Normally, I would have singled them out as trouble the moment I walked into the bar. On the occasion, however, I was tired after a long sea journey, followed by a protracted haggling session with the local merchants, and I didn't pay much attention until one of them ambled over and sat down at my table. As he leaned in close, I noticed an evil glint in his eye, as well as a body odor so pungent that a Swamp Hag would go pale with envy.

"Hello, friend!" he said in an unnecessarily loud voice, "you seem kind of lost and lonely. Do you mind if my friends and I join you for a beer?" He smiled while fixing my eyes with a menacing, unblinking stare.

"Feel free, chum" I answered, "the more the merrier." My invitation was unnecessary, of course. His two friends were already on their way over, and they soon sat down on either side of me, uncomfortably close. I noticed the other guests casting furtive glances which indicated that they'd seen this kind of thing transpire before. The barkeep was talking intently to some guests at the bar, while the doorman appeared to go out for a stroll down the dusty streets of Akkad . In the corner, a fat man was devouring an unfeasibly large serving of mutton.

"We hear you did good business today," one of my new tablemates said, while the other newcomer took a rather nonchalant swig from my half-full tankard of Dwarven Stout. "And seeing as we are your friends," he continued, "I'm sure you don't mind showing us the day's earnings." At this point, the friend to my left put down the tankard and began slowly unsheathing a dagger. We were being busily ignored by the other guests, including the fat man in the corner, who was making deep inroads into his mountain of food.

"Tell me," I said, while lazily toppling the tankard into the lap of my friend to the left, "did you plan this moronic routine before going out, or did you just improvise it, like some deranged little acting troupe?" I punched the man to my right in the face and jumped up, toppling my chair backwards. The bar exploded into action as everybody (except the fat fellow) made for the exit, and in the confusion, I pushed my way to the bar. With my back free, I drew my sword and turned to face the local drama society.

Two of the thugs charged towards me, while the third moved towards the door, presumably to limit my escape opportunities. One of the attackers wielded a badly chipped longsword, while the other fellow - beer stains now adorning his crotch - held two long knives.

The longsword-wielding thug held his weapon halfway over his head, and was bellowing at the top of his voice while closing in quickly. His friend was just behind, ready to plunge a knife or two into my chest if I managed to parry the longsword blow.

I moved left along the bar, in order to get the front thug between me and the double knives. As the longsword swept towards me, I lifted up my own blade to meet it, gambling on a Battement maneuver, even though I had just honed that skill under a weapon master in Sanguine. I guess there is just something about a freshly acquired weapon skill that makes you want to try it on someone.

As our blades crashed together, I put all my strength into a sudden leftward twist of the blade. Though clearly unfamiliar with the maneuver, the thug resisted fiercely, trying to maintain his blow's original trajectory. I proved the stronger, however, and my opponent's sword was diverted into the counter to my right, chopping off a fair-sized chunk of wood.

I moved in a half-circle around my now catastrophically unbalanced opponent, and surprised his knife-wielding friend by taking two strides towards him while executing a Lunge maneuver. My sword sank into the thug's beer-swollen belly, and he dropped his knife as he staggered backwards with a look of near terminal surprise on his face. I swung back towards his friend, who by now had extricated his sword from the bar and regained his balance.

By now it was abundantly clear that these people were amateurs, and I decided to risk a Knockdown maneuver, even though this would leave me open to counterattack. As it turned out, I had little trouble sidestepping a sweeping blow from my opponent, and then I smashed my sword into his right shoulder, sending him flailing into a table in the center of the room. His sword clattered across the stone floor as he disappeared under bottles, plates and smashed wood, clutching a deep wound.

I turned towards the door and the third thug, who had taken three tentative steps towards me, but now appeared to be giving some thought a couple of more cowardly options. "Scram," I encouraged, as I stepped over his moaning, gut-stabbed friend and walked towards the bar, seeking to replace my tragically spilled beer. Without saying a word, the third thug turned and ran.

"I must say, that was pretty impressive," said the fat man in the corner. His mound of meat was now reduced to a pile of clean-gnawed bones, and he was wiping his hands on a tent-sized robe. "Trouble is," he continued, "those three brutes have - or had, as the case may be - many friends in this city, including the captain of the guard, who is a thoroughly corrupt and despicable man. So, unless you wish to fight the entire Akkadian city guard, I'd say it was time for you to be moving on."

The fat man unfolded into a standing position, and I could see that he was working up to something. "As it happens," he said, tugging his brown beard, "I'm heading inland to look for a rare magical ingredient, and I might just need an armed escort." Somewhat surprisingly, he produced a pinch of diamond dust, held between his left finger and thumb, and a thin silken veil, which he held in his right hand. Muttering a few unintelligible words, the fat man threw the ingredients into the air, and we both became invisible.

--

A few hours later, the two of us were traveling inland on horseback. Despite his monumental obesity, my spellcasting acquaintance was holding up quite well in the sweltering heat. His name was Jonn Gilchrist, and he belonged to a predominantly human clan which controlled an (according to him) steadily growing part of southern Mercia .

Jonn had come to Rubaiyat because he needed a magical ingredient called a Soul Periapt, which could only be extracted from the vanquished remains of a monster called a Deathless Mage. Upon learning this, any sensible man would have returned to Akkad and faced the city guard, but I never claimed to be a sensible man.

We were traveling northwestward through a desert of gently rolling dunes interspersed by arid, rocky plains. Scattered stands of green cactus rose from the sand, and even though no water could be seen, occasional palm groves broke the monotony of the landscape. Boulders and rocks lay strewn across the desert, as if they had been sown there by a giant hand.

Just as Gilchrist's poor horse began to give out under him, we arrived at an oasis surrounded by the ruins of a long-abandoned caravanserai. According to Gilchrist, we had been traveling in the invisible tracks of an ancient trade route, which had been a busy vein of trade in the days of the Akkadian empire. During a brief but intense golden age, the Akkadians had conquered much of southern Agon, and built mighty cities on their home continent of Rubaiyat. But now, after centuries of slow decline, most of those settlements had fallen into ruin, and the roads and caravanserais connecting them had been devoured by the desert.

We had had several near-encounters with the fierce nomads who now rule the Rubaiyat interior. Migrating between oases in small groups, they prefer tents to houses, and their only permanent settlements protect the handful of places which they consider sacred. According to Gilchrist, the desert nomads attack all intruders on sight, and we carefully avoided all contact with them. I used my Cover Tracks skill at regular intervals, and Gilchrist turned us invisible on several occasions, while we hid from groups of nomads whose paths crossed ours.

--

The sun was setting as we rode into the oasis, and as we set up our camp, Neith rose in the eastern sky, bathing the desert in shades of red. With the sun gone, a chill replaced the daytime heat, and we built a large campfire while our horses drank from a clear pool at the center of the oasis. We could hear the wind gathering strength in the desert around us, but the densely growing trees of the oasis sheltered us from all but the sound of it.

"This isn't so bad," Gilchrist commented, as we lounged next to a large campfire, both of us much refreshed by a simple but solid meal. "I had almost forgotten how splendid the adventuring life can be," he continued, "the open road; the star-speckled sky at night; the strange clicking sounds from the grove behind us… hang on!"

We turned just in time to see two monstrous creatures walk into the light from our fire. From the torso up, their bodies were those of bronze-skinned and muscular human males, but their hindquarters were those of gargantuan scorpions. The hybrids carried a wavy sword in each hand, and at the far end of their bodies, freakishly large stingers were held in a striking position.

"Take the leftmost!" Gilchrist shouted, as he began casting a spell while slowly retreating from the fire. I obliged, and ran towards the left flank while trying to adjust my armor and draw my broadsword at the same time. I tried to suppress a rising tide of fear: these djeer, as the Akkadians called them were among the most dangerous creatures on Rubaiyat, and even the nomads were said to fear them.

As I closed in on the leftmost djeer, his stinger shot towards me with amazing speed and accuracy, and I barely got my shield up in time to deflect it. The force of the blow almost flattened me, and I took two sideways steps to regain my balance. A faint smile played across the djeer's lips, and for the first time I noticed that his eyes were completely white, apparently lacking both irises and pupils. I also noticed that the other djeer began circling me, presumably looking to plant his poisonous stinger in an unprotected body part.

At that point, a tall column of black fire spouted from the ground underneath the rightmost djeer, and he let out a surprised yell as unnatural flames engulfed him. I was nearly as surprised as the two djeer, but seized the opportunity to lunge at the leftmost monster, driving my sword into his exposed flank.

Screaming in pain, the fire-stricken djeer backtracked desperately, while hacking impotently at the flames, which seemed to follow him as he retreated. Behind me, I could hear Jonn Gilchrist laughing gently. Meanwhile, the unburned djeer shook off his confusion and pounced towards me, swinging his twin swords towards my neck in a swift, scissor-like movement.

I ducked and dove to the right, but one of the scimitar-like swords still struck my left temple, causing the world to go black for a split second while blood spattered down my cheek. But I clung to consciousness, and immediately responded with an upward thrust of my blade, sinking it into the djeer's scorpion body. As he staggered backwards, bleeding badly, I jumped to my feet and swung out once more. My sword sank into his human torso this time, and the monstrous hybrid coughed blood once, then sank limply to the ground. Ten yards away from me, and half-obscured by palms, I saw the charred, smoking and very dead remains of Gilchrists handiwork.

When I turned to congratulate the fat mage, I saw that he was trying hard to stifle a demented grin, and that his eyes shone like stars in the red light from Neith. "Necromancer, eh?" I said as I walked back to the camp. "That was an impressive serving of Unholy Fire, I'll grant you that."

--

Late the next day, we came to the ruins of a large fortress. According to the obese necromancer, two caravan routes once intersected in the shadow of the crumbling complex, which now stood half-buried in sand. Large sections of wall had crumbled completely, leaving only sand-scoured debris to obstruct our entrance into the courtyard. As I walked towards a gap in the southern wall, Gilchrist lifted a chubby hand in warning: "Careful now," he said, "my sources say that the Deathless Mage who resides here has assembled a rather large collection of guardians."

The ruins were silent as I stepped into the rubble-strewn courtyard. Gilchrist came up beside me, and pointed towards a more-or-less intact building on the opposite side of the complex: "I think it's that one," he said, "but something's not right here. It's too quiet."

As if on cue, skeletons began pouring out of the ruined buildings on each side of us. Shambling their way out, the skeletons assembled into a tangled group of clattering bones and skulls. Most of them seemed to be unarmed, but I caught a telltale glimpse of steel at the rear - a Skeleton Warrior, no doubt.

I ran towards the gathering throng, hoping to give Gilchrist the time and space to work his magic. While charging, I swung the sword above my head, and the skeletons gaped soundlessly in response, staggering towards me on unsteady but eager feet.

My first blow struck a skeleton's shoulder, severing its right hand from its body. Unlettered, the freshly crippled undead lunged towards me, sweeping its remaining hand towards my face. Common skeletons, like these fellows, fight by crowding and surrounding their opponents, while tearing, scratching and gouging frenetically with claw like fingers.

I ignored the hands clawing at my face and throat, and swung my broadsword in wide arcs. Brittle bones pulverized whenever my sword struck something, and soon the air was filled with the satisfying sound of skeletons shattering. Behind me, I heard Jonn speak the words of a spell - until his chanting was suddenly replaced by a yelp, and the spell was interrupted. I risked a backwards glance, and saw an arrow protrude from the wizard's ample chest. Perhaps underestimating the opposition, I had missed the presence of a Skeleton Archer, who was partially obscured by a tree in the center of the courtyard, and who was now retrieving another arrow from a quiver on his back.

I redoubled my efforts, hacking and slashing furiously at the skeletons around me. I decapitated two with a single blow, and then smashed my shield into the chest of a third, pulverizing half of his remaining ribs. I was now halfway through the skeletal crowd, and their clawing had caused little more than annoyance and the odd scratch. I kept my eye on the Skeleton Warrior, who had circled halfway around me, and was preparing to make his move.

Once again I heard Gilchrist begin a spell, and once again an arrow from the Archer thudded home. This time, however, the substantial mage managed to stay focused and finish the casting. As a result, the Skeleton Archer pointed his bow away from Gilchrist and towards his own colleagues. I smiled as the Archer's next arrow pulverized the skull of a skeleton to my right.

Then, suddenly, the Skeleton Warrior struck, driving his sword towards my left flank. I was busy dispatching the weaker skeletons, and reacted a fraction of a second too late. The sword sank into my shoulder, inflicting a nasty wound.

By way of reply, I shattered the torso of one of the Skeleton Warrior's remaining subordinates, and then walked swiftly towards him. As I approached, the armed skeleton clacked his teeth repeatedly, and when I came within reach, he swung his sword once more.

This time I was ready for him, though, and I easily sidestepped his blow. Immediately thereafter, I swung my blade towards his and performed a quick Disarm maneuver. The Skeleton Warriors' sword flew from his hand and clattered harmlessly into a pile of debris. Again the undead leader clacked his teeth, but this time in fear rather than anticipation. I swung several blows against his unprotected right flank, reducing him to a pile of bones and armor.

--

With the last of the skeletons dispatched, we continued towards the semi-intact building in the northern end of the complex. Still under Gilchrist's control, the Skeleton Archer followed us, an arrow knocked and ready.

As I was about to cross the building's threshold, an impossibly awful smell struck with near physical force, and sent me retching and reeling back into the courtyard. Unfortunately, the source of the smell came running out after me, screaming incoherently and foaming at the mouth.

The creature was of roughly human size, but slightly taller, and fatter than any person I'd ever seen - even Gilchrist. As it came closer, I saw that it's body consisted of layers of flesh which had been sewn together with rough stitches, and that it seemed to exist in a state of excruciating, wide-eyed pain. Manacles hanging loosely from its wrists indicated that the wretched creature was kept chained to a wall inside.

"Flesh Golem!" Gilchrist shouted, "you deal with it!" Steeling myself against the smell, I let the creature approach. With a loud yell, the Flesh Golem swung at me with its huge fist. I took a backward step, and as the hand sailed past me, I could smell the rotting flesh. Five yards to my right, Gilchrist was peering intently at the doorway from which the golem had emerged. I wondered why he wasn't casting any spells.

I swung a downward chopping blow at the golem, and my sword sunk deeply into its right hip. To my disgust, my blade sliced off a large slab of flesh, which fell to the ground with a sickening sound. Involuntarily, I took two steps backward as the Flesh Golem howled out its pain and rage.

In the corner of my eye, I saw Gilchrist begin to cast a spell. I looked towards the doorway, and saw a Deathless Mage emerge through it. Though it was a skeletal creature, slivers of desiccated flesh still clung to its bones. It wore a heavy, black robe and wielded a bone staff in its left hand. It ignored me and pointed the staff towards Gilchrist.

Simultaneously, the golem came close to crushing my head between its two insweeping fists. I ducked just in time, however, and as the huge hands smacked together, I was showered with rotting flesh, sweat and blood. I immediately lunged at the disgusting creature, sinking my sword into its wet belly.

Gilchrist's vigilance seemed to have paid off, giving him the initiative against the Deathless Mage. The undead spellcaster was held in stasis just outside the door, while Unholy Flames rose from the ground under him. Once again, Jonn Gilchrist was laughing a contented but slightly disturbing laugh.

The Flesh Golem was unsteady on his feet now. Moving forward and to the left, I hacked at his foot, slicing off another chunk of meat and sending him tumbling to the ground. As the Golem fell, the Deathless Mage finally tore itself free of Gilchrist's recent serving of Hold Undead.

With surprising speed, the Deathless Mage glided towards Gilchrist, its robe still smoldering with Unholy Fire. Gilchrist looked surprised, and began casting a new spell while slowly backtracking across the courtyard.

The Deathless Mage was concentrating intently on his tormentor, and he didn't seem to notice me running after him. When the undead spellcaster reached Gilchrist, it lifted its Bone Staff to strike, and as if in anticipation, black rays of energy coursed along the sides of the magical weapon.

Just as the Deathless Mage was smashing the staff downward, I intervened with my second Disarm maneuver of the afternoon. The Bone Staff flipped out of his skeletal hand, and for a split second, the Deathless Mage hesitated. Then Gilchrist threw a handful of sulfur and ash into the air, and a bright Scorching Ray shot from his hand and into the Deathless Mage.

Our opponent's skeletal remains shattered as they fell onto the stones of the courtyard. His black robe fluttered briefly on the air currents caused by the spell, before settling next to the bones in a messy heap. Jonn Gilchrist had his Soul Periapt, and I - frankly - was glad to still be alive.