Fellblade

V

Monastery of Terror

Kurt Waldheim looked about as the Red Wolves rode into the dusty village of Deinste on the Middenland-Nordland border. Dismounting, he removed his bandanna, running his hands through his smooth, brown hair.

'Well then, chaps, let's get to the nearest stables and leave these beasts, and then head off for a drink, shall we?'

'Always thinking with your thirst,' Morgan grumbled, struggling out of the saddle with the jingle of harness and leather straps. 'Good idea though.'

'I agree,' Merideon said from the back of his horse. 'Follow me, men.' He cantered off towards a large, multi-winged building. Gabrielle was positioned neatly behind him. The elf and the dwarf, standing some three feet apart, exchanged glances before Skurdi grunted something unintelligible and made off after the noble.

'Well said, great and mighty leader,' the outlaw huffed. Replacing his bandanna he grabbed his horse's reins and tugged them eagerly. 'Come on, you old nag…' Surely there had to something better than this scabby life. He had been dragged back into the Empire, where his life was at risk, and not one female had fancied him. Perhaps here he would have better luck.

Legless stood alone on the windswept plain. Around him the winds of magic ebbed and flowed. He could feel the energy building up within him. It was like a power gauge, filling and filling until it was ready to explode. His eyes flashed open, and they gleamed with power. Gathering it in, he prepared to unleash it. Opening his arms wide, he furrowed his brow and shouted the words in Eltharin.

There was a flash of bright white light. Then nothing.

He blinked. The spell hadn't worked. He had meant to cast a bolt of lightning. He knew he had the talent within him; it was only now that his powers were awakening. Of course, fool, he told himself. It wasn't going to be easy. Far from it, it would be a long time before he could truly master the chaotic winds of magic.

Closing his eyes, he emptied his mind and concentrated. Slowly, the power within began to build up once again.

It was late, and all the drinkers had gone from the Black Stag Tavern common room. Except for Kurt. He sat in front of the fire, his legs stretched out in front of him. His head resting on one fist, he thought about the recent frustrations of his world and began to doze. As his eyes stared at the dancing flames and started to flutter closed, he heard approaching footsteps.

'You done, sir? It's just that we're closing the bar up now.'

'Yes, yes, I'm off upstairs.' He chanced a look in her direction as he got up. She wasn't bad looking. She was around his age, he reckoned. Cast in the fiery light, her high cheekbones and chiselled features seemed almost elf-like. Almost. Or maybe it was the drink getting to him.

'Is there something the matter sir?' She was staring back at him.

'Oh nothing, nothing.' Curse it, Kurt, he told himself, ask her. 'Perhaps, uh, you'd like to join me there?'

Her face turned crimson. Shoving her hands behind her back, she tried not to look embarrassed but failed miserably.

'Come now, you can't refuse me.' Kurt threw himself into it and flung an arm around her waist. Together they headed for the stairs. 'Do you know any good sea shanties?'

'So what's this, then, I hear about an evil growing in the area? About raids by wandering bands of ogres and trolls?' Morgan was trying hard to hide his excitement.

'I leant it from the villagers,' Merideon said smoothly. 'We set out to the south, to a ruined monastery in the forest. I'm eager to find out what's behind these raids.'

'More like you want to give Gabby some more grunt,' Skurdi muttered.

'What was that, master dwarf?'

'Never mind, human.' The slayer hefted his axe. 'Come on, elf scum, we've a nest of daemons to slay. Unless that is you're too weak to deal with such monsters…'

Narrowing his eyes, Legless followed the dwarf from the Black Stag.

'Watch who you're calling weak, stunted one.'

'I, however, will not be going forth,' Kurt said hesitantly. 'I, ah, have found a little attention that needs seeing to.'

Merideon raised an eyebrow at the giggling flock of girls surrounding the outlaw.

'Very well, Waldheim. Of course that means you'll miss out on your share of the treasure…'

'There's plenty of treasure right here,' Kurt snapped, turning on his heel and storming away towards his room. The adoring girls followed him like a litter of puppies.

'Youth and emotions,' Morgan grunted. 'Let's get on with it.'

A walk through the forest preceded their arrival at the ruined monastery. The air was slightly cold, the forest damp. Even the wind was non-existent. It was quiet, too quiet. The area was almost devoid of life. Legless couldn't even detect the usual stares of woodland creatures hiding in the undergrowth. Not a single birdcall or insect chirp disturbed the unnerving tranquillity.

'This is unnatural,' the elf mused, his cloak causing him to seem as if he was only half there. 'This place is uninhabited; we've left the track. There should be some signs of wildlife.'

'What of it, elf?' Skurdi was the first to bite back.

'Nothing,' Legless hissed. 'You'd think a slayer would recognise the distinct lack of life – a clear indication of a glorious death awaiting.'

'Hmmm…perhaps.' The slayer ran forwards between the trees. 'Here it is folks.'

The monastery stood as a jumble of stone arches and smashed glass. This was the remains of the main hall. The pews, rotting and covered in bracken and moss, lay on their sides and the alter was overturned and desecrated with bestial filth. A quick search amongst the broken columns revealed a set of steps, leading down.

'The catacombs,' Morgan grunted. 'How predictable.'

'Well, where else do you expect an evil sorcerer to make his lair in a monastery,' Merideon scoffed. 'Come on, this way.' He unsheathed his rapier.

As the elf brought up the rear, he felt a sudden chill running through him. And this feeling had nothing to do with the cold.

The first couple of passages, recently abandoned, still had the grey, stone floors. Only a smear of blood disturbed their common serenity. The wall torches were unlit, forcing Merideon to light his lantern. Instantly shadows leapt upon the walls, giving them the daemonic eeriness they all knew too well. Passing chests of mouldering parchment and shelves cluttered with smashed and broken bottles, no doubt the remnants of some apothecary goods, the companions trod carefully, ever aware for the raiders they were hunting.

The first signs of evil were the sounds of delighted shrieks coming up the corridor. Many eyes, glimmering with a strange, white light, emerged from the darkness. Belonging to a cluster of red-skinned creatures carrying a motley variety of weapons, they hinted at a hidden evil within their bodies and minds.

'Goblins?' Skurdi was amused.

'Look at their eyes,' Legless said slowly. 'They're possessed. Perhaps that explains the colour of their skin.'

There was no further conversation as the Fallen Ones launched themselves into battle. Before long it was over, the last red goblins fleeing into the shadows as their fellows were cut down. It was not a good fight, but it was one that would repeat itself over the course of the quest, for the Fallen Ones had a tenacity to return time and time again. Much to the Red Wolves annoyance.

Then came the undead, shambling hordes of skeletal archers and rotting zombies clad in monks' robes. It was obvious that these were the recent inhabitants of the monastery, killed and brought back by the side effects of some dire enchantment. Skurdi ducked as arrows clattered against a bookshelf overhead.

'Since when did the undead shoot arrows?'

'They must be using the tools of the monks,' Merideon said. He raised his pistol. The shot exploded one of the skeleton's ribcages in a flurry of bones. Skurdi's axe and Morgan's sword swept through the undead priests, scattering splintered bones across the floor.

'I pray for your forgiveness, brothers,' Morgan breathed as he sheathed his gold sword.

A bestial roar tore through the air as the ogre attacked the shining figure standing in the doorway. Armed with his golden blade, Morgan stood firm against the creature as it brought a huge club down on him. Rolling aside, he struck out at the ogre's leg. The blade cut deep. There was another cry as it retaliated, its club sweeping over the crouching knight's head. A shower of rubble came down as the crude weapon smashed into the wall. Before it knew what was happening, Morgan rammed his sword into the ogre's side. Pulling out the blade, he sidestepped as the beast flayed out, and then he severed its weapon hand in one blow. The templar circled warily, cutting and slicing at sword arm's length. Bleeding heavily, the ogre was still a dangerous foe. Retreating for a moment, he unsheathed his throwing knife and hurled it at the ogre's head. The heavily bladed knife stuck fast in the creature's shoulder, producing a roar but the ogre didn't fall.

Then the slayer rushed into the room.

'By the axe of Grimnir, die!'

Another ogre bellowed a reply in its uncouth language and rampaged forwards at the slayer. The two figures charged, a somewhat amusing scene as huge brute and stocky dwarf clashed. With a burst of sparks the slayer's axe was hacking into the ogre with primeval fury. The double-headed axe struck in a vast figure of eight, and like a tree being felled, the beast was slain, crashing to the floor with a cloud of dust.

'Now, that's how it's done,' Skurdi huffed. 'Start at the bottom and move up.' He eyed the other ogre and, leaping up onto the dead beast's corpse, launched himself from it onto the other's back. 'Taste dwarven steel!' The axe sliced downwards, cutting through sinew and bone and in moments the ogre's head was separated from its body. Riding down on the sagging carcass, Skurdi roared his victory and turned to attack a third ogre emerging from a hole smashed in the monastery wall.

As the battle between dwarf, templar and ogre raged, Merideon aimed his pistol. Waiting for the opportune moment, he skirted the combat, dodging away from pieces of rock and gouts of blood as they slopped across the floor. Pulling the trigger, he unleashed a hail of deathly shot against the beast. Riddled with holes, the creature roared and dropped the dead horse it was carrying beneath one arm.

'Nice shot, now I'll kill it.' The slayer grumbled. He leapt aside as a huge mace came thundering down to smash the flagstones into stone splinters. A follow up stroke from the dwarven axe broke the beast's neck with a sickening crunch.

Like a butterfly, shedding its cocoon, Legless shook free his armour and stretched his limbs. The time had come to try out the art of spellcasting. Down here, in the catacombs, he could afford to make mistakes. And if a goblin, skeleton or ogre got in the way, so be it. Immediately, he could feel the power coalescing within him. It sent a thrill through his body, like a warm electrical current. In the next chamber he would try out his powers.

The first thing he noticed about the room was the strange symbols etched into the floor. These were arcane runes, those of a wizard or sorcerer. Bookshelves lined the walls; no doubt this was the monks' library, filled with the litanies and prayers of Sigmar Heldenhammer. Then he noticed the glowing eyes in the shadows. Three pairs moved forwards slightly, drawn by his presence. It was then that he noticed the creatures to which the eyes belonged.

They were trolls, huge brutes with long, gangly arms and animalistic intelligence. But they were incredibly dangerous opponents. Legless began chanting the words to a spell, even as one of the monsters shambled towards him. The beast lifted its metal pike. Desperately trying to cast a spell, the elf tried to concentrate, but he failed. Before he could dodge aside the troll's weapon slammed into him, throwing him across the room. He made contact with a bookshelf, spilling tomes and scrolls upon the floor. Darkness claimed him.

Then the others arrived, the slayer giving voice to another war cry in Khazalid. The trollslayer ran towards the troll, axe raised. Staring with bestial intellect, the troll moved forwards to meet its opponent. Troll and trollslayer engaged in a rapid series of hacks and gouges, the axe opening up gashes on the troll's flanks. Skurdi roared again and cut straight through the troll's leg. In response the beast lashed out, catching the slayer on the chin. He spat blood, before returning to the fray with the disabled troll. Another string of chopping and hewing followed in bitter close quarters. The troll was tough, but no match for Skurdi's skill and size. The iron pike smashed down into the flagstones and Skurdi easily rolled aside, driving his axe through the beast's arm. Troll blood fountained on the floor, pooling in large amounts. Picking himself up, Skurdi slammed the axe again into the troll and was thrown backwards with a casual gesture. He landed heavily, and instantly knew something had broken. But he didn't give up, and each time he caused more damage to his foe. Bit by bit he wore the troll down. Again the beast hacked out with its pike but Skurdi caught the blow with his axe and followed through with a low cut, spilling more blood. As the troll reared in pain, he hewed again, cutting a diagonal cut on the troll's chest. Surprisingly, the troll struck the slayer, knocking him to the ground. But before it could capitalise, Skurdi seized a handful of rubble and hurled it into the beast's eyes. Disorientated, it roared and dragged itself forwards, hoping to crush the dwarf. But Skurdi dodged its clumsy attacks and chopped through its other leg. This time the troll was down properly.

'There's a reason we're called trollslayers, scum,' Skurdi roared. His axe spoke then, finishing the beast off with a blow to the neck.

The other two trolls, angered at the loss of their fellow, lumbered forwards. Morgan and Merideon stepped forth, preparing their weapons. The trolls were dangerous, and it would take more than a single slayer to bring them down.

'Take this, monstrous one!' The noble aimed his Hochland long rifle and pulled the trigger. The shot slammed into the advancing troll, punching a hole in its shoulder. Still the beast came on, Merideon hastily discarded the gun and took up his rapier. Swishing it expertly, he stood with Morgan and Skurdi to face off the trolls.

'Don't worry, we will survive this,' Morgan grunted, raising his shield. 'They're only trolls.'

'It will take more than a couple of trolls to finish Skurdi Kilgdar,' the trollslayer roared. 'For death or glory!' He broke ranks and charged into the trolls.

'Shouldn't that be just "For Glory" then?' Merideon rolled his eyes.

Skurdi hacked upwards at the troll. The blow connected with the bone club the beast was carrying, and it clobbered Skurdi. Shaking his head and spitting broken teeth, Skurdi hacked up again and this time sliced open the troll's forearm. With a flick of its other arm, the troll sent Skurdi flying backwards. He landed in a pile of rocks as the two men rushed past him into battle.

The Blade of Leaping Gold struck out, a dancing flickering of golden light. Where it touched blood flowed but the troll wasn't entirely stupid. It reached out and grasped the templar's shield, shoving it backwards. Morgan was forced down, and he grimaced as the bone club slammed down on his armoured body. He felt broken ribs. Scrambling aside, he returned to the fight.

'Take this, you beast,' the templar spat. The troll roared back, its piggish eyes squinting at its adversary. With a swipe of its claws, it scraped aside Morgan's sword and grabbed up the man. Then it grasped his arm and pulled it the wrong way. Morgan gritted his teeth as pain lanced along his limb. The Blade of Leaping Gold fell from his grasp and he could feel bones breaking. Kicking out, he spat at the troll as it released him. Staggering across the floor, he retrieved his weapon. He wasn't going down to a beastly troll. The knife came up and flew into the troll's chest. For a moment it looked down at the wound. Then it pulled out the blade and discarded it, giving vent to a roar of rage.

Merideon's rapier also traced a flurry of slashes across the other troll's hide. Confusing the beast, he tried to stay out of reach but it wasn't easy. Many of the wounds didn't bother the troll in the slightest, and huge sweeping blows cleaved the air above him constantly. Ducking and weaving, he managed to evade the creature's attacks, but it was a hard fight actually getting close enough to wound the beast. Pulling out his pistol, he let fly and grinned with satisfaction as a shot sank into the troll's chest. Surely that would slow it down, he thought.

The troll caught Skurdi's axe on its other arm and followed through with a vicious swipe. Again the trollslayer was sent flying. Morgan continued the fight, taking blows and fighting back as hard as he could with sword and dented shield.

The struggle went back and forth, the trolls variously hurling the companions back and suffering many light wounds in return. It dragged on, and on, both trolls, and men and dwarf tiring. It wouldn't be long before the trolls would be slain, but they were dishing out a considerable amount of damage. Morgan made a mental note to never again underestimate the humble troll.

Legless struggled upright and opened his eyes. The sounds of brutal beasts and the clash of steel on hide tore through his senses. He had been unconscious – and they needed him! Much longer and the others would fall to the trolls. They needed an advantage. Concentrating, he focussed on the winds of magic. He had to get it right this time. Shifting on the parchments and books, he stood and raised his arms.

There was a blaze of fiery light and a fireball engulfed the trolls in orange flame. Their hides caught alight and soon their lumbering attacks slowed. The wounded men staggered back, breathing heavily as the trolls burned, but Skurdi ignored the magic, hacking and slashing at the burning corpse in front of him. As the trolls finally came crashing down amidst a pillar of flames the slayer leapt clear and glared at the elf.

'So, you're doubly a coward? Elf, and sorcerer? Why am I not surprised?'

After the battle with the trolls, the companions came to the tomb. It was the resting place of a long dead abbot, obviously an important man from the monastery's history. The sarcophagus dominated the room, a huge stone slab.

'The tomb's got to hold something valuable,' Legless said momentarily.

Morgan frowned, as did Skurdi, at first. Stealing from a tomb? This was somewhat dishonourable to the dead. But then again, who knows what sort of creature was buried here, with all the recent happenings? The elf grunted as he tried to shift the sarcophagus lid. It was heavy. After all, it was a sarcophagus lid.

'Give me a hand here. I could use some of your muscle-bound might right now.'

'There's nothing wrong with being muscle-bound, weakling,' Skurdi retaliated.

'Enough!' Morgan shouted with some of his templar authority. There was a silence. Since when did Magnus command them like this? Sensing the change in the atmosphere, Morgan gestured towards the coffin. 'Come, let's get this over with.'

The gold shared between them, Legless set fire to the body. To the background of flickering flames casting their hellish, red glow, the elf closed his eyes and focussed. Over a short period he managed to heal his companions worst injuries, setting bones and stopping the bleeding. It was a start on his new path.

At the back of the tomb chamber, a set of steps led down, deeper into the depths of the catacombs. The corridors down here were grimy, and filth encrusted. They were not grey at all, but more a shade of dirty brown. Layers and layers of dried blood and vile fluids had built up; it seemed, into a layer of repulsive muck. What had the monks stored down here, Morgan wondered as the stench of something foul assailed his nostrils.

They came out into a room centred around what looked a well with a chain. Bypassing it, they peered into another room, this one large and gruesome. This time blood was slick on the wall, strange torture devices and body parts littering the floor. What infernal place was this? Darkness enveloped the room like a cloak, and only with the lantern light were they able to see anything at all. The smell of fresh blood was overpowering. Legless, holding a kerchief to his nose and mouth, shoved Merideon slightly in the back, urging him to go in. Something was wrong about the room, something terrible, something chaotic. The place reeked of chaos.

'My friends,' Merideon began, 'stay back, I detect something amiss.' Gingerly, he stepped forwards and, holding the lantern high, shone its light around the room. There was an unruly mass of rags and furs in one corner. Upon it lay two black shapes. They were huge. As he crept closer, the noble's eyes widened. The shapes were moving, ever so slightly, as if they were…breathing. Suddenly, he noticed several large spines sticking upwards from the amorphous mounds. He started to back away, but his foot caught on something wet and squishy. Looking down, he gasped as a decapitated head stared back at him, its mouth fixed in a scream of terror. Too late, he scampered back to cower behind Morgan's bulk.

A low rumble heralded the awakening of the creatures. Like monsters rising up from a child's nightmares, the black things shifted and turned to face the intruders. They were hideous, sporting numerous mutations that sprouted like fungal growths all over their bodies. One of them had massive, curled horns protruding from a dark iron helmet, the other a giant crab claw that complemented the spines lining its back. Their eyes flashed with inhuman rage, pupils dilating that looked like tiny flowers.

The beasts were barely recognisable as anything other than creatures of chaos, yet one could perhaps realise that once, one had been an ogre, the other a troll. Now they were nothing but mutated monstrosities, corrupted by the influencing powers of whatever master they served.

Horrified, the Red Wolves backed away from the doorway. Merideon hastily reloaded his pistols as fast as he could, trying to concentrate but fumbling in his rush. Black powder spilled on the floor and shot went rolling across the flagstones. He cursed the gods for their lack of luck, and equally cursing his bag of powder. He was nearly quivering in fear, terrified that finally, after all this time, they would actually die. Many other adventurers had not seen the light of day after one quest, but they had survived and survived again, time after time defeating the odds. But things were different now. On a single job, their lives were over. There was no way they could beat these creatures, these machinations of total evil.

'Death or glory, die you vile abominations!' The war cry of Skurdi split through dark thoughts of failure as the trollslayer smashed into the chaos beasts. There was a flash of light as the runes on his axe began to glow. The troll gave vent to a ear-numbing roar as its nemesis slammed into its legs. Tentacles wrapped around the dwarf, seeking to tear him asunder. But Skurdi's axe bit deep, chewing into the corrupted thing's flesh. Like a woodcutter's tool, the weapon rose and fell, rose and fell, each blow punctuated by a burst of black blood. The tentacles curled tighter and tighter, squeezing the trollslayer. The crab claw, too, closed about the dwarf's leg, cracking bones with an audible crunch.

'Fools! Don't just stand there! Help him!' Merideon snarled, scrambling on the floor for his ammunition. 'Get in there, men! Charge!'

Like a machine being switched on, Morgan Keppler overcame his fear and rushed into the battle. The chaos ogre grunted in the Dark Tongue and strode to meet him, each footstep causing dust to fall from the low ceiling. The golden sword whipped out, slicing through tendons. Black blood spurted but the ogre didn't slow down. A gigantic, metal cleaver blade that pulsated with azure light swept down and connected with the knight. He was hurled into the far wall. Seeking to follow up on that attack, the monstrous beast thundered towards him.

Legless watched as the combat unfolded. If he did nothing the end was here. Beside him Merideon glanced back and forth between the battling trollslayer now hacking off the offending tentacles and the injured knight rolling aside from the fury of the dark gods. Sprays of rubble and crashes of metal and chains rattled around his head, hurting his sensitive, elven ears. Stepping back even further from the doorway, he went into a trance, desperately trying to summon the power he needed. If Magnus and Skurdi were killed, himself and Merideon would be dead.

Gulping a lungful of foul air, Merideon knew he had to help out. The troll's tentacles had been hacked off bloodily, but it increased the pressure on Skurdi's body. There was another crack as something else gave way. Skurdi roared in pain. He nearly dropped his axe, but instead directed its falling head into the troll's gut. Magnus wasn't doing too well either. The ogre strode imperiously around the chamber, hacking and swiping with its cleaver. Magnus was doing his best to attack the beast, but the ogre's hide was thick and sheets of chainmail covered parts of its body. The cleaver caught the gold blade and Magnus' sword was sent clattering off across the floor. Kicking the templar contemptuously, the ogre roared with what was probably supposed to be laughter. Magnus crumpled and fell, obviously injured further as his battered complexion testified. The ogre raised its weapon and below it Magnus lolled, dazed. It was now or never. Merideon pulled out his loaded pistols and took another breath. Then he went in.

'Die you mother-whoring bastards!' A hail of shot from the spinning barrel of his repeater pistol rocketed into the ogre's shoulder blades. Discarding the exhausted gun, he pulled out his other pistols and fired them too. Luckily there weren't any misfires as two more shots hit the ogre as it turned towards him. Blood was flowing down its back and with himself in the ogre's attention, Merideon twisted his ruby ring. Quickly, he vanished into thin air, leaving the ogre stunned.

The winds of magic were blowing strongly now. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Legless opened himself up to their force. Gathering in huge amounts of power, he shouted the words to the spell, not caring if the gods sucked him through and ended his life. If they didn't kill these beasts they would die anyway. Slowly, not fast enough for Legless' liking, he could feel the power at his command.

Then he unleashed the piercing bolts of burning upon the chaos beasts. His eyes burned with hellfire as he chanted the words, franticly and yet precisely so as not to mispronounce the spell. One mistake and his life could be forfeit. A dozen or so tiny, orange arrows sped out from his hands, striking the troll and the ogre. There was a mighty explosion as clouds of fire erupted. It was as if their skin conflicted directly with the magic. Burning chunks of charred flesh and ashen bones came raining down, in a constant storm of foulness. He could hear Skurdi roaring in Khazalid and see the wounded Magnus dragging himself along the floor, the blade of leaping gold in his hand. Merideon was nowhere to be seen. With a final battle cry, Skurdi chopped downwards, plunging his runeaxe into the troll's heart. There was an almighty bellow as the beast fell, like a collapsing temple. The ogre was on its knees, Magnus struggling to his feet next to it. Laboriously, the templar raised the blade and struck down. And struck again. And again. It was a dozen or so hacks before the ogre's head finally hit the floor.

'We've been recovering now for a long time.' Skurdi grumbled, flexing his back. 'Your sorcery does have its uses, elf.'

'So it seems,' Legless sighed. He was lying down, drained. Casting magic was no easy task, and the spell had worn him out. 'Perhaps we can respect each other at least a little.'

'Fat chance,' Skurdi scoffed. 'While I was doing the real fighting…'

'I was saving your skin, dwarf scum. If I hadn't cast that spell…'

'We all contributed in our own way, you lowlife peasants,' Merideon growled.

'Thanks be to you all,' Morgan said slowly. He had a black eye and a nasty scar. 'Now, let's kill this whore and get the hell out of here. I'm dying for a drink. Literally.'

'I agree,' rallied the slayer. 'Time to get back to work.'

'Now this,' Skurdi said confidently, 'is a challenge.'

'Challenge?' Legless stared at the dwarf incredulously. 'You barely survived…'

'Shut it, elf lad. I'm ready to die this day. And here is some beast to fall with.'

Before the party reared a vast chamber, crowned with a bat-winged, stone idol. A deep rumble echoed as the room's guardian approached. The dragon-like beast strode towards them, its upper body that of an ogre. In its hands it clutched an evil-glowing sword as tall as two men. Its eyes burned with a fierce light.

'Who are you to defile this temple of Verag?' The voice was thick with authority, and boomed like a great bell tolling.

'We are your slayers!'

'Skurdi, no!' The elf tried to stop the slayer, but it was too late. Skurdi shoved past the elf roughly and charged the dragon ogre, runeaxe blazing. Baring his teeth, the slayer met the huge sword as it came down in a giant arc. There was a mighty explosion of sparks as sword met axe and then the combat began.

The two men and the elf could only watch as the beast and beast slayer negotiated their way back and forth in the centre of the room. Time and again Skurdi dodged a blow that would've cut him in half had it connected, and the giant sword was fast. Already the dragon ogre was bleeding in a dozen places and the slayer himself had suffered many wounds. But his courage, or insanity, was immense. This was a potential glorious death, and his heart was in it. This was a foe worth dying for.

Time passed as the two combatants clashed. Eventually, the dragon ogre tired. Incredibly, the slayer's axe caught in the beast's scales. Using it to pull himself up, Skurdi struck out again, and bit by bit he climbed atop the dragon ogre's back. Unable to reach the dwarf with his sword, the monster dropped it and scratched, trying to dislodge his puny opponent. But each step Skurdi took, he plunged the axe through the hard scales, unleashing miniature geysers of blood. It splashed him wetly and soon his face and body were slick with it. The fires in the fiend's eyes died down as it succumbed to its wounds, and before long Skurdi was at its neck. With a long, last war cry in ancient Khazalid, Skurdi hacked downwards.

'Long live Skurdi Kilgdar!'

The trollslayer was enveloped by a fountain of blood. Losing his footing, he slipped down and fell heavily to the chamber floor with a crunch.

'What's this then?'

Cleaned up a little, Skurdi limped over to the stone statue, whose eyes had begun to gleam. There was a slight hum in the atmosphere, as if more magic had just activated. Legless narrowed his eyes. Was this gargoyle alive?

'It's a damned gargoyle,' Morgan grunted. 'Stand back, slayer. This one's mine.'

'Fair enough, friend,' Skurdi replied. 'After all, its nothing but a rock.'

The gargoyle's head was knocked clean off its shoulders. Unimpressed, Morgan kicked the statue off its plinth and watched as the whole thing hit the ground and exploded in a burst of rubble and dust.

'Over here! Help!'

Legless looked away from the warriors. Rushing over to a far corner, he found a prisoner chained to the wall. He was poorly, his hair hanging limply around his bare shoulders. Strangely enough, he was an elf. Without questioning, Legless summoned up energy and snapped the chains, surprised by his own power. Supporting the elf as he slumped, he set him down on the steps and encouraged him to drink from his waterskin.

'Thankyou,' the elf said slowly, swallowing precious water. 'Thankyou so much. I've been down here three months. I'm glad you came.'

'Who are you, friend?'

'I am called Aelenar, of Elkir. I came here looking for the Soulstone. If you are willing, I will tell you where to find it.'

'The Soulstone? What is it?'

'It must not fall into the wrong hands! It…it's a gemstone, ruby red in colour. You must get it, before…as to what it does, it traps a daemon within it, to stop that daemon ever crossing into the mortal plane.'

'I will recover the gem,' Legless swore. 'Tell me where to find it.'

'It will be difficult. It lies in an underground dwarven fortress. Here is a rune that will open the gateway beneath the well…'

Legless took the offered stone, a white rune shimmering upon its surface. He cast his mind back to the stinking well they had passed earlier. Down there? He sat down next to Aelenar, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

'Don't worry, Aelenar of Elkir. I will find the Soulstone. We will set out as soon as you are back in health.'

'What did you get us into this time, elf?' Skurdi demanded as the party made ready to leave. Legless was supporting Aelenar, the other elf's arm around his neck.

'You better thank me in advance, master dwarf.' Legless' eyes glinted. 'I might well give you the glorious death you're looking for.'

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