Novel: The Road to Nowhere.

Othro stealthily edged his way down the sloping tunnel towards the dim light in the distance. Every nerve tingled as his senses tried to garner information about the cave. It had looked a plain and simple cave from the outside, but now his sixth sense warned him that there was danger here, a spine tingling, terror inspiring danger that would have made a lesser man run, or at the very least soil himself.

As the sounds of the cave entered his mind, a drip here and a drop there, Othro reflected that he could simply walk out and try the next cave, no one would know. However, his personal sense of honor, his own sense of what is right and wrong would not allow him to leave now. True enough, no one would ever know - but Othro would, and he's quite sure that he would live with the regrets for the rest of his life.

Unfortunately for Othro, intelligence wasn't one of his better traits. An intelligent man would have smelled the foul odor pervading his senses and realized what it signified; an intelligent man would have counted the skulls around him and noted how many were fresh; an intelligent man would have realize that these skulls did not show signs of decay, but had probably had the flesh ripped from them. An intelligent man would have, but Othro didn't.

Perception is a funny thing. What Othro saw, was something that most intelligent men didn't, in fact most sane men didn't. Othro saw opportunity; being a fledgling adventurer, and not a good one at that, he saw an opportunity to prove himself, to show the rest of his adventurer buddies that he could kill an orc, that there wasn't a goblin out there that could trade blows with him, he would prove them all wrong.

And so Othro moved on down the tunnel. As he descended, he began to hear strange noises; grunts and groans combined in a cacophony of noise that was both frightening and funny. Othro suppressed a chuckle as he tried to imagine what the goblins were up to - he assumed they were goblins, who else would live in a dingy cave like this?

Approaching the opening that looked ominously big, holding his long sword ahead of him like some beacon of justice, his shield held loosely in his left hand, Othro steeled himself ready for battle.
He moved quickly forward, his chain mail whispering softly, his shield clanking loudly against his sword as he clumsily tried to charge through the door, Othro opened his mouth to scream his favorite war chant. As he moved into the large cave, his eyes surveying the scene that slowly came into focus, the war cry died on his lips, leaving his mouth open, his eyes stunned; his face looked very reminiscent of the very first gold fish his mother had given him.

The first thing that he saw was the very large man slumped over a make-shift table. He was slumped face down on the table. He wore a leather jerkin and leather pants - but the pants were down around his ankles, his bare butt cheeks seemingly glinting in the scattered light of the torches that ringed the room. To the left a very large troll stood staring at the prone man; a large club lay at his feet splattered with blood. His very large hands were fumbling at his belt looking for an entirely different club. Ahead, in front of the prone man another troll sat, a hand lazily placed on top of the man's head stopping him from moving or escaping.

For a moment Othro just stared. The troll ahead of him looked up and smiled. Nonchantly he raised the head in his hands and slammed it to the table
"Gwarg, we have company" he stated, his voice rough and calm "We will finish this later". Standing up he moved towards Othro. Gwarg looked confused and almost sad as he began to re-fasten his belt. Leaning forward he picked up his club and turned to face Othro.
"Gwarg is not happy. Gwarg wanted to play. Gwarg kill little man now".
Yet again intelligence deserted Othro. A truly intelligent man would have ran, not letting the door hit him on the way out. Othro screamed and charged the first troll, his sword swinging wildly his shield raised to cover his side from the other troll. His swing was true and Othro was happy to see that the troll could bleed.
"Now you make me angry" cried the bleeding troll, the slash to his side seemingly more an inconvenience than a danger. Picking up a chair, he aimed a ponderous blow at Othro's head. Othro, whether by design or fortune, stumbled and the chair missed his head by a cat's whisker.
The second troll was running after Othro, his club moving side to side ominously, his grin sinister and grim. Othro wheeled around to face the troll and for the first time in his life his intelligence moved to the fore. His eyes widened as he realized he should have run. Two trolls against one well armed knight were not good odds; two trolls against one lightly armored, untrained adventurer didn't even have odds!

Othro parried the swinging club with his shield, a jolt of pain running up his arm. His sword arm raised to block the oncoming chair no avail, and it crashed into him splintering on his upper arm.
Both of his arms were numb; his shield arm was sluggish and he barely was able to block the club. As time seemed to slow, Othro wondered if the shield or his arm would break first.

Othro backed away slowly, parrying frantically with both sword and shield, wondering if anyone would ever find his corpse. The two trolls slowed slightly seemingly enjoying toying with Othro. Gwarg grinned at him "Fun ain't it" he said. The other troll laughed and replied "I like playing with my food, it makes%u2026." He stopped talking suddenly a look of surprise frozen on his face as a large axe split his skull. Gwarg grimaced as he watched the other troll die, and turned seeking out the axe bearer.
Othro would have laughed if he had been told this story in an Inn. The previously prone man stood in front of the dying troll, his pants still at his ankles, his manhood swinging wildly. His eyes were wild and fearful, but there was something in them that was as hard as steel. Slowly he pulled the axe out of the troll's skull and faced Gwarg. Othro, for the first time in his life seized the initiative. Two new things in one day, not bad at all eh!

Othro thrusting sword caught Gwarg by surprise. Its sharp tip sliced through leather entering into his back just above the heart. Gwarg made a grunt followed by a gurgle as blood filled his mouth. He looked surprised as he slumped to his knees, his head moving from side to side as if denying his pain. His eyes opened wide as he spied the axe swinging towards him; pain and fear were etched in the face as his head was removed, a ghastly testament left for any who would find the head.

The man with the axe looked at Othro, a strange wildness in his eyes, something akin to madness. Othro moved back wearily his sword ready, his eyes searching for an escape route. Looking back at the man in front of him, Othro wondered if his situation was worse now the trolls were dead.

The man's eyes blinked several times and slowly the madness faded from them. The axe lowered slowly as a sly almost embarrassed grin creased his face. Slowly he lowered the axe, and leaned it against a table close by. Pulling up his pants, the man look at Othro and spoke, his voice a low rumble. "My thanks to you sir, things were looking dire". Reaching out a gargantuan hand towards Othro he introduced himself "Andros son of Agnor, exile from the land of Halor, once and future king."
"Ummmm Othro, son of Othro, no exile, no king" intoned Othro, a flush of embarrassment crossing his face.
"Well met Othro, shall we leave?"

An hour later Othro and Andros were entering a small village; Andros rode his large stallion, while Othros jogged beside him, pulling a petulant mare along behind him. The mare bore the brunt of the gains of adventure, albeit slim pickings this time. A couple of bags of food, a few copper coins, a dagger, a club and not much else were found in the trolls cave.

While Othro hadn't discussed how Andros came to be in the trolls cave, he surmised that not only would Andros have served to sate the lust of the trolls, but would also have appeared on the evening's menu. While ordinarily trolls didn't eat humans, game, goblins and livestock were, the normal food for trolls, were becoming hard to find and trolls were resorting to raiding villages for live human food. What was unusual was the perverse nature of the two trolls he had encountered, he had never heard of any troll doing what he had nearly seen, but then there probably aren't many men who would admit to being a troll's bitch.

Studying Andros, Othro was in no doubt that his claim of being a 'once and future' king had some truth in it. His face was very kingly, chiseled as if from granite, piercing blue eyes, a mop of blonde hair that had a desire to spike itself. His body was as solid as a mountain, sleek, graceful and strong. His ease and poise told of years of hard training, and his pleasant speech told of education. Whether he be a king or not, he could easily pass for a Lordling,

Othro smiled as he realized that the Gods of Luck had smiled on him for once. Andros had kneeled on one knee and pledged to defend Othro until he retained his Kingship. Andros did not look the type to pledge himself and not mean it - Othro adventuring days were just about to get better he thought.

As they moved through the village, a few people stopped to stare at them. They made an odd couple indeed. One man, obviously high born, was riding a magnificent stallion. The other man, not so high born lead a nasty mare. Othro glance down into a huge puddle near him and smiled as he saw their reflection. Othro wasn't an ugly man, but he was an insignificant man.

Very slender and wily, he had quick reflexes and a fairly strong arm. He was better with the bow, but that just wasn't the way you were supposed to adventure. His face seemed a little out of place. All other people he knew that were born in this area were fair skinned, tall and blond. He was fairly short and dark haired. His face was handsome in a rugged sort of way. His chin was unshaven; he had a mop of hair that refused to stay in one place, and dark brown eyes that always seemed to be frowning. Many of his childhood friends had teased him that he had been adopted as a child, but his parents denied it, or at least told him 'not to be silly' when they had questioned them about it. He really still did not know the truth of it though, for although his parents denied it, there was always a knowing look between them when Othro broached the subject.

Coming back to the present, Othro spied the Inn they were heading towards. Andros, not the most talkative man he had met, mentioned he had a few retainers staying in the Inn. The Inn looked dangerous; while the village as a whole was dank and dirty, there wasn't any sense of evil or wrong, but Othro skin crawled as he looked at the Inn.

It was a large building towering above the single story shacks around it. Three stories high, it slumped forward a little like some hunchback with a load to heavy to bear. Two ponderous large windows stared at him, beseeching him to come close so that the large mouth that was the door could swallow him whole. The very building was sinister, somehow alive yet obviously not.

"We're going in there" he murmured in astonishment, more to himself than to Andros
"Yes" Andros replied apologetically, motioning Othro forward, "my purse is lighter than I would like these days and the needs of my retainers outweigh my own needs".

A stable boy greeted them as they moved closer to the Inn
"Take yer orses me lords?" he said softly, as he closed his hands around the reins
Othro flipped him a brass coin and moved swiftly passed him, missing the sly look that appeared for a second on the boy's face.
"Thank yee me lords" he intoned as he moved away with the horse.

Andros strode into the Inn, Othro close behind. Andros walked straight towards a table with only two people sitting around it.
A beautiful lady, dressed in a simple plain dress, with dark curly tresses of hair cascading down her back, piercing grey eyes and a body to die for, stood and greeted Andros. Andros's face lit up as he lifted her off his feet and kissed her passionately; the lady looked surprised, a slight flush crossing her face, but she returned his passion.

Othro looked at the woman. Her legs well slender but muscular, her waist thin and petite. His eyes moved up following her curves appreciatively; he smiled to himself. His eyes moved further up and he found her dark azure eyes looking back at him, her mouth twisted into a slight grin. Embarrassed that he had been caught studying her, he nodded his head. She smiled back at him, winked at him, a wink that promised so much more, or perhaps nothing at all, and then her face turned back to Andros and their passionate kiss continued. Andros's eyes were turned to him, with a look that was speculative and angry at the same time.

Next to her an old man twiddled his thumbs as he waited for the passion to die down. As Andros finished his exuberant greeting, he placed the lady back on the floor and patted the old man gently on the arm.

"Good to see you Gord, how goes it?"
Gord looked up at him, a look of exasperation crossed his wizened face. Gord was an enigma; he was dressed in an unflattering robe that seemed to hide his shape, his head seemed to poke out from the top of it, like some apple balancing on a wall. His face, wizened as it was, seemed kind and yet had something intangible about it; it seemed to be the head of a powerful man, and yet the head of a serf. The deep set eyes showed intelligence, but also had a hint of sorrow so deep that it almost hurt to look into them. His mouth was strange and twisted. As a child Othro's mother had warned him that if he made faces for long enough, his face would freeze in place. Gord must have made too many faces in his youth.

"Well, my lord, if you consider that I have spent all morning removing fleas from myself and your lady and spent a longer time chasing rats, bugs and cats away from our supplies, then things must be well I guess" he replied sardonically.

Missing the sarcasm, Andros accepted this with a smile and turned to face Othro
"Othro, I'd like you to meet Elena, my future queen, and Gord my humble servant. Alas, my other retainers have left my service and seek their own fame and fortune. Elena, Gord please meet Othro, he saved my life, and my virtue today". He smiled at the recent memories.

Elena looked a little abashed as she curtsied, while Gord simply looked grumpy.
Elena's eyes lingered on Othro's as she spoke softly to Andros "I see my lord's retinue grows. It is a good day indeed." Othro smiled emphatically as he looked adoringly at Elena, Andros nodded his head swiftly. Othro turned as he heard the door to the inn open. Strangely the people around him looked too, the noise level diminished as all looked at the man in the door way. Some men would actually be angered to know that the hulk blocking the sun in the doorway was classed as a man, he looked like a brute. Othro would have sworn that the man was more akin to troll.

His dress sense was that of a troll too. He was dressed in what could be described as a loin cloth, except that it had a flap of leather at the back. The looseness in the front was almost indecent. He wore a jacket of sorts, with no sleeves and not buttons. It was made of leather and seemed to small for him, as it stretched across his large shoulders. His chest was clearly visible, and the muscles that bulged and pulsed as he walked into the Inn would have made a Minotaur skulk away sulking. This was one man you didn't mess with it, and from the way he held himself, he knew it too.

He strode into the inn as if he owned it, his eyes scanning the tables as if in search of something. As he spied Andros, his mouth opened to reveal two brown teeth dangling ponderously from his upper gums. Add this to his absurdly wide nose and squinty pig eyes and you realize why many men are insulted to be grouped with him. The man stopped, his arms dangling, his back slightly hunched, his muscles flexing as he clenched and unclenched his fists. Othro changed his opinion. "Gorilla" he thought, as the toothy grin re-appeared and the pig eyes alighted on Andros. The large man clenched his fists again and moved towards them. Othro laid a hand on his sword sensing trouble, but soon removed it as he spied four town's guards entering and blocking the door. Four more appeared to the back of the inn. They tried to give off a nonchalant air, but he knew that they were with the 'Gorilla'.

"It's a trap Andors" Othro whispered as he noticed the tables around him were emptying rather quickly. Andros nodded his head "My Lady, Gord, time for you to leave." Elena and Gord moved rapidly. While the large man looked at them with interest he did nothing to stop them from leaving. A quick nod at the guards and they parted to let the couple leave.

The man looked at Othro and rumbled "You want to leave too little man?, I have no quarrel with you." Othro found his intelligence lacking once again as his anger boiled over. "What is it with the 'little' - the last troll to make that comment to me lies dead in his cave" If the man noticed the insult he ignored it "So be it". He said, his toothy grin returning. Othro mumbled to himself, "I'm gonna punch those teeth so far down your mouth, you'll be shitting the fragments for days".

The man brushed himself down, a gesture of importance seemingly, and spoke in a deep booming voice as if to speak over a tumultuous crowd.

"I, Oland the great, right hand to the true King, King Alamon, do hereby arrest the tyrant Andros son of Agnor. I charge you with kidnapping the King's daughter Elena, and seeking to usurp the throne by devious means. What say you, Andros, son of Agnor?"
Othro had never seen anyone move quicker. Andros was up on his feet and punching Oland before you could say "whatdafug". Oland the great stood there for a second, a bemused look on his face. Blood trickled from his large mouth. For a second, Othro thought he was going to tumble, but to his dismay he wiped the trickle of blood from his face and laughed. It was a strange high pitched laugh that was strangely contagious; Othro found himself chuckling as did several of the guards. Abruptly the laugh stopped, leaving an eerie silence - Oland's eyes seemed to glow as anger flowed out of them. "You will now die" he said quietly.

Lifting his arms like clubs he began to batter Andros. Hefty blows rained down on him pushing the man to the ground, his arms covering his head. Othro stopped for a moment and watched. Slowly he unsheathed his sword moved behind Oland and placed the blade against the back of his huge neck. "I suggest you stop hitting Andros now" he said quietly, with a new found glint of steel in his voice.
The man stopped and turned to look at him "We have a brave one here don't we" he said, pressing his neck against Othro's sword. "Go on then little man, slice my neck open. Why not? You'd be a wanted man, hunted in every corner of the land." He smiled quickly "But then, that would make you SOMEONE wouldn't it; make you famous." Othro's anger boiled over again as the insult hit home, he pressed forward, his point entering Oland's neck and drawing blood.

Behind Oland, Andros was getting unsteadily to his feet. Andros looked up at Othro and smiled wanly, suddenly the smile disappeared and his face paled. Othro looked at him for a moment then noticed the eight swords that were now pointing at his own neck
"Oh Shit" he said as his sword wavered slightly. Oland smiled at him "Looks like you're in trouble little man. The guards do not know me or like me so they don't care if I die, but they have orders to kill anyone who gets in my way. So what are you going to do little man?

Not too far away in a dark alleyway at the back of the Inn Elena and Gord were in the middle of a heated discussion.

"No, absolutely not" said a red faced Gord "I swore twenty years ago that the dark arts would die with me and that I would never use them again."
Twenty years ago, Gord had been a young Necromancer seeking power and fame. You know how it goes, learn magic, join a band of adventurers, seek treasure, raise the undead, challenge the king. Well the king wasn't too happy about all of this and had destroyed the nefarious undead and very nearly cut off Gord's head. The only thing that had saved him had been his beautiful seven year old daughter who had cried mercy.

This same daughter was now beseeching Gord to break his oath, to undo his promise he had made many weary years ago. The same promise that had saved his life, and possibly saved the kingdom from untold evils. He had been so happy to let the power die, let the world become one without magic, for it surely didn't need undead walking, or giants, or wargs, or those strange little eight legged fizzballs that simply got everywhere, and I mean everywhere if you know what I mean! No matter%u2026.

Gord was the last necromancer in the land, and as far as he knew he was the only magic user of any kind left in the whole world. Over the last 20 years he hadn't used magic at all, not even to capture food or light a fire. Even his favorite mundane spell remained unused, and believe me a spell that turns horse dung into un-smelling lumps of firewood was very very useful.

Elena's eyes beseeched him "You can't leave Andros to die, or worse to be captured by my father" There was so much venom in the way in which Elena said 'father' that Gord held his breath for a moment. He never understood why she hated her father so much; he had been kind to her, she had everything she had wanted, she was spoilt. The only thing that he had denied her was the love of the young Andros - her obsessions turned into anger and hatred.

Closing his eyes he sighed "You don't know what you ask of me Elena" he whimpered "You threaten to destroy my soul"

Elena sighed herself "Without Andros I will have no soul".
Opening his eyes again, Gord looked to the skies 'Forgive Lord, I cannot resist a lady in distress'.

Elena smiled and kissed him quietly on the cheek.
Gord blushed slightly and moved into the Inn's kitchen. Looking over his shoulder at Elena he whispered "You must ensure that no one touches me until this is all over and I have dispelled the magic; I do not know what would happen if this is not done properly!" His eyes seemed to become unfocused as he spoke, his voice becoming rough and strangely powerful.

Twilight seemed to dance in his eyes as they changed from dark brown, to light blue and then ultimately to pitch black. Elena shivered as his eyes changed, feeling the air around her become as cold as a winter's night. She followed him as he moved into the main common room; at first no one noticed them, but finally Othro pointed her and mumbled "The cavalry arrives" he didn't sound to convinced by his own words. Several guards looked around in surprise and then laughed "an old man and a maid, woooo I am scared now" one guard laughed. Andros smiled and intoned "you should be".

What happened next happened in a blink of an eye, but seemed to take forever.

Gord raised his hand and made a gesture. It was a fluid gesture, his hands moving in a circle but somehow not moving, while his mouth opened slowly. A word erupted from him and suddenly the guards were gone, in their place 8 chickens ran around, squawking and flapping their new found wings.

Gord looked at Oland, his hands still seemingly dancing in slow motion, strange shapes forming and reforming between them, some sinister and some strange. Again he opened his mouth and another word erupted from his parted lips. This was quickly followed by another "Oh Shit" from Othro.

Before Othro's horrified eyes, Oland body seemed to become fluid and change. This time though it wasn't instantaneous; Othro was horrified as the body changed and coalesced in front of him. Gord, Elena and Andros stood and watched each of their faces a mix of horror, fear and revulsion as this strange dance of liquid ebbed and flowed. Finally a pool of orange-red liquid was all that remained.
Gord looked mystified "Hmm that shouldn't have happened. I wonder if I should have said Quaowanticus, not QUwewanticus. This magic can be very tricky if you pronounce words slightly incorrectly. Ah well it worked well anyway."

Andros bowed to Gord. 'You have saved my life my friend', he was about to say more when Othro interrupted, his voice strangely calm "My Lord I think we may have a slight problem". His eyes were fixed on the orange-red pool of liquid. Something stirred on the surface of the pool. Bubbles rose and fell. Slowly the liquid began to rise. The center of the liquid lifted forming into a rough headlike shape. As the liquid coalesced it began to take form; it grew larger and larger, taking the shape of a wolf at first, but merging into a roughly man-like frame, albeit a very large man. The shape was far larger than Oland's original body, and the face was like something from hell.

With a wolf's snout prominently sticking out, and strange red eyes, the beast had a very wolf like appearance. As the transformation finished Elena, Andros and Gord stood still transfixed, horrified. For once Othro's brain seemed to work; he tried slashing the beast all to no avail, his sword simply slipping of the skin as if there was an invisible barrier interrupting his swing, somehow impermeable. He screamed "Run", perhaps the most intelligent thing he had ever uttered.

The four humans were spurred into action, all clambering to go through the door at the same time. The beast roared loudly, it's voice piercing and deadly. It's head moved now, scanning it's body, flexing the very sharp claws as it seemingly smiled. Slowly it began to move testing its new body.

As he ran out of the Inn Othro called to Gord "Do something!" he screamed, "you summoned this thing". Othro placed a hand on Gord's shoulder as if to turn him. Suddenly light flared all around him as something passed out of Gord's shoulder and into him. Wildfire erupted around him and an intense pain that stemmed from every cell in his body threatened his very sanity.

Othro screamed in pain "What have you done to me". Suddenly the beast was on him, tearing at him, his claws raking his skin, the foul breath rolling over his senses. Fear gripped Othro as he struggled with the beast. Suddenly, and surprisingly Othro somehow found the strength to hurl the wolf-beast from him. The beast seemed to be stunned for a moment, and pain flickered across it's face. It turned to them, emitted one last howl and then ran out of the village.

Othro's eyes followed the beast as it moved away. Around the beast a cacophony of color seemed to ebb and flow, like a black cloud with flecks of grey and gold. The cloud had a pulse almost akin to a heartbeat that seemed to give it a life of its own.

Turning away from the beast and blinking his eyes, Othro exclaimed loudly "What the%u2026.." Gord stood next to him, eyes wide and frightened. Around him was a similar cloud, this time white tinged with read and gold. The pulse was slower this time, still like a heartbeat though.

Looking around he noticed that everyone had a cloud around them; even the guards (who were now bemused chickens) had a mini cloud. Othro closed his eyes and kept them shut hoping that the clouds would disappear when he re-opened his eyes.

He found Elena, her cloud a faint green color flecked with vibrant yellow and orange. She was staring at him, a look of amusement, fear and pity on her face. For the first time, Othro looked at his hand. His mouth hung open as he spied the flames around his hand%u2026..they were barely visible, a translucent blue. The flames were all over him, but he did not feel any pain or warmth. As he looked he could feel his anger growing. Looking at Gord he asked "What did you do".

As his anger grew the flames around him intensified, turning orangey red. He could feel a little heat now but he was not burning. His anger rose as he realized he was somehow changed, deformed in a very unnatural way. The flames intensified as his anger grow; a tension started to build up in him, like a taught arrow string waiting to be released. He turned away form his companions, his eyes closed. Pressing his hands together, in front of him, he screamed. Suddenly, with the release of tension a huge ball of fire sprung from his hands into the Inn.

Andros looked at him with a bemused look on his face "Fried chicken for dinner tonight then" he quaffed as he spied the fully cooked ex-guardsman on the ground. Scooping down, and warily looking at Othro he snatched up a couple of the cooked chickens and put them in his back-pack. "We had better leave before we're trapped in here" he said as he viewed the now burning inn.

Andros moved to the door without waiting to see if anyone was following. For a brief second Othro thought about staying in the room. He was deformed, men and women would shun him; he would be feared everywhere he went and warriors would seek to kill him.

As he moved away from the Inn Elena walked beside him. "The fires are not visible outside, or barely visible - you just seem to glow" she whispered gently. "It's not that bad really."
He harrumphed and continued walking. Gord hesitantly approached him.
"You seem to have absorbed the magical energy that I was storing. It should dissipate" he said, as he walked towards Andros he repeated the words as if trying to convince himself.

Othro couldn't believe it, one moment he was a normal non glowing man, the next moment he had become a carnival freak. He looked around, he spied Elena bending over, for once he had a very nice distraction to look at. Sensing his stare once again, she stood and looked at him, a quirky smile on her face "Your flames turn bright red when your aroused" she quipped, as his face turned the same color as the bright red flames. Trying to think about his horse, he hoped his flames died down. This could be a real pain in the ass, if he couldn't control his new flames, he'd wouldn't be able to hide anything. He wondered if the flames changed color when he laughed, or cried or lied.
He frowned as he realized he may have to wear a cloak to cover him at all times - now that was going to make for an uncomfortable summer.
Ignoring her smile, he walked over to Elena. Gord and Andros were standing next to her looking bemused.
Trying to divert the attention from himself, he spoke to Gord.
"What was that thing?"
Gord flushed with embarrassment. "Some sort of were-man, probably wolf". He hesitated but continued "I'm out of practice, even the most simplest spell requires constant study and repetition; after a few weeks the words seem to muddle together if you don't practices." He shrugged "It's been twenty years. After the first spell worked well, I assumed that I could recall all spells. The one I attempted on the leader was slightly different, I was trying to transform him into a pig, but let him have a human mouth so I could talk to him%u2026it went wrong".
"No shit" mumbled Othro.

Two hours later they had set up camp several miles away from the village next to a lazy stream. They sat around eating chicken, Othro had a puzzled look on his face.

"Isn't this like cannibalism or something? They were human before the transformation." He said grumpily, his flames diminishing somewhat, but still visible, if a little black.

Gord replied "Well they do say Human's taste like chicken, don't they?" he laughed, but stopped suddenly as he saw the reproachful look on Andros's face "Well, let me think. When the spell is cast, it re-arranges the atoms that make up the man. This transformation effectively forces the soul to leave the body. The brain transforms into that of a chicken. So as it is our soul that differentiates us from mere animals, I'd say no; we're not eating humans%u2026..I could be wrong of course".

Othro shuddered, he still didn't like it but he had no choice, he was very hungry. The chicken tasted good too, perhaps the best chicken he had ever had, certainly the freshest.

He had a sudden thought as he continued to chew on the leg bone "Gord, you said that the magic would diminish in me eventually, is this the same with the chickens? I'm not going to wake up with a human leg poking out of my stomach tomorrow am I?"
Gord looked a little startled at that question "Generally once transformed, the beast stays transformed. There was one case though where a mad wizard transformed his wife into a pig; unfortunately for him the pig transformed back into his wife a few days later. He was heard to moan that his wife had been far better as a pig, prettier, less talkative and far better in bed." He grinned widely, and Othro suddenly realized he was being teased.

Elena placed a hand on Othro's shoulder and spoke gently "Enough of the teasing Gord, you will do all you can to get our friend back to normal won't you?" She raised her eyebrows, and with a look that would have withered the most virulent trees, made sure that Gord knew she wasn't joking. "Yes my lady" he stammered.

"OK, that is all set. Now Andros, where do we go now?"
Andros had been very quiet for the last hour. He looked around at them, a strange look in his eyes. "We must visit the King and persuade him the legitimacy of my claim, or kill him."

%u2026..

Elena watched Andros as he rode forward into the sunlight, a sad silhouette against the lowering sun. His form seemed to slump in the saddle as each day brought new challenges to his quest to become king.

She loved him, she knew that, but she also understood that his infatuation would probably pass once he was king (if ever) so she kept an open mind and continued to nurture opportunities when they arose. Othro was one such opportunity.

Othro intrigued her; he was nothing special. He wasn't that handsome, he wasn't particularly intelligent and he certainly wasn't an able swordsman, but something drew her to him. Something in the way he smiled, a smile that seemed to belie the confidence he showed the world. Elena glanced at him, his glow barely visible now below the cloak he wore.

It was his eyes she suddenly realized. Othro had the deepest eyes she had ever seen, it was as if an ancient intelligence was stirring inside them, an intangible power that once loosed would change the world. She sensed rather than saw this as on the surface the eyes were of a lost soul.

She smiled to herself wondering how this would play out. As she did so she looked at Gord. He was an enigma entirely to himself. Gord was probably the most powerful and dangerous man on this earth and yet he had given up on these powers and become humble. She wondered what would happen now that Gord had again tasted temptation.

As the darkness began to grow around her she felt her spine tingling slightly. A strange sense of foreboding overcame her as a tension seemed to rise around the four of them. It felt like a thousand eyes were looking at her, watching her and waiting. She pressed forward and whispered to Andros
"I don't like this Andors, let's get of the road and camp for the night."

He looked at her and shook his head, his eyes flaring slightly. They had been through this for almost an hour and the men had concluded that it was far safer to travel at night. The king's men were hunting them, and they normally holed up in Inns at night. Elena had argued that the beast that they had created was out there somewhere, but she was fighting a losing battle and eventually gave up.

As she contemplated the previous argument and tried to formulate a new argument, she had a strange sixth sense and immediately ducked. Andros looked at her quizzically for a moment a bemused look on his face. Suddenly, the bemusement was replaced by surprise as a roped lung across two trees hit him across his shoulders and pushed him from his horse. For a moment he seemed to float in mid air, but soon he was falling, and hitting the hard earth below him.
The same fate had befallen Gord and Othro, Elena was the only one to have ducked.

"Go" Andros shouted as dark figures appeared around them. Spurring her horse ahead, galloping out of range of the dark figures, she looked back.
Andros and Othro had attempted to get up, but nets flew out of the darkness and ensnared them, forcing them back to the ground. Andros struggled wildly, arms flailing; he attempted to get his word out but more nets appeared and his struggles just seemed to make his entanglement worse.

Elena looked around wildly and noticed perhaps thirty figures approaching cautiously, their bandy arms swinging low, their mouths uttering strange guttural noises.
"Goblins" she swore, as she slowed her mount down. None of the Goblins had followed her luckily, so she turned her horse.

Suddenly her sixth senses peaked again, but this time too late.
A huge figure appeared out of nowhere blocking out the fading light from the horizon. She kicked her horse hoping to spur it into action. The dark figure roared loudly and the horse backed away despite her spurring. Elena screamed at her horse, a scream of anger and desperation as she tried to make the stupid animal more afraid of her.

She sense other figures around her, as the dark figure began to come out of the gloom. It had bright red eyes above a long browns snout; hair covered it's face. Long legs and arms waved wildly aside its strong muscular body. It looked like the offspring of a Goblin and Orc, having a face that was more gorilla like, and a body that was very lean and strong.
She surmised that this must be the leader of the gang of goblins.