Morning Dinner, Readying 20, 591 – How the Dragon Disciple Became the Minotaur’s Apprentice

King Stronghoen asks, “Are you a shaman like G’ruk? Do you have that kind of power?”

Drago shrugs his shoulders, “Not like G’ruk. He is very powerful. I don’t think I can kill him yet, at least not in an honest fight. My draconic powers only began to manifest recently. I am a fledgling sorcerer, yet I hold the hereditary right to become Chief Shaman among our people.” To demonstrate, Drago utters, “Jhetu sorch-manon!” as he points to the jug of wine to pour himself another drink with his Mage’s Hand.

King Stronghoen says, “How intriguing.” Then he also repeats the same arcane words and with a wave of his hand the jug floats away from Drago to refill his own mug. The jug then floats back down to the table. Drago notices for the first time that on his right hand he wears a gold ring with intricate traceries on it. It seems to glint in the blue light coming in from the skylights. “Yes, it is handy to have both arcane and martial might to keep one’s underlings in line. Now tell me, I know that G’ruk is looking for something here. I have tolerated it so far, but what or who is he looking for. Is he also looking for this dragon Kopep? Are you all related? I’ll tell you now that I don’t know of any dragon around here, but we certainly don’t want any poking around. I will be most displeased should any of you attract or arouse a dragon in my kingdom. Now tell me what G’ruk is really up to.”

Drago’s snout twitches. “No, Your Majest, we are not all related to Kopep. I am told I am the only one currently to show signs of his heritage in my blood. It is a rare bloodline. The others… they seek the sleeping Immortal King of Huvat Vex in their quest for hegemony of lizard kind over all others. That is why I was sent here by Chief Rahk to kill him. G’ruk’s quest for power has divided my people. I must find a way to reunite my people in peace. Of course, ratting them out may not be the best option to bring that about either.” Drago chuckles softly. “It would be better for me if you kept the true nature of their quest to yourself, my liege, at least for now.”

King Stronghoen chuckles and says, “And who would I want to tell? No, your intrigues and reptilian squabbles are your own business. Still, am I to understand that Chief Rahk does not wish G’ruk to find this Immortal King? Why not? It sounds like that would be a great thing for all of you… you… lizardfolk?”

Drago shrugs again and says, “Chief Rahk and the other village elders do not believe in the Immortal King. Furthermore, they believe it is best where possible to be on friendly terms with all sentient beings. G’ruk and the lizardfolk here think very differently. Chief Rahk sent me amongst the humans to build friendly relations, but unfortunately, my interactions with some of them gave me a foul taste for humanity’s values.” Drago points toward the female on the spit. “That is all they are good for. In this I have come around to share G’ruk’s views.”

“I see,” says King Stronghoen. “And yet, you say you do not seek the Immortal King but this dragon Kopep, and that you have come here to kill G’ruk and take over his tribe, or perhaps I should say faction of a tribe. So tell me, if I help you to become leader of the lizardfolk here, what would you do with them? Return to Chief Rahk who wishes to ally with the humans? Continue seeking this dragon, Kopep? Or would you yourself take up the quest for the Immortal King?”

Drago chuckles softly, nervously, “Perhaps a little of all three, my liege. Life in my village is rather dull and so much less dangerous than here.” Drago smiles toothily. “I am inclined to stick around and help you kill off the humans. The less humans, elves and dwarves in the world, the better we all are. I was not so interested in the Immortal King. My quest is and remains finding Kopep. But… my gut tells me that they may be one and the same. Whether I live or die, I am determined to find out whether I am indeed a prince of Huvat Vex.” Drago pauses, bows his head in offering and respect, “My life is yours if you wish, my liege.”

“Indeed,” says King Stronghoen. Finally, the roasted meat is served, and more wine is brought. The cows retreat with the calves to eat their own meal.

After they have had some time to enjoy the food and drink, King Stronghoen continues, “So Drago, your Shaman G’ruk was no so forthcoming about what he was doing here. This is the first I’ve heard of any Immortal King or any dragon. In fact, he did not even tell me that he was a renegade. You are very forthcoming for a lizardman, I think I would prefer to deal with one such as yourself. As you know, I also have some skill in sorcery. I think perhaps you should stay here and work with me for a time, until you are strong enough to challenge G’ruk. Then we can work together to get rid of him and put you in his place. We can become partners, I will rule over the Beast Men and you will rule over the Lizardfolk. Together we can bring this land to its knees. So tell me, what arcane power are you able to wield now? What do you have to work with to start?”

Drago’s nervousness passes and he smiles toothily, “Thank you, my liege, I like that plan.” Scratching his jaw in thought, he says, “This was the first thing I learned: kaŝvestu selfn!” as he visualizes himself to look exactly like King Stronghoen.

King Stronghoen’s eyes go wide and he bellows, “How dare you!” He lunges for Drago and catches him by the throat with both hands. Reflexively, Drago tries to break the minotaur king’s grip but realizes that he would have as much luck trying to break a large oak tree with his bare hands. King Stronghoen’s grip tightens and cuts off Drago’s breath, crushing his throat. “You… will… never… take… my… royal… countenance…again!” he snarls into Drago’s ear. “Do you understand?”

Drago realizes that he is seconds away from death. He gurgles as he nods his agreement.

“You are a very dangerous lizardman, Drago. Fortunately for you – a useful one as well.”

King Stronghoen takes another bite from the haunch of the unfortunate Deathwalker woman who has been served as their meal. He waits from Drago to recover. In fact, he even hands him some more wine. “Drink up. We are partners now. What else can you do? And don’t lie to me. I will be most unhappy if you lie.”

Drago thanks Stronghoen for the wine, and again as a lizard says, “My apologies, Your Majest. I did not mean to offend, only to show you my gifts that you may call upon as you please.” Drago takes another sip of wine to ease his aching throat, then adds, “I can also spit acid, detect magic, send messages a short distance, and disrupt undead.”

King Stronghoen mulls this over as they finish eating in silence. At last he says, “Yes, I can see that your magic may not be quite up to challenging G’ruk. But who knows? I have not heard of him using any kind of powerful or deadly magic so far. Still, best to be sure. Come with me.”

King Stronghoen takes Drago back out into the hall. They turn to the right to the door on the southwest side of the hall. Going in, Drago finds that it is a small office with another door facing the one they came in. Seated at the north end of the room is an old human, dressed much better than the other human slaves, going over a list and speaking with two gnolls. All three rise and bow as King Stronghoen comes in. He waves them off with a casual wave of his hand and takes Drago through the other door.

It opens up into a much larger room lined with shelves, barrels, and crates of assorted foodstuffs. There are urns and amphorae on the shelves. Six gnolls, and a dog brother in a long plush gray robe are in here playing dice around a table. They too stand at attention as King Stronghoen passes them, Drago in tow. King Stronghoen walks over to a cabinet on the west wall and shoves it aside to reveal a hallway. He reaches up to the mantle and presses a section of it. He then grabs an everburning lantern from a nearby shelf. He then leads Drago down the hall and to the right and then down a dark dismal stairway. As they descend it gets hotter and hotter. Though to Drago it is quiet comfortable, he realizes that any human going down into such burning darkness would probably wonder if they were descending into one of the hotter hells.

Halfway down, King Stronghoen stops and holds Drago back as well. He calls out in the Gnoll tongue, “Dead men tell no tales.” Then he continues on, assuming that Drago will follow.

Drago follows with growing excitement. While it might be the death of him, he realizes he is going deeper than any other lizardfolk has managed before this time. Drago mutters, “Magio rivelighu” as he follows Stronghoen and looks for any tell tale glows as he goes.

“You try my patience,” snarls King Stronghoen. “I did not give you permission to use any detection spells. You had better learn discretion and manners if you wish to serve me. I would also advise you against snooping around down here. It would be most unwise, and likely lethal.”

At the bottom of the stairs they emerge into a large half-circular room, about 40’ in radius with a straight wall to the right and the circular perimeter to the left. Halfway down the wall on the right is the entrance to another hall. The ceiling of the room is 30’ high and semicircular walls are decorated with wall paintings of sumptuous feasts and vast gardens. The walls have flaked and worn with age. There are a few ruined wood couches strewn about the room, and shattered marble slabs that were once tables. Drago guesses that it might once have been a great banquet hall. Against the north wall are six heavy ceramic urns that have avoided destruction. This is all revealed in the dim light of the lantern. It is very hot.

As they walk through the room, two shadowy figures stir at the shadowy edges of the lamplight. Drago sees that they are not couches but great beasts. The creatures have vaguely humanoid heads, the bodies of lions, and wings like those of a dragon. Their tails end in long, sharp spikes. They watch as King Stronghoen and Drago pass by, flicking their tails and licking their chops, but then settle down again and rest their heads once more beneath their paws.

The hall leading off from the banquet hall is a short one, only 10’ long and it opens up into a smaller square room with walls carved in bas-reliefs of men fighting beasts of all types. There are two doors: one straight ahead and one to the right. King Stronghoen crosses the vacant chamber, takes out a key, and then unlocks the door straight ahead of them.

On the other side of the door is another hall leading off to the left. The hall stretches on for some 40’ and ends at the top of a series of elegant box seats overlooking the southern perimeter of a large arena with a sandy floor some 70’ in diameter. Stands encircle the rest of the arena, interrupted only on the eastern side where there is the mouth of a tunnel. Exquisite tapestries and statuary depicting fantastic beasts and heroic warriors once decorated the box seats, but not there is only rubble and hanging rags. The high ceiling rises over 40’ at its zenith. A large crystal at the zenith illuminated the arena.

King Stronghoen takes Drago down to the arena floor and then heads over to the tunnel. The tunnel is 10’ wide and 30’ long, ending in a T-intersection. Spaced 10’ apart are three levers on each side of the tunnel before the intersection. There are doors at either end of the crossing tunnel that is only 30’ long. King Stronghoen turns to the door on the left and goes through into an area containing several large rooms that must once have been used to contain the animals that fought the gladiators in the arena. Everburning torches spaced out along the walls illuminate the area. King Stronghoen leads Drago past the cells, and in a couple of them he can hear the sounds of minotaurs murmuring and even what sounds like a calve lowing contentedly. None of the cell doors are closed. King Stronghoen shows Drago to an empty cell. It is furnished with a straw cot, a side table, and wooden chest.

“You can stay here for now.” King Stronghoen then shouts, “Thundahoof! Woofworth! Attend to me!”

A minotaur and a dog-brother quickly hustle down to Drago’s cell from another cell at the end of the hall.

“This is Drago,” King Stronghoen says to them. “He is an aspiring young sorcerer who is going to be working with me for a while. Make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble and that he’s comfortable during his stay here.”

King Stronghoen then addresses Drago, “If you need anything, you can ask my two servants in the cell at the end of the hall. This is Thundahoof,” King Stronghoen says indicating the minotaur. Thundahoof is a massive beast, only overshadowed by King Stronghoen himself. He is 8’ tall and easily weighs 800 or more pounds. Severe scarring mars his left flank. He holds a greataxe in his massive hands. He glares down at Drago and his nostrils flare.

“You see these scars?” asks the minotaur king. “They were made fighting lizardfolk before we came to an arrangement with G’ruk. Don’t try Thundahoof’s patience.”

Thundahoof stamps his hooves and snorts.

“This is Woofworth,” the minotaur king indicates the dog-brother in grey robes with a wand tucked in his belt. “He is a powerful sorcerer. Do not cross him either.”

Woofworth nods at Drago and says, “As His Majesty says, if you need anything come to us. Do not wander about on your own.”

“You may go,” says King Stronghoen. Thundahoof and Woofworth return to their cell at the end of the hall. “I will come for you after I attend to some other business, and we will work on your training in the arcane arts. Do not disturb the other residents here. Do not go wandering about. There will be no protection for you if you wander about, and I would be saddened if you lost your life down here because you could not sit still for just a few hours. Now be patient until I come for you.” King Stronghoen abruptly walks away, leaving Drago alone in his cell.

Drago leaves the door open, but sits down at the back of the cell against the wall facing the door. He mutters, “Oh crap. What have I gotten myself into now?” Then he tries to get some sleep, to heal his still aching throat.

Morning, Readying 20, 591 — in the Palace of Huvat Vex

Igusadon leads Drago back down the temple hall back to the solid gold double-doors that were to the left as they first entered from the courtyard. Entering, Drago finds himself in a grand yet threadbare throne room. The floor is carpeted with red wool, but traffic and time have worn the covering until the marble floor shows through. The walls are decorated in alternating panels of hunts, revels, human gods, the decadent lifestyle of the Thracians in the palace and various other ceremonies. Hung on the wall to their right as they enter is a large and broken stone tablet. The tablet has numerous gold runes on it written in a language unknown to Drago, but tantalizingly similar to Draconic.

At the southern end of the hall sits the king’s crudely carved black stone throne that seems terribly out of place compared to the other furnishings. The tapestries on the walls behind the throne are made of a very tough, bright fabric. They are also brittle with age and the ends are frayed. To the left and right of the throne are wrought iron braziers. Both emit a dim smokeless light. There are no other sources of light other than the natural light that filters in through the doors as Igusadon and Drago enter.

As soon as the double doors are opened, Igusadon and Drago are assailed by a cacophony of howling and wailing. The throne room if filled to overflowing with gnolls,, at least three dozen bitches and cubs, and perhaps two dozen or more gnoll warriors, many of whom are wrapped in bandages. They are all crying out in rage and anguish. Ranged around the room are half a dozen gnolls in leather armor, with shields and battleaxes who bark at the rest and shove them away from the area around the throne. Standing by the throne is a smaller gnoll, or perhaps not a gnoll. Though he barks and growls at the ragged tribe before him, he looks more like a Doberman with mangy fur and one ear flap missing. He is arrayed in leather armor, has a longsword at his side and around his neck is a ruby pendant carved like a bull. An immense minotaur, easily over 8’ tall and perhaps half a ton of muscle, sits on the throne in silence but with a look of growing impatience with the rowdy throng. He wears a regal but tattered ermine cape over his powerful shoulders. His skin is jet black with a few white spots. His horns are very long, for a minotaur, and waxy ebony. His nostrils are pinkish and flare as his ire increases.

Igusadon shouts in Drago’s ear, so as to be heard but only by Drago, “That is King Stronghoen, the lord of the City of Eternal Light. Next to him is his major-domo, Bitterbark, one of the dog-brothers. It is probably not the best time to introduce you, but perhaps we should stay here in the back and listen. It sounds like the humans and dwarves this gnoll tribe was sent to hunt in the ruins not only eluded them but tracked them back to their village, massacred their warriors and hyena companions in a sneak attack, murdered their priest while he was offering prayers to their demon-lord Yeenoghu and reading the entrails of one of their slaves, mercilessly ran the rest of the tribe off into the night, stole their food and slaves, and then burned their village down before leaving. These humans and dwarves would be the expedition sent by the Lion Throne that you used to be part of right?”

Drago nods in assent and then feigns for Igusadon’s ears alone, “How terrible for the gnolls!” Drago tries to hide his smile but fails.

Drago nods in assent and then feigns for Igusadon’s ears alone, “How terrible for the gnolls!” Drago tries to hide his smile but fails.

Suddenly, King Stronghoen leaps to his feet and bellows, “Silence!” in the Common tongue. The force of it causes all the gnolls to freeze in place. Some even drop their swords, spears, or whatever else they were holding, even among the guards. Igusadon and Drago feel the force of it too, though they are able to resist what Drago senses is not just the force of the beast king’s presence but sorcery.

The King begins haranguing the assembled gnolls in their own language, and they all begin cringing and edging away from him. Igusadon whispers to Drago a translation, “He says, ‘You despicable cowards! You weaklings! You were supposed to capture these interlopers and enslave them, or kill them if you couldn’t capture them! And yet you not only let them get away, but you allowed them to track you back to your village! Are you that stupid! Couldn’t you have tried to ambush them on the stairway up the cliff! You cretins! And now you come whining to me! Who’s in charge now! Who!”

Deafening silence from the gnolls.

“You! Over there. Come before me! Yes you!” King Stronghoen points to one of the stronger and unwounded gnolls slouching among those in the assembly. The gnolls whimpers and then gulps, but then straightens himself – a little – and makes his way to the front of the throng to stand before King Stronghoen.

“What is your name cur!” demands the minotaur king.

“Kaggur, Your Majest,” responds the gnoll leader.

“Kaggur, how did this happen?”

“My King, we found them in the abandoned house just like the lizardfolk told us. They were expecting us, but even still we drove them all inside with our archers. We swarmed into the building but they were too strong. They are not just a band of human adventurers my king, but elven lords with a dwarven army! There are elvish wizards among them too and at least one powerful human priest. We had to retreat before they killed us all!”

“And yet you sent no one to warn me of these elven lords and their dwarven army? They were so much larger than the small band we were told about? And you allowed them to follow you? And you didn’t ambush them on the face of the cliff? And you are such weaklings you can’t even defend your own village but you expect me to fight for you?”

“My King, I was not in command then! It was not my fault! It was Fekkur! Fekkur was in charge!”

“And where is Fekkur now?”

“He… uh… he is dead Your Majest. He died defending the village.”

“I see,” says King Stronghoen more quietly. “And so someone else must then be accountable for his failure. I think it will be…” King Stronghoen reaches out for the gnoll.

“N…no… My King!” barks the gnoll as he tries futilely to back away.

King Stronghoen grasps the gnoll’s head in both hands and wrenches it quickly. With a loud snap, the gnoll’s head is twisted front to back until it is facing the assembly with its tongue lolling out and its eyes wide in fear. The gnoll warriors, bitches, and cubs collectively flinch and gasp. King Stronghoen drops the dead gnoll onto the carpet with a sickening thud.

“Now that your gross incompetence has been answered for, who will step forward to take command of this wretched pack of mongrels?”

Drago gasps as well but tries to remain inconspicuous.

“Now that your gross incompetence has been answered for, who will step forward to take command of this wretched pack of mongrels?”

“You!” King Stronghoen actually shoves his way through the gnolls and grabs one of the unwounded warriors. “You’ll do! What’s your name runt?”

“H…h…h…hu…Hurrurr, You Majest.”

King Stronghoen sneers and mimics the gnoll’s stutter, “Well, Hur…Hur…Hur. Hurrur, I now appoint you the new chieftain of the Lickspittle Tribe. Do you accept your appointment?”

“Your Majest, please, I am unworthy of such a – grrk!”

King Stronghoen grabs Hurrurr by the neck with his left hand and with his right hand grasps Hurrur’s muzzle forces him to nod his acceptance. Then he slams the hapless gnoll to the floor. “Don’t be so humble. Thank you for taking up the post I have graciously appointed to you. You may now lick my hooves clean while I instruct you all on what will happen next.”

King Stronghoen looks around and begins to address the rest of the tribe as their new chieftain anxiously laps at his grimy hooves. “Your leaders have failed you! You were once a tribe of mighty warriors! Now you are nothing but the Lickspittle Tribe, come to beg scraps at my table since you have lost the feast that I had provided for you by pointing you in the direction of new slaves and booty. Will you remain as beggars or would you again earn the right to be called mighty hunters!”

King Stronghoen is greeted by some desultory barks of affirmation. He repeats himself even louder, “I said: Would you earn the right to once again be called mighty hunters!”

This time the gnoll warriors and their bitches roar back, “Yes!”

“Really? I don’t believe you. Do you really wish to earn the right to once again be mighty hunters and warriors in my eyes!”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” howl the gnolls.

“Show me you mean it! Show me you are my warriors and not simply more slaves to clog up my palace! Are you my warriors!”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” Now all of the gnolls, even the cubs, are howling, laughing, and leaping about.

“Have you had enough of the human pestilence?! Have you had enough of their defiance?! Have you had enough of them withholding the best lands, hording their gems and gold, their cattle and grain while you starve in the wilderness?! Have you had enough of their murderous rampages?! The humans have everything, but when they raid they don’t just take what they need, food or a few slaves. No! They take everything! They kill all they find! Even your bitches and cubs are not spared! They kill them or run them off to die in the wilderness! And they burn your villages whenever and wherever they find them! It is time to take what should be ours! It is time to burn their villages to the ground! It is time to enslave or murder all who resist! It is time we called all the clans, and all the tribes and do what should have been done millennia ago! Death to all humans! Death to all humans! Death to all humans!”

The assembled gnolls, including the palace guard, all begin chanting in unison with King Stronghoen. Even Igusadon joins in the chant, “Death to all humans! Death to all humans! Death to all humans!”

Drago smiles and softly parodies their chant, “Death to the mammals, death to the mammals,” as he reflects upon how well his plan is going to thin the gnoll pack. His human comrades are strong indeed, strong indeed.

Igusadon alone overhears Drago and gives him a sly look and a chuckle. He also starts chanting “Death to all mammals!” but Drago is worried that he does so a little too earnestly. Igusadon is very much a loyal follower of G’ruk.

King Stronghoen holds his hands up and signals for the throng to quiet down. He begins again, and again Igusadon whispers a translation, “You say they were dwarves and humans! Doubtless they were from Melkot then. We will get to them, but first let us clear the riffraff from our front gates. We will begin the cleansing with these Deathwalkers. Their usefulness is at an end. They have long since stopped paying their proper tribute, and I see no reason they should be allowed to stay here any longer – except as slaves.” The king kicks away the gnoll chieftain at his feet.

“Get up you! I will allow your bitches and cubs to camp on the front lawn. There is no room in the palace. Do not harm the trees! Only collect what fruit from them is allowed to you. Bitterbark here,” he indicates the major-domo, “will tell you how much you can collect and from what trees. For no reason are you to go down into the city. That is forbidden and any who do will be killed in the most entertaining manner I can think of! Is that understood?”

“Oh yes Your Majest,” says Chief Hurrur. “You are most gracious.”

King Stronghoen sneers at the cringing gnoll chieftain and then continues, “Now, as for you and your warriors, you will go rally the other gnoll tribes, and perhaps certain others who may wish to join our cause. Tell them that I shall march upon the weak human kingdoms that have been doing nothing but devour each other for the past few years. Tell them that the former lands of the Sea Princes are now ripe for the plucking and now is our time if they will take the opportunity. Tell them that if they rally under my banner they will enjoy the spoils of empire!” This last part is a shout, and Chief Hurrur leaps to his feet and leads the other gnolls in gleefully cheering King Stronghoen.

“Bitterbark, take them out of here and find a place for them to camp. Then see Grassus and make sure they receive whatever food they may need – but not too much. They haven’t done anything worth spoiling them for. Then take Chief Hurrur to the Office of the Guard and make plans and preparations for rallying the clans.”

“Yes my liege,” replies the major-domo.

Igusadon whispers, “It is time to go I think.” He motions Drago to follow him quietly out of the room through the hall to the right of the door through which they entered.

Just then, King Stronghoen shouts, “You two! You scaly slinkers! Get over here!”

Drago holds his head high but follows Igusadon obediently.

Igusadon stops and turns to face the king. “Your Majest, we did not wish to disturb you.”

Drago holds his head high but follows Igusadon obediently over to speak with King Stronghoen.

King Stronghoen looks appraisingly at the two lizardfolk. Close up, Drago realizes that King Stronghoen’s teeth are predator sharp. Whatever these minotaurs are, they are not merely half-human half-bulls, but something far more monstrous.

“You I recognize,” he says to Igusadon, “but who is this?”

Igusadon bows and says, “Your Majest, this is Drago. He is of the Malarat tribe and just joined us recently.”

“Really? Is he the one who ratted out his former friends after he joined you?”

“Uh…well…It’s more that…” stammers Igusadon.

“Shut up!” bellows King Stronghoen. “Let this… Drago… speak for himself! Well, you scaly slinker, are you the one who came with the humans and then left them to join your shaman?”

Drago straightens his spine yet more and without any submissiveness says, “Yes, Your Majest, I am. I was hoping your great warriors would kill them all. I am sorry they did not. All humans are vile wretched creatures, not fit to lick your spittle.”

“Haw, haw, haw! I like you, you little slinker!” He slaps Drago on the back and it is all Drago can do to keep standing. If it weren’t for his thick scales he knows that would have left a nasty bruise.

“Come Drago. Join me for dinner. It should be done soon.” He throws his left arm around Drago in a comradely way and steers him towards the hall leading off to the southeast side of the palace.

Igusadon says, “Oh thank you Your Majesty, but we would not dream of imposing…”

King Stronghoen snorts. “You were not invited. Go find your own food. They’re stewing puppy chow in the kitchens. Maybe there’s enough for you.” He nods towards the double-doors, as presumably the kitchen lies in that direction.

King Stronghoen then heads out, Drago grasped tightly but not quite painfully, in his arm. Igusadon, speechless, is left behind. As Drago looks back helplessly, dragged along by the minotaur king, he notices that some human slaves have come into the throne room at the direction of Bitterbark, the major-domo. They are Amedi slaves, perhaps they were once Deathwalkers. They unceremoniously pick up the corpse of the gnoll that King Stronghoen killed by its arms and legs and carry it back out through the double-doors. Perhaps to the kitchens?

Drago breathes an inward sigh of relief to still be alive. If there is anyone who knows tale of his ancestors in Huvat Vex, it is King Stronghoen. Drago hopes this new alliance of power will shed light upon his quest. Outwardly, Drago only says, “Thank you, Your Majest, I would be pleased to be your guest.”

King Stronghoen takes Drago into a hall running north to south. At the southern end of the hall is a massive window through which pours the light of the strange blue sun. Three exquisite caryatids, columns carved as sculptures, support the lintel above the massive window. The caryatids are 8 feet tall and carved out of white marble in the form of breathtakingly beautiful nude women. The caryatids stand 3 feet off the floor on pedestals. Aside from the at there are four golden doors in the hall, two on the eastern side and two on the western side. King Stronghoen turns left and opens the northwest door.

Inside is a well lit room that is the private chamber of the King of the Beast Men. It is about 30’ by 35’ with a hall leading off to the north. The ceiling high above has skylights that let in six beams of light into the chamber. The room is furnished with several marble and cushioned benches, a pile of luxurious pillows and silk sheets forming a bed, and several valuable statues. Each statue depicts a Thracian hero. There are three female minotaurs, or cows, here tending to the room and cooking for the king. Currently a human female carcass is on the spit. The largest of the three cows is mostly white with large black spots. She watches over two minotaur calves who are running around the room playing their favorite game of head-butting the wall.

King Stronghoen finally lets Drago. He says to the cows, “This is Drago, he will be joining us for dinner – as my guest. Drago, those two are my sons, Strongbach and Hetstrong. You two!” His bellow finally gets the attention of the two rampaging calves. “This is my guest. His name is Drago. You will treat him well.” The two calves nod and then go back to butting the wall and each other. King Stronghoen doesn’t bother to introduce the cowss and pays them no more notice. He seats himself on a bench and indicates that Drago should sit nearby. One of the cows, a curvy cream colored heifer, brings them mugs and pours them a dark red wine from a jug that she leaves for them on a side table.

King Stronghoen takes up his mug and waits for Drago to do the same. “To the death of the humans, the rule of the Beast Man!” he toasts.

Drago raises his cup and agrees, “To the death of the humans and the rule of the Beast Men!” After tasting the wine, Drago asks, “Your Majest, may I ask how long the noble Minotaurs have ruled Huvat Vex?”

King Stronghoen replies, “We have ruled for a thousand years, ever since we threw off the chains of our oppressors.” He waves to the Thracian statues around the room to indicate the human masters of the beast-men a millennia ago.

“Now, I have questions for you. Who are these people you came with? Why did they come here? Why did you come with them? And why did you leave them to join G’ruk?”

Drago nods at the Beast King’s response and questions, then sips his wine as he gathers his thoughts. “Your Majest, the humans and elves came here at the request of the Lion Throne to destroy the Deathwalkers who have been causing havoc in Westkeep and throughout the swamps. The dwarves came from Melkot, as you rightfully guessed, at the request of the humans. Kaggur greatly exaggerated their numbers, to save face no doubt. You did right to kill him. There are less than ten Keolanders and no more than 20 dwarves, perhaps less by now.”

Drago smiles, takes another sip of wine, and then finishes, “I came here for two reasons, Your Majest, the first is at the request of Chief Rahk of the Malarat, to kill the slinker G’ruk after I learn all I can from him and then take his place as the leader of the lizardfolk. Plus I came to find my great grandfather Kopep, a copper dragon who is said to have come from around here someplace. Have you heard of him?” Drago cocks his head and looks at the king inquisitively.

King Stronghoen pauses with his mug to his bovine lips. Then he roars with laughter, startling the cows and calves. He snorts and then drains his mug in one gulp, immediately after filling it to the brim from the jug. Chuckling more softly he says, “You are a bold one Drago! I like that! Lucky for you, or I would twist your head off right here and now.” This last part is delivered in a low ominous rumble. Then he laughs again. “But I could care less about who rules the lizardfolk, as long as whoever it is answers to me and is trustworthy. Now G’ruk, him I don’t trust; but why should I trust you if you manage this little coup?”

Drago chuckles as well. “My head is yours to twist off as you please, Your Majest, but you have good reason to not trust the slinker G’ruk. He wants to kill off everyone who is not reptilian and only bides his time before he tries to devour the gnolls. As for trust… if you help me kill G’ruk, both I and Chief Rahk of the Malarat would owe you a great debt of gratitude.” Drago takes another sip of wine.

Morning, Readying 20, 591

Later that morning, Igusadon comes over to Drago and says, “Are you ready to see Huvat Vex, City of Eternal Light?”

Drago energetically jumps up and says, “Yes!”

“Come with me then. Bring your gear. You might have a chance to spar down there with your new sword and shield.”

Igusadon then leads Drago back up to the gnoll guardroom and then to the large rat filled rubble strewn cavern. This time they move deeper into the cavern. Igusadon takes the hood off of an ever-burning torch so they can see. They weave through stalagmites for about 100’ or more and then come to a short stair leading up ten feet. Two Thracian style pillars flank each side of the top of the stairs. Behind the pillars are four gnoll guards and beyond another cavern with a sandy floor. Once again Igusadon gives the password in Common, “[password deleted]” One of the gnolls responds, “Go then into the dark and find the light.”

A well worn track through the sand leads through a cavern 25’ wide by 30’ long and then opens up into a much larger cavern, at least as larger if not larger than the one at the bottom of the stairs. In the dim recesses of the cave to Drago’s left he sees a marble alcove with frescoes and in the center of it a marble sculpture of a man, though he cannot discern the details. What really draws Drago’s attention is the grand marble temple taking up the center of the cavern. It looks to be at least 60’ long and 40’ wide. The lengthwise section of the temple stretches off to Drago’s right. Ahead of him are a set of stairs leading ten feet up into the entrance to the temple. The base of the temple is made of the bedrock of the caves. Around the outside are large sculpture panels with scenes depicting the Thracian deities in combat with demons and sea monsters.

“Follow me closely,” Igusadon says. “There are pit traps all around here under the sand. We know there is one to your left there. There may be others that have not been found, left by the original builders. So be wary and don’t leave the track.”

Igusadon leads Drago to the stairs and then into the temple. Drago sees that the temple has large columns with scroll work in the Ionic design. Huge white marble lintels span across the ceiling, which is a massive piece of marble in a trapezoidal shape. High above carvings of owls and lions are shown chasing each other in a playful fashion.

At the far end of the temple is a ten foot tall statue of a regal woman in long, loose clothing. She bears a shield and spear and is armored with a helm. Igusadon leads Drago down the center of the temple to stand before this goddess. As they do, Drago sees more gnoll guards watching them from the shadows behind the pillars.

“Do not be alarmed,” Igusadon says to Drago in a low voice. “Soon, we will be in Huvat Vex, the City of Eternal Light.”

After standing before the statue for about six seconds Drago suddenly finds himself standing on a circular slab of marble roughly 40’ in diameter in an outdoor clearing surrounded by trees that are somehow growing fist-sized strawberries. Looking down at his feet, Drago sees that he and Igusadon are standing on a 10’ by 10’ checkered section in the middle of the marble slab.

“Quickly, step off the pattern,” says Igusadon. “If you stand in the patterned square for six seconds you will be transported to the statue in the cavern above, and likewise by standing before that statue for six seconds we were able to come here.

He leads Drago to the edge of the slab. Drago now sees that there are six gnolls in the immediate area. They glance up briefly at the two lizardfolk but otherwise ignore them. Two of the gnolls are picking fruit while the other four maintain a watch in the shadows of the trees. The gnolls are armed with longbows and halberds bearing standards with the large face of an enraged bull.

“Come this way,” says Igusadon. “I will show you the glory of Huvat Vex.”

Igusadon leads Drago off the slab of marble and through the strange orchard. Drago gets the strange feeling that the trees themselves are watching them. Then they come out from under the cover of the trees and Drago finds that they are on a plateau roughly 100’ high over an immense stone city that surrounds it. After walking for at least half a mile they come to a rocky ramp that winds down the gentle gradient of the plateau down to the city below. The whole of it, city and plateau are in an immense circular cavern, five miles in diameter. The walls, ceiling and floor of the cavern is rough hewn with immense stalactites hanging from the ceiling. Only near the rough walls hanging up to 100 feet in height, do stalagmites form.

An eternal light, an orb of arcane magical energy, provides and intense and powerful luminosity that almost equals sunlight. However, the orb unlike the sun is blue and creates an unusual hue to those beneath its rays.

The entire cavern is humid and very warm, much like the Hool Marshes in summer time. Off to the right, Drago sees a dark and murky lake that covers three acres and feeds a canal that forms a square perimeter surrounding the city before returning to the lake. This must be the source of the moisture in the cavern.

The low lying one story buildings composing the city seem to be made of stone blocks measuring 10 feet square. Age and moisture have removed all wood, cloth, and animal matter, but the stone city seems eerily preserved, as if it has been suddenly abandoned.

The center of the city, at least the center of that side of it at the bottom of the ramp, is a large rectangular cobblestone plaza encompassing an entire acre. At one end of the plaza to the left of the foot of the ramp is a large domed structure, and at the other end on the right is a large two story civic building. Beyond that building can be seen a large flat roofed building with over ten columns and no walls.

At the end of the plaza opposite the ramp is a ten layered ziggurat of red granite. At the top, which is even with the plateau, are four carven pillars that support a pyramidal roof. Hanging from the ceiling in the space between the pillars are chains and shackles carved from an orange stone. Drago can see the pyramidal tips of two other ziggurats rising above the level of the plateau to his right and left. The one to his right is of blue turquoise, while the one to his left is golden. Behind him is the orchard, so Drago cannot see if there is one in that direction.

“There is indeed another ziggurat,” says Igusadon, guessing what Drago is looking for. “There is a ziggurat for each of the cardinal directions. Before us, the ziggurat of red granite is the Ziggurat of the People. The blue turquoise ziggurat to the south is the Ziggurat of the Moon. In the west is the black obidian Ziggurat of the Earth. To the north is the golden Ziggurat of the Sun. There are stairways to the tops on the eastern sides of the ziggurats. I will show them to you later if time permits, though we must be circumspect. King Stronghoen has not yet permitted anyone to settle in the city, or to meddle with anything below. Still, we have looked, and it is clear that this city was built by none other than the Immortal King.”

“Now come, let us go to the palace.” Igusadon turns Drago away from the ramp and leads him back towards the orchard.

Drago contemplates what he has learned and asks, “What makes you believe the Immortal King built Huvat Vex?” knowing full well the humans believe the same thing.

“Let us not speak of it now. If I can, I will show you things later that will convince you.”

Drago sees that besides the orchard of fruit trees there is a grove of towering oaks in the center of the plateau. They pass the fruit trees surrounding the marble slab. Not far from it, Dargo sees a ten foot diameter clear crystal tube bubbling with water rising up from the ground all the way up into the mists of the ceiling where it disappears from view. They continue on through the grove and Drago sees that there are also ash, maple, willow, and elm trees in addition to the oaks. After a little more than a quarter mile they come to a solid wall of composed of strange twisted trees with dagger like thorns. The trees are about ten feet tall and extending 50 yards in both directions away from a small temple that Igusadon steers them towards.

“The wall is no barrier to us,” Igusadon explains. “It was put there by Shaman G’ruk as part of his bargain with King Stronghoen. Those who do not belong here will find themselves impaled by those trees, but the trees will part for us and for King Stronghoen and his people. Still, let us go through the temple.”

Igusadon waves to a gnoll armed with a short bow hiding in the branches of a tree to their right. He waves them on.

The small temple is made of white marble. It is similar in design to the temple in the cavern from which they came. There is a ten foot long stair on each side that goes up five feet to a building that is 20’ on each side with a roof 15’ overhead supported by massive columns. In the center of the temple is a five-foot diameter well. Looking in as they pass by it, Drago sees that there is water about 15’ below the lip of the well. Within the temple, Drago sees two lizardfolk warriors, another gnoll, and a shaggy humanoid behemoth with the horns of a bull and armed with an enormous double bladed axe. Drago realizes that the latter is a minotaur. The lizardfolk nod at
Drago and Igusadon, while the minotaur and gnoll simply scrutinize them silently as they pass by.

Coming out of the temple and down the steps on the other side, Drago is greeted with two magnificent sites. To his left is an enormous oak tree with patchy bark. The hoary oak looks as though it could easily be over a thousand years old. Surround the giant oak is a 12-foot high stone wall topped with outward pointing spikes and shards of glass. Inside the wall surrounding the tree, a middle-aged woman with graying hair can be seen sunning herself on the lawn. Lying down next to her is a giant lizard the size of a horse with golden scales whose color seems to have lost their luster. She waves to Drago and Igusadon.

“Ignore her,” counsels Igusadon. “She is a dryad and is not our concern. That is our destination ahead, the palace of King Stronghoen.”

The gleaming white marble palace straight ahead of them is a perfectly preserved example of Thracian architecture with gabled roofs, Doric columns and sculptured pediments fashioned of flawless white marble. Statuary depicting human heroes and gods are prominently displayed. Most of the original furnishings have been destroyed or decayed through time and use, but the structure itself is as strong as the day it was built. Flying overhead are five feral looking women with  tattered wings and sharp claws. They screech and spit at the two lizardfolk and then land on the roof on the southeastern roof of the palace to bicker among each other.

“Ignore them,” says Igusadon. “This way,” he says, leading Drago to the courtyard.

The vast courtyard of the palace is tiled in large white marble panels. Flanking the wide staircase leading to the palace itself are two large 10-foot deep pools. The stairs are of similar marble as the tiled floor, and rise 10 feet to the actual palace.

“Now be very careful here, the next guardian is a bit temperamental and not yet used to us lizardfolk. Don’t make any sudden moves, but get your shield in position and be ready to draw your sword in case things don’t go well.”

As Igusadon says this, five huge snake heads rear up out of the pool on their right. Then Drago sees that all five are joined together into one creature. Embedded between the eyes of its central head is a black-star sapphire. The hydra steps out of the pool and its five heads hiss and snap at them.

Drago holds steady. The five heads of the hydra scrutinize the two lizardfolk for a long breathless moment, and then they snort in unison and turn away. The scaly behemoth submerges itself back into the depths of the pool, leaving only its five pairs of eyes watching them from the surface. Igusadon looks visibly relieved and beckons Drago to follow him up the steps into the palace.

The stairs lead up to a portico and beyond that a temple hall 100’ long and 50’ wide, it is roofed but otherwise open to the portico and courtyard. The stonework and statuary in this airy hall are ornately carved and richly decorated with scenes of battle, magic, and the lives of the (human) gods. A massive statue of a bearded, heavily muscled man grasping a pair of crossed thunderbolts in his right hand stands in the western end of the hall (opposite the stairs leading down to the courtyard). The throne the statue sits upon looks as if it is made of solid gold. Halfway down the hall there are double doors to the north and south that also appear to be constructed of gold.

Igusadon leads Drago down the hall and past the doors to approach the  statue. When they come within 20’ of it the sound of thunder is suddenly heard in the distance. “Nice eh?” asks Igusadon with a toothy grin. “The  humans who made this place put a permanent spell upon it. Go ahead, touch  the throne and see what happens.”

A little nervous, Drago walks forward to touch the throne as instructed. Igusadon chuckles and slaps him on the back after he recoils from the electric shock he receives from touching the chair. “Another little trick the humans left. We like to show this to all the newcomers don’t here, so don’t take it amiss. Anyway, let’s go. It is time you meet King Stronghoen.”

Drago smiles sheepishly in return and follows Igusadon without further comment. He is looking forward to meeting this king of Thracia and Huvat Vex.

Readying 18, Drago alone in the Thracian Jungle?

Mammalian player characters should not read the following narrative! Any who dare to continue reading will have their eyes gorged out and be beaten by Gnoll patrols.

After Indranil attacks Drago, he and Lorindel escort Drago, still wearing the gray wizard hat, to the jungle at the southern edge of the city.

Drago remains stoic and silent during this ordeal. Without looking back, he heads south into the jungle on all fours, leaping with joy to be alone in the swamps once again.

When Drago thinks he is beyond their keen perceptions, he veers toward the east to begin skirting the ruined city, striving to stay hidden by the jungle brush. He looks for signs of his people and their enemies. He watches the city for clues of what lies within.

When he comes to the south eastern corner of Thracia, he rests as he watches the Deathwalkers’ villa for a short while. Then he proceeds north, still hidden by the jungle as it turns into swamp. “It almost feels like home here,” he thinks to himself.

As Drago makes this slow loop around the city, he makes a snack of the various bugs and rodents that he finds. He finally arrives at the point where jungle merges into swamp on the eastern side of the city. Drago enters into the water and begins swimming among the mossy cypresses. The water around him flows like a green, velvet carpet of leaves and algae. The ripples he makes in the surface of the swamp water, eddies out to slap lightly upon the wide, black bases of the trees that rise out of the gloom. Hoary beards of moss drip from the boughs of the trees, filtering the sunlight and casting an amber glow on the water through which Drago wades.

As Drago begins to feel a sense of peace fill him, he hears a call in Draconian. Looking up he sees that he has been spotted by a Malarat warrior who now hisses at him, “Who are you! Identify yourself!” From the ripples in the water around this warrior (who is at least 120’ away), Drago knows that other warriors are swimming towards him under the algae covered waters.

Drago realizes he’s still wearing that stupid hat and so tucks it under his bandoleer. Hissing back in Draconic, Drago says loudly, “I am Drago of the Malarat, your kinsman.”

“Well met,” replies the warrior. “I am Trakoadon and I remember you well.”

Drago realizes that he does know this warrior. Other Malarat lizardfolk emerge out of the waters around him. They are all armed with javelins, heavy clubs with ridges of alligator teeth, and shields made of turtle shell. Drago recognizes them all, though he does not know them by name. They were all members of that faction of Malarat warriors who most opposed Chief Rahk’s dealings with the “unscaled.”

Trakoadon swims closer and then asks, “So, what brings you here? How did you find us?”

Drago is over joyed to find his people. “Chief Rahk sent me on a mission with humans and half elves to fight the Deathwalkers who have been encroaching upon our tribe’s territory. But it turns out that G’ruk is right after all. The unscaled are only concerned with expanding their own territory. Most will never be on friendly terms with lizardfolk.”

The other warriors look to Trakoadon, who nods at Drago and says, “I see. I think you had better come with us. Shaman G’ruk will be happy to hear that another of our brothers has come.”

As they swam north and then west back towards the city, Trakoadon asks, “What is all this?” He gestures to the bandoleers, and in particular points to the hat with a sneer.

“Oh, I found the hat in the ruins. Don’t need it now.” Drago tosses it away into the water. Pointing to the full bandoleer, he says, “These are gravebane grenades to fight undead.” Pointing to the almost full bandoleer, he adds, “And these are curative potions. The Prince of Westkeep gave them to me to help our expedition.”

As Drago travels with his kinsmen, he watches to see if any others have the tell tale copper markings of Kopep. None of those present do.

Trakoadon stops swimming for a moment and turns to look at Drago. “This expedition you were on. They came here to fight the Deathwalkers?” It isn’t really a question though. Trakoadon has clearly guessed that they came to Thracia. “Where are they now brother Drago?”

Drago grunts assent. “They are about a mile away, brother Trakoadon.” Drago points toward the southwest.

Trakoadon mulls this over and then says, “We will tell Shaman G’ruk. He will decide what, if anything, should be done about them.” He turns away and resumes swimming, the others, nod to Drago to follow. Drago is surrounded  by warriors. They are not taking any chances that he will try to swim away.

Eventually they swim into the canal that empties into the swamp. It is in fact branch of the main canal that bisects the city, which heads off east into the swamp. They swim west up the canal for several hundred feet and then creep back out of it onto the southern bank and begin walking into the ruins on the south side. Far off to the southwest Drago can see the arena and he wonders if Indranil or Lorindel are watching from there. In any case, it is no longer visible as Trakoadon leads them into the cover of several more intact buildings. Finally the come to a ruined marble temple, with no roof and only fragmentary walls. A few trees have grown out of the floor by the entrance.

Trakoadon holds up his hand to signal to the others to stop. In Common he says, “[Password deleted].”

A voice from the trees by the entrance barks back in Common, “Go then into the dark and find the light.”

Drago looks up and sees that crouching on the upper branches at least 15’ up and hidden by the leaves are at least half a dozen gnolls with shortbows aimed at them. They put away their bows and Trakoadon beckons his small band and Drago forward into the ruins. He motions for Drago to remain silent.

Inside the ruins, Trakoadon leads them down a set of 20’ wide marble stairs that descend deep into the earth. Drago notes, before being led underground, that what is left of the interior walls have faded murals on them depicting some human god with flowing robes and a white beard hurling down lighting bolts from clouds and mountain tops on the hapless mortals below.

A little ways down, just before it gets too dark to see, Trakoadon stops the group and heads over to a small shelf inset into the wall. On it is a small clay lamp and next to that some flint and steel. Trakoadon gets the lamp lit and then they resume their trek down the  stairs, now illuminated by the flickering light of the oil lamp.

“It is better if you keep silent for now,” says Trakoadon once more speaking Draconian. “I know you must have many questions. I also find the gnolls distasteful. But we have formed a temporary alliance with them until… Well it is better if you wait and speak with Shaman G’ruk. He will explain it all to you. For now, be patient and silent.”

The stairs eventually come to an end in a large entrance hall that in the dim light Drago sees is about 50’ long and wide. Corridors lead off into the darkness to the right, left, and straight ahead. The walls were once painted in bright colors. Now faded, the scenes are of elaborate human ceremonies involving the burning of calves and other sacrifices to the gods. Other scenes show richly decorated Thracians bowing in supplication to various regally robed deities. The air in the room stinks of bat quano. Drago slips a bit on the marble floor and then looks down to see that almost half a foot of gray dung covers the floor. Tracks crisscross the fecal matter leading straight ahead and to the right. Trakoadon whispers to Drago to be careful and quiet. Then he holds the lamp up just a little, enough to show Drago that 30’ above the ceiling is covered with bats. “Do not disturb them,” he hisses. He then leads them off to the right.

They enter a ten foot wide plastered corridor that twists and turns and leads past one tripwire for a double spear trap and just past that a spear and shield bearing gnoll in leather armor in the corridor standing guard in front of a room full of more gnoll guards. Trakoadon also trades passwords with that gnoll guard in Common. Once past the guard the make their way down a long sloping passageway that turns left into a long stairwell. Drago begins to feel more and more claustrophic as they continue deeper and deeper into the earth. Drago even finds himself wondering if they are going into the infamous
Underdark.

They finally arrive at a large dry cavern filled with rubble. It is fairly dry with stalactites and stalagmites along the southeastern walls. Trakoadon leads them across the cavern, along the edge of a wall to their right. The ceiling arches up into the darkness. The cavern seems to be only about 40’ across but off to their left it stretches away into the darkness, where Drago can dimly see mounds of rubble and the beginnings of a small forest of stalactites and stalagmites where the wall of the cavern up ahead curves away into the darkness. He also hears the squakings and skittering of countless rats echoing all around. Up ahead is the entrance to a new  passageway.

The passageway is a short one however. After 20’ it opens onto a room filled with a foot of compressed garbage. On the wall to the left is a set of heavy oaken double doors bound in brass and before them another gnoll guard. Once again the passwords are exchanged and they are let through the double doors.

Beyond the double doors is another room of about the same size. This one is filthy with offal, food scraps, bits of armor, scraps of leather, broken and useless weapons, discarded boxes, broken furniture, shreds of cloth, garbage, and a motley collection of disconnected bones. On the far side of the room is another set of double doors and Drago notes that both sets of doors have heavy oaken bars that can be slid into place. Inside this trash strewn den are seven more gnolls armed with swords, battleaxes, and other weapons.  Two of them, probably commanders, are in scale mail and armed with greatswords. One of the lesser gnollsis stationed at a spy-hole in the
wall on the right. Another is cuffing and angrily growling at a wretched looking human male dressed only in a loincloth. Old scars and new bruises from repeated beatings are visible all over his body. He stutters something in the Gnoll tongue and cowers away. The gnolls ignore the lizardfolk, though Drago observes that at least one sneers at them as they pass by.

Past the second set of double doors they find another passage leading off to the right and then it turn right again they find themselves heading up a short flight of stairs to another passage that quickly turns to the left and after about 50’ they come to another natural cavern. This one has an underground river running through it. Once more the ceiling is lost in the darkness overhead as is the far bank of the underground river. Trakoadon leads them off to the left along the bank of the river and they come to a small cluster of animal skin tents surrounding a small bonfire. Drago estimates that there can’t be much more than a dozen lizardfolk that he can see, but the number of tents would indicate that thee may be at least three times that number living there.

Trakoadon tells one of the other warriors to run on ahead and alert Shaman G’ruk. He leads Drago at a slower pace to a tent larger than the others standing against the wall of the cavern, but then stops him before he can go inside. They wait and then the other warrior comes out of the tent and says, “He will see Drago.”

Trakoadon says to Drago, “You must relinquish your weapons and this,” he taps the bandolier, “before we can let you see Shaman G’ruk. Once he is sure of you, they will be returned to you.” The other five warriors stand ready in case Drago protests this precaution. It occurs to Drago that this is the kind of paranoia he had often seen among the humans, and is a little disturbed to find it here among his own kind as well.

Without a word, Drago relinquishes his weapons and bandoleers, knowing he is not without tricks if things go awry.