An Epic of Epic Proportions

The object of their quest lie in the heart of the desolate necropolis. Barkhor went first into that dry and deserted place. Following his bulk, stepping lightly in her new pointy-toed boots went Zalina. Trailing behind were Gimckle Sagebrush lending an arm to the aged Walorian Prevost.

The tiny band came to the lip of the valley. Barkhor stood upon a convenient outcropping just as the sun rose over the edge of the mountains. Gloriously bathed in sunrise, he shook his golden matted locks and pointed a stubby finger toward the bowels of the valley.

"Here...," he said.

Zalina pressed up against him. Her slender fingers brushing his bare back just above the belt of his loincloth. "The fabled valley of the ancient ones." She surveyed the land ahead and smiled.

A few minutes later, the two were joined by the tottering figure of Walorian. His special friend, the fey Sagebrush, helped the old mage up the last few steps of the precarious stone ledge.

"Not far now," the elf said, either to the group or his mage. "Why don't we rest before going further? We've been traveling for a whole hour already."

"Press on," the barbarian spat. "Valley dangerous. Like crossing highway without a cart."

They stood there just before the valley, letting the cold air tickle the back of their necks or, in the barbarian's case, the small of his naked back, and surveyed their surroundings. The ruins through which they traveled lay to the west. Miles of ruins, the decrepit reminder of a long dead civilization, had made the elf weary.

"Doesn't look too dangerous," said the dark haired Zalina.

Walorian wheezed, then coughed into his sleeve. "Looks can be deceiving."

"Still," Zalina said. "The entrance to the masoleum can only be a few miles from here. According to our map."

Barkhor frowned and scratched himself. "I scout ahead. Come back soon with news."

Before the party could stop him, he bounded over the ledge and landed hard on the scree below. He scratched himself again and was out of sight before Zalina unrolled the map and studied it closely.

"There is legend to this place, of course."

"Oh?" Zalina probed an ear socket with a pinky.

The old man lowered himself slowly on a flat rock and began to orate. "For centuries the ancient cities of Balganor, Sweft, and Tilatella buried their dead in the hidden valley along the range of spire mountains that divided their kingdoms. Then when invaders from the west, the grey skinned Gorn, ghoulish hobgoblins of human nightmare, came upon the settlements of Balganor and Sweft and Tilatella, the ancient kingdoms fell, one by one into haunted rubble. Outlying frontier towns avoided these cities. Superstition grew like moss around the area of the ruins. Dark things were said to have broken up from the depths of the dark pit of the abyss and hunted there in the desolation, in the mist."

Sagebrush was shining his scuffed boots and looking off into space. Zalina continued to study the treasure map.

"Some older folk remembered a legend from when they were toddlers sitting on their grandparents' knee listening to stories ancient even then. It involved the original cemetary, where the first corpse was buried somewhere in the valley. She had been noble, that much is known, perhaps a queen or princess, or emperess. No one knows for sure. And she ruled a people fairly so that they trusted her and followed her watery whims, which like a deluge threatened to drown them with her exquisite desires."

Sagebrush rolled his eyes and made a talky-talky motion with his hand. "Blah, blah, love story, fell in love with some jerk, ended up taking her life, people buried her in a glorious tomb... blah blah...haunted."

The old man's eyebrows knit fiercely. He clammed up.

Zalina followed her finger along a crease in the map. "The map says we should find treasure right about here. I could do with some treasure."

"What's taking that lummox so long?" the elf complained.

"What are you going to do with your share of the treasure Walorian?"

"Huh? Treasure? I do not value treasure, girl. There's nothing but death in this valley."

"Ooh. Spooky. If that's so, why'd you come? Death wish?"

The mage shook his white beard and wrung his pointy cap between two gnarled hands. "I am seeking the secret of undeath."

The elf raised a pointy eyebrow. "So what is that exactly in clear language? Life?"

"No. Not at all. It's a state inbetween life and death. You are neither alive, nor are you dead. It's sort of like waiting in a long line at the laundromat."

"Or listening to you babble."

"Exactly."

Zalina shrugged. "Well, I'm sure there's some good treasure in that queen's grave. Probably in some sort of sarcophagus, I'd imagine. And, since no one asked, I am going to use this money to do something really special for myself."

"Breast reduction?"

Zalina shot the elf a sour look. "Something more practical. I'm going to pay off my guild loans and put a downpayment on a small keep. Or buy one of those fancy new dragon mounts--silver or chromatic most likely--I haven't decided yet."

"Fascinating." The elf unwrapped a container of nuts and berries he had collected and was stuffing them into his tiny mouth.

They were interupted by a long, high pitched whistle.

Zalina turned her head toward the valley. "That's Barkhor's signal. Let's move."

They found him a few minutes later around a bend in the valley path. A swarm of tiny red imps were trying to claw his eyes out but could only reach the meaty part of his massive barbarian thighs.

He swung his heavy double-bladed axe twice over his head before burying the blade in the skull of one of the gnawing red imps. The thing burst like a blister. Where its blood and evisera fell, the ground smoked and hissed.

Zalina pulled her throwing daggers from her belt and with a flick of a dainty wrist skewered an imp between the eyes. It fell with a soft thwack.

The elf strung his little bow and fired an arrow into the fray. Meanwhile the imps swarmed the barbarian, nipping at his legs like thirty-pound pomeranians. He was covered in welts and scratches and let out an anguished howl.

"Do something," the elf called to Walorian.

The old man fumbled a bit with his long sleeves. Grinding his teeth, he gestured madly in the air as if he were frantically playing a game of charades. A tiny white-hot missle of ectoplasm doubled up an imp that had separated from the rest of the horde.

The battle continued unrelentlessly, unlike our chapter, which drew suddenly and without provocation to a tidy cliff-hanging end.

READ MORE CONCERNING THE EPIC ADVENTURES OF OUR STALWART BAND OF HEROES IN OUR NEXT EXCITING CHAPTER: IMP-POSSIBLE UNDERTAKINGS!