#cudgel keep

A Gnome and a Deal

     “Alright, Digleby,” I say to myself, trying to bring whatever courage I have to the forefront of my mind, “All you have to do is go into his office and tell him that you wish to have his daughter’s hand in marriage. A simple conversation, is all it is, my dear me.”

     As I turn towards the door, the smile on my face swiftly washes away as my anxiety makes the dwarven-sized door stretch to the mountain ceiling. My courage swiftly washes away as a sense of dread replaces it.

     “There’s always tomorrow, right?” I say as I try to convince myself to abandon ship.

     Taking a deep breath, I center myself while stating aloud, “It’s only a conversation, Digleby...we can handle a conversation.”

     My hand tremors as I reach for the brass handle to Sir Ironfist’s door. I start to lose my breath as I relinquish control of my heartbeat to my impending panic attack. Every footstep from the nearby alleyway sends shivers down my spine. My fingertips barely find purchase on the door as it swings open, courtesy of Sir Ironfist’s guest.

     “I suppose that I’ll leave you for the gods to deal with, Fallond,” the stocky and scarred Dwarf said as he held the door open, paying me no mind yet.

     “Once your gods come around to me, perhaps they’ll have more sense than one of their so-called ‘Venerated’, Baldor,” Sir Ironfist responded with a tinge of annoyance.

     As Baldor turns around, he stops just before bumping into me as he regards me with a joyous, “Oh, by Nadari’s breastplate, if it isn’t Digleby! I thought we discussed about you needing to be a bit louder in your life at our last consultation, lad!”

     Pulling me in for a boisterous hug, it’s almost difficult to breathe as I respond, “Ah, of course, Sir Baldor. I’ll continue to work at i-”

     He swiftly places me back down before interrupting me to say, “I believe we also spoke about you dropping the ‘sir’ as well, young Dig.”

     Straightening my back and hearing a few vertebrae pop, I respond, “Right, sorry, Baldor, it’s just...there’s a lot we talked about last consultation. A bit difficult to work on all of it at once.”

     Slapping his meaty palm against my shoulder, I nearly stumble as he continues, “Don’t worry, my dear boy! You have all the time in the world ahead of you to work on it. Besides, if it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth your time, now would it?”

     I try to continue the conversation just as Sir Ironfist exclaims, “If our business is done, I would prefer you two take your discussion out of my realm.”

     “We’ll be done in a moment,” Baldor retorts, barely turning to glance at him, “Just rub your sacks of gold in the meantime.”

     Sir Ironfist frustratedly drops the two pouches of gold he’s palming as Baldor gently places a hand on my shoulder before leaning in to whisper, “Are you here for the other thing we discussed?”

     Nervously, I answer, “I am, Baldor, but, perhaps it’d be best if-”

     Shaking his head as he interrupts me, Baldor places both hands on my shoulders as he says, “Listen to me, boy. You’re destined for great things. Wonderful things. A life of adventure, excitement, treasure, and, most assuredly, love.”

     Hearing words of encouragement, I feel my heart calm for a moment as he continues to say, “But, every grand adventure starts with a single step. This is your step, kiddo. Take it and seize what glory awaits you.”

     As soon as he finished his short speech, I felt a surge of courage form within me. It was as if a furnace which was long abandoned had finally been given fresh coals. My anxiety and concern left as all that was left inside of me was steadfast determination. Baldor gave me one last nod, smile, and pat on my shoulder before leaving the room. The aggravated glare of disdain painted across Sir Ironfist’s face swiftly clung to me as soon as the brass and wooden door to his headquarters shut.

     “Eversharp,” Sir Ironfist regarded, voice filled with antipathy.

     “Sir Ironfist,” I respond, holding a calm look against his, “If I could trouble you for a moment of your time-”

     Interrupting me, he places his hands behind his back as he retorts, “Oh, you’ve bothered me for far longer than that, boy.”

     My brow drops to a perturbed scowl for a moment as he continues to glare at me. I take a deep but quick breath to control myself as I take in his attire.

     “Sir, I understand that you are a busy man, but I can assure you that what I have come here to discuss is well worth your time,” I respond.

     “Worth my time? Worth? My? Time?” he mocks, poking my chest with his left hand covered in gold rings and rubies as he enunciates each syllable, “What would you know about my time?”

     Taking a breath, I try to retort but my moment of hesitation simply invites him to continue, saying, “A minute of my time afforded me the gilded mithril armor upon my chest. An hour of my time had me obtain the golden filigree floor you’re feeble body is desecrating right now. A day of my time fetched me three wives and the fate of Netton Harbor to toy around with. A decade of my time gave me half of this city as payment for my service to it during and after the Great War. Would you like to know what all my time in this realm is NOT worth, Diggsy?”

     Having spat on my glasses during his vitriol, I calmly pull a small handkerchief from my vest and begin cleaning them before trying to say, “I would-”

     “It’s NOT WORTH a sad excuse for a Dwarf to demand my time to hear desperate pleas for that which will never happen,” he says to me as he pushes me up against the door before walking back to the center of his golden theater, “My daughter and I have already discussed your desires.”

     “Well, if Nel has spoken to you, then you know that she wants the same as I,” I return, placing my glasses back upon my nose as I while walking towards him, “We would be happy together, away from your businesses, making our own way and treasure about the world of Baicia.”

     “Happy? How would my only daughter be happily married to a man who can’t even earn a single gold piece a day?”

     My heart sank a bit, causing me hesitate as he flicked his satin robe aside.

     “You know why I took you in a decade ago, Eversharp? After your parents succumbed to Abbathor’s Poison.”

     Knowing where the conversation was heading, I felt a hot rage flush over me as he continued, slowly pacing around his golden auditorium.

     “Because of the pity I felt knowing that one of my brothers-in-arms had fathered a child that couldn’t take care of himself after his passing.”

     Trying to keep myself from doing something drastic, I attempt to interrupt just for him to speak over me again. My teeth began to grind as my anger continued to grow.

     “Your father was one of the strongest men I ever knew before his misplaced faith corrupted him. I saw your father fend off entire droves of Duergar from our city walls single-handedly. I watched him, as a humble shop owner, gain the respect of the entire city. He was a dwarf worthy of any realm’s fear and admiration. But you...”

     Turning back around to look me in my face, Sir Ironfist slowly stepped towards me as he continued his insults while brandishing his golden teeth.

     “You’re a dwarf who can’t keep gold in his pocket, much less provide it for his future wife. My daughter deserves someone who can shower her in enough presents to bury her boredom for a life time. All you have ever brought her was old bones and painted stones.”

     “As is her desire, sir,” I speak up, stepping towards him.

     “My child deserves a dwarf who will actually protect her with more than sickly sweet begging. All I’ve ever seen you do is talk your way out of altercations, in fear of the damage that may come to you.”

     “Because my father’s dying wish was for me to rely on my mind rather than my brawn, sir,” I retort as my hand begins to ball into a fist. 

     “All you can afford her is a life of false promises and shortcomings. A false promise of love which will never be fulfilled. A shortcoming in worth and life, just as you fell short attempting to take your own the night your parents perished. No daughter of mine will be left in debt because her supposed husband can’t provide for her. No daughter of mine will be left alone because her supposed beloved can’t live long enough to love her.”

     I have no retort as he continues. My mind goes blank as I simply wait for him to get closer.

     “You’re godless. You’re gutless. You’re penniless. You’re not worth your father’s name. You’re not worth the past decade of time I’ve afforded you. Most importantly, you’re not worthy of my daugh-”

     As he gets within arm’s reach, I finally muster up the courage to interrupt him. However, my frustration closes my mouth as my fist instinctually flies into his jaw. Before my second punch could land, I’m nearly blinded by a flash of white magic as I’m sent flying into the stone steps just below the door. Barely able to feel my back, I desperately pat out the small fires on my chest as there’s now a smoldering boot print on the front of my tunic. Sir Ironfist slams his right foot down onto my chest to pin me to the ground. I feebly struggle as he slams a halberd next to my cheek, splitting the stone floor. 

     Standing over me with the spite of Altcher coursing through his weapon, I say to him between staggered breaths, “You know that Nel loves me.”

     “I know that she’s a delusional young lady who grew too attached to her childhood pet,” he replies, grinding his halberd.

     “Don’t you want,” I struggle, trying to breathe as his boot grows heavier, “Your...daughter...to be...happy?”

     “She’ll learn to be happy when I find her a proper dwarf,” he claims, raising his halberd above his head.

     Just as he swings his halberd towards my eyes, I squeak out, “You’re...a...liar.”

     Coming to a halt just an inch from my face, he asks, “What did you call me?”

     His boot pushes harder against my ribs but I manage to answer, “Liar...sir.”

     Picking me off the ground by my collar, Sir Ironfist slams my back against the door as he asks me what I mean. Knowing that the only chance I have now is to target his pride, I return his vitriol with my own as I catch my breath.

     “With all due respect, you’ve never been able to see past your wealth. Nel has never wanted your business. If I’m being frank about it, she’s never even wanted your name. All you’ve ever done is lie. You lied to her every time you’ve told her that you know what’s best. You lied to me from the moment I entered your home, claiming that I was always welcome but even back then I could almost retch at the stench of dishonesty coming from you. You even lied to yourself when you said that you still worshipped the old Dwarven gods. Your most heinous lie was to your wife, when you promised her on her death bed that you’d put her daughter above everything else.”

     After breaching the subject of Nel’s mother, Sir Ironfist nearly electrocutes me to death before shouting, “You have no RIGHT to speak on such matters, child!”

     With only one last attempt at possibly ever obtaining Nel’s hand in marriage, I wheeze as I tell him, “But the worst lie you ever told yourself...is that you actually convinced yourself that I would never have your daughter.”

     Slamming the shaft of his halberd into my throat and lifting me off the floor by it, I can barely manage to speak as I continue to say, “I’ve had...Nel...since the moment...you left...her...for your shops. She was nev-never as important as...your...pockets.”

     He tells me, “I could crush your windpipe and have you fed to a forge as kindling without anyone raising an eyebrow,” before releasing me to the ground and continuing with, “But, instead, you’ve convinced me to bestow you a worse fate.”

     As I try to gather myself, Sir Ironfist kneels down next to me and wrenches my head to the side as he says to me, “What little work you could obtain in this city will be cut off. Any possible shelter will be extinguished. Whatever form of joy you had will be unavailable. You won’t be allowed to walk this city without its occupants pleading to keep you away.”

     He pulls me up by my head as he continues to say, “You will have NOTHING within this city. No options. No possibilities. No chances. No treasures! You will BE NOTHING to this city! You ARE NOTHING to this city! YOU’RE WORTH NOTHING TO THIS CITY!”

     Coughing up a bit of blood, I give my best smirk as I murmur, “Claims the heretic.”

     I feel him slam my back into the door so hard that it falls off of its hinges while hissing, “YOU’RE! POOR! YOU! ARE! NOTHING! LEAVE!”

     Holding my throat in pain, I stumble over my feet as I swiftly dash away. Cudgel Keep’s residential area is full of slim alleyways and cramped corridors that only a single person can traverse. It’s a perfect place to force out a cry to clear your mind. I make sure to finish doing so before exiting the labyrinth of corridors to the center of the forging district.      The sounds of iron crashing against hot steel has always provided some comfort for me. It’s almost cathartic to hear the smiths of the city all cool their works of art at the same time as a soothing sizzle resonates from every direction. I support myself on the edge of the city’s massive fountain, built into the base of a magnificent statue. It’s the symbol of Cudgel Keep’s goddess, Nadari. As she is Baicia’s deity for combat, smithing, and courage, it’s almost too fitting that it’s flanked on all sides by blacksmiths and forgers. Staring at my own reflection as I wipe the last tear from my eye, I take out the only gold piece I’ve had for the past week and flick it into the water, praying for any amount of courage that could be bestowed upon a wretch like me. My coin is caught just before it hits the water by a black gloved hand. I turn to see that the hand leads to an odd gnome with short, stark white hair that is slicked back from his face and comes to soft points at the back of his head.

     With an oddly calming yet piercing voice, the man says, “I would save your coin, Digleby Eversharp. I can assure you that Nadari doesn’t listen to gold.”

     “How would you know? Are you a cleric?” I ask, confused to see a gnome this far from the verdant forests south of the mountains.

     “Oh, I most certainly am,” he replies, turning to face me before continuing, “Just not for her.”

     Weary from just dealing with one old man who claimed to worship an old god, I question, “Please, don’t tell me you follow the old gods?”

     Almost playfully acting offended, the gnome returns, “As a matter of fact, I do. And, even better, one with actual power in Baicia still. Unlike your adoptive father’s poor excuse for a ‘god’.”

     Chuckling a bit but still concerned, I continue to pry with, “I’m sorry, but have we met before?”

     “Oh, I must have misplaced my manners. My apologies,” he responds, flicking my gold coin back to me, “Zook Nackle, hoping to be at your service.”

     His smile distracts me, causing me to fumble as I grab the coin. There’s a disturbing sincerity behind his smile yet it’s not of joy or pleasure at the possibility of making an acquaintance. It almost feels deviant, somehow. Sir Nackle’s teeth are whiter than his hair. His eyes are dark and just barely large enough to prevent me from calling them beady. He’s wearing a completely black hooded cloak with seemingly no visible texture. Even his voice is a bit off as an odd, almost whisper-like echo follows his words.

     Cautiously, I inquire, “Uh...how do you know of me and my ‘adoptive father’, Sir Nackle?”

     “Wow, it has been a long while since someone has referred to me as ‘sir’,” he replies, “I’d rather you call me Zook, if I may be so bold to ask.”

     Squinting at him in bewilderment, I’m trying to decide whether he seems like a safe man to conversate with or not as he continues to say, “But, to answer your question, my goddess told me about you and your plight. Bestowed upon me the knowledge of your situation and told me to offer you my aid.”

     “So...you worship Aratuna, then? The Ornate Lady?”

     “Oh, dear no. No one so gaudy.”

     “Then, perhaps, the Silver Silhouette? The Moon Weaver?”

     “I’m not much one for helping others keep secrets, Digleby.”

     “Uh...well, then perhaps the Iron Judge of Justice?”

     “Syr? By the Nine Hells, I hope not. Haven’t you heard the rumors that she’s blind? I don’t know about you but following a blind woman has never ended well in my experience.”

     “Then, Zook, I’m rather stumped on who you might be in the service of.”

     “All you need to know is that my goddess is a benevolent, merciful, and loving deity who wishes you to obtain that which you want the most.”

     Nervously folding my arms, I stammer, “What would that be, precisely?”

     Sir Nackle reaches into his robes and presents to me two ancient rings covered in Primordial, Celestial, and a script that I couldn’t discern just before saying, “Whatever you need to get you and Nel Ironfist that happily ever after you deserve.”

     Immediately tempted, I take a deep breath before reaching for the rings and request, “How would I be able to trust you?”

     “You wouldn’t until you found out,” he speaks back, beginning to levitate and spin the two rings around each other, “I have made no deals with anyone before, so a referral is out of the question. There are people I’ve worked with before, but they’re scattered around the world, enjoying their best lives. The only thing you have to vet me is my word, but, Sir Eversharp, do I sound like a charlatan to you?”

     As he completed his sentence, I felt this odd wave of trust and familiarity exuding from him, as if we had known each other my entire life, so I respond, “No, you don’t.”

     The rings vanish into his fist while I’m reaching for them, as he shouts, “Good to hear! So, what do you need to win over your beloved’s heart, huh? A love potion? A chance meeting? A night alone, you sly dog?”

     “Oh, none of those,” I reply with a graceless smile, “We already love each other. Deeply, actually. Have for a long time, my friend.”

     The excitement in his eyes swiftly vanished before continuing with a bothered voice, “Well...what is it you need then?”

      “Her father...I need her father to understand my worth,” I reply, opening my arms as my cautious mind comes at ease. 

     His disgruntled look turns into a perplexed glare as he pinches the bridge of his nose before demanding, “So how would you want to do that?”

     With Sir Ironfist’s last words to me echoing in my brain, I feel a demand for vengeance rise from within as I say, “I would want to take from him everything.”

     Upon hearing that, Sir Nackle’s eyes slowly came up to meet mine as a sickly grin continued to grow on his face as I continued to say, “I want his stores, all across the Frigid Peaks, to be mine. I want his customers to betray him for me. I want him to be worth less than nothing. I want him to be...”

     Stopping before I continued, I felt an unfamiliar tinge of wrath almost push me to say something drastic, but I stop myself just for Sir Nackle to finish it for me.

     “Gone? You want him to be gone, yes?”

     Taken aback by what the implication may mean, I nearly rescind my request before hearing Sir Ironfist’s words clearer than before slam my head again, pushing me to confirm my intentions.

     “Yes, I want him gone, so as to never bother me or his daughter again.”

     Sir Nackle’s face turns almost devilish as he says, “Oh, I can certainly manage that for my dear friend, Digleby Eversharp.”

     Holding me in an awkward hug, I keep my hands to myself as I request, “Um...Sir-”

     “Zook.”

     “Right, my apologies. Zook?”

     “Yes?”

     “What would you want in return?”

     “Oh...I’m so glad you asked,” Zook Nackle says after sighing so deep that I feel his lungs expand as he continues to hold me tight within his arms.

     Releasing me, I fix my shirt, glasses, and hair as he recites what he would want in return. He speaks of a mine nearby that was left abandoned after the Great War. He promises that if I go into the mine, explore it, and make certain that an artifact is still within then he’ll make it so that Nel and I will never have to worry about Sir Ironfist again.

     “That’s all you need to do, my dear friend. Just go in, confirm that the artifact is still there, leave it where it is and then report back to me. Anything else you find in there is yours to keep, if you’re so inclined,” he finishes, leaving a crudely drawn map in with a minor illusion on the ground between us.

     “I won’t be,” I assure him, recording the map to memory, “Nothing in there is worth what you’ll be giving me as payment.”

     Nodding joyously in agreement, Sir Nackle asks, “Any concerns?”

     “Two, if I am to be frank,” I respond, “First, what does the specific artifact look like? If there’s other items in there that are just as aged, it’ll be hard to know I’ve found what you wish me to find.”

     “Right, of course. It’s a simple armored breastplate with an odd leather inner lining,” he describes as he waves the map away with his foot, “Should have rust, covered in scarring and dents. It should be the most mundane looking armor you can imagine, especially compared to Dwarven artistry.”

     Nodding softly, I then lock eyes with him as I ask, “Second, is there anything dangerous in the mine?”

     With a coy smile, Sir Nackle swiftly responds, “No worries, my friend. It’s abandoned.”

     Hesitant to trust him, I feel another rush of faith and confidence in his words as I simply agree to our deal before asking, “How are you going to-”

     “Oh, Sir Digleby Eversharp, you worry too much, my dear friend,” he interrupts, with a wide smile and twinkle in his eye, “You stay focused on the mine. By the time you return, Fallond Ironfist will be an inconsequential footnote in your story that will never be brought up again.”

     Sir Nackle gives me one last pat on the back before turning around and walking off towards Sir Ironfist’s residence. After that final slap of his hand against me, all feelings of worry or possible concern I had after meeting Zook Nackle for the first time had dissipated. It was almost as if that final touch from him lifted the weight of the world from my shoulders, confident and secure in the deal we made together. Without any time to spare, I rush back to my apartment to gather what I can to aid me in the mine.      My apartment is a tiny, single room loft built above a bakery. Although waking up to the scent of freshly baked pastries is a dream, the reality of living in the same room with my ice box, my bed, and only a bath to wash with but no toilet to use makes the rest of my time there a nightmare. However, it’s far more tolerable with someone to share the misery with. Thanks to Nel being the only company who tolerates me, I sometimes forget about how sorry my situation is. Sadly, this isn’t one of those times as I enter my apartment to see Nel waiting in a chair.

     Caught off-guard, I slowly close the door as I ask, “Hey, Nel. How was the pie?”

     Wiping the crumbs from the corner of her lips, she slowly stands up as she says, “The pie was great. Where’ve you been?”

     “Oh, you know me,” I respond, trying to figure out some way to keep her from asking about how my conversation went with her father, “Just walking the city to clear my head.”

     “Is that so?” she asks, raising her eyebrows as she pulls a cigar from the inside of her tunic, “Do you want to guess why I don’t believe that, Dig?”

     With her about to pin me between her and the door, I shimmy to the side and open the one window in my apartment before attempting a lie with, “Uh...you were smithing again and saw me praying at the fountain?”

     Walking back over to me to smoke by the window, she gives a cocky grin as she says, “Wow, two lies. It’s cute that you’re trying, Dig, but you’ve never been a liar. That’s why I love you.”

     She hands me the cigar and I smile from the compliment while taking a few puffs as she continues to say, “What I don’t love is being left in bed, asleep, so that you can talk to my father alone when I told you that I wanted to be there. What I love even less is seeing dried blood in the corner of my boyfriend’s mouth.”

     Not realizing that I still had blood in the corner of my mouth, I hand Nel the cigar as I go to my sink and pour some water on the rag in my pocket. I begin rubbing the corner of my mouth vigorously to scrub off the blood as I hear her put the cigar out and walk up behind me. Ashamedly turning around to face her, I expect a furious glare and a bit of shouting. Instead, she calmly places a hand on my chest and another on my neck as vibrant golden magic softly warms where her hands are touching. I feel the pain in my throat slowly melt away, as if turning into a small pill that I’ve finally managed to swallow. The issues I’ve had with breathing since Sir Ironfist’s boot caved my chest in a number of hours ago simply alleviate as I take in a full breath.

     “Thank you for-” I try to say as she punches my arm, “Ow, I thought we discussed no knuckles. I bruise easily.”

     “I know you bruise easily, Dig! You’re accident prone and have a knack at rubbing people the wrong way,” she returns, now slapping the same spot on my arm with her open palm, “That’s why I wanted to go with you to talk to my father.”

     I start trying to walk around the room to escape some hits as I say, “I thought that it was just going to be a calm conversation, Nel! How would I know that he’d not want to discuss it?”

     Now chasing me around the room, she fires back, “Maybe you’d know after last night! You know? The night I told you about how much he hated the topic when I, as his only daughter, brought it up with him!”

     Holding a seat between her and I in the center of the room, I say back, “To be fair, you told me that during the first part of what became a six-part night. Many men would get a pass for not recalling information.”

     “ ‘Many men’ aren’t able to recall the entire history of five different societies, four different languages, and seventeen legends during a six-part night, Dig,” she shouts back.

     Cockily standing and hoping that flirting would calm her, I arrogantly release the chair as I try, “Perhaps my mind slipped because of how good you were. Ever consider that?”

     Putting her hands on her hip with an unimpressed expression, Nel responds, “Flattery isn’t going to save you, Dig! If that were the case, you would have slept for just as long as I did.”

     “That’s fair,” I manage to express just before she tackles me to the ground.

     We wrestle and roll around for a bit, but it swiftly ends when I tell her that I figured out another way. She let me up to continue talking, but I pause for a moment as something dire dons on me.

     “What’s wrong with you? You’re wearing that face you get when you experience a bad epiphany,” Nel tells me, taking a stroke from the cigar.

     Realizing that I had a magical influence placed on me while making the deal with Zook Nackle, I begin to say, “I met a...uh...gnome when I went to the fountain built in Nadari’s honor. He and I made a deal.”

     “A deal?” she asks, concerned at the sound of hesitance in my voice, “What kind of deal?”

     I’m still struggling to decide if I should tell her about my decision possibly being skewed by a charm as I say, “Tit for tat. He wanted to help me with my troubles in trying to convince your father to allow me your hand in marriage. I offered a trade in favors. That’s it.”

     Over the next twenty minutes or so, I explain to Nel everything I recall about my encounter with the gnome named Zook Nackle. From his odd attire to his disturbingly approachable visage to his side of the bargain, I told her everything I remembered but omitted the magical assistance Zook Nackle could have used on me.

     After hearing me speak about it all through incoherent and worrying amounts of uncertainty, Nel started packing her own spelunking gear as she said, “Well, I’m coming along into the mine, then.”

     “Look, beautiful,” I say, trying to place my hands over hers to get her to stop, “He said that it’s abandoned and all I need to do is confirm that the piece of armor is still down there. It should be a cake walk.”

     “Like speaking with my father was supposed to be?” she shot back, packing her things faster, “Face it. If you don’t trust his word, then I’m coming along to make for damn certain that you’re safe and I have my husband with me. If you do trust this Zook Nackle’s word, which you shouldn’t but if you actually do, then I’m still coming because you owe me for seeing my piece of shit father without me.”

     Unable to keep a smile off my face, I’m reminded that Nel is the only person who can fill me with enough confidence to face a whole pantheon of deities and not bat an eye. I try to thank her for putting up with my difficulties but she simply bats my hand away as she tells me to save my thanks for when we’re married. I nod and finish packing up my own rucksack before leading the way to the edge of Cudgel Keep, where the entrance to the mine is. We grab each other’s hand and hold on tight as we descend into what will be our final spelunking adventure as anything less than spouses. Although the mine swallows any light from around us, it’s the only light at the end of an arduous journey. The only concern now is if Zook Nackle sticks to his word.

Epilogue

     “Well, that was easier than I expected,” I say to myself, calmly making my way to Fallond’s home away from home.

     “The Dwarf isn’t a necessity to my goal,” my goddess’ voice rings, echoing through my mind.

     “I know,” I reply, turning down an alleyway, “But removing one of the last clerics from the old gods eases the process.”

     “He doesn’t serve Abbathor. He serves the Ascended named Altcher,” she informs me, much to my surprise.

     Having been caught off guard, I shrug as I say, “Well, even better then. That confirms that Fallond Ironfist has forsaken the old gods as well. He was the last cleric to clear out. If he’s switched pantheons, then that confirms that no old god has a strong enough hold on this realm to be a trouble for us, then.”

     “That also makes killing him a fruitless endeavor. The Ascended Pantheon of this realm are too weak to oppose me after their recent war,” She explains, pushing me to focus on her release rather than making it easier.

     “I beg to differ. Killing a cleric still weakens their god. I know that we could put this entire realm under your rule any time, but why not teach the ones here a lesson along the way?” I state, wishing to hide my true intent.

     “So you aren’t actually doing this simply to kill Fallond Ironfist? The man who originally incarcerated you before the Great War?”

     “I often forget the extent of the knowledge you wield,” I reply, “My apologies for trying to deceive you.”

     “I’ll forgive you if you send this ‘Fallond Ironfist’  to me malleable,” She scorned, releasing a bit of fire within me.

     Now supported by my goddess, a pleasant smile creeps from ear to ear on my face as I retort, “As you wish, so it shall be.”

     Opening the door to his auditorium, Fallond’s eyes immediately stick to me, interrupting his discussion with seven other business owners. He desperately ushers the other people out of the room as I simply share a warm smile with my old friend. As he locks the door behind the final leaving guest, I see that the color in his face has washed away as he cautiously approaches me.

     “Hello, Fallond. It’s been a long time since last we spoke,” I say, walking over to his throne on the opposite side of the room.

     “Zook, you’re not supposed to be here,” he replies, desperately trying to gather his thoughts.

     “Oh, I know, but I escaped incarceration thanks to the help of my goddess,” I tell him, finding his halberd behind the desk in front of his throne.

     Seeing him starting to sweat, I pick up his weapon and sit in his chair as I jab, “I see you’ve done well for yourself! Living a life of regalia and regrets, no doubt.”

     “What makes you think you have the right to-” he attempts to say as I interrupt him by filling his body with hellfire.

     “I’m sorry. Were you about to give me one of your famous speeches about what I have the right to do in accordance to your wealth? Were you going to tell me about how a lowly gnome has no right to belittle the self-proclaimed ‘Dwarven Dragon’?”

     I stop for a moment to stroll over to him with his halberd in hand, taking my time so as to enjoy the musical tones of his pained gags and retches as necrotic sludge begins to pour from his eyes.

     Kneeling down next to him with his halberd in my hands, I whisper, “There is a certain lady I know who takes offense to such claims, Fallond.”

     Kicking him over to lay on his back, I gently place the end of his halberd into his mouth as I say, “Here, I’ll introduce you.”

     With both hands on his halberd, I surge fire through my palms and turn the weapon into molten iron sliding down his throat. As his grunts are quickly silenced by the liquid metal solidifying in his throat, I stare down at him as a wave of peace washes over me while the last bit of life fades from his eyes. A flash of orange flicks across his pupils and my smile grows wider.

     Standing up and fixing my robes, I say, “Now, I should take care of the legal matters. The boy did say that he wanted every bit of Fallond’s wealth as his.”