Red Valor: The Saga of the Sword

[Elven Doritos]

http://www.freewebs.com/red_valor/fiction.htm for the Prologue and Chapters 1 & 2.

Future chapters will be posted both here and on the RV site.

-Elven Doritos
Celtic Horror

[Numinous]

So, are you gonna repost the chapters you've already made here?  Or are you just gonna put up new chapters?

[Elven Doritos]

The plan is to just direct people over to RV. I don't intend on reposting.

[Túrin]

It would look weird for a story with at least a dozen chapters (I think) to be fully displayed here except for its first two chapters...

[Elven Doritos]

Prologue

It all began with a letter.

A simple, unmarked letter.

A letter that would forever change the face of the Tare, would forever affect the life of a monk named Kamon Rikomi, and would ultimately make the world a better place.

"To Kamon of Azran,
I write to you today with greetings from my mentor, Lucas Leary, and with an offer of extraordinary magnitude. After having heard of your skills from the great Master Mokono, my mentor wishes to hire you for a sum of no less than twenty thousand gold pieces to help retrieve a sword for his collection. After having heard of your prowess in combat and your determined and focused attitude, we implore you to attend a meeting at Leary's estate in Vestin as soon as possible.
Sincerely,
Hiru Mentalli
Mage apprentice."

Kamon Rikomi took in the meaning of the invitation slowly, his short-cropped golden hair ruffling in the uncharacteristically strong gust that was blowing through the Xurask Mountains, and he was forced to pull his tanned leather hood tighter to keep the accompanying snow from blowing into his golden eyes. He then carefully rolled the cracked parchment that had been delivered to him by a magnificent snow owl and placed it within an inner pocket of his heavy, but durable, winter cloak. He grimaced visibly, and he was chilled to the bone through his heavy fur coat. He then realized he had spent far too much time in the mountains; his instructor was probably looking for him. He muttered a quick prayer to the Fortunes of compassion, hoping for his teacher to show forgiveness, and began slowly climbing down the peak he was on.

When Kamon approached the entrance to the valley where the old hermit Mokono resided, he ducked into a small cave that he had stowed the weighted clothing and heavy equipment he was supposed to take to Mokono's nearest neighbor, Master Yakusa. The word "neighbor" seemed a bit misleading to Kamon, however, as Yakusa lived nearly ten miles away, and much deeper into the heart of the Xurask Mountains than he had cared to venture. After carefully removing the parchment scroll and placing it gently atop a bag filled with weapons meant for Yakusa, Kamon shed his viridian cloak and his bear hide boots and gloves. Underneath, his thin but muscular frame was well-concealed by loose jet-black robes, and he looked around quickly and began donning heavy scarlet wristbands, a crimson shirt atop his black robes, and a black headband. He stretched once more, though due to the weight of his new accessories, he wasn't able to reach very far.

Then, suddenly, he felt his legs give out, and he fell to the floor in an impossibly fast movement. He struggled to move, but found that his forehead was firmly planted into the cold cave floor. A whiff of old pipeweed told Kamon the nature of his fall, and he suppressed a sigh. Kamon groaned, "Sensei, I..."

The gravelly voice cut him off. "You did not do as I asked, young Rikomi. You continue to disobey every command I give you to stand atop Mount Shuzema. Perhaps if you enjoy it so much, the lessons I have to teach you will do you no good and you may reside there!" Suddenly, the pressure on Kamon's head was relieved, and the young monk whirled around to confront his teacher. As usual, Master Mokono had gotten the last word and was nowhere in sight. Kamon released his pent-up sigh, and slowly shook his head.

----------------------------

Hiru Mentalli pulled back his rain-covered hood to reveal his spiked glossy black hair, a product of a few minor incantations he had mastered. His hand reached to remove his outer tunic, which was covered in various runes and sigils of a language long forgotten. He looked around his surroundings and sighed; another dismal tavern in some backwater town with several unscrupulous-looking people surely was of no interest to the apprentice. His vibrant emerald eyes brightened as he saw a large hunched-over figure, unrecognizable under the massive cloak it wore. Hiru couldn't help but grin as he took a seat at the table across from the shrouded figure.

He mused quietly, "You are very difficult to find, Victor of Arron." The apprentice began to remove his uncomfortable leather gloves.

Beady yellow eyes shone forth as the creature sat up, its wide shoulders straightening. What seemed like a bestial, indignant snort came from the monster. "Acceptance is not a luxury I can afford, mage. I conceal my whereabouts to keep nosy folk like you as far away from me as possible."

Hiru leaned back in the old wooden chair a bit, and he shrugged as he plopped his wet gloves on the table. "Ah, and here I thought I was speaking to Victor of Arron, the great warrior, the man who anyone can buy for enough gold."

The massive creature laughed a bit. "The stories are a bit exaggerated," he explained, "and I know a lowly mage like you cannot afford my services."

Hiru leaned forward. "It is not my interests I come to represent, dear Victor. My employer is far wealthier, but if you do not wish to hear what Lucas Leary has to offer..." Hiru smiled as the cloaked monster cocked its head suddenly at the mention of Leary. He leaned back into the creaky chair again, and looked to the ceiling, savoring the tension he had brought to the conversation.

After a short while, the creature broke the silence. "How much?"

Hiru leaned forward, close enough so that the cloaked beast was the only who could hear. "Twenty thousand gold, in addition to gear and supplies."

The monster's eerie yellow eyes widened, and he stood up to his full height of seven feet. With one massive hand, he lowered his black cowl, revealing his massive bull-shaped head and magnificent stark white horns. He shook his head slowly, his shaggy and dirty brown fur shaking almost comically as he did so. "Leary's crazy, you know."

The apprentice's patience was running thin. He stood as well, and matched the minotaur's gaze. He asked, "Are you in?"

"Are you kidding?" the minotaur boomed. "For twenty thousand, I'd have to be as crazy as Leary to turn this job down!"

-----------------------------------------

Kamon Rikomi approached the small dojo very carefully, knowing full well he might again suffer the wrath of his teacher. Judging from the sky, it was about midnight, and he had spent two hours longer than expected delivering equipment to Yasuka. On his way there, Kamon had no problems, but on his return trip the biting wind and the snow it carried had become so harsh that Kamon was forced to seek shelter. He would try to explain all this to Mokono, of course, but the eccentric hermit would probably still thrash him for it. Sighing, Kamon quietly slipped into the dojo, peering around for any sign of Mokono. Satisfied that the old man must have been taking a twilight stroll or collecting firewood, he sat down quietly and began thinking.

The throaty voice came from behind him again. "You are leaving, then." Not startled in the least, for he had spent several years getting used to Mokono's antics, he merely shrugged, not bothering to face his instructor.

"I'm not sure, Sensei," he replied. "I could use the gold, but I do not believe my lessons are complete."

"Of course they aren't," snapped the old man, and he slapped the back of Kamon's head. Mokono had to smile, though, when Kamon expectantly blocked the slap. "But there is nothing left for me to teach you."

Kamon turned to face his teacher, to apologize for shirking his duties, and to pledge again his willingness to learn all he could from his sensei, but when he did, he found himself alone in the room. He shook his head and said, quietly, "I am leaving, then."

------------------------------------------

With a dumb and crooked smile, Rehl ran out of his hiding spot, eager to taste his new kill. He shook away his long, muddied green hair so that his blood-red eyes could get a closer look at the large white bird he felled. Three arrows stuck out of the owl's chest, and Rehl dropped his shoddy bow and examined the creature, his long yellow fingers running over its feathers. "Owl, this is, this is," Rehl mused. "Most pleasing it will be!" He looked to the creature's left foot, and noticed something clutched in its talons. Rehl hopped over and grabbed it, opening it slowly. His eyes widened as he slowly mouthed the words, catching the basic meaning of the message. "The Master will be most pleased to know of this, oh yes he will!" Rehl clutched the scroll closed to his chest, and he flashed an awful grin devoid of several front teeth. His head darted from left to right, and, satisfied that no one had seen the scroll but him, he hopped off into the night, completely forgetting about how good the owl would taste.

[Elven Doritos]

Chapter 1: The Offer
Kamon Rikomi looked to the village of Rollingbrook from the crest of a hill about a quarter mile away. His golden eyes flitted from one building to another, focusing in on the baker passing a young couple, on the man with the cart of flowers, and on the armored knight garbed in a crimson tabard. The young monk began a slow descent into the valley. Still unaccustomed to the feeling of crushing grass beneath his shoes, Kamon closed his eyes, shaking his head. He was beginning to lament the many years he had spent in the tutelage of Mokono, if only for the variety of sensations that years within the mountains would never allow.

It seemed as though only seconds later that the dexterous young man had made his way to the small ash-black gate that protected the Leary Estate from, Kamon could only presume, the other rabble that seemed to be filling the streets. His fist tightened. What other purpose could such a gate serve? It was this sort of attitude that had led to his father's death, to Kamon's own debts to House Tegusai, and to Kamon's long stay at the dojo.

Kamon's anger had little time to take form, however, as a cloaked man approached the gate from the other side. Looking over the hooded figure, the monk spoke softly. "I come with the blessings of Master Mokono to speak with Lucas Leary." The approaching man nodded, and slowly opened the creaking gate and lowered his hood, revealing spiky, raven-hued hair, tanned skin, and sparkling viridian eyes.

The stranger spoke softly. "I am Hiru, apprentice to the one you seek. If you will follow me, I will take you to Mr. Leary." Without waiting for a response, he turned, walking briskly back into the mansion. Kamon matched his pace, following with a mixture of curiosity and buried contempt.

As the pair entered the main hall, Kamon noticed the distinct scent of the rare spices only the wealthy can afford. They ascended a spiraling staircase, stopping before a rather impressive archway, covered in runes, that led into what the young monk could only assume was a feasthall. He noticed his companion had already stepped into the chamber, and Kamon followed.

---

Rehl kept his gaze low as he lay prostrate before His Master. The wiry goblin spoke. "Have I... done well?" His gaze wandered towards the being before him, catching but a glimpse of his Master's shadow-garbed form and His smoldering crimson eyes that seemed to constantly burn with utter contempt.

"You have done extraordinary, little Rehl. It is good you brought to me these tidings, and you will certainly be rewarded for your loyalty."

The goblin grinned eagerly; he had always trusted the benevolence of His Master. Propping himself onto a knee, he lowered his head. Rehl's voice seemed to echo endlessly through the dank halls. "What does the Master have in mind for Rehl?"

"You will be given a position of the utmost importance, Rehl. You will become the perfect tool to strike against these derisory vagabonds that this 'Mr. Leary' wants to assemble. "
Rehl looked up. "A... tool, Master?"

Rehl had but a moment to realize the folly of his allegiance. Then, in a flash of movement, he felt the strangling force of His Master upon him as slithering tendrils pierced through him, droplets of blood spilling to the floor. "Yes, Rehl. The perfect tool."

---

Kamon looked around the feasthall, shaking his head in disbelief. It was entirely empty, save himself and Hiru, despite the immense size of the chamber. The monk turned to his guide, and the latter seemed to sense his question before it was verbalized.

"Mr. Leary will be here shortly. He was waiting for you to arrive before making the final preparations."

The young monk turned to him. "Are there no others who answered his call?"

His answer came from a rather unexpected source: the booming growl of a tired minotaur. "There was one other, little man. It was I, Victor of the Arron Tribe, last of my people and heir to our lands."

Kamon whirled around, unsheathing a cleverly concealed dagger and launching into a fluid attack. Only a scolding old voice stayed his weapon, a split second before it sunk into the minotaur's hide.

"Victor's heart is as true as you are brash, young Kamon. Mokono would not be pleased to learn that he has trained one so ready to cast aside reason." The voice was accompanied by a frail man, perhaps in his late sixties or even seventies, who seemed to possess a great force despite his withering frame. A waist-length scruffy white beard, as white and clean as the winter snow, and flowing gray robes marked this man as a wealthy individual. Kamon had learned from Mokono that Leary was a succesful merchant who had made a fortune through the spice trade.

Kamon stiffened visibly, suspending his blade in midair. He then retracted his blade as he turned to face the old man. "I doubt Master Mokono would care much what I did. I presume you are Leary?" Hiru seemed to bristle uncomfortably with such an informal address, but the elderly merchant gave his apprentice a gesture to remain silent.

Leary spoke, his voice resonating throughout the chamber. "I am Lucas Leary, and I have brought you here for a very specific reason. Please, have a seat." The monk did as his host asked, gently settling into the velvet-padded chair. Comfortable as it was, Kamon was quite disconcerted. His years of esoteric training had afforded him few pleasures, and he was more at ease upon jagged stone than plush and feather.

The elderly man continued. "I have a very sensitive task that requires a variety of talents and abilities to accomplish. Victor, you are great in strength and endurance. Kamon, you are a lithe and skilled in many forms of weaponry, including unarmed combat." Kamon nodded slowly, taking in the meaning of his words.

The young monk spoke up. "How much gold are we talking about?" He turned his gilded gaze to the old merchant.

Leary chuckled a bit. "It seems as though you get to the point, young man. Twenty thousand gold pieces apiece, assuming you succeed in your quest." Kamon eyed the old man, and nodded slowly. Leary continued. "I'm guessing from your awed silence that you are on board?"

Kamon shook his head. "I want half upfront."

Leary sighed. "Half? That wouldn't be a very sound investment, would it?"

Kamon matched his gaze fiercely. "I can get the job done."

Victor's voice boomed over both of them. "We will get the job done," he corrected.

Rising up to his full (and surprisingly upright) stature, Leary looked them both in the eye. "The two e of you will need to work together to achieve your goal. That goal, if I may continue without any further interruptions, is the retrieval of a particular blade known to most as the Sword of the Ancients. It is located in a small shrine in the southern hills of the Baltian province of Aarington."

Kamon shrugged. "We go to Baltia and grab a sword? Somehow, that sounds too simple to be true."

Leary scowled. "I asked for no interruptions, Master Rikomi." Kamon looked down a bit. Somehow, Leary's scolding reminded him of Mokono's rants. "It is not that simple. You see, the shrine is protected by four sacred locks, each of which has a corresponding key. You will need to find all four keys and to unlock the blade and bring it to me."

Kamon nodded. "Do you know where these 'keys' of yours are?"

Leary smiled some, and took his seat again. "I do. As does another... your third travelling companion. Hiru will be your guide and resident scholar during the voyage." The black-haired apprentice seemed rather shocked.

"I was under the impression," Hiru quietly said, "that you were sending Corrin of Delphia to fulfill that role."

Leary smiled benevolently. "Corrin's absence has prompted me to send a more available, and arguably more capable, replacement." Hiru looked down, and nodded, having nothing further to say on the matter. "Are we all in agreement, then?"

Victor grunted. "Twenty thousand is all I needed to know. My axe is yours."

Hiru nodded. "And I shall try to make you proud, sir. I will do my best."

All eyes turned to Kamon, and the young monk sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he looked to Leary. "I suppose so. I did not come all the way to Vestin to turn away now."

Leary's grin seemed to encompass his entire visage. "Good, good! Rest up, you two, for tomorrow, you begin the greatest journey of your lives!"

---

Rehl's eye twitched a bit as he stood. He shook his head, feeling rather woozy, when his last memories resurfaced. He looked to His Master and smiled widely, gleaming razor-sharp fangs lining his mouth. Flexing a well-muscled arm, he clenched a tight fist, his blade-like claws cutting deep into his hand. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation.

"What is your purpose, Rehl?"

Rehl snorted a laugh. "To kill..."

"To kill whom?"

Rehl looked up to His Master, and shook his head, as if trying to remember. "Everyone?"

"Precisely."

[Elven Doritos]

Chapter 2: Red Valor

The three travelers had been walking all day in silence, each deeply immersed in private thoughts and suspicious of the other. Kamon Rikomi, in particular, was wary of his companions. Victor constantly insisted on taking the lead, the monstrous behemoth putting a good deal of distance between himself and the two humans. Not trustworthy of magic either, Kamon had been keeping a close a watch on Hiru, rarely allowing the sorcerer a moment of solitude. Kamon's thoughts, however, went to Mokono. What purpose could this journey serve, if it was nothing more than collecting a weapon for an old man? It seemed contrary to everything Kamon's Master had taught him. In fact, Mokono had specifically forbade him from keeping his original kama, the first weapon Kamon had trained with.

"A weapon is for combat," Mokono had said, "not for putting in a showcase. It is a tool for expression, not something to be worshipped and admired. You do yourself and the weapon dishonor if you do otherwise."

Despite this, Mokono had insisted on Kamon's participation in the journey. Perhaps it was a punishment for Kamon, to be humiliated for dishonoring his Master by shirking his duties. Even so, it seemed extraordinarily out of step with Mokono's typical behavior, a fact that had been dominating the young monk's thoughts for several days. The quiet piercing of Hiru's voice drew Kamon from his contemplation.

"We will be approaching the town of Bellington very soon. I must meet an informant of Mr. Leary's, so the two of you will have some time to explore. I will want to meet back up at the Broken Lance Tavern, in the north side of the town. I presume that won't be a problem?" Victor, nearly a hundred paces forward, grunted and nodded his approval, much to Kamon's surprise. The monk nodded as well, not particularly eager to intermingle with city-dwellers more than he had to.

--

It had been a rather slow day for Grymot. The aging man had been conscripted as the man-at-arms for Loneton, a budding village deep within the rolling hills of the southern Vestin coast. He was, admittedly, a rather unskilled warrior, but he was the only member of the community who had any experience adventuring. Therefore, like it or not, he was the designated protector for Loneton.

It wasn't a particularly difficult job, really. King Tristan's Royal Army patrolled the southern reaches fairly well, and Loneton wasn't but a day's ride from Rennington, a rather impressive city in its own right. Most of the time, Grymot relaxed at the guard post, occasionally warding away troublesome youths or the occasional curious animal.

Thus, it came as a surprise to Grymot when he spotted a small figure approaching the gate to Loneton. His call echoed outward. "Who goes there?" There was no response from the approaching form.

Grymot grabbed his spear, and walked to the edge of the guard tower. His voice rasped again. "I said, 'Who's goes there?" Waiting a long moment, he cleared his throat. "Awright, then. You left me no choice... I'm coming down there!" Grumpily climbing down the stairwell leading to the guardtower, he trudged to the gate. To his surprise, the small creature was gone.

Or so he thought.

--

Kamon was not impressed with Bellington in the least. It seemed to mirror the quaint complacency of all the other towns he had ventured to, and the monk gave an exasperated sigh as the only expression he could muster. He walked through the streets, matching the curious glances of the locals with a charged glare. The monk knew that his martial robes were an unusual sight in the isolated town, but somehow, the ogling stares of children and the mistrustful glances of their parents grated his patience more than his own curiosity was piqued.

Looking around, Kamon spotted a small store. Eager to escape the scowls of the locals, he quickly disappeared into the building. Breathing a sigh of relief, he looked first to the old shopkeep.

The grizzled man spoke loudly, his voice filling the little shop. "Hello, stranger. Welcome to Bronar's Shields and Swords! What can I get for ye?"

Kamon looked around. The walls were mounted gleaming swords, axes, and polearms. Kamon smiled widely, looking to the armaments. The monk grabbed a pouch containing the advance payment he had received from Leary. "Seven hundred gold," he said. "What can that get me?"

The merchant looked to the gold and nodded. "I believe I've got just the thing for ye." Reaching under the counter, the shopkeep produced a short blade, about half the length of Kamon's arm. "This here be a wakizashi, lad. Made in the land of Azran." He held the blade out for the monk to take.

Kamon nodded as he took the sword in his left hand, swinging it with precision. It certainly was an Azrani blade, and of extraordinary craftsmanship; the blade was extraordinarily light, but still seemed to carry the momentum of an attack with it. The answer was obvious: the blade had been forged using Higothian mithral, the lightest metal alloy in existence, and coincidentally one of the strongest. "It's a fine blade. I'll take it."

The shopkeep smiled. "One more thing, sir." He pulled a large package, approximately the size of a longsword, from underneath the counter. Kamon could have sworn he heard a soft murmur come from the bundle, but he dismissed it as sleep deprivation. Somehow, having to keep watch on both his companions and the surrounding wilderness had drained his time to rest by a good deal.

Kamon looked to him. "I don't have any more money."

The merchant shook his head, smiling. "I want you to have this one. Free of charge."

Kamon eyed the man, and shrugged. "Thank you, I suppose." He took the blade, and headed to the door, giving the merchant a final, thankful smile. Someone had finally treated him as a normal person, not a strange and bizarre entity.

---

Victor of Arron was not particularly well-liked in most reaches of the Tare, but within the southern hills of Vestin, the massive minotaur was an accepted individual and even a local hero. During an early stint as an adventurer, the mercenary had exposed a plot against the previous King of Vestin. As a result, he had achieved something of a celebrity status, though the further he went from the location of his famous exploit, the more intolerance he encountered.

For now, though, Victor was content to enjoy the fruits of his labors, and headed immediately to his favorite store in the town: Logan's Livery. Originally, the place had been nothing more than a glorified stable, but as its owner gained more and more business, he expanded into the purchase and sale of the most exotic animals and creatures.

Victor entered the Livery with a curious gleam in his yellow eyes. The normally bestial figure seemed to almost empathic when he pressed his hand against the glass of one display, or leaned to examine the cage of another. Finally, he spotted a sign: Dragons of All Colors & Kinds: On Sale for Less! His curiosity piqued, the massive creature leaned down, scooping an egg into his three large fingers. He headed to the
counter, and looked to the owner of the Livery.

The man smiled knowingly, bowing a bit to the minotaur. "That'un's just five hunnerd, Victor."

Without a word, Victor grabbed a bag of gold, slowly counting out each piece.

---

Grymot felt very cold. He was still trying to piece together what had happened, why he was looking upward from the ground, why he could feel his lifeblood pouring from his abdomen. He barely noticed the approaching footsteps of his two teenage sons.

"Father? Father, we heard a killer was on the loose..."

Grymot tried to roll over, for he wanted badly to tell them of the small, deadly creature with horrible fangs, gleaming claws, and those terrible tendrils. He could not, however, for his muscles would no longer respond, filled with the cold, and his words were choked back by the blood in his throat.

Grymot focused for one last, fleeting moment, capturing the image of their young faces in his mind. He knew that it would be the last time he would ever see them.

He also knew that within the hour, they'd be dead.

---

Kamon was disgusted with the smoky and bawdry atmosphere of the Broken Lance Tavern, but did his best to stay in the most isolated corner of the poorly-lit structure. His gilded eyes flitted from one patron to another, until he spotted the approaching hulk that, though the haze obscured him, could only be Victor. The monk kept his gaze low, looking to his new sword and the still-wrapped parcel. The bull-man grunted as he took a seat, the chair groaning at the weight of his heavily-muscled form.

Kamon looked up to him, tenderly holding a large egg, about the size of a halfling's head, with jagged vertical stripes marking the surface. Arching an eyebrow, the young monk inquired, "If I may ask, what is that?"

The minotaur grumbled a bit. "An egg. I plan on keeping it... Don't ask another question, boy." He looked around and sighed. The mage was late. Turning back to Kamon, he cocked his head to the side curiously. "What is that?" His eyes were fixated upon the wrapped package that was propped against the wall.

Kamon shrugged. "I haven't opened it yet, actually. A shopkeep gave it to me for free..." The minotaur seemed intrigued, and Kamon couldn't help his own interest, either. Taking the leather cord that bound the cloth of the package shut, the monk slowly unwrapped the package, marveling at what lay within: a fine blade, shining clearly despite the smoke, with a intricately-crafted crimson hilt that resembled the head of a dragon. When Kamon gripped the blade, a short spark of energy came from the tip of the blade. The energy coalesced into a small ball, which slowly took the form of a minute dragon, scarlet in color. The incorporeal form flew around Kamon, and the monk looked to his minotaur counterpart, both with equally wide eyes.

The tiny dragon's voice pierced through the din of the tavern. "Well, hello, good sirs!"

---

Rehl's Master held a small globe, a faint grin cracked into his inscrutable visage. He set the sphere down, and glimpsed the fading image of Rehl standing above the final kill he would find in Loneton. His Master's amusement grew as Rehl reveled in the kill, taking a deep bite into one of the corpses.

A black-robed figure approached, approximately a head taller than the average human. With jade skin, protruding tusks, and black-hued eyes, the creature was quite distinct. "M'lord, how fares your Claw of Death?"

The title merited a malevolent chuckle. "Little Rehl has left a trail of blood and murder. Everything is going according to plan. Is there something you want, Gorma?"

The darkly-clad creature paused. "Yes, sir. We have learned the location of the Blade of Wisdom... One of Leary's employees has come into possession of it."

Gorma did not expect His Master's wide grin.

"Gorma, my child. This could be quite interesting."

[Elven Doritos]

Chapter 3: Purveyors of Truth

   Kamon and Victor stared at the tiny flickering dragon as it flew blithely around them. Dumbstruck, the monk was surprised to hear himself utter the words, "What... what are you?"

   The dragon stopped in midair, looking to the both of them. "You do not know?" A slow shake of both their heads quickly prompted the tiny apparition into an indignant posture. "I am that legendary blade, the greatest weapon forged of all time, the incorrigibly pure and goodly destroyer of evil, Red Valor!" This merited continued blank stares from the companions, and the tiny dragon sighed. "You have really never heard of me? Then I suppose I will have to regale you with the tales of my exploits..."

---

   Too easy, it was.

   Far too easy.

   The creature once known as Rehl had spent the past two hours traversing from one end of Loneton to another, examining every carcass he had left along the way, resisting the urge to mutilate it even further.

   What was he? An answer seemed to lie just beneath the surface of his thoughts. Every time he tried to scrape past that surface, though, his body would violently shake, his fists would clench, and his claws would dig into his hands.

   It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a puddle of blood from a family of nine that he began to remember. He saw the elaborate crest across his brow, the razor-sharp fangs that he now bore, and the large claws that adorned his hands.

   He was Rehl.

   The Chosen Claw of Death.

   Smirking, he scampered to the largest house in the town. He approached a bookcase, tearing through books and scrolls until he found a small map. He nodded a bit as he plotted his course to nearby Harrowton.

   Maybe he'd even get lucky and happen upon a caravan along the way.

--

   Hiru had been waiting for a good number of hours for this "contact" to show up, and his patience was wearing thin. Supposedly, this man knew the details of the location of one of the mystical keys that Hiru and his companions were to be acquiring, but judging from the long wait and the empty alleyway, he had been duped.

   As he turned to walk away, having finally given up, he felt an arm seize him by the waist, and a sudden flash of  movement brought the sensation of cold steel against his neck. Hiru closed his eyes. Mr. Leary had said this would be a dangerous individual, but he failed to mention that Hiru would be placing his life at risk.

   His assailant had a sharp voice. "Are you the one Leary sent?"

   Hiru kept calm and responded, "If I am, do you think it is truly wise to be holding me at knifepoint?" Hiru felt the blade slip slightly, as if his attacker was having second thoughts. The young mage used that instant of weakness to his advantage,  bringing his elbow to meet the aggressor's abdomen. He felt the man reel backward, and managed to escape the grapple. Lighting his hands with green flames, Hiru looked angrily to his attacker. The fellow was about the same height as Hiru although his frame was much burlier, and the thug was garbed in a deep black cloak and black-dyed leather armor. The dusky-skinned man had black hair that was cut very short, and his hazel eyes showed a mix of anger and fear.

   Hiru was the first to speak. "It would be in your best interest to give me your information and get out of here, Alberain."

   The belligerent man shook his head, twirling his dagger back into an offensive position. Seeing the attack, Hiru casually lifted his hand, melting the knife with an arcane blast. "Now," the young mage said, "I presume you will be giving me what I came here for?"

   His eyes wide with terror, Alberain nodded,  his words now quick and apologetic.  "One of my fellow thieves came across this..." The black-garbed  man quickly produced a small scroll, rolled shut and sealed with a strange emblem. "Can I go, now?"

   Taking the scroll from him, Hiru nodded. "It would be best for you if you did." Alberain turned slowly, and sprinted in the other direction, melding seamlessly into the shadow that now isolated Hiru. The mage looked to the sky, noting the setting sun. His companions, if they had even decided to stay, were likely to be very irritable.

   Perhaps if they had not been so indifferent to his presence, Hiru might have cared more.

---

   "And then, there was the thirteenth dragon that I was brought against..." Kamon looked desperately to his minotauric counterpart, who shrugged.

   Desperately, the monk interrupted, "Ah, you're that sword! Of course we've heard of you. Certainly no need to
continue, then." The dragon nodded a bit, a smile across its reptilian features. Kamon gently laid the sword against the wall, leaning against the hilt upright. As he did so, the tiny creature vanished, and both of the companions gave a sigh of relief.

   Victor was the first to break the peace. "Seems that shopkeep gave you a cursed weapon."

   Suddenly, the draconic pattern of sword's hilt spurned into action, assuming a defiant stance. Its voice was a bit more metallic than the scarlet spirit's had been, though it was no less petulant. "I am not cursed! In fact, I was responsible for lifting the curse upon the legendary paladin Ivan Pentaal before he began his great crusade..."

   Kamon groaned, throwing a  heavy cloth over the sword. "This could become very bothersome."

---

   Alberain groaned, fixing his leather cowl to better hide his features as he skulked through the quivering gloom of abandoned alleyways and forgotten side-streets.  It was from within this darker side of Bellington that the burly thug ran his smuggling operation and information brokerage, and he was determined to find a particularly dishonest colleague who had failed to mention the skills of the mage, Hiru Mentalli.

   Alberain would find Isaac Renvalli. And then the little wretch would bleed.

---

   Hiru caught the distinct odor of an overcrowded tavern hall and knew immediately that he was nearing the Broken Lance. With a glance to the sky, he noted with mild embarrassment that he was a full three hours later than he had  anticipated; regardless of his previous affirmations, he still wished to remain as professional and cordial with his companions as possible. After all, either the brute or the monk could prove themselves quite useful in a fight, a field that Hiru admittedly was rather helpless within despite his formidable magical talent.

   The young apprentice entered the hazy tavern, adjusting his eyes to the dim lighting that was only further concealed by the smoky atmosphere. He coughed softly as he tried to blink away the stinging in his eyes; no matter how many of these bawdy establishments the mage went to, he never could adjust to the noxious vapor that seemed to universally accompany them. Finally spotting two rather distinct figures through the foul mist, Hiru strode over confidently,  looking over both Kamon and Victor.

   "I apologize for my delay," the sorcerer said softly as he took a seat.  "My contact was rather disagreeable when it came to the terms of our exchange of information." Curiously eyeing the cloth-covered parcel that was propped against the wall, Hiru couldn't help but ask, "What is that, pray tell?"

   With a resigned sigh, Kamon removed the cloth to reveal the equally animate and indignant dragon-shaped hilt, now speaking of his thirtieth battle with the wizard Obulus Menardi as the mage's emerald eyes suddenly widened with intense surprise.

   Hiru stuttered, "Is that..."

   "Red Valor," the minotaur and monk responded in unison.

---
   Alberain tightened his grip on the thin man's throat, lifting him a few feet off the ground. His victim, a wiry man of approximately twenty years, was turning from a bleached white to a bright crimson in a short matter of time, and the larger man released his chokehold, slamming his unfortunate prey against a firm stone wall. Alberain's voice was raspy and quick. "Where is the boy, Riff?"

   The scraggy man shook his shoulder-length greasy black hair, gasping for breath. "I told ye earlier, ye bloody git! I done have just as much idea as ye do-- he is prolly fleein' town as we speak!" As his assailant reached forward again, Riff visibly retracted, holding his neck tenderly as he shouted, "Awright, awright! Dinnae go telling anyone this! He lef' wit Artus Affilian. The pair heard o' some legend'ry sword of some sort that they was going to steal. I only heard about it because supposedly some moron had one of the few pieces o' evidence needed to find this sword, and he was selling it to adventurers! Can you believe that?" The sprawling anger that played across Alberain's rough features was evidence enough to the perceptive Riff that he had misspoken. Assuming the conversation was ended, the wiry man flitted into the alley quicker than Alberain could follow.

   After half-heartedly pursuing the scoundrel, the large man leaned against a stone wall to catch his breath. If Affilian and Renvalli wanted this blade, then it was obviously extraordinarily valuable. A wide grin played across Alberain's lips as he began to ponder the many possibilities that this situation would provide; he would pay the thieves back for their slights. As a bonus, he would also get to exact vengeance on Hiru Mentalli and his employer.

   "Perhaps I've been looking at this in the wrong light," the thug mused softly.

---

   Hiru looked to Kamon incredulously. "You do realize the significance of that sword, do you not?"

   The monk shrugged as he covered the glib sword again. Its arrogance was intolerable enough without it having to hear the mage praise it. "I don't particularly care," Kamon quickly interposed. "It has a dreadful enchantment on it, probably a cruel trick of some mad archmage."

   Hiru huffed loudly. "You truly are a fool if you believe that! That weapon has been in more battles than you could count and has destroyed more evil than you could ever know. It's a fine blade that deserves a grateful master!"

   Victor growled, grabbing the attention of both of his companions. The minotaur's voice boomed through the tavern. "Quiet, the both of you. We have other things to discuss-- namely, our next destination. I presume you know where we are headed, sorcerer?"

   Hiru nodded slowly, and looked the minotaur in the eye. "We shall venture to Harrowton. There is a wise sage who resides there who we shall visit."

   The minotaur nodded and rose. The goliath strode with some measure of haste out of the tavern, and after exchanging befuddled looks and gathering their gear, his two human companions followed suit.

   "Stupid humans," the minotaur muttered as his companions ran to catch up. "Drawing all that attention-- they'll be lucky to survive the week."

---

   Alberain smiled wickedly as he saw Hiru and his two companions embark on the next leg of the voyage. Prowling within the underbrush, the broad-shouldered man kept a safe distance from the trio, keeping his gaze fixated on his prey. Even from this distance, he managed to hear  the rare bit of conversation the three had; apparently, they were headed towards Harrowton.

   Alberain's amusement doubled. He knew of a passage that would get him to Harrowton in less than two days'
travel; the path the companions had embarked upon would take twice that.

   As he began to backtrack, he laughed. "Bloody sage will never know what hit him."

[Elven Doritos]

Chapter Four: Harrowton

Chaos had erupted within Harrowton.

   Bodies lie in the town square, mutilated beyond recognition, as tentacles whipped around, smashing into building and bystander alike. Thirty dead at least, and many more would likely not survive their wounds.

   And at the center, a furious blur of claw, fang, tentacle, slam, and thrash continued its assault, seeming hungered and single-minded. Caked in blood and laughing maniacally, the people of Harrowton closed their homes and tried to hide from the slaughter outside their doors. Doors were locked, neighbors abandoned, the helpless left alone.

   This was the work of evil incarnate.

   This was the work of the Claw of Death.
---
   Kafan Tegusai stood at the window next to his host, the aged wizard Brallin Grayrobe, who was reputed to be a leading expert on the retrieval of ancient relics. Tegusai had been rather unimpressed with the doddering old wizard, however, and had been planning his careful departure for the past few days. The eccentric old hermit had provided Tegusai with little information of value, and the Azrani-born Tegusai far preferred the comforts of his home nation to the rugged hills and harsh rebuke he received from many of the locals. While it was true that the black-haired and darkly-complexioned man was obviously far from his home, he had somewhat naively expected his title of nobility to still carry weight outside Azran's borders.

   Tegusai regarded Brallin Grayrobe's look of horror at the sight of the slaughter outside, and noted curiously that the old mage's normally docile features seemed to rumple with a mixture of rage and fear.

   The Azrani spoke quickly in an unerring mastery of the local tongue. "There is nothing either of us can do to stop such a monster, sensei. It would be best to bide our time and prepare for an escape."

   The old wizard shook his head and closed his eyes. "These are my friends," Brallin began, "and I will not abandon them to this monster. Stay here if you choose, but I will try to stop it." Determined, the elderly mage strode confidently out of his estate and to the town square.

   "Then you will die," Kafan mused as he began to gather some of the mage's more valuable tomes. "No sense in letting all these books to go to waste."

---

   Alberain stooped low at the crest of a hill  and looked into the town square of Harrowton. The broad-shouldered man was visibly trembling as he looked onto the slaughter, his eyes wide with genuine terror. He had seen plenty of death  in his day and had even caused a good deal himself, but there was something about this massacre that was different. It was surreal, as if it was the scene of the darkest nightmare of a sadistic madman. It was murder without context: no hate, nor anguish, nor greed, nor passion. It was senseless and utter destruction, entropic and nihilistic in nature.

   And Alberain was in complete awe at the primal beauty of the scene, filled with envy for such a perfect creature.
---

   Brallin Grayrobe held his crystal-capped gnarled wooden staff firmly as he pointed it toward the strange tentacled creature. The old man's voice echoed with arcane power, and seemed to fill the pathetic wretch's entire mind. "You will cease this senseless act, foul creature, or I shall strike you down where you stand!"

   The Claw of Death giggled loudly and retracted its tentacles, pulling them around its body as they writhed and squirmed disturbingly. "Kill you, I could, I could," the Claw rasped, his toothy smile stained in scarlet. "Then dead you would be. Is that what old man wants?"

   Brallin tightened his grip and softly muttered an eldritch invocation. Pausing for a moment, he gave the monster a stern glance. "This is your last chance."

   The Claw tightened its fists, its blood spilling on the ground as its claws tore through flesh. "No, old man. This is yours."

   Infuriated, Brallin thrust forward, a glowing ball of flame erupting from the edge of his quarterstaff and exploding upon its target, engulfing the area in intense heat.
---
   Alberain clenched his teeth tightly at the explosion, and shook his head in disbelief. As the smoke began to clear, he could see the creature's form laying limp, and he sighed. "Too bad. Little bugger was quite the show." As he lowered his eyes in disappointment, he saw a sudden twitch from the idle creature.

   The wizard, by Alberain's observation, had missed that sudden movement, and Alberain grinned as the elderly mage turned his back on the creature, breathing heavily from the effort of the attack.

   Alberain couldn't help but laugh. "Big mistake, old man."
---

   For the Claw of Death, the world had suddenly gone black. Struggling to regain consciousness, the creature felt itself on the verge between life and death, vying to escape an untimely death.

   The Claw tried to remember its purpose, its mission, its identity- anything to act as a catalyst that would allow it to strengthen itself again.

   Suddenly,  the Claw saw an owl plummet to the ground, an arrow plunged deeply into its chest.

   With a soft murmur, the began to flex its arms instinctively. "R-rehl..."

   Crimson eyes flitted open. "I am Rehl," he whispered.

   The Claw had remembered his purpose.
---

   Kafan Tegusai had gathered the last tome he felt he needed, and stepped towards a window, watching the immobile, and seemingly dead, creature that Grayrobe had been apparently bested. The Azrani furrowed his brow, furious that the creature had failed in destroying the foolish old wizard. Strapping a sack full of books to his side, he sighed quietly. "I suppose if you want things done correctly, you should always take matters into your own hands." He stormed out of the estate, stopping a few paces from his former host.

   The exhausted wizard looked to Tegusai with a desperate look in his eyes. His voice was quivering, and seemed rather faint. "Please... help me, Kafan... That spell drained me of my strength...."

   Kafan merely grinned as he drew a small piece of fur from a black leather pouch. "My dear host, wise and honorable Brallin, Master Grayrobe of the Incorran Academy of Magical Studies, I am afraid that I have other plans for you at the moment."

   The gray-clad wizard matched Kafan's stare, shaking his head in disbelief. "What... what do you mean?"

   "This." Kafan held the fur forward and began to speak  in a strange tongue that Brallin knew all too well. Suddenly, an arc of blue-black lightning jumped from Kafan's hand through the elderly wizard's chest, killing the sage upon impact. As Brallin's carcass thumped to the ground, Kafan's faint smirk broadened.

   The Azrani laughed quietly. "As if anyone would notice another dead body amidst all these corpses."
---

   Rehl had watched the two wizards carefully, keeping his glances brief and his body as still as possible. As he watched the sudden betrayal, his lips widened, and when the grey-robed mage fell to the earth, Rehl hopped onto his clawed feet, digging them into the ground. His teeth flashed quickly, and he bowed some.

   The Claw rasped eagerly, "I smell the darkness in your soul, I do, I do. Thank you, I must."

   Kafan, unperturbed by the monster's proclamation, shrugged. "I do not care much what you see in my soul. I am more concerned with what you will do next."

   Rehl paused, and looked the man over. Tall and lean, he was wearing fine clothing and had a neatly-kempt appearance. "Wealthy," he muttered to himself. Remembering the bolt of lightning that felled the mage, he nodded again. "Powerful as well." Rehl's ruby eyes settled on the creature's face. "Rehl could use your power on his mission, he could."

   Kafan chuckled a bit, and, seeing the destruction and chaos the creature had caused, he was not particularly inclined to disagree. "I am not sure that we would have similar goals, good Rehl. I seek something very specific."

   Rehl nodded. "Rehl will do what you ask, as long as he can kill."

   Kafan grinned. "Oh, trust me. There should be plenty of that."

---

   Alberain watched the creature and the Azrani conversing, apparently making some sort of pact. Judging from the nature of this treacherous man and the small terror, the thug concluded that the only thing the two would have in common would certainly bear ill tidings for the region.

   And Alberain wanted to be part of it.

   The thug raced down the hill, waving his arms in an attempt to catch the attention of the two lone figures within the town square.

---

   Rehl looked to the approaching man curiously, and then to the his companion. "Shall we kill him, Ka-fin?"

   The Azrani shook his head. "I told you, it's 'Kafan', not 'Kafin'. And let him live, if nothing else to than to reward his stupidity."

   Nearly out of breath, the stocky man slowed, nearly toppling from the momentum of his run. "I came to warn you," he panted. "There are some mercenaries coming this way..." He paused, looking to the Azrani and to the blood-covered and diminutive creature. "They'll hunt the both of you down for this. They were actually looking for that man you killed... And I think I can help you avoid them."

   Kafan nodded, and looked to his companion. Reading the expression on the Rehl's face perfectly, the Azrani mage smirked. "You will join us, then. And do tell us of these mercenaries."

---

   Victor detected the distinct scent of blood, and large quantities of it. Stopping in his tracks, he turned to his two companions. They were only a few hundred yards from Harrowton, and having taken the low road, they couldn't see what was ahead.

   "There's trouble, you two," Victor boomed. "Prepare for the worst."

   Hiru shifted uneasily, wreathing his hands in green flame, as Kamon drew forth his wakizashi and unraveled Red Valor.

   As the trio approached the main gate, Hiru cried out in terror, seeing the unclad body of Brallin Greyrobe swinging slowly in the swift summer breeze, the scent of dried iron permeating the air. Scrawled into his chest were hastily drawn runes, each written in caked blood.

   Hiru stumbled over into the brush, unable to contain his physical revulsion at the horrific site. Victor's eyes softened visibly, and the minotaur shook his head.

   Abruptly, the minotaur asked, "What does it say?"

   Kamon looked to him. "It says, 'We know about the keys, and we shall find them first. Death to House Rikomi. Death to Leary."

   Victor closed his yellow eyes, shaking his massive head gently. "It looks like our troubles are just beginning..."

[Túrin]

Very good. Very good indeed. More please.
;) Túrin

[Elven Doritos]

Chapter Five: Interlude
   Victor of Arron stared into the flickering light of the nighttime fire, its soft orange candescence captivating his most primal of instincts. Something within the invigorating warmth called to his primordial instincts, entrapping him within a web of undiluted fascination and a strange calm.

   The complacent gleam left Victor's eyes, however, when his gaze settled on the form of Hiru Mentalli. It had been several days since the massacre at Harrowton and Hiru had yet to speak but perhaps a sentence or two.

   The minotaur watched Kamon Rikomi emerge from his makeshift tent and take a seat near the fire. Staring intently into the amber flame, the young monk's voice penetrated the soft sounds of the wilderness. "We cannot go on like this," Kamon stated. "If the mage can no longer perform his duties, we must consider turning back."

   The inquisitive goliath arched his massive head to the side of the flame, looking his monk companion directly in the eye. "Perhaps it is not so easy for him to lay aside the thought of such mayhem as it is, it seems, for you."

   Kamon's face flushed with anger, and he closed his eyes. Several long moments passed before he calmly replied, "It is not that I do not abhor such senseless destruction. It is that I feel those who died should be avenged."

   "Perhaps," Victor interjected, "Hiru feels he is partially responsible for the events at Harrowton." Noting the confused glance he earned from Kamon, Victor continued. "He may feel that if we had arrived earlier, we may have been able to stop whatever catastrophe befell Harrowton."

   Inside his tent, Hiru shook his head as he whispered softly, a crystal pendulum hovering over a map. "Or I may be scrying for the first key."

---

   Gorma straightened his black robes and lowered his cowl to reveal his emerald skin before his Master. Kneeling before his Master's throne, he tipped his head in reverence. "M'lord, I have received word that Leary's apprentice is attempting to scry the location of Valahar. We have attempted to mask his whereabouts, but the boy's magic is powerful; I do not know how much longer we can manage."

   Although he should have expected it, Gorma was surprised to hear his Master's laughter echo within the desolate chamber. "Dearest Gorma, you never cease to amuse me. The answer is quite simple, then. Lift the veil and allow the confrontation to occur."

   Gorma's eyes widened as he looked upon his Master's bemusing visage. "M'lord... if we precipitate the conflict, it is likely that he will die."

   Gorma watched as his Master's wicked smile widened further. "Gorma, my child. It is not of concern to me whether he lives or dies."

   Surprised, the black-robed creature shook his head. "It is not?"

   "No. I have never had much use for the brute."

---

   Kafan Tegusai surveyed the remainder of the trail and halted, turning towards his companions. They had been traveling the region since the massacre while Kafan sorted through the various texts he had purloined. It was his honest belief that he was approaching a breakthrough from the various tomes and scrolls, and that was for the best; both Rehl and Alberain had difficulties keeping their violent tendencies from surfacing.

   "We will be staying in Greenvale this evening, which is about a quarter mile further along the trail. Before we head back into civilization, I want to remind you that we are attempting to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible."

   Rehl, who had been wearing a heavy cloak which occasionally writhed from the creature's involuntary spasms, grunted. "The Kafin says no killing next, he does."

   The Azrani nodded. "That is correct, Rehl. It is not yet time to reveal ourselves." The coy wizard knew well enough that he wouldn't be able to keep the wretch from his dark urges for much longer, but it was his most sincere hope that, for at least one more night, Rehl would do as he was asked.

   With a twitch, the Claw of Death flashed a toothy grimace. "Rehl could kill more if Kafin were not around!"

   Alberain sighed and lowered the cowl to his black cloak. He knelt beside Rehl and offered a sympathetic smile. "I'd be agreeing with you, Rehl. I could use a good fight. But the thing is, we're not in a good position to go out looking for them. Sure, we could start a few fights, get some fun out of it. But why not let Kafan do his work? If he's right, we may end up seeing a lot of fights, and they're sure to be more of a challenge than any of the cowards in this town, here."

   Rehl listened closely to his companion, and nodded his approval. "Better fights, you say? Wait, Rehl will!"

   Kafan smirked as he realized that he was beginning to appreciate the surprising thug.

---

   Hiru's eyes opened with sudden clarity, and the pendulum struck a precise point on the map of Vestin. With a faint smile, the mage dipped his pen in ink and placed a careful point on the map. "A day's travel, no more," he quietly mused as he rolled the map, placing it along with his ink and pen into his pack.

   Hiru cast aside his outer cloak and climbed into his bedroll, placing his head gently upon a worn pillow. "At this time tomorrow, we should have that key." The mage smiled distractedly as he attempted to cast aside the image of Brallin's lifeless body.

---

   Kafan Tegusai settled uneasily in the cheap room, sighing with a modicum of relief at being separated, if only for the remainder of the evening, from his companions. Even to the manipulative wizard, the pair were quite a nuisance at times; perhaps their unpredictability and destructive urges were what perturbed the decidedly subtle Kafan the most.

   As he cracked open a heavy tome, Kafan's eyes became a bit heavy. "I cannot be expected to travel for a full day and be able to study forgotten old tomes, I suppose. It is rather curious how that old buffoon managed."

   A thought came to Kafan, and the wizard immediately dived into his pack to grab Brallin Grayrobe's spellbook. Offering a minor incantation and a flick of his wrist, the magically protected words and formulas within the book became intelligible for the Azrani. Thumbing through it hastily, he paused on a spell entitled 'Brallin's Convenient Summarization'. Kafan grinned as he pulled his own spellbook from the sack, preparing to copy the arcane formula.

   "It seems I will not have to, either."

---

   As the crimson dawn splashed across the sky, Hiru collapsed his tent and packed it. He turned to face Victor, whose gleaming  eyes were watching him cautiously. The mage spoke with a quiet confidence. "I have determined the location of the first key."

   "That is good," Victor replied staidly. "How far are we?"

   Hiru offered a weak smile. "I would estimate eleven hours or so."

   Victor stood to his full height, thumping his chest proudly. "Then what are we waiting for?" Pulling his axe from a tree stump, the minotaur went to wake Kamon.

   Hiru sighed. "It's going to be getting the key that's the problem," he whispered.

---

   Kafan grinned widely as he placed the last tome into his bag, his mind now swirling with the knowledge contained within it. Snickering to himself, he donned his silk cloak as he prepared to rouse his companions. He knew the location of one of the keys, deep within the heart of the northern tundra. It would be a long and treacherous journey, but should they succeed, they will have all they need to thwart the plans of Leary's mercenaries.

   More importantly to the scion of Tegusai, he would be able to cause even more trouble for Kamon Rikomi.

---

   Hiru Mentalli stood before a forbidding ash-black gate that barred the path to a rather unassuming tower deep within the Blacktimber Forest of Vestin. It had been a rather arduous day of travel, and the three companions were both sore from the journey and wary of the dangers that lay ahead of them.

   The mage spoke with an air of confidence. "I believe it is time to locate a key, gentlemen."

   Kamon nodded and drew with a flash of radiance Red Valor. Simultaneously, blade and bearer alike echoed the mage's sentiment: "Let's get to work."

[Numinous]

Done reading it already.  This stuff is great fun to read ElDo.  I realize it is unlikely, but I still beg you to at least consider starting a Red Valor PbP on these boards...  I would most certainly be overwhelmed with contentment to participate in such a game.

[Elven Doritos]

I'll consider it, especially after I finish up the big school projects in the next week.

I'm glad that you like the story, though! I definitely am enjoying writing it, and I sometimes surprise even myself. (Kafan Tegusai, while a long-time character in my RV mythos, has never had a real plotline to fit into. When I introduced the character of Rehl, he fit in seemlessly as the leader of a sort of counter-party to our heroes.)

[Numinous]

I have a thing for counter-parties m'self.  I've long had a cruel and insidous plot to have my 1st level PC's enter the last room of a dungeon to find a slain red dragon and a pary of better adventurers teleport out with the hoard.  However, I have since learned that would be cruel and inhumane, so much for that...

[Túrin]

Still keeping up. Let's see what happens next. :D

@Critical threat: I'm glad you regained your senses before doing this to your PCs. At first level even... *shakes head*

;) Túrin