<HTML>    Sir Edmund almost missed it. One moment Misha was just standing awaiting the order and next the morph had sprinted the fifteen feet distance between them and was lunging at him with both sword and dagger.    The scout's long sword brushed aside Edmunds large shield as the dagger drove straight for his face. Backpedaling the warrior was barely able to dodge the blade as it slid past his check, missing the skin by mere inches. He lashed out with own sword but the lithe fox easily avoided the blade. Rather then press his advantage Misha retreated just as quickly as he had attacked.   Then the scout relaxed and planting the point of his sword in the earth and leaning on it he announced, "I win."    "WHAT?" Edmund blurted out.    "Look at your ankle," the fox explained.    Looking down the paladin saw a small puncture in the armor plate protecting his right leg. A small trickle of blood came from the opening. "How?"    Misha lifted up his left foot revealing the short blade attached to the tip of his boot. "First blood goes to me."    "THAT'S NOT FAIR!" Terrant shouted. "That's hardly a wound. It's a mere scratch."    "A scratch could kill," Finbar commented. "If the blade that made it was poisoned or smeared with shit."    The color drained from Terrant's face and he moved forward towards Edmund but a wave of the hand from Misha stopped him.    "No need to worry. The only thing on the blade was a little rust," he said as he walked up to the paladin. "Lutins don't fight fair. They use every dirty, nasty, little trick they can come up with. And smearing all sorts of nasty and poisonous things on their weapons is one of their favorites."    "Along with ambushes, traps and assassinations," Caroline added.    "You may fight with honor," Misha explained. "But Lutins never will. They're hardly the craven little cowards most fairly tales make them out to be."    Edmund nodded solemnly, "these are the creatures who destroyed the Sueliman empire and over-ran the entire Midlands."    "They're vicious, nasty and tricky. They're also hardy, tough, creative, imaginative and hard working when they want to be. But above all else they are survivors. Lutins have survived catastrophes that would have wiped out the human race long ago."    "The Lutins will fight," Misha explained, "but they won't make an open stand. They'll fight a thousand little ambushes and sneak attacks. They'll slaughter anyone foolish enough to walk around alone and at night they'll try and sneak in and slit the throats of the sleeping."    "They might fight like thieves but we don't," Terrant said.    "True," Edmund added. "But we must learn how to defeat such thieves."    "Lutins can be defeated. We've been doing it for centuries," Caroline commented.    "Then we have a lot to learn and little time to learn it in," the paladin said. *******************************    The corridor was cold and damp. Edmund could easily see the dampness on the walls and puddles on the floor. Bits of thick moss growing at random in the cracks in the walls, glowed with a light of their own to give an eerie light, as if the walls themselves had eyes.  Those eyes slipped in and out of the shadowy cracks in the walls as the two people moved, almost like they were blinking. Their breath came in clouds that seemed to hang in the damp, moldy air close to their bodies for a long time. Like it was too frightened to leave its creator. Of all the places in the keep this was the only location he truly did not feel welcome in.    "Kyia keeps this part of the keep hard to reach," Misha explained in cold, whispered tones as he opened a massive iron bound door that weighed at least two tons. It was the third one the vulpine had opened in the last five minutes. "During the attack this entire section of the Keep was simply sealed off. Even during normal times no one ever comes here."    "No guards?" Edmund asked as he followed Misha through the doorway. The thin light of Misha's torch revealed another corridor exactly like the one they had left. Some distance away barely visible was another set of doors. He could just make out some sort of decorations on it.    "We used to have guards but very few could withstand the duty for more then a few hours. When a guard tried to kill himself the Duke ordered the watch post moved further away. But none of the guards could find their way there. It seems Kyia herself decided to guard it. No one was in any mood to argue the point." From the placid thinness to the vulpine's voice, Edmund had to wonder for a moment if Misha himself had ever stood guard there.    As the two moved slowly down the corridor Edmund felt the closeness and oppressive atmosphere seem to thicken noticeably. It was a leaden air, filled with strange moldy scents and thick supposition that seemed do weight down upon them both. Pressing against the hearts and minds. Thoughts no man would entertain in the open air came unbidden in the soggy mists, circling around his mind like wisps of smoke blown from a long pipe. The fox had fallen silent, his ears pricked curiously, like a beast wary of attack. Edmund couldn't help but look around as if he expected something to slither from the walls and throttle him with long dead hands.    Clumps of moss filled the many cracks within the walls. This portion of the Keep was old, very old, built far down into the foundations. Through those cracks pushed the earth, pressing upwards against the stone edifice erected above, and then dragging all of it bit by bit down into the bowels. Here, deep in the lowest portions, the earth had begun to suffocate the air, slowly filling, reclaiming this chambers as its own as if the earth were jealous of the beautiful creation that stood atop it.    The moss glowed its sick, febrile light, staring balefully at them, studying them as they moved passed. Edmund felt his skin tremble as some of the moisture dripped down along in rivulets over that moss. Almost as if some living creature were snaking in and out of those cracks where the earth had asserted its dominion.  It was strange, and utterly unreasonable, for he knew very well that the Earth was a creation of Eli, and given unto man as a means to life, but in this strange dark corridor where the water was putrid, the wall ripped and rent. Edmund felt that the very earth hated them for coming here. Intruding on its domain.    Edmund's heart was held tightly within his chest, eyes flickering from wall to wall as those glistening droplets of water gave that wall its bizarre life. They were snakes and salamanders of water and light he imagined and then, his breath caught within him, and he wondered whether it was his imagination at all. A man had nearly killed himself because of his duty to watch over what this ghastly corridor protected. Who knew what things could lurk or thrive in such cloistered places as this.    And then, as he set his boot down into one of the many foul puddles that pock-marked the uneven floor of the corridor, he felt something slither and wriggle beneath him.    With a shout, Edmund leapt back, his sword ringing free from his scabbard in a second. Misha had one of his own blades within his paw at the same time, turned to face him, gray eyes intent on what beastly thing may have withdrawn from the cracks in the walls to beset upon the paladin. But the puddle, the water shimmering from the vapid green glow, rippled briefly as a pond when disturbed by a thrown rock.    Misha narrowed his eyes, his posture relaxing, but not completely. Edmund, gingerly poked his boot once more within the small puddle, but found nothing but solid stone beneath. Had there ever been anything in there, he wondered. The sickness in his stomach made him hope his unspoken question was never answered.    "The door is just ahead," Misha said, gesturing with his short sword at the massive iron bound door that stood at the end of the corridor. Edmund nodded, but did not sheathe his blade. It felt reassuring to hold it in his hand, to feel its weight before him. Somehow, as they stood before that door, he felt more like a man about to confront an enemy, not to find a weapon.    Misha set his torch on a black basalt stanchion, and then pressed his shoulder against the door.  There were a pair of them, and they opened into the room beyond.  They were also nearly twice Edmund's own height.  Misha gave the paladin a speculative look, and soon Edmund had his shoulder against the other door. The iron was cold, deeply so, more than he'd expected. The cold seemed to seep right through his body and clinch his heart with an icy grip. He very nearly flinched from its touch, but he managed to keep his poise. He made a silent prayer to the Great one leaned into the door. Grunting, he heaved against it, slowly pushing it inwards, as Misha did the same with its twin.    The doors shuddered as they came to rest in the entranceway of a much larger room beyond. The walls were sloped, reaching up to a four point dome far overhead.  Dogtoothed designs were etched into the braces along the walls, fashioned from black basalt. The light from Misha's torch was drawn to them as if they wished to extinguish the light, leaving them shrouded in shadows and darkness. Where the walls of the corridor had been corrupted by the earth, these ones were secure, firm, and completely untouched by the years of decay they had seen only a moment ago. Yet, even so, he could hear the sound of dripping water but he saw no life. Not even the glowing moss. That thought alone sent a shiver down his spine.    Two more stanchions stood within the doorway, long black candles set within them. Misha lowered them with one paw to carefully light them with his torch.  Strangely enough, once both were lit, Edmund had no difficulty seeing what lay in the center of that chamber.  The walls reflected the light from those candles just so, casting all attention inwards to the mammoth device that was nestled safely in the hold of the Keep's most secret catacombs.    It was a battering ram, mounted upon thick timbers bound with dark iron, massive spikes holding them together. The shaft appeared to have once been fashioned from several different trees, fitted together in four sections, and bound tightly by iron shackles and rings at five places. The bark was stripped bare, leaving it an unhealthy sheen, a sickly pale white. Strangely though, the trees appeared to have grown together, as if the four different woods had all be part of one single tree. But the most prominent feature was the head of the ram, the snarling fa�ade of the wolf.    Edmund, saw nothing of the rest of the weapon. His sight was first drawn to the eyes of the beast which seemed to glow with a baleful light. They were slitted eyes, staring hatefully forward. This was a caged beast, one that lay in wait for any man to enter its cage. Edmund felt studied, as if they were examining him, pushing and probing him to his very soul. He swallowed heavily, the tip of his sword wavering unsteadily in the air before him. No man would ever leave this beast's cage alive.    He felt a deep chill sink into him, one far worse then cold of the corridor behind him. It filled his body and soul draining all warmth and hope from his body. He could see his own corpse sprawled on the floor. He wondered how long would it lay here before someone found it. Would the great Keep allow anyone else in or just lock and seal the doors trapping his soul here as surely as his body. How long would his tortured soul haunt this terrible place before it was released.    His grip on his sword wavered, and its tip touched the ground, his arms too weak to hold it. He fumbled for the gold symbol of the Tree that hung from a gold chain around his neck with his free hand. As his fingers closed around the metal he felt a great warmth flow through him lifting his soul. The coldness left him as did the thoughts of death. In moments they were but faint memories. He silently uttered a prayer to the Great One in thanks.    For several moments, he held that gaze, until he had no choice but to look elsewhere. He found Misha standing a step behind him. The vulpine's body was rigid, his ears were pressed flat against his skull and every hair on his body was standing on end.    Finally he looked back at the thing, refusing to give in to it's evil. It was then that he discovered the source of the dripping noise. The wolf's head was snarling, the jaws wide, with vicious looking fangs bared, all of it fashioned from a black metal the likes of which he was not familiar.    Between those fangs dripped some red fluid. It spilt from those ravenous jaws and into a small pool. Edmund stared at the pool for several moments, watching as the edges of the pool simply were drawn within the stones beneath. It was as if the very stones were gorging themselves on it. The fluid was viscous and had a certain familiar dry smell that he had known many times.    It was blood.    "My Abba!" Sir Edmund Delacot said chokingly, stumbling backwards shaking his head in ghastly horror.  This was the weapon that Misha wished to unleash upon their enemies?  The snarling wolf face almost smiled at him, as it drooled blood.  This was an evil worse than their enemies. "I have seen enough, Misha. We're leaving now."    The fox nodded slowly, his own gray eyes unsettled as he extinguished both black candles. Those terrible eyes watched them as they pulled those heavy door shut again, twinkling hellishly with a life and a light all its own.  The decaying corridor they were in felt like a breath of fresh air to them both.    They quickly made their way back down the passage and through the doors, being sure each was locked and bolted before moving on. It wasn't until the last of the massive doors was closed and triple locked that they stopped. They were again in the warm and inviting passageways of Metamor Keep. Without a word both set off down those passages for the same destination. Neither had to say anything or choose. It was clear where they needed to go. To the Cathedral to pray. **** </HTML>