<HTML>  WA is huge! No doubting that. And it has a large cast of characters (well over 30 at last count). So to help people who might be getting lost I'm putting together a cast of characters to help! Chris   ***   The two had been ignored after George had left their cell. Food had been brought them but the mole had entered and left without speaking a word. It gave them plenty of time to think and talk.   Their seclusion was suddenly broken when the door opened and Misha and a wolverine morph entered. The fox had a hard look to him, cold and angry but the wolverine looked frightened. "This is Jenn," the fox said in a nasty tone. "She has a few questions to ask, and you will answer them."   "You came in through the South Gate?" Jenn asked in a quiet, female voice.   Ferwig realized that under that robe and thick fur was a woman. "Yes we did."   "Did you see any sign of my husband?" she asked. "He's a wolverine like me. Andre is the Captain of the South Gate."   "I saw no wolverines among the dead, my lady," Teria answered. "But we did not take the gate, another group did."   "Could he have been taken prisoner?" Misha asked.   "He could have, " Ferwig responded. "We didn't linger in the gate but moved on to our target."   "You mean my friend George," the fox commented.   "George is your friend?" Ferwig asked.   "Yes he is and so is Andre."   "Are you sure you didn't see him or hear someone mention him?" Jenn asked hopefully.   "No, I know nothing of him."   The wolverine burst out in tears and ran from the room. Misha started after her but paused at the door. "You'd better hope he's still alive or I'll take it out of your hides. Slowly and painfully." With that he turned and left the cell. The door slammed shut with an ominous thud.   Neither doubted that the vulpine was dead serious about his threat. *** Jono's mind is also working quickly, though he's not grinning triumphantly as a result. The expression on his face is one of stone-cold determination. "Jo! Perry! Take the tents down; try to keep them in one piece! We're going to need them for the trip over!" he yells as he helps another one of the kids up. "Go over to Dana and the others!" he says to the child, not having the time to even see who it is. Jono has a Plan. If visibility through the snow wasn't so dismal, one would be able to see it in his eyes. He's certain that not all the kids would be able to keep up in an all-out dash to the tower; the Lutins would catch them. And there's far too many kids to carry. So he's going to have to improvise with what was left behind. "At least I'd already told them that story before this mess happened in the first place; it won't be an entirely new concept to the" It's the scream of terror from one of the two kids still down there with Kirk that rips Jono's attention away from the tents. Kirk, having heard the battlecry, has whirled around to face whatever threat is coming even before the girl has screamed. When she does, he's already assessing the situation. The upcoming combat, he can see, will consist of himself against roughly fifteen or so very active Lutins, one of whom is swinging a Very nasty-looking sword. His axe is useless in these tunnels; there's not nearly enough room to swing it. Worse from a combat perspective, he still has the last two children in his arms, which is certainly going to slow him down. Will likely have to resort to kicks, but they won't be all that powerful since he can't balance with the kids in his arms. Perhaps he could drop them, get in front of them so none of the Lutins ca- "KIRK!" He looks up to see Jono on his belly before the doorway, reaching down inside. Before his mind even registers what Jono's trying to do Kirk has already given each child a quick *heave* upwards, sending them momentarily flying through the air until Jono catches them both. By the time he does, though, Kirk has already turned his attention to the Lutins. Jono hasn't even gotten the chance to pull the kids all the way out of the tunnel before Kirk engages the Lutins, kicking out once towards some Lutin that looks to be carrying a scimitar; he misses, but ends up hitting someone directly in front of his target and knocking both back. Another kick delivered to the other side manages to send another Lutin crashing into what looks like two or three more. Then Kirk starts to crouch down, and so Jono quickly pulls the kids back, managing to get them away from the trapdoor just before Kirk reappears, bellowing loudly and leaping up Incredibly high for one so big, landing halfway in and out of the trapdoor. It takes a half second before Kirk has pulled himself fully out of the doorway, and another second for him to grab the trapdoor and slam it down shut with a final grunt. A few seconds just pass then, as Kirk lays there almost panting from the effort put into the jump, and Jono tries to keep both the kids and his friend all in view at the same moment. Then the little boy Jono is still holding gets an enthusiastic look of wonder on his face. "WOW! Can we do that again?" * * * "Twenty yards! They're almost on top of us!" comes Jahnsen's voice, bringing Kevin's attention back to the outside world. "Whatever you're going to do, Kevin, better do it now!" "Coming!" he yells back, getting his robes back on over the amulet, making a brief check to insure that the lines are still attached. Kevin is not primarily a combat mage. Strictly scholarly mages tend to be limited in what they can do, and Kevin is no exception; he only recently learned the Fireball spells after the death of the Patriarch and the scare of potential war that had come up in light of that event. He's not a combat mage by any stretch of the imagination - he's a historian. And it's highly doubtful that a detachment of Lutins will be intimidated or otherwise repelled from the field of battle by historical findings, no matter how dramatic. But there's another tool he uses for his historical works that, if one is clever enough, can be very versatile. He rushes out of the tent even as he notes Jo and Perry running towards it. Out of the corner of his eye he can see that the other tent has been apparently reshaped somehow; must have been that plan the bard was talking about. Near it is the collected future of Metamor, guarded by Dana. He waves to them as he runs over to Jahnsen; he *knows* they're going to love this. "What're you waiting for?" the bat asks, yelling to be heard over the wind as Kevin makes it up to him. "What direction are they coming in from? How's their front line oriented?" "What?" the bat asks, momentarily puzzled. Then he shakes his head as if to dismiss that thought, and holds out his hand in their direction, turning it flat vertically so it's parallel with the Lutin front line. "Like that!" Kevin looks out in that direction. The kids are well out of the picture; the tent contraption show up a little to the left, but it's not interfering. Jono and Kirk are off to the other side, but they're just close enough to him such that he still has room. "Perfect." he says almost under his breath. "Excuse me, sir?" Kevin turns to Jahnsen briefly. "Stand back a couple yards! Otherwise you could ruin the effect!" Jahnsen knows better than to argue with a wizard on a point like that. He immediately runs towards the kids, looking back and watching. And Kevin starts chanting. * * * Kesk Morgrim likes to keep things small and swift, based on the simplest lessons learned from the legendary Markesh Blackhand. Move in with small units run by trusted warriors, take by surprise and be prepared for the use of strength when surprise is lost. Only the most basic of tactics, he knows, but most northern humans don't know that, let alone most northern Lutins. That includes the human mages (damn them to the nine hells!) that have been running the remainder of the Blackhand tribe while Tharag goes off playing scout - they hear that Tharag's party has been attacked, and they insist on a show of force! Sure, it'll accomplish the job, but it'll also cause more Lutin casualties; the small detached units Markesh favored would do far better there... Kesk spits in disgust. Takes eight score poison arrows launched into a forest and blind luck for that damn mage to throw away the greatest Lutin warrior that ever lived, but only shouted words from a lowly follower of same to throw away the remainder of that warrior's army. The Blackhand Tribe still knows how to Fight, damn it, and yet they're being thrown out here to cut off retreat and reinforcement. A living-wall force! One of the things Markesh would never have done. He spits again. It could be worse; he could find himself dead along with the rest of Markesh's general staff. Only a few of the lieutenants and one or two of the generals (*including* himself, he thinks in disgust) managed to survive the purges Nasoj ordered after Markesh's death. Not that all of them would really have been threats. Most of Markesh's supporters, though thought of up North as military geniuses, would probably be considered equivalent to run of the mill officers here at the Keep. Kesk has a large amount of respect for his foes - another lesson of Markesh's. When you respect a worthy and strong foe, you're better prepared to defeat said foe when the time arrives. "All the more reason to fight them with brains throughout and not this damn sneak-up-then-smash foolishness." But there's no way Tharag would ever listen to him. He nods to Neska, one of the other ex-supporters who'd had to lay low and play dumb when Nasoj showed his wrath. If real tactics were being thought of she'd be just behind him, ready to use a few spells so as to narrow the odds against these Keepers. But Nasoj doesn't trust the Lutin shamans, so none of them can cast spells; only his incompetent humans can. And he, an experienced warrior who's run more campaigns than those babes have even dreamed of, has to take ORDERS from them! Neska waves a hand to him, jolting him away from that line of thought. There is a task to do, however distasteful it might be. The Keepers that attacked Tharag's camp would be about oh, twenty yards ahead. "Would that we could have Fortune smile on us by insuring that runt's death in the assault," he thinks to himself before he starts forward once more, his ragtag 'command' (he hesitates to dignify it with such a phrase) behind him. And then he halts as the campsite comes into view. * * *   A war raged in the hallowed and ancient halls of Metamor Keep. A war that would effect the course of millions in the next thousand years was being fought  by a mere handful of people. It was being fought in a thousand little skirmishes, ambushes, attacks and desperate last stands that were taking place in nameless corridors and rooms. Halls that had seen only calm and happiness, that had echoed to the sounds of parties and celebrations now rang with the sounds of combat. It heard the clash of steel on steel, the crackling of flames and the screams of the dieing.   In one corridor which seemed much like any of a hundred others a score of Lutins had battered down a door using a makeshift battering ram. In the rooms beyond a family of seven huddled in one corner while their father bravely tried to hold off the monsters attacking them. It was a hopeless fight and they all knew it, especially the Lutins. First they would have some fun with the man, then the rest of the family - especially the wife and daughters. Four of the green creatures were taking their time in killing the man, taking turns attacking him while the others cheered and egged them on. They were so busy with the entertainment that they didn't see the group of Keepers approaching until a javelin imbedded into the back of one of Lutins. He managed one scream before he died. The rest followed him seconds later. ***   The ten panic stricken keepers were running for their life. Three men, four women and three children of various species were moving a fast as possible to escape but they weren't moving fast enough. Death was snapping at their heels and they knew it.   Behind them, a dozen Lutins screaming and howling raced towards the Keepers. They were all trying to out race each other, eager to score the first kill. Their quarry was barely forty feet ahead of the lead lutin when they reached an intersection. They paused for a moment as if deciding what to do then continued on. But they were still moving far too slow. The lead lutin was a small male carrying a spear as long as he was tall. It's long steel point was covered with blood. A raging blood lust filled his eye.  The rest of his band was mere footsteps behind. He reached the intersection without slowing down. There was a brief flicker of a shadow and the Lutins head went flying from his shoulder to land at the feet of the rest of the war band. They had barely a moment to surprise before a shower of arrows, javelins and spears ripped through them. It was over in moments.   Misha casually wiped the blood from Whispers blade as Finbar moved among the lutin bodies slitting their throats to be sure the dead weren't faking. "That went well," the fox said.   "Well for you," one of the 'panic stricken keepers' said as the group walked back up the corridor they had just run down. They seemed none the worse for having been chased by such a bloody group. The speaker was a middle aged man with dark brown hair. "You weren't the ones being chased."   Standing next to the man was blonde haired women still holding her baby by one leg. "Here," she said handing the doll to the man. "You get to hold junior this time."   "I'm surprised they keep falling for such an obvious trick," Caroline said as she stood, bow in hand and an arrow nocked in case more lutins appeared.   "How many times are we going to do this trick" Danielle asked.   "Once more," fox answered. "Four times is our limit. After that we're stretching our luck."   "Then what?" The woman asked.   "We start over again but we'll use another trick this time," Misha explained. "It's a good one. Lutins used it against me four years ago and almost killed me."    ***   The hall was thirty feet wide and forty feet long, small by the standards of The Keep. It was laid out for a feast. Tables chairs and benches were everywhere many scattered or knocked over evidence of the hurried retreat of the Keepers. On the walls hung fine tapestries richly decorated with all manner scenes done in silk, silver and gold thread. Equally beautiful carpets lay under foot.   The Lutins moved warily through the hall fearful of an ambush. They looked in awe greed and hunger at tables laden with food and drink held in fine silver and pewter goblets and plates. These people were from the Mountain Storms a tribe who eked out a precarious living in the Dragon mountains. In that terrible place merely surviving was a major victory.   Nearly a year ago the man had arrived warmly dressed in expensive furs. He came with a dozen soldiers and a tall troll all dressed like him. Between them had more furs and clothing then half the tribe combined. The man brought with him a dozen ponies laden with gifts -food, furs, clothing even gold and silver in amounts none in the tribe had seen before.   This man spoke of a great and powerful leader called Nasoj who was going to conquer all of the Midlands. He spoke of great victories and of the immense wealth - loot and slaves for all. They only had to take one castle and all the wealth of the Midlands would be theirs.   Despite living high in the mountains and wearing skins these Lutins were hardly gullible fools. They knew about Metamor Keep and Nasoj and how he had failed to take it. But they also knew of the legends of the wealth of that legendary place and besides it was something more to do in the deep of winter then huddle in their shelters and try and keep warm.   The long walk through the storm had been easy enough for a people who lived in a land where summer was a scant two weeks long and even then the snow never melted. They did see how many other Lutins had died on the trip to the keep and most of all they saw how Nasoj had stayed behind warm and safe in his citadel.   The fighting to get in had been surprisingly easy, few of the Keepers were out and about in the storm. But those few they had come upon had fought hard and with great courage and skill, true warriors. The tribe would sing of their bravery forever.   So now a year later sixty members of the tribe were in a place that had only been a fairly tale till now. Standing in a hall full of more treasure and wealth then any of them could imagine. Like small children they started to grab everything of worth within reach - gold, silver, pewter even iron and wood. Tapestries were pulled down and carpets rolled up and carefully piled in the center of the room. Roast meats, bread still warm from the oven, myriad cakes and all manner of vegetables were greedily snatched up and devoured. Washed down with fine wines, hardy ales and warm cool water.   One lutin was carefully collecting the iron tongs and poker from the fire place. When he picked up the wooden bucket that was next to them he saw the contents. Surprised he stood there for a moment then tenderly touched the riches that lay withint. The bucket was resting on the floor in front of a small door that was barely two feet high. Far too small for even a lutin to use. In a flash of inspiration he pulled open the door and was rewarded with a sight of treasure far beyond his wildest dreams. His squeal of delight brought his comrades running and soon all the other treasures lay forgotten. The lure of the greatest treasure having driven thoughts of all else out of their minds.   An ancient Lutin her faced tattoos marking her as a shaman carefully reached into the small room and tenderly picked up one of the pieces of treasure. She sniffed it and then breaking off a tiny portion tasted it. All others waited in silence hoping that this wasn't some foul trick but real. She smiled showing teeth stained a deep burgundy color and held up the piece for all to see. The room erupted in cheers and shouts of joy. This was a treasure trove they would remember and sing tales of for centuries to come.   What food and drink that wasn't consumed was carefully packed away for the trip home. There was enough there to feed the hungry mouths of the tribe for months. The worthless gold and silver was also packed safely. It would later be traded to the low land tribes for more valuable things like weapons to protect the tribe and tools of steel like axes and shovels to cut wood and move the frozen earth. The carpets and tapestries were carefully folded and rolled. Soon they would decorated the rooms and temple of the tribe. They would be cherished heirlooms passed down from generation to generation. Their thickness would help to trap in the warmth while their bright pictures would stir the imagination and lead to many happy nights spent singing songs of how they were brought back from the mystical Keep.   These were all great treasures but none compared to the greatest treasure -that which had been found behind that small door. THAT treasure was packed and handled most carefully of all so that not one lump was lost. The treasure? Coal. Long burning, easy to carry coal. So much coal would last the tribe all winter. It meant that no one need go out to find and cut wood to burn. It mean that no longer would the tribe be forced to burn dung when the heavy storms came and no one could go foraging for wood. All could sit by the warm, coal fueled fires and eat the food taken from this feast all winter. No need to leave their warm homes at all!   Without a second thought the tribe left the hall through the door they had entered and to their delight found themselves outside! The wind howled and the snow swirled so strong as to blot out all vision beyond a hands span. It was weather that would kill most folk but to these Lutins it was like being embraced by their mothers. Behind them they left a hall empty of all treasure save two. In the center of the room they left two entire handfuls of the life preserving coal and the largest portion of venison from the feast. These were left as gifts to the spirit of the great keep for the wonderful gifts she had given them. For Nasoj they left what he deserved - nothing. *** End part 48</HTML>