dorin continued to sulk and was in a sour mood for the rest of the day.The dungeons of the Assassin's guild were only called dungeons because they were in the basement and the sinister connotations were too tempting to pass up. In truth, Assassins never kept prisoners. "Tis easier to decapitate than to incapacitate" was an old saying amongst assassins, although "Assassination by decapitation brought exasperation" was yet another maxim commonly whispered (the Assassin's Guild originally was the Poet's Guild, but due to the ridicule and abuse of their audience, they found killing them far more rewarding).

    But the dungeons were well utilized. It was here that all research in assassination and espionage were done. The knowledge and technology almost rivaled that of the dwarves or the goblins, but on a more micro scale.

    Dorin had never been down here before. Only those of at least level 8 were entrusted with assignments that would even need to utilize such equipment. He gazed in awe at the complicated mish mash of machinery, tubes, bellows, pipes, and smoke. It looked exactly like a goblin laboratory, and as a gnarled, yellow-eyed goblin sidled past him, he realized why.

    "Uh, excuse me," interrupted Dorin.

    "whatwhatWHAT!!!" screamed the goblin.

    "You wouldn't happen to know where Master Jin is, do-"

    "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" screeched the goblin, catching Dorin by surprise. The goblin then gave an indecipherable look to Dorin and scuttled off into the smoke.

    "You never disturb a goblin when he's working. They're a very focused lot," stated a voice beside him.

    "Master Jin! Oh, sorry, uh..." Dorin hesitated.

    "Come, you are meeting the hero Percival in two hours time, and I need to show you a few things." Master Jin proceeded to a table filled with a variety of objects. He took a small velvet bag, almost at random, and pulled from it a vial. "This bag will be yours. In it is this indestructible vial, to safeguard the water you will collect in it."

    After replacing the vial, he handed the bag to Dorin, who took it greedily. Dorin looked inside the bag, and found nothing else aside from the vial.

    "That's it? Nothing else?" asked Dorin.

    "Just the vial is all you will need, along with your normal assortment of assassin equipment, of course. But nothing out of the ordinary."

    "My normal assortment consists of a couple daggers and poisons!"

    "Well, then I shan't keep you waiting! You probably want to get started soon."

    "You brought me all the way down here to give me a vial?

    "No, no, actually. You'll also be needing this," prompted Master Jin as he pulled up a large backpack and gave it to Dorin.

    "Ah, that's more like it," replied Dorin with satisfaction, as he began to open the bag.

    "No no no! It's not yours, don't open it. We've also equipped Percival Pureheart with a few things. When you meet him today, please give him that bag."

    The elation Dorin felt rivaled that of a cat stuck in a moonwell. Biting his tongue, Dorin slung the heavy backpack on his shoulders, not without quite a bit of difficulty.

    "Heavy it is, isn't it? Thanks so much for bringing it upstairs for me," thanked Master Jin cheerfully.

    If it wasn't nigh impossible, Dorin would have overcome his aversion and killed the master himself.

    Chapter 3

    It was late afternoon by the time Dorin lugged the heavy backpack all the way to a small tavern clear across town. A sign with "The Happy Harpy", hung swaying over the door. Dorin paused for a second to stare at the sign. He couldnÂ’t believe a tavern could have such a ridiculous name. He turned, half expecting to find "The Furry Furbolg", and to his surprise, it was across the street. Shaking his head, he entered the Harpy.

    The tavern was busy and filled with loud, burly people grunting and shouting as all people tend to do when thrust into a bar setting. Waiting for the token beefy barkeep to come up to him with a rag in hand asking in a gruff accent, "What'll it be?", he spotted Percival sitting at a table.

    "Sitting", however, may have been too common of a word to describe the position Percival Pureheart the Paladin was posturing at the moment. Chiseled chin held high, arm resting on his weapon, feet planted firmly on the ground, Percival was engaged in a fierce display of...grinning, Dorin had to keep himself from checking to see if an artist was finishing his latest series on "The Hero Wastes More Time".

    Spotting Dorin, Percival raised his gauntleted hand and beckoned, grinning all the while. Dorin swore he heard some tavern girl swoon at Percival's movement and he waded his way to the table.

    "Please to meet you, Dorin," boomed Percival, his baritone voice deep and rich. Dorin hoped he wouldn't try to convert him to the light, or something. "I see that you brought my equipment. Now I feel even more confident at the success of our mission!" Dorin managed a sardonic smile as Percival shook Dorin's hand and took the backpack. Dorin was both upset he was stuck with someone so unbelievably cliché and relieved he wasn't expected to carry the backpack for the whole journey.

    Percival suddenly leaned in close. Eyes darting suspiciously left and right, he lowered his voice to a whisper.

    "You know that this is a risky adventure we are partaking in: highly dangerous, dishonest skullduggery, and hopefully the odd girl or two!" Percival sat up with an even larger grin and gave a knowing wink. Dorin was stupefied. If this whole mission was just a ruse to get him to kill someone, it certainly was working.

    "Questions are probably racing through your mind but it is not safe to talk of such things here!" hissed Percival, trying to be covert again. He raised his arm and a serving girl immediately appeared at the table, cheeks all flushed and eyes batting faster than a hummingbird.

    "Don't worry, Dorin, I'll get this," generously offered Percival, which was just as well since Dorin didn't order anything.

    "It was a pleasure meeting you, and here is a little extra," said Percival, to which the serving girl giggled.

    With a flourish reserved only for those foolish enough to believe it garnered respect, (although in Percival's case, it did), Percival rose from the table, collected his belongings, and strode out. Dorin wondered if he should wait for a "Here boy," but not willing to risk it actually happening, he followed after.

    Percival Pureheart the Paladin purposely made his way towards the outskirts of town. Dorin sulked after him wondering how long this assignment would take. He was mildly curious where they were going but speaking may have given the Paladin an impression that Dorin wished to be the comical, buoyant sidekick, and he definitely wasn't going to be that.

    "In an hours time we will reach the Lich's lair. Unfortunately, it will be dark then, when the undead are at their strongest, but there's no helping that. I was hoping that-"

    Forgetting himself, Dorin interrupted, "Wait! Whoa! What Lich? I don't remember no Lich being in the contract!"

    "That's a double negative, you realize," corrected Percival. Dorin couldn't believe his grammar was being corrected by this doofus.

    "Look, Perk, there wasn't a Lich-"

    "Percival. My name is Percival Pureheart,"

    "Ya, whatever. Look, there wasn't any undead in the mission. And you want to go after a Lich? What gives here?"

    "The Lich has a map to the Lost Temple," explained Percival.

    "What? That's the stupidest thing I've heard in my life! Why would a Lich have a map to the Lost Temple? Why, in fact, in order to get anything done, you have to go clear across the world just to find an object, which is always guarded by some insanely strong monster, that will only help you get what you want?"

    "Look, I don't write the rules here, I just know the Lich has the map," reasoned Percival.

    "Well, how come there's only one map? We have a city full of scribes, and the imbecile who made the first one decided one was enough? What kind of moronic sense is that? Are you sure there's not another copy of this map? Maybe guarded by nothing more fearsome than a crotchety librarian?"

    "You talk an awful lot for an assassin," replied Percival.

    "Sorry for shattering your assassin stereotype. Pity it wasn't likewise," bit Dorin. However, Percival missed it altogether and continued, "Look, this is the only map I know of. I think it's amazing there is a map at all. So we have to get it from this Lich, and I was hoping you could sneak in and assassinate it, thereby making this a lot easier."

    Percival looked pleased. Dorin could tell he came up with this ingenious plan all by himself.

    "Let me guess, the Lich currently lives in a Necropolis swarming with ghouls, fiends, and a whole host of other nefarious traps which, you suppose, I would be completely immune to because I'm an assassin."

    "Correct! That's the spirit!" beamed Percival.

    "Sorry to disappoint you Perk, but I failed my Assault-on-Undead-Fortresses course and dead things give me the willies," glared Dorin.

    "Well, no matter, we could always do it the old fashion way, which I personally prefer anyway," Percival excitedly said.

    "Oh. Great. Much better. I don't suppose I could wait outside," dejectedly replied Dorin.

    Percival gave out a booming laugh, "You ARE a riot Dorin! I believe you and I will be good friends!"

    "Ooooh, this day gets better and better," muttered Dorin.

    "Doesn't it? Come, we should hurry!"The howl of a lone wolf signaled the night. Dorin and Percival stood behind a gnarled tree, twisted and marred by the blight the undead had caused by settling the land.

    Before them, floating ominously as gravity-defying objects the size of small mountains tend to do, was the Lich's Necropolis. Dorin never understood this. Evil overlords always base their headquarters in fortresses that hovered high in the sky. Since these evil overlords were always looking for power to overthrow pretty much everyone, why not utilize the energy required to float an object the mass of a city? If he became an evil overlord, he'd forgo the whole easily-broken-into-floating-castle and just drop an ocean on any kingdom that pissed him off.

    "Ok, Assassin, this is where you come in. We need to get up there," pointed Percival the Pureheart.

    "Oh, IÂ’m supposed to get us in that thing?"

    "Yes! Then we'll fight through the enemies, kill the Lich, grab the map, and then make a beeline for the exit because the forces needed to keep the Necropolis afloat would have dissipated by then," stated Percival proudly.

    "You know, I can't even lift your hammer let alone you. Was that the plan you had for this?"

    "Oh no! My original plan was for you to assassinate the Lich, don't you remember? This is plan B!"

    "Plan B sounds like every other plan you heroes come up with."

    "Well, it is a resourceful plan. Go in, kill everything, get out. Nothing beats that yet."

    Dorin sighed. "Look, I don't know how to get in the Necropolis. I don't even know where the doorway is. It's not like I come here on my off days."

    At that moment, a hooded Acolyte came into view, gliding towards them.

    "Hmm, that guy is going to see us," pondered Percival, "we may as well just start the attack now, kill all the ghouls that come after us, and then worry about getting in the Necropolis."

    "No, wait! We wait for some more acolytes, grab their cloaks, and pretend weÂ’re acolytes!" Dorin said excitedly, despite himself.

    "Why would we collect gold for the Lich? That seems rather counter-productive," Percival puzzled .

    "Perk you pinhead, we then go back to the Necropolis and see if we can find some entrance. If those acolytes came from there, there has to be a way in. Ghouls drop off lumber there too so there must be an accessible way from the ground!"

    "Perfect! You're brilliant, what an original plan!" piqued Percival.

    "Oh yes, I don't think I've ever seen anyone try the dress-as-the-enemy ploy. If they actually fall for this, we may get that dumb map yet."

    Dorin turned on hearing the muffled cry of the acolyte and saw Percival in the process of purloining the Acolytes cloak. With a bit of difficulty, Percival pulled the cloak over his armor. He gave off the impression of a shoplifting acolyte trying to swipe a bit too much at his local goblin store. Grinning, he waved his hammer at Dorin.

    Something witty was called for but Dorin's brain failed him as it was bombarded by the fact they were most certainly going to die.

    Chapter 4

    Percival was having the time of his life. Undead Acolytes seemed to pop out of the Necropolis at regular intervals, proceed to the copse of trees that Dorin and Percival were hiding behind, where upon Percival would then bash them on the head.

    "Perk! That's enough! Why we aren't discovered is beyond me," scolded Dorin.

    "But they're so cute when they die! The way they wave their arms in a futile effort to fight back."

    "Great, take one home and stick him on your front lawn but now we have to get inside!" Dorin couldn't believe he was arguing against staying outside where it was relatively safe.

    "How about one more?"

    "NO! Here, throw me a cloak." Percival threw him a cloak from the pile of five which Dorin quickly put on.

    "Ugh, this one still has some goo on it," muttered Dorin. Trying to clean himself as best he could, he glanced at Percival, who had a strange look on his face.

    "Perk! You ok?" asked Dorin. Perk blinked, looked at Dorin, and grinned a huge smile.

    "I have another cunning plan!" said Percival excitedly. Dorin winced.

    "As you may have perceived, my weapon cannot fit under this cloak," pointed out Percival. Percival didn't fit under the cloak but Dorin didn't feel like arguing. Percival then took off his disguise, removed his backpack, and then put the cloak back on. (This belittles the process, which actually took thirteen minutes to complete and resulted in two torn cloaks, another dead acolyte who almost got away as Percival tried to kill him with a cloak over his head, and one cynical assassin even more skeptical about their chances).

    While holding his weapon, Percival looped the backpack over its head and then threw a cloak over top.

    "Ta daa! Instant acolyte! Why, if we had a few more items, we could haunt a whole gold mine ourselves!" proudly displayed Percival. Dorin gaped. Yes, Percival now just looked like an acolyte with an eating problem but Dorin still couldn't bring himself to categorize the idea under "cunning"Â…or "good" for that matter. Lacking anything better, he just nodded defeatedly.

    After getting rid of the remaining cloaks, Percival confidently tried to glide towards the Necropolis, holding his makeshift acolyte in front. Dorin followed, not fairing any better at the gliding. Shortly, another Acolyte came their way.

    "This is it!" hissed Percival, excitement obvious. Dorin stiffened.

    The real acolyte's head was to the ground and his gliding looked like real gliding. The fake acolytes were trying not to run into each other and their gliding looked like real walking.

    "I live for Ner'zhul," rasped the Acolyte as he glided past.

    "By the Light!...uh...dark! By the death! Death comes for ye!..er.. I live nasally too!" stammered Percival, not raspy at all. The acolyte had now turned to get a better view of the three strange acolytes. Unfortunately for him, one acolyte jumped in the air and gave him a fatal head butt.

    Percival grabbed the newly deceased acolyte and held him in front to now form four unconvincing undead acolytes.

    "That went rather well, don't you think?" asked Percival.

    "You suck at this Perk," criticized Dorin.

    Percival and Dorin continued until they stood at the base of the Necropolis. It was even larger and ominous from the base and fear didnÂ’t so much as strike DorinÂ’s heart, it skewered it.

    "See? Our plan worked, we're here, and no alarms have been raised," boasted Percival.

    "You were right, I was wrong, let's go now!" pleaded Dorin.

    "That's the spirit! Anxious to get your hands wet with some undead blood!"

    "No, I meant home!"

    Percival laughed and slapped Dorin on the back, causing him to stumble and then disappear. After Percival finished laughing, he noticed DorinÂ’s absence. Searching around, he found a small, acolyte sized, circle of power.

    "Crum, that Dorin sure has guts, racing into the Necropolis like that," and Percival stepped on the glowing circle.Dorin hated anything that moved him from point A to point B without him being anywhere in between. It was unnatural, disobeyed many laws of the universe as he saw it, and felt like someone froze his spine and began kneading it with a rolling pin. Trying to recover, he noted Percival popping in beside him.

    "Brrr! That felt good!" Percival said exuberantly. Dorin's shuddering kept him from commenting.

    "Tell me that you don't have a town portal," stated Dorin.

    "Of course I do! Standard equipment! Never leave home without one!" piped Percival.

    "Great."

    Percival removed a small crystal on a chain from his backpack, and placed it around his neck, he peered at it for a bit, and then announced, "Ok, we go this way."

    "Wait, what do you have there?" asked Dorin.

    "You're awfully curious for an assassin. If you must know, it's one of your newfangled assassin-made miniature mini-maps. *laugh* A mini-mini-map!" Percival found great amusement at his observation.

    "And you know where the Lich is?" questioned Dorin.

    "Of course,” assuredly commented Percival as he displayed the crystal. Dorin peered in and saw a tiny little map with some glowing dots.

    “See, here is where we are,” Percival pointed to two white dots in the upper left hand corner of the map.

    “And this is where the Lich is," indicated Percival, shifting Dorin’s attention to a pulsating circle with a blinking exclamation mark.

    "This thing knows where the Lich is?" suspiciously queried Dorin.

    "Where have you been for the last decade? Of course it knows where the Lich is, it always knows where our objective lies!"

    "And by the looks of it, we are stuck on one side of this building, and have to traverse the whole Necropolis just to get to the Lich. And we're not talking as the goblin flies. No, we're talking a twisty maze of passages with waygates interspersed and chock full of undead goodness waiting to suck on your eyeballs."

    "That's pretty much right on!"

    "I hate this world," complained Dorin.

    "You're so grim, buck up! Once we kill this Lich, it's smooth sailing!"

    "Why can't this amazing mini-map show us where the Lost Temple is? Couldn't we just journey in the general direction, set the mini-map on high sensitivity, and just see if we run into it?"

    "I don't think it works that way. We're stuck here anyways and I bet the way out is near the Lich."

    "Stuck?? What do you mea-" Dorin cut himself off as he looked around. There were no circles of power to teleport out. They were in a closed off passage, the engulfing darkness taunting them to continue.

    Dorin let out a small, "Crud."

    "Exciting isn't it? It's my first real adventure! Forward!" pressed Percival as he marched into the passageway. To be expected, the Necropolis was dark, sported a skeletal motif, and smelled of death. Percival and Dorin followed the corridor with surprisingly no interruptions.

    "This place is boring! Not a single soul in sight!" Percival pouted.

    "Or even those lacking one. I find this a good thing," responded Dorin.

    "You are one peculiar assassin, Dorin."

    "Ya, but I'm also one alive assassin as well--STOP!" commanded Dorin, eyes wide in panic.

    "What? What now?" impatiently asked Percival. Dorin pointed at the passageway ahead of them. It was a long single corridor, too long to see the end, and lining it was an array of skeletons standing at arms.

    "No worries Dorin. These are statues! Decoration! We've passed many of these on the way here!"

    Dorin looked at Percival in exasperation, "Yes, they're statues now, but once we get in the middle of that corridor, they'll come to life and start hacking us to bits, and my daggers are useless on beings with no flesh!"

    "You have daggers?"

    "This is no time to be funny, we need to find an alternate route!"

    "Look, Dorin, there is no alternate route. This is the only way. Here, see the mini-map?” Dorin dejectedly looked at the minimap, knowing Percival was right.

    “At least do me a favor and knock down each skeleton statue. That way, when they do come to life, we only have to worry about our front flank.”

    “Fine,” acknowledged Percival. He walked down the corridor, smashing the skeletons in succession.

    “Willful destruction of property, the Lich is really going to be angry,” joked Percival.

    “I think a lawsuit is the least of our worries, Perk,” spoke Dorin, eyes searching for the slightest hint of movement from the skeletons.

    After about a minute of no incident, Dorin started to worry about other traps. He examined the walls. They were completely made of bone. The whole passageway was one big death trap, and he had a great aversion to adding himself to the décor.

    Another ten minutes of worrying and DorinÂ’s paranoia paid off: a soft wail drifted to DorinÂ’s ear. Dorin glanced at a skull previously knocked down by Percival. The sockets of the skull started to glow a sickly blue.

    “RUN! FORGET THE BASHING! RUN!” and he pushed hard against Percival, knowing that running by himself into a horde of skeletons would mean instant death.

    “Quit pushing me! That’s annoying!” complained Percival, who, despite Dorin’s valiant efforts, had not moved an inch.

    “MOVE! RUN! THEIR EYES ARE GLOWING!” screamed Dorin.

    “You don’t function well in high stress situations, do you,” perceived Percival.

    “It’s better than not functioning at all which will be the situation if we don’t get out of here! WHY ARE YOU JUST STANDING THERE?”

    Percival stretched and flex, to the exasperated perplexity of Dorin, and calmly said, “I think here’s a good a place as any to make our stand.”

    “STAND? WHAT STAND? WHY—WHAT—WH—“ stammered Dorin.

    “Look, skeletons are easy to kill, they’re one of the weakest creatures out there next to peons, stationary critters, and sidekick assassins. This is a great place for me to gain experience and learn,” explained Percival.

    “LEARN? GAIN EXPERIENCE? ARE YOU MAD? LET’S …wait a minute…I am NOT your sidekick!!” spat Dorin.

    “Heads up,” Percival warned, as he swung his hammer in a wide arc, taking down three skeletons about to skewer Dorin. Dorin glanced around, and noticed the army of skeletons had indeed come to life and were closing in slowly. He debated running back from where they came, only to see that the skeletons Percival had destroyed had assembled themselves magically and encroached from the rear.

    “Great, they don’t die either. This gets better and better,” sighed Dorin, suddenly past caring.

    “Hmmm, I do believe there’s a flaw in my plan,” muttered Percival.

    Chapter 5

    Skeletons were everywhere, feverishly attacking. Each skeleton that went down would rejoin the battle as soon as it could assemble itself. A narrow corridor was the only thing keeping Percival alive right now.

    Percival, although performing to the peak of his powers, started to worry. He had been swinging and bashing skeletons for the last half an hour and there wasnÂ’t any sign of reprieve. How long he could last before dropping from simple exhaustion, Percival couldnÂ’t tell.

    “Dorin! If you have any ideas, they would be greatly appreciated,” puffed Percival as he dodged two skeletons with scimitars.

    A voiced answered from somewhere, “I’m working on it.”

    “Where are you?” asked Percival, crushing three skeletons into the wall.

    “I’ve shadowmelded of course! It’s so dark in here you could shadowmeld an ogre in front of an elf and still not worry of discovery.”

    “What? I need you! You can’t hide on me!” Percival shouted as he stooped and took the legs out of four more skeletons.

    “Oh, that’s rich. Let me join in your heroic effort to vanquish the evil that has infected this place by using my body as a shield! Oooh, the terror I could strike into their hearts.”

    “I can’t believe that an assassin was considered the best choice to accompany me,” grunted Percival as he kicked the ribs of one skeleton while blocking the blows of two others.

    “Hey, it’s no picnic for me either, Perk! Don’t you have some turn undead spell or something?”

    Yellow light prodded the darkness and encircled the paladin. Glowing tendrils slowly encompassed Percival as he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. The skeletons stopped their attack, confused, since they could not pierce this shield of light.

    “No, I don’t have that spell. I do have Divine Shield, which will give me a bit of rest for ten seconds,” panted Percival.

    “Well, I’ve not been completely useless. Every time a skeleton falls, I take some vital part of their anatomy and throw them down the corridor, so it takes longer for them to reassemble. Of course, that makes me visible, but I can shadowmeld quickly enough- TEN SECONDS?”

    It dawned on Dorin that there had not been a Devotion Aura clinging him blindly to the side of this foolish paladin. Holy Light, another common spell which had the potential of actually destroying a skeleton permanently, was never cast (although the removal of one skeleton wasnÂ’t about to turn the tides of battle here) and PercivalÂ’s Divine Shield only lasted ten secondsÂ…

    “You’re only a Level 1 Paladin,” whispered Dorin. Percival grimaced in the direction of Dorin’s voice. The Divine Shield ran out and the bone bashing continued.

    “A lot more useful than you are,” countered Percival as the skeletons, seemingly impatient with the delay, had attacked with a renewed frenzy.

    “Hey, I’m not the melee fighter here! Don’t you have anything in that backpack we gave you?”

    “Nothing that can help now,” Percival said through gritted teeth. A quick blade broke through and sliced his shoulder.

    Dorin looked over theÂ…over theÂ…he paused. What was the collective noun for skeletons? Strange, he pondered, how one thought of the oddest things when sitting invisible in the midst of the undead.

    Another half an hour had passed and in that amount of time, Percival had gained sufficient experience that he advanced to Level 2. Dorin never understood this either. How did a hero suddenly increase in abilities just by fighting a bunch of enemies? In the AssassinÂ’s Guild, one only advanced in level by passing exams (and the small matter of killing a guy a level above you).

    Percival activated his Divine Shield again. His breathing was more labored and sweat dripped freely from his brow, “We’ve run into a bit of a snag here,” Percival glumly admitted.

    “Clattering! A clattering of skeletons! I think that’s rather clever, don’t you?” blurted Dorin.

    Percival stared in disbelief. In a rage of anger he threw his hammer in the direction of Dorin’s voice, and screamed, “I’M FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE WHILE YOU HIDE AND BABBLE LIKE AN IDIOT! At one point in time I thought you were USEFUL!!”

    Percival wearily picked up his weapon, wanting to be armed before his shield petered out. He had strength to continue but if numeric values were used to measure his attributes, morale would have been depleted to zero.

    “You cracked the wall,” came Dorin’s voice.

    “Sorry, I was aiming for your skull,” grumbled Percival.

    “Hit the wall again, NOW!” demanded Dorin.

    Percival complied, more out of rage than obedience, and the hammer broke through. The wall crumbled away, revealing a passage.

    “RUN!” screamed Dorin and this time Percival needed no prodding. After about five minutes of mad fleeing, Dorin slowed to a stop and stood hogging the air.

    “Stop,” panted Dorin heavily, “Stop! I need to catch my breath”.

    Percival was back in prime condition, his mood greatly improved.

    “Ha! We showed them who’s a hero and who’s not! Sorry about that outburst back there. They must have a morale-debilitating aura, those fiends! Will their evil madness never end? But they knew they were outmatched since they didn’t follow!”

    Dorin merely stared at Percival; he liked him better when fighting and angry.

    “Usually,” started Dorin, “when a throng of minor minions completely capable of overwhelming a hero gives up chase, it’s because the hero is going somewhere of a nature even more menacing and deadly.”

    “You are a cheery puppy, aren’t you?” exclaimed Percival. “No worries, that last encounter only strengthened me! I’ve divined the secrets of Holy Light and can strike the undead with a death even deader than the dead they are!”

    “That made absolutely no sense whatever! Stick to the clichés, don’t make it up please,” snorted Dorin.

    “So antagonistic! Look, I’m sorry I was angry with you. I can understand why that may have hurt you deeply, inside. I admit I was wrong and should not have said those things,” Percival spread his arms out, “Forgive me?”

    Dorin jumped backed, “ACK! FINE! YES! You’ve been cooped up in Paladin school too long there Perk!” Dorin eagerly changed the subject, “Look at the mini-map. How far are we from the Lich?”

    Percival glanced at the crystal around his neck, “A bit up this way! Hopefully we’ll get there soon!” He bounded northward. Dorin followed warily, keeping at least an arm’s distance away.

    After a few minutes of walking, Dorin detected a low sound in the air. Barely audible, it would rise and lower in pitch, sometimes stopping suddenly, but then starting up again. Fearing the worst (although that shouldnÂ’t come as a surprise to anyone by now), he slowed to a stop.

    “Do you hear that,” Dorin whispered.

    Percival looked at him, and then made a face, “No, but I can certainly smell something. By the Light, it smells like we’ve entered the main sewage area of the Necropolis. I thought it was bad before, but this is unbearable”

    Dorin noted the stench. It WAS getting unbearable. It was also vaguely familiar. Not your normal festering, rotting corpse familiarity, but a certain uniqueness that you could attribute to a particular creature. Dorin knew that putrid smell.

    Then the sound came again. Dorin closed his eyes, focusing all his energies into pinpointing the source. The sound also seemed vaguely familiar and it was getting louder. He discerned the direction and opened his eyes.

    He was staring at Percival.

    DorinÂ’s mouth hung open, he knew the sound.

    “PERCIVAL! This is NO time to be HUMMING!”

    Percival blinked and stared at him, grinning.

    “You don’t understand! I gained a LEVEL! I’ve finally been in a battle that was able to give me a Level! I’m no longer stuck as a beginner Level 1! I’m LEVEL TWO! I’M READY FOR YOU NOW LICH!”

    “SHHHH! Keep your voice down! Are you MAD?!” accused Dorin frantically.

    “YOU HAVE COME TO THE END LICH! MARK MY-“

    A grunting roar came from the end of the passageway. Dorin blanched. He recognized the roar, and finally recalled the stench. His knees trembled as he heard it lumbering towards them.

    “HA! Finally we have some more action! None of this skulking around like dogs!” boasted Percival.

    It came into view, a large monstrosity of nature. Twisted and mutilated beyond recognition, this creature was a patchwork of animal and human parts, crudely sewn and held together by forces as corrupted as itself. It was pale, bloated, and its stomach had burst open, spewing blood, entrails, and maggots. ItÂ’s non-symmetric limbs were armed with bloodied hooks, chains and cleavers. Flailing about, they were ready to render any enemy to ghoul fodder. It was an Abomination.

    Dorin had encountered one of these before in a previous failed assignment where he ran away. Dorin was very much prepared and willing to fail his current assignment. Being stuck in a Necropolis, however, hindered this.

    “Now we can prove our mettle! You jump on its back and stab it with one of your quick acting poisons while I distract it,” planned Percival.

    “It has that limb on its back with that huge cleaver,” whispered Dorin, fear rooting him to the spot.

    “Hmm, good point. Cut that off first and then jump on it’s back,” instructed Percival.

    The Abomination lurched towards them with a quickness that surprised them both. Its impossibly long arm swung an equally impossibly huge cleaver at their midsection. Dorin sprang back and rolled while Percival ducked and parried with his hammer. The Abomination followed through with a hook, which swung and wrapped around PercivalÂ’s weapon. The Abomination yanked its arm back and PercivalÂ’s weapon clattered into the darkness.

    “Those two other limbs seem to be in the way of its back. Should I cut those off as well?” questioned Dorin.

    “Yes, please. See if you can retrieve my weapon while you’re at it,” replied Percival.

    “This place sucks,” commented Dorin.

    Chapter 6

    The Abomination let out another roar and swung its cleaver downwards towards Percival. He dodged and the cleaver embedded itself into the floor. It was at this precise moment that Percival shouted, “By the Light!” and a blinding bolt seared the Abomination. In agony, the Abomination straightened up abandoning his cleaver, which Percival immediately retrieved for himself. Dorin, wanting to be left out of the action and wondering why no one ever considered his needs, unsheathed his daggers and rolled between the Abomination's legs, letting the motion of his body guide his arms as he sliced and cut.

    Angered by the pain of the Holy Light, the Abomination swung its hook around wildly which connected with Percival. Although it didnÂ’t pierce his armor, he was momentarily stunned, giving the Abomination a chance to grab him with his free hand.

    Percival tried to slice the festering arm with his newly acquired cleaver, but the Abomination threw him against the wall.

    “Shouldn’t be thrown through the air with a sharp object Perk, it’s like running with scissors,” warned Dorin as he dodged another attack intent on severing vital parts from his body.

    Percival didnÂ’t comment nor move.

    “Oh crud, don’t be dead Perk,” Dorin stated with concern. The Abomination also noted the still body and bellowed in delight. It lifted its arm to bash Percival but before it made contact, Percival rolled clear and with a heroic yell, arced his cleaver upwards and sliced the hand off of the Abomination. Not stopping in his motion, he brought it downwards and sunk the cleaver deep into the side of the monster. “HAVE AT YOU!” roared Percival, his blow hacking off a considerable chunk of Abomination flesh.

    The Abomination didnÂ’t even flinch. With its bloody stump, he batted Percival into the wall again and raised its leg to stomp on him.

    “HOLY LIGHT!” screamed Dorin and Percival complied. The Abomination stiffened in pain as the brightness once again burned away at him. Dorin rolled underneath as before and sliced the stitches around one of the Abominations legs. With all his might, he kicked at the leg, and surprisingly enough, it separated. Still unaware of his missing appendage, the Abomination started towards Percival in anger, but the only thing that felt its wrath was the ground as the Abomination attacked it with its face.

    Ungracefully, Percival hacked away at the AbominationÂ’s head until it lay dead.

    “BRING EM ON, LICH!” triumphantly yelled Percival.

    “SHUT UP you maniac!” hissed Dorin.

    “Um, excuse me, but your weapon landed over here,” weakly came a voice. Both Dorin and Percival whipped around and for the first time noticed a small prison cell. Percival immediately ran to the enclosure, retrieved his weapon and destroyed the cell door, freeing the six footmen trapped inside.

    “By the light, how long have you been imprisoned here?” asked Percival.

    “Far too long, m'Lord,” said one of the footmen, “I can’t even remember when last we saw light.”

    “The Lich will pay for his crimes! Come, my brethren. Join me in my quest to destroy this Lich, once and for all!” offered Percival.

    “For Honour!” yelled one footmen.

    “FOR HONOUR!” echoed the rest.

    “Hold up a minute here,” interrupted Dorin. “I don’t mean to break up your bosom buddy bonding time, but you guys have been imprisoned for years on end in cramped and awful conditions, and you should be emaciated, starving, and disease ridden, which for some reason, you aren’t, and by the beckoning call of some fool hero you don’t know, you’re ready to charge into a battle against a Lich which you should realize will result in either a gruesome death or an even worse imprisonment?”

    The footmen blinked, as if noticing Dorin for the first time.

    Dorin turned to Percival, “I mean, wouldn’t it be great just to Town Portal out of here, now that we have some people that probably need attending to? We could pick up some more supplies, rest these poor folk up, find a more sizable force, I can stay home and watch the kids…”

    “You have a very peculiar sidekick, m’Lord,” commented one footmen.

    “I’ve noted that myself,” replied Percival.

    “I AM NOT HIS SIDEKICK!” protested Dorin, but Percival continued onward, the footmen on his very heels.For once, Dorin couldn’t wait to find the Lich. The footmen were no better in their attitude towards Percival than the barmaids back in town and they clung to his every word like flies around dung. Percival was in his element, relating all of his past battles, which, as Dorin knew, really amounted to just two, with one of them fully witnessed by the footmen, but Percival was milking it for all it was worth. Dorin was also annoyed that his part diminished in each telling.

    As they made their way towards the Lich, they encountered many minor beasties: spiders, kobolds, and skeletons. These battles, although not very challenging, were added to PercivalÂ’s accomplishments, and the footmen were proud to be part of such a heroic epic.

    Percival destroyed a crate lying nearby, “Look! We’ve found another healing potion!”

    Dorin couldn’t take it anymore, “Doesn’t this strike anyone as being odd? Valuable items lying around in old dusty crates ready to take, monsters hanging out by themselves in out of the way corners doing nothing but holding on to other valuable items, which they can’t even use. It didn’t even make sense why that Abomination back there was holding a Wand of Illusion! Doesn’t this sound a bit off? Why not just take all these bad guys and have them hang out at the entrance of the Necropolis?? Any intruders come in, WHAM, they get slaughtered before even uttering some obscure relationship with light!!”

    Percival and the footmen looked briefly in DorinÂ’s direction.

    “You know, this sidekick of yours does nothing but complain,” commented a footmen to Percival.

    “I AM NOT-“

    “True,” interrupted another, “in my day, there was nothing I wouldn’t give to be a part of such a party as this! Beats hanging around collecting wood day and night fearing whatever creature came over the next hill.”

    “Remember back when we still had a navy? You try collecting oil. Smelly, dirty work! Living on a boat that stunk of fish, oil, and cranky, unbathed sailors. And if there was an accident involving fire, forget it!”

    “A navy? I’ve been around when we still had to build roads! That was backbreaking work!”

    Dorin realized he was forgotten again. He glanced at Percival, who was off in his own world, probably humming and mentally increasing the number of abominations he fought off. Dorin scowled, trying to close off the footmenÂ’s chatter.

    Soon, they came to a huge set of double doors with intricate designs and patterns indicating a powerful entity lay behind it. Dramatically, Percival turned towards his men and paused.

    “This is it men,” he started, “here is where the evil finally ends. The blight wiped away from this land, our children safe, our grandchildren able to play freely in the fields! The demons of our nightmares bound and destroyed once and for all!”

    “FOR HONOUR!” yelled the footmen.

    So much for a surprise attack, thought Dorin.

    Percival kicked the doors and they effortlessly opened inward. With enthusiasm (minus one), the party entered a huge hall, which looked like it had been uninhabited for years. On the far side, barely visible, a pale light illuminated a dark figure. They had finally found the Lich.

    “Welcome, I’ve been waiting,” the Lich beckoned with a cold and hollow voice, echoing slightly and probably deserving a different font.

    Dorin paused. He knew that some fool would yell “For Honour” and there would then be a mad rush into a trap which had certainly been set. He decided to do some passive reconnaissance hopefully avoiding whatever spikes, pits, or any other miscellaneous vile trap the Lich had set.

    Percival lifted his sword, “FOR—“

    He was cut off. Dorin himself could not move nor feel his body. Unable to move his lips, Dorin cursed to himself; they had walked into a Stasis Trap.

    The Lich remained still, staring at the small company with a restrained fury. Dorin could not discern any features other than it hovered over a dais, a black cloak concealing his skeletal form. Behind him hung two torches spouting blue flame, more for effect as opposed to light. Pedestals flanked him and on each was a magical item, obviously heightening the LichÂ’s powers and awareness.

    “Two hundred years,” the Lich said. “Two hundred years have I waited for someone to penetrate my fortress. When word came about that you were coming, I was delighted. When word came about clarifying who you were, I was horrified. A First Level Paladin and his sidekick, the nerve!”

    Had it been possible, both Dorin and Percival would have squirmed. The Lich picked up a Mana Stone, which sat on one of the pedestals and slowly stroked it.

    “First, you encountered my skeletons and no one realized that skeletons do not reassemble on their own nor last that long of a time! You could have theorized a magical source! Did you try and find it? Maybe on the ceiling? The balls casting ominous blue rays?”

    Dorin thought back and couldnÂ’t believe he missed them. The Lich was probably sore they broke his wall.

    “I had to pull two of my Abominations off of guard duty so that you could rescue those footmen, and even then I thought you were done for. At least the assassin did not hide this time.”

    Dorin felt a smirk from his companions. He knew they couldnÂ’t physically perform one, but it was there never the less.

    “I have not had a decent battle in two hundred years and I fear that I will not have one now,” sighed the Lich. He nodded his head and the sound of a number of portcullises rising echoed across the room. Around twenty ghouls scurried in, drooling, frenzied, and hungry. The Lich returned the Mana stone and began stroking an amulet, talking more to himself than to his trapped prey. Dorin thought the Lich was sorely missing a cat.

    “But, you are my last hope. No one else has tried in centuries to find the temple, and I will not count on any others coming. There are only a few seconds remaining on that Stasis trap. I beg of you, make this worth my while,” pleaded the Lich. He nodded once more, and the ghouls scurried towards the men.

    “—HONOUR!” cut in Percival, limbs now functioning. The men were primed and ready, if not with a few muscle cramps, and the fighting began.

    Chapter 7

    When it came to intellect, Percival knew he was a few peons shy of a working economy. Thus, he made sure that his mind had focused entirely on his vocation: fighting. To the utmost of his ability he studied how to swing a hammer, how to throw a hammer, how to wield a hammer, and every other known use that could exist for a hammer (In regards to combat that is. Other courses were available on Non-Combatal, Practical and Sensual uses of the weapon, but Percival had no time for electives). He knew every creature that existed in his world and he knew how to best hit it with his hammer. Furthermore, what he lacked in brains, he made up for in naivety. He, along with his Paladin brethren, fully believed they would always win. Surrender was never an option. Losing was a concept lost on him, along with fleeing, someone not following his orders, and words exceeding three syllables.

    So Percival wasnÂ’t boasting; he was prepared for the Lich. He knew how strong a Lich was, what spells a Lich was capable of, and what defenses a Lich had.

    “Ignore the ghouls!” Percival ordered loudly as the ghouls closed in on them, “and focus everything on that Lich! Spread out so his Nova Frost will affect the least amount of men!”

    In turn, the ghouls also ignored the footmen and rushed straight for Percival. Disproportionate gangly arms with long bloodstained claws reached out, intent on PercivalÂ’s flesh. Grabbing the Wand of Illusion, Percival created five phantom images of his men, completely harmless but otherwise indistinguishable from its source. This would bide them time to kill the Lich.

    Then, Percival ran.

    Not in the flee-for-your-life-Dorin way but around the hall which was large and cluttered enough that the ghouls would have trouble surrounding Percival. He glanced at his men and noted a number of them with frost on their beard and moving at a rate geriatric sheep would make fun of. They were hit by a Nova Frost. Cursing to himself, Percival started spinning his weapon and did an abrupt about face, now running into the ghouls. Taken by surprise, a few ghouls were incapacitated as Percival bashed through their rank running straight for his men. With his eyes set on the Lich, he cast Holy Light. The Lich cried out in agony.

    It was as if he tortured the wind.

    Grinning in triumph, Percival yanked a healing scroll from his backpack and cast it on his men. Enveloped in a warm bath of greenish light, the men felt their injuries disappear along with any apprehension they had. They charged the Lich with renewed fervor.

    Percival gasped as a ghoul swiped at his side and pierced his armor. A quick swing resulted in smashed ghoul. Grunting, Percival overturned a large oak table causing a minor hindrance to the ghoulsÂ’ pursuit. He ran again, doing his best to stall.

    With an eerie calm, the Lich threw off his cloak revealing sharp metal claws attached to his arms. Pausing only slightly, the footmen attacked but were deftly parried. Barely missing a beat, the Lich flicked a hand and cast another Nova Frost. A bolt of ice suddenly shattered on a manÂ’s chest, razor-like shards hitting those surrounding him. Freezing cold struck once again, their very bones seemingly encased in ice. In agony they attacked, limbs leaden and cumbersome.

    The LichÂ’s blades continued to block the swords that attacked but now they also sliced at the men too slow to block. A blue cold light burned in the LichÂ’s sockets and he laughed. It was not unlike his cry of pain.

    With a glance, the Lich noticed the assassin and for the first time felt a shadow of concern. Not that the assassin posed any immediate threat but he couldnÂ’t read him and this, the Lich didnÂ’t expect. The Lich disliked wild cards in the games he played, and he signaled the ghouls.

    Ten ghouls broke off from Percival, and headed straight for Dorin. Percival, getting used to the running, jumping, blocking, and bashing routine, didnÂ’t notice. Unfortunately, neither did Dorin.

    The guttural sounds of the ghouls signaled Dorin to their approach but it was too late. Claws were thrust deep into DorinÂ’s back and he let out a choked cry. The ghouls pulled him quickly to the ground and dismembered him a little less methodically than a butcher would.

    Percival heard Dorin and turned to see him being swarmed and then mutilated by ghouls.

    Percival screamed.

    Chapter 8

    Fury burned in Percival, which he honed and wielded like a weapon. Quickly, he tossed two wards of healing near his men and then stopped to face the six ghouls who didnÂ’t go after Dorin. His body was driven by an anger tempered by grief and it functioned with a zeal and ferocity that surprised Percival himself. As efficiently as one could be with a weapon designed to crush concrete, Percival eliminated the six mercilessly.

    The remaining ten ghouls were immediately upon Percival, for DorinÂ’s death was quick, if not clean. Percival met them as calmly as an owlbear guarding her cubs. His first swing shattered the spine of the speediest ghoul of the lot. Nine remaining ghouls howled in rage.

    Percival didnÂ’t understand his response of loss and anger. Yes, Dorin had died, but Dorin was an assassin. A mercenary! Mercenaries were hired to die, not to be lifelong pets. The death rate of Mercenaries alone surpassed that of birth rates for years, baffling statisticians to no end.

    Percival rammed his shoulder into a nearby ghoul, who fell back onto two others. Percival then followed up with a hammering fist into another ghoul, and with the momentum of that punch, spun around, grabbed hold of his hammer with both hands, and swung it in a huge 180 degree arc, incapacitating two more ghouls. There were seven ghouls left, and they were currently confused and stunned.

    Dorin must have known that he would die! As everyone knew, dying came with the job. In fact, Dorin was hired with the expectation of dying! Percival only knew Dorin for two days, for crying out loud! He didn’t even share his token “Why I Became a Paladin” story with him yet, denying future readers the Protagonist Emotional Attachment sorely needed in any epic tale!

    A ghoul was immediately up and charged Percival, arms flailing and deadly. With a well-timed kick, PercivalÂ’s spiked boot crushed the neck of the oncoming ghoul and it tumbled to join PercivalÂ’s growing collection of ghoul flesh. Raising his hammer, he smashed the legs of another ghoul too slow in recovering. It lashed about in pain, trying to drag itself to Percival, until its head met the same fate as its legs. Five ghouls were left to contend with.

    If Percival were to feel the same way about every mercenary that came by, they would call him soft. Someone would nominate him to be the spokesperson for Mercenary rights and then would come the rallies, the meetings, the dinners, the fundraising. He was not prepared nor eager for the political life.

    The ghouls organized themselves and slowly circled Percival. On some unseen signal they charged, claws slashing and slicing in a blind frenzy, ready to catch Percival in a living blender. That isÂ…undead blender. Percival simply threw his hammer at one ghoul and dove towards it. The odds of hammer versus ghoul had curiously favored the hammer so far and this encounter proved to be no exception. The remaining ghouls met and skewered themselves in the middle. Percival was glad that there were enemies dumber than him.

    Percival glared at the Lich. The footmen lay dead, blood pouring from a multitude of wounds and, disgustingly enough, a multitude of footmen parts. The Lich had been responsible for DorinÂ’s death, the death of the footmen, and probably countless other deaths. According to his (and probably every) standard code of revenge, the Lich had to die, a thought process more within PercivalÂ’s realm of understanding. Personal reflection had never surfaced before and the heat of battle did not seem an optimal time to start. The familiar security of glowing light encased him as he cast Divine Shield and he raced towards the Lich.

    Percival was very quick with his weapon and could best most men armed with swords. But warhammers were no more designed for fighting than abominations were designed for glass sculpting. A person could not spar with a hammer. When you wield a hammer, all of your strength will go into swinging it and hoping it stops because it hit a) the target, b) the ground and c) not you. The best defense, obviously, was to get out of the way and hope that the attacker would fail to comply with c). But once the hammer had stopped, it took enormous amount of energy for it to be swung again, and for all the attacker could do, any fool could easily step in and stab the attacker with a dagger, sword, or even a rabid cat.

    Warhammers were designed for killing, or, at the very least, serious maiming. The head was designed to be massive and heavy, to decrease the amount the attacker missed and increase the amount of damage inflicted. To hit the Lich, PercivalÂ’s hammer should have been the size of a small village.

    The Lich floated out to meet Percival, and Percival either didnÂ’t notice or forgot that the Lich previously fended off about ten men simultaneously. Frustration and shock continually played on PercivalÂ’s face as he never failed to miss the Lich. After ten seconds of brutally assaulting the air, Percival's Divine Shield ran out and the Lich cast a Nova Frost.

    Percival froze, literally. His movements became laboured as he fought with great effort against the chill striving to control his body. Slowly, but not without a great amount of strength, Percival lifted his hammer and would have smited the foe before him if said foe hadnÂ’t turned around and glided back to his original position on the dais. Two abominations sundered in and, without even giving Percival his right to smite anyone, grabbed him and threw him against the wall.

    "What is it with you lummoxes and throwing? It is never as effective, as, let us say, grabbing them by the legs and bashing their heads repeatedly on the ground. Yet all huge creatures feel compelled to throw their opponent," scowled the Lich.

    Percival was struggling to get up, the effects of the Nova blast just starting to wear off. Two abominations and a Lich he couldn't hit were making this quest a bit more difficult than he anticipated. He turned, but before he could decide which enemy to attack first, the Lich hit him with another Nova Frost. By the Light, Percival hated that spell.

    "Now, instead of grabbing and throwing him again, just bring the Paladin over here and give his weapon to me," commanded the Lich. He removed the attack blades he had been wearing as well as an Amulet of Speed, which he placed on one of the pedestals lining the dais. From another pedestal, he picked up a simple glass sphere.

    "Remove his armour, throw the hero on his back, and spread out his arms and legs," ordered the Lich. The freezing effect of the Nova Frost kept Percival from resisting (well, from effectively resisting), and the Abominations, surprisingly enough, skillfully and deftly removed Percival's armour. Such delicacy they didn't apply to Percival as they smashed him on the ground and arranged him as per orders. With Percival's weapon in hand, the Lich glided towards him.

    "You are probably expecting to hear, 'You have impressed me, hero,' but that would be lying."

    THUNK. The heavy weight of Percival's hammer crushed the bones in Percival's right arm.

    "My my, are we not such a brave little hero? Not even a little cry of pain?"

    THUD. Percival's right arm matched his left.

    "I have a small dilemma. I could convert you, always need a good Death Knight, or I could entrap your soul in this Soul Gem."

    KaTHUD. Percival's right leg was rendered useless.

    "If I kill you, I can place you in my Soul Gem," indicating the sphere in his hands, "but then what? You have no information to me that is useful. And who needs a soul of a low level hero? A Death Knight can be useful, but the last thing I need is another incompetent fool botching up assignments and always needing direction. That is the problem with mind-controlled servants, they have absolutely no initiative."

    KaRUNCH. Percival head swam as pain blurred his senses. The Lich peered down at him and dropped the hammer on his chest, as if discarding a used tissue. The weight of the hammer winded Percival but thankfully, his ribs remained intact. With effort, Percival lifted his head to see the Lich, still fondling the Soul Gem, return to his dais.

    Percival felt like fainting. Although a viable option, it wasn't one that would ensure a successful outcome to his situation. He tried grabbing his hammer and almost threw up from the pain. He was exhausted and spent, not enough energy to cast a Divine Shield nor a Holy Light, and the Lich was aware of that.

    "You bore me, hero. Kill him," ordered the Lich.

    Chapter 9

    Percival closed his eyes. He had a few seconds to come up with a cunning plan before the abominations closed in and forced him to commune more intimately with the floor. He felt two objects being pressed into his hand. Shocked, he turned his head, only to have his attention interrupted by a great commotion and a surprised, "URK!"

    If the Lich's eyes hadn't rotted away centuries ago, they would have bulged in alarm. The two abominations lay sprawling on the floor, each with only one leg attached and the other leg still happily idling at attention.

    "HEY, Lich Boy! Here Lichee-lichee!" came a cry.

    The Lich swung his head to see Dorin waving his arms, who would have been, had it not been a story, accompanied by triumphant brass instruments, excited strings, and a timpani.

    "You should be dead," remarked the Lich, not one for drama nor musical accompaniment. Calmly regaining his composure, he shot off a bolt of Nova Frost at the assassin. Dorin shadowmelded and the spell harmlessly discharged on the wall behind him.

    "Tsk, tsk, and you're worried about us destroying the place," scolded Dorin.

    The Lich turned to reproach the abominations but burning pain interrupted. His hollow wail echoed in agony as Holy Light burned from within. Before he could even question how the paladin had gained the magical energy to do so, a warhammer crushed the Lich's skull into the wall.

    Dorin watched in awe as the Lich's body slumped to the ground. The spectral image of the now dead undead Lich floated upwards and then halted suddenly, as if caught by a fishing line. With his hardened features of bone, it was difficult for the Lich to display shock or dismay, but he pulled it off convincingly as his ghostly form was sucked into the Soul Gem he previously carried.

    "Ding, dong, the Lich is dead!" sung Dorin merrily.

    "FOR HONOUR!" belted Percival as he stood up, although not too sturdily.

    "I take it those stones of health and mana came in handy," commented Dorin as he grabbed Percival's backpack and started filling it with loot from the Lich. A distant explosion sounded and a small tremor shook the floor.

    "Yes, but I think you broke my fingers as you crushed the stones in my hand with your heel," complained Percival. The abominations, knowing that the necropolis would collapse at any moment, crawled towards the exit.

    "Poor wittle Percival has a wittle boo boo," mocked Dorin.

    "By the Light, Dorin, you were torn to bits! How did you SURVIVE?" asked Percival.

    "Simple. You made illusions of us remember? As soon as I saw you made a copy of me, well, I instantly shadowmelded. No point in me having to get hit by those Nova Frosts," explained Dorin as he searched the Lich. "Aha! Here's that stupid map, good thing Liches aren't gooey when dead."

    A stronger tremble shook the walls and a large chandelier shook loose and crashed to the floor.

    "But how did you get all those items to me?" persisted Percival.

    "I can move when I shadowmeld. Not very fast, but I can move, especially in this darkness. Despite what people think, I'm a very skilled Assassin," bragged Dorin. He tossed the backpack to Percival.

    "Now use that Town Portal scroll, because although it's more heroic to dash out of here with an engulfing inferno licking at our heels while pillars of stone fall and narrowly miss us, I just don't have the energy."

    Percival grabbed a scroll and the two immediately winked out, but not without the expected slab of concrete smashing the floor they had previously occupied milliseconds after they had successfully teleported.

    Chapter 10

    A room.
    A figure.
    A minion.
    “Master, the Lich is dead.”
    A nod.
    “The map is retrieved, but the Twelve are planning his arrest.”
    “Help them.”
    A bow.


    -------------------------------------------------

    Healing hurts. Whether it be the irritating itch from a crusty scab or battling infections from a nasty head wound, the process can be draining for weeks. Having your wounds instantly healed doesnÂ’t bypass any of this pain, but rather compresses it into one agonizing instance. Percival awoke, feeling as if a rock golem had collapsed on him.

    “Hey Perk! Glad to see you’re awake! Great constitution you’ve got there!”

    Percival looked around and found himself on a small cot in a sparse but elegant room, dimly lit by a small lamp. An Elven priest was nearby collecting his belongings. Dorin was at the side of the bed the minute Percival opened his eyes.

    “Good thing you’re rich Perk. The healing stone was able to knit your bones together, but how you managed to throw that hammer and cast a spell at the same time is beyond me. This priest spent the rest of the day healing your wounds. You need a lighter weapon.”

    Percival nodded a thanks to the Priest, who bowed and then left by a small door.

    “You collapsed as soon as we teleported to town. I could barely move you but luckily this temple was nearby.”

    Percival sat up. The room spun for a bit and his muscles protested the sudden flurry of activity, but Percival managed a grin.

    “Nothing can stand in the way of those who seek truth and justice!” proudly whispered Percival.

    “There’s the Perk I know.”

    “Have you looked at the map?”

    “Don’t waste any time, do you. Yes, the Lost Temple is nested amongst some mountains in the far north,” Dorin explained as he handed the map to Percival. Percival studied the map for a bit and a small chime sounded from the minimap still hung around his neck.

    “It’s recorded onto the minimap. We shouldn’t lose our way now and by the looks of it, we will need to rent a goblin zeppelin to get past these mountains.”

    Dorin turned pale. “Uh....I’m allergic to flying.”

    “Oh, don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights too! You’re an assassin! You can’t be afraid of heights!”

    “I’m not afraid of heights! I can scale any tower you want. Flying, on the other hand, requires you being in the air without being attached to the ground in any way! It’s unnatural! If we were meant to fly, the ground would have been closer to the sky!”

    “You were in the Necropolis and that thing flies.”

    “Being attacked by the undead kinda takes your mind off of these things.”

    “Well, it doesn’t matter, there is no other way to the Lost Temple accept over these impassable mountains. Look at it this way, think of all the monsters we can avoid!”

    “Oh great. So we ONLY have to worry about harpies, gargoyles, phoenixes, dragons, as well as plummeting to our death.”

    “There’s the Dorin I know,” sighed Percival as he stood up from the bed.

    “Come, there’s a goblin lab on the edge of town where we can rent a zeppelin.”

    “What? It’s the middle of the night!”

    “We can sleep on the zeppelin. It may take us a while to get there so we may as well start now.”

    After a bit of stammering, Dorin gave in, “Fine, I’ll get the rest of our stuff. It’s in the next room.”

    As Dorin left, Percival tested his muscles out. He was sore and stiff, but nothing debilitating. It was in the middle of a heroic flexing pose when the door opened.

    “Percival Pureheart the Paladin?” came the bored voice of a city guard, obviously the captain of the eight other guards who stood behind him, all fully armed and dressed. In stark contrast, Percival was still in a night gown and still sporting a pose not meant to be in a nightgown. Embarrassed, he quickly composed himself and answered, “Yes, that’s me.”

    “You are under arrest for high treason,” came the reply as two guards grabbed the arms of Percival. They tried to be rough about it but ended up using Percival as support.

    “What? There must be a mistake!” protested Percival, trying to keep the guards from leaning on him.

    “Yes, I get that a lot,” droned the captain.

    “Can I at least get dressed?” asked Percival.

    “Fine, get your things on. Where is the assassin?”

    “What assassin?”

    The captain nodded at one of the guards. The chosen guard gave a pained look and with a huge sigh, gave Percival the customary prisoner-talked-back punch across the face. Percival, however, had mastered the art of being bashed by an abomination, and besides, any less effort on the guardÂ’s part would have had the punch stopped by mere air friction.

    “Your feigned innocence won’t help your friend. The temple is surrounded. Every window and every door has one of my men guarding it with a crossbow. If he’s hiding or shadowmelding, daylight will reveal all and he’ll be shot on sight.”

    Percival calculated his odds. Most of the guards were not paying attention, and carried their swords as if made of lead. But Percival was a man of honour and killing guards only doing their job (albeit not very well) was not an option. Percival decided on using his wit.

    “Will you let me go free?”

    “No.”

    Wit failing, Percival decided on surrendering.

    Chapter 11

    “I will go peacefully,” gave in Percival.

    The captain paused for a second, the only indication that PercivalÂ’s surrender surprised him. Heroes were never known to surrender, especially to city guards. He motioned for two volunteers. All the guards looked at one another. No direct order to an individual meant it was up to the guardÂ’s discretion and the guardÂ’s discretion vied towards not doing anything.

    Sighing, the captain pointed at the two guards leaning on Percival. “Shackle his wrists,” came the order. The two guards looked at each other and then checked their pockets. Considering that armour had no pockets, no shackles were produced and they whispered to the other guards, “who brought the shackles?” Blame and misdirection murmured throughout the room until finally it was admitted that no one had foreseen any need for shackles, since no one had ever surrendered peacefully.

    “Fine,” said the captain as he pointed at a guard, “Corporal Al, where’s your crossbow? Keep it trained on the paladin.”

    Corporal Al blinked at the captain, “Wasn’t my watch to carry one, sir.”

    “And who’s was it?”

    The corporal indicated another guard, “I do believe Corporal Al has it.”

    The captain looked at this guard, who protested, “I traded crossbow duty with Corporal Al, sir.”

    Another guard piped up, “That was last week!”

    The captain sighed again and asked, “Does anyone have a crossbow?”

    The guards remained silent.

    Percival watched this in shock.

    “Uh, excuse me captain,” Percival interrupted. The captain looked at him as if he had forgotten he was there.

    “Are all the guards named Al?”

    The captain stared at Percival. A few uncomfortable minutes later, Percival cleared his throat and said “Uh, you did mention that there were men outside stationed with crossbows.”

    The guards mumbled in agreement, the mystery of the crossbow duty now solved.

    “Ok, that’s enough. We will walk in formation to guard the paladin. Two in front, behind and on either side of him, is that clear?”

    The guards started to grumble, upset that a new formation had to be learned.

    “Enough, let’s go.”

    Much to Percival’s surprise, the guards were able to navigate out of the door and still maintain their positions without getting confused. He was at least relieved that they had stopped leaning on him. Outside the temple, they met two more guards armed with crossbows. (Although, “armed” may have been too strong of a word to have used. “In the general vicinity of” would have been a better description.)

    “Keep an eye out for the assassin. Shoot any movement on sight.”

    Percival couldnÂ’t tell if the guards nodded in deference or bobbed their heads trying to fight off sleep. Even Dorin should be able to elude these guys.

    They marched off in direction of the guard house, albeit at a pace a steam tank could have outrun. Percival debated running. If he ran away, no guards would get hurt and he wouldnÂ’t have to go through any legal proceedings to clear up this obvious mistake. The guards were in rather tight around him, but he was certain that nothing more than a stiff breeze could disrupt their vigilance.

    They turned into an alleyway and Percival tensed. Impatience gnawed at him and he debated whether the timing was right, when, much to his surprise, they were mugged.

    For a split second, Percival couldnÂ’t believe anyone would consider mugging nine armed men and a hero, but then he noticed the muggers: four abominations came into view.

    “Muggers don’t take any chances around here,” commented Percival. He looked at the captain, “Don’t worry, we can deal with this. Abominations are my specialty. One will probably hit me into a wall, but that’s our advantage! I can grab-”

    Percival stopped short. The captain was giving him a disapproving look. Percival felt as if someone had soiled in the local Healing Fount and he had been caught with his pants down.

    “You will stay here, Percival Pureheart the Paladin,” ordered the captain, “Corporal Al, you will keep the Abominations occupied as we take an alternate route.”

    One of the guards started whining. Percival couldnÂ’t tell which was more surprising, that one guard was to be sacrificed when they all could take the oncoming threat, or how the guards were able to discern who was talking to whom.

    “But captain-” started the guard.

    “No buts! If I remember correctly, you weaseled out of shield carrying duty yesterday.”

    “Strict lot,” thought Percival.

    “Look,” Percival protested, “I will not stand by and see an innocent man die for no reason. We can all-”

    The captain signaled the company to turn around, cutting Percival off again. Percival was about to continue arguing when he noticed three more abominations coming from the rear.

    “Now you need my help, I can take the-”

    The captain raised his hand, halting Percival in mid sentence.

    “Corporal Al.”

    “I did guard duty this morning!” complained another guard.

    “That’s enough! I will tolerate no more insubordination,” he commanded.

    The two guardsmen walked to their prospective targets, sulking. PercivalÂ’s sense of duty overcame his odd compliance to the captainÂ’s authority and he would have charged into battle if his jaw didnÂ’t impede the way.

    The first guardsman, with his sword, had caught the chain whipped at him by one of the abominations. This was nearly impossible to do and Percival couldn’t believe that the impact from the hook didn’t shatter his blade or his arm. The guardsmen then threw the hook at another abomination in the middle of random bellowing. With its neck exposed, the chain neatly rapped around it, the hook embedding itself in the throat with a meaty “chunk”. With annoyed fury, the owner of the chain yanked it roughly, severing the head of the entrapped abomination. The third came roaring in and tried its luck at guardsman flaying while the first abomination swung its cleaver with the neatness and efficiency of an abattoir. Deftly, the guardsman not only dodged both blows but also picked up the discarded cleaver of the dead abomination and rolled forward to hack off the leg of the first. Like many of its other brethren, the abomination fell for the missing leg trick and collided with the third. A well aimed cleaver sliced through the air to find rest in the base of the skull of the downed monstrosity. The third abomination was temporarily trapped under his fallen comrade but that was all the time needed for the guardsman to lop off its head.

    PercivalÂ’s gaping maw was starting to attract homeless insects. He turned around to see how the other guardsman was fairing. Apparently, he had finished off his abominations and was now arguing with another guardsmen about trading armour cleaning duty. Percival turned his attention back to the last doomed abomination.

    Stubbornly ignoring the fact that his adversary had downed three of his mates, the fourth abomination lunged, intent upon maiming, mauling and other practices which encouraged dismemberment. The guardsman easily evaded the attack and managed to swing himself onto the back of the abomination while blocking wild thrashings of the arm attached there. The guardsman grabbed and ripped off the protruding appendage and, in what must have been a fit of bravado, wrapped it around the neck of the abomination and then choked it to death with itÂ’s own arm.

    Finishing the battle, the guardsman skulked back to formation, dreading that he would probably be the one assigned for clean up duty.

    “Captain sir, the Paladin has disappeared.”

    The captain quickly glanced where Percival was standing moments before.

    “You did check him for cloaks, scrolls, and the normal hero riff-raff?”

    “Yes sir, he only had his armour on and the mini-map. We did find this on the ground.”

    The captain looked at a small ribbon, normally used to tie a magical scroll together.

    “Did you see him reading a town portal scroll?” asked the captain.

    “No captain.”

    “Did anyone notice any sorceresses around?”

    “No captain.”

    “Did anyone remember to bring a gem of seeing?”

    A guardsman was about to say how he had traded gem carrying duty to Corporal Al, but he thought better of it and kept silent.

    “Right, we will head back to the Town Hall. The assassin’s guild may have come up with some mini town portal. ALL of you will now add extra guard duty above your normal duties until that paladin is found.”

    The guards started to whine.

    Chapter 12

    “Perk, they’re gone, where are you?” questioned Dorin as he slowly faded into view.

    “Percival! Move or take the cloak off, I can’t see you!”

    “Did you see that?” came a voice. Dorin turned and saw Percival still staring at the dead abominations.

    “That one guy…took down four abominations. Didn’t even look like he was trying that hard. Just a little guy, too,” stammered Percival.

    “Ya, their fitness program must be amazing. We better go Perk, guards will be looking for us everywhere.”

    “But...but...how did he do that?”

    “Who cares! We’re free, let’s get out of here!”

    “Even armed and buffed to the max, I would have had trouble taking down two abominations...hey, where’s my weapon?” asked Percival.

    “Oh, that! Uh…that thing is HEAVY. Luckily you guys were marching slow enough that I could keep up and stay shadowmelded, but I couldn’t do it lugging that stupid overgrown hammer around. Soooo..uh..it’s still at the temple.”

    “You left my weapon behind???”

    “I had to climb to the roof of the temple with your heavy backpack and not get caught! Your weapon is basically a cement block on a stick! It’s not exactly light, y’know!”

    “A Paladin’s weapon is his life!”

    “Hey, you’re lucky I brought the backpack! Had I not found that Cloak of Shadows in there, you’d be in the dungeons by now!”

    “I had a Cloak of Shadows?”

    “Ya. It was hard getting it to you, what with those guards practically leaning against you. But they shifted a bit trying to get a better view of the battle and I slipped it on you.”

    “I don’t recall having a Cloak of Shadows.”

    “Ya, well, you probably couldn’t even recall yesterday.”

    “I can too! We killed the Lich yesterday!”

    “That was just yesterday?”

    “Yes, of course it was!”

    “Seems like long ago.”

    “Yes, sure does.”

    Percival and Dorin looked pensive.

    “What were we talking about?” asked Percival.

    “Got me, I’m still remember watching those ghouls tear me to bits. It’s a very chilling experience.”

    “MY WEAPON!” remembered Percival.

    “Oh, ya, right, sorry about that.”

    “I have to get it back,” Percival stated, walking back to the temple.

    “You’re MAD! The guards are still there looking for me! We’d never get in and I’m the only one that can move when shadowmelded. There is no way I can carry that bulky mallet of yours.”

    Percival glared at Dorin.

    “Fine, I’ll just pick up another at the weapons shop by the Goblin Laboratory, but you owe me a warhammer!”

    Dorin was shocked that Percival gave in so easily, “Sure, whatever you say Perk.”

    “It’s Percival!”

    Chapter 13

    A large circle of power dominates the room. A room with no decoration, no structured design, no doors. The circle of power glows, and around the perimeter are twelve smaller circles. A pillar of light materializes. Within it, a cloaked figure. Eleven others appear in succession and the Circle of Twelve commences.

    "The Paladin and assassin have escaped," comments one. His announcement is not unknown to the others.

    “This pair seems to best the most insurmountable odds,” replies another.

    A figure in grey speaks, “Our failure to prevent the assignment and now the arrest has now taken a turn for the worst.” Deep concern furrows his brow and with reluctance he continues, "We are now at a point which we debated years ago but hoped would never come to pass. The death of a hero is as permanent as a young man's promise of love, so we must make the decision on using a soul gem. We can't afford Percival being resurrected and seeking out the Lost Temple again."

    A man dressed in pink immediately protests, "I still cannot promote the use of the vile artifact. The more that exist, the more dangerous it becomes. We should destroy them, destroy them all!"

    "Has the status changed?" questions a man in brown. Above the circle an image winked into existence: a map of the lands focused on the Lost Temple. Smaller bluish highlights spotted the map, but none rivaled the large glowing mass encompassing the Lost Temple itself.

    "No, it has been stable for the last 200 years."

    "Could Percival and his companion tip those scales?"

    "Unknown, but it's a risk no one is willing to take."

    The man in grey speaks, ceasing all questions.

    "We have, as I've said, debated all this before and it comes down to this: the use of another soul gem. You will cast your will."

    A large sphere rises in the center of the circle of power.

    "As you know, a majority cast of black is negative, while one of white is positive. In the case of a tie, the sphere will reflect black."

    The grey man searches the group; all are ready. "Begin casting...now."

    The sphere barely flickers, settling on white. The grey man nods to the figure in red. He turns towards the Circle.

    "We have a perfect candidate. A Blade Master of the tenth level. He will be given the impression that Percival killed his brother.. The 'hero' will then be bound to seek blood vengeance and his desire for revenge should negate any questions he has. He will come across a soul gem, which he will then believe to be the ultimate punishment for Percival. Once he has trapped Percival's soul, we will collect it from him."

    "And the assassin?"

    "Ever known a blademaster in bloodlust that letÂ’s his enemies live?"

    “And if someone gets the soul gem with Percival’s soul before we do?”

    “It won’t happen.”

    Silence befalls the Twelve.

    The figure in red continues, “My people will be in charge of this soul gem and the arrangements are in place.”

    The man in grey lifts his head, "That concludes this council, if there are no further questions..." Silence follows.

    "The Circle is complete," concludes the grey man.

    "The Circle is complete," echoes the rest and the twelve teleport out.

    Chapter 14

    Renting a zeppelin wasnÂ’t as easy as it seemed. Apparently, rented zeppelins were never returned, most of them destroyed in mid-flight. This put Dorin further on edge, but a herd of thunder lizards couldnÂ’t keep Percival from purchasing the newest deluxe model GMW Z-8 for the ultimate in flying pleasure. With cramped but comfortable sleeping cabins, a crew of eight, and an onboard hot fount of healing, one can experience a high-performance war vehicle effortlessly blending remarkable power with exceptional smoothness. Percival was immensely proud of his latest toy and explored every nook and cranny of the airship.

    “This thing has everything! Look a storeroom that could hold the weapons of a huge army! Aaaaa, smell that! Can you smell the interior? Nothing beats that! Feel that! Feel that! That’s high quality wood, this is not your cheap plywood model, nosirree! Look, it even has a ramp large enough to load steam tanks on! Somebody gut me!” gushed Percival.

    “Mmmm, let me,” muttered Dorin, “You know, traveling by steam tank would have been pleasant. We’d be on the ground, puttering at a nice leisurely pace and we could knock down trees for kicks.” Dorin spoke without conviction. He had found a spot on the zeppelin which had given him the best view of the floor and the least view of the edge. Lying on the deck in horror, he could hear the engines work harder as the zeppelin lifted into the air. Percival was practically hanging over the edge trying to squeeze in every bit of zeppelin experience that he could. Every so often some word vaguely resembling a nautical term would issue forth from his mouth.

    A few hours of uneventful flying had unmercifully passed slowly, depending on ones perspective. Percival was still excitable as ever, commenting every ten minutes on how everything on the ground looked so small. Dorin was still rooted to the spot and had just reached enough courage to try moving. With stiffened limbs, he got to his hands and knees and crawled inside to one of the cabins.

    Dorin was deathly tired, but sleep came in fitful spurts. Dreams of falling continually played at his mind. After being jerked awake numerous times, he finally sat up. The light outside indicated it was close to sunrise, although he didnÂ’t feel an ounce rested.

    Looking for ways to occupy himself, he decided to study the Lost Temple map, hoping to find an alternate route to the Lost Temple and thus giving him a reason to be angry with Percival. Rummaging around in Percival’s backpack, he heard a small voice, “Please refrain from jostling me.”

    Dorin jumped back. Small voices coming out of backpacks were not uncommon, but they had not acquired any imps or poltergeists since last he remembered. He searched the backpack once more for the source of the voice and found the soul gem containing the Lich.

    “Hey, I forgot about you,” Dorin spoke as he stared at the soul gem, now silent.

    “I’ve never seen one of these things occupied before. I’ve never seen a soul gem at all in fact. I think they’re outlawed or something.”

    The soul gem remained quiet. It was quite unremarkable, nothing more than a glass sphere filled with mist.

    “You’d think that a vessel containing a soul would look a bit more spectacular than just a glass ball on which someone heavily breathed.”

    The soul gem didnÂ’t respond.

    “Hey, I know you can talk, talk back!” ordered Dorin.

    “Spare me the light conversation,” replied the imprisoned Lich.

    “How dull, you don’t even pulsate or anything when you talk,” complained Dorin.

    The soul gem ignored the comment.

    “Look, I heard somewhere that souls entrapped in a soul gem are bound to tell the truth, can you tell me something about our mission?”

    “You will most likely die,” replied the Lich.

    “Tell me something I don’t know. You’re no better than a fortune teller I know back home.”

    Despite the lack in facial features, the soul gem somehow emanated disdain.

    “You undead are so grumpy.”

    Dorin was just formulating another question when a loud alarm went off.

    “What’s that?” Dorin asked.

    “An alarm,” replied the Lich.

    “I KNOW that, it’s just...oh never mind,” glowered Dorin as he rushed outside.

    Outside, the crew was rushing about the deck, turning cranks, randomly pulling ropes, and screaming. In the midst of them was Percival, both hands resting on the hilt of his hammer, calmly staring at a black cloud.

    “What is it?” asked Dorin, the fear of an attack short-circuiting his fear of heights.

    “Gargoyles, about twenty strong, heading this way,” replied Percival with a huge grin on his face.

    “They’re intent on attacking us, aren’t they,” asked Dorin.

    “Correct!”

    “And we’re not running away, are we.”

    “Not on your life.”

    “I was afraid of that.”

    “What aren’t you afraid of?”

    Dorin scowled.

    Chapter 15

    Percival never took his eyes off of the approaching gargoyles, but he barked out orders to the crewman.

    “You four,” he indicated by a sweep of his hand, “arm yourselves with crossbows and aim for the wings of the gargoyles. It won’t kill them but will hamper they’re flying. Dorin and the rest of you will concern yourselves with repairing the zeppelin. We must stay aloft!”

    Despite himself, Dorin was impressed by the change in the men. Now infused with purpose, they diligently went to their tasks, the morale so high it was almost palpable. One of the crewmen handed him a bucket and a long pole with a brush on the end.

    “What’s this?”

    “We calls it ‘liquid thread’, though t’aint nuttin like youse ever seen. Any tears them goyles rip, you slap on this stuff, and it will solidify and hold the rip closed. Iffen you run out, you kin refill from yonder barrel. Strap yerself down too, the pilot‘ll be doin’ evasive maneuvers.”

    Following the lead from the crew around him, Dorin tied a rope around his waist while thoughts of being tethered to a falling zeppelin played through his mind. He glanced at Percival, and noted the huge crossbow.

    Dorin was still carrying the soul gem, and he placed it into a small carrying bag at his side.

    “Are we going to live through this?” he asked the Lich nervously.

    “I do not foretell future events, but if I did, I would say no,” replied the Lich.

    Dorin couldnÂ’t see why soul gems were sought after, especially if it resulted in your enemy taunting you 24 hours a day.

    “Get ready men and fire on my mark,” commanded Percival.

    Dorin tensed and held his breath. The gargoyles were fast approaching the side of the zeppelin, yet Percival and the armed men were at the fore of the airship, not even facing the encroaching enemy. Within seconds, Dorin could hear the shrieks of the gargoyles and could see claws primed for shredding.

    “BANK TO STARBOARD!” bellowed Percival, and despite it’s ungainly bulk, the zeppelin turned sharply into the gargoyles.

    “FIRE!” Percival commanded, as the gargoyles swerved to avoid the armoured front of the zeppelin. Crossbow bolts ripped through the leathery wings of the more unfortunate gargoyles, but too many were able to avoid damage and swooped around for another attack. Percival and his men were frantically loading and shooting but it was not enough to quell the tide of razor sharp claws that ripped multiple holes in the side of the zeppelin.

    The ship banked suddenly, but it didn’t keep Dorin and the remaining crew from quickly patching up the gaping holes. Dorin was amazed by the ‘liquid thread’. With a sweep of his brush directly perpendicular to a tear, the liquid instantly hardened and then shrank, pulling the rip closed. He and the rest of the repair men could mend almost any hole the gargoyles tore.

    Soon, the gargoyles were all over, swooping in and out causing as much damage possible while avoiding crossbows. Some tried to land on deck, but they were no match against Percival and his warhammer. Noting the success of the repairmen, a few gargoyles pulled off from the main attack. Dorin, in an amazing display of bravery, was hanging a bit over the ledge trying to reach a difficult hole. Only the sound of a mad fluttering of wings saved him from a skewering and he dodged just in time. Unfortunately, it was in a direction favouring non-zeppelin and he flew over the edge, his plummet stopped short by the rope he had tied earlier.

    Not wanting to be robbed of their prey, the gargoyles renewed their attack, sights set on cutting the rope. Dorin, now beset with fear of gargoyles, fear of heights, and fear about whether he used a proper knot on the rope, swung his brush around in a wild panic. Fortune begrudgingly smiled upon him and DorinÂ’s brush connected with two of the gargoyles. The gargoyles let out a loud screech as the liquid dried and then shrunk, causing them to collide into each other. Dorin didnÂ’t have the satisfaction of watching them fall as another gargoyle slashed at him. He dodged just in time as he felt himself jerked upwards. Percival had hauled him onto the deck and slapped him hard on the back.

    “Good SHOW Dorin!” proudly beamed Percival.

    A loud shriek interrupted him as two gargoyles landed on deck. Without hesitation, Percival swung Dorin around and used him as a mace to knock one of the gargoyles off the ship. In the same motion, he grabbed DorinÂ’s bucket, dipped it in one of the barrels, and dumped it squarely on the other gargoyleÂ’s head. Dorin winced upon hearing the sickening crunch as the liquid shrunk and crushed the skull of the gargoyle. Percival kicked the gargoyle overboard.

    “You don’t make an effective weapon Dorin, that gargoyle wasn’t even stunned.”

    “Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I think you shattered my spine.”

    Another cry came from behind and Percival refilled his bucket and covered the surprised gargoyle with the liquid. The wings were instantly pinned and it fell to its death.

    “This stuff is great! “ laughed Percival, as he started using the liquid thread more amply, gargoyle after gargoyle falling to their death as their wings became crushed or pinned. A few gargoyles were remaining, and it didn’t take long for Percival and his men to take them down.

    “FOR HONOUR!” bellowed Percival, holding his bucket high. Dorin couldn’t believe it, but Percival still managed to look heroic wielding a bucket.

    “Put that thing down,” Dorin hissed, “you look ridiculous!”

    “Uh, excuse me sir,” mumbled a crewman.

    “Actually, I can’t get it off my gauntlet, I think it fused with it or something,” remarked Percival.

    “You can’t remove your gauntlet?” asked Dorin.

    “Um, ahem,” ahemed the crewman.

    “Not really, that stuff has compressed it too tightly, I can’t undo any bindings nor slip my glove off.”

    “Oh...that’s almost funny. Hey, it’s getting quite breezy, don’t you think?” asked Dorin.

    “M’lord Percival, we have suffered some major damage to our air balloon, and unfortunately, we’ve run out of liquid thread,” explained the crewman. Percival checked the barrel and noted he had drained it dry.

    “We’ll be crashing in about 10 minutes, please secure your belongings,” advised the crewman.

    “By the light, I hate you, Percival,” groaned Dorin.

    Chapter 16

    Dorin stirred. He felt like some thunder lizard had mistaken him for a chew toy. He was lying down and his eyes were closed, the state of which he didnÂ’t want changed on the probability that he was dead and sight would only confirm his morbid suspicions via visions of fire, brimstone, and scantily clad succubi.

    He risked a curious peak, since succubi didnÂ’t frequent his part of town, and much to his relief, and a sad twinge of dismay, he saw Percival.

    “HO! Dorin, you awaken!” smiled Percival. Dorin wondered who, other than heroes, used the word “Ho” as an interjection. His eyes then focused on the wreck of the goblin zeppelin.

    “There were a lot of injuries,” explained Percival, “but fortunately I cast a Divine Shield before impact. I was able to heal some of you with the use of healing wards, Holy Light, and...” Percival paused for dramatic effect. He stood up, held his hands before him, and in the purest baritone voice he could muster, “BEHOLD! THE LOST TEMPLE!”

    Dorin spun around quickly to see the eight crewmen, now fully equipped with armour salvaged from the zeppelin, grinning profusely around a Fountain of Healing.

    “You’re kidding, right?” asked Dorin.

    “No! This is it!” defended Percival.

    “Where’s the temple?”

    “It’s LOST. That’s why it’s called the Lost Temple.”

    “We stumble upon some shabby, run-of-the-mill Healing Fountain and naturally you assume it’s the Lost Temple?”

    “Well, we were so close before the attack of the gargoyles-”

    “This CAN’T be the Lost Temple!”

    “I’m pretty sure it is!”

    “Let me see that mini-map of yours,” Dorin argued, hand outstretched, waiting.

    “Uh, yes, well. We didn’t need it anymore once finding the temple, so...uh...”

    “Don’t tell me you lost it.”

    “We WERE just involved in a zeppelin crash you know. In which, I might add, I saved the lives of countless many, which included you!” Percival retorted.

    Dorin sighed, Percival was right, and accidents do happen.

    “Fine, I’m sorry, and thanks for saving our lives,” Dorin apologized. He stared at the healing fountain again. The crewman were still sitting around it, grinning.

    “What’s up with them?” asked Dorin.

    “They’re scared actually. I told them this was the Lost Temple and they knew the rumours of never coming back. Now they’re too scared to leave the safety of the Fountain of Healing.”

    “For light’s sake, this can’t be it. Does the map itself say that this is the Lost Temple?”

    “Well, uh...it’s pretty vague on details...”

    “Don’t tell me you lost that too!”

    “I didn’t lose it! A potion shattered and soaked the map during the crash. Fortunately, it was just one potion.”

    Dorin rubbed his temples. Sighing, he asked, “Ok, why are you so keen on this being the Lost Temple?”

    “Well,” explained Percival, “what do you expect when looking for some all powerful temple shrouded in legend?”

    “Death, severe injury, mental breakdowns, more death.”

    “Yes, yes, yes, that’s normal. But don’t you expect some gigantic temple rising hundreds of feet into the air, guarded by a host of evil minions ready to defend whatever secrets the ancients have hidden?”

    Dorin looked at Percival skeptically.

    “Thousands of expeditions looking for the Lost Temple, all in vain. Maybe because it’s something we DON’T expect. Something small, diminutive, something no one would even think of. Makes sense, doesn’t it!”

    “You’re a loon, Perk.”

    “I’m telling you, this is it!”

    “Look, I can straighten this out once and for all,” argued Dorin, as he pulled out the Soul Gem. “Hey, Lich, is this the Lost Temple?”

    “No,” replied the Lich.

    “There. He doesn’t lie either,” Dorin grinned triumphantly.

    “Hey, that’s the Lich!” noticed Percival.

    “Ya, although he’s a bit grumpy,” critiqued Dorin.

    “We’ve had that thing all along?” asked Percival.

    “Ya, pretty crazy eh?”

    “Do you know how powerful one of these things are?”

    “Uh...no. I know how annoying they are.”

    “All the accumulated knowledge that this Lich has .. uh... accumulated... is at our disposal!”

    “Great. Hey Lich, do you know where the Lost Temple is?”

    “Yes,” replied the Lich.

    Before anyone could question further, a deep loud cry interrupted their interrogation.

    Dorin, Percival and company looked up to see a Blademaster in the distance waving angrily in their direction.

    “Wow, a tenth level Blademaster. Don’t see those often,” commented Percival.

    The Blademaster started toward them. He was joined by a few ogres and orc shamen.

    “He’s angry at us, isn’t he Perk. And I bet he wants to kill us too.”

    A gutteral chanting droned through the air as the shamen raised their hands and made slow but complicated gestures. Red fire flashed about the approaching army and their cries of bloodlust echoed throughout the morning dawn.

    “I don’t understand how that spell makes them bigger. That’s just not fair,” complained Dorin.

    The Blademaster was now close enough for Dorin to make out a bone necklace hung around the thick neck of the Blademaster.

    “Oh great, he has one of those too, what’s that thing called Perk?”

    “Scourge Bone Chimes.”

    “And all we have are healing wards and a stupid soul gem. Any plans oh fearless leader? I noticed you have Devotion Aura finally. I was wondering why I was standing here rooted to the spot while bloodlusted vampire ogres are about to chew off my head.”

    “I’m going after the Blademaster. Arm yourself with a crossbow and see if you can kill anything.”

    “Don’t count on it,” sulked Dorin.

    “I’m not.”

    Chapter 17

    With his standard battle cry, Percival charged the Blademaster. Dorin went to search the remains of the fallen zeppelin to find a crossbow that worked. The remaining soldiers huddled in fear around the fountain of healing.

    Within a tooth chatter, the Ogres were upon them. The men did their best to stand their ground, but one savage grin was all it took for their fear to get the best of them. An ogre grabbed a soldier and started bashing him. The rest of the soldiers hacked away at the attacking ogre but the slightest wound, and the wounds were slight indeed, were instantly countered by the healing fount. Furthermore, the vampiric ogres gained life from the blood of its victims and with a large chomp, the ogre tore a huge strip from the leg of the soldier. With a cry of shock and pain, the soldier whacked the ogre with the sword he miraculously still carried, causing the ogre to drop him into the healing waters of the fountain. Instantly, the soldierÂ’s leg healed over. The ogres were overjoyed at this new development and zealously grabbed each soldier. To their horror, each man had huge chunks of flesh ripped off and then were unceremoniously dipped into the healing fount.

    The anguished cries of the men got DorinÂ’s attention and he yelped at the grisly feast before him. One ogre, upset about the portions he was allotted, spotted Dorin and started after him. Dorin looked for an escape but daylight hindered any shadow melding and the Devotion Aura kept the radius of fleeing to a minimum. He desperately didnÂ’t want to get involved in the ogreÂ’s snack dip party and ran in the only direction he could: towards Percival and the Blademaster.

    Unfortunately, PercivalÂ’s perception of his battle prowess was taking a savage beating. The same could be said about his battle with the Blademaster. He was constantly on the defensive and it was all he could do to just block and dodge the deadly attacks. He couldnÂ’t believe anyone could move so fast. In a suicidal move, Percival swung his hammer back in preparation for a devastating blow. The deadly blade shot forth intent on introducing PercivalÂ’s innards to the outside world. A flash of light and PercivalÂ’s Divine Shield deflected the skewering. The orc was stunned only for a millisecond but that was enough for PercivalÂ’s hammer to follow through with his swing and connect squarely on the orcÂ’s breastplate. The orc stumbled backwards and then let out a deafening roar. His bloodlust blinded him with rage and he tore after the closest target to him: Dorin.

    The ogre who had dibs on Dorin began to protest but dense as it was, it knew better to come in-between a Blademaster and his victim. Dorin didnÂ’t even have time to curse his luck as the blade came close to severing any type of verbal communication. Although quite skilled at death avoidance, Dorin knew it was only a matter of moments before the blade found the flesh it was hungering for. Fortunately, PercivalÂ’s hammer connected squarely on the BlademasterÂ’s head.

    “I’m invulnerable, not incapacitated,” pointed out Percival.

    “Wow, two big words in one sentence, impressive Perk.”

    “Could you at least TRY and fight back?”

    “That WAS trying. Aw crap, Perk, he’s heading for the footmen.”

    The toll had been too great on the men and now they were too weakened to resist. Percival rushed to their aid but was soon in battle with the vampiric ogres, still surprisingly hungry. With a quick spin of his sword, the Blademaster initiated a ritualistic gesture. A gust of wind came from nowhere and accompanied the graceful movements of the Blademaster, now involved in some archaic dance. Suddenly, he was just a blur and the men found themselves being sliced to ribbons by the BlademasterÂ’s devastating final attack: the Bladestorm. Spinning round and round, the BlademasterÂ’s weapon was impossible to avoid. The men screamed and tried to run away as this new torture was thrust upon them.

    Dorin grabbed the closest thing to him and threw it at the twirling Blademaster. The closest thing to him happened to be a stick of wood, a fragment of the destroyed zeppelin. The stick of wood was attached to a rope, which in turn was attached to the remains of the canvas used as the zeppelinÂ’s balloon. Soon, ogre and human alike were on the ground avoiding the blade, the ropes and wood whipping around and pulling everything into the storm itself.

    The dust settled and Dorin slowly opened his eyes. The Blademaster lay there, wrapped in a blood soaked cocoon made out of zeppelin. Sharp shards of wood stuck out at odd angles and the BlademasterÂ’s weapon lay on the ground. The ogres looked at their fallen leader in shock.

    Percival was up in flash and grabbed the Blademaster’s sword. With a few slashes, he cut open the canvas tomb to reveal the heavily wounded orc inside. Percival reach down and a sharp “SNAP” sounded as he pulled something from the orc..

    Bodies rose from the healing fountain. They were shadows of men, the continual drainage of blood was hard on their constitution. But now they felt vengeance and above all, hunger. They grinned. Carnivorous teeth bared. Dorin himself felt his teeth grow as he looked at Percival, now wearing the Scourge Bone Chimes.

    The ogres looked at one another; one grunted a sound not unlike “Uh oh.” The soldiers gathered their swords and their banquet began.

    Dorin went up to Percival and the fallen Blademaster. His new fangs felt uncomfortable in his mouth. He had to resist the urge to chase and devour a squirrel he spotted.

    “OW! I think I poked a hole in my tongue! These things are sharp!”

    Percival ignored Dorin and questioned the Blademaster, “Who are you? Why did you attack us?”

    The Blademaster wheezed, and coughed up blood. Percival grabbed a beam of wood embedded in the shoulder of the orc and yanked it free. The Blademaster grunted in pain but Percival splashed him with a bit of healing water. The wounds healed and the BlademasterÂ’s breathing became less laboured.

    “You’re not even Level 6,” were his first words.

    “Why am I constantly graded around here?” Percival asked exasperated.

    “Better than being a sidekick,” mumbled Dorin.

    “There’s been a mistake, you could not have killed my brother,” continued the orc.

    “Unless your brother was a Lich,” added Dorin.

    “I have no quarrel with you,” the Blademaster said with sorrow.

    “Oh very nice! NOW you have no quarrel with us. Now that you LOST. Very nice indeed I must say!” retorted Dorin.

    “Call off your men!” commanded Percival.

    “I think you have to call off yours,” came his reply.

    Percival turned to see an ogre trying to bash a soldier currently attached to the back of another ogre. At the last minute, the soldier jumped away and the predictable ogre bashing ensued. The men were all over the ogres, clinging to their backs and dining on ogre blood as the ogres ran around trying to rid themselves of the human parasites. Quelling the desire to join in, he tossed the bone necklace to Dorin, “Pack this away, it’s disgusting.”

    Dorin could feel his teeth return to normal proportions. The men started coughing and spitting out blood as their appetite receded. The ogres took this chance to flee into the forest.

    “Now, what are you talking about orc?”

    “My name is Grimoire,” corrected the Blademaster.

    “I’m Dorin, pleased to meet you.”

    “Oh, and I’m Percival Pureheart the Paladin. Pleased to make your- ... forget that! Why did you try and kill us?”

    “I have traveled far to find you,” started Grimoire.

    “Great. I sure hope this isn’t one of those long and boring hero stories. There’s gotta be a way to skip over these,” complained Dorin.

    “Quiet!” Percival scolded.

    “I was lead to believe that you had killed my brother. He was killed ten years ago, but his death was a mystery. His remains were found, but he could not be resurrected. I have been searching for answers ever since. Then I found out about you.”

    “Ten years ago? I couldn’t even lift my hammer ten years ago.”

    “Yes, you are far too young. I realized that after my bloodlust died down. And now, I won’t be able to avenge my brother’s death.”

    “Ooh, way to work the guilt trip Grimmy,” responded Dorin.

    “Look, we’ve been going up against a bit more resistance than can be attributed to random chance. This little case of mistaken identity must’ve been a setup. Someone is trying to keep us from getting to the Lost Temple,” deduced Dorin.

    Grimoire sat up suddenly, grimacing slightly with pain, “The Lost Temple? You seek it? My brother was too! Let me join you! Maybe the answer to both our problems lie there!”

    A bright glow enveloped the orc as Percival cast his healing spell, “You’re on, Grimoire.”

    Chapter 18

    “WHAT?” Dorin exclaimed, “This guy just about slices each of us into small, easy to chew morsels for his vampire pets and we’re all ok with that?”

    “He was avenging his brother, Dorin,” explained Percival.

    “Ya, sure. Who out there isn’t? It’s either their brother, or sister, or father, or pet goat! He could be part of the setup! This could be all a ruse to get us off our guard and then, WHAM! We’re appetizers at the next ogre shindig.”

    “Ogres don’t normally eat humans!”

    “They looked like they were enjoying themselves a bit too much with that whole double dipping episode at the fountain.”

    “Dorin! He’s coming with us, and that’s final!”

    “Fine. My opinion doesn’t seem to count for much around here anyways.”

    “Well, when you actually get around to doing your JOB, then you’ll be the first on my advisor list!”

    “EXCUSE ME! Might I add I’M the one that took down ol’ Grimmy here?”

    “Grimoire, actually,” corrected Grimoire.

    “Probably because you couldn’t HIDE away in some shadow!” shouted Percival.

    “Well, if we wouldn’t go charging headlong into certain death, maybe we could actually THINK things through a bit more strategically!”

    “RUNNING AWAY isn’t strategic!”

    “IT KEEPS YOU ALIVE!”

    “WE’RE ALIVE NOW!”

    “Ahem,” interrupted Grimoire, “we could leave you two alone if you alike.”

    “WE’RE FINE!” screamed both Dorin and Percival.

    Percival looked around at his men. Struck with the universal desire to be somewhere else when in the presence of bickering couples, they were keenly interested with the general cleanliness of the healing fountain. Grimoire was trying to figure out how his mini-map worked.

    “You have a mini-map,” Percival said.

    “Yes, standard issue.”

    “May I have it?” asked Percival. Grimoire nodded and handed the mini-map to Percival. Percival stared at the mini-map until the familiar chime of a quest being recorded rang out.

    “Aha! I was right!” Percival beamed.

    “What? What do you mean?” asked Dorin.

    Percival showed him the face of the mini-map.

    “According to this, we’re at the Lost Temple,” triumphed Percival.

    “What? That thing’s been spun around too many times. It’s broken!”

    “It’s not broken! Admit it, I was RIGHT!”

    “The Lich said this wasn’t the Lost Temple!” argued Dorin as he pulled out the Soul Gem.

    “The Lich hasn’t left the sanctuary of his necropolis in over 200 hundred years. How would he know where it is?”

    “Well, he had a map, didn’t he?”

    “Interesting,” interrupted Grimoire again, “I’ve never seen a Soul Gem in all my life. Yet now this is the second time in the last month.”

    “Second?” asked Dorin.

    “Yes, I have one, for when I was to kill Percival.”

    “Oh, well, you wouldn’t want to waste it, would you?” Dorin said as he glowered at Percival.

    Percival looked at the Soul Gem for a minute.

    “Where did you get the Soul Gem,” he asked Grimoire.

    “From one of my chief witch doctors. In fact, it was his vision that sent me on this quest to find you.”

    “And he happened to have a soul gem just lying around in his tent?” asked Dorin.

    “Hmmm, true, I never thought to ask him.”

    “Has this witch doctor ever been wrong?”

    “Never.”

    Percival stared hard at the Soul Gem Dorin was carrying. There was so much he didnÂ’t understand. Why did the witch doctor pinpoint him as the killer of GrimoireÂ’s brother? Why did the mini-map say they were at the Lost Temple when the Lich said otherwise? If the mini-map was correct, then their quest was over, but why didnÂ’t he feel the resultant euphoria that accompanied every final quest completed? (An assumption really, since Percival had never completed any major quest before this.)

    “Lich,” Percival finally spoke, “what is your name, by the way?”

    The Lich paused before answering, “I do not know.”

    “Ooooh. All powerful, all knowing Lich can’t even remember his name,” mumbled Dorin.

    “It was stolen from me, I am nameless now,” responded the Lich.

    “C’mon, you must have had a name when you were once not undead,” persisted Percival.

    “I was a king,” came the hollow reply.

    “A king, eh? Impressive. What was your name as a king?”

    Once again the Lich paused.

    “He’s doing this on purpose…this whole dramatic schtick. I hates it!” whispered Dorin.

    “My name,” interrupted the Lich, “was King Richard the XXVII.”

    In shock, the others decided to take their turn at pausing. After a few moments, Dorin spoke, “Richard. Rich the Lich. Oh that is too rich.”

    “Ahem. Well met, Rich,” greeted Percival.

    “Richard. And it is no longer my name,” corrected the Lich.

    “Richie! Oh RICHIE! How’s Richie Lich today?”

    “SHUT UP you sorry excuse for an Assassin!”

    “Temper temper, Richie Lich!” laughed Dorin.

    “Richie! You said this wasn’t the Lost Temple!” interrogated Percival.

    “I did...Perk,” returned the Lich.

    “Touché,” Percival acknowledged, “but my mini-map says that the Lost Temple is here.”

    “It does.”

    “So you must be lying,” accused Percival.

    “I am unable to lie.”

    “Well, I do believe we have a contradiction here,” observed Percival.

    “Believe what you will then,” Richard responded.

    “This is going to take all night!” complained Percival.

    “Told you I hated that thing,” replied Dorin.

    Chapter 19

    “I may be of assistance,” suggested Grimoire. All eyes turned to him.

    “A number of years back in my home village, Lindogar, when Veratall, son of Evantuller, was Chief of our Clan, Thundering Ridge, a renegade troll, named Flowgly, was menacing the nearby village, Rutabar. A blood oath to my second cousin, Bogar, another story in it’s own right, bound me to bring that troll to justice.”

    “Great. Here we go,” groaned Dorin.

    “The troll was an expert tracker and had an uncanny sense of direction. It was said that even a Night Elf could not shake Fowgly once he had caught the scent. Fortunately, he wasn’t as skilled at being hunted. I brought along two other trolls, expert trackers in their own right, and we started out at once. The night was clear, as was the days that followed, but it still took us a week of tracking. Eventually, my mini-map lead me to an old bridge deep in the Wastelands.”

    “Mini-maps seem to take the sport out of it, don’t you think?” commented Dorin.

    “The area he had chosen for refuge was the Badlands of Mijjigurr. Wild animals of every kind lived there and were driven into a maddened frenzy by the noxious gasses which spurted from the ground. The stench was unbearable and I assumed just as bad for Fowgly with his keen sense of smell. Fowgly, however, stood his ground, and we closed in. The land was infected by vile creatures of all sorts. They came in droves, enraged beast after another. The fighting was fierce and every wound we inflicted and received was exacerbated by the deadly air itself. We had to use many healing artifacts to counter the poisons which seeped into our lungs. After what seemed days of combat, we finally found ourselves at a blackened stone bridge over a river which we couldn’t classify as water. To my dismay, the bridge was empty.”

    “Wow, great story Grimmy. Perk, what are we going to do about shelter?”

    “SHHHH!” Perk motioned.

    “I stood on the bridge, perplexed. My mini-map verified that my location was the correct one, but there was nothing. I was in the right place. But there was... no... troll.”

    Dorin couldnÂ’t understand this love of the dramatic which had engrossed the other men. Dorin knew Grimoire had a possible solution for their problem, but to endure this gruelling story complete with Orc geneology was maddening. Dorin didnÂ’t trust Grimoire, but then again, Dorin didnÂ’t trust any hero.

    “Then...it came to me,” explained Grimoire, pausing slightly as the men leaned forward in anticipation.

    “A mini-map, is two-dimensional, but this world we inhabit is-”

    “YES YES YES, the Troll was UNDER the bridge! We get the POINT already!” shouted Dorin.

    “YOU SPOILED THE ENDING!” screamed Percival.

    “Oh come on! It was OBVIOUS!” argued Dorin.

    “BY THE GODS, SHUT YOUR MOUTH ALREADY!” Percival bellowed once more.

    Dorin huffed, and then went and sat by the fountain in frustration. Percival watched him go, ready to nail DorinÂ’s mouth shut if he even uttered a peep. With an apologetic nod, Percival motioned for Grimoire to continue.

    “Ahem”, Grimoire started, the attention of all the men ( minus one) enraptured as if by magic.

    “A mini-map, is two-dimensional, but this world we inhabit is three-dimensional. And once, long ago, trolls used to live under bridges.”

    An “ooo” of amazement parted the lips of the audience, genuinely impressed by the intelligence of the Orc warrior.

    “Oh, for love of light,” muttered Dorin under his breath.

    “The map, and the Lich, may both be right. The location of the Lost Temple may be ... beneath us.”

    The men stood entranced, the weight of the revelation crushing all other thought. After a long period of silence that just about pushed Dorin’s sanity over the brink, one of the men spoke up, “We were in the fountain. We tried in vain to find some passageway that we could escape through. But there was nothing, not even any magic sigils or markings.”

    Percival jumped up and went immediately to the fountain, pushing every stone, searching every cranny, feeling every nook. Dorin sidled away and watched the rest of the men join in on the search. Men jumped in, examing the waters, while Percival began tapping the fountain a tad bit too forcibly with his hammer.

    Dorin turned his attention towards the orc. He had been insulting the orc ever since he set eyes on him so he wasnÂ’t expecting a warm reaction. However, the Blademaster ignored him. His attention was solely on Percival and the men, who were currently quite successful at discovering rock, water, and not much else.

    “Hmmmf, don’t even rate high enough to get a disapproving glance,” muttered Dorin.

    “When I was younger,” spoke Grimoire, barely audible above the noise of the fountain molestation, “I learned an important lesson from my then Chieftain, Oldar.”

    The men froze. Bodies strained to catch every sound that came from Grimoire.

    “The Clan, Smokeless Leaf, began raiding our food supplies. Oldar’s son, Ungar, was sent with some troops to protect our lands, but the Chief of Smokeless Leaf, Mintjar, had a very wise warrior, Udvisar. Udvisar was always once step ahead of Ungar, and the raiding continued.”

    Dorin sat down and propped his head up with his hands. The men glared at him, thinking he had done this a bit too noisily for their taste. Wearily, Dorin watched GrimoireÂ’s lips move as more names and yet even more events poured out, and the battle against some orc turned into a war between three clans, a quest for a powerful artifact, and a naked dwarf.

    It was well into nightfall by the time Grimoire finished his tale. Dorin had dozed off many times and the men were now gathered by a fire that Dorin couldnÂ’t recall ever being made. It had now advanced to question and answer time.

    “So Funderbar, son of Hunda, found Genshin locked in Jyhgg Cave, but the Quor Gem was previously purloined by Thugtar the Thief, who took it to...uh...”

    “To Maugit Isle! Oldar had known that from the beginning!” interrupted Percival.

    Grimoire nodded. Dorin roused from his stupor, amazed that another cast of characters had entered the epic since last he dozed.

    “So we need Spirit Walkers,” deduced one soldier.

    “Correct!” Grimoire smiled.

    “Couldn’t he have just said we needed Spirit Walkers at the beginning?’” wearily asked Dorin.

    “I sense a strong presence of magic in this area and what we cannot see may be seen in the Spiritual plane,” explained Grimoire.

    “But we don’t have any Spirit Walkers,” noted another soldier.

    “I have a few at a base camp I set up a days walk from here. Spirit Walkers can communicate regardless of distance. They will be here by early morning.”

    “You set up a base camp?” asked Percival.

    “Yes, and what an ordeal that was! It was three days ago, and I thought I had lost track of you-”

    “That’s it! I’m going to bed!” announced Dorin, but he was ignored. The new tale of Grimoire had gripped the attention of the men tighter than Percival’s helmet strap. Dorin frowned and went off to find a quiet place to sleep.
    __________________

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    Chapter 1

    Dorin hated this city, a term used loosely by the locals in a vain effort to bolster its importance. Stromguarde was a small, wide open, backwater town, mostly filled with vacant buildings and the few odd shops. Dorin knew someone who had a surname of "Stromguarde", although anyone proud of such a heritage was probably the spawn of two siblings or more.

    Dorin could hear the din of battle coming from across town. This was his only comfort: the fighting was nowhere near him. He glared at the gold mine he was guarding. Why it wasn't raided, or even why they had to guard it was beyond him. Had the town used this gold, they could have boosted industry, built decent housing, constructed a tower filled with trapped beautiful maidens, anything to increase productivity in Stromguarde. Yet here the gold sat, and here Dorin stood, guarding that which was not used.

    His job had been less eventful than plant growth for the last two days, yet his companions were tense, always ready for some forthcoming skirmish. Dorin had other assignments where guards would take breaks, play a few card games, at least look in his direction, but not this group. Sneers were etched into their jaws, and not one of them grunted an acknowledgment. They even slept standing up! Dorin couldn't relate to such dogged commitment.

    He couldnÂ’t help but feel a bit repulsed by the current company. Sure, every bandit was a brutish, scar-faced, monstrous mishap of the human race, but someone had customized this mercenary purchase with double the ugly. The leader, who would only answer to "M'lord", was a rancid pile of flesh that barked out orders and saliva more often than he got off his horse. Dorin had never seen him leave his horse for that matter.

    On the verge of snapping, Dorin opted for a bit of banter, anything to break the monotony.

    "Ok, I understand we are to guard this mine for an undetermined amount of time. I don't suppose we've finally determined what that particular time was, did we?"

    The Bandit Lord leered at Dorin. "You aren't being paid to ask questions!"

    "Oh, IÂ’m offering this for free," Dorin quipped.

    "ENOUGH TALK!" screamed the bandit, showering Dorin with spittle vile enough to knock out the undead. Dorin smirked; the poison on his daggers would be no match against that.

    He debated a retort liable to win him a new eyeball made of knife, when he felt a small constant tremor. He cursed to himself. Most people would stand in a gaping stupor as the curious vibration would steadily grow and increase. Dorin knew perfectly well what it was, and knew that this was the best point in time to flee as opposed to waiting till some huge creature would burst through the trees sinking it's teeth into your head. However, he was on a job. That and the Bandit Lord's Devotion Aura pinned him from running away while screaming and soiling himself. (Well, it pinned him from running away, anyways.)

    In the distance, he could see around ten orcish grunts, a few support units behind them, and a dreaded BladeMaster leading the fray. The small army was around fifteen strong, three times the size of their little bandit encampment.

    "An orcish horde," grinned the Bandit Lord, "Prepare yourself for battle, the hour we have waited for has come."

    Dorin gaped. He certainly wasnÂ’t waiting to be butchered. Battle against one orc was difficult enough. He wondered if the Bandit Lord was myopic and didnÂ’t see the horde. More likely, he probably couldn't count higher than the fingers he had on one hand (which was three, due to a couple of mishaps in previous misjudged battles).

    Dorin whimpered at the green mass of destruction charging in a direction directly counter to Dorin's best interests. He hoped that they were just on their way to the goblin market, or maybe a happy light orcish festival, or whatever orcs do when they aren't playing axe-the-human.

    A nervous habit caused him to check his spear. Just sharp enough to annoy the bejonkers out of an orc. The poison on the tip may just cause a rash, if he was lucky.

    The Bandit Lord bellowed a bolstering laugh, "The orc death is almost at hand, charge on my mark!"

    "Easy for you to say," whispered Dorin to himself, "with your O-look-at-me-I-have-Divine-Shield spell. If it wasn't for your blasted Devotion Aura rooting me to the spot-"

    "CHARGE!" screamed the Bandit Lord, and Dorin felt himself running to the embrace of death.The orc horde enveloped the resisting company of bandits. The Bandit Lord was pretty competent at fighting, surprising Dorin, whose expectation of the rogue's usefulness didn't extend much farther than congealed animal fat.

    The Bandit Lord sliced down the nearest orc shaman before he could frenzy yet another orc grunt to the bloodlust they were legendary for. Unfortunately, this had been his downfall as all the grunts quickly surrounded him intent on a hacking spree.

    Dorin breathed a small sigh of relief. If the orcs we're so keen on taking down the leader, that gave him at least ten more seconds to live. He lobbed his spear at a shaman in the middle of casting bloodlust and actually wounded him. Feeling jubilant with his success, he pulled out two daggers and attacked one of the grunts busy taking the Bandit Lord down.

    The orc's skin was a bit tougher than Dorin had remembered, which made sense since he never before had the lack of sensibility to attack an orc. After withstanding a few futile dagger jabs, the orc turned around and, with nary an effort, batted Dorin back about ten feet. It was at this point in time that the orc Blade Master, a bit ticked that the bandits weren't dead yet, swung a blade rivaling most flagpoles in length through the thick neck of the Bandit Lord.

    His horse whinnied and fell. With the Bandit Lord dead, the oppressive Devotion Aura had lifted and the remaining bandits realized they had the opportunity to flee. But orcs were equipped with powerfully huge axes which proved to be quite a hindrance to anyone's retreat. In less time than it takes to swat dead flies in winter, Dorin was soon the only bandit left.

    Intense fear slowed time to a crawl and Dorin watched the Blade Master run towards him. His orcish eyes gleamed with victory, and his impossibly long blade dripped with blood. A flag was attached to his back, which puzzled Dorin. Doesn't it get in the way? What was it for? It's not like the Blade Master was difficult to spot in a battle, what with a sword the length of tree swinging around like the blades of a gyrocopter.

    "I'm going to die," became the mantra of choice and Dorin wondered if a well-aimed dagger at the throat would annoy the Blade Master or damage the dagger. He looked up as the Blade Master lifted his sword to strike and noted that at least it was a cloudless night.

    "Night? WHAT AM I DOING?" screamed Dorin in his mind, and he quickly rolled to a nearby tree, a hairs breadth away from joining the same fate as his leader, and vanished.

    The Blade Master bellowed, "WHERE'S A WITCH DOCTOR?!"

    A shaman came up to him, "They're back at the base, and a few of us need to go back for healing."

    The Blade Master's eyes burned, for his blood lust was still not satiated, but he regained a bit of control, and ordered his troops back to the main base, "Get a peon and a witch doctor up here! I want that human killed! Cursed Shadowmeld."

    Dorin held his breath tensely as he watched the orcs leave. As soon as they were out of sight, Dorin slipped off into the night.

    Chapter 2

    Dorin was in trouble. Again. He stood in the office of Master Jin, the head of the Assassin's Guild, and was being reviewed for yet another mission he had utterly failed at. Master JinÂ’s gaunt and morose face was staring at a scroll, long fingers slowly tapping the ebony desk he was seated at. Dorin shifted restlessly in the uncomfortable silence that he was well acquainted with but could never get used to.

    Master Jin sighed and looked at Dorin long and hard. "You do know what your assignment was, don't you?" asked Master Jin.

    "Yes, Master, very well. It wasn't too difficult really, I was supposed to guard the gold mine," replied Dorin. Master Jin raised an eyebrow.

    "With my life, I may add, I was supposed to guard the gold mine with my life," Dorin continued.

    "Which you--"

    "Did quite marvelously if you ask me," interrupted Dorin, "I mean, I guarded that gold mine like no stationary unused object's been guarded, and I certainly thought there was no point in guarding it with my death, that's for sure, because then it technically isn't guarded, so I made every effort to stay alive to keep it guarded. Highest honours should be awarded, if you ask me."

    Master Jin sighed once again, "We've been over this before, Dorin."

    "Yes, yes, we have. I know, the code of Assassin's clearly state that commitment to an assignment is of utmost priority and failure should only be because of death. We learned that when we were first trained."

    "And penalty for failure?" prompted the Master.

    "Death. Slow, drawn out, and painful death," replied Dorin.

    Master Jin rubbed his eyes in frustration, "I can't protect you forever Dorin."

    "No Master, nor should you," Dorin replied. The fact of the matter was, however, that Dorin didn't need any protection. The Guild of Assassins were a competitive lot, and rising in the ranks meant that someone ahead of you had to die. Assassins were always trying to discretely assassinate themselves, and a constant vigilance was common in the daily course of life. Being caught assassinating an assassin, however, was considered a gross dishonour and such practice was punishable by death. (They were a strict lot. There weren't too many misdemeanors not punishable by death). The Punishment of Death was fulfilled by the members of the Assassin's guild: it became permissible to kill the punishee in public if need be.

    But Assassin's were also quite proud, and the ancient craft of stabbing someone in the back relied on secrecy, stealth, and not being caught. Lowering one's self to the level of a common street thug was a surefire way to invite the ridicule and derision from one's peers. So life would still continue as normal for the one sentenced to death. Avoiding the clandestine attempts at one's life came as natural as walking.

    Dorin had four death sentences. Three for where he had failed both the mission and the fourth when he had walked into a room of a fellow Assassin only to have found him dead with a knife in his chest. Four other assassins had passed the room and immediately assumed that Dorin had really screwed up an assassination attempt and a warrant was immediately put out for his deathÂ…again.

    But the effort to kill Dorin far exceeded the worth one would get out of such an action. Dorin was still a Level 1 assassin, a mere scratch in the maimings of life. Killing Dorin was less beneficial than a Cloak of Shadow for a Night Elf. And it was later found out that Dorin couldn't have killed the assassin, because Dorin abhorred killing. This really put a damper in career advancement.

    "Did you at least kill anyone?" asked Master Jin.

    "Well, I did throw my spear at an orc Shaman," started Dorin.

    "And?"

    "I hit his hand in mid spell. I'm pretty sure I almost took it off!" explained Dorin.

    Master Jin rubbed his temples, "You may leave and retire to your room, Dorin."

    "No listen, his hand was seriously damaged. Sure, a witch doctor could heal that no sweat, but it will be stiff for months, I know it! And when the wet weather comes, he'll be cursing me with the most sinister curses he knows!"

    "Thank you, Dorin, you may go..."

    "It was his writing hand too. He'll be incapacitated for eons! What a blow against the Orcs!"

    "Thank You!"

    "Yes, my room, thank you Master Jin, for your patience," and with that, Dorin bowed and left Master Jin to his frustration in silence.The next morning, bright and early, Dorin found himself in the office of Master Jin again. Normally, a reprimand from the master only occurred at the mission debriefing, subsequent visits were not needed. He could not imagine getting into trouble while he slept, but he did have a knack for such things.

    Dorin didn't think he was a bad assassin. In fact, he considered himself quite good. He knew all the poisons, was quite versed in a variety of weaponry that can fit in your sleeve, boot or pants without cutting or castrating yourself, could shadowmeld almost well into dawn and way before nightfall, and he had an almost supernatural talent at staying alive. It was just this killing thing that got them all worked up. One simple skill he was incapable of doing, and they treated him like an outcast. No assassin had tried to kill him in years, not that he was complaining, but this was the highest insult ever dealt. Sure he had death warrants, it's not like anyone ever followed through with them.

    The door opened, and Master Jin strolled to his normal place behind his desk. "Good morning Dorin. So pleased you are on time. I have another assignment for you."

    The shock Dorin felt was only betrayed by his silence. And his jaw. And the completely ridiculous expression on his face. His posture too, while weÂ’re at it.

    "Ha! Orc cut your tongue? A good day indeed if Dorin himself cannot think of a word to utter," chided Master Jin.

    Dorin was confused. Assignments did not come readily to Dorin, because ninety-nine percent of the time, assassins are hired to assassinate. Guard missions were only given to the Assassin's guild if some rich fool wanted to show off how much money he could blow. Assassins were trained for the night with small weapons and quick turn around times. None of this standing in the middle of the day in open view with a spear which had as much effectiveness as lobbing spit at a Tauren.

    "Don't worry, dear Dorin, it's not an assassination. We could not risk our reputation by you failing our most prestigious calling."

    Despite that Dorin agreed whole heatedly with this statement, it didn't keep him from feeling a bit miffed. Master Jin handed a scroll to Dorin, which Dorin opened and perused.

    "You have heard of 'The Lost Temple', haven't you?" queried the Master.

    "Yes, who hasn't? It's known to be a place where whole armies have disappeared. Any search team, adventuring team, or even anyone wishing to disappear would head off to this place, and would never be heard of -- Ah crud, you want me to go there, don't you," replied Dorin disheartedly.

    "This isn't a suicide mission, Dorin. On the contrary, it is because of your... 'unique' ability not to die that I personally chose you. I can't afford failure on this mission, and even information in regards to the Lost Temple would be a boon as opposed to a missing Assassin."

    Master Jin waited for a response, and not hearing any, continued, "As you may also know, there is a Fount of Healing in the center of the Lost Temple. Your assignment is to get a sample of that water."

    "You want a flask of healing water? Good grief Master Jin, Healing Fountains are more plentiful than wolf droppings in an orc encampment."

    "Why, you are so right Mr. Dorin. How good of you to show me the error of my ways, why bother search for some mythical place when an easy to reach Healing Fount just happens to be in our courtyard?"

    Master JinÂ’s piercing gaze brought that uncomfortable silence back again.

    "I'm sorry, continue," mumbled Dorin.

    "Since, despite your training, curiosity permeates your very soul, I will tell you why this particular fountain is important. The Lost Temple was, and still is, a magically potent area, due to whatever mystical explanation you wish to attribute to it: druidic ley lines, undead sacrificial altars, night elf mating grounds, the list goes on. The fact of the matter is, it has been fought over, for centuries, and probably will be fought over in years to come when humans have finally mastered the air and would take to the stars."

    Dorin hated it when Master Jin would dream about life in the distant future. Dorin was more concerned about life in the present, particularly his life and it's continuance in the present.

    "Countless lives have been lost fighting over this place, more than any other location on this world. Literally, rivers of blood have been poured onto that land, soaked into the ground, and has seeped into the foundation of the Fountain of Healing. As any person knows, blood is the most powerful reagent in the forming of magic. With blood and sacrifice, energies unparalleled can be mastered and manipulated. No other place has known death more than the Lost Temple."

    So far, Dorin had been mildly interested. Had it not been the head master of the assassins, he would have discarded such nonsense along with Psychic Jill on 5th street, always screaming that death loomed over him. Of course death loomed over him, he was an assassin.

    "It is rumored," continued Master Jin, "that the waters of the Lost Temple Fount is of such a potency, that one flask is equal to that of thirty resurrection spells In fact, it can create life from that which was not there. That's what our employers want, and may I say he is willing to pay quadruple our normal rate, with a quarter of it up front."

    Dorin's interest was peaked. Some assassins get bonuses for a job well done, especially if it was a well paid assignment. If all he had to do was bring a flask back to the Guild, he may get a bonus that would enable him to...well, maybe buy another set of daggers. Dorin actually didn't need much.

    "Who's this freak?" asked Dorin as he pulled out a profile of someone who was obviously a hero. With the blond hair, thick jaw, cleft chin, and massive sledge hammer, he couldn't possibly be anything other than a hero. Dorin's face scrunched up in disgust.

    "That's Percival Pureheart, the Paladin," replied Master Jin, "you'll be helping him with the assignment."

    "Helping? I have to go with him? Mister I-use-alliteration-in-my-name-because-I'm-a-moron? You've got to be joking! Assassins work alone!"

    "When's the last time you worked alone, Dorin."

    "Well...uh...we're supposed to work alone. Ah crudbuckets. You can't be serious. I heroes! I don't want to be someone's lap boy! Why do they need an assassin?" exasperated Dorin.

    "Dorin, choice is a luxury you have long ago relinquished."

    Dorin sulked.

    "I take it by your silence that you concur. Then we may continue. *AHEM* Dorin, Level 1 Assassin, you have been honoured with Assignment #FB8901. In the event that you fail, or are discovered, the Guild of Assassins will disavow any knowledge of your existence..." and Master Jin continued with the normal rhetoric that preceded every mission about danger, death penalties, and who gets your room afterwards.

    Dorin continued to sulk and was in a sour mood for the rest of the day.The dungeons of the Assassin's guild were only called dungeons because they were in the basement and the sinister connotations were too tempting to pass up. In truth, Assassins never kept prisoners. "Tis easier to decapitate than to incapacitate" was an old saying amongst assassins, although "Assassination by decapitation brought exasperation" was yet another maxim commonly whispered (the Assassin's Guild originally was the Poet's Guild, but due to the ridicule and abuse of their audience, they found killing them far more rewarding).

    But the dungeons were well utilized. It was here that all research in assassination and espionage were done. The knowledge and technology almost rivaled that of the dwarves or the goblins, but on a more micro scale.

    Dorin had never been down here before. Only those of at least level 8 were entrusted with assignments that would even need to utilize such equipment. He gazed in awe at the complicated mish mash of machinery, tubes, bellows, pipes, and smoke. It looked exactly like a goblin laboratory, and as a gnarled, yellow-eyed goblin sidled past him, he realized why.

    "Uh, excuse me," interrupted Dorin.

    "whatwhatWHAT!!!" screamed the goblin.

    "You wouldn't happen to know where Master Jin is, do-"

    "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" screeched the goblin, catching Dorin by surprise. The goblin then gave an indecipherable look to Dorin and scuttled off into the smoke.

    "You never disturb a goblin when he's working. They're a very focused lot," stated a voice beside him.

    "Master Jin! Oh, sorry, uh..." Dorin hesitated.

    "Come, you are meeting the hero Percival in two hours time, and I need to show you a few things." Master Jin proceeded to a table filled with a variety of objects. He took a small velvet bag, almost at random, and pulled from it a vial. "This bag will be yours. In it is this indestructible vial, to safeguard the water you will collect in it."

    After replacing the vial, he handed the bag to Dorin, who took it greedily. Dorin looked inside the bag, and found nothing else aside from the vial.

    "That's it? Nothing else?" asked Dorin.

    "Just the vial is all you will need, along with your normal assortment of assassin equipment, of course. But nothing out of the ordinary."

    "My normal assortment consists of a couple daggers and poisons!"

    "Well, then I shan't keep you waiting! You probably want to get started soon."

    "You brought me all the way down here to give me a vial?

    "No, no, actually. You'll also be needing this," prompted Master Jin as he pulled up a large backpack and gave it to Dorin.

    "Ah, that's more like it," replied Dorin with satisfaction, as he began to open the bag.

    "No no no! It's not yours, don't open it. We've also equipped Percival Pureheart with a few things. When you meet him today, please give him that bag."

    The elation Dorin felt rivaled that of a cat stuck in a moonwell. Biting his tongue, Dorin slung the heavy backpack on his shoulders, not without quite a bit of difficulty.

    "Heavy it is, isn't it? Thanks so much for bringing it upstairs for me," thanked Master Jin cheerfully.

    If it wasn't nigh impossible, Dorin would have overcome his aversion and killed the master himself.

    Chapter 3

    It was late afternoon by the time Dorin lugged the heavy backpack all the way to a small tavern clear across town. A sign with "The Happy Harpy", hung swaying over the door. Dorin paused for a second to stare at the sign. He couldnÂ’t believe a tavern could have such a ridiculous name. He turned, half expecting to find "The Furry Furbolg", and to his surprise, it was across the street. Shaking his head, he entered the Harpy.

    The tavern was busy and filled with loud, burly people grunting and shouting as all people tend to do when thrust into a bar setting. Waiting for the token beefy barkeep to come up to him with a rag in hand asking in a gruff accent, "What'll it be?", he spotted Percival sitting at a table.

    "Sitting", however, may have been too common of a word to describe the position Percival Pureheart the Paladin was posturing at the moment. Chiseled chin held high, arm resting on his weapon, feet planted firmly on the ground, Percival was engaged in a fierce display of...grinning, Dorin had to keep himself from checking to see if an artist was finishing his latest series on "The Hero Wastes More Time".

    Spotting Dorin, Percival raised his gauntleted hand and beckoned, grinning all the while. Dorin swore he heard some tavern girl swoon at Percival's movement and he waded his way to the table.

    "Please to meet you, Dorin," boomed Percival, his baritone voice deep and rich. Dorin hoped he wouldn't try to convert him to the light, or something. "I see that you brought my equipment. Now I feel even more confident at the success of our mission!" Dorin managed a sardonic smile as Percival shook Dorin's hand and took the backpack. Dorin was both upset he was stuck with someone so unbelievably cliché and relieved he wasn't expected to carry the backpack for the whole journey.

    Percival suddenly leaned in close. Eyes darting suspiciously left and right, he lowered his voice to a whisper.

    "You know that this is a risky adventure we are partaking in: highly dangerous, dishonest skullduggery, and hopefully the odd girl or two!" Percival sat up with an even larger grin and gave a knowing wink. Dorin was stupefied. If this whole mission was just a ruse to get him to kill someone, it certainly was working.

    "Questions are probably racing through your mind but it is not safe to talk of such things here!" hissed Percival, trying to be covert again. He raised his arm and a serving girl immediately appeared at the table, cheeks all flushed and eyes batting faster than a hummingbird.

    "Don't worry, Dorin, I'll get this," generously offered Percival, which was just as well since Dorin didn't order anything.

    "It was a pleasure meeting you, and here is a little extra," said Percival, to which the serving girl giggled.

    With a flourish reserved only for those foolish enough to believe it garnered respect, (although in Percival's case, it did), Percival rose from the table, collected his belongings, and strode out. Dorin wondered if he should wait for a "Here boy," but not willing to risk it actually happening, he followed after.

    Percival Pureheart the Paladin purposely made his way towards the outskirts of town. Dorin sulked after him wondering how long this assignment would take. He was mildly curious where they were going but speaking may have given the Paladin an impression that Dorin wished to be the comical, buoyant sidekick, and he definitely wasn't going to be that.

    "In an hours time we will reach the Lich's lair. Unfortunately, it will be dark then, when the undead are at their strongest, but there's no helping that. I was hoping that-"

    Forgetting himself, Dorin interrupted, "Wait! Whoa! What Lich? I don't remember no Lich being in the contract!"

    "That's a double negative, you realize," corrected Percival. Dorin couldn't believe his grammar was being corrected by this doofus.

    "Look, Perk, there wasn't a Lich-"

    "Percival. My name is Percival Pureheart,"

    "Ya, whatever. Look, there wasn't any undead in the mission. And you want to go after a Lich? What gives here?"

    "The Lich has a map to the Lost Temple," explained Percival.

    "What? That's the stupidest thing I've heard in my life! Why would a Lich have a map to the Lost Temple? Why, in fact, in order to get anything done, you have to go clear across the world just to find an object, which is always guarded by some insanely strong monster, that will only help you get what you want?"

    "Look, I don't write the rules here, I just know the Lich has the map," reasoned Percival.

    "Well, how come there's only one map? We have a city full of scribes, and the imbecile who made the first one decided one was enough? What kind of moronic sense is that? Are you sure there's not another copy of this map? Maybe guarded by nothing more fearsome than a crotchety librarian?"

    "You talk an awful lot for an assassin," replied Percival.

    "Sorry for shattering your assassin stereotype. Pity it wasn't likewise," bit Dorin. However, Percival missed it altogether and continued, "Look, this is the only map I know of. I think it's amazing there is a map at all. So we have to get it from this Lich, and I was hoping you could sneak in and assassinate it, thereby making this a lot easier."

    Percival looked pleased. Dorin could tell he came up with this ingenious plan all by himself.

    "Let me guess, the Lich currently lives in a Necropolis swarming with ghouls, fiends, and a whole host of other nefarious traps which, you suppose, I would be completely immune to because I'm an assassin."

    "Correct! That's the spirit!" beamed Percival.

    "Sorry to disappoint you Perk, but I failed my Assault-on-Undead-Fortresses course and dead things give me the willies," glared Dorin.

    "Well, no matter, we could always do it the old fashion way, which I personally prefer anyway," Percival excitedly said.

    "Oh. Great. Much better. I don't suppose I could wait outside," dejectedly replied Dorin.

    Percival gave out a booming laugh, "You ARE a riot Dorin! I believe you and I will be good friends!"

    "Ooooh, this day gets better and better," muttered Dorin.

    "Doesn't it? Come, we should hurry!"The howl of a lone wolf signaled the night. Dorin and Percival stood behind a gnarled tree, twisted and marred by the blight the undead had caused by settling the land.

    Before them, floating ominously as gravity-defying objects the size of small mountains tend to do, was the Lich's Necropolis. Dorin never understood this. Evil overlords always base their headquarters in fortresses that hovered high in the sky. Since these evil overlords were always looking for power to overthrow pretty much everyone, why not utilize the energy required to float an object the mass of a city? If he became an evil overlord, he'd forgo the whole easily-broken-into-floating-castle and just drop an ocean on any kingdom that pissed him off.

    "Ok, Assassin, this is where you come in. We need to get up there," pointed Percival the Pureheart.

    "Oh, IÂ’m supposed to get us in that thing?"

    "Yes! Then we'll fight through the enemies, kill the Lich, grab the map, and then make a beeline for the exit because the forces needed to keep the Necropolis afloat would have dissipated by then," stated Percival proudly.

    "You know, I can't even lift your hammer let alone you. Was that the plan you had for this?"

    "Oh no! My original plan was for you to assassinate the Lich, don't you remember? This is plan B!"

    "Plan B sounds like every other plan you heroes come up with."

    "Well, it is a resourceful plan. Go in, kill everything, get out. Nothing beats that yet."

    Dorin sighed. "Look, I don't know how to get in the Necropolis. I don't even know where the doorway is. It's not like I come here on my off days."

    At that moment, a hooded Acolyte came into view, gliding towards them.

    "Hmm, that guy is going to see us," pondered Percival, "we may as well just start the attack now, kill all the ghouls that come after us, and then worry about getting in the Necropolis."

    "No, wait! We wait for some more acolytes, grab their cloaks, and pretend weÂ’re acolytes!" Dorin said excitedly, despite himself.

    "Why would we collect gold for the Lich? That seems rather counter-productive," Percival puzzled .

    "Perk you pinhead, we then go back to the Necropolis and see if we can find some entrance. If those acolytes came from there, there has to be a way in. Ghouls drop off lumber there too so there must be an accessible way from the ground!"

    "Perfect! You're brilliant, what an original plan!" piqued Percival.

    "Oh yes, I don't think I've ever seen anyone try the dress-as-the-enemy ploy. If they actually fall for this, we may get that dumb map yet."

    Dorin turned on hearing the muffled cry of the acolyte and saw Percival in the process of purloining the Acolytes cloak. With a bit of difficulty, Percival pulled the cloak over his armor. He gave off the impression of a shoplifting acolyte trying to swipe a bit too much at his local goblin store. Grinning, he waved his hammer at Dorin.

    Something witty was called for but Dorin's brain failed him as it was bombarded by the fact they were most certainly going to die.

    Chapter 4

    Percival was having the time of his life. Undead Acolytes seemed to pop out of the Necropolis at regular intervals, proceed to the copse of trees that Dorin and Percival were hiding behind, where upon Percival would then bash them on the head.

    "Perk! That's enough! Why we aren't discovered is beyond me," scolded Dorin.

    "But they're so cute when they die! The way they wave their arms in a futile effort to fight back."

    "Great, take one home and stick him on your front lawn but now we have to get inside!" Dorin couldn't believe he was arguing against staying outside where it was relatively safe.

    "How about one more?"

    "NO! Here, throw me a cloak." Percival threw him a cloak from the pile of five which Dorin quickly put on.

    "Ugh, this one still has some goo on it," muttered Dorin. Trying to clean himself as best he could, he glanced at Percival, who had a strange look on his face.

    "Perk! You ok?" asked Dorin. Perk blinked, looked at Dorin, and grinned a huge smile.

    "I have another cunning plan!" said Percival excitedly. Dorin winced.

    "As you may have perceived, my weapon cannot fit under this cloak," pointed out Percival. Percival didn't fit under the cloak but Dorin didn't feel like arguing. Percival then took off his disguise, removed his backpack, and then put the cloak back on. (This belittles the process, which actually took thirteen minutes to complete and resulted in two torn cloaks, another dead acolyte who almost got away as Percival tried to kill him with a cloak over his head, and one cynical assassin even more skeptical about their chances).

    While holding his weapon, Percival looped the backpack over its head and then threw a cloak over top.

    "Ta daa! Instant acolyte! Why, if we had a few more items, we could haunt a whole gold mine ourselves!" proudly displayed Percival. Dorin gaped. Yes, Percival now just looked like an acolyte with an eating problem but Dorin still couldn't bring himself to categorize the idea under "cunning"Â…or "good" for that matter. Lacking anything better, he just nodded defeatedly.

    After getting rid of the remaining cloaks, Percival confidently tried to glide towards the Necropolis, holding his makeshift acolyte in front. Dorin followed, not fairing any better at the gliding. Shortly, another Acolyte came their way.

    "This is it!" hissed Percival, excitement obvious. Dorin stiffened.

    The real acolyte's head was to the ground and his gliding looked like real gliding. The fake acolytes were trying not to run into each other and their gliding looked like real walking.

    "I live for Ner'zhul," rasped the Acolyte as he glided past.

    "By the Light!...uh...dark! By the death! Death comes for ye!..er.. I live nasally too!" stammered Percival, not raspy at all. The acolyte had now turned to get a better view of the three strange acolytes. Unfortunately for him, one acolyte jumped in the air and gave him a fatal head butt.

    Percival grabbed the newly deceased acolyte and held him in front to now form four unconvincing undead acolytes.

    "That went rather well, don't you think?" asked Percival.

    "You suck at this Perk," criticized Dorin.

    Percival and Dorin continued until they stood at the base of the Necropolis. It was even larger and ominous from the base and fear didnÂ’t so much as strike DorinÂ’s heart, it skewered it.

    "See? Our plan worked, we're here, and no alarms have been raised," boasted Percival.

    "You were right, I was wrong, let's go now!" pleaded Dorin.

    "That's the spirit! Anxious to get your hands wet with some undead blood!"

    "No, I meant home!"

    Percival laughed and slapped Dorin on the back, causing him to stumble and then disappear. After Percival finished laughing, he noticed DorinÂ’s absence. Searching around, he found a small, acolyte sized, circle of power.

    "Crum, that Dorin sure has guts, racing into the Necropolis like that," and Percival stepped on the glowing circle.Dorin hated anything that moved him from point A to point B without him being anywhere in between. It was unnatural, disobeyed many laws of the universe as he saw it, and felt like someone froze his spine and began kneading it with a rolling pin. Trying to recover, he noted Percival popping in beside him.

    "Brrr! That felt good!" Percival said exuberantly. Dorin's shuddering kept him from commenting.

    "Tell me that you don't have a town portal," stated Dorin.

    "Of course I do! Standard equipment! Never leave home without one!" piped Percival.

    "Great."

    Percival removed a small crystal on a chain from his backpack, and placed it around his neck, he peered at it for a bit, and then announced, "Ok, we go this way."

    "Wait, what do you have there?" asked Dorin.

    "You're awfully curious for an assassin. If you must know, it's one of your newfangled assassin-made miniature mini-maps. *laugh* A mini-mini-map!" Percival found great amusement at his observation.

    "And you know where the Lich is?" questioned Dorin.

    "Of course,” assuredly commented Percival as he displayed the crystal. Dorin peered in and saw a tiny little map with some glowing dots.

    “See, here is where we are,” Percival pointed to two white dots in the upper left hand corner of the map.

    “And this is where the Lich is," indicated Percival, shifting Dorin’s attention to a pulsating circle with a blinking exclamation mark.

    "This thing knows where the Lich is?" suspiciously queried Dorin.

    "Where have you been for the last decade? Of course it knows where the Lich is, it always knows where our objective lies!"

    "And by the looks of it, we are stuck on one side of this building, and have to traverse the whole Necropolis just to get to the Lich. And we're not talking as the goblin flies. No, we're talking a twisty maze of passages with waygates interspersed and chock full of undead goodness waiting to suck on your eyeballs."

    "That's pretty much right on!"

    "I hate this world," complained Dorin.

    "You're so grim, buck up! Once we kill this Lich, it's smooth sailing!"

    "Why can't this amazing mini-map show us where the Lost Temple is? Couldn't we just journey in the general direction, set the mini-map on high sensitivity, and just see if we run into it?"

    "I don't think it works that way. We're stuck here anyways and I bet the way out is near the Lich."

    "Stuck?? What do you mea-" Dorin cut himself off as he looked around. There were no circles of power to teleport out. They were in a closed off passage, the engulfing darkness taunting them to continue.

    Dorin let out a small, "Crud."

    "Exciting isn't it? It's my first real adventure! Forward!" pressed Percival as he marched into the passageway. To be expected, the Necropolis was dark, sported a skeletal motif, and smelled of death. Percival and Dorin followed the corridor with surprisingly no interruptions.

    "This place is boring! Not a single soul in sight!" Percival pouted.

    "Or even those lacking one. I find this a good thing," responded Dorin.

    "You are one peculiar assassin, Dorin."

    "Ya, but I'm also one alive assassin as well--STOP!" commanded Dorin, eyes wide in panic.

    "What? What now?" impatiently asked Percival. Dorin pointed at the passageway ahead of them. It was a long single corridor, too long to see the end, and lining it was an array of skeletons standing at arms.

    "No worries Dorin. These are statues! Decoration! We've passed many of these on the way here!"

    Dorin looked at Percival in exasperation, "Yes, they're statues now, but once we get in the middle of that corridor, they'll come to life and start hacking us to bits, and my daggers are useless on beings with no flesh!"

    "You have daggers?"

    "This is no time to be funny, we need to find an alternate route!"

    "Look, Dorin, there is no alternate route. This is the only way. Here, see the mini-map?” Dorin dejectedly looked at the minimap, knowing Percival was right.

    “At least do me a favor and knock down each skeleton statue. That way, when they do come to life, we only have to worry about our front flank.”

    “Fine,” acknowledged Percival. He walked down the corridor, smashing the skeletons in succession.

    “Willful destruction of property, the Lich is really going to be angry,” joked Percival.

    “I think a lawsuit is the least of our worries, Perk,” spoke Dorin, eyes searching for the slightest hint of movement from the skeletons.

    After about a minute of no incident, Dorin started to worry about other traps. He examined the walls. They were completely made of bone. The whole passageway was one big death trap, and he had a great aversion to adding himself to the décor.

    Another ten minutes of worrying and DorinÂ’s paranoia paid off: a soft wail drifted to DorinÂ’s ear. Dorin glanced at a skull previously knocked down by Percival. The sockets of the skull started to glow a sickly blue.

    “RUN! FORGET THE BASHING! RUN!” and he pushed hard against Percival, knowing that running by himself into a horde of skeletons would mean instant death.

    “Quit pushing me! That’s annoying!” complained Percival, who, despite Dorin’s valiant efforts, had not moved an inch.

    “MOVE! RUN! THEIR EYES ARE GLOWING!” screamed Dorin.

    “You don’t function well in high stress situations, do you,” perceived Percival.

    “It’s better than not functioning at all which will be the situation if we don’t get out of here! WHY ARE YOU JUST STANDING THERE?”

    Percival stretched and flex, to the exasperated perplexity of Dorin, and calmly said, “I think here’s a good a place as any to make our stand.”

    “STAND? WHAT STAND? WHY—WHAT—WH—“ stammered Dorin.

    “Look, skeletons are easy to kill, they’re one of the weakest creatures out there next to peons, stationary critters, and sidekick assassins. This is a great place for me to gain experience and learn,” explained Percival.

    “LEARN? GAIN EXPERIENCE? ARE YOU MAD? LET’S …wait a minute…I am NOT your sidekick!!” spat Dorin.

    “Heads up,” Percival warned, as he swung his hammer in a wide arc, taking down three skeletons about to skewer Dorin. Dorin glanced around, and noticed the army of skeletons had indeed come to life and were closing in slowly. He debated running back from where they came, only to see that the skeletons Percival had destroyed had assembled themselves magically and encroached from the rear.

    “Great, they don’t die either. This gets better and better,” sighed Dorin, suddenly past caring.

    “Hmmm, I do believe there’s a flaw in my plan,” muttered Percival.

    Chapter 5

    Skeletons were everywhere, feverishly attacking. Each skeleton that went down would rejoin the battle as soon as it could assemble itself. A narrow corridor was the only thing keeping Percival alive right now.

    Percival, although performing to the peak of his powers, started to worry. He had been swinging and bashing skeletons for the last half an hour and there wasnÂ’t any sign of reprieve. How long he could last before dropping from simple exhaustion, Percival couldnÂ’t tell.

    “Dorin! If you have any ideas, they would be greatly appreciated,” puffed Percival as he dodged two skeletons with scimitars.

    A voiced answered from somewhere, “I’m working on it.”

    “Where are you?” asked Percival, crushing three skeletons into the wall.

    “I’ve shadowmelded of course! It’s so dark in here you could shadowmeld an ogre in front of an elf and still not worry of discovery.”

    “What? I need you! You can’t hide on me!” Percival shouted as he stooped and took the legs out of four more skeletons.

    “Oh, that’s rich. Let me join in your heroic effort to vanquish the evil that has infected this place by using my body as a shield! Oooh, the terror I could strike into their hearts.”

    “I can’t believe that an assassin was considered the best choice to accompany me,” grunted Percival as he kicked the ribs of one skeleton while blocking the blows of two others.

    “Hey, it’s no picnic for me either, Perk! Don’t you have some turn undead spell or something?”

    Yellow light prodded the darkness and encircled the paladin. Glowing tendrils slowly encompassed Percival as he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. The skeletons stopped their attack, confused, since they could not pierce this shield of light.

    “No, I don’t have that spell. I do have Divine Shield, which will give me a bit of rest for ten seconds,” panted Percival.

    “Well, I’ve not been completely useless. Every time a skeleton falls, I take some vital part of their anatomy and throw them down the corridor, so it takes longer for them to reassemble. Of course, that makes me visible, but I can shadowmeld quickly enough- TEN SECONDS?”

    It dawned on Dorin that there had not been a Devotion Aura clinging him blindly to the side of this foolish paladin. Holy Light, another common spell which had the potential of actually destroying a skeleton permanently, was never cast (although the removal of one skeleton wasnÂ’t about to turn the tides of battle here) and PercivalÂ’s Divine Shield only lasted ten secondsÂ…

    “You’re only a Level 1 Paladin,” whispered Dorin. Percival grimaced in the direction of Dorin’s voice. The Divine Shield ran out and the bone bashing continued.

    “A lot more useful than you are,” countered Percival as the skeletons, seemingly impatient with the delay, had attacked with a renewed frenzy.

    “Hey, I’m not the melee fighter here! Don’t you have anything in that backpack we gave you?”

    “Nothing that can help now,” Percival said through gritted teeth. A quick blade broke through and sliced his shoulder.

    Dorin looked over theÂ…over theÂ…he paused. What was the collective noun for skeletons? Strange, he pondered, how one thought of the oddest things when sitting invisible in the midst of the undead.

    Another half an hour had passed and in that amount of time, Percival had gained sufficient experience that he advanced to Level 2. Dorin never understood this either. How did a hero suddenly increase in abilities just by fighting a bunch of enemies? In the AssassinÂ’s Guild, one only advanced in level by passing exams (and the small matter of killing a guy a level above you).

    Percival activated his Divine Shield again. His breathing was more labored and sweat dripped freely from his brow, “We’ve run into a bit of a snag here,” Percival glumly admitted.

    “Clattering! A clattering of skeletons! I think that’s rather clever, don’t you?” blurted Dorin.

    Percival stared in disbelief. In a rage of anger he threw his hammer in the direction of Dorin’s voice, and screamed, “I’M FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE WHILE YOU HIDE AND BABBLE LIKE AN IDIOT! At one point in time I thought you were USEFUL!!”

    Percival wearily picked up his weapon, wanting to be armed before his shield petered out. He had strength to continue but if numeric values were used to measure his attributes, morale would have been depleted to zero.

    “You cracked the wall,” came Dorin’s voice.

    “Sorry, I was aiming for your skull,” grumbled Percival.

    “Hit the wall again, NOW!” demanded Dorin.

    Percival complied, more out of rage than obedience, and the hammer broke through. The wall crumbled away, revealing a passage.

    “RUN!” screamed Dorin and this time Percival needed no prodding. After about five minutes of mad fleeing, Dorin slowed to a stop and stood hogging the air.

    “Stop,” panted Dorin heavily, “Stop! I need to catch my breath”.

    Percival was back in prime condition, his mood greatly improved.

    “Ha! We showed them who’s a hero and who’s not! Sorry about that outburst back there. They must have a morale-debilitating aura, those fiends! Will their evil madness never end? But they knew they were outmatched since they didn’t follow!”

    Dorin merely stared at Percival; he liked him better when fighting and angry.

    “Usually,” started Dorin, “when a throng of minor minions completely capable of overwhelming a hero gives up chase, it’s because the hero is going somewhere of a nature even more menacing and deadly.”

    “You are a cheery puppy, aren’t you?” exclaimed Percival. “No worries, that last encounter only strengthened me! I’ve divined the secrets of Holy Light and can strike the undead with a death even deader than the dead they are!”

    “That made absolutely no sense whatever! Stick to the clichés, don’t make it up please,” snorted Dorin.

    “So antagonistic! Look, I’m sorry I was angry with you. I can understand why that may have hurt you deeply, inside. I admit I was wrong and should not have said those things,” Percival spread his arms out, “Forgive me?”

    Dorin jumped backed, “ACK! FINE! YES! You’ve been cooped up in Paladin school too long there Perk!” Dorin eagerly changed the subject, “Look at the mini-map. How far are we from the Lich?”

    Percival glanced at the crystal around his neck, “A bit up this way! Hopefully we’ll get there soon!” He bounded northward. Dorin followed warily, keeping at least an arm’s distance away.

    After a few minutes of walking, Dorin detected a low sound in the air. Barely audible, it would rise and lower in pitch, sometimes stopping suddenly, but then starting up again. Fearing the worst (although that shouldnÂ’t come as a surprise to anyone by now), he slowed to a stop.

    “Do you hear that,” Dorin whispered.

    Percival looked at him, and then made a face, “No, but I can certainly smell something. By the Light, it smells like we’ve entered the main sewage area of the Necropolis. I thought it was bad before, but this is unbearable”

    Dorin noted the stench. It WAS getting unbearable. It was also vaguely familiar. Not your normal festering, rotting corpse familiarity, but a certain uniqueness that you could attribute to a particular creature. Dorin knew that putrid smell.

    Then the sound came again. Dorin closed his eyes, focusing all his energies into pinpointing the source. The sound also seemed vaguely familiar and it was getting louder. He discerned the direction and opened his eyes.

    He was staring at Percival.

    DorinÂ’s mouth hung open, he knew the sound.

    “PERCIVAL! This is NO time to be HUMMING!”

    Percival blinked and stared at him, grinning.

    “You don’t understand! I gained a LEVEL! I’ve finally been in a battle that was able to give me a Level! I’m no longer stuck as a beginner Level 1! I’m LEVEL TWO! I’M READY FOR YOU NOW LICH!”

    “SHHHH! Keep your voice down! Are you MAD?!” accused Dorin frantically.

    “YOU HAVE COME TO THE END LICH! MARK MY-“

    A grunting roar came from the end of the passageway. Dorin blanched. He recognized the roar, and finally recalled the stench. His knees trembled as he heard it lumbering towards them.

    “HA! Finally we have some more action! None of this skulking around like dogs!” boasted Percival.

    It came into view, a large monstrosity of nature. Twisted and mutilated beyond recognition, this creature was a patchwork of animal and human parts, crudely sewn and held together by forces as corrupted as itself. It was pale, bloated, and its stomach had burst open, spewing blood, entrails, and maggots. ItÂ’s non-symmetric limbs were armed with bloodied hooks, chains and cleavers. Flailing about, they were ready to render any enemy to ghoul fodder. It was an Abomination.

    Dorin had encountered one of these before in a previous failed assignment where he ran away. Dorin was very much prepared and willing to fail his current assignment. Being stuck in a Necropolis, however, hindered this.

    “Now we can prove our mettle! You jump on its back and stab it with one of your quick acting poisons while I distract it,” planned Percival.

    “It has that limb on its back with that huge cleaver,” whispered Dorin, fear rooting him to the spot.

    “Hmm, good point. Cut that off first and then jump on it’s back,” instructed Percival.

    The Abomination lurched towards them with a quickness that surprised them both. Its impossibly long arm swung an equally impossibly huge cleaver at their midsection. Dorin sprang back and rolled while Percival ducked and parried with his hammer. The Abomination followed through with a hook, which swung and wrapped around PercivalÂ’s weapon. The Abomination yanked its arm back and PercivalÂ’s weapon clattered into the darkness.

    “Those two other limbs seem to be in the way of its back. Should I cut those off as well?” questioned Dorin.

    “Yes, please. See if you can retrieve my weapon while you’re at it,” replied Percival.

    “This place sucks,” commented Dorin.

    Chapter 6

    The Abomination let out another roar and swung its cleaver downwards towards Percival. He dodged and the cleaver embedded itself into the floor. It was at this precise moment that Percival shouted, “By the Light!” and a blinding bolt seared the Abomination. In agony, the Abomination straightened up abandoning his cleaver, which Percival immediately retrieved for himself. Dorin, wanting to be left out of the action and wondering why no one ever considered his needs, unsheathed his daggers and rolled between the Abomination's legs, letting the motion of his body guide his arms as he sliced and cut.

    Angered by the pain of the Holy Light, the Abomination swung its hook around wildly which connected with Percival. Although it didnÂ’t pierce his armor, he was momentarily stunned, giving the Abomination a chance to grab him with his free hand.

    Percival tried to slice the festering arm with his newly acquired cleaver, but the Abomination threw him against the wall.

    “Shouldn’t be thrown through the air with a sharp object Perk, it’s like running with scissors,” warned Dorin as he dodged another attack intent on severing vital parts from his body.

    Percival didnÂ’t comment nor move.

    “Oh crud, don’t be dead Perk,” Dorin stated with concern. The Abomination also noted the still body and bellowed in delight. It lifted its arm to bash Percival but before it made contact, Percival rolled clear and with a heroic yell, arced his cleaver upwards and sliced the hand off of the Abomination. Not stopping in his motion, he brought it downwards and sunk the cleaver deep into the side of the monster. “HAVE AT YOU!” roared Percival, his blow hacking off a considerable chunk of Abomination flesh.

    The Abomination didnÂ’t even flinch. With its bloody stump, he batted Percival into the wall again and raised its leg to stomp on him.

    “HOLY LIGHT!” screamed Dorin and Percival complied. The Abomination stiffened in pain as the brightness once again burned away at him. Dorin rolled underneath as before and sliced the stitches around one of the Abominations legs. With all his might, he kicked at the leg, and surprisingly enough, it separated. Still unaware of his missing appendage, the Abomination started towards Percival in anger, but the only thing that felt its wrath was the ground as the Abomination attacked it with its face.

    Ungracefully, Percival hacked away at the AbominationÂ’s head until it lay dead.

    “BRING EM ON, LICH!” triumphantly yelled Percival.

    “SHUT UP you maniac!” hissed Dorin.

    “Um, excuse me, but your weapon landed over here,” weakly came a voice. Both Dorin and Percival whipped around and for the first time noticed a small prison cell. Percival immediately ran to the enclosure, retrieved his weapon and destroyed the cell door, freeing the six footmen trapped inside.

    “By the light, how long have you been imprisoned here?” asked Percival.

    “Far too long, m'Lord,” said one of the footmen, “I can’t even remember when last we saw light.”

    “The Lich will pay for his crimes! Come, my brethren. Join me in my quest to destroy this Lich, once and for all!” offered Percival.

    “For Honour!” yelled one footmen.

    “FOR HONOUR!” echoed the rest.

    “Hold up a minute here,” interrupted Dorin. “I don’t mean to break up your bosom buddy bonding time, but you guys have been imprisoned for years on end in cramped and awful conditions, and you should be emaciated, starving, and disease ridden, which for some reason, you aren’t, and by the beckoning call of some fool hero you don’t know, you’re ready to charge into a battle against a Lich which you should realize will result in either a gruesome death or an even worse imprisonment?”

    The footmen blinked, as if noticing Dorin for the first time.

    Dorin turned to Percival, “I mean, wouldn’t it be great just to Town Portal out of here, now that we have some people that probably need attending to? We could pick up some more supplies, rest these poor folk up, find a more sizable force, I can stay home and watch the kids…”

    “You have a very peculiar sidekick, m’Lord,” commented one footmen.

    “I’ve noted that myself,” replied Percival.

    “I AM NOT HIS SIDEKICK!” protested Dorin, but Percival continued onward, the footmen on his very heels.For once, Dorin couldn’t wait to find the Lich. The footmen were no better in their attitude towards Percival than the barmaids back in town and they clung to his every word like flies around dung. Percival was in his element, relating all of his past battles, which, as Dorin knew, really amounted to just two, with one of them fully witnessed by the footmen, but Percival was milking it for all it was worth. Dorin was also annoyed that his part diminished in each telling.

    As they made their way towards the Lich, they encountered many minor beasties: spiders, kobolds, and skeletons. These battles, although not very challenging, were added to PercivalÂ’s accomplishments, and the footmen were proud to be part of such a heroic epic.

    Percival destroyed a crate lying nearby, “Look! We’ve found another healing potion!”

    Dorin couldn’t take it anymore, “Doesn’t this strike anyone as being odd? Valuable items lying around in old dusty crates ready to take, monsters hanging out by themselves in out of the way corners doing nothing but holding on to other valuable items, which they can’t even use. It didn’t even make sense why that Abomination back there was holding a Wand of Illusion! Doesn’t this sound a bit off? Why not just take all these bad guys and have them hang out at the entrance of the Necropolis?? Any intruders come in, WHAM, they get slaughtered before even uttering some obscure relationship with light!!”

    Percival and the footmen looked briefly in DorinÂ’s direction.

    “You know, this sidekick of yours does nothing but complain,” commented a footmen to Percival.

    “I AM NOT-“

    “True,” interrupted another, “in my day, there was nothing I wouldn’t give to be a part of such a party as this! Beats hanging around collecting wood day and night fearing whatever creature came over the next hill.”

    “Remember back when we still had a navy? You try collecting oil. Smelly, dirty work! Living on a boat that stunk of fish, oil, and cranky, unbathed sailors. And if there was an accident involving fire, forget it!”

    “A navy? I’ve been around when we still had to build roads! That was backbreaking work!”

    Dorin realized he was forgotten again. He glanced at Percival, who was off in his own world, probably humming and mentally increasing the number of abominations he fought off. Dorin scowled, trying to close off the footmenÂ’s chatter.

    Soon, they came to a huge set of double doors with intricate designs and patterns indicating a powerful entity lay behind it. Dramatically, Percival turned towards his men and paused.

    “This is it men,” he started, “here is where the evil finally ends. The blight wiped away from this land, our children safe, our grandchildren able to play freely in the fields! The demons of our nightmares bound and destroyed once and for all!”

    “FOR HONOUR!” yelled the footmen.

    So much for a surprise attack, thought Dorin.

    Percival kicked the doors and they effortlessly opened inward. With enthusiasm (minus one), the party entered a huge hall, which looked like it had been uninhabited for years. On the far side, barely visible, a pale light illuminated a dark figure. They had finally found the Lich.

    “Welcome, I’ve been waiting,” the Lich beckoned with a cold and hollow voice, echoing slightly and probably deserving a different font.

    Dorin paused. He knew that some fool would yell “For Honour” and there would then be a mad rush into a trap which had certainly been set. He decided to do some passive reconnaissance hopefully avoiding whatever spikes, pits, or any other miscellaneous vile trap the Lich had set.

    Percival lifted his sword, “FOR—“

    He was cut off. Dorin himself could not move nor feel his body. Unable to move his lips, Dorin cursed to himself; they had walked into a Stasis Trap.

    The Lich remained still, staring at the small company with a restrained fury. Dorin could not discern any features other than it hovered over a dais, a black cloak concealing his skeletal form. Behind him hung two torches spouting blue flame, more for effect as opposed to light. Pedestals flanked him and on each was a magical item, obviously heightening the LichÂ’s powers and awareness.

    “Two hundred years,” the Lich said. “Two hundred years have I waited for someone to penetrate my fortress. When word came about that you were coming, I was delighted. When word came about clarifying who you were, I was horrified. A First Level Paladin and his sidekick, the nerve!”

    Had it been possible, both Dorin and Percival would have squirmed. The Lich picked up a Mana Stone, which sat on one of the pedestals and slowly stroked it.

    “First, you encountered my skeletons and no one realized that skeletons do not reassemble on their own nor last that long of a time! You could have theorized a magical source! Did you try and find it? Maybe on the ceiling? The balls casting ominous blue rays?”

    Dorin thought back and couldnÂ’t believe he missed them. The Lich was probably sore they broke his wall.

    “I had to pull two of my Abominations off of guard duty so that you could rescue those footmen, and even then I thought you were done for. At least the assassin did not hide this time.”

    Dorin felt a smirk from his companions. He knew they couldnÂ’t physically perform one, but it was there never the less.

    “I have not had a decent battle in two hundred years and I fear that I will not have one now,” sighed the Lich. He nodded his head and the sound of a number of portcullises rising echoed across the room. Around twenty ghouls scurried in, drooling, frenzied, and hungry. The Lich returned the Mana stone and began stroking an amulet, talking more to himself than to his trapped prey. Dorin thought the Lich was sorely missing a cat.

    “But, you are my last hope. No one else has tried in centuries to find the temple, and I will not count on any others coming. There are only a few seconds remaining on that Stasis trap. I beg of you, make this worth my while,” pleaded the Lich. He nodded once more, and the ghouls scurried towards the men.

    “—HONOUR!” cut in Percival, limbs now functioning. The men were primed and ready, if not with a few muscle cramps, and the fighting began.

    Chapter 7

    When it came to intellect, Percival knew he was a few peons shy of a working economy. Thus, he made sure that his mind had focused entirely on his vocation: fighting. To the utmost of his ability he studied how to swing a hammer, how to throw a hammer, how to wield a hammer, and every other known use that could exist for a hammer (In regards to combat that is. Other courses were available on Non-Combatal, Practical and Sensual uses of the weapon, but Percival had no time for electives). He knew every creature that existed in his world and he knew how to best hit it with his hammer. Furthermore, what he lacked in brains, he made up for in naivety. He, along with his Paladin brethren, fully believed they would always win. Surrender was never an option. Losing was a concept lost on him, along with fleeing, someone not following his orders, and words exceeding three syllables.

    So Percival wasnÂ’t boasting; he was prepared for the Lich. He knew how strong a Lich was, what spells a Lich was capable of, and what defenses a Lich had.

    “Ignore the ghouls!” Percival ordered loudly as the ghouls closed in on them, “and focus everything on that Lich! Spread out so his Nova Frost will affect the least amount of men!”

    In turn, the ghouls also ignored the footmen and rushed straight for Percival. Disproportionate gangly arms with long bloodstained claws reached out, intent on PercivalÂ’s flesh. Grabbing the Wand of Illusion, Percival created five phantom images of his men, completely harmless but otherwise indistinguishable from its source. This would bide them time to kill the Lich.

    Then, Percival ran.

    Not in the flee-for-your-life-Dorin way but around the hall which was large and cluttered enough that the ghouls would have trouble surrounding Percival. He glanced at his men and noted a number of them with frost on their beard and moving at a rate geriatric sheep would make fun of. They were hit by a Nova Frost. Cursing to himself, Percival started spinning his weapon and did an abrupt about face, now running into the ghouls. Taken by surprise, a few ghouls were incapacitated as Percival bashed through their rank running straight for his men. With his eyes set on the Lich, he cast Holy Light. The Lich cried out in agony.

    It was as if he tortured the wind.

    Grinning in triumph, Percival yanked a healing scroll from his backpack and cast it on his men. Enveloped in a warm bath of greenish light, the men felt their injuries disappear along with any apprehension they had. They charged the Lich with renewed fervor.

    Percival gasped as a ghoul swiped at his side and pierced his armor. A quick swing resulted in smashed ghoul. Grunting, Percival overturned a large oak table causing a minor hindrance to the ghoulsÂ’ pursuit. He ran again, doing his best to stall.

    With an eerie calm, the Lich threw off his cloak revealing sharp metal claws attached to his arms. Pausing only slightly, the footmen attacked but were deftly parried. Barely missing a beat, the Lich flicked a hand and cast another Nova Frost. A bolt of ice suddenly shattered on a manÂ’s chest, razor-like shards hitting those surrounding him. Freezing cold struck once again, their very bones seemingly encased in ice. In agony they attacked, limbs leaden and cumbersome.

    The LichÂ’s blades continued to block the swords that attacked but now they also sliced at the men too slow to block. A blue cold light burned in the LichÂ’s sockets and he laughed. It was not unlike his cry of pain.

    With a glance, the Lich noticed the assassin and for the first time felt a shadow of concern. Not that the assassin posed any immediate threat but he couldnÂ’t read him and this, the Lich didnÂ’t expect. The Lich disliked wild cards in the games he played, and he signaled the ghouls.

    Ten ghouls broke off from Percival, and headed straight for Dorin. Percival, getting used to the running, jumping, blocking, and bashing routine, didnÂ’t notice. Unfortunately, neither did Dorin.

    The guttural sounds of the ghouls signaled Dorin to their approach but it was too late. Claws were thrust deep into DorinÂ’s back and he let out a choked cry. The ghouls pulled him quickly to the ground and dismembered him a little less methodically than a butcher would.

    Percival heard Dorin and turned to see him being swarmed and then mutilated by ghouls.

    Percival screamed.

    Chapter 8

    Fury burned in Percival, which he honed and wielded like a weapon. Quickly, he tossed two wards of healing near his men and then stopped to face the six ghouls who didnÂ’t go after Dorin. His body was driven by an anger tempered by grief and it functioned with a zeal and ferocity that surprised Percival himself. As efficiently as one could be with a weapon designed to crush concrete, Percival eliminated the six mercilessly.

    The remaining ten ghouls were immediately upon Percival, for DorinÂ’s death was quick, if not clean. Percival met them as calmly as an owlbear guarding her cubs. His first swing shattered the spine of the speediest ghoul of the lot. Nine remaining ghouls howled in rage.

    Percival didnÂ’t understand his response of loss and anger. Yes, Dorin had died, but Dorin was an assassin. A mercenary! Mercenaries were hired to die, not to be lifelong pets. The death rate of Mercenaries alone surpassed that of birth rates for years, baffling statisticians to no end.

    Percival rammed his shoulder into a nearby ghoul, who fell back onto two others. Percival then followed up with a hammering fist into another ghoul, and with the momentum of that punch, spun around, grabbed hold of his hammer with both hands, and swung it in a huge 180 degree arc, incapacitating two more ghouls. There were seven ghouls left, and they were currently confused and stunned.

    Dorin must have known that he would die! As everyone knew, dying came with the job. In fact, Dorin was hired with the expectation of dying! Percival only knew Dorin for two days, for crying out loud! He didn’t even share his token “Why I Became a Paladin” story with him yet, denying future readers the Protagonist Emotional Attachment sorely needed in any epic tale!

    A ghoul was immediately up and charged Percival, arms flailing and deadly. With a well-timed kick, PercivalÂ’s spiked boot crushed the neck of the oncoming ghoul and it tumbled to join PercivalÂ’s growing collection of ghoul flesh. Raising his hammer, he smashed the legs of another ghoul too slow in recovering. It lashed about in pain, trying to drag itself to Percival, until its head met the same fate as its legs. Five ghouls were left to contend with.

    If Percival were to feel the same way about every mercenary that came by, they would call him soft. Someone would nominate him to be the spokesperson for Mercenary rights and then would come the rallies, the meetings, the dinners, the fundraising. He was not prepared nor eager for the political life.

    The ghouls organized themselves and slowly circled Percival. On some unseen signal they charged, claws slashing and slicing in a blind frenzy, ready to catch Percival in a living blender. That isÂ…undead blender. Percival simply threw his hammer at one ghoul and dove towards it. The odds of hammer versus ghoul had curiously favored the hammer so far and this encounter proved to be no exception. The remaining ghouls met and skewered themselves in the middle. Percival was glad that there were enemies dumber than him.

    Percival glared at the Lich. The footmen lay dead, blood pouring from a multitude of wounds and, disgustingly enough, a multitude of footmen parts. The Lich had been responsible for DorinÂ’s death, the death of the footmen, and probably countless other deaths. According to his (and probably every) standard code of revenge, the Lich had to die, a thought process more within PercivalÂ’s realm of understanding. Personal reflection had never surfaced before and the heat of battle did not seem an optimal time to start. The familiar security of glowing light encased him as he cast Divine Shield and he raced towards the Lich.

    Percival was very quick with his weapon and could best most men armed with swords. But warhammers were no more designed for fighting than abominations were designed for glass sculpting. A person could not spar with a hammer. When you wield a hammer, all of your strength will go into swinging it and hoping it stops because it hit a) the target, b) the ground and c) not you. The best defense, obviously, was to get out of the way and hope that the attacker would fail to comply with c). But once the hammer had stopped, it took enormous amount of energy for it to be swung again, and for all the attacker could do, any fool could easily step in and stab the attacker with a dagger, sword, or even a rabid cat.

    Warhammers were designed for killing, or, at the very least, serious maiming. The head was designed to be massive and heavy, to decrease the amount the attacker missed and increase the amount of damage inflicted. To hit the Lich, PercivalÂ’s hammer should have been the size of a small village.

    The Lich floated out to meet Percival, and Percival either didnÂ’t notice or forgot that the Lich previously fended off about ten men simultaneously. Frustration and shock continually played on PercivalÂ’s face as he never failed to miss the Lich. After ten seconds of brutally assaulting the air, Percival's Divine Shield ran out and the Lich cast a Nova Frost.

    Percival froze, literally. His movements became laboured as he fought with great effort against the chill striving to control his body. Slowly, but not without a great amount of strength, Percival lifted his hammer and would have smited the foe before him if said foe hadnÂ’t turned around and glided back to his original position on the dais. Two abominations sundered in and, without even giving Percival his right to smite anyone, grabbed him and threw him against the wall.

    "What is it with you lummoxes and throwing? It is never as effective, as, let us say, grabbing them by the legs and bashing their heads repeatedly on the ground. Yet all huge creatures feel compelled to throw their opponent," scowled the Lich.

    Percival was struggling to get up, the effects of the Nova blast just starting to wear off. Two abominations and a Lich he couldn't hit were making this quest a bit more difficult than he anticipated. He turned, but before he could decide which enemy to attack first, the Lich hit him with another Nova Frost. By the Light, Percival hated that spell.

    "Now, instead of grabbing and throwing him again, just bring the Paladin over here and give his weapon to me," commanded the Lich. He removed the attack blades he had been wearing as well as an Amulet of Speed, which he placed on one of the pedestals lining the dais. From another pedestal, he picked up a simple glass sphere.

    "Remove his armour, throw the hero on his back, and spread out his arms and legs," ordered the Lich. The freezing effect of the Nova Frost kept Percival from resisting (well, from effectively resisting), and the Abominations, surprisingly enough, skillfully and deftly removed Percival's armour. Such delicacy they didn't apply to Percival as they smashed him on the ground and arranged him as per orders. With Percival's weapon in hand, the Lich glided towards him.

    "You are probably expecting to hear, 'You have impressed me, hero,' but that would be lying."

    THUNK. The heavy weight of Percival's hammer crushed the bones in Percival's right arm.

    "My my, are we not such a brave little hero? Not even a little cry of pain?"

    THUD. Percival's right arm matched his left.

    "I have a small dilemma. I could convert you, always need a good Death Knight, or I could entrap your soul in this Soul Gem."

    KaTHUD. Percival's right leg was rendered useless.

    "If I kill you, I can place you in my Soul Gem," indicating the sphere in his hands, "but then what? You have no information to me that is useful. And who needs a soul of a low level hero? A Death Knight can be useful, but the last thing I need is another incompetent fool botching up assignments and always needing direction. That is the problem with mind-controlled servants, they have absolutely no initiative."

    KaRUNCH. Percival head swam as pain blurred his senses. The Lich peered down at him and dropped the hammer on his chest, as if discarding a used tissue. The weight of the hammer winded Percival but thankfully, his ribs remained intact. With effort, Percival lifted his head to see the Lich, still fondling the Soul Gem, return to his dais.

    Percival felt like fainting. Although a viable option, it wasn't one that would ensure a successful outcome to his situation. He tried grabbing his hammer and almost threw up from the pain. He was exhausted and spent, not enough energy to cast a Divine Shield nor a Holy Light, and the Lich was aware of that.

    "You bore me, hero. Kill him," ordered the Lich.

    Chapter 9

    Percival closed his eyes. He had a few seconds to come up with a cunning plan before the abominations closed in and forced him to commune more intimately with the floor. He felt two objects being pressed into his hand. Shocked, he turned his head, only to have his attention interrupted by a great commotion and a surprised, "URK!"

    If the Lich's eyes hadn't rotted away centuries ago, they would have bulged in alarm. The two abominations lay sprawling on the floor, each with only one leg attached and the other leg still happily idling at attention.

    "HEY, Lich Boy! Here Lichee-lichee!" came a cry.

    The Lich swung his head to see Dorin waving his arms, who would have been, had it not been a story, accompanied by triumphant brass instruments, excited strings, and a timpani.

    "You should be dead," remarked the Lich, not one for drama nor musical accompaniment. Calmly regaining his composure, he shot off a bolt of Nova Frost at the assassin. Dorin shadowmelded and the spell harmlessly discharged on the wall behind him.

    "Tsk, tsk, and you're worried about us destroying the place," scolded Dorin.

    The Lich turned to reproach the abominations but burning pain interrupted. His hollow wail echoed in agony as Holy Light burned from within. Before he could even question how the paladin had gained the magical energy to do so, a warhammer crushed the Lich's skull into the wall.

    Dorin watched in awe as the Lich's body slumped to the ground. The spectral image of the now dead undead Lich floated upwards and then halted suddenly, as if caught by a fishing line. With his hardened features of bone, it was difficult for the Lich to display shock or dismay, but he pulled it off convincingly as his ghostly form was sucked into the Soul Gem he previously carried.

    "Ding, dong, the Lich is dead!" sung Dorin merrily.

    "FOR HONOUR!" belted Percival as he stood up, although not too sturdily.

    "I take it those stones of health and mana came in handy," commented Dorin as he grabbed Percival's backpack and started filling it with loot from the Lich. A distant explosion sounded and a small tremor shook the floor.

    "Yes, but I think you broke my fingers as you crushed the stones in my hand with your heel," complained Percival. The abominations, knowing that the necropolis would collapse at any moment, crawled towards the exit.

    "Poor wittle Percival has a wittle boo boo," mocked Dorin.

    "By the Light, Dorin, you were torn to bits! How did you SURVIVE?" asked Percival.

    "Simple. You made illusions of us remember? As soon as I saw you made a copy of me, well, I instantly shadowmelded. No point in me having to get hit by those Nova Frosts," explained Dorin as he searched the Lich. "Aha! Here's that stupid map, good thing Liches aren't gooey when dead."

    A stronger tremble shook the walls and a large chandelier shook loose and crashed to the floor.

    "But how did you get all those items to me?" persisted Percival.

    "I can move when I shadowmeld. Not very fast, but I can move, especially in this darkness. Despite what people think, I'm a very skilled Assassin," bragged Dorin. He tossed the backpack to Percival.

    "Now use that Town Portal scroll, because although it's more heroic to dash out of here with an engulfing inferno licking at our heels while pillars of stone fall and narrowly miss us, I just don't have the energy."

    Percival grabbed a scroll and the two immediately winked out, but not without the expected slab of concrete smashing the floor they had previously occupied milliseconds after they had successfully teleported.

    Chapter 10

    A room.
    A figure.
    A minion.
    “Master, the Lich is dead.”
    A nod.
    “The map is retrieved, but the Twelve are planning his arrest.”
    “Help them.”
    A bow.


    -------------------------------------------------

    Healing hurts. Whether it be the irritating itch from a crusty scab or battling infections from a nasty head wound, the process can be draining for weeks. Having your wounds instantly healed doesnÂ’t bypass any of this pain, but rather compresses it into one agonizing instance. Percival awoke, feeling as if a rock golem had collapsed on him.

    “Hey Perk! Glad to see you’re awake! Great constitution you’ve got there!”

    Percival looked around and found himself on a small cot in a sparse but elegant room, dimly lit by a small lamp. An Elven priest was nearby collecting his belongings. Dorin was at the side of the bed the minute Percival opened his eyes.

    “Good thing you’re rich Perk. The healing stone was able to knit your bones together, but how you managed to throw that hammer and cast a spell at the same time is beyond me. This priest spent the rest of the day healing your wounds. You need a lighter weapon.”

    Percival nodded a thanks to the Priest, who bowed and then left by a small door.

    “You collapsed as soon as we teleported to town. I could barely move you but luckily this temple was nearby.”

    Percival sat up. The room spun for a bit and his muscles protested the sudden flurry of activity, but Percival managed a grin.

    “Nothing can stand in the way of those who seek truth and justice!” proudly whispered Percival.

    “There’s the Perk I know.”

    “Have you looked at the map?”

    “Don’t waste any time, do you. Yes, the Lost Temple is nested amongst some mountains in the far north,” Dorin explained as he handed the map to Percival. Percival studied the map for a bit and a small chime sounded from the minimap still hung around his neck.

    “It’s recorded onto the minimap. We shouldn’t lose our way now and by the looks of it, we will need to rent a goblin zeppelin to get past these mountains.”

    Dorin turned pale. “Uh....I’m allergic to flying.”

    “Oh, don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights too! You’re an assassin! You can’t be afraid of heights!”

    “I’m not afraid of heights! I can scale any tower you want. Flying, on the other hand, requires you being in the air without being attached to the ground in any way! It’s unnatural! If we were meant to fly, the ground would have been closer to the sky!”

    “You were in the Necropolis and that thing flies.”

    “Being attacked by the undead kinda takes your mind off of these things.”

    “Well, it doesn’t matter, there is no other way to the Lost Temple accept over these impassable mountains. Look at it this way, think of all the monsters we can avoid!”

    “Oh great. So we ONLY have to worry about harpies, gargoyles, phoenixes, dragons, as well as plummeting to our death.”

    “There’s the Dorin I know,” sighed Percival as he stood up from the bed.

    “Come, there’s a goblin lab on the edge of town where we can rent a zeppelin.”

    “What? It’s the middle of the night!”

    “We can sleep on the zeppelin. It may take us a while to get there so we may as well start now.”

    After a bit of stammering, Dorin gave in, “Fine, I’ll get the rest of our stuff. It’s in the next room.”

    As Dorin left, Percival tested his muscles out. He was sore and stiff, but nothing debilitating. It was in the middle of a heroic flexing pose when the door opened.

    “Percival Pureheart the Paladin?” came the bored voice of a city guard, obviously the captain of the eight other guards who stood behind him, all fully armed and dressed. In stark contrast, Percival was still in a night gown and still sporting a pose not meant to be in a nightgown. Embarrassed, he quickly composed himself and answered, “Yes, that’s me.”

    “You are under arrest for high treason,” came the reply as two guards grabbed the arms of Percival. They tried to be rough about it but ended up using Percival as support.

    “What? There must be a mistake!” protested Percival, trying to keep the guards from leaning on him.

    “Yes, I get that a lot,” droned the captain.

    “Can I at least get dressed?” asked Percival.

    “Fine, get your things on. Where is the assassin?”

    “What assassin?”

    The captain nodded at one of the guards. The chosen guard gave a pained look and with a huge sigh, gave Percival the customary prisoner-talked-back punch across the face. Percival, however, had mastered the art of being bashed by an abomination, and besides, any less effort on the guardÂ’s part would have had the punch stopped by mere air friction.

    “Your feigned innocence won’t help your friend. The temple is surrounded. Every window and every door has one of my men guarding it with a crossbow. If he’s hiding or shadowmelding, daylight will reveal all and he’ll be shot on sight.”

    Percival calculated his odds. Most of the guards were not paying attention, and carried their swords as if made of lead. But Percival was a man of honour and killing guards only doing their job (albeit not very well) was not an option. Percival decided on using his wit.

    “Will you let me go free?”

    “No.”

    Wit failing, Percival decided on surrendering.

    Chapter 11

    “I will go peacefully,” gave in Percival.

    The captain paused for a second, the only indication that PercivalÂ’s surrender surprised him. Heroes were never known to surrender, especially to city guards. He motioned for two volunteers. All the guards looked at one another. No direct order to an individual meant it was up to the guardÂ’s discretion and the guardÂ’s discretion vied towards not doing anything.

    Sighing, the captain pointed at the two guards leaning on Percival. “Shackle his wrists,” came the order. The two guards looked at each other and then checked their pockets. Considering that armour had no pockets, no shackles were produced and they whispered to the other guards, “who brought the shackles?” Blame and misdirection murmured throughout the room until finally it was admitted that no one had foreseen any need for shackles, since no one had ever surrendered peacefully.

    “Fine,” said the captain as he pointed at a guard, “Corporal Al, where’s your crossbow? Keep it trained on the paladin.”

    Corporal Al blinked at the captain, “Wasn’t my watch to carry one, sir.”

    “And who’s was it?”

    The corporal indicated another guard, “I do believe Corporal Al has it.”

    The captain looked at this guard, who protested, “I traded crossbow duty with Corporal Al, sir.”

    Another guard piped up, “That was last week!”

    The captain sighed again and asked, “Does anyone have a crossbow?”

    The guards remained silent.

    Percival watched this in shock.

    “Uh, excuse me captain,” Percival interrupted. The captain looked at him as if he had forgotten he was there.

    “Are all the guards named Al?”

    The captain stared at Percival. A few uncomfortable minutes later, Percival cleared his throat and said “Uh, you did mention that there were men outside stationed with crossbows.”

    The guards mumbled in agreement, the mystery of the crossbow duty now solved.

    “Ok, that’s enough. We will walk in formation to guard the paladin. Two in front, behind and on either side of him, is that clear?”

    The guards started to grumble, upset that a new formation had to be learned.

    “Enough, let’s go.”

    Much to Percival’s surprise, the guards were able to navigate out of the door and still maintain their positions without getting confused. He was at least relieved that they had stopped leaning on him. Outside the temple, they met two more guards armed with crossbows. (Although, “armed” may have been too strong of a word to have used. “In the general vicinity of” would have been a better description.)

    “Keep an eye out for the assassin. Shoot any movement on sight.”

    Percival couldnÂ’t tell if the guards nodded in deference or bobbed their heads trying to fight off sleep. Even Dorin should be able to elude these guys.

    They marched off in direction of the guard house, albeit at a pace a steam tank could have outrun. Percival debated running. If he ran away, no guards would get hurt and he wouldnÂ’t have to go through any legal proceedings to clear up this obvious mistake. The guards were in rather tight around him, but he was certain that nothing more than a stiff breeze could disrupt their vigilance.

    They turned into an alleyway and Percival tensed. Impatience gnawed at him and he debated whether the timing was right, when, much to his surprise, they were mugged.

    For a split second, Percival couldnÂ’t believe anyone would consider mugging nine armed men and a hero, but then he noticed the muggers: four abominations came into view.

    “Muggers don’t take any chances around here,” commented Percival. He looked at the captain, “Don’t worry, we can deal with this. Abominations are my specialty. One will probably hit me into a wall, but that’s our advantage! I can grab-”

    Percival stopped short. The captain was giving him a disapproving look. Percival felt as if someone had soiled in the local Healing Fount and he had been caught with his pants down.

    “You will stay here, Percival Pureheart the Paladin,” ordered the captain, “Corporal Al, you will keep the Abominations occupied as we take an alternate route.”

    One of the guards started whining. Percival couldnÂ’t tell which was more surprising, that one guard was to be sacrificed when they all could take the oncoming threat, or how the guards were able to discern who was talking to whom.

    “But captain-” started the guard.

    “No buts! If I remember correctly, you weaseled out of shield carrying duty yesterday.”

    “Strict lot,” thought Percival.

    “Look,” Percival protested, “I will not stand by and see an innocent man die for no reason. We can all-”

    The captain signaled the company to turn around, cutting Percival off again. Percival was about to continue arguing when he noticed three more abominations coming from the rear.

    “Now you need my help, I can take the-”

    The captain raised his hand, halting Percival in mid sentence.

    “Corporal Al.”

    “I did guard duty this morning!” complained another guard.

    “That’s enough! I will tolerate no more insubordination,” he commanded.

    The two guardsmen walked to their prospective targets, sulking. PercivalÂ’s sense of duty overcame his odd compliance to the captainÂ’s authority and he would have charged into battle if his jaw didnÂ’t impede the way.

    The first guardsman, with his sword, had caught the chain whipped at him by one of the abominations. This was nearly impossible to do and Percival couldn’t believe that the impact from the hook didn’t shatter his blade or his arm. The guardsmen then threw the hook at another abomination in the middle of random bellowing. With its neck exposed, the chain neatly rapped around it, the hook embedding itself in the throat with a meaty “chunk”. With annoyed fury, the owner of the chain yanked it roughly, severing the head of the entrapped abomination. The third came roaring in and tried its luck at guardsman flaying while the first abomination swung its cleaver with the neatness and efficiency of an abattoir. Deftly, the guardsman not only dodged both blows but also picked up the discarded cleaver of the dead abomination and rolled forward to hack off the leg of the first. Like many of its other brethren, the abomination fell for the missing leg trick and collided with the third. A well aimed cleaver sliced through the air to find rest in the base of the skull of the downed monstrosity. The third abomination was temporarily trapped under his fallen comrade but that was all the time needed for the guardsman to lop off its head.

    PercivalÂ’s gaping maw was starting to attract homeless insects. He turned around to see how the other guardsman was fairing. Apparently, he had finished off his abominations and was now arguing with another guardsmen about trading armour cleaning duty. Percival turned his attention back to the last doomed abomination.

    Stubbornly ignoring the fact that his adversary had downed three of his mates, the fourth abomination lunged, intent upon maiming, mauling and other practices which encouraged dismemberment. The guardsman easily evaded the attack and managed to swing himself onto the back of the abomination while blocking wild thrashings of the arm attached there. The guardsman grabbed and ripped off the protruding appendage and, in what must have been a fit of bravado, wrapped it around the neck of the abomination and then choked it to death with itÂ’s own arm.

    Finishing the battle, the guardsman skulked back to formation, dreading that he would probably be the one assigned for clean up duty.

    “Captain sir, the Paladin has disappeared.”

    The captain quickly glanced where Percival was standing moments before.

    “You did check him for cloaks, scrolls, and the normal hero riff-raff?”

    “Yes sir, he only had his armour on and the mini-map. We did find this on the ground.”

    The captain looked at a small ribbon, normally used to tie a magical scroll together.

    “Did you see him reading a town portal scroll?” asked the captain.

    “No captain.”

    “Did anyone notice any sorceresses around?”

    “No captain.”

    “Did anyone remember to bring a gem of seeing?”

    A guardsman was about to say how he had traded gem carrying duty to Corporal Al, but he thought better of it and kept silent.

    “Right, we will head back to the Town Hall. The assassin’s guild may have come up with some mini town portal. ALL of you will now add extra guard duty above your normal duties until that paladin is found.”

    The guards started to whine.

    Chapter 12

    “Perk, they’re gone, where are you?” questioned Dorin as he slowly faded into view.

    “Percival! Move or take the cloak off, I can’t see you!”

    “Did you see that?” came a voice. Dorin turned and saw Percival still staring at the dead abominations.

    “That one guy…took down four abominations. Didn’t even look like he was trying that hard. Just a little guy, too,” stammered Percival.

    “Ya, their fitness program must be amazing. We better go Perk, guards will be looking for us everywhere.”

    “But...but...how did he do that?”

    “Who cares! We’re free, let’s get out of here!”

    “Even armed and buffed to the max, I would have had trouble taking down two abominations...hey, where’s my weapon?” asked Percival.

    “Oh, that! Uh…that thing is HEAVY. Luckily you guys were marching slow enough that I could keep up and stay shadowmelded, but I couldn’t do it lugging that stupid overgrown hammer around. Soooo..uh..it’s still at the temple.”

    “You left my weapon behind???”

    “I had to climb to the roof of the temple with your heavy backpack and not get caught! Your weapon is basically a cement block on a stick! It’s not exactly light, y’know!”

    “A Paladin’s weapon is his life!”

    “Hey, you’re lucky I brought the backpack! Had I not found that Cloak of Shadows in there, you’d be in the dungeons by now!”

    “I had a Cloak of Shadows?”

    “Ya. It was hard getting it to you, what with those guards practically leaning against you. But they shifted a bit trying to get a better view of the battle and I slipped it on you.”

    “I don’t recall having a Cloak of Shadows.”

    “Ya, well, you probably couldn’t even recall yesterday.”

    “I can too! We killed the Lich yesterday!”

    “That was just yesterday?”

    “Yes, of course it was!”

    “Seems like long ago.”

    “Yes, sure does.”

    Percival and Dorin looked pensive.

    “What were we talking about?” asked Percival.

    “Got me, I’m still remember watching those ghouls tear me to bits. It’s a very chilling experience.”

    “MY WEAPON!” remembered Percival.

    “Oh, ya, right, sorry about that.”

    “I have to get it back,” Percival stated, walking back to the temple.

    “You’re MAD! The guards are still there looking for me! We’d never get in and I’m the only one that can move when shadowmelded. There is no way I can carry that bulky mallet of yours.”

    Percival glared at Dorin.

    “Fine, I’ll just pick up another at the weapons shop by the Goblin Laboratory, but you owe me a warhammer!”

    Dorin was shocked that Percival gave in so easily, “Sure, whatever you say Perk.”

    “It’s Percival!”

    Chapter 13

    A large circle of power dominates the room. A room with no decoration, no structured design, no doors. The circle of power glows, and around the perimeter are twelve smaller circles. A pillar of light materializes. Within it, a cloaked figure. Eleven others appear in succession and the Circle of Twelve commences.

    "The Paladin and assassin have escaped," comments one. His announcement is not unknown to the others.

    “This pair seems to best the most insurmountable odds,” replies another.

    A figure in grey speaks, “Our failure to prevent the assignment and now the arrest has now taken a turn for the worst.” Deep concern furrows his brow and with reluctance he continues, "We are now at a point which we debated years ago but hoped would never come to pass. The death of a hero is as permanent as a young man's promise of love, so we must make the decision on using a soul gem. We can't afford Percival being resurrected and seeking out the Lost Temple again."

    A man dressed in pink immediately protests, "I still cannot promote the use of the vile artifact. The more that exist, the more dangerous it becomes. We should destroy them, destroy them all!"

    "Has the status changed?" questions a man in brown. Above the circle an image winked into existence: a map of the lands focused on the Lost Temple. Smaller bluish highlights spotted the map, but none rivaled the large glowing mass encompassing the Lost Temple itself.

    "No, it has been stable for the last 200 years."

    "Could Percival and his companion tip those scales?"

    "Unknown, but it's a risk no one is willing to take."

    The man in grey speaks, ceasing all questions.

    "We have, as I've said, debated all this before and it comes down to this: the use of another soul gem. You will cast your will."

    A large sphere rises in the center of the circle of power.

    "As you know, a majority cast of black is negative, while one of white is positive. In the case of a tie, the sphere will reflect black."

    The grey man searches the group; all are ready. "Begin casting...now."

    The sphere barely flickers, settling on white. The grey man nods to the figure in red. He turns towards the Circle.

    "We have a perfect candidate. A Blade Master of the tenth level. He will be given the impression that Percival killed his brother.. The 'hero' will then be bound to seek blood vengeance and his desire for revenge should negate any questions he has. He will come across a soul gem, which he will then believe to be the ultimate punishment for Percival. Once he has trapped Percival's soul, we will collect it from him."

    "And the assassin?"

    "Ever known a blademaster in bloodlust that letÂ’s his enemies live?"

    “And if someone gets the soul gem with Percival’s soul before we do?”

    “It won’t happen.”

    Silence befalls the Twelve.

    The figure in red continues, “My people will be in charge of this soul gem and the arrangements are in place.”

    The man in grey lifts his head, "That concludes this council, if there are no further questions..." Silence follows.

    "The Circle is complete," concludes the grey man.

    "The Circle is complete," echoes the rest and the twelve teleport out.

    Chapter 14

    Renting a zeppelin wasnÂ’t as easy as it seemed. Apparently, rented zeppelins were never returned, most of them destroyed in mid-flight. This put Dorin further on edge, but a herd of thunder lizards couldnÂ’t keep Percival from purchasing the newest deluxe model GMW Z-8 for the ultimate in flying pleasure. With cramped but comfortable sleeping cabins, a crew of eight, and an onboard hot fount of healing, one can experience a high-performance war vehicle effortlessly blending remarkable power with exceptional smoothness. Percival was immensely proud of his latest toy and explored every nook and cranny of the airship.

    “This thing has everything! Look a storeroom that could hold the weapons of a huge army! Aaaaa, smell that! Can you smell the interior? Nothing beats that! Feel that! Feel that! That’s high quality wood, this is not your cheap plywood model, nosirree! Look, it even has a ramp large enough to load steam tanks on! Somebody gut me!” gushed Percival.

    “Mmmm, let me,” muttered Dorin, “You know, traveling by steam tank would have been pleasant. We’d be on the ground, puttering at a nice leisurely pace and we could knock down trees for kicks.” Dorin spoke without conviction. He had found a spot on the zeppelin which had given him the best view of the floor and the least view of the edge. Lying on the deck in horror, he could hear the engines work harder as the zeppelin lifted into the air. Percival was practically hanging over the edge trying to squeeze in every bit of zeppelin experience that he could. Every so often some word vaguely resembling a nautical term would issue forth from his mouth.

    A few hours of uneventful flying had unmercifully passed slowly, depending on ones perspective. Percival was still excitable as ever, commenting every ten minutes on how everything on the ground looked so small. Dorin was still rooted to the spot and had just reached enough courage to try moving. With stiffened limbs, he got to his hands and knees and crawled inside to one of the cabins.

    Dorin was deathly tired, but sleep came in fitful spurts. Dreams of falling continually played at his mind. After being jerked awake numerous times, he finally sat up. The light outside indicated it was close to sunrise, although he didnÂ’t feel an ounce rested.

    Looking for ways to occupy himself, he decided to study the Lost Temple map, hoping to find an alternate route to the Lost Temple and thus giving him a reason to be angry with Percival. Rummaging around in Percival’s backpack, he heard a small voice, “Please refrain from jostling me.”

    Dorin jumped back. Small voices coming out of backpacks were not uncommon, but they had not acquired any imps or poltergeists since last he remembered. He searched the backpack once more for the source of the voice and found the soul gem containing the Lich.

    “Hey, I forgot about you,” Dorin spoke as he stared at the soul gem, now silent.

    “I’ve never seen one of these things occupied before. I’ve never seen a soul gem at all in fact. I think they’re outlawed or something.”

    The soul gem remained quiet. It was quite unremarkable, nothing more than a glass sphere filled with mist.

    “You’d think that a vessel containing a soul would look a bit more spectacular than just a glass ball on which someone heavily breathed.”

    The soul gem didnÂ’t respond.

    “Hey, I know you can talk, talk back!” ordered Dorin.

    “Spare me the light conversation,” replied the imprisoned Lich.

    “How dull, you don’t even pulsate or anything when you talk,” complained Dorin.

    The soul gem ignored the comment.

    “Look, I heard somewhere that souls entrapped in a soul gem are bound to tell the truth, can you tell me something about our mission?”

    “You will most likely die,” replied the Lich.

    “Tell me something I don’t know. You’re no better than a fortune teller I know back home.”

    Despite the lack in facial features, the soul gem somehow emanated disdain.

    “You undead are so grumpy.”

    Dorin was just formulating another question when a loud alarm went off.

    “What’s that?” Dorin asked.

    “An alarm,” replied the Lich.

    “I KNOW that, it’s just...oh never mind,” glowered Dorin as he rushed outside.

    Outside, the crew was rushing about the deck, turning cranks, randomly pulling ropes, and screaming. In the midst of them was Percival, both hands resting on the hilt of his hammer, calmly staring at a black cloud.

    “What is it?” asked Dorin, the fear of an attack short-circuiting his fear of heights.

    “Gargoyles, about twenty strong, heading this way,” replied Percival with a huge grin on his face.

    “They’re intent on attacking us, aren’t they,” asked Dorin.

    “Correct!”

    “And we’re not running away, are we.”

    “Not on your life.”

    “I was afraid of that.”

    “What aren’t you afraid of?”

    Dorin scowled.

    Chapter 15

    Percival never took his eyes off of the approaching gargoyles, but he barked out orders to the crewman.

    “You four,” he indicated by a sweep of his hand, “arm yourselves with crossbows and aim for the wings of the gargoyles. It won’t kill them but will hamper they’re flying. Dorin and the rest of you will concern yourselves with repairing the zeppelin. We must stay aloft!”

    Despite himself, Dorin was impressed by the change in the men. Now infused with purpose, they diligently went to their tasks, the morale so high it was almost palpable. One of the crewmen handed him a bucket and a long pole with a brush on the end.

    “What’s this?”

    “We calls it ‘liquid thread’, though t’aint nuttin like youse ever seen. Any tears them goyles rip, you slap on this stuff, and it will solidify and hold the rip closed. Iffen you run out, you kin refill from yonder barrel. Strap yerself down too, the pilot‘ll be doin’ evasive maneuvers.”

    Following the lead from the crew around him, Dorin tied a rope around his waist while thoughts of being tethered to a falling zeppelin played through his mind. He glanced at Percival, and noted the huge crossbow.

    Dorin was still carrying the soul gem, and he placed it into a small carrying bag at his side.

    “Are we going to live through this?” he asked the Lich nervously.

    “I do not foretell future events, but if I did, I would say no,” replied the Lich.

    Dorin couldnÂ’t see why soul gems were sought after, especially if it resulted in your enemy taunting you 24 hours a day.

    “Get ready men and fire on my mark,” commanded Percival.

    Dorin tensed and held his breath. The gargoyles were fast approaching the side of the zeppelin, yet Percival and the armed men were at the fore of the airship, not even facing the encroaching enemy. Within seconds, Dorin could hear the shrieks of the gargoyles and could see claws primed for shredding.

    “BANK TO STARBOARD!” bellowed Percival, and despite it’s ungainly bulk, the zeppelin turned sharply into the gargoyles.

    “FIRE!” Percival commanded, as the gargoyles swerved to avoid the armoured front of the zeppelin. Crossbow bolts ripped through the leathery wings of the more unfortunate gargoyles, but too many were able to avoid damage and swooped around for another attack. Percival and his men were frantically loading and shooting but it was not enough to quell the tide of razor sharp claws that ripped multiple holes in the side of the zeppelin.

    The ship banked suddenly, but it didn’t keep Dorin and the remaining crew from quickly patching up the gaping holes. Dorin was amazed by the ‘liquid thread’. With a sweep of his brush directly perpendicular to a tear, the liquid instantly hardened and then shrank, pulling the rip closed. He and the rest of the repair men could mend almost any hole the gargoyles tore.

    Soon, the gargoyles were all over, swooping in and out causing as much damage possible while avoiding crossbows. Some tried to land on deck, but they were no match against Percival and his warhammer. Noting the success of the repairmen, a few gargoyles pulled off from the main attack. Dorin, in an amazing display of bravery, was hanging a bit over the ledge trying to reach a difficult hole. Only the sound of a mad fluttering of wings saved him from a skewering and he dodged just in time. Unfortunately, it was in a direction favouring non-zeppelin and he flew over the edge, his plummet stopped short by the rope he had tied earlier.

    Not wanting to be robbed of their prey, the gargoyles renewed their attack, sights set on cutting the rope. Dorin, now beset with fear of gargoyles, fear of heights, and fear about whether he used a proper knot on the rope, swung his brush around in a wild panic. Fortune begrudgingly smiled upon him and DorinÂ’s brush connected with two of the gargoyles. The gargoyles let out a loud screech as the liquid dried and then shrunk, causing them to collide into each other. Dorin didnÂ’t have the satisfaction of watching them fall as another gargoyle slashed at him. He dodged just in time as he felt himself jerked upwards. Percival had hauled him onto the deck and slapped him hard on the back.

    “Good SHOW Dorin!” proudly beamed Percival.

    A loud shriek interrupted him as two gargoyles landed on deck. Without hesitation, Percival swung Dorin around and used him as a mace to knock one of the gargoyles off the ship. In the same motion, he grabbed DorinÂ’s bucket, dipped it in one of the barrels, and dumped it squarely on the other gargoyleÂ’s head. Dorin winced upon hearing the sickening crunch as the liquid shrunk and crushed the skull of the gargoyle. Percival kicked the gargoyle overboard.

    “You don’t make an effective weapon Dorin, that gargoyle wasn’t even stunned.”

    “Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I think you shattered my spine.”

    Another cry came from behind and Percival refilled his bucket and covered the surprised gargoyle with the liquid. The wings were instantly pinned and it fell to its death.

    “This stuff is great! “ laughed Percival, as he started using the liquid thread more amply, gargoyle after gargoyle falling to their death as their wings became crushed or pinned. A few gargoyles were remaining, and it didn’t take long for Percival and his men to take them down.

    “FOR HONOUR!” bellowed Percival, holding his bucket high. Dorin couldn’t believe it, but Percival still managed to look heroic wielding a bucket.

    “Put that thing down,” Dorin hissed, “you look ridiculous!”

    “Uh, excuse me sir,” mumbled a crewman.

    “Actually, I can’t get it off my gauntlet, I think it fused with it or something,” remarked Percival.

    “You can’t remove your gauntlet?” asked Dorin.

    “Um, ahem,” ahemed the crewman.

    “Not really, that stuff has compressed it too tightly, I can’t undo any bindings nor slip my glove off.”

    “Oh...that’s almost funny. Hey, it’s getting quite breezy, don’t you think?” asked Dorin.

    “M’lord Percival, we have suffered some major damage to our air balloon, and unfortunately, we’ve run out of liquid thread,” explained the crewman. Percival checked the barrel and noted he had drained it dry.

    “We’ll be crashing in about 10 minutes, please secure your belongings,” advised the crewman.

    “By the light, I hate you, Percival,” groaned Dorin.

    Chapter 16

    Dorin stirred. He felt like some thunder lizard had mistaken him for a chew toy. He was lying down and his eyes were closed, the state of which he didnÂ’t want changed on the probability that he was dead and sight would only confirm his morbid suspicions via visions of fire, brimstone, and scantily clad succubi.

    He risked a curious peak, since succubi didnÂ’t frequent his part of town, and much to his relief, and a sad twinge of dismay, he saw Percival.

    “HO! Dorin, you awaken!” smiled Percival. Dorin wondered who, other than heroes, used the word “Ho” as an interjection. His eyes then focused on the wreck of the goblin zeppelin.

    “There were a lot of injuries,” explained Percival, “but fortunately I cast a Divine Shield before impact. I was able to heal some of you with the use of healing wards, Holy Light, and...” Percival paused for dramatic effect. He stood up, held his hands before him, and in the purest baritone voice he could muster, “BEHOLD! THE LOST TEMPLE!”

    Dorin spun around quickly to see the eight crewmen, now fully equipped with armour salvaged from the zeppelin, grinning profusely around a Fountain of Healing.

    “You’re kidding, right?” asked Dorin.

    “No! This is it!” defended Percival.

    “Where’s the temple?”

    “It’s LOST. That’s why it’s called the Lost Temple.”

    “We stumble upon some shabby, run-of-the-mill Healing Fountain and naturally you assume it’s the Lost Temple?”

    “Well, we were so close before the attack of the gargoyles-”

    “This CAN’T be the Lost Temple!”

    “I’m pretty sure it is!”

    “Let me see that mini-map of yours,” Dorin argued, hand outstretched, waiting.

    “Uh, yes, well. We didn’t need it anymore once finding the temple, so...uh...”

    “Don’t tell me you lost it.”

    “We WERE just involved in a zeppelin crash you know. In which, I might add, I saved the lives of countless many, which included you!” Percival retorted.

    Dorin sighed, Percival was right, and accidents do happen.

    “Fine, I’m sorry, and thanks for saving our lives,” Dorin apologized. He stared at the healing fountain again. The crewman were still sitting around it, grinning.

    “What’s up with them?” asked Dorin.

    “They’re scared actually. I told them this was the Lost Temple and they knew the rumours of never coming back. Now they’re too scared to leave the safety of the Fountain of Healing.”

    “For light’s sake, this can’t be it. Does the map itself say that this is the Lost Temple?”

    “Well, uh...it’s pretty vague on details...”

    “Don’t tell me you lost that too!”

    “I didn’t lose it! A potion shattered and soaked the map during the crash. Fortunately, it was just one potion.”

    Dorin rubbed his temples. Sighing, he asked, “Ok, why are you so keen on this being the Lost Temple?”

    “Well,” explained Percival, “what do you expect when looking for some all powerful temple shrouded in legend?”

    “Death, severe injury, mental breakdowns, more death.”

    “Yes, yes, yes, that’s normal. But don’t you expect some gigantic temple rising hundreds of feet into the air, guarded by a host of evil minions ready to defend whatever secrets the ancients have hidden?”

    Dorin looked at Percival skeptically.

    “Thousands of expeditions looking for the Lost Temple, all in vain. Maybe because it’s something we DON’T expect. Something small, diminutive, something no one would even think of. Makes sense, doesn’t it!”

    “You’re a loon, Perk.”

    “I’m telling you, this is it!”

    “Look, I can straighten this out once and for all,” argued Dorin, as he pulled out the Soul Gem. “Hey, Lich, is this the Lost Temple?”

    “No,” replied the Lich.

    “There. He doesn’t lie either,” Dorin grinned triumphantly.

    “Hey, that’s the Lich!” noticed Percival.

    “Ya, although he’s a bit grumpy,” critiqued Dorin.

    “We’ve had that thing all along?” asked Percival.

    “Ya, pretty crazy eh?”

    “Do you know how powerful one of these things are?”

    “Uh...no. I know how annoying they are.”

    “All the accumulated knowledge that this Lich has .. uh... accumulated... is at our disposal!”

    “Great. Hey Lich, do you know where the Lost Temple is?”

    “Yes,” replied the Lich.

    Before anyone could question further, a deep loud cry interrupted their interrogation.

    Dorin, Percival and company looked up to see a Blademaster in the distance waving angrily in their direction.

    “Wow, a tenth level Blademaster. Don’t see those often,” commented Percival.

    The Blademaster started toward them. He was joined by a few ogres and orc shamen.

    “He’s angry at us, isn’t he Perk. And I bet he wants to kill us too.”

    A gutteral chanting droned through the air as the shamen raised their hands and made slow but complicated gestures. Red fire flashed about the approaching army and their cries of bloodlust echoed throughout the morning dawn.

    “I don’t understand how that spell makes them bigger. That’s just not fair,” complained Dorin.

    The Blademaster was now close enough for Dorin to make out a bone necklace hung around the thick neck of the Blademaster.

    “Oh great, he has one of those too, what’s that thing called Perk?”

    “Scourge Bone Chimes.”

    “And all we have are healing wards and a stupid soul gem. Any plans oh fearless leader? I noticed you have Devotion Aura finally. I was wondering why I was standing here rooted to the spot while bloodlusted vampire ogres are about to chew off my head.”

    “I’m going after the Blademaster. Arm yourself with a crossbow and see if you can kill anything.”

    “Don’t count on it,” sulked Dorin.

    “I’m not.”

    Chapter 17

    With his standard battle cry, Percival charged the Blademaster. Dorin went to search the remains of the fallen zeppelin to find a crossbow that worked. The remaining soldiers huddled in fear around the fountain of healing.

    Within a tooth chatter, the Ogres were upon them. The men did their best to stand their ground, but one savage grin was all it took for their fear to get the best of them. An ogre grabbed a soldier and started bashing him. The rest of the soldiers hacked away at the attacking ogre but the slightest wound, and the wounds were slight indeed, were instantly countered by the healing fount. Furthermore, the vampiric ogres gained life from the blood of its victims and with a large chomp, the ogre tore a huge strip from the leg of the soldier. With a cry of shock and pain, the soldier whacked the ogre with the sword he miraculously still carried, causing the ogre to drop him into the healing waters of the fountain. Instantly, the soldierÂ’s leg healed over. The ogres were overjoyed at this new development and zealously grabbed each soldier. To their horror, each man had huge chunks of flesh ripped off and then were unceremoniously dipped into the healing fount.

    The anguished cries of the men got DorinÂ’s attention and he yelped at the grisly feast before him. One ogre, upset about the portions he was allotted, spotted Dorin and started after him. Dorin looked for an escape but daylight hindered any shadow melding and the Devotion Aura kept the radius of fleeing to a minimum. He desperately didnÂ’t want to get involved in the ogreÂ’s snack dip party and ran in the only direction he could: towards Percival and the Blademaster.

    Unfortunately, PercivalÂ’s perception of his battle prowess was taking a savage beating. The same could be said about his battle with the Blademaster. He was constantly on the defensive and it was all he could do to just block and dodge the deadly attacks. He couldnÂ’t believe anyone could move so fast. In a suicidal move, Percival swung his hammer back in preparation for a devastating blow. The deadly blade shot forth intent on introducing PercivalÂ’s innards to the outside world. A flash of light and PercivalÂ’s Divine Shield deflected the skewering. The orc was stunned only for a millisecond but that was enough for PercivalÂ’s hammer to follow through with his swing and connect squarely on the orcÂ’s breastplate. The orc stumbled backwards and then let out a deafening roar. His bloodlust blinded him with rage and he tore after the closest target to him: Dorin.

    The ogre who had dibs on Dorin began to protest but dense as it was, it knew better to come in-between a Blademaster and his victim. Dorin didnÂ’t even have time to curse his luck as the blade came close to severing any type of verbal communication. Although quite skilled at death avoidance, Dorin knew it was only a matter of moments before the blade found the flesh it was hungering for. Fortunately, PercivalÂ’s hammer connected squarely on the BlademasterÂ’s head.

    “I’m invulnerable, not incapacitated,” pointed out Percival.

    “Wow, two big words in one sentence, impressive Perk.”

    “Could you at least TRY and fight back?”

    “That WAS trying. Aw crap, Perk, he’s heading for the footmen.”

    The toll had been too great on the men and now they were too weakened to resist. Percival rushed to their aid but was soon in battle with the vampiric ogres, still surprisingly hungry. With a quick spin of his sword, the Blademaster initiated a ritualistic gesture. A gust of wind came from nowhere and accompanied the graceful movements of the Blademaster, now involved in some archaic dance. Suddenly, he was just a blur and the men found themselves being sliced to ribbons by the BlademasterÂ’s devastating final attack: the Bladestorm. Spinning round and round, the BlademasterÂ’s weapon was impossible to avoid. The men screamed and tried to run away as this new torture was thrust upon them.

    Dorin grabbed the closest thing to him and threw it at the twirling Blademaster. The closest thing to him happened to be a stick of wood, a fragment of the destroyed zeppelin. The stick of wood was attached to a rope, which in turn was attached to the remains of the canvas used as the zeppelinÂ’s balloon. Soon, ogre and human alike were on the ground avoiding the blade, the ropes and wood whipping around and pulling everything into the storm itself.

    The dust settled and Dorin slowly opened his eyes. The Blademaster lay there, wrapped in a blood soaked cocoon made out of zeppelin. Sharp shards of wood stuck out at odd angles and the BlademasterÂ’s weapon lay on the ground. The ogres looked at their fallen leader in shock.

    Percival was up in flash and grabbed the Blademaster’s sword. With a few slashes, he cut open the canvas tomb to reveal the heavily wounded orc inside. Percival reach down and a sharp “SNAP” sounded as he pulled something from the orc..

    Bodies rose from the healing fountain. They were shadows of men, the continual drainage of blood was hard on their constitution. But now they felt vengeance and above all, hunger. They grinned. Carnivorous teeth bared. Dorin himself felt his teeth grow as he looked at Percival, now wearing the Scourge Bone Chimes.

    The ogres looked at one another; one grunted a sound not unlike “Uh oh.” The soldiers gathered their swords and their banquet began.

    Dorin went up to Percival and the fallen Blademaster. His new fangs felt uncomfortable in his mouth. He had to resist the urge to chase and devour a squirrel he spotted.

    “OW! I think I poked a hole in my tongue! These things are sharp!”

    Percival ignored Dorin and questioned the Blademaster, “Who are you? Why did you attack us?”

    The Blademaster wheezed, and coughed up blood. Percival grabbed a beam of wood embedded in the shoulder of the orc and yanked it free. The Blademaster grunted in pain but Percival splashed him with a bit of healing water. The wounds healed and the BlademasterÂ’s breathing became less laboured.

    “You’re not even Level 6,” were his first words.

    “Why am I constantly graded around here?” Percival asked exasperated.

    “Better than being a sidekick,” mumbled Dorin.

    “There’s been a mistake, you could not have killed my brother,” continued the orc.

    “Unless your brother was a Lich,” added Dorin.

    “I have no quarrel with you,” the Blademaster said with sorrow.

    “Oh very nice! NOW you have no quarrel with us. Now that you LOST. Very nice indeed I must say!” retorted Dorin.

    “Call off your men!” commanded Percival.

    “I think you have to call off yours,” came his reply.

    Percival turned to see an ogre trying to bash a soldier currently attached to the back of another ogre. At the last minute, the soldier jumped away and the predictable ogre bashing ensued. The men were all over the ogres, clinging to their backs and dining on ogre blood as the ogres ran around trying to rid themselves of the human parasites. Quelling the desire to join in, he tossed the bone necklace to Dorin, “Pack this away, it’s disgusting.”

    Dorin could feel his teeth return to normal proportions. The men started coughing and spitting out blood as their appetite receded. The ogres took this chance to flee into the forest.

    “Now, what are you talking about orc?”

    “My name is Grimoire,” corrected the Blademaster.

    “I’m Dorin, pleased to meet you.”

    “Oh, and I’m Percival Pureheart the Paladin. Pleased to make your- ... forget that! Why did you try and kill us?”

    “I have traveled far to find you,” started Grimoire.

    “Great. I sure hope this isn’t one of those long and boring hero stories. There’s gotta be a way to skip over these,” complained Dorin.

    “Quiet!” Percival scolded.

    “I was lead to believe that you had killed my brother. He was killed ten years ago, but his death was a mystery. His remains were found, but he could not be resurrected. I have been searching for answers ever since. Then I found out about you.”

    “Ten years ago? I couldn’t even lift my hammer ten years ago.”

    “Yes, you are far too young. I realized that after my bloodlust died down. And now, I won’t be able to avenge my brother’s death.”

    “Ooh, way to work the guilt trip Grimmy,” responded Dorin.

    “Look, we’ve been going up against a bit more resistance than can be attributed to random chance. This little case of mistaken identity must’ve been a setup. Someone is trying to keep us from getting to the Lost Temple,” deduced Dorin.

    Grimoire sat up suddenly, grimacing slightly with pain, “The Lost Temple? You seek it? My brother was too! Let me join you! Maybe the answer to both our problems lie there!”

    A bright glow enveloped the orc as Percival cast his healing spell, “You’re on, Grimoire.”

    Chapter 18

    “WHAT?” Dorin exclaimed, “This guy just about slices each of us into small, easy to chew morsels for his vampire pets and we’re all ok with that?”

    “He was avenging his brother, Dorin,” explained Percival.

    “Ya, sure. Who out there isn’t? It’s either their brother, or sister, or father, or pet goat! He could be part of the setup! This could be all a ruse to get us off our guard and then, WHAM! We’re appetizers at the next ogre shindig.”

    “Ogres don’t normally eat humans!”

    “They looked like they were enjoying themselves a bit too much with that whole double dipping episode at the fountain.”

    “Dorin! He’s coming with us, and that’s final!”

    “Fine. My opinion doesn’t seem to count for much around here anyways.”

    “Well, when you actually get around to doing your JOB, then you’ll be the first on my advisor list!”

    “EXCUSE ME! Might I add I’M the one that took down ol’ Grimmy here?”

    “Grimoire, actually,” corrected Grimoire.

    “Probably because you couldn’t HIDE away in some shadow!” shouted Percival.

    “Well, if we wouldn’t go charging headlong into certain death, maybe we could actually THINK things through a bit more strategically!”

    “RUNNING AWAY isn’t strategic!”

    “IT KEEPS YOU ALIVE!”

    “WE’RE ALIVE NOW!”

    “Ahem,” interrupted Grimoire, “we could leave you two alone if you alike.”

    “WE’RE FINE!” screamed both Dorin and Percival.

    Percival looked around at his men. Struck with the universal desire to be somewhere else when in the presence of bickering couples, they were keenly interested with the general cleanliness of the healing fountain. Grimoire was trying to figure out how his mini-map worked.

    “You have a mini-map,” Percival said.

    “Yes, standard issue.”

    “May I have it?” asked Percival. Grimoire nodded and handed the mini-map to Percival. Percival stared at the mini-map until the familiar chime of a quest being recorded rang out.

    “Aha! I was right!” Percival beamed.

    “What? What do you mean?” asked Dorin.

    Percival showed him the face of the mini-map.

    “According to this, we’re at the Lost Temple,” triumphed Percival.

    “What? That thing’s been spun around too many times. It’s broken!”

    “It’s not broken! Admit it, I was RIGHT!”

    “The Lich said this wasn’t the Lost Temple!” argued Dorin as he pulled out the Soul Gem.

    “The Lich hasn’t left the sanctuary of his necropolis in over 200 hundred years. How would he know where it is?”

    “Well, he had a map, didn’t he?”

    “Interesting,” interrupted Grimoire again, “I’ve never seen a Soul Gem in all my life. Yet now this is the second time in the last month.”

    “Second?” asked Dorin.

    “Yes, I have one, for when I was to kill Percival.”

    “Oh, well, you wouldn’t want to waste it, would you?” Dorin said as he glowered at Percival.

    Percival looked at the Soul Gem for a minute.

    “Where did you get the Soul Gem,” he asked Grimoire.

    “From one of my chief witch doctors. In fact, it was his vision that sent me on this quest to find you.”

    “And he happened to have a soul gem just lying around in his tent?” asked Dorin.

    “Hmmm, true, I never thought to ask him.”

    “Has this witch doctor ever been wrong?”

    “Never.”

    Percival stared hard at the Soul Gem Dorin was carrying. There was so much he didnÂ’t understand. Why did the witch doctor pinpoint him as the killer of GrimoireÂ’s brother? Why did the mini-map say they were at the Lost Temple when the Lich said otherwise? If the mini-map was correct, then their quest was over, but why didnÂ’t he feel the resultant euphoria that accompanied every final quest completed? (An assumption really, since Percival had never completed any major quest before this.)

    “Lich,” Percival finally spoke, “what is your name, by the way?”

    The Lich paused before answering, “I do not know.”

    “Ooooh. All powerful, all knowing Lich can’t even remember his name,” mumbled Dorin.

    “It was stolen from me, I am nameless now,” responded the Lich.

    “C’mon, you must have had a name when you were once not undead,” persisted Percival.

    “I was a king,” came the hollow reply.

    “A king, eh? Impressive. What was your name as a king?”

    Once again the Lich paused.

    “He’s doing this on purpose…this whole dramatic schtick. I hates it!” whispered Dorin.

    “My name,” interrupted the Lich, “was King Richard the XXVII.”

    In shock, the others decided to take their turn at pausing. After a few moments, Dorin spoke, “Richard. Rich the Lich. Oh that is too rich.”

    “Ahem. Well met, Rich,” greeted Percival.

    “Richard. And it is no longer my name,” corrected the Lich.

    “Richie! Oh RICHIE! How’s Richie Lich today?”

    “SHUT UP you sorry excuse for an Assassin!”

    “Temper temper, Richie Lich!” laughed Dorin.

    “Richie! You said this wasn’t the Lost Temple!” interrogated Percival.

    “I did...Perk,” returned the Lich.

    “Touché,” Percival acknowledged, “but my mini-map says that the Lost Temple is here.”

    “It does.”

    “So you must be lying,” accused Percival.

    “I am unable to lie.”

    “Well, I do believe we have a contradiction here,” observed Percival.

    “Believe what you will then,” Richard responded.

    “This is going to take all night!” complained Percival.

    “Told you I hated that thing,” replied Dorin.

    Chapter 19

    “I may be of assistance,” suggested Grimoire. All eyes turned to him.

    “A number of years back in my home village, Lindogar, when Veratall, son of Evantuller, was Chief of our Clan, Thundering Ridge, a renegade troll, named Flowgly, was menacing the nearby village, Rutabar. A blood oath to my second cousin, Bogar, another story in it’s own right, bound me to bring that troll to justice.”

    “Great. Here we go,” groaned Dorin.

    “The troll was an expert tracker and had an uncanny sense of direction. It was said that even a Night Elf could not shake Fowgly once he had caught the scent. Fortunately, he wasn’t as skilled at being hunted. I brought along two other trolls, expert trackers in their own right, and we started out at once. The night was clear, as was the days that followed, but it still took us a week of tracking. Eventually, my mini-map lead me to an old bridge deep in the Wastelands.”

    “Mini-maps seem to take the sport out of it, don’t you think?” commented Dorin.

    “The area he had chosen for refuge was the Badlands of Mijjigurr. Wild animals of every kind lived there and were driven into a maddened frenzy by the noxious gasses which spurted from the ground. The stench was unbearable and I assumed just as bad for Fowgly with his keen sense of smell. Fowgly, however, stood his ground, and we closed in. The land was infected by vile creatures of all sorts. They came in droves, enraged beast after another. The fighting was fierce and every wound we inflicted and received was exacerbated by the deadly air itself. We had to use many healing artifacts to counter the poisons which seeped into our lungs. After what seemed days of combat, we finally found ourselves at a blackened stone bridge over a river which we couldn’t classify as water. To my dismay, the bridge was empty.”

    “Wow, great story Grimmy. Perk, what are we going to do about shelter?”

    “SHHHH!” Perk motioned.

    “I stood on the bridge, perplexed. My mini-map verified that my location was the correct one, but there was nothing. I was in the right place. But there was... no... troll.”

    Dorin couldnÂ’t understand this love of the dramatic which had engrossed the other men. Dorin knew Grimoire had a possible solution for their problem, but to endure this gruelling story complete with Orc geneology was maddening. Dorin didnÂ’t trust Grimoire, but then again, Dorin didnÂ’t trust any hero.

    “Then...it came to me,” explained Grimoire, pausing slightly as the men leaned forward in anticipation.

    “A mini-map, is two-dimensional, but this world we inhabit is-”

    “YES YES YES, the Troll was UNDER the bridge! We get the POINT already!” shouted Dorin.

    “YOU SPOILED THE ENDING!” screamed Percival.

    “Oh come on! It was OBVIOUS!” argued Dorin.

    “BY THE GODS, SHUT YOUR MOUTH ALREADY!” Percival bellowed once more.

    Dorin huffed, and then went and sat by the fountain in frustration. Percival watched him go, ready to nail DorinÂ’s mouth shut if he even uttered a peep. With an apologetic nod, Percival motioned for Grimoire to continue.

    “Ahem”, Grimoire started, the attention of all the men ( minus one) enraptured as if by magic.

    “A mini-map, is two-dimensional, but this world we inhabit is three-dimensional. And once, long ago, trolls used to live under bridges.”

    An “ooo” of amazement parted the lips of the audience, genuinely impressed by the intelligence of the Orc warrior.

    “Oh, for love of light,” muttered Dorin under his breath.

    “The map, and the Lich, may both be right. The location of the Lost Temple may be ... beneath us.”

    The men stood entranced, the weight of the revelation crushing all other thought. After a long period of silence that just about pushed Dorin’s sanity over the brink, one of the men spoke up, “We were in the fountain. We tried in vain to find some passageway that we could escape through. But there was nothing, not even any magic sigils or markings.”

    Percival jumped up and went immediately to the fountain, pushing every stone, searching every cranny, feeling every nook. Dorin sidled away and watched the rest of the men join in on the search. Men jumped in, examing the waters, while Percival began tapping the fountain a tad bit too forcibly with his hammer.

    Dorin turned his attention towards the orc. He had been insulting the orc ever since he set eyes on him so he wasnÂ’t expecting a warm reaction. However, the Blademaster ignored him. His attention was solely on Percival and the men, who were currently quite successful at discovering rock, water, and not much else.

    “Hmmmf, don’t even rate high enough to get a disapproving glance,” muttered Dorin.

    “When I was younger,” spoke Grimoire, barely audible above the noise of the fountain molestation, “I learned an important lesson from my then Chieftain, Oldar.”

    The men froze. Bodies strained to catch every sound that came from Grimoire.

    “The Clan, Smokeless Leaf, began raiding our food supplies. Oldar’s son, Ungar, was sent with some troops to protect our lands, but the Chief of Smokeless Leaf, Mintjar, had a very wise warrior, Udvisar. Udvisar was always once step ahead of Ungar, and the raiding continued.”

    Dorin sat down and propped his head up with his hands. The men glared at him, thinking he had done this a bit too noisily for their taste. Wearily, Dorin watched GrimoireÂ’s lips move as more names and yet even more events poured out, and the battle against some orc turned into a war between three clans, a quest for a powerful artifact, and a naked dwarf.

    It was well into nightfall by the time Grimoire finished his tale. Dorin had dozed off many times and the men were now gathered by a fire that Dorin couldnÂ’t recall ever being made. It had now advanced to question and answer time.

    “So Funderbar, son of Hunda, found Genshin locked in Jyhgg Cave, but the Quor Gem was previously purloined by Thugtar the Thief, who took it to...uh...”

    “To Maugit Isle! Oldar had known that from the beginning!” interrupted Percival.

    Grimoire nodded. Dorin roused from his stupor, amazed that another cast of characters had entered the epic since last he dozed.

    “So we need Spirit Walkers,” deduced one soldier.

    “Correct!” Grimoire smiled.

    “Couldn’t he have just said we needed Spirit Walkers at the beginning?’” wearily asked Dorin.

    “I sense a strong presence of magic in this area and what we cannot see may be seen in the Spiritual plane,” explained Grimoire.

    “But we don’t have any Spirit Walkers,” noted another soldier.

    “I have a few at a base camp I set up a days walk from here. Spirit Walkers can communicate regardless of distance. They will be here by early morning.”

    “You set up a base camp?” asked Percival.

    “Yes, and what an ordeal that was! It was three days ago, and I thought I had lost track of you-”

    “That’s it! I’m going to bed!” announced Dorin, but he was ignored. The new tale of Grimoire had gripped the attention of the men tighter than Percival’s helmet strap. Dorin frowned and went off to find a quiet place to sleep.

    ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή
  9. skoptikos23 Μαρ 2008, 7:38:00 μ.μ.

    Δώστε υπουργική θέση τώρα στον Ανθιμο να καθαρίσει την Ελλάδα απο τον εθνικισμό

    ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή
  10. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 7:53:00 μ.μ.

    Κάποιος να μου θυμίσει το όνομα του Πατριάρχη Ιεροσολύλων, παρακαλώ.

    Ο Ανθιμος μου θυμίζει έντονα την περίπτωσή του.

    Τον βλέπω σύντομα σε μοναστήρι.

    Χωριάτης

    ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή
  11. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 8:19:00 μ.μ.

    Αλλοδαπή γκόμενα προς Γκουσγκούνη... "Fuck me!"
    ΓΚΟΥΣΓΚΟΥΝΗΣ: "Σκάσε μωρή μη σε γαμήσω"
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    "Θα μου φέρεις λίγο νερό;
    ΑΑΑΑ φιρί φιρί το πας να σε γαμήσω..."
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Γκουσγκούνης: Γεια σας κορίτσια, ξένες είσαστε;
    Κορίτσια: Όχι καλέ, ντόπιες από τη Μυτιλήνη
    Γκουσγκούνης: Α! Δηλαδή λεσβίες!
    Κορίτσια: Εεε όχι και λεσβίες!
    Γκουσγκούνης: Εε αποδείξτε το τότε!!!
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Τώρα πούρθαμε στη βίλα, έλα κάνε μου .....πιπίλα
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Το μουνί δεν είναι αρνί να το κλείνεις στο παχνί
    Το μουνί θέλει παιχνίδια με τον πούτσο και τ'αρχίδια
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Της ψωλής μου το κεφάλι πιάσανε πονοκεφάλοι τα χειλάκια σου λοιπόν πιο
    καλά και από Depon
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΓΚΟΥΣΓΚ: Γυναίκα τι φαϊ έχουμε;
    ΓΥΝΑΙΚΑ: Μακαρόνια...
    ΓΚΟΥΣΓΚ: Τη γάμησες !!
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Ο Γκουσγκούνης, έπειτα από υπόδειξη του σκηνοθέτη, ότι πριν ...γαμήσει,
    πρέπει να πει και δυο - τρία λόγια για εισαγωγή, ώστε το έργο να έχει ...
    πλοκή!
    Έρχεται η γκόμενα στο σπίτι:
    Γκουσγκούνης: Θες αχλάδι;
    Γκόμενα : όχι
    Γκουσγκούνης: έεεε τότε δεν μένει τίποτα άλλο παρά να σε γαμήσω!!!!
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Είναι ο Γκουσγκούνης σε ένα μπαρ
    Η μπαρ-γούμαν πλένει τα ποτήρια...και πίσω της είναι ένα ρολόϊ Τοίχου Ο
    Γκοσγκούνης προσπαθεί να δει την ώρα...
    κάνει δεξιά... κάνει και η μπαρ-γούμαν δεξιά...
    κάνει αριστερά... και η μπαρ-γούμαν αριστερά....
    αυτό γινότανε συνέχεια. Ο Γκουσγκούνης είχε συφιλιαστεί απαίσια...
    τον βλέπει η μπαρ-γούμαν και τον ρωτάει....
    «.......γιατί είσαι τσαντισμένος» ;
    ....και ο Γκουσγκούνης.... «γιατί δεν βλέπω την ώρα να σε γαμήσω»!!!!!
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Βγαίνει ο Γκουσγκούνης από τη θάλασσα με μια γκόμενα. Φοράνε και οι δυο
    στολή. Όταν η γκόμενα πάει να βγάλει τη μάσκα, τη βλέπει ο μεγάλος και
    λέει:
    ".....μη βγάλεις τη μάσκα γιατί θα σου πετάξω τα μάτια έξω!!!!!"
    ------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Ο Γκουσγκούνης έχει ..ατσαλώσει την πούτσα του .και λέει στην γκόμενα που
    την έχει γυρίσει από πίσω: "βάστα τοίχο, γιατί θα ζμπρώξω γερά"!!!!!
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Ο Γκουσγκούνης, με Γαλλίδα παρτεναίρ σε τσόντα:
    Γαλλίδα: "aahhh tres joli"
    Γκουσγκούνης: "τι ζολή μωρή, .... ψωλή το λένε"
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Η πρωταγωνίστρια είναι μπρούμητα, ... ο γκουζγκου .σπρώχνει από
    πίσω, εκείνη φεύγει μπροστά. Εκείνος απορεί... και λέει: "έεε, που πας:
    τοίχος!!!!!"
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΣΚΗΝΗ 1η (Σουρεαλισμός)
    Ο Γκουζγκούνης, είναι πρώτη μούρη στο πλάνο και φυσικά πηδάει την
    γκόμενα.
    Σε μια στιγμή μουρμουρίζει κάπως δυνατά:
    - "Πω, πω, να είχα μια μπύρα τώρα..."
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΣΚΗΝΗ 2η (Ατάκα)
    Ο Γκουζγκούνης είναι και πάλι πρώτη μούρη στο πλάνο και η τύπισσα του κάνει τσιμπούκι.
    Σε μια στιγμή τελειώνει ο Γκουζγκούνης, οπότε η Tσιμπουκίδου γυρνάει και
    αρχίζει να τα φτύνει.
    Η ατάκα που ακολουθεί απογειώνει τον αισθησιασμό της, ούτως ή άλλως,
    ρομαντικής σκηνής:
    - "Τι φτύνεις μωρή; Κουκούτσια έχουν;;"
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΣΚΗΝΗ 3η (Σενάριο)
    Χαλάνε τα υδραυλικά μιας γκόμενας. Ο Γκουζγκούνης έρχεται ως υδραυλικός
    στο σπίτι της στρογγυλοκάθεται στο τραπέζι της κουζίνας όπου έχει μια μεγάλη
    φρουτιέρα με πορτοκάλια. Παίρνει ένα πορτοκάλι στο χέρι του και ρωτάει
    όλος αβρότητα:
    - "Πορτοκάλι θέλεις; "
    - "Όχι! " απαντά αυτή.
    - "Να σε γαμήσω θέλεις; "
    - "Δεν έχω πρόβλημα!!! " απαντά αυτή.
    Και η συνέχεια επί της οθόνης.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΣΚΗΝΗ 4η (Ατάκα)
    Και πάλι ως υδραυλικός έρχεται στο σπίτι μιας τσαχπίνας.
    Στρογγυλοκάθεται, ως είθισται, στο τραπέζι της κουζίνας όπου ακολουθεί ο
    εξής διάλογος:
    - "Καφέ θέλεις; " ρωτά αυτή.
    - "Ναι. " απαντά ο Μεγάλος.
    - "Πως τον πίνεις; "
    - "Πολλά βαρύ και όχι, με δύο φουσκάλες "
    - "Είσαι και μερακλής! "
    - "Έχεις γαμώ τις κωλάρες, θα σε ..γαμήσω!!! "
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΣΚΗΝΗ 5η (Έγκλημα και Τιμωρία)
    Ο Γκουζγκούνης γυρνάει στο σπίτι κουρασμένος - έφτιαχνε υδραυλικά ντε!
    Aφήνει την τσάντα με τα σύνεργα κάτω. Χαιρετάει βαριεστημένα την γυναίκα
    του και την ρωτάει:
    - "Τι φαΐ έχει; "
    - "...δεν έκανα φαΐ..." απαντά εκείνη απολογητικά, με ψιλοπονηρό όμως
    ύφος
    - "Τι; Δεν έκανες φαΐ; Θα σε γαμήσω!! "
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΣΚΗΝΗ 6η (Ο παΤΕΡΑΣ)
    Ο Γκουζγκούνης παίζει τον ρόλο του πατέρα!
    Έρχεται η κόρη του στο σπίτι με μια καινούργια φίλη της.
    Κάθονται στον καναπέ. Έρχεται και ο Αρχηγός στο σαλόνι και τις βλέπει.
    Κάθεται και αυτός, χωρίς να πει τίποτα, κοντά τους.
    Περνάει ένα λεπτό απόλυτης ησυχίας (δεν έχουν ανταλλάξει κουβέντα μέχρι τότε).
    Ξαφνικά, ο Μεγάλος, γυρνάει προς την φίλη της κόρης του και την ρωτάει:
    - "Τον παίρνεις απ' τον κώλο; "
    - "Μπαμπά τι είναι αυτά που λες; " πετάγεται έκπληκτη η κόρη του
    - "Προσπαθώ να σπάσω τον πάγο!!! " απαντά αυτός
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ΣΚΗΝΗ 7η (Ο πιτσαράς)
    Ο Γκουζγκούνης παίζει τον ρόλο του πιτσαρά!
    - "Έφερα τις πίτσες. "
    - "Μα δε παραγγείλαμε πίτσες " απαντούν οι γκόμενες
    - "Παραγγείλατε, δε παραγγείλατε, εγώ θα σας γ*μήσω!!!
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Είναι στην παραλία δύο γκόμενες, ολομόναχες. Σε κάποια φάση εμφανίζεται
    από το πουθενά ο Γκουσγκούνης να κόβει βόλτες εκεί κοντά.
    Σε κάποια φάση ρωτάει τις γκόμενες:
    - Τι κάνετε κορίτσια εδώ ;
    - Περιμένουμε να έρθει κάποιος να μας γαμήσει.
    - Α! Ευτυχώς που πέρναγα!
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------
    -> Γκουζγκούνης: Γειά.
    -> Γκόμενα: Γειά
    -> Γκουζγκούνης: Πως σε λένε;;
    -> Γκόμενα: Μαρία!
    -> Γκουζγκούνης: Κώστας... Στήσου!

    ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή
  12. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 8:39:00 μ.μ.

    Κάποιος να μου θυμίσει το όνομα του Πατριάρχη Ιεροσολύλων, παρακαλώ.

    Ο Ανθιμος μου θυμίζει έντονα την περίπτωσή του.

    Τον βλέπω σύντομα σε μοναστήρι.

    Χωριάτης

    ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή
  13. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 8:52:00 μ.μ.

    Η ορθοδοξία δεν έχει σχέση ούτε με τους μουλάδες, ούτε με τους ταλιμπάν, όπως επεδίωξαν στο πρόσφατο παρελθόν ορισμένοι. Ο χριστιανισμός είναι πρωτίστως πνευματικός χώρος με ενεργό κοινωνική προσφορά όπου και όταν αυτή λειτουργεί όπως πρέπει. Δυστυχώς το παράδειγμα της ανυπόκριτης σεμνότητας και του νέου ήθους του αρχιεπισκόπου δεν ενστερνίζονται ορισμένοι «τηλεπαπάδες», τακτικοί θαμώνες των κεντρικών δελτίων των ιδιωτικών καναλιών, οι οποίοι γυρίζουν την Εκκλησία- ως νοοτροπία και αντίληψη- στα χρόνια της χούντας. Με αφορμή το σύμφωνο ελεύθερης συμβίωσης, τους γάμους ομοφυλοφίλων κλπ. Λες και οι τελευταίοι δεν είναι άνθρωποι αλλά μιάσματα που δεν έχουν δικαιώματα λόγω της ιδιαιτερότητάς τους, όπως άλλωστε πίστευε και ο Χίτλερ που τους έστελνε στα κρεματόρια! Στο κάτω κάτω της γραφής οι άνθρωποι αυτοί δεν έθιξαν την παράδοση της Εκκλησίας, ούτε εζήτησαν θρησκευτικό γάμο. Απορώ δε που ο υπουργός Δικαιοσύνης δεν τους περιέλαβε στο σύμφωνο συμβίωσης. Δεν αντέχει φαίνεται τόσο προοδευτικό άνοιγμα η ΝΔ χωρίς να υποστεί επιληψία! Εκείνο που με ενοχλεί πρωτίστως είναι η υποκρισία των όποιων «επικριτών», τιμητών και κηνσόρων.

    ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή
  14. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 8:58:00 μ.μ.

    Dorin frowned and went off to find a quiet place to sleep.

    23 Μάρτιος 2008 7:35 μμ

    ΠΑΛΙΟΚΟΥΦΑΛΑ ΑΝΘΙΜΕ
    ΜΠΗΚΕΣ ΜΩΡΗ ΓΑΜΙΟΛΑ ΜΕΣΑ ΓΙΑ ΝΑ ΚΑΤΑΣΤΡΕΨΕΙΣ
    ΤΟ ΠΟΣΤ ΠΟΥ ‘’ΕΠΙΤΕΛΟΥΣ’’ ΣΟΥ ΤΑ ΣΟΥΡΝΕΙ .
    ΕΣΕΙΣ ΟΙ ΡΑΣΟΦΟΡΟΙ ΔΕΝ ΙΣΧΥΡΙΖΕΣΤΕ ΟΤΙ ΔΕΝ ΠΑΝΤΡΕΥΟΝΤΑΙ ΟΙ ΔΕΣΠΟΤΑΔΕΣ ΓΙΑΤΙ ΝΥΜΦΕΥΟΝΤΑΙ ΤΙΣ ΜΗΤΡΟΠΟΛΕΙΣ ΤΟΥΣ ;;

    ΕΣΥ ΔΗΛΑΔΗ ΠΗΡΕΣ ΔΙΑΖΥΓΙΟ ΑΠΟ ΤΗΝ ΑΛΕΞΑΝΔΡΟΥΠΟΛΗ ΓΙΑΤΙ ΗΤΑΝ ΠΤΩΧΗ ΚΑΙ ΞΑΝΑΠΑΝΤΡΕΥΤΗΚΕΣ ΤΗΝ ΠΛΟΥΣΙΑ ΘΕΣΣΑΛΟΝΙΚΗ ;;

    ΟΥΣΤ ΘΕΟΜΠΑΙΧΤΗ ΚΑΙ ΠΑΤΡΙΔΟΚΑΠΗΛΕ .


    Παλικάρι από τα Σφακιά

    ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή
  15. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 9:01:00 μ.μ.

    Εμείς οι Σαλονικιείς προδότη συνασπισμίτη βρωμοαριστερέ τον θέλουμε. Καλά έκανε και ήρθε απο την Αλεξανδρούπολη εδώ για να αφυπνίσει μερικές συνειδήσεις που ο Αλέξης Τσίκνας και ο Αλέκος Αλβάνος θέλουνε να υπνωτίζουνε

    ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή
  16. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 9:03:00 μ.μ.

    Κάποιος να μου θυμίσει το όνομα του Πατριάρχη Ιεροσολύλων, παρακαλώ.

    Ο Ανθιμος μου θυμίζει έντονα την περίπτωσή του.

    Τον βλέπω σύντομα σε μοναστήρι.

    Χωριάτης

    ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή
  17. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 11:05:00 μ.μ.

    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

    …

    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

    …



    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

    …

    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

    …

    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

    …

    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

    …

    =
    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

    …

    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

    …

    ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή
  18. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 11:08:00 μ.μ.

    Κατω τα βρωμοχερα σας τσογλανοι απο τον ΑΝΘΙΜΟ δεν ειστε αξιοι ουτε το βλεμμα σας να σηκωσετε επανω του μεταλλαγμενα κνιτακια..

    ΟΥΣΤ κοπροσκυλα της ΤΣΥΡΙΖΑ η οργη μας εφτασε προ των πυλων πια..

    προσεχτε

    ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή
  19. Ανώνυμος23 Μαρ 2008, 11:08:00 μ.μ.

    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

    …

    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

    …



    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

    …

    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

    …

    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

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    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

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    =
    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

    …

    ΘΑΘΕΛΑ ΝΑ ΕΡΩΤΗΣΩ ΤΑ ΛΑΜΟΓΙΑ ΔΙΑΧΕΙΡΙΣΤΕΣ, ΠΡΟΕΔΡΟΥΣ, ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΕΙΣ ΚΛΠ., ΤΩΝ ΑΣΦΑ..ΛΗΣΤΡΙΚΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΟΤΑΝ ΤΑ ΛΕΦΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΤΑΜΕΙΩΝ ΤΑ ΚΛΕΒΑΝΕ ΜΕ ΟΜΟΛΟΓΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΙΑΦΟΡΕΣ ΑΛΛΕΣ ΤΟΠΟΘΕΤΗΣΕΙΣ, Γ Ι Α Τ Ι ΔΕΝ ΚΑΝΑΝ Α Π Ε Ρ Γ Ι Α Π Ε Ι Ν Α Σ ΝΑ ΔΙΑΦΥΛΑΞΟΥΝ ΤΑ ΤΑΜΕΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΟΥΣ ΕΝΩ ΤΩΡΑ ΚΟΠΤΟΝΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΝΕΟ ΝΟΜΟΣΧΕΔΙΟ;
    Ε; ΓΙΑΤΙ; ...

    …

    ΑπάντησηΔιαγραφή
  20. Ανώνυμος24 Μαρ 2008, 12:07:00 π.μ.

    ΣΧΕΤΙΚΑ ΜΕ ΤΟΝ κ. ΑΝΘΙΜΟ
    ΕΙΠΕ ΣΕ ΜΙΑ ΑΠΟ ΑΒΟΝΟΣ ΟΜΙΛΙΑ ΤΟΥ ΟΤΙ ΚΑΙ ΜΕΣΑ ΣΤΟΝ ΓΑΜΟ ΚΑΘΕ ΣΥΝΟΥΣΙΑ ΠΟΥ ΔΕΝ ΓΙΝΕΤΑΙ ΜΕ ΣΚΟΠΟ ΤΗΝ ΤΕΚΝΟΠΟΙΗΣΗ ΕΙΝΑΙ ΠΟΡΝΕΙΑ. Ε ΤΙ ΑΛΛΟ ΜΠΟΡΟΥΣΕ ΝΑ ΠΕΙ ΓΙΑ ΤΟ ΣΥΜΦΩΝΟ ΕΛΕΥΘΕΡΗΣ ΣΥΜΒΙΩΣΗΣ ΚΑΙ ΤΟΝ ΠΟΛΙΤΙΚΟ ΓΑΜΟ. ΑΥΤΟΣ Ο ΑΝΘΡΩΠΑΚΟΣ ΕΙΝΑΙ ΣΗΜΕΡΑ (ΑΓΙΟΣ) ΜΗΤΡΟΠΟΛΙΤΗΣ Ε ΛΟΙΠΟΝ ΠΕΡΑΣΤΙΚΑ ΜΑΣ.

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  21. Ανώνυμος24 Μαρ 2008, 1:22:00 π.μ.

    Γ.Α., σωστοί οι παραλληλισμοί που κάνεις του Άνθιμου με ποιμένα, αξιωματικό κ.λπ. Γνώριζε πάντως ότι, εκκλησιαστικά, ο κύριος παραλληλισμός είναι με σύζυγο. Ο Επίσκοπος «νυμφεύεται» την τοπική Εκκλησία την οποία καλείται να διοικήσει. Γι’ αυτό, ξέρεις, όταν πεθάνει και μέχρι να αναδειχτεί ο διάδοχος, η Επισκοπή (ή Μητρόπολη κ.λπ.) χαρακτηρίζεται χηρεύουσα. Ο κ. Άνθιμος δηλαδή εγκατέλειψε τη φτωχή και άσημη σύζυγό του για να νυμφευθεί μια πλούσια και περισσότερο προβεβλημένη. Και η πράξη αυτή με όρους γάμου κατανοείται από τους ιερούς Κανόνες. Ο κ. Άνθιμος δηλαδή χαρακτηρίζεται ως «μοιχεπιβάτης». Παρόλα αυτά παριστάνει τον αθώο και εμφανίζεται λάβρος τιμητής άλλων για μοιχεία, πορνεία κ.λπ.
    Θα ήταν ενδιαφέρον κάποιος να εξομολογηθεί στον κ. Άνθιμο (ειλικρινά ή όχι αδιάφορο) ότι είναι έγγαμος, η σύζυγός του είναι καλή και τίμια, έχει αναθρέψει κατά Χριστόν τα παιδιά τους, αλλά είναι φτωχή και κοινωνικά χωρίς καμιά εμβέλεια. Να συμπληρώσει ότι γνώρισε μια πανέμορφη γυναίκα, πλούσια και διάσημη, που του εγγυάται χλιδή, δόξα και προβολή, οπότε σκέφτεται να εγκαταλείψει τη σύζυγο για να νυμφευθεί την πολλά υποσχόμενη.
    Να δούμε τι συμβουλές θα δώσει ο κ. Άνθιμος. Και επειδή το παράδειγμα δεν είναι και τόσο υποθετικό, να μας πει τώρα ο κ. Άνθιμος τι έχει να υποδείξει σε παρόμοιες, όχι σπάνιες, περιστάσεις. Να καταστεί δημοφανές, ποιες είναι οι συμβουλές και ποιες οι πράξεις του.
    Χθόνιος

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  22. Ανώνυμος24 Μαρ 2008, 10:47:00 π.μ.

    Ο ΑΝΘΙΜΟΣ

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  23. Ανώνυμος24 Μαρ 2008, 11:17:00 π.μ.

    Ο Άνθιμος δήλωσε στον Αυτιά ότι από τους 13 της Συνόδου, οι 11 είναι με το μέρος του. Ο Αυτιάς δεν του είπε ότι και από την ιεραρχία οι 24 ήταν ψηφοφόροι του.

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  24. Ανώνυμος25 Μαρ 2008, 7:31:00 μ.μ.

    FFNΠΡΟΣ Γ.Α

    ΜΑΛΛΟΝ ΔΕΝ ΠΗΓΕΣ ΦΑΝΤΑΡΑΚΙ Μ Α Λ Α Κ Ο Π Α Ι Δ Ο.
    ΣΤΙΣ ΜΟΝΑΔΕΣ ΠΟΥ ΥΠΗΡΕΤΗΣΑ ΗΛΘΟΝ ΚΑΙ ΑΠΗΛΘΟΝ ΔΙΟΙΚΗΤΕΣ ΜΟΝΑΔΩΝ.
    ΤΟΝ ΚΑΛΥΤΕΡΟ ΔΙΟΙΚΗΤΗ ΜΕΡΙΚΕΣ ΦΟΡΕΣ ΤΟΝ ΣΤΕΛΝΟΥΝ ΣΕ ΜΟΝΑΔΕΣ ΠΟΥ ΠΡΟΚΥΠΤΟΥΝ ΠΡΟΒΛΗΜΑΤΑ ΓΙΑ ΝΑ ΤΑ ΛΥΣΕΙ.
    ΕΤΣΙ ΕΓΙΝΕ ΚΑΙ ΜΕ ΤΟΝ ΑΝΘΙΜΟ ΛΟΓΩ ΤΟΥ ΓΝΩΣΤΟΥ ΠΡΟΒΛΗΜΑΤΟΣ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΟΝΟΜΑ ΤΩΝ ΣΚΟΠΙΩΝ.
    ΑΛΛΑ ΕΠΕΙΔΗ ΚΑΙ ΕΣΥ ΑΝΗΚΕΙΣ ΣΤΑ "ΑΝΘΡΩΠΑΚΙΑ ΤΗΣ ΤΕΛΕΥΤΑΙΑΣ ΣΤΙΓΜΗΣ" ΗΘΕΛΗΜΕΝΑ ΜΙΛΑΣ ΓΙΑ ΠΡΟΔΟΣΙΑ. Ε Φ Ι Α Λ Τ Η!!!!!

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  25. Ανώνυμος21 Απρ 2013, 12:45:00 π.μ.

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