Venger was slouched in his favorite skull-shaped chair, exhausted. His wings, draped over the back of the chair, were singed and sore from his latest battle with Tiamat. He gazed morosely into a roaring bonfire, imagining a large five-headed dragon turning on a spit over the flames. Perhaps, he thought, after a thousand years, I'm getting too old for this. Maybe it's time to give that blasted stallion wings of its own.
A movement in the corner made him smile evilly. Shadowdemon was always fun to torment.
Venger listened to Shadowdemon's report with his typical scowl, until the poor shadow's nonexistent nerves were shot. So that's what the old man was up to. Venger had tried several times to fight, blast, or trick his way into the ruins to retrieve that amulet, all of which had failed. After the war in which the amulet was shattered, Dungeonmaster had placed a rather annoying spell that kept anything evil out. And it had worked quite well over all these centuries, much to Venger's frustration.
A bold move, he thought. This will surely tip the balance of power. I shall have to see that it tips in my favor. And I shall finally get the revenge on his little pupils that I've been waiting for all this time. It will be so easy- I'll get them to break the spell, and have them find the pieces. Then I shall simply remove it from them and lock them in the ruins.
They'd get out eventually. But by that time he'd have already defeated Dungeonmaster. Then he would use the amulet's power to blast a certain five-headed menace from the sky! Then he'd come up with the perfect punishment for Dungeonmaster's little friends….
He settled back, aches forgotten, to plot. Shadowdemon sighed with relief and seeped out of the room. The Boss was never happier than when he was plotting to destroy something bigger and stronger than he was.
The next day, the children resumed their journey. Armed with Dungeonmaster's prediction that they'd meet a master's apprentice, they were not a bit surprised when they encountered a young man sitting on the road. "Good day, travelers!" he called. "Where are you running off to today, all on your own?"
"We're gonna find the wuimph ov Milfver Miffie" Bobby blurted as his invisible sister stuck a hand over his mouth. Bobby looked terribly embarrassed.
The stranger, a perfectly ordinary-looking fellow of human ancestry, laughed. "Would you be seeking the Silver City, young man? The little red man told me I might find fellow pilgrims if I waited on this path. When he vanished into thin air, I thought I was losing my mind. But here you are!"
"Hank, he's seen Dungeonmaster!" whispered Diana. "Do you think he's the one DM told us about?"
"That I may be, young lady." The stranger had remarkably good ears, it seemed. "I am Emmit, son of Miraz, now apprenticed to the wizard Jareth. My master sends all his apprentices on this journey, but so far all have failed." He gave a crooked smile. "I don't intend to. And who might you be, young ones?"
Hank was immediately suspicious, of course. In this place, nobody was ever what they seemed—especially when they were predicted by Dungeonmaster. But others soon took a liking to the stranger, especially Presto, who kept pestering the magician's apprentice about learning new tricks. So Hank tossed off his concern to his healthy paranoia of everyone and everything Realmish and welcomed the stranger to accompany them.
Uni trotted along behind them, sniffing the stranger suspiciously. But nobody paid her any mind, even when she started bleating, "Meeeener, Meeeenerrr! Nyt's Meeener, nyoo nyummies!"