The store was empty, and the desperate man had wasted no time pulling a gun on the clerk. Josiah caused the robber to turn toward the door. “Don’t move, pal.”
“Hey, tough guy, don’t point that thing at me unless you intend to use it.” Josiah flicked his right wrist and a knife appeared. The robber fired the gun.

Josiah threw the knife with his right hand, while bringing his left arm in front of his chest where the gunman had been pointing. It stung like mad, but the metal plate in Josiah’s forearm deflected the gunman’s bullet. On the other hand, Josiah’s throwing knife had knocked the gun out of the man’s hand before he could get off a second shot. The robber gaped at Josiah, and then he looked for the gun. The weapon had fallen behind the counter.

The robber looked at the gun and looked at the clerk. The clerk was scared, not moving. The robber looked back toward Josiah, but he was gone.

Josiah shoved a display of two liter bottles over upon the robber. The man fell, hitting his head on the counter. Josiah plucked his throwing knife out from under the bottles. “Sorry about the soda. Maybe you can return it for credit.” Sirens began a couple of blocks away. “He’ll be out until the police you called get here. I wouldn’t touch that gun if I was you.” Josiah walked to the back of the store and out the delivery exit.

The mouth opened to inhale the atmosphere of an entire planet. He let out a sigh that would change the orbit of a lesser satellite. Plants withered from his rotten breath; he could never quite get all the charred flesh out of his teeth. Miles away, a cow mysteriously recollected the smell of the bull who used to share her paddock.

The monster lifted it’s mass, creating a new weather system when the air rushed in to fill the void. The sound of vertebrae aligning shattered the eardrums of a nearby flock of puffins. The creature’s eyes rolled back into its head as its body slammed again onto the lush vegetation.

Man, I hate getting up in the morning.

I slid under the roots of a fallen tree. It was the jungle, so take whatever size tree you’re thinking about and multiply it by five. At least.

I tried not to leave boot prints or I would be caught for sure.

As I wriggled my way further into the root system, I tried to slow my breathing. Sound would give me away more quickly than my tracks. I curled up behind a particularly large root and started breathing through my nose.

I counted to 100 before I could hear movement. There was the sound of very deliberate walking and of something sniffing the air. I didn’t stand a chance. They had followed me straight here.

I tried to make myself smaller behind the root, but I heard the crack of wood and a large hand reached around the root to grab me. It was over.

The gorilla set me down outside the fallen tree and blew its lips out at me. “You found me, Bumpai. You’re getting better at this. The gorilla took a banana out of my shirt pocket and broke it open, holding out half to share with me.

The caves seemed to go on forever. As far as they could tell, the group had been heading roughly south for quite some time. That was the direction the cave system started in, and, though winding, it was the general direction the tunnels continued.

The enormous chamber, which had recently been filled with a goblin army, was a smelly mass of urine and excrement. Foul smelling puddles dotted the expansive floor. Piles of fecal matter littered not-so-private nooks. The stench would repulse a troll.

If the cave system really was spreading out to the south, that meant it opened up directly under Hobbly proper. The group found out for sure when they found a tunnel spiraling upward to the surface. The tunnel ended with a wooden door. No light shined around the edges.

“Here, let me listen,” Frendei offered. He snuck forward and set his ear against the door. He paused. “Nothing.”

“Let’s open it and find out what’s on the other side.” Dorian wasn’t too happy about traveling underground. “Llew, get ready in case there are more goblins around.”

The door opened with some difficulty. It seemed to be pushing something else out of the way, evidenced by a light rattling noise. Frendei thought it sounded like glass.

The party slid through the partially opened door, Llewellyn first with her sword drawn. They looked around. “Basement,” Dorian whispered.

“Alchemist, from what I see,” Frendei clarified. “See all those glass vials, flasks, and tubes? Also, looks like there are some finished concoctions over here.” He picked up a vial labeled “Trollbane.” “And newly made, too. Must be for me.”

Francis spoke up from the wall opposite the hidden door. “And who lives on the other side of the alchemist? I think this goes to Danica’s basement.” The hole wasn’t finished, but he could see into the cellar next door, with help from his flickering torch. “What, exactly, were these goblins planning, anyway?”

Bullies, waiting in ambush to harass those who are too young…or too old…disappear when a knight arrives. So do the snakes and many beggars, which probably means something sinister.

The goodwives come out and try to catch his attention, waving handkerchiefs and calling well-wishes. Neighbors remain on the streets and mingle, putting aside their natural reticence and distrust, at least until the knight is out of view.

All this I have seen, and more, when a night rides into Moussillon.

Damien’s next challenge was to move the rack of empty flasks away from the wall. He had straightened up his dad’s rack one day when bored, though, and had all the flasks well stabilized. His dad had been pleasantly surprised, and Damien had silenced one more potential warning. The rat-men should be thankful, if they had capacity for such feelings. He moved the rack slowly and gently. Then he walked through the illusionary wall to meet his conspirators.

“Good, good. Manling shows on time. We not have to eat your innards while you watch.” The rat-men always greeted Damien this way, encouragement followed by subtle threats. “All clear for exit quick, quick?”

“Yes. The doors are all unlocked. The town’s all asleep, exhausted from fighting off the orc horde. Now is the time to show them the power of the Horned One.”

The last time he stood in the rain checking out the scenery, he was in Marienburg. He had then proceeded to enter the house, steal a magical artifact, and narrowly escape death. He knew nothing about the artifact, a sack, at the time, and he knew just as little now. He did know that the sack started this horrible chain of events, at least it started his involvements in them. The sack led him here…led him to destruction.

Frendei stared at the gaping hole in the forest before him. He had watched the trees of the forest as they were felled, as if a giant, invisible foot stepped out of the sky and onto earth, crushing anything underneath. The damage had been caused by a goblin shaman, of all things. Frendei had had a front row seat on top of a hill behind the goblin army. It was fate that had brought him and his elven companions to that location, unnoticed behind the enemy gathering and relatively unimpeded to attack the shaman from behind.

Second piece.

Third piece.

The dwarf, still soaked in beastman blood, charged in swinging. The startled creature just stared incoherently until F’lore’s axe hit it in the arm. Then the monster roared, though impossible to tell whether from pain or having its dinner interrupted. The troll stood while F’lore brought the axe around for another swing. It reached down to grab a club from a dead beastman’s hand, or rather along with a dead beastman’s hand. F’lore’s axe bit into the creature’s chest while it raised the club. With another angry roar, the troll began to swing.

K’nar circled the combatants, looking to flank the troll. K’shan readied what little magical abilities she had left after the fight with the beastmen.

Lothar reached deep inside himself to shake off the fear gripping his heart. His adventure, his moment, was happening directly in front of him…but without him. He began to moan in frustration, and the sound of his own voice snapped him from his paralysis. Raising his sword, Lothar charged the troll’s other exposed flank.

K’nar and Lothar swung simultaneously. One attacker had skill behind his swing while the other did not. The elf pierced the creature’s abdomen as it flailed at the dwarf. Lothar missed.

F’lore completely ignored the beating from the troll and concentrated on hitting the monster as hard and as fast as he could. It was a test of endurance to see which creature could take the greatest beating. It’s not exactly the kind of test any intelligent creature would challenge a Slayer to. The dwarf’s axe hit often and hit deep into the tough skin of the troll. K’nar and Lothar kept weakening it from the sides as well, until the creature’s body couldn’t possibly heal its wounds faster than it received them.

One particularly lucky stab by Lothar caught the troll’s attention. The monster turned and swung the club. Lothar was bludgeoned in the ribs and knocked, breathless, to the ground. F’lore didn’t miss the opening.

The dwarf took the opportunity to plant his feet and swing his axe with every once of strength remaining. The blow struck only too well. F’lore’s axe sliced open the troll’s abdominal cavity, sending blood, entrails, and potent acid spraying forward in an arc. The dwarf was well within splash range, though K’nar and Lothar were not. The troll fell to the ground, and all was silent for a split second.

K’shan ran for the dwarf, while K’nar helped Lothar back to his feet. K’shan tore off her cloak and wiped the dwarf down, despite his sputtering and swearing. F’lore spit blood out of his mouth. “I’ve ‘ad worse beatings from an elf!”

“I am not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment.” K’shan kept wiping the dwarf down. Her cloak was falling apart as she wiped. “It is the acid I am worried about, not your thick skull.” F’lore grunted.

“Nice thinkin’, lad, distractin’ it for me. Darned good strategy.” Lothar couldn’t reply, even if he wanted to admit he hadn’t used strategy. He was still fighting to get breath back into his lungs. He also thought a rib or two might be cracked. K’nar stepped forward to be the voice of reason.

“We have met a band of beastmen and a troll. We should return to Hobbly and warn the town. We could reprovision for a longer hunt, too, if the human is up to it.” Lothar’s mind caught on the idea of going back to Hobbly.

“Good…idea,” he panted between shallow breaths.

“Not before we raid this filthy beast’s lair!” F’lore looked up at the cave entrance. “He’s sure to have killed something with valuables. I’ve built up a mighty thirst, and the troll’s paying!” He walked away from K’shan’s ministrations. She was left holding a pocked, shabby cloak.

“Amazing. I have cleaned off pints and pints of blood, but none seems to be his. Also, look at my cloak. It is in tatters from the acid of the troll, yet none has left a mark on him.” Lothar shook his head.

“The dwarf has Ranald’s own luck. I was only hit once, and I was out of the fight.”

“Tis not luck, my human friend. Tis fate,” K’nar corrected. The three followed the dwarf’s path with their eyes. K’nar then looked back to the half eaten bodies at their feet. “I guess we get to plunder out here.” Lothar was amazed they had the presence of mind to think about money when they had almost been killed two times in the last ten minutes. Such is the life of an adventurer, though.

Second piece.

Lothar walked out of Hobbly with a sword, a leather jacket, and something to prove, at least to himself. He walked down a dirt road beside a dwarf and two elves, but somehow the experience seemed to be all about him. Most people in the Empire wouldn’t think a Troll Slayer, an elven militiaman, and an elven wizard apprentice to be background players. Lothar, however, felt the whole group had gathered just to expand his horizons. And, who’s to say it wasn’t so?

Less than an hour later, the party met up with a band of beastmen rushing out of the forest. F’lore positively cackled with glee, while K’nar readied his sword and K’shan started casting. Lothar wasn’t so sure he wanted the adventure to be about him any more. This seemed to be a good time to hand the reigns over to the others. Steeling up his courage, he unsheathed the sword F’lore had given him. With a quick appeal to Sigmar for courage, Lothar cautiously walked toward the battle.

(One fight later)

F’lore yanked his axe out of the spine of a fallen beastman. “That’s good fun ‘n all, but they’re runnin’ from somethin’…somethin’ I smell in there.” The dwarf started for the newly blazed path out of the forest. K’nar quickly finished cleaning off his sword and rushed to the dwarf’s flank. K’shan sneared one last time at the fallen creatures and stately walked into the forest. Lothar was the only one left panting in the road. He took a deep breath and started running to catch up to the group.

The trail led to the lair of a troll. The creature sat on the ground, crunching away on muscular beastman bits. Lothar froze, momentarily too frightened to move. He heard a deep roar as F’lore charged the monster.

Something happens when you put a sword into a man’s hands. A man who’s looking to break the tedium of his life isn’t just going to say, “That could come in handy some day,” and lean it by the front door. A man is going to hold the sword, swing the sword, and eventually swing at something with the sword. Trees and practicing posts become boring, and the man seeks a live opponent. That is when his adventure begins.

“There have got to be goblins out there somewhere. We didn’t build this wall just for the fun of it.” Lothar paced the dining area of the Golden Griffin Tavern.

“Aye, there are lad. An’ beatin’ yer sword against a post for hours is nothing compared to facin’ down the vile wretches. Are ye ready, then? We’re close enough to the mountains, if’n yer finally ready to get out.” F’lore drained his tankard and wiped off his moustache with his forearm. He picked up his axe from beside the table. The weapon practically gleamed in the candlelight. The gleam was over shined, however, by the look in the dwarf’s eye.