"Tales of the Broken Sword"



Table of Contents



Issue No. 3, May 1998



"Read it or die!"





Standard Dungeon Equipment



Retributive Strike (letters, reviews, opinions, and other nonsense)



Dear Bozo (where our resident psychopathic gnomish jester imparts his

"wisdom" on anyone foolish enough to ask for it)



Minstrel's Musings (poetry, riddles, jokes, etc.)



Message Board Rules (for members only. Here you will find the

guidelines for posting to the bulletin board)



Role players' Rules of Thumb (a tongue-in-cheek look at the oddities of

fantasy roleplaying)



Archives (here we post our old issues in a text-only format. For those

masochists who really enjoy pain)







Altered Reality



"Woodland Ops," by Naugrim

"None Among Us has Seen God," by Brian F. Fox

"Think Different," by Barrett (Jeff)

"Betrayal: Conclusion," by Brian F. Fox

"Roll of the Dice: Part I," by the Fellowship

"The Tale of the Broken Sword: Chapter 1," by M. Emmanuel Basso

"10 Questions with Martek," by Kevin J. Main





Retributive Strike!

*Where the editors, authors, and readers get the opportunity to say hello or express their views

(no matter how ill-conceived).



Letter from the Editor

Well, here we are already with our third edition of the new "Broken Sword." Whew! This has grown to be quite a

task!



I am sure you will soon agree with me that this is by far our strongest issue yet, containing more variety and more

features than our first two. We also have moved to a new server (EarthLink), which I am confident will be quicker,

and have switched to a new guestbook, GuestWorld (be sure to take a look. And yes, I have transferred all the

messages over to it!). I think we are finally settled into our server, bulletin board, and guestbook (knock on wood).

Take your time in reading through everything: we have a great deal here I know you will like! I also want to welcome

several of our members back into active membership. Their contributions are all well worth our wait! Enjoy,



Brian F. Fox







*



Congratulations John R.!



John R. will be awarded a B.S. in Criminal Justice from Mount Olive College in eastern North Carolina on May 9th!

From all of your fellow Knights, well done! And it's about time! Most of us are still surprised you made it through

Crescent City High School (an institution famous for its academic high standards). ;-)



*



Review: Merlin



[What follows are a few excerpts from comments made by several of our members regarding the mini-series

"Merlin." Overall, the opinion was definitely "thumbs down".]



A wonderful concept, good special effects, a nice twist to the story, and well who said Merlin wasn't aged in the

movie? Everyone else changed their appearance.



Honestly though, I truly believed I would be the first to comment on the story. My main purpose would have been to

throw numerous accolades at Martin Short for his performance... absolutely the best I've seen of his work. And

AOL's dictionary reference has accolade listed as 'a ceremony or salute conferring knighthood'. Perhaps it's the

sangria talking, but I think we just saw a new beginning for the 'little funny man'! Barrett



Well put, Barrett. I also found Martin Short's character, Frick, the most entertaining in the movie (and probably the

best developed, too). I hate to say it, though, but the end left me a bit wanting. They rushed the story along much too

quickly and left far too many holes in the plot. I am glad to see fantasy making a comeback in film production ("The

Odyssey," "Dragonheart," and "Merlin"), but these filmmakers need to work on their stories a bit! After all, the art

of storytelling is what we love, not the special effects. I also didn't understand why Merlin and everyone for the most

part seemed so happy to see the old ways go; Christianity doesn't seem to be much of an improvement in my opinion!

Brian



I was referring to the comment Frick made to Merlin at the end of Merlin's story. Frick basically said Merlin did not

tell the story the way it really happened. Merlin agreed, however, he said "they" like their stories that way; "they"

wouldn't have believed the truth.



I took the brief discussion to mean the writers were really saying they took a lot of liberties with the story. However,

they had to screw it up so the general viewing public ("they") would find it enjoyable. Remember, the general

viewing public are the same ones who go crazy over that pathetic Taco Bell Chihuahua. Rarely has TV done anything

tasteful. Especially, American TV. Martek



I should add that British TV has done very well especially when you consider they have only three channels. Look at

Monty Python, Doctor Who and Robin Hood (thanks Brian) to name only a few.



Why is it that American's think they can improve everything? The story of King Arthur has been around for at least a

thousand years...and we think we can make it better??? There is a very good reason it's been around so long; it's a

fantastic story. It's probably the one main source that has inspired all of today's fantasy writers (If you think about it,

Tolkien was only regurgitating other people's ideas. Please don't take that the wrong way.) Fantasy role playing, as

we all know and love it, would never have come about if it hadn't been for the stories of Arthur, Camelot and the

Holy Grail. We need to leave well enough alone. Martek



I think you guys are giving the movie too much credit. It was too long for the content, had no good battle scenes, had

too much humorless 'humor', and was a bit cartoonish. I did enjoy seeing Martin Short in a new role. All-in-all, I think

it was a loser. "Excalibur" had nothing to fear from this version!! Naugrim



We seem to all agree on this, the movie at best was average and any one interested in the MERLIN story needs to

watch EXCALIBER. Two things about the movie I found exeptonal however, were the FX and Frick. The quality of

the FX was average but the creativity was astounding! I also liked the 'battling flags' as did Brian. Second, Martin

Short, whom I normally can't stomach(ever seen 3 Amigos?), Played his character so well that he overshadowed all

the rest! Kudos to M.S.. TV movies, when it comes to fantasy and S.F. generally are poor. I'd rate MERLIN a little

higher than most but not among my favorites, which would be, ARCHER OF THE EMPIRE (heart bowman), The

Stand, WHITE DWARF, and FEMBOTS: THE SIX MILLION DOLLAR MAN. FAFFARD



As for the movie, I wholeheartedly agree with your review. Martin Short stole the show, and Sam Neil (sp?) gave it

away. I always enjoy Isabella Rossellini, though (just say the name and you sound Italian). Good picks too! You forgot

a few, though. The BBC series (which ran on our local PBS station) "Robin Hood" was often very enjoyable and

different in style (with nice music by Clannad as well). Also, PBS did a nice job on Ursula K. LeGuinn's "The Lathe of

Heaven" some years back (the book is excellent). You picked out my favorite Bionic Man/Bionic Woman episode, by

the way. The pilot episode was also very good. Brian



*



Review: Favorite Books



Just a few authors/books I believe the rest of the knights will enjoy:



Anything by the author "Raymond Feist" (many of you already know of this one!)



Byzantium by Stephen R. Lawhead.



Birds of Prey by Wilbur Smith (swashbuckling at it's best!!!!)



River of the Gods (I think) also by Wilbur Smith



And for the more pious Knights a book called This Present Darkness by Frank Peretti (It's in the Christian book

section, so bring your "protection from good scrolls"!)



I've got a few more, but these are the ones I've read in the past couple of weeks.



Barrett

*



Letter to the Editor: From the desk of Faffard



May 1, 1998



Dear Brian



First, I must say congratulations! You and Milo have done an excellent job on the online Sword and should be quite

proud of your accomplishment. I hope that everyone else enjoyed it as much as I. It reminded me of how much I

loved receiving an issue so many years ago, and how impossible it was to fight the temptation to sit down and read

cover to cover at one sitting! Thank you both.



Many years ago after I had published the first issue, you offered me a critique and some helpful advice concerning

the sword. As an experienced editor of the Broken Sword, I now offer you some of the same and some hopeful

insight.



Never let them see you sweat.



I`ll start with the things I wouldn`t change. Number one, the format. It was laid out quite well and I believe that it will

not create any confusion or lead anyone into overlooking any of the submissions. It also allowed quick and easy

access to any of the different topics available.



Number two, the bulletin board. Here is something past issues of the Sword could not offer. I liked having the ability

to respond in between issues and the concept of storytelling on the fly. Although, why everyone seems to have a

fixation on fantasy I don`t know. I think you`ll start having problems with size once we start getting the others more

involved. Maybe a time limit on how long they remain. I also understand there was a problem with some of the

content being a little racy. I`ll leave that to your best judgement.



Next I`d like to bring up the subject of members. I found out that quite a few people who were on the old mailing list

didn`t know that it was back and the few who had heard didn`t know much more than that. Therefore, I am compiling

a list of names, addresses and e-mail addresses that I will send once I have them all. I know that you have asked

myself and others to contact as many people as possible but somebody is bound to be left out this way and it`s always

been the editor's job to make sure all are included.



This brings me to the issue of privacy. I`ve heard several concerns about this topic and I believe this can get quite

serious. I have been the victim of electronic crime and know that it can be costly. Therefore, I suggest to all that we

use fictious names that the rest will recognize and try not to give too much information about each other. Palin, if you

haven`t already, please remove the list of names on the Articles of Gar.



I know that several of the Knights do not have access to the Internet. I was happy to get a hardcopy for myself but

several others need to receive one also. It was in a text format and lacked the polished sheen of the site and I was

wondering if anyone had researched into how we can print out something with similar style and graphics.



It did seem like there was a lack of research concerning the older issues of The Broken Sword. Things such as titles

(Tales, Dear bozo, etc), contributors, and who started it originally (this from your E-Mails). So I am looking into

having all the back issues scanned so that no one can say that they are missing a single issue.



I seem to have stirred up the hornet's nest with my last contribution. I suggest we don`t take action until a time when

a fair vote amongst the majority of Knights is feasible. Allrightythen! I`ll return to waiting for the next exciting issue

of the Sword and maybe this time I `ll muster enough discipline to make it last more than one night (yeah, and Pallin

will get a conscience from the Wizard of Oz).



With one eye always open for Rangers,



FAFFARD



Editor's Reply:



First, welcome back! Good to see you with us again, and enjoyed your submissions. Because I'm putting this little

project together, I'm going to take advantage of the opportunity and give a response to your letter (as best I can).



Thank you for the compliments. With a great deal of constructive criticism, advice, and encouragement I have pieced

this together into what you see before you. I had NO web page skills before I began this project and have learned on

the fly (what little I know that is).



We have all debated the structure of the bulletin board (bb) at some length, and I think we have arrived at a

comfortable compromise. We have all agreed to keep postings to generally agreed upon standards of decency (which

still leaves quite a bit of room considering our group), but I reserve the right to remove anything inappropriate (such

as advertising, pornography, etc.). Anything posted on it should be done with the understanding that it is possible for

anyone to view the board who happens upon it (we have decided not to advertise the bb's location openly, however).

As for the content, I leave that to all of you. I don't think in the near future that we will have to worry about crowding;

the board automatically removes all messages after 30 days, and I periodically clean the board of any "dead"

messages (anything inactive for two weeks or more). Feel free to start your own add-on story if you like, perhaps one

with a science-fiction theme. "Roll of the Dice" is only the first of many to come (I hope!). As the stories progress,

they can also be included in issues of "The Sword".



As for the mailing list, I will be glad to add anyone's name who has been left out. Send them in on! In regards to

privacy, I will respect whatever wishes are made of me (I will also edit out the names from the "Articles of Gar"). I

leave it to each of you to decide this for yourselves. Please tell me with each submission how you want your name

listed. As for me, I will in general continue to go by my name.



Now for the problem of hard copies. In order to save space I decided that all online archived copies would be in the

form of simple text. In order to do this I must cut and paste each page (which I do from the online edition, which is

why it is a bit choppy even after I clean it up a bit. Your letter, for example, had to be greatly edited in order to be

used.). It really comes down to space. I am most interested in preserving the text of each issue, so the lack of

backgrounds and clipart does not seem like a great loss to me (and besides, most of them are the same from issue to

issue). What I can do, though, is send a copy of each page in WordPerfect format (which is what I have created all of

these pages in) to whomever would like it. They should be able to be opened up in Word as well with little or no

degradation, so hopefully everyone who wishes can use it. You would simply download the files from your email to a

disk and print it out on a color copier (expensive) or give the disk to those who want it. Let me know and I'll be glad

to send these; only do it soon, because I reuse each file for the next issue! I apologize for erasing the two previous

issues, but I do this I do in order to save a great deal of TIME.



Last but not least, it was my intention to not simply copy the exact structure and sections of the original "Sword." I

wanted to create a new incarnation with a new look and feel, while at the same time borrowing the best from the

original. After the first issue, however, Martek suggested several revisions, many of which were based on the

original format of the magazine. I agreed, and the hybrid you now read is the result. As always I am open to

suggestion, but I think we have it pretty much in place. Let me know if you have any great ideas, though.



As for Pallin's conscience, well, read the conclusion of "Betrayal"...



Brian F. Fox



*

The Dingiest Pit In Hell Award



Starting with this issue we will be awarding the notorious "Dingiest Pit in Hell Award" to those

members of the Fellowship who shirk their duty and fail to submit something to the issue. To see a

list of those foul names banished to the dingiest pit in hell, click here. May they suffer the

torments of a thousand blue meanies high on aphrodisiacs! (Special thanks to Rex for the idea.)





Presenting the

Dingiest Pit in Hell Awards



This issue's honorees include:

Wes G.

Dennis W.

Chris M.



You have been given this award for your failure to submit material for this

issue. May the torments you will receive serve as a reminder to send something in

next time!





Thought you could escape that easily, did you? Or perhaps you wandered here

thinking it might be amusing to see who is suffering? Well, the dingiest pit in hell

is a bit trickier to escape from than that! You must answer the following riddle to

be given the key to your release:



"Dead people eat it always.



Live people who eat it die slowly.



'Tis more beautiful than the face of your love,



'Tis scarier than your worst fear."



When you are ready to answer, click here (and no cheating!).



The answer is, of course,



"nothing."



You may now leave the dingiest pit in hell. We hope you

have enjoyed your stay.





Dear Bozo,



*The views expressed in this column are NOT those of the editors. Any and all threats of death or legal action should

be directed solely to the author.





*Yes, to those careful readers who will notice that these are the same questions as last month. I

wrote the responses last time, and Dave this time. Personally, I think his are funnier!



Dear Bozo,

I am a novice assassin and am hoping you might provide me with some advice. What material do you recommend that I use for

my garrotes? I have been told a simple leather cord will do, but others tell me to use a chain. In addition, what are your favorite

methods of terminating your targets? Any advice you can provide will be greatly appreciated.



Signed me,



"All Choked Up"



Dear "All Choked Up",



Even a novice assassin should know that the best material for a garrote is your intended victim's small intestine. The tricky part is

getting this material without letting your victim know what your are gonna do with it. The other problem that I haven't worked out

yet is the fact that my victim is usually dead by the time I get to choking him. Either way, I'm happy and isn't that what it is really

all about anyway. Regarding my favorite methods of terminating my friends, I mean my targets, these can be found in my recently

released book entitled "How to Influence and Kill Your Enemies". I suggest the chapter called "Jokes That Kill - Oh the Fun You'll

Have". If you have any other questions about this esteemed profession, just call and I will come to you and personally respond.

Your friend.



*



Dear Bozo,



I am an elven warrior/mage who has just about come to the end of my rope with dwarves. I am sick to death of all their stomping

around, waving axes and hammers, and generally making a nuisance of themselves, not to mention their drunken ways and their

nasty beards which show you what they have been eating for the past week or so. And that is just their women! What do you

think I should do about these disgusting creatures?



Signed,



Disgusted with Dwarves







Dear "Disgusted with Dwarves",



So you say that you have come to the end of your rope with dwarves. I think that you may be onto something there. I suggest that

you round up all of these humorless bastards and hang em from the neck of the nearest red dragon. No need to thank me, just let

me know in advance where and when you are gonna do this so that I can get a ring side seat. Good Luck.



P.S. Are you really "sick to death"? If so, can I loot your dead body? Hugs and kisses.





*



Dear Bozo,



I am a fellow jester who needs advice. I try my best to entertain my audiences, but invariably there is always someone there who

ruins my show with their constant heckling and other disruptions. What can I do to keep these jerks under control and maybe

entertain the audience in the process?



Signed,



Annoyed in Drakmar







Dear "Annoyed in Drakmar",



Whine....whine....whine. You make me sick. You dare to call yourself a "fellow jester". A true jester would kill any heckler while

simultaneously entertaining the rest of the audience. I usually try to make this retaliation a part of my show. I once had to dispatch

an irritating dwarf, I think his name was Ho-Barb, using only a rubber chicken. I then wowed the crowd by doing a marvelous

ventriloquist act with his dead carcass. It was a riot. I wish you could have seen his lifeless head bob up and down. Anyhow, if

you are to succeed as a jester, you must entertain your victims. Always remember the jester code, "Leave them laughing or leave

them dead". Break a leg kid...I mean it.







Minstrel's Musings



*Poetry, riddles, and various ramblings...





I am a nomad whose death helps bring life and am a master of illusion. What am I?



[Brian F. Fox]



*



The Art of War



by



Sun Tzu





Offensive Strategy





Generally, in war the best policy is to take a state intact; to ruin it is inferior to this. To capture



the enemy's entire army is better than to destroy it; to take intact a regiment, a company, or a



squad is better than to destroy them. For to win one hundred victories in one hundred battles is



not the acme of skill. To subdue the enemy without fighting is the supreme excellence.







Thus, what is of supreme importance in war is to attack the enemy's strategy. Next best is to



disrupt his alliances by diplomacy. The next best is to attack his army. And the worst policy is



to attack cities. Attack cities only when there is no alternative because to prepare big shields and



wagons and make ready the necessary arms and equipment require at least three months, and



to pile up earthen ramps against the walls requires an additional three months. The general,



unable to control his impatience, will order his troops to swarm up the wall like ants, with the



result that one-third of them will be killed without taking the city. Such is the calamity of



attacking cities.







Thus, those skilled in war subdue the enemy's army without battle. They capture the enemy's



cities without assaulting them and overthrow his state without protracted operations. Their aim is



to take all under heaven intact by strategic considerations. Thus, their troops are not worn out



and their gains will be complete. This is the art of offensive strategy.







Consequently, the art of using troops is this: When ten to the enemy's one, surround him. When



five times his strength, attack him. If double his strength, divide him. If equally matched, you



may engage him with some good plan. If weaker numerically, be capable of withdrawing. And if



in all respects unequal, be capable of eluding him, for a small force is but booty



for one more powerful if it fights recklessly.







*







I serve both the old and frail and the young and strong.



While alive I serve them not: when dead I may serve them well. What am I?



[Brian F. Fox]





*







How many haflings does it take to feed a dragon?



About twenty depending on their weight.







What do Blue Meanies and the IRS have in common?



They are both a pain in the ass.







Answers: 1. Cloud 2. Staff



Role Players' Rules of Thumb



#s 1-17 from the Archives - Originally printed in Broken Sword 5/90, #3, Vol. 2; #18-20 by Dave F.





1. Beware of Marty's NPCs; they can't be killed.



2. Allowing Vic to play a magic-user is very detrimental to the party's well-being.



3. Faffard does not understand the meaning of a "no win situation" as long as the DM can be manipulated or bribed.



4. The amount of information that Rex gives about his characters is inversely proportional to the needs of the party

to know that information.



5. Lawful good is beyond the limits of Dave's imagination.



6. If you are walking in the forest one day and you hear, "caw, mutha fucka! Caw!" it probably isn't a bird.



7. The life expectancy of your character depends on how much you don't trust your party.



8. The unexpected disappearance of party treasure could be related to the fact that you allowed the thief to be the

party treasure keeper again.



9. No one can agree on what a Blue Meanie truly is, but we all agree it isn't a good thing.



10. All female NPCs are "well endowed".



11. Female NPCs are never safe and rarely last very long.



12. The number of times that the game of D & D is updated or revised is directly proportional to TSR's greed.



13. Chris can never roll higher than six on a d20 unless he is attacking his own party.



14. Beware of Vic using clear dice.



15. Killing a PC and reincarnating him into a kobold and using him to sell sexual favors to the general public is

beyond good taste.



16. It takes at least four wishes to summon any artifact and at least four more to keep other PCs from taking it from

you.



17. The number of limbs Bozo removes from a body depends on how much the body pissed him off.



18. When granted a wish, never ask for "all of your shit back".



19. Never shake hands with a hafling.



20 Never trust a player who usually forgets his player sheet yet assures you that he has his PC memorized.







"Woodlands Op"





It was as if I had trained for that moment all of my life. An actual woodlands operation which, if successful, would end with the

capture of two dangerous fugitives; bank robbers armed with a shotgun and a handgun.







I was a member of the Greenville Police Department's Emergency Response Team (a.k.a. SWAT in some circles), Team 1, Cell

3. As I drove to work that morning wondering what the day would hold, my pager activated. I glanced down thinking it was

probably my wife paging to remind me of something or other that I must have forgotten�but not this time. My chest tightened as

it always did when the code flashed. The code. A seven digit code ( 911-1000 ) that meant contact communications ASAP for

emergency traffic. I called communications, found out the situation, then drove to the staging area to dress out. Other team

members began rolling in and when we were dressed out and assembled, the briefing began.



As I think back, I remember other such woodland excursions that I had been a part of growing up. The only difference was the

price tag was not as high. There was that harmless camp out near the old Geloneck residence in which one member of the team

chose to lie around reading playboys while everyone else worked. Naturally, this led to a shooting which escalated to all out war.

One particularly fond memory was the entry my team made into the tent. With BB & pellet guns blazing we charged into the tent

in proper SWAT fashion. Oh, how the welts rose. Another incident began with firm rules of engagement. Of course, these rules

lasted about as long as it took Marty to violate the 2-pump rule ( the most important). I remember the feeling of hiding behind

cover listening to a crazed gunman pumping and pumping. One more pump and certainly that BB gun would shoot through a

school�or Scott Jones� Blood flowed, tempers flared, and p.o.w.'s were ruthlessly tied and tortured. Lord of the Flies had

nothing on this campaign!











The briefing confirmed what we already knew. Two black males had entered the Wachovia Bank on Greenville Blvd near 14th St.

One fired a round from a shotgun into the ceiling while the other grabbed money from the drawers. As they left the bank, a

customer followed them, calling police on his cell phone. A deputy got behind the suspect vehicle as it drove into the county and

the chase was on. The suspects drove into a field, jumped and ran from the car, and entered the woods. At their point of entry, the

deputy waited for back-up units. Subsequently, the FBI, SBI, Highway Patrol with helicopter, Sheriff's Department and our team

arrived and began establishing perimeters to the wooded area. It was decided that both teams would enter the woods and head in

two directions. Each team had a k9 unit and contact with the air support. The formation was k9 with a point man armed with an

HKMP5, his cover officer, 3 members with HK94s, and a rear guard with a Benelli Super 90 combat shotgun. All members were

also armed with S&W 45 cal. sidearms. We knew as we entered the woods that we certainly had superior firepower. I remember

being excited, nervous, and hell, even a bit scared. All it took was one round coming from the concealment of the woods. Just one

round. It was a feeling that was not altogether foreign�







Easing through the washouts and heavy underbrush of Buffalo Bluff, the team moved silently, carefully�ever-mindful that the

enemy could be concealed anywhere. One wrong step would bring a hail storm of clay-clod grenades, BBs and pellets. The game

was capture the flag ( or more appropriately, seek and destroy ) and the losers would be shot, 'clodded', and captured. The risk of

being captured was certainly (in the overall scheme of things) worse than the pain�







Perhaps that was what the bank robbers were thinking, too. The cost of capture was too great. Maybe they had seen Butch and

Sundance one too many times and decided capture or surrender was not an option. As we slowly and patiently searched, every

noise became suspect. Our weapons were alternately pointed toward both flanks as we moved through the thick woods. An hour

passed, then two. Every nerve in my body was pulsing and my mouth was dry. Had the dogs missed them? Were they lying just

out of our sight deciding whether or not to take a shot? No joy! We had searched the entire wooded area and exited on the other

side as darkness approached. While exiting was a relief, it was frustrating, too. The helicopter continued its search as we were

picked up and driven back to the command center to await further instructions.





To be continued�







Naugrim







"None Among Us Has Seen God"



by



Brian F. Fox





"The room's clear," I said studying the readout on the scanner. "Everyone may come in one at a time." As each of the members

entered I scanned them, detecting no electronic devices of any kind. No one spoke, and it was quite obvious that everyone was

nervously waiting for the meeting to begin. When I got to Jared, the sensor picked up something in his left jacket pocket. "Is this

what we've been expecting?" I asked.







Jared simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a rather small metal tube. It was stainless steel, about six inches long, with

several lcd numeric readouts displayed on its surface. What he held so calmly looked cold and sinister and suddenly I felt the

overwhelming magnitude of what we were planning. Our eyes met, and Jared stared back at me with a vague expression that

troubled me more than anything else so far.







"We have very little time, so let's get right down to business," Tony gruffly interrupted, taking his seat at the head of the table. "All

of us have several questions on our minds, and a great deal to do. Jared, summarize for the committee the events of the mission,

and please explain in detail why it has taken you six days to report to us with the virus." Jared gently placed the cylinder on the

small table, allowing me the opportunity to view the controls more closely. It was a miniature cryogenic storage container with a

temperature scale in Celsius and a green indicator light of some sort. I assumed (and hoped) it meant "all systems okay".







"Is that thing safe to be carrying around like that?" Derrick asked. He was in charge of public relations for the committee and

always felt uncomfortable whenever he got too close to any of our "extra-legal" activities.







Ignoring his question, Jared slowly looked around the table at the si of us, and his gaze settled at last on Tony. "The mission went

off without a hitch, for the most part. The team assembled in Wyoming on schedule. Our inside man at the facility cleared the way

for us, allowing us access to an inner corridor which led to a research vault where he handed off the viral container. Three guards

were tranquilized by dart gun, only minimal damage was done to the facility, and we made our getaway successfully. The last we

saw our insider was heading to the airport to catch his flight out of the country; we had already verified for him that the money

had been deposited in his Swiss bank account. After checking the equipment, we each went our separate ways and I boarded the

flight." Jared stopped to take a sip of coffee. He always gave you the impression that he was in control, which was one reason we

had trusted him with the assignment. Now, however, he seemed preoccupied.







"Besides the guards was anyone else injured?" Margaret asked. She was the oldest member of the group, one who had been with

the organization for many years, far more than had I. She was very kind and extremely well-liked. I knew that she was divorced

with two mature children whom she cared for and talked about a great deal. She was the only one of the committee who had

opposed the mission consistently, but had finally accepted the decision to go ahead.







Jared frowned a bit as he pulled the cup from his mouth. "No, Margaret, no one else was injured, unless you count an ankle sprain

which one of the team received hopping the fence."







"Let's get to the real questions. Do you have the E-112 and why did it take you six days to reach us?" Tony had been furious ever

since he had been informed that Jared would not be coming in immediately. This was as calm as I had seen him since the mission

began: I suppose he did not want to lose control of his temper in front of the group. My guess was he planned on saving that for a

private meeting with Jared afterward.







"Yes, it was retrieved in this container and has already been tested and verified," Jared said as he nodded to the cylinder. "As for

the second question, I already told you earlier today. I didn't think it was safe to come in until I knew that they weren't on to me as

the courier. I still feel this was in the best interests of the mission." Jared stared down into the coffee mug, not looking into any of

our faces.







"You had no right to change the plan! You may have ruined everything!" Ernesto shouted from across the table. He was

vice-president of the organization and completely backed whatever decisions Tony made.







"I repeatedly warned you during the planning phase that that part was terribly flawed. I took it upon myself to correct your

short-sightedness. No one followed me here."







"Who do you think you are disobeying our directives!" Tony shot back, more in keeping with his recent temperament.. "You were

told by me specifically not to improvise on this one. There is too much at stake for one person to decide that he knows what is best

and then to run off half-cocked and carry out his own personal mission. If you have compromised our plan-"







"Stop it, both of you! What is done is done. There is still too much to be discussed to waste time like this." Simone was very young

(twenty-two), highly educated, and enthusiastic. Her talent lay in the fact that she could keep people focused and motivated, which

was why she had risen through the ranks of the organization so quickly. "Jared, did you encounter any problems while you were

hiding out?"







"I received a report that one of our group had been detained in Paris three days ago. I have only heard rumors since."







"Well, on this one I can fill in some of the details," I said. "Our operatives in France have informed me that the young woman died

from ingesting a cyanide capsule." Several members of the group were visibly shaken by the news. In spite of what was being

planned, only Jared and I had any real experience with life-threatening missions.







Jared looked up and slowly shook his head. "Now you all understand the gravity of the situation. I'm not happy about her death, but

we all knew the risks of the game. This operation is more important than one woman's life, than any of our lives. I hope you don't

think for one moment that she didn't know that, or that she popped that pill carelessly in her mouth without a second thought. She

had a fiancé waiting for her, family, friends."







"Where did she get the pill?" Ernesto asked.







"I gave them to every member of the team, including myself," Jared replied as he reached up under his collar and retrieved a

hidden capsule. "We all were, and are, prepared to take them," he said and placed it back in it hiding place.







"I can't believe this!" Margaret shouted at him. "We never instructed you to order your team to take their own lives rather than

submit to interrogation. You had no right to give those pills out! You're personally responsible for that young woman's death!"







While everyone at the table voiced similar criticisms or support for his actions, Jared stared down into his cup and gently moved it

in a circle, causing the coffee to swirl slowly around. "You don't understand. The team volunteered to accept the assignment and

voluntarily agreed to take their own lives if necessary. No one was forced into anything."







Tony held up his hand for order. "As much as I hate to be the one to say it, none of us can do anything about her death now. We

have to continue with the mission, or else that woman died for nothing. Derrick, are the messages ready to be delivered to the

newspapers and governmental organizations?"







"They are just waiting for your order and final check. Simply put, the statements will call for a U.N. conference on zero population

growth, and end to global environmental degradation and the destruction of biodiversity, and a complete halt to animal testing and

factory farms. The conference will be conducted by fifteen groups which we have selected based on their expertise and vision

concerning these problems. If all nations do not attend, and if there is no tangible progress made, the virus will be released in

several heavily populated urban centers around the globe. We are giving them one month to comply."







"Have you decided on the hiding place for the virus?" Simone asked.







"Yes, but as agreed upon only Ernesto and I will know of its location. If something should happen to me, Ernesto will be in

charge," Tony replied. "Ted, what about the latest news reports?"







"They continue to be very few and sketchy about the break-in at the lab, but the government has kept its mouth shut so far about

the disappearance of the virus. They're blaming it on extreme radical anarchists," I answered with a smile.







"Before you go any further there is something else you should know. The team was also able to retrieve some further information

concerning the virus," Jared said quietly. Everyone's attention instantly became focused on him.







"Why didn't you bring this to my attention earlier?" Tony demanded.







"It wasn't really possible or necessary." Jared poured himself another cup of coffee, took a quick sip, and pulled out several highly

reduced copies on paper. "These copies show that the E-112 is definitely a genetically engineered version of the Ebola virus. The

government was seeking a 'doomsday' biological weapon, and it settled on the Ebola as its starting point. Using the influenza virus

as a model, it worked to come up with a deadly virus capable of being spread communicably, primarily by inhalation and physical

contact. The E-112 is the result. Our documents show that it is far more deadly than we had thought: the virus is capable of killing

approximately 90% of all victims it infects and has an incubation period of roughly one week. The initial symptoms are fatigue and

loss of appetite, accompanied by aches and pains of the joints and muscles. Within 48 hours the full-blown infection has set in, with

the classic consequences of delirium, agonizing pain, and the rapid breakdown of the internal organs. Victims usually last only a

couple of days at this point. Much of this is purely theoretical, of course."







"Did you find any evidence of the development of a vaccine or cure?" I asked.







"Our insider assured me that they have made very little progress in that direction. Apparently, the government and the scientists

felt that there was plenty of time to worry about that later," Jared answered. The table became silent for several moments as each

person realized what they were now dealing with.







"This changes everything," Derrick said. "Before we were looking at massive casualties, but the worst case scenario only showed

deaths to be in the low millions. That was bad enough, but this? This is unacceptable."







"How accurate is the information?" I asked.







"It comes from the latest research data at the facility. Our insider was insistent that we take a very close look at it," Jared said.







"Tony, this news finally puts an end to this plan, doesn't it? I mean, we can't continue, can we?" Margaret asked, looking around

the table for support.







"We have been given an unbelievable opportunity here. We must go ahead with the plan," Ernesto interjected.







"We've got to slow down and rethink this," Simone said. "Are we doing the right thing, Tony?"







Before Tony could answer, Jared interrupted. "I have a proposal to put before the committee." All eyes were upon him, and Tony

nodded his head to continue. Jared took a long drink from his coffee, and this time I noticed that his hand was shaking slightly. "I

want everyone to hear me out and give my idea serious consideration before making a decision. Will you agree to this?" After

everyone agreed, some reluctantly, Jared continued. "What we are proposing amounts to blackmail. If every nation refuses to

come to the conference, and if no real progress is made, and if we all are not arrested or killed before the plan can be put into

place... there are simply too many variables. Both Ted and I," he motioned to me, "argued from the beginning that the objectives

were too vague to be achieved, but we were outvoted."







Jared paused for a moment. "Have all of you read Carl Jung's works?" Several of us nodded our heads. "Jung proposed a concept,

which he called 'synchronicity,' to explain those odd coincidences which happen in life. He argued that these were not accidental,

but that they were meant to happen. I believe that we, and no other group, were truly meant to obtain this virus. As Ernesto

pointed out, we have been given an unbelievable opportunity to correct the global problems in one simple act. The government

designed the virus to only affect humans; their plan probably was to release it on an enemy population and administer a vaccine to

only its 'chosen people,' in a frighteningly Biblical fashion. Perhaps when they developed the vaccine they planned to secretly

administer it to children through normal vaccinations, or to the population as a whole during a fabricated flu 'epidemic.' Who knows

what they were planning! I argue that to believe we can negotiate with any of the world's governments, which are really only

fronts for multi-national corporations, is nothing more than foolishness."







"We have discussed this ad nauseum, Jared," Simone said. "And everytime we came to the same conclusion: it is our only option.

What is your point?"







"You don't understand, you're not listening. Your threat to release the plague will fail. Either all of you will be captured before it

can be done, or more likely you'll be convinced that some good has come out of the conference, you'll capitulate, and then the

world will go back to business as usual, with mass extinctions of wildlife, undrinkable water and unbreathable air, widespread

famine, global warming, ozone depletion-"







"If you think we lack the resolve to carry out the plan you're badly mistaken," Ernesto said leaning across the table toward Jared.

"Everyone of us on this committee has sworn to give up his or her freedom or life if it comes down to it. And as much as any of us

hate it, when push comes to shove we will use the virus if it comes down to it."







Jared took a long drink from his now cold coffee, his hand shaking slightly. "I don't doubt what you say; I only doubt the

effectiveness of your plan. I suppose what I really doubt is the willingness of people to make any change for the better. If we

follow the plan, the simple fact is that we will still be left with too many people. As we are all well aware, mankind has created all

of our global problems; one person negatively impacts the environment only so much, but billions have brought us to the edge of

destruction. Through our numbers and the use of technology we have brought the earth's biosphere to the brink of collapse."







The table sat silently, staring at Jared or down at the table. I felt a growing sense of fear in the pit of my stomach. "You can't

seriously be proposing what I think you are," I said quietly.







"Ted, you and I both know that it is the only way. All of you know that there is really only one solution, and yet all of you tiptoed

around it, afraid to confront what you knew to be the truth. The only real answer to this is to use the tool we have been given, to

face our fears and overcome them. All of you have sworn to give your lives if necessary. The virus must be released into the

global population as soon as possible."







"You're a sick man, Jared," Derrick said. "To coldly advocate such a massive, incomprehensible death sentence on the human

race-"







"At least we should give people a chance. I believe that when they are faced with imminent catastrophe they'll change. I'm certain

of it!" Simone added.







"I'll have no part of any such barbarism! We will not do this thing!" Margaret screamed at him.







I watched the group launched into him and each other, choosing to neither defend nor attack. Jared sat quietly, head bowed

slightly, hands in his lap. "I knew you wouldn't understand. All of you are too naive and shortsighted and sentimental to see things

as they truly are. The virus wouldn't wipe out all of humanity, and I am firmly convinced that quality of life will improve for all

species, and not just the animals and plants. We will be giving humanity and the planet a new start, a fresh start. Even if the

survivors and their descendants go on to commit the same sins we have, we'll at least have given them the opportunity to learn

from our mistakes and provided the world with more time to heal the wounds we have inflicted on it."







"You're insane, Jared. You are a twisted sociopath with delusions of godhood. What we do we do out of desperation for the

greater good, but we do it with every intention of giving people a way to avoid the plague, a chance. You're saying that this

committee, made up of a handful of people, has the right to decide the fate of humanity. That I don't agree with," Tony replied.







"You already decide that when you agreed to steal the virus and use it if necessary! The human race, or at least most of it, was

damned at that moment. Your logic was sound, but you all allowed your emotions to interfere with what you knew to be the only

logical result of your decision. I love humanity as much as any of you, perhaps more, but our species is like a cancer to this planet.

Sometimes radical surgery is the only answer. And as far as dooming the human race, or at least civilization, well hell, we took

care of that some time ago," Jared responded angrily.







"Well, I know everyone here is in agreement with me when I say that we should stick with the original plan. Yours is

unacceptable," Simone said emphatically. Several of the members nodded approval. I watched Jared closely, hoping to probe his

face for clues to what was really going on in his mind. He was holding back something big.







There was an awful moment of silence. "For my own peace of mind I wanted, I needed to know what you thought. I was hopeful

that all of you would come to understand. It would have made my decision more bearable, but I understand your feelings," Jared

said softly and looked down at the cup before him.







"What do you mean? Jared, what have you done?!" Derrick asked with panic in his voice.











"The decision is out of your hands. There is nothing you or I or anyone else can do now," Jared said softly, not looking up.







Derrick jumped up, knocking his chair over and ran to Jared grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him out of his chair. "What have

you done? Tell me or I swear by God I'll break your neck!" I jumped up and grabbed Derrick, pulling him off of Jared and holding

him against the wall.







Jared sat back down and spoke slowly and emotionlessly. "There's no need for that, Derrick. Besides, you'd only be doing me a

favor. I'm dying from the virus." He looked slowly into each of the shocked faces of the committee members. "The virus is no

longer in the container. I and all of the other members of the team injected ourselves with it shortly after the mission. All of them

are now dispersed around the globe, visiting airports, cultural and sporting events, and gatherings of all sizes. We placed the virus

into aerosol containers to facilitate the dispersal. In fact, there is one member of the team at the Olympics now who has been

spreading the virus. There is no stopping it now. In a matter of days the world will witness the beginnings of the epidemic, and in a

couple of weeks it should have spread to all corners of the globe. Our computer estimate is that in a matter of no more than a few

years practically the entire human population of the earth will have been exposed. I suppose it's fitting that I will be one of the first

victims."







There was no uproar, no screaming or shouting. Everyone was in shock as the realization of what had just been explained became

clear. We were all being exposed even as we sat there. Slowly, quietly, Tony was the first to speak. "You bastard. You had no

right to make that decision. You had no right."







"My family!" Margaret yelled. "You've killed everyone! I've got to get home!" She jumped up and ran through the door past the

perplexed guards posted outside.







"Is there any hope? A possibility of mistake?" Simone asked.







"There is a one-in-ten chance that you will survive. According to our insider and the documents recovered, it seems that Africans

may have a slightly greater chance of survival due to their exposure to Eboli, but that is speculative," Jared answered without

looking up.







"I never thought it would really come to this. I never believed it would really happen," Derrick murmured as he slowly slumped to

the floor. The room returned to a state of stunned silence.







"There is nothing left to do or say then," I said after what seemed an eternity. "Archibald MacLeish once wrote that 'none among

us has seen God.' I think he was right," and rose from my chair and left the room to begin watching the end of civilization or the

last few days of my life, whichever would come first.





"Think Different"



or



"The Evolution"



by



Barrett (Jeff)





Once upon a time, in a world not quite so different from ours...





Edmin drew his dagger and plunged it into the damp, darkened earth. Not since the War of the Wizards had this ground known

moisture and even now it was wet not with water, but with the blood of Edmin's brother, Zekil. "We will bury him here," Edmin

murmured, "let the stain of his blood mark this spot as his grave." The men of Zekil's company did not argue about the informal

burial, nor did they complain as they began the task of loosening the sun-baked, hardened clay surrounding Edmin's dagger and the

pool of Zekil's blood.







As Edmin watched the hole being hacked out of the earth, he began to contemplate not his brother's death, but his new

responsibility as the commander of Zekil's company. "How strange," he thought, "that I, a complete stranger to these men, now

lead them. I am Zekil's brother, not Zekil. I have just begun the warrior's life, and yet these veterans of many battles give me the

respect due to a hero. I am no hero. I am Edmin. I am in command of men who could each snap me like a twig. Moruk, god of

warriors, fill my mind with your knowledge and my arm with your strength. Isolan, princess of luck, lead our way through the

Lands of Desolation."







*Perhaps it is not your martial skills they respect, dear Edmin.*







Edmin looked down to his left hip where Zekil's famed sword now hung. "Any man could wield you, Rathmulg, I will never believe

my position is due to your presence on my belt."







*Do not presume that I am so easily used, Edmin. I allow you to hold me because in you I see much potential. Each man in Zekil's

company has touched my hilt and each one withdrew from me in confusion. Proud, glorious, blooded fighters they truly are, but as

leaders they are weak. You were trained by priests of the Circle of Nine and have managed the defenses and logistics of the

Temple of the Divine Circle. You have the understanding of what is in a man's mind as well as in his heart. You have not yet felt

the warrior's blood lust, but you know how to best apply that emotion when it is present in others. It is you who will save these

men by leading them into battle, and it is your faith in the Circle that will keep these men loyal to the Lanmouroul name.*







"I am a Lanmouroul, but I have not the charisma nor the power that name implies. My father gave me to the Circle as retribution

for his razing of a swath of Circle land. I was not trained by Lanmouroul sword-masters and magi; I was taught to separate my

family from my personage and to seek not glory in battle, but rather gratification through protecting the weak and merely aiding the

true defenders of the en-Circled. You have placed your trust in a priest forced to learn the use of a sword. I would not be here

had I not been ordered by the headmaster. Like you, Ramishu believes that because of my bloodline, I was the choice to become

the Temple's savior. 'Faith in the Nine, wisdom of the Circle, power of a believer, and blood of the mightiest warriors, Edmin shall

rejoin his family and overcome this evil.' Now my brother lies dead and I am but half-trained to fight with a blade. By Moruk's

command I will attempt this thing I am charged with, but I fail to see Ramishu's wisdom in the endeavor."







*Your lack of confidence in yourself is what blinds you, Edmin. You will learn... and your vision will one day surpass that of

Ramishu.*







Several miles away the defeated company of Gagarum rejoined near a grove of santhill trees. Twenty men from two hundred

remained and Gagarum himself was trembling with pain. "I saw him fall! I saw him fall and yet still I was defeated! How does this

happen, Grost, how?"







"Mighty Gagarum, perhaps Moruk and the Circle intervened?", Grost began.







Gagarum moved faster than Grost could anticipate embedded his steel-tipped forefinger into Grost's left eye. As Grost began to

squeal and struggle to pull away, Gagarum raised his other arm, ignoring the pain from his severed bicep, and grasped the back of

Grost's head. He slowly impaled Grost, adviser of three days, and whispered in his rasping voice loud enough for those who would

replace Grost to hear, "Mention not the upstarts who gather round... keep only the name of the ancient one... speak only of

Bazul.... he commands our desires... we live only to fulfill those desires." Grost slipped slowly off Gagarum's finger and with a

loud slurp came free from the tip and plopped into the dust next to Gagarum. Gagarum also lay back on the ground, confident that

his company would tend to his wounds and prepare the corpse of Grost. In life Grost was weak and worthless; his death was a

reason to feast. The choice cuts, of course, would be given to Gagarum.







Edmin slung his leg over the back of Zekil's warhorse and felt the mare shift slightly as he settled into the saddle. "Even this beast

knows I am not Zekil's equal." Edmin muttered. With a long glance at the upturned soil that now covered his brother, Edmin gave

the mare his heel and rode off at the head of a company of one hundred and sixty men. One thousand miles separated Edmin and

the company from the city of Amerist. One thousand miles of trials and tribulations. One thousand miles for Edmin to evolve into

the savior of his people.





To be continued...



PART TWO - Coming soon to a web page near you!



(P.S. If you can or want to add to this story please feel free! Do try to keep within the spirit of the story....)





"Betrayal: Conclusion"



by



Brian F. Fox





The next day's journey passed with very little conversation between the three. As they drew near Straken's lair they each

remained deep in their own thoughts. Myloeh, did, however, finally find out why they had journeyed there on horseback. Raven

had asked Pallin if he intended on using his wizardry to search for the dragon and Pallin answered that it was too risky. It seemed

that Pallin had very definite information on the location of the dragon's home, but he had never been there personally and feared

scrying for the location, which very likely would reveal them to the dragon. Straken was a very powerful wizard in her own right,

and although her lair was protected by an anti-magic dweomer she very probably could detect sorcery if it was near enough.







The journey had also given Myloeh time to reflect on his life. He found himself regretting many of the decisions which had brought

him to this stage in his life, including those which had placed him firmly in alliance with a thieves guild where the guildmaster was

so quick to sell out one of his own men. He had fallen out of favor with Thalgren some time ago after he had embarked on an

adventure which met with his disapproval, but he never suspected him capable of something like this. "Perhaps I should seriously

rethink my chosen profession," he thought to himself as he stared down at his manacles in disgust.







As they drew near the foot of the mountain they sought, Pallin ordered that the horses be turned loose and that they approach on

foot. "After all," he said casually, "we won't be needing them anymore. If we are successful I shall teleport us back to my tower."







"And if we fail, or we need to make an escape?" Myloeh asked.







"If we fail," Pallin said leaning his face close to the halfling's, "we won't have the opportunity to use them." He then ordered that

camp be struck so that they could begin the ascent the following dawn. Myloeh's mind continually searched for an opportunity of

escape, but he believed that his most likely chance would occur during the climb. He slept very little that night and suspected that

the others did the same.







In the morning the three began their climb. Raven led the way with Myloeh coming second and Pallin bringing up the rear. Pallin

had ordered that Myloeh's manacles be removed, but he warned the halfling that any attempt at escape would result in his death.

"You are important to my plans, but if necessary Raven can fill in for you. Always remember you are expendable," the wizard

explained. "Also keep in mind that the dragon will destroy any trespassers in her home, regardless of how they came to be there."







"I'll keep that in mind," Myloeh grumbled in response. "It would be a real pity if a rock fell on his pointy head," he thought. They

rapidly progressed up the mountain. Myloeh expected Raven to be fit and do well, but he was impressed by the ability of the mage

to keep up. He moved with agility and strength and looked barely winded by the climb. Myloeh, on the other hand, was tiring from

the exertion. When he attempted to rest for too long, however, Pallin would pat his sword and point up. Needless to say, Myloeh

got the message. He had no weapons or armor but constantly searched for a decent rock to use against them if an opportunity

presented itself. He found the others watching him constantly, though, and his frustration grew as he was forced to pass one

suitable rock after another.







About halfway up the mountain and as the noon hour approached, Pallin suddenly announced that he would lead the remainder of

the ascent and that Raven would now bring up the rear. Raven looked at him suspiciously but nodded obediently. The next section

of the climb would be particularly dangerous, with a very steep cliff face between them and the next landing. Pallin ascended it

fairly quickly and waved to the halfling to follow. Climbing was never Myloeh's favorite activity, owing to his small stature, but he

was agile and did fairly well. When he reached the top Pallin motioned for him to stand off to the side and told him to wait there.







Raven climbed toward the landing and when he reached the top Pallin held out his left hand to help him up. Raven smiled in thanks

and reached up to him for the assistance. As Pallin took the half-elf's hand, Myloeh watched in shock as a small dagger suddenly

appeared in the wizard's hand and slashed the henchman's throat in one quick move. As Raven gurgled a bloody protest, Pallin

smiled down at him and pulled his hand free, yanking the leather glove from his servant's hand. Raven tumbled down the cliff face,

bounced several times, and finally landed far below. Myloeh stood staring at the mage, stunned by the savagery he had just

witnessed. "I suppose he may want this back," Pallin said as he tossed the glove down the cliff to the body. Turning to the halfling

he said, "Mark this well, little thief. If you attempt to betray me you'll wind up as he did."







"He was your servant!" Myloeh exclaimed as he backed away, no longer worrying about the dragon above. "Why? Why did you

kill him?"







Pallin smiled cruelly, enjoying the sight of the halfling's fear. "You are not as bright as I though you to be. You think I acted out of

some sort of evil impulse? You think me so petty still? I knew he planned on betraying me the moment we gained the grimoire. His

thoughts have betrayed him on several occasions. I simply preempted his plan."







"Then you must be aware that I have thought of killing you myself, given the chance," the thief said.







"I am," the mage replied with a shrug. "But I do not concern myself with your little daydreams. They amount to nothing." Wiping

his dagger off on a cloth from his backpack Pallin said, "You will ascend with me in silence until we reach the entrance to the lair.

There I will give you the poison which must be poured into the dragon's mouth. And if you attempt to betray me or escape, I will

risk exposing us to the dragon by killing you with whatever means I deem necessary." Myloeh's hopes dwindled to almost nothing

as his situation crashed down on him. The archmage was ruthless and capable of anything.







After several more hours of climbing the two of them finally reached a very large ledge which led into a huge cavern in the

mountain. The ledge was fairly smooth but criss-crossed all over by very deep gouges cut into the rock by what could only have

been the dragon's talons. The two stood there for several moments, considering their situation.







Pallin, saying nothing, reached into his pack and drew forth a flask. Loosening the stopper sealed with wax, he handed it to Myloeh

who stared at it for a moment and then shrugged. After checking all of his equipment (what little Pallin had allowed him to have)

to be certain nothing could possibly make a noise, the halfling slowly began to creep into the cave, hugging the left wall and

allowing his keen eyesight to adjust to the darkness...







*







Pallin waited for what felt like an eternity. He had positioned himself against the far right edge of the landing, his hand resting

nervously on his enchanted sword. His wizard's sense had detected that the anti-magic dweomer extended over the entire landing

and into the cavern before him. In an emergency he would have to escape passed the edge of the dweomer in order to cast a

spell. He waited expectantly, hoping to see the halfling appear but preparing for the possible appearance of the dragon instead.







After several minutes Myloeh suddenly strolled out of the cavern to stand before Pallin. Showing him the empty flask he simply

said, "It is done. I'll be leaving now."







"Not quite yet," Pallin said drawing his diamond sword. "I need you to disarm any possible traps which may lie within. Afterwards

you will collect your reward," the mage said with a grin.







"Keep it. I want no part of it. I only want to be allowed to leave," Myloeh insisted.







Pallin placed the tip of the long sword against the halfling's throat. "I insist," he said.







Myloeh threw up his hands in disgust. "So be it," he said and walked into the cavern followed closely by Pallin. The passage

opened up after about two hundred feet into a huge cave fairly well lit by a fungus which emitted a greenish glow of surprising

intensity. Before them lay the body of a huge ancient gold dragon and a fantastic collection of treasures. Pallin nodded to the small

thief in appreciation and respect and stared in awe at the dragon before him. "A pity such a noble creature had to die," he said.

"Now, thief, what we seek is an ancient tome of some sort. Call out to me if you find anything, but do not touch it. It could mean

your death."







Myloeh nodded and began to search. Suddenly he heard behind him a sound not unlike the rumbling of an alligator, but much, much

louder. Turning slowly he looked up into the face of the dragon whose head was slowly rising from the floor. Pallin began backing

away, obviously searching for an escape route. With surprising speed one of the dragon's talons shot forward, grabbing the halfling

and lifting him up in the air as the dragon rose. "Who dares disturb my rest?" Straken boomed at them.







"I, Lord Magus Pallin Eldritch Barish, bearer of the Diamond Sword. I have come for your grimoire and am prepared to take it by

force if necessary," the mage said boldly.







Myloeh, completely immobilized in the dragon's grip, stared at the dragon, terror in his eyes. "He forced me to come! It's not my

fault!" he screamed.







"You little worm," Pallin spat at Myloeh before turning back again to the dragon. "The grimoire, Straken. I may not have my

wizardry here, but the powers of my blade are a threat even to you. Do you not recognize it? Do you not fear it?"







"I do," the dragon responded calmly. "But I have your companion at my mercy," she said raising one claw of her talon to point at

Myloeh's head. "I can kill him with but a twitch."







Pallin laughed. "Feel free if you desire. I was planning on killing him anyway. You would only be doing me a service."







"I knew it!" Myloeh exploded. "Straken, I meant you no harm! It was all his idea!"







"I'm quite certain it was, little one," Straken replied before turning again to Pallin. "Leave now and you take your life with you.

Fight and you die."







"The grimoire, dragon! I came for it, and I will not leave without it!" Pallin demanded as he stepped toward the dragon, brandishing

the sword before him.







"You have just decided your fate then," Straken replied. Pallin braced himself for an attack which never came. Instead the dragon

raised herself to her full height in the huge cavern, extending her wings outward. Giving a great roar which shook the cave, the

dragon swept the roof of the cavern with both wings, simultaneously slamming her great tail down on the floor. Pallin looked up in

horror as tons of rock and stalactites poured down upon him. The dragon tucked her head beneath her body and shielded herself

with her wings. Myloeh was pulled under the body of the great beast, who held him firmly but carefully.







After several moments Myloeh felt the dragon stir. The cavern was filled with dust and debris, and Myloeh quickly realized that

the dragon had suffered several injuries in the collapse of the roof, but seemed protected from serious harm by her scale armor.

Straken released her talon and gently placed the halfling on the floor. "Are you alright?" Myloeh asked.







"I will be fine, little one. I have magic here which will aid my healing. Are you injured?" Straken asked.







"No, I am uninjured. My thanks to you great Straken," Myloeh said with a bow.







"And my thanks to you for choosing not to poison me at the risk of your own life. The birds of this mountain told me that your

party was coming and kept me informed of your progress. Our departed mage here did not consider that possibility," Straken said

motioning to the rubble under which Pallin's remains lay, "and you did not know that when you made your choice."







"No, I didn't. But I could not do it in any event. When I began my career as a thief my mother made me swear an oath to her to

never take the life of a creature except in self-defense or in defense of another, and then only as a last result. My father lived by

that code, as did his father before him. In all honesty, I fully expected that Pallin would kill me after we recovered the grimoire

anyway. So what would be the point?" Myloeh said with a shrug.







Straken regarded the halfling with a great deal of curiosity. Never before had she encountered a creature so at ease in her

presence, so unaffected by the natural fear most creatures felt when near a dragon, especially one as ancient and powerful as

she. "Then why did you ask me to allow the man to go free if he would agree to give up the spellbook?"







"I don't know. I suppose I felt pity for him, in spite of the fact I hated him. I don't think he was even capable of understanding any

other way of thinking, though," Myloeh replied as he looked at where his former captor now lay.







"No, his kind never does. They live only for power and trust only it. It is ever their downfall," the dragon said with genuine

sadness.







"I am curious about one thing, though," Myloeh said turning to the dragon. "May I see this spellbook which caused so much

tragedy?"







"You see it before you," the dragon replied with what could only be a smile. "I am the grimoire."







"You? I don't understand," Myloeh said.







"My accumulated knowledge of wizardry is what he sought. He and others before him have believed it to be in the form of a

grimoire. It resides entirely in here," she said as she lowered her head to the floor. "We dragons believe in an oral culture for the

most part."







"The irony of this is truly amazing," the thief replied shaking his head.







The dragon regarded him carefully for several moments, as if she was making her mind up about something. "I have lived in

solitude for over a century now and have recently felt a bit of loneliness. I must admit I find you very interesting. If you would like

you may remain here and I will teach you something of what I have learned about wizardry."







"Me? Learn wizardry? My people do not do well with magic," Myloeh said.







"There have always been exceptions," Straken corrected him. "Or if you prefer you may simply remain a petty thief and go on

about your life to whatever purpose it holds for you."







"How did you know-" Myloeh began before he realized the answer. "Well, I must admit that I have begun to feel as if my life is a

bit, um-m-m, wanting. Could you really teach me to be a mage?"







"I can teach," Straken replied, "but do you have the discipline and the wisdom to learn?"







Myloeh considered his answer for several moments while the dragon waited patiently . "I do," he finally replied. "And I humbly

accept your generous offer. It is an honor," he said with a bow. "I would like to become something more than a thief. Perhaps a

true hero!"







"Then that is the first and easiest step to take. Now you must actually be that something more," the dragon said.







Myloeh looked up at the dragon and smiled. "This should prove very interesting," he said.







"Indeed," Straken said with a nod.





"The Roll of the Dice: Part I"



by



Fellowship of the Broken Sword







(What follows is the first part of an "add-on" story which is still running on our bulletin board. I intended for it to be a serious,

in-character story, but it quickly degenerated into a satire on many of the eccentricities of our old gaming group. Our authors are

B. Fox [Myloeh, Jake A.], Bill R. [Hobar, Scuz], Rex Henderson, and John Rios [Naugrim], Marty [Martek])







"Uh, I'm afraid it looks like you're cleaned out professor," Myloeh said with genuine sympathy. The halfling had taken an instant

liking to the eccentric academic, a feeling none of the others seemed to share.







"I, I'm a bit embarrassed," the elderly sage replied. He had wandered into the Rampaging Dragon inn by accident while searching

for a fellow researcher with whom he had an appointment. Finding the unsavory environment fascinating, he stayed for a glass of

bad wine and somehow found himself in an impromptu dice game with a halfling, a dwarf, and two fellow humans who most

probably were hired swords (or worse). The players had warmly invited him into the game, which he picked up quickly and had

been doing well at until suddenly his luck turned bad. He now found himself surprisingly broke.







"Looks like our new friend here is out. Roll the bones, Myloeh, before they get cool," one of the swordsman said with a laugh.







"Wait!" the professor interjected. "Will one of you loan me a bit so that I might stay in the game? I know my luck is about to

change." The gambling bug had bit and bitten hard. The swordsmen looked at each other and chuckled; as veteran gamblers they

had seen this many times before.







"Professor, I really wish I could, but I have a strict policy against that. Besides, maybe you should cut your losses and call it a

night," the halfling thief answered as he shook the dice in his hand and prepared to throw them.







"Wait!" the sage exclaimed as he grabbed Myloeh's arm. Reaching into an inner pocket of his robe he retrieved an ancient bone

scroll and handed it to the halfling. "I was to meet a colleague and discuss this with him. If I win the next roll, you pay me 100 gold

pieces. If you win, you keep it."







"Are you crazy?" the halfling blurted out. He paused for a moment, though, and rubbed his chin. "What is it?" he asked, his

curiosity obviously rising.







"An ancient manuscript marking the location of the crypt of the archmage Martek the Magnificent. I assure you, it is quite

authentic." At this the others rolled their eyes and laughed openly.







"Martek's tomb has been searched for over 200 years with no luck. It's a fable, a children's story." Myloeh opened the scroll case

and carefully unrolled the vellum parchment. He studied the scroll carefully, examining it for signs of forgery or recent

manufacture. Looking carefully at it he asked, "Are you sure this is real?"







"You can't be that big a sap," one of the swordsman said to Myloeh with disgust.







"It is!" the professor said to Myloeh, ignoring the comment. "Do we have a deal?" The others watched the halfling, amazement

clearly showing in their faces.







"We do," Myloeh replied with a smile and a nod. He shook the dice, blew on them, and rolled...















"And that is how I won the scroll," Myloeh said before taking a sip of his ale. Patting the scroll case he turned to each of his

companions. "Which brings me to my point. Who is up for a little adventure?" [B. Fox]







*







A dwarf to Myloeh's left became more alert now that Myloeh had finished spinning his yarn. The dwarf took another big swig of

ale from a mug that hardly ever needed refilling. The dwarf usually ignored the little halfling's prattle, but he began to wonder

where the small theif had actually pilfered the scroll. The halfling had a knack for having trouble follow him around, thought the

dwarf. He made a mental note to avoid gaming with the halfling. I wonder how long before the



original owner of the scroll begins to think of ways to reaquire the map to Martek's tomb, the dwarf wondered to himself.







A rather large, odd looking fellow with a bandolier full of throwing daggers slapped Myloeh on the back as he stood up from the

table. "Good story halfling. Bartender a round of brew to quench the small fellow's thirst following his tale."







Myloeh looked to the others assembled and again asked, "Who wants to accompany me to check this scroll's validity? Certainly

the value of this scroll will be enhanced once a few of us have verified that the tomb does in fact exist." Several other patrons who

had been listening to the halfling's tale now turned away to renew their previous conversations. Myloeh looked at the group

disgusted,"Hrrmph, if no one will join me, I will check it out myself," he mumbled.







"Easy little one," the big man said, "I will join you, but we should wait until tomorrow. For now enjoy your wine." "I quite agree,

more wine," said the dwarf. Myloeh settled down to finish the wine the nice gentleman had so graciously supplied. Hadn't the

dwarf been drinking ale, he thought to himself. He was obviously drinking a large quantity of wine now. Myloeh decided to ask the

dwarf about it later.







Myloeh then noticed that the two swordmen who had been at the gaming table earlier had now returned. Myloeh decided it might

be prudent to sit closer to the kitchen door in case the swordsmen should inquire about trying to regain their earlier losses. One

swordsman took up station at the entrance to the Rampaging Dragon and the other made a straight for the halfling. "Halfling, the

sage Mirrow has sent me to reclaim his scroll," boomed the swordsman. "I have here 50 gold pieces for the scroll. I think that you

should be happy with that considering the circumstances under which you acquired the scroll."







"Whatever do you mean?" replied the halfling. "The scroll covered a 100 gold piece debt," said the halfling as he considered the his

best recourse for leaving the inn.







"You're a cheat and you know it," replied the swordsman as he unsheathed his dagger. "Don't make me separate you from that

scroll using this dagger."







At that, the inn became quite and people shuffled away from the potiential fight. Myloeh looked for his friend the dwarf and

noticed him passed out under a table. The big man was no where to be seen. His best avenue of escape, the kitchen, was cutoff

by the swordsman. He had worked hard for this scroll, and the sage should have known better than to roll rigged dice. Now what

was he to do?







[ The drunken dwarf ]











*







Myloeh looked up at the swordsman facing him with the dagger and out of the corner of his eye watched the one who now

guarded the door to the inn. "Now let's not do anything rash," he said standing up. The swordsman stood almost three feet taller

than him and looked quite comfortable holding that dagger. As inconspicuously as possible he kicked his friend the dwarf under the

table but was only given a snore in response. "Of course you may have the scroll, and 50 gold pieces is indeed a fair price now

that I think about it. Here, why don't we share a drink first?" Myloeh reached quickly for a glass of wine, and before the

swordsman could respond he threw the glass in his face.







The halfling jumped backward and followed with a backward tumble which found him under a neighboring table. The swordsman

growled in anger and sheathed the dagger, drawing a longsword and brandishing it menacingly at the halfling. The customers at

the table jumped up in alarm as the swordsman stabbed at the little thief, who barely managed to roll free of both the sword and

the chairs around the table.







"Temper, temper," Myloeh taunted as he quickly drew a throwing dagger from an arm sheath and threw it in one smooth motion.

The dagger streaked toward the swordsman who effortlessly batted it away with his sword. "Damn, I hate it when that happens,"

the halfling mumbled to himself as he backed away.







"I'll have none of this in my inn!" the innkeeper boomed across the tavern floor. Reaching under the bar he held up a heavy

crossbow which he quickly cocked and loaded. Aiming it at the swordsman who continued to threaten Myloeh he demanded, "Out

with ye before ye find yerself with an extra belly button to show to yer mother! And take yer friend with ye!"







The two swordsmen spat in disgust and moved to the door. "We'll be waiting outside, thief. Sooner or later we'll get that scroll."







When the two had left the innkeeper turned to Myloeh. "I don't want to know anything about this scroll of yers, or how ye got it. I

just want you to take yer troubles elsewhere."







With a bow and a wave of his cap Myloeh replied, "My thanks to you good innkeep. Would you mind if I took the 'backdoor'?"







"I suppose not. Now off with ye!" he grumbled in response.







Myloeh pulled the dwarf from under the table and pulled him to his feet with a great effort. Grunting under the weight of his

drunken friend Myloeh entered the kitchen, smiled at the cook, and moved into the pantry. Leaning the dwarf against the wall he

felt around for a moment until he found the button. Pressing it, a small door swung open revealing a ladder going down into

darkness. Myloeh reached into a pouch at his side and pulled out a small hat pin which emitted a bright glow of light and placed it

in his cap so that he might see. "Wake up!" he said as he shook the dwarf. Getting no response, he said, "Well, it looks like you go

down the hard way." With that he picked up his dense friend and dropped him feet first into the darkness. He heard a loud thud

and then a groan and what sounded like swearing in dwarven. "I hope he's okay," Myloeh said to himself as he climbed down the

ladder.







[ B. Fox ]







*







Myloeh anxiously looked about the cellar, until his eyes landed on the perfect aide to his friends rehabilitation. The dwarf still lay

dead to the world, a sack of knobby,filthy potatoes is what he seemed to the little halfling. He grinned to himself. Maybe I should

cut out them eyes. "Nawww", he chuckled to himself as he climbed one of the food shelves. It took a mere moment with his

handy dandy pocket knife (it used to be Bandoor's favorite woodcarving knife) to free some of the bright red spice hanging on a

string. Hopping down from his precarious position he inhaled deeply. Holding his breath, Myloeh began to violently roll the spice

between his hands.



When he began to feel the moisture of the ground pulp he balled two large pieces between his thumb and forefinger and waited

for the dwarf's next snore. Popping the spice into what he considered to be the winning grand-daddy of all potatoe-looking things,

Myloeh stepped back as the spice shot up the dwarf's nostrils. Tension mounted for Myloeh as he stared down at his friend

expecting that his body would combust at any moment. Slow convulsions began overtaking the roughened and rugged dwarf and

when the full fire of that spice hit him he shot up like ball lightning. His howl made Myloeh's eyes go wide and his mouth turn to

one big O.







"Oooooowwwwwwwwwwwww!eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!Hahy! Hahy! Hahy! Ahhh-hmmmpph!", the dwarf roared, and the

spice shot out of his nose while he scrambled for his everfull tankard. Tears flowed from the dwarf's eyes, making the dirt upon

his cheeks run like some cheap tavern whore's makeup. But his eyes burned red from the spice, and as he began finding his voice

between long glugs of ale, he leveled them at Myloeh with a glowering that made



the halfling think the dwarf wasn't very appreciative. "Hechk! Wha-ckt! What-ckt! dij! chktt! you do to me, you f---hechk! you!"

The dwarf was advancing upon the halfing in a rather rigemortis shambling manner of a zombie, one arm stretched out clawing for

a piece of Myloeh, while the other held the dwarf's tankard in a death grip. Myloeh skidded around the dwarf's lunges,







"It was just a little Drakmarian Seol pepper! Something to help revive you from your slumber!"







[Rex]







*







"Now, Hobar, I was only thinking of what was best for you. I needed you up on your feet so that we can get out of here. If you

weren't so damned heavy I would carry you," Myloeh explained as he backed into the wall of the chamber in an attempt to stay

out of the dwarf's reach.







Spitting repeatedly, Hobar looked up at the halfling. "If you ever try that again I'll brain you!"







"Sh-h-h!" the thief replied. "Any louder and everyone in the inn above will here you."







"Where are we?" the dwarf demanded.







"We are in a secret passageway beneath the inn. The innkeep uses it as a sort of cellar, but it allows its users to make a less

conspicuous exit from the inn when necessary. Here, I'll show you," Myloeh answered. Searching the wall for a few moments

with his hands the thief stopped when he found the small recess he sought. Pushing his fingers inside he pulled outward with a

grunt and suddenly a very small doorway appeared. He leaned his head cautiously inside and then turned back to the dwarf.

"Follow me, and stay close."







Hobar watched the halfling move through the small entrance and followed with a shrug. He found himself in a very small

passageway carved out of the rock which surrounded them on all sides. After carefully closing the door behind them, the halfling

moved off cautiously leading down the narrow passageway. If he had been a human he would have had to duck to protect his

head from hitting the low ceiling. They had moved along for about a minute when Myloeh stopped. "Here, give me a hand," the

thief said as he began to move some large half-rotten crates which blocked the end of the passageway.







As the dwarf easily pushed the debris aside he was almost overwhelmed by the power of stench which assaulted him. "By all the

gods, what is this smell?!" he blurted out.







"Hush!" the halfling replied. "We must be cautious and quiet down here. Many things use the sewers as passage beneath the city,

and not all of them are friendly. We will exit near the docks and get a room near there and sneak by the Rampaging Dragon in the

morning to see if anyone will be joining us before we leave."







"Sewers! I'll not wade through this! I'm going back!" the dwarf roared.







"We have no choice. Those thugs have certainly found reinforcements by now and are definitely waiting for us to return," Myloeh

replied with a sigh. "Make your own choice then. I'm going this way."







"Alright, alright! I'm coming then!" Hobar grumbled as he followed, grimacing and holding his nose as he did. "Hey, what did you

mean when you said 'things' move through these sewers?"







"I'd rather not say," the thief replied drawing his short sword. "Let's hope we don't meet any of them on the way."







Watching the thief replace the debris in front of the secret passage and then move off down the sewer, the dwarf shook his head,

drew his battle axe, and then quickly moved to follow.







[Myloeh]







*







Throckmir Naugrim had witnessed the whole affair and had decided to follow the pair. He had observed the halfling on several

occassions and knew the fellow's reputation. Quietly, he trailed the odd couple with all the cat-like dwarven grace he could

manage. The hidden compartment was crudely designed and to the seasoned Naugrim, obvious. As the pair dropped into the

festering sewer below, Naugrim waited. He then moved the rotting crates and located the recess.



The door popped open. As the noisy Hobar and the shifty halfling faded away, Naugrim entered the subterranean hell. With axe in

hand...he followed.







[Naugrim ]







*







Myloeh led Hobar through a subterranean maze. On several occasions, they thought that they heard a noise. At one point Hobar

remarked, "I feel like I have eyes upon me."







The halfling replied, "As do I Hobar, be very careful here," he said carefully guiding Hobar through a tricky section. "It gets pretty

deep in places," the halfling whispered. The two trudged on through the ankle deep water. A little further on, there was a loud

splash behind the two. Hobar and the Halfling turned at the ready, expecting something to rush out of the darkness any second.

There was another splash and a curse was uttered.







"That was dwarven," mumbled Hobar to the halfling. The splashing continued for a few more minutes. Hobar and Myloeh looked

at each other, realizing that they had been followed. Myloeh had a look of delight on his face. Hobar said, "We better go back to

investigate."







"You go ahead, I'll guard your back," responded Myloeh. "Mind where you step Dwarf," he added.



As Hobar headed back, there was more splashing. This time there was an obvious shout for help. Hobar hurried ahead.







"Hobar hel...," was all that was heard, quickly followed by another violent splash.







At that, Hobar ran up to where the splash last occurred. There was something stirring in the water, but nothing else to be seen.

Just then, there was another splash. A dwarven head broke the surface, followed by a quick intake of breath before

re-submerging. Hobar braced himself and reached down into the murky water. He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled with all his

strength. Out of the water and slime came a sputtering and coughing dwarf. Hobar threw the sputtering



dwarf against a wall and brought out his ax. The other dwarf hacked and coughed and spit up the black water he had taken into

his lungs. He wiped some of the slime off of his face, and Hobar began to recognize the filthy half drowned dwarf.







"Throckmir, is that you?" Hobar questioned.







"Rroughther," swore the dwarf, "What took you so long Hobar." Throckmir then had another attack of coughing and sputtering.







"It's all right Myloeh, this is a friend of mine," called out Hobar. Myloeh, who was closer than Hobar expected, stepped out of the

shadows and began to laugh hysterically.







"Don't you know better than to go swimming in a sewer?" chided Myloeh when he his laughing had died down. The other dwarf

swore a few more oaths at the halfling. Myloeh replied, "I'm not sure of your ancestry, but I am quite certain that my family tree

does not branch in such a manner." After a brief introduction, Myloeh continued, "We best be on our way. We have made enough

noise to attract heaven knows what." He again took the lead and in short order he came to a



pipe with steady stream of water coming out.







"We best go this way," said the halfling. "Throckmir will attract a lot of attention considering his current look and smell," giggled

Myloeh. The two dwarves followed the halfling up the pipe into what appeared to be a bath house. "Quickly, get cleaned up and

we will be on our way," whispered the halfling. Hobar, Throckmir and Myloeh quickly assumed the rolls of paying customers and

cleaned themselves up. Throckmir took to the bath water with enthusiasm



seldom seen in dwarves. Myloeh, seeing this, burst into laughter again. Moments later, the three had tipped the owner and were

cleaned up and out on the street.







[Scuz ]











*







Myloeh turned to the two dwarves as they moved through the busy streets. "You know, the night is still young. Perhaps we have

time to catch a bite, a drink, and maybe a show. I know several bards in town who are performing."







Hobar frowned and shook his head. "Give me the map," he growled to the halfling. The thief sheepishly reached into a pocket in

his cloak and handed the bone scroll case to him. "You can't be trusted with it. All you ever think about is having a good time. This

map could be very valuable, and I'm not about to let you lose it somewhere in your carelessness. And no, we don't have time to

see a show. We have to prepare for the journey and get our ponies ready. Throckmir, are you in with us? It could be nothing more

than a waste of time."







"Or it could lead to treasure. Either way, what else do I have to do? I'm between jobs," Throckmir said with a smile as he stroked

his beard.







"Very good! I suppose I could wish for more pleasant company than a couple of scruffy dwarves, but I guess you'll do. Lead on,

good Hobar," Myloeh laughed.







The three of them traveled through the town collecting supplies and readying their ponies. Both Hobar and Myloeh sent several

messages with runners to some of their long-time companions in the hope that one or more of them might be available and

interested, knowing full well that it was a long shot. Whether or not they were even in town was unknown. The messages were

cryptic but did provide enough clues to tell them the general direction they would be traveling.







For safety sake (and to keep an eye on Myloeh) the three of them decided to share a room in a moderately priced inn only several

blocks from the Rampaging Dragon. It was decided that Myloeh would sneak back in the morning to see if the stranger with the

daggers was waiting for them and invite him along. As Myloeh settled in to sleep on the floor (the dwarves had confiscated the

two beds), his thoughts were filled with excitement over the coming adventure he was sure would happen. As he settled in to

finally go to sleep, he stared in amazement at the two dwarves who seemed to be in competition with each other over who could

snore the loudest. Shrugging, he rolled over, put a pillow over his ear, and waited for dawn to arrive.







*







In the morning the three of them quickly dressed, checked their gear, went downstairs for a hearty breakfast (the last good food

they might have for awhile), and prepared the ponies. When they neared the Rampaging Dragon the three of them stopped.

"Remember, Myloeh, we'll be near and watching," Hobar said. "Just take a quick look around and then leave."







"Will do," Myloeh smiled. Pulling his hood over his head he moved off quickly and quietly. He moved into an alley next to a building

beside the inn in order to enter the inn through the back door. He came to the end of the alley and peaked around the corner. As

expected, he saw a shadowy figure hiding in the debris piled outside the back door. It was the second man, the one who had

remained by the door during yesterday's fight. Picking up a small stone Myloeh threw it



behind the man, drawing his attention away from his position. Moving silently he drew his dagger and moved up behind the man.

As the man turned around to resume his vigil Myloeh struck him in the side of the head with the handle of the dagger, stunning

him. When he fell to his knees in pain, he was struck again by the handle and collapsed in a heap. "Now that should give him the

headache of a lifetime," Myloeh thought to himself with a smile. Picking the lock with amazing



speed he slipped into the inn.







Myloeh found himself in the kitchen looking up into the face of a confused half-orc cook. "Just making a delivery," Myloeh smiled

as he moved to the door of the main room.







"You not supposed to be here," the cook grunted at him.







"It's okay. I'm a friend of the innkeep," Myloeh smiled up at him. Opening the door a crack he peered into the room.







[B. Fox ]







*







Myloeh passed through the kitchen and slunk in the common room behind the bar. He gave the barkeep a wink and peered over

the bar to have a quick look around. The big bandoliered one was no where to be seen. Myloeh shrugged his shoulders and quickly

exited the inn the way he had come in. As he was leaving, he noticed the thug from the previous night beginning to rouse himself.

The halfling hurried on his way so as to not provide a target once this fellow had fully regained his senses. Momentarily he was

back with the dwarves.







"No sign of him, we should leave the area quickly," said Myloeh as he climbed up behind Hobar. Hobar eyed the halfling

questioningly, but set of with Throckmir toward the city gate.







The three were getting ready to leave by the south gate, when a very large human rode up beside the group. The bandolier was

not visable beneath the traveling cloak, but it was obviously the big man from the previous night.







"Hail traveler, I'm glad you could make it," called out the halfling. "We had given up on your joining my, errr... our quest. "We have

not been properly introduced," continued the halfling, "These dwarves are Hobar and ..."







"And Naugrim Throckmir," cut in the other dwarf. "Glad to have you traveling with us, big man." "How art thou called, sir," he

continued.







"My name is Vic," called out the other. Two dwarves and a halfling sized up the big man in an instant. Vic may have a slightly

different look in each of his incarnations, but he was always basically the same. Same quiet personality, same massive killing

potiential that always seemed to go beyond normal boundaries. Though they had never met this man before, they knew him and

what they could expect from this killing machine.







"Well met," replied Throckmir. "We have quite a journey ahead, I suggest we get to it."







The group of four hit the road south. They were headed for the Dragon's Teeth mountain range.







[Scuz ]







*







Vic looked down his nose at Myloeh. Straightening himself to full brawn and height, apprehensively he spoke "A quest you say.

Heyyyy, this isn't one of those multi-level dungeon schemes is it? Where everyone who manages to get back to the exit on top

gets away with all the loot?"







Scratching his small scruffy chin, Myloeh smiled at the man, all the while his left hand comfortably thumbing the sapphire tip of his

dagger's hilt. "Heh,heh. Nooooo, No. Look I can't make any promises, but if you'll decide to adventure with me and my

companions here and look into this thing, we all may just find out what a trove awaits. And a man of your size and skill may come

out carrying the most loot!"







Vic stared at Myloeh for a few more moments, as if peering into the halfling's innards for some nervous twitch or knot in his

stomach. But all he could see was the glimmering promise of opportunity in the bright twinkling of Myloeh's eyes. "Well said tiny

one." Vic responded.



"I think I will travel with you all, and see what this business is all about. Let us ride, you can pull out that map and show me your

plan..."







So off the traveller's went. "Hi-ho, Hi-ho!" Myloeh's reply came. And with a skip in his step, he led his three companion's on his

merry way.







[Rex]



"The Tale of the Broken Sword: Chapter 1"



by

M. Emmanuel Basso



It was nearing midday. In the southwest corner of the Grand Duchy of Karameikos, on the edge of the Kalarian Desert, a small

group of a dozen travelers journeyed through the broken land. The duchy was generally blessed with a pleasant climate. To the

north it was temperate, while to the south it approached subtropical. The desert was something of an anomaly, as the heat seemed

to be concentrated only in that specific region. Moving a short distance away from the desert, the temperature quickly returned to

normal. Minstrels often sang of a great battle that took place outside of Drakmar. The fighting, according to the stories, was so

intense that when it was over the area was completely devastated; all that remained of the beautiful land was the Kalarian Desert.

Since the desert had since gained the reputation of being magical, the local population desperately avoided entering it. There were

no clouds in the sky. In other parts of the Duchy, some would have considered it a splendid day; however, in the desert the lack of

shade did not afford any relief from the scorching sun. The travelers were forced to walk beside their mounts to save them from

exhaustion.



Most of the travelers wore loose fitting white apparel. There were two, however, that dressed otherwise. One of these individuals

wore leather armor. The other person's attire contained virtually every color of the spectrum and wore an equally colorful hat

adorned with tassels. The hat had a brim spanning nearly three feet, which was about equal to his height. A pair of orange leather

boots with pointed toes completed the ensemble.



The individual clad in leather was having a very difficult time coping with the heat. He had a mandolin slung across his back and

stopped for a moment to adjust the straps. When he was finished, he pulled out a canteen and took a long drink. Afterwards, he

poured some of the water over his head, let it run down his hair and soak into his leather cuirass. The others in the group kept

walking except for the colorfully attired person who paused for a moment.



"Come on, Faffard! If you keep stopping we're never going to get anywhere!" the colorfully adorned person shouted back.



"Hold on a minute", Faffard replied through parched lips. "My strap keeps slipping."



"Why don't you put that damn thing on your horse. It's not doing you much good right now", came the reply. "Or are you afraid

your horse will start playing it?"



A few of the others in the group observed the two who had stopped and decided to turn around to find out what the problem was.

Overhearing the conversation, they began to laugh to themselves.



"His horse can probably play it better than he can", replied one of the persons who had turned around. This individual was short

but exceedingly stocky. His blue eyes shone from beneath the towel on his head and his dark brown beard hung down to his

midsection. The two who came with him were of more normal proportions. One was on the lanky side and had black hair and gray

eyes and the tip of his nose was slightly red. The other had sandy brown hair, a pale complexion and seemed to always have a

scowl on his face.



"Fuck you, Balin", Faffard retorted.



"What's the matter Fag-fard, can't stand the heat?" Balin replied.



"No, it's fucking hot out here! You dwarves are just too stupid to know it."



"Watch it, pussy," the dwarf responded. He moved for a moment to draw forth his great axe but quickly realized he had left it on

his pony. "Didn't you realize it'd be hot in the desert? And you're wearing goddamn leather armor!" He then turned to the other

two who had come with him, "Come on. We'll leave him here to fry."



"We all told you to dress for the heat", said the person with the sunburned nose.



"He never listens, Jack", the one dressed in many colors replied. Turning to Faffard he said, "You always have to be different.

You don't see anyone else dressed for battle."



"Yeah, but look at you Bandoor", Faffard responded.



"What do you expect from a gnome", offered the individual who scowled.



"Exactly, Brent." Bandoor acknowledged. Then to Faffard, "Besides, my clothes are cool."



"All right, all right", Faffard relented. "Tell the others to hang on while I take this shit off."



Bandoor turned around, put his fingers in his mouth and let out a whistle to signal the others who had went on.



The group that went ahead stopped. The one in the lead pulled back his hood revealing a short mustache and well-trimmed black

hair. "What now?" he said with impatience to the person walking beside him.



"Faffard, what else", replied the other, who wore a turban and went unshaven.



The person in front lowered his head and shook it from side to side saying, "He weighs on my nerves. One day, it will be his

undoing."



"Relax, Pallin. It's the hottest part of the day. We all knew his armor would get the best of him", came the response.



"We've only been in the desert one day!" Pallin said through clenched teeth. "And by nightfall we'll be out of this," and he waved

his arm gesturing towards the sand dunes. "Besides, we only left Drakmar yesterday!"



"You know how Faffard is," the other replied matter-of-factly.



"Yes, unfortunately I do, but my patience is wearing thin", Pallin said.



"He has served us well enough in the past and he still has his uses."



"Perhaps", Pallin acknowledged and let it go at that.



By the time the main group rejoined Faffard, he had already loosened most of the straps which secured his armor. He was,

however, having a difficult time sliding the armor over his head. The combination of water, sweat and heat had made the leather

stiff and difficult to work with.



"Here, let me help you with that," one of the members of the group said stepping forward. This one was dressed similar to the

others, but he was the most massive of anyone in the party. His faced was scarred and had what could only be loosely described

as a beard. He displayed a sardonic smile as he removed a dagger from his belt scabbard and proceeded menacingly towards

Faffard. Before Faffard could respond, the massive one cut the straps of the armor, which fell to the ground.



"Gee, thanks, Scuz," Faffard said as he looked at his pile of armor on the ground.



"Think nothing of it," Scuz replied. "Happy to help."



Faffard shook his head as he removed the remaining unwanted items and stowed his gear in one of his horse's saddlebags. "I don't

suppose anyone has something cool I could wear?" he asked.



"Hang on", one of the members of the group said with a slight amount of repugnance. This member of the group had long, blonde

hair, bright green eyes and pointed ears. He went back to his horse, removed a suitable cloak and a small jar and threw the items

to Faffard. "The ointment will help soothe your skin", he advised.



"Thanks, Beret", Faffard said.



When Faffard had finished covering his body with the oil from the jar, he put on his new cloak. He then checked to make sure his

horse was properly loaded.



"Come on already," the other dwarf in the group shouted at Faffard. "I want to get going so I can find something to kill."



"Easy, Naugrim", Pallin said. "Soon enough," he said as he rubbed his chin, "soon enough."



In time, Faffard grabbed the reigns of his horse indicating he was ready to travel. The group let out a collective sigh of relief and

proceeded onward. As the party began traveling once more, Faffard made his way to the second smallest member of the group.

Like everyone else, now including Faffard, this person was dressed for the heat but did not wear anything on his feet. Instead,

their oversized hairy appendages seemed impervious to the temperature of the sand.



"Hey, Waldo," Faffard whispered. "I don't suppose you'd mind sewing something for me?"



Waldo just looked at Faffard and smiled.



*****



The group continued on, uneventfully, until evening. They were still within the boundaries of the desert and the temperature was

beginning to drop. One by one they began to loose their desert clothing in favor of warmer attire. They also removed their

weapons from their mounts and prepared themselves for possible conflict. The sunset was an artist's painting of purples, mauves

and pinks as it set behind the Cruth Mountains.



"Isn't that the borders of Mordentshire?" asked an individual in studded black leather armor as he looked at the mountain range.



"Correct, Rio", responded Pallin. "The Cruth Mountains are our next obstacle."



"Don't forget the dragon", Faffard added.



"I haven't", Pallin replied, "The dragon won't bother us right now; we can decide how to deal with him in the morning. In the

meantime, we need to concern ourselves with getting out of the desert. I hoped it would be behind us by now."



The sun quickly disappeared behind the mountains and the ensuing darkness was nearly absolute. The only light came from

innumerable stars in the heavens. The temperature continued to fall forcing the group to don various robes and cloaks. After their

eyes became accustomed to the dark, the group was able to travel at an increased rate. In time the moon began to rise, casting

more light which enable to party to move even faster. The moon had passed well overhead when they finally made their way out

of the desolate land.



The grass on the ground welcomed the traveler's feet as trees began to appear from out of the darkness. In time, the sounds of

crickets could be heard and a light fog began to arise. A short time later, the group came upon a spring that flowed out of some

rocks at the base of a small hill. When they saw the spring, the group nearly tripped over themselves as many of them rushed for

the water. Faffard jumped completely into the stream the spring had created. Flynn, Scuz and Brent continued on, making their

way up the hill. Jack moved off into shadows and disappeared. Pallin stretched out his arms as if to embrace the fog. He closed

his eyes and began to mumble to himself. After awhile, he stopped and seemed satisfied.



"We'll make camp here," Pallin announced.



When they'd had their fill of the cool water, everyone began unpacking their horses and spreading their bedrolls on the ground.

Faffard crawled out of the stream and lay motionless on the bank. Eventually, Flynn, Scuz and Brent returned.



"All clear," Scuz proclaimed. When he saw Faffard on the ground he asked, "Is he asleep all ready?"



"I guess he's got last watch", Balin said. "If he wakes up", he added.



"I'll make sure of that", Naugrim replied as he placed his axe beside his bedroll. Unlike Balin's axe, which was double headed,

Naugrim's axe was backed with a hammer.



Before long, the camp was made. "Let's get some wood", Rio suggested.



"Hold", Pallin said as he leaned on his staff. "We do not want to attract any attention. We'll rely on rations tonight." This evoked

rumblings from several members of the group; however, they complied.



When dinner was finished, Pallin reached into his cloak and pulled out a small tube. He removed a scroll that was contained in the

tube and spread the piece of parchment on the ground. He then tapped his staff and a light appeared at the top. "Let's see where

we are", he said.



Everyone, except Faffard and Jack, gathered around Pallin. Faffard snored while Jack was nowhere to be seen.



"The Kalarian Desert", Pallin declared as he pointed to an area on the map, "the Cruth Mountains, Mordentshire," he went on,

indicating those areas. Finally he said, "us."



"Looks like we're a day from the mountains", Flynn observed.



"Where's the dragon?" Waldo asked.



"Here", Scuz replied sticking his dagger in the map. The dagger was imbedded in the map in an area to the north of the group's

camp.



"What next?" Rio inquired.



"We rest here for the night", Pallin said. "Tomorrow we'll decide how we should proceed."



The group as a whole was exhausted. There was very little conversation as they retired for the night. Naugrim and Brent took

first watch. Jack remained unseen outside of camp. Faffard continued to snore.



To be continued







"10 Questions with Martek "



by



Kevin J. Main



Soon after escaping the chains of CCHS, Martek the Graduate continued his attempt at brain augmentation at our local

college in the nearby metropolis, HICKVILLE, FL. Amazingly, he passed truck Liftkit installation 101 and continued next

to FIT in the steps of his hero KNOWITALLBOY.





For a brief stint, he spun music at the school radio station, playing all our favorites like " My Uncle is my Mother, Too",

and " The day my mother got out of Prison". Finally, tired of asking me to come and pick him up from Melbourne, he

decided to finish his education at Saint Leo, where he now holds a Bachelors degree in Business. Currently he holds the

title of Program Administrator for Support Logistics at a leading Aerospace Co. Before that he was a Property Manager

and a fast food General Manager. Martek's current activities are playing WarCraft with Faffard and � Okay, he owns a

surfboard and a set of golf clubs and a license to scuba dive.







1. Reaction time is important in this, so please pay attention. You are in the desert walking alone in the sand. You look down and

see a tortoise crawling towards you. You reach down and flip the tortoise over, it's belly baking in the hot sun. It beats its legs

trying to turn over but you're not helping. Why is that Marty? Because I'm a foul Bastard. You mean you are a Replicant?

(DEMONICAL LAUGHTER).



2. What's your latest read? Ummm, my latest read would be "Dante's Divine Comedy"; to be more specific I'm reading

"Purgatorio".



3. Okay. Let's say you haven't been to confession in years (laughter); tell me your worst sin, my son. Ah, no comment. Actually,

though, I gotta say that I did go to confession kinda recently, and it had been quite a long time since I went. And to be

honest I brought cheat sheets in with me because I couldn't quite remember all the sins I committed, so I just jotted them

down on paper and recited them. I was forgiven though.



4. What's the best way to get a free hamburger? Let's see, there are actually several of them. The most popular being,

getting in a fight with the general manager. I like that one in particular.



5. You're stranded on an island. Name five items you wish you hadn't forgotten to take with you. Gosh, , sunscreen obviously, a

six-pack, Budweiser, oh I had to specify that one huh. Let's see what else, a boat, at least several issues of Playboy, and

no, make that Hustler I'll probably be on there for a while. And last but not least, my computer. And you plan on getting

power where? From the gerbils.



6. Name three reasons why Whitesnake really sucks. What is that a loaded question?



7. You were a late night DJ in Melbourne, FL. Did you ever play "Tainted Love"? And don't lie to me! Not no, HELL NO!

Bastard.



8. Were you ever molested in prison? Frequently.



9. You're trapped in a room with Barney, Tammy Faye, and some guy named SCUZ. Name your weapon of choice.

Barney.(more demonic laughter)



10. When you met William Shatner at a convention, what great secret did he whisper in your ear? That I was secretly his

lovechild.



Thank you.





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