I am working on a series of short stories about heroes in a fantasy world. The first one is finished and waiting to be typed and the second one is a work in progress. Here are some drawings I made about the main characters. I know the drawings are bad. So shhhhhhh.

Short story one is now up. Here it is.

The Thief

It was a beautiful day in Summerkeep. The sun shone brightly, reflecting off the tiny droplets of dew deposited by last night’s rain, shedding sparkling green beams of light all over the land that warmed the hearts of those they touched. It was the kind of day that made normal folks want to venture into the wilderness for a picnic. The kind of day that was good for business.

I sat back, reading in my chair with my feet up on my desk, toying with a wicked looking hunting knife and attempting to get the attention of the curvaceous elf who had set up shop next to me.

Just as she started to take notice of me, he walked in. He came scurrying straight through the door of this establishment, nose twitching and eyes darting from side to side. His dirty brown hair was slicked back and he wore an overcoat that had more pockets than a castle has bricks. He walked with a limp and his shoulders were hunched over so they greatly exaggerated his large slouch. To sum him up in one sentence, he very closely resembled a rat.

He came right up to my desk and said in a high-pitched, squeaky voice, “I need a job.” The elf I had been so interested in immediately went back to polishing her armor. I turned on the guy, ready to use the knife in my hand to give the guy something to remember me by, when I heard the clink of coins in his pockets.

Immediately I lowered my knife. “A job eh….” I implored.

Now, before I continue, I should probably explain to you what a job is. My name is Aelar. I am a half-elf and a “hero”. Although I’ve also gone by the name of mercenary, sellsword, bounty hunter and even thief. Since Summerkeep is on the edge of the wilderness, many “heroes” come here. And since it’s good for business, we’ve built ourselves a little shack called the bounty house, where the people of the outlying areas come to post bounties, want ads, help ads, and even ask for “jobs”. We do the “job” and they pay us for our services. At least that’s how it’s supposed to work.

Anyway, the guy came in asking for a “job” and after a bit of negotiation, I would do his job for a reward to be negotiated upon later.

Normally, a “Hero” avoids fees to be negotiated upon ending the job, but this job is an exception. This fellow’s a smuggler and his shipment of Dwarven Jewels was lifted from his cart as he traveled from town. My reward for retrieving his treasures would be ten percent of the precious stones that I could recover. That sounded fair to me.

After giving me the approximate location of where his jewels were lifted, the guy scurried back out into the streets, leaving me alone once again.

I threw on my dragon-hide armor, slung my short bow and a quiver of arrows over my shoulder, put on my double-wide scabbard and popped two long swords into it and stuck a dagger in my boot. The knife I left in my desk. It’s just for show and is impractical in combat anyway. After a wink to a certain elf, I departed from Summerkeep.

Six hours later, I arrived at the location specified to me by my client. It was growing dark, so I unpacked the contents of my cart and set up camp. I also drew a large circle around my campsite. I then enchanted it with a ritual. Anything that entered the circle would trigger an alarm loud enough to wake a deaf guy with earplugs. Needless to say, I refused to be taken by surprise.

The next morning, I awoke still groggy from the previous night. A wild boar, fleeing a pack of wolves, had run into my circle. As a result, I didn’t get a good night’s sleep. I also was having bacon for breakfast.

Immediately following my morning meal, I set out to look for clues to lead me to the jewels. After about ten minutes of searching, I found what I was looking for, small reptilian tracks in the ground. I followed them into the woods where they led me to a small clearing.

There in the center of the clearing stood three of nature’s biggest screwups – - kobolds.

Picture an alligator. Now combine him with a human. Now add poorly crafted weapons, raggedy and tarnished armor (stolen) and breath bad enough to make a sewer rat puke and you’ve got yourself a kobold.

Now kobolds aren’t too bright to begin with, but these were class acts. They were arguing over who gets to present the rabbit they caught to their boss, while a group of large rats dragged their catch into their hole.

After watching this go on for about five more minutes, I decided to try and get a closer look. But little had I taken my first step when I was whisked feet first into the air.

I had stumbled into a kobold hunting snare. Probably the same one they used to catch the rabbit. The kobolds immediately turned towards me.

I was about fifty feet away from the kobolds when they spotted me, which gave me about ten seconds to ponder whether I would rather face their spears or their breath. I was still undecided when they finally reached me. The one who appeared to be the leader of the group approached me. He got about six inches from my face as I dangled upside-down from a tree. He then hissed something incomprehensible in Draconic at me, unleashing his breath upon me.

Imagine the worst smell you’ve ever smelled, multiply that by ten, then add globs of spit, rotten flesh and who knows what else flying into your face. Now forget about everything I just said because a kobold breathing directly into your face makes what I just described look pleasurable. Needless to say, I puked.

Taken aback from the sudden rush of fluids out of my mouth and onto his face, the kobold took a step backwards.

That’s all the opening I needed. My hands were still free and I made use of them. Unsheathing one of my swords, I proceeded to chop his head clean off.

His comrades, seeing that I was not in fact a harmless little bunny, started to run north, but they could not escape my bow. Two clean shots later, they fell to the ground.

Using my long sword I cut myself down. I searched their bodies for money, where, disappointedly, but not surprisingly, I came up empty.

“At least I know where they live”, I muttered to myself as I followed their tracks back to their home.

By the time I found the kobold lair, it was sunset. The sun shone brightly against a small brook that gurgled past their lair. Two lone kobolds stood guard next to the brook. I decided to set up camp and wait until dark.

By the time the moon was up, I had set up camp in a tall tree that grew directly above their lair. When the moon had finally gone down and it was completely dark, I ventured into their lair.

There were two guards in front of the cave. It was an easy matter to hit both of them on the head with my scabbard to knock them out. When they woke up, it would be just like they were sleeping on the job.

Inside, the main room of the cave was empty, multiple passageways led off into different directions, probably to the kobold’s sleeping quarters. Directly ahead lay a yawning crevice that led downward. I decided to take that route. I walked down the crevice for about a quarter of a mile until it suddenly opened up into a large room. That is when I nearly soiled my pants. No more than five feet in front of me was the hulking green mass of a great green dragon.

I never ran so fast in my life. I was out of that cave within five minutes.

Now a dragon would usually be more than enough to make most “heroes” abandon their quest. But I am not most heroes. Also, I happened to see something out of the corner of my eye as I exited the dragon’s room — an entire mound of gold and jewels, cartloads of it all piled up in the back corner of the room — enough money to keep a man very happy for more than one lifetime. I guess you could say my “hero” senses were tingling.

I couldn’t just abandon all that gold. I had seen it and I wanted it. But it’s not exactly a healthy pastime to be charging into a Kobold lair, taking on both its original denizens and an angry dragon. I needed a plan.

I decided to stake out the Kobold lair and look for a way to lift all that gold without me having to fight a dragon.

After a few days of sitting up in my tree observing the lair, I took back my initial reaction about the dragon. It was really young and only about twice the size of a horse. I was very lucky. It was probably no more than five years old.

Still it was not to be trifled with. Adult dragons could devour whole towns. The most ancient dragons could obliterate entire armies. A dragon this size is only categorized as a disrupter of trade. But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t bite your head off.

The dragon flew out once a day for food, but was only gone for about an hour. The only way to get to the treasure was to take the dragon out. But as I said before, attacking even a young dragon head on is suicide. I would need to avoid direct confrontation if I would like to keep my head attached to my body. Good thing I had a plan.

The deer walked slowly through the woods. It pranced about the trees and past the bubbling brook. It was a beautiful day outside and the deer was enjoying it. It spotted some particularly nice looking flowers resting on a stump. It trotted over to take a bite. WHAM!! The deer fell over as a tree branch took out its legs. A scary two-legged creature came up to it and bound its legs. It then put it into a box on wheels, that the deer had no word for, and took it away.

After about ten minutes of riding in the thing that the deer decided to call a cart, the two-legged creature, that the deer decided to call a man, picked it up and placed it in the middle of the clearing. It then coated it in a sticky green funny smelling liquid. The deer tried to lick it, but the man grabbed its tongue and shoved it back into its mouth. The man then tied the deer to a stake and gave it a container of food. The last thing the deer ever saw was a big green shape walking towards it.

After setting the poisoned bait out for the dragon to eat, I wasted no time to see if it had taken it. The next part of my plan included fighting off hordes of kobolds for the treasure. I went back to my old camp and moved the last of my stuff into my new camp by the tree. I then put on my armor, readied my weapons and emptied both of my carts. Then I climbed up into my tree and waited until nightfall.

I burst into the kobold lair with both swords slashing and ready for a fight. I was surprised to see no kobolds fighting back. I scanned the room. In fact there were no Kobolds here at all.

I decided to investigate the other rooms to see what had happened to them. The first room I entered I saw kobolds sprawled about the floor. I readied my long swords. None of them got up. They were dead.

I wasted no time wondering why and how they had died — I just sheathed my swords, grabbed my carts and went down for the treasure.

When I reached the room, I immediately headed straight for the pile of riches. I hadn’t even taken my first handful when I heard a noise behind me. This time I really did soil my pants. Standing right in front of me was a living, breathing and very much “not” poisoned dragon. I swore.

“Hello again” it hissed. “My name is Assmandious and that is my gold.” “Hello Assmandious, my name is Aelar. Say, do you mind if I call you A….” “SILENCE”, interrupted the dragon. “Now tell me” he said, “What are you doing in my cave?” “Well, I’m certainly not here for tea and biscuits” I replied as I glanced back at the treasure.

“You dare mock me? After you just poisoned all my kobolds” roared the dragon.

Ah… the pieces of the puzzle begin to come together. I had left the deer out for the dragon — never had it occurred to me that the kobolds would eat it instead.

“Or perhaps…..” hissed the dragon, “the poison was meant for me?”

“No sh*t, Sherlock” I muttered.

That’s when the dragon lunged at me. I sidestepped and hit it in the neck with my sword. The dragon lunged again and again. I dodged and hit it, this time in the flank. I also made a mental note to make sure to watch my mouth in future encounters of this manner. That is, if I lived.

I stopped thinking completely and just ran on instinct. Dodge, strike, dodge, strike, dodge, strike. After about ten minutes, I was getting tired. Dodge, strike, dodge, strike. The dragon was getting angry. Dodge, strike, dodge, strike, dodge, strike!

I had been sparring with the dragon for half an hour now and I was getting very tired. It was obvious that my strikes were not doing much against the dragon. I needed something more powerful. That’s when I noticed the ceiling. It was covered with stalagmites. I readied my bow. The dragon charged. I aimed at the ceiling. The dragon opened its mouth. I fired my arrow. The Dragon was five feet from my face. The stalagmites came raining down from the ceiling. I dove for the safest spot in the room – under the dragon.

The stalagmites came down, impaling the dragon and crashing to the floor. One came straight through the beast and landed inches from my face. As suddenly as it had started, it was over.

The dragon was dead, impaled with enough stalagmites to make it look like a large scale pincushion. But I could care less about pincushions, I had some treasure to claim.

My rat-like client never did see me or his jewels again, but if he had looked, he would have found both in the Silver City with a very curvaceous elf.

 

 

Story 2 is now up. It is called The Sellsword,

The Sellsword

The dim light shone around the smoky room, dim enough to cast the room in shadow, but bright enough to still allow one to see.  Brown paint decorated the walls of the windowless room and the floors probably hadn’t been swept in years.

 

If you think the room is dirty, the people in the room will make you puke.  This bar is a gathering place for thieves, ruffians, riffraff and “heroes”.  That’s why I was here.

 

I sat at the counter, sipping my mug of ale and glaring at folks who dared to look at me.  I was wearing full armor and had all my weapons on me.  I guess you could say I was looking for trouble.

 

I felt a rush of warm air onto the back of my neck and a voice as sweet as honey whispered into my ear, “Careful, hun, or your face may freeze like that.”  Before I could reply, an extremely curvaceous elf melted into the seat next to me.’

 

Her light brown hair fell down below her shoulders and her blue eyes were sharp enough to sober up the drunkest bum.  Her black leather armor hugged her body tighter than a duke hugs his money.  A rapier with a jeweled hilt rested in a black scabbard on her hip and a serrated edged knife was in a sheath on her calf.  She also never went anywhere without at least twenty shuriken on her somewhere.

 

Her name was Fey.  She and I had hooked up after I acquired a large sum of money from a dragon horde.  We had planned on living in the Silver City for the rest of our lives in retirement; but after no more than a month of living in the city, all our money mysteriously disappeared.  I’ll never trust Gnomish bankers again.

 

Now we are back to heroing again, this time as a team.  Our skills counterbalance each other – she the brains and I the brawn – that kind of stuff.

 

Today we were in here trying to make some money.  Word on the street is that people often come in here looking for jobs.  If we hang around here long enough, maybe we would get one.

 

It didn’t look like we were the only ones here though.  An eladrin sat in a booth in the corner, his eyes constantly scanning the room.  Without taking his eyes off of whatever he was looking for, he waved his hand and his glass of beer drained itself.  A wizard.

 

A large dragonborn also sat at a table close to the door.  His bright red scales glimmered in the dim light from the lamps. A large bastard sword was sheathed on his back.  He wore plate mail that glittered gold against his scales.  His eyes were fixed on the door.

 

Suddenly the door slammed open and ten figures walked in.  They were an odd bunch.  There were two halflings, a tiefling, four humans, two elves and one half-elf.  Their weapons also differed greatly.  The tiefling used a crossbow.  The elves and one of the halflings used short swords and daggers.  One of the halflings used a hand crossbow in each hand.  The humans mostly used clubs, but one of them had a wicked looking scythe. A warlock.  They all had a few things in common though.  They all wore black cloaks, were armed to the teeth and looked angrier than a dragon after loosing his dragon breath – and that’s pretty angry.  I’ve seen it.

 

The tiefling stepped forward, his crossbow raised.  “Which one of youse guys is da Vengeance?”  Nobody moved.  “Okay,” said the tiefling.  “If you don’t tell me who he is,” as he pointed the bow at the bartender, “Ima stick dis guy wit enough bolts to make him look like a porkypine!”  I almost laughed at his pronunciation of the word porcupine.  Fey reached casually into the armor by her left breast, where I knew for a fact that she kept a shuriken or two.  I was about to give her a look when the tiefling noticed her and suddenly every weapon in the tavern was trained on her.  Fey didn’t miss a beat.  “Hot in here, huh boys,” she said.  All eyes were now on her.  The dragonborn reached for his sword.  “It’s so hot,” said Fey, “and I’m so tired.”

 

As she said this, she stretched and faked a yawn, raising her arms up just high enough to lift the top part of her armor up to her stomach.

 

If she didn’t have the attention of these guys before, she certainly had it now.  One of the humans in the back was drooling.  Fey tends to have that effect on people.

 

That’s when the dragonborn leaped.  With a roar and a slash of his sword, he cleaved the tiefling in half.  Then he turned on the rest of the group and let forth a blast of fire breath, hot enough to burn lava.

 

The half-elf took the brunt of the attack and fell down dead.  The rest of the gang came out unscathed; the fire swirled around their cloaks, missing them completely.  “Enchanted,” I thought to myself.

 

The ruffians had now recovered from the dragonborn’s attack and started fighting back.  They rushed the dragonborn, pushing him back.

 

That’s when Fey jumped in.  I didn’t even know she was no longer next to me.  One minute she was there, the next minute she was in the fray, slashing and stabling with her rapier.  Still the ruffians kept coming.

 

The next person to jump in was the wizard.  He launched a blast of magical energy at the warlock and pretty soon they were engaged in a magical duel with sparks flying everywhere.

 

About five minutes after it started, it was over.  All ten of the black-cloaked ruffians lay dead on the floor.  The dragonborn had a cut on his leg and the wizard seemed pretty drained from using his magic.  But other than that, nobody was hurt.

 

Fey was bandaging the dragonborn’s wound.  She put some iodine on one wound and the dragonborn grunted in pain.  I was too busy searching the bodies to question from where she got the iodine.  Probably the same place she keeps her shurikens.

 

The wizard was talking to the bartender and carving something on the floor — probably a mend ritual to repair the damage.

 

After pocketing the few coins I found, I walked up to Fey and the dragonborn.  “…And boy can you fight,” he was saying.  “I haven’t seen someone use a shuriken like that since I was in that elven city fighting the goblins!”  He called to the wizard, “Hey, Ghael, what was the name of that place?”  “Woodcrest,” replied the Wizard.  “Yeah, Woodcrest,” exclaimed the dragonborn.  He turned to Fey.  “You ever been there?”  “Born and raised,” said she.  “Wow!  So I’m guessing you fought in the Goblin War.”  “Fifth Regiment,” Fey replied.  “Hey, I was in the Eighth,” I jumped in.  “Sorry to interrupt guys, but I’m just wondering….”  At this point, I turned to the dragonborn.  “WHAT IN THE GODS’ NAMES WAS THAT?”

 

“Well I guess you do deserve an explanation,” said the dragonborn.  “You bet I do!”  “Okay,” said the dragonborn.  “My partner, Ghael and I,” he gestured to the wizard, “are trying to bring down the criminal syndicate known as the Fell Hands.” “And someone” Ghael interjected with a look towards the dragonborn, “got a little carried away and painted his name in the blood of the Hands’ local leader, or baron as they call them, all over the side of their hideout.” “They murdered that boy…” muttered the dragonborn. “That doesn’t justify compromising our whole operation.” Ghael pointed out. “you almost got us killed. Twice” “How much you getting paid for it,” I interjected before thay could continue bickering.  “Huh?”  “How much are you getting paid for the job?”  “We’re not,” said Ghael.  We’re doing it ‘cause we’re tired of these guys screwing with the townspeople here.”

 

My mouth hung open and my jaw dangled as if it were on hinges.  If it were not for Fey, it probably would have hung there forever and some critter would have made a nest there.  I tried to yell something, but all that would come out was “uh…”

 

Fey uncurled herself from the booth she was sitting in, popped my mouth closed with her finger and said to the wizard, “What my partner is saying,” she said coolly, “is that he’s wondering how you’re able to buy things like food and bed if you aren’t getting paid?”

 

“Oh… well the bad guys usually leave some treasure around,” Ghael said.  These guys are especially rich since they’re running this Gnomish banking con.”

 

He had my full attention after the words treasure and rich.  I would go to the eighth layer of hell and back for the amount of money this guy just described.  Whatever the plan was, I was in.

 

“So…” I said, regaining my composure.  “Do you think you need any help with said quest,” I replied. 

 

“Well…” said the dragonborn.  “Ghael and I prefer to work alone.”

 

My heart sank.

 

“But we seem to have bitten off a little more than we can chew this time,” he said.  “I dunno, what do you say Ghael?”

 

The wizard didn’t even look up.  “We need them,” he stated coolly.

 

“You’re in,” stated the dragonborn.  “Get your things ready, because as soon as Ghael is finished with his mend ritual, we’re leaving.”  “Sure thing, hun,” Fey said, draining her mug of beer.

 

“And please,” said the dragonborn, “call me Vengeance.”

 

By the time the thick blanket of night had been spread across the countryside, Fey and I had relocated our stuff from our nice comfortable room in the local inn to Ghael’s and Vengeance’s campsite in the middle of a bog.

 

I won’t say which place I would rather stay in, but I will say I hope this little adventure is worth the trove of treasure at the end.

 

Vengeance and Ghael both insisted that Fey get her own tent.  Fey and I only had one to begin with, as did Vengeance and Ghael.  So I ended up squished in between an eladrin wizard, who slept with his eyes open, and a bulky dragonborn with morning breath.  Obviously I was overjoyed.

 

The early morning sunlight played gently across my bare skin warming my body and gently waking me up.  Despite having to sleep in a crowded tent in the middle of a bog, I had somehow managed to get a good night’s sleep.

 

I looked around, Vengeance was snoring lightly next to me, but Ghael was gone.  I stepped outside.  Ghael was standing next to the smoldering remains of our campfire.  A floating book stood in front of his face and he would occasionally mutter something as he read.  Fey was up too, perched in a tree with three shurikens in each hand, staring at the bog water intensely.  Suddenly the shurikens flew from her hand, flying into the water with a splash.  Six dead fish floated to the top.

 

After collecting her prey, Fey came over to me with a basket of two-dozen dead fish.  “Breakfast,” she explained.  She placed the basket down next to my feet.  I noticed that each fish had a shreiken mark on its neck.

 

Fey approached Ghael.  “Hey, hun,” she said in her sugar sweet voice, “Mind starting up a fire?”  Without even looking up from his book, Ghael kicked the embers of the fire and muttered something inaudible.  The fire roared back to life.  Fey piled some wood onto the fire and I pulled out my dagger and skinned the fish.  Within a half-hour we had the first dozen fish cooled and Vengeance had eaten the second dozen raw.  Dragonborns and their stomachs – I’ll never understand them.

 

Vengeance noticed my raised eyebrows at his breakfast.  “That’s nothing,” he said.  “One time after Ghael and I had crossed the desert of time, I devoured an entire cow – alive and mooing.”

 

I believed him, too.  Dragonborns were a tough species.  I had once witnessed one rip the head off a goblin with his bare hands.  And Vengeance was big – even for a dragonborn.

 

Ghael had nuts for breakfast and some tea he pulled from one of his bags.  Eladrins like him are very connected to nature and most don’t eat meat.

 

After breakfast, Vengeance called a meeting.  Everybody gathered around the stump we had been using as a table, sitting on crates of food.  Ghael even put down his book, which, as far as I could tell, he hadn’t looked away from all morning.  This had to be important.

 

“Alright, team,” (he said this often) said Vengeance, “we shall attack the Hands’ main stronghold tonight.  The plan calls for stealthily sneaking in and taking them out from the inside.  I will fill you in when we get there.  The day is yours.  Use it however you want, but I want everyone back here at sunset.  Got me?”  We all nodded.  Then Ghael went back to his book and the meeting was over.

 

I decided to spend the day hunting.  I wanted to go alone, but Fey insisted on coming along.

 

For about a half-hour we walked through the bog in silence.  Fey finally broke the silence.

 

“So why did you take this little adventure,” she asked.  I shrugged.  “It seemed like good money.”  We walked in silence for a little longer.  Fey spoke again “Can I tell you a secret,” she asked.  “Fire away,” I answered, sidestepping a patch of death thorns.

 

Fey pulled in closed to me, arms draped over my shoulders, body resting against mine.  Her lips were as close to my ear as they could be without actually touching it.  Naturally my pulse quickened.

 

“I don’t think you’re doing this for the money,” she whispered in a voice sweet enough to make most men melt.  “Then why am I doing this,” I whispered back.  “I think…” she whispered.  “I think you want to see what it’s like to actually do something good for a change.”

 

Before I could reply, she pulled away and we walked in silence again.

 

A boar shuffled past, about fifty feet off, looking for food.  I took aim at it with my short bow.  “You know, I talked to Ghael this morning,” Fey said.  I raised my eyebrows.  “What?”  Fey said, “he wasn’t buried in that book all morning.”  I went back to aiming boar.  “Anyway,” she said.  “Ghael told me that ¾ of the money we get is given to the townspeople.”

 

The arrow flew from my bow, missing the boar by a mile and crashing through the trees, searing it off.

 

On our way back, we remained silent – me pondering why I wasn’t that upset over the money and Fey hitting stuff with shurikens.  We returned with three squirrels and two large catfish.

 

Ghael was already starting a fire.  I handed the fish to Fey so she could cook it.  Then I gave some fruit we gathered to Ghael for his supper.  We ate dinner around the stump.  Then Vengeance told us to armor up.

 

After strapping on my various array of weaponry, I came out of the tent.  Vengeance was waiting outside with four of the black cloaks that those thugs at the bar were wearing.  He instructed us to put them on.  They were extremely lightweight and felt warm on my skin.  They connected to your neck by a silver buckle, which was in the shape of a fist.  The Fell Hand. Too bad when we put them on they melted through our armor. We had to leave them behind.

 

We left at dusk and after a three-hour trek through a mosquito filled bog, in the dark, with no lights. We arrived at an old castle.

 

It was too dark to see much, but it loomed over us, its dark brick walls casting a dark shadow on the already dark night.  Nasty gargoyles adorned the tops and dim lanterns from the guards made a scary scene all the more eerie. And it was dark. Did I mention the dark?

 

“Okay, team,” said Vengeance.  “Here’s the plan.  There’s no way into the fortress, unless you are let in.  And even when we do get in, it’s going to be jam packed with guards.  So, we’re going to get in, plant some blasting jelly in a few key places, and then get the hell out before it goes boom.”

 

“Sounds simple enough,” I said, “but how are we going to get in.  We left those cloaks we stole back at camp, and I don’t see any pizza boxes lying around, so disguises are pretty much out of the question.”

 

“We’ll get captured, then break out.  Infiltration made easy,” said Vengeance.  Even easier, since I have the key to their dungeons.”  He dangled a brass key in front of his face.

 

“They’re gonna search you for that,” I said.

 

“I know,” Vengeance said, and he swallowed the key.

 

It took about ten minutes for a patrol to stumble across us.  As expected, they searched us and took all our weapons.  A few of the humans were anxious to strip search Fey, but all it took was a threatening growl and some bared teeth from Vengeance to make them back off.

 

We were escorted through giant oak doors into a large mess hall with multiple tables.  Torches cast a bright orange glow about the room and shadows danced on the stone walls every time the flames flickered.

 

We were taken down a spiral staircase with a huge doorway,  (as all the doorways seemed to be of massive size) and down over twenty flights of stairs, by which point I felt sorry for our captors who must trek up these things every day.

 

We stopped at what looked like about halfway down the stairs.  To my left was a room full of axes, swords, knives, bows, clubs and weapons of every way, shape and form.  Our equipment was tossed carelessly in there.

 

To my right was a series of cells.  They each had one bench and a hole in the ground for a toilet.  The smell was unbearable, but I was somewhat happy with my environment.  In terms of dungeons, I had stayed in much worse.

 

Four to six hours later, there was a click and my door slid open.  Vengeance stood there holding a tarnished key in his hand.  Ghael stood behind him, a faint glow emanating from the palm of his hand.  Fey crouched, facing the hallway, eyes alert, holding a small dagger in her hand.  I didn’t want to know where she got it.  They probably would have found it if they had strip searched her

 

Once we were all freed, including all the other prisoners (Vengeance insisted), we headed into the weapons room.  After retrieving my weaponry and outfitting the freed prisoners with their own (I had to spend quite a bit of time teaching one man which end of a dagger was for stabbing and which one was for holding – eventually I gave up and just gave him a club), I headed out to Vengeance, Ghael and Fey.

 

The prisoners headed up the stairs.  We headed down, deep into the bowels of the castle.  As we walked, Vengeance smeared blasting jelly everywhere, from the walls to the ceiling, coating the already damp castle with wet sticky explosives.

 

Finally, after another wide doorway, we reached a dead end.

 

“There should be a secret passageway or something,” Ghael said.  We started looking around for a loose brick or something.  After a minute or two, Fey whispered, “found it.”

 

She gestured to a small indent in the wall – a micro keyhole.

 

Ghael walked up to the wall and muttered something inaudible and the lock clicked open.  The wall slid aside to reveal a room about the size of a small cottage.  But instead of a floor, a hole extended into utter blackness.  I couldn’t tell what was in the pit until Ghael shone a light down into it.  What I saw wasn’t the worst sight I’ve seen, but it was definitely the creepiest.  Bones filled the pit, scattered about, tossed aside and broken – the marrow seeping out of them and rotting.  Rodents and insects scurried about feeding and resting inside them.  A mound about fifty feet high stood in the center and smaller mounds clustered around it.

 

I would have gotten a better look, but just then I felt a sharp bump on my head and my vision got fuzzy.  The last thing I remember, before passing out, was being dragged into a small, hidden doorway beneath the staircase into a room that radiated evil from its walls.

 

I awoke, my arms and legs chained to a wall, Fey to my left, Ghael and Vengeance to my right.  Ghael had his mouth gagged shut and his hands bound closely together, so he couldn’t cast any spells.

 

We sat there in silence for about a half hour, until a voice emanated from the wall.  “I see you have finally woken up,” it said.  I was in a courageous mood, so I replied, “Oh, thank the gods you are here.  I’ve been sitting here chained up for hours.”

 

“A wise ass, ay?” said the voice.  “You don’t want to know what I did to the last guy like you.”

 

“Oh, I suppose you gave him a worm meal and sent him on his way,” I said nonchalantly.

 

“Enough of this banter,” said Vengeance.  “Reveal yourself.”  “As you wish,” the voice replied, and a man stepped out of the shadows.

 

Usually when the villain reveals himself, he’s somebody you know, like the bartender, or maybe a duke, or king; but this guy I’d never seen before.  Nonetheless, this fact didn’t stop me from acclaiming, “Oh my gods!  It’s the butler!”  This earned me a kick in the face.  “I shall enjoy killing you very much,” said the villain.

 

“You are not honoring our agreement, Astor.”  A new, deeper, and much scarier voice said, “The wise ass is mine.”

 

“Everybody calls me wise ass now,” I said.  “Good to know I’m famous for something.”  Again I got kicked in the face.

 

“I would like to come out now,” said the voice.

 

“As you wish,” said Astor.  He snapped his fingers and a part of the wall became transparent.  Behind it was one of the most horrid creatures I’d ever seen…a dracolith.

 

Perhaps this is a good time to explain what dracoliths are.  Dracoliths start out as dragons, but they make pacts with dark forces in order to either gain more power, or prolong their already massively long lives into immortality.  This one must have chosen to take the pact of the dracolith when he was young, for the dracolith was relatively small, as dragons and such go.  But that doesn’t mean I can, or should, fight him.  A small dragon the size of this one would still be quite a match for me.  A dracolith, having gained dark powers of hell, would kick my ass.

 

I had never seen a dracolith before – just read about them.  Even in the illustrations in the book, they don’t look as horrid as in real life.

 

Skin and flesh hung down from its body and you could see the black skeleton beneath.  Whenever skeleton showed, dark energy gathered around it and repaired the skin.  More dark energy billowed out of its mouth as it spoke.  It scared the hell out of me.

 

“Astor,” said the dracolith, “you may take those three to the execution podium.” I then interjected  “Leave this one to me.”  I said, in a mock of the dracolith’s voice, “Leave this one to…”  I got a hate-filled look from the dracolith.  “I will enjoy killing you so much.”  I said, once again mimicking the dracolith, “I will enjoy…”  “SILENCE, said the dracolith.  “Is there some school for villains or something, because you all say the same stuff.”  “SILENCE!” yelled the dracolith.  “There you go again with the predictability,” I said.

 

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Astor and two guards escorting Fey, Vengeance and Ghael out of the room.

 

The dracolith stared down at me – hatred in its eyes.  “What a surprise it is to find you here.”  “I would say the same for you, but I have no clue who you are,” I replied.

 

“Perhaps you’ll remember me now,” said the dracolith.  And with a surge of dark energy, the dracolith was replaced with an image of a young green dragon.

 

“Watson?  It was you?!” I exclaimed in mock surprise. “SILENCE!” yelled the dracolith. Really, he needed to learn to say something else.

 

That’s when I recognized him.  “Shit…” I swore.  “Yes,” said the dracolith, “it is I, Assmandius.”  “Oh, hey!  Assmandius!  Long time no see!  How’s it going?  Now that you’re here, we have so much time to catch up!” The false chime in my tone did little to hide my fear, almost nothing is worse than a vengeful dracolith.

 

Assmandius’s front claw slammed down upon my leg, breaking the bone in my ankle, and driving me to the ground.  “I was going to kill you with an elaborate scheme involving a particularly brutal and cruel gang of bounty hunters called the Vicious Six, but this will do.

 

Assmandius raised his claw so as to strike me down.  I said my prayers.  And right before I died, I saw Astor’s dead body come flying through the open doors and hit Assmandius in the face.

 

I awoke in a beautifully soft bed in a luxurious room with plush carpets and a view of the town.  My leg was propped up on a silk pillow in a cast.  Vengeance sat in a chair in the corner of the room.  “Hey, guys,” he yelled.  “He’s awake.”  Ghael and Fey came into the room.  Both of them were clad in fine silk clothing.  Fey wore a beautiful blue dress that shone, along with her eyes.

 

I myself was wearing a green silk robe that revealed my bandaged chest.  A faint imprint of a dragon’s claw shone through the bandages.

 

“The dracolith tried to kill you, but we stopped it,” Fey said as she glided across the room to sit on the bed beside me.  “You killed it?” I asked.  My voice sounded raspy and dry – kind of like a knife being dragged across a rock.  “No, it escaped,” Fey replied.  “Darn…  the Fell Hands?”  “Gone,” said Fey.  “Vengeance blew them up.”

 

“At least we accomplished something,” I said.  A servant entered the room with a wooden frame for me to walk with Fey, then took my hand and helped me up into the frame.

 

“Where are we going,” I asked.  “To the parade.”  “Parade?”  “What, you think the townspeople would let us leave without some sort of celebration?”

 

At that point, we exited the house and walked up into our cart, which was being pulled by two horses.  Fey and I rode in the back, and Ghael and Vengeance rode shotgun.

 

“One question,” I asked Fey.  “Where’s our money?”  “Oh, the money…” Fey replied.  “There wasn’t as much as we thought there was.  It seems that the Hand moved it to another safe house before we came.  I hope you don’t mind.”

 

And as we rode out of town, with the townspeople lining the streets, shouting and cheering, I realized that I didn’t.

 

THE END