Once can never get a moments peace on an adventure. Especially not when such an adventure involves a pair of extremely lively elves, a talkative man and a dwarf with barely-suppressed rage issues. Round the campfire, Gonâd was picking out the song about elf maidens on his lute while telling a story which seemed to veer off into at least six separate and unrelated threads with no apparent end.

Nob tried his best to block out the chattering and watched as Anúsol braided the dwarf's beard. There would definitely be violence before the night was through, Nob thought as he surveyed Fokin's expression.

Vagísil seemed utterly absorbed in Gonâd free-form story, which was currently about what he had done in a river with six maidens. "You are the most fascinating person I have ever met," she said softly, moving in closer. "Goodness, the night is cold. Would you mind keeping me warm?" Nob snorted at this; it was a very warm night indeed.

"Certainly. So there were six completely naked maidens, and the stars were shining, the moon was out, and suddenly they all want to see my lute-"

"That was a beautiful tune you were playing on your lute. What was it?"

Nob wondered if Gonâd would say what he was playing. Judging from the position he was in, he probably stood a good chance of discovering what an elf maiden kept beneath her skirts. "It is a song of my people. About flowers," Gonâd replied quickly. "And one of the maidens- I knew a maiden back at home who-"

"GET OFF GET OFF GET OFF!"

Fokin had finally cracked. It appeared that the last straw had been Anúsol attempting to incorporate flowers into his beard. "I'm not like you! Stop it!"

"You look beautiful, though," Anúsol said, "just like me."

"It's amazing what a little bit of styling can do," Vagísil added, her hands now in Gonâd's beard. "You look almost beautiful enough to be an elf, Fokin."

"I DON'T WANT TO BE AN ELF!"

"Don't hate us because we're beautiful," Anúsol began.

"Hate us because you're not," his sister concluded, temporarily removing her tongue from Gonâd's mouth.

"Quite right, too," Gonâd added, then resuming his activities with the elf, who was proving to be quite the nymphomaniac.

"Elves," grumbled Fokin, who seemed to have already spent far too much time with the elves, and the grudge between the two races was resurrected, at least on his part. "Are they all this bad?"

"Never seen an elf before," Nob commented. "Maybe some of them aren't as bad. But those two are rather. difficult to get used to."

"A bleeding nightmare, more like. I have spent a month in their company. Brother and sister! My arse. Those two are permanently holding hands and. o, it's disgusting. Elves. Hate them. Really, really, really hate them. Elves."

"Elves," Nob agreed. It was at this point he made the mistake of glancing at Gonâd and Vagísil. The elf's hand had just made its way to the man's crotch. The last thing Nob remembered was hearing screaming, perhaps his own, before the world went black.