The little victims play!

Thomas Gray (1716-71) British poet. Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College

Sir Gawain swung his mighty sword at the ferocious dragon, Emet. This however merely caused Emet to swing her tail and brush away Gawain, much like an ox brushes flies away on a hot day. Emet was beginning to grow tired of the many fighters who seemed to think that true greatness was achieved by the death and destruction of the frightening. 'Frightening' of course being the human translation for 'unfamiliar.' She was even regretting now having moved into the caves under Mount Asai, near the city of Exemburg. Yet, in her wisdom, she knew that it was for the better.

The rulers of Exemburg had become rather arrogant of late, thinking themselves to be the authority on what was true and right. In particular, Prince Wexley was rather fond of thinking himself to be above the universe. Purely in concern for the common men, although she preferred to think of them as the less fortunate, Emet had moved nearer to the city in case the Prince might convince them that they should follow his example of pride.

Of course, dragons need to eat. In retrospect, Emet would have been wiser to eat the wild beasts of the forest. If only those sheep hadn't looked so tasty. Emet cursed her fetish for mutton. It was such an earthly thing. If it weren't for her rich tastes maybe the humans wouldn't be so scared of her. Still, humans have their way, just as dragons have theirs. Emet considered again moving back to the northern wastes. Cold though it may be, at least she wouldn't have the annoyance of those vexatious fighters. Again she dismissed the thought. Although in her solitude she would be able to forget about Earth's impending demise, it would happen just the same. She remembered earlier times, when she was less wise and more trusting. Emet had a good memory, even as far as dragons go. The earth had seemed much more hopeful then. Ignorance was such sweet bliss.

Her thoughts returned to Sir Gawain, whose foolish attempts at conquest had broken one of Emet's scales. Mildly annoyed she struck him with her muscular tail. Gawain's eyes span round in their sockets, as though he was watching birds circling above, before he collapsed unconscious to the floor.

Unaware of the dragons intentions, or more correctly unaware that the dragon was anything other then a collection of values stored in a database, Sir Gawain, AKA Roger, set about deciding the best way to defeat this beast. Obviously the usual hack and slash method of destruction wasn't going to work. Even if the three of them, the other two being his mates Gerald and Markus, joined forces against Emet the attempt would be hopeless.

"Have you fought this dragon, Gerry?" Roger asked to his left.

"Yep," came the response.

"Have you defeated it?"

"Nope."

"Have you heard of anyone defeating it?"

"Nope. Haven't asked," replied Gerald simply, who was currently engrossed in killing a mob of guards for some experience points. He almost had enough xp to become a brigand, level thirty-eight.

"Got any ideas?"

Gerald shrugged, "Ask around. Maybe it's a player character. Could even be a Wiz."

On this suggestion Roger typed a command into his terminal. "Yell Anyone have any ideas about this dragon, Emet?" This caused a flourish of activity to suddenly appear on his monitor.

"Kevin yells *shrugs* Dunno. Tried to kill it once, gave up quickly.

Bertrand yells Some others and I tried to kill it once. Five of us, each equipped with ivory swords

Bertrand yells and still no luck.

SG yells We reckon it might be a wiz playing a joke. That or there is some trick to it.

Roger typed, "Yell Yeah that's what we thought too."

"Marcisus (Wizard) yells Remember folks, no telling solutions allowed.

Kevin yells Oooh..big scary wizard.

Marcisus (Wizard) yells Don't forget, I've got lightning bolts that could fry your town. *grins* :P

Kevin yells Yeah, well I'll just hide behind your grandmother. *rotfl*"

This went on for quite some time till the conversation had died down to pointless drivel, and repetition of acronyms, many made up for the specific comment, none of which anyone could care less about. Roger looked at his watch. It was twenty seven past three in the morning. Deciding it was time to leave, he was just about to log out of his computer, when Marcus distracted him with a sudden outburst of excitement.

"The high elf priest gave me a moon," laughed Marcus.

Had Roger been a sane and healthy human, he would have ignored this comment. However, Roger was a geek. (This was a fact he never admitted to himself. He was obsessed with the idea that he was just a late bloomer. He did have big plans for his future, as is always the way with geeks. One day he hoped to be the wizard of a mud himself.) So instead Roger laughed ecstatically and decided he would have to examine the elf priest for himself. This of course led to Roger greeting the dawn from the confines of the computer lab.

Marcus and Gerald had left, and Roger was fighting a deadly grasshopper when he first met Lucifiscious. He had eventually moved on from the elf priest, after also discovering to his delight that the priest had an ATT score of 666. (This was supposedly extremely funny) He had just received congratulations for destroying the grasshopper, which gave Roger a warm feeling inside, when he received a message.

"Lucifiscious tells you 'I hear you were trying to kill the dragon? :)'"

"tell Lucifiscious Yeah. Why do you ask?" responded Roger.

"Lucifiscious tells you 'Oh, just interested is all. I was wondering if you had any luck?"

"tell Lucifiscious Not really. Do you have any ideas?"

"Lucifiscious tells you 'Of course I do. Of course, I am a wiz, so it would be particularly easy for me.'"

Roger was hit with a sudden rush of adrenaline. A wizard was interested in what he was doing. This was his ticket to the big time. Already he was devising a strategy by which he would befriend Lucifiscious and after time be granted a special admission to the realms of wizard-hood. Excitedly, and shaking a little, he typed

"tell Lucifiscious *grins* I see. So any hints?"

"Lucifiscious tells you 'Now that would be against policy. Maybe I could give you a cryptic clue, in character, though. Come over to the castle in Exem

Lucifiscious tells you Exemburg. I hate talking through tells. I'll meet you at the castle gate.'"

Sir Gawain traveled back to the city of Exemburg. Based on a promising tip he had received in the tavern he was to meet an old sage at the castle gate.

"Ahh, you must be Sir Gawain. Welcome young lad. Come in to my humble home and sit by the fire a while," greeted the sage Lucifiscious as Gawain approached the gate. Before Gawain could get a word in Lucifiscious continued, "Would you like a mug of mead? Of course you would. You young'ns like that stuff don't you. I'll just go and pour you a mug." At this point Gawain had followed Lucifiscious into a small but rather grand looking room in the inner side of the castle wall. Lucifiscious wandered into another room, presumably to pour drinks. From the other room Gawain could still hear Lucifiscious babbling on, "Sorry about the mess, just clear a spot for yourself wherever you feel comfortable. Lately I've been busy, what with the King in France and the Prince ordering me about like a common slave." Gawain cleared himself a spot on a rickety old chair by the fire as Lucifiscious wandered back into the room carrying two mugs, one filled with mead and the other filled with an herbal tea. "I don't much fancy mead myself these days. I'll be the first to admit I'm starting to become of age. I can't handle the liquor as much as in my youth. Those were the days."

Just when Sir Gawain had given up hope of getting anywhere with this crazy old man, Lucifiscious startled him. "So which King do you serve, if I may be so bold as to ask?" he questioned followed by a silence that seemed almost eerie after the inane chatter.

"I serve no one but myself," came the reply.

"No one? Then why do you call yourself Sir?" asked Lucifiscious, sounding a little confused.

"Well actually I just like the title. I hope one day to become a knight. I figured if people think I'm a knight already then that might improve my chances of being offered a chance at true knighthood."

At this Lucifiscious became a little giddy. "I like your style boy. Full of ambition. Just like myself when I was younger. And now look at me, master sage to the King. Now, don't think it was easy. It's a lot of hard work when you serve a country. It's not all medals and processions. I spent a lot of time simply mopping up floors for the then head sages. Hmmm." He stared at the fire intensely as if lost in thought and then turned once again to Gawain.

"So anyway, I hear you want to kill the dragon? I'll bet you're just like all the other foolhardy wannabes before, thinking you'll be the hero and slay the mighty dragon right? Not that I would hold it against you. I was the same. Why I remember when I was the ripe young age of seventeen thinking I could go and defeat a razor backed wurm with some old fireworks I'd found in the trash. I learnt the hard way. It takes more then ambition to be successful in battle. And I have a scar to prove it."

Gawain noticed for the first time the scar that Lucifiscious was referring to. It had previously been mostly covered by his cloak, but now Lucifiscious pulled it back so that Gawain could see the scar extending around his shoulder and across his back. Gawain gave an expression of awe as Lucifiscious continued on, "Now about this dragon. It does seem to be a bit of a problem of late. Been eating the towns flocks I hear. Now, I guess we could ask the dragon to leave, but dragons can be such vicious things. If there is one thing I have learnt, never trust a dragon. No. Dealing with them is to risky by far. There is only one choice I see, and that is to kill it." At this point Lucifiscious gave a strange look of pleasure, and his eyes were filled with desire. "At least that or chase it out of the land trying," he explained, quickly regaining posture.

"Ha! You old fool," retorted Gawain, "I tried that already and do you think I had ANY luck whatsoever? No killing the dragon is not an option. Not for humans at least. An army couldn't kill that dragon. It'd fend off the hordes like it was removing its blankets on a summer morning. We would need powers far beyond our own to conquer this beast. Why, it would take a god for all I can tell."

"And why should a god be so much more powerful then you or I? His power must come from somewhere. If only we could find the source of that power then we too could defeat that dragon. Listen carefully to me. I have heard in tale of a book, a book of immense power. They say it was written long ago, before man or beast even walked the earth. The tales say that this book can give eternal life. Now that's a mighty big boon against a dragon. And if it can give life, what is to say it cannot take it? We must seek this book." Lucifiscious looked at the sun through the window and then started to gather some books from a heavy oak table. "But not now. I have errands to run. In the meantime see what you can find out about this book. Here are some notes I have on it." At this he handed Gawain some sheaves of paper and left the room at a striding pace, wandering off into the castle.

Gawain started to study the notes. They were on very old parchment, and smelt faintly of something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Like a sheep that has died in the fields and been left to rot. Shrugging he began to read the documents, only to find he was drifting off to sleep. Soon he was snoring, with his face down on the knotted oak table.

Roger awoke several hours later to the gentle shake of Marcus rocking his shoulder. "You've been out here all night and day? You really need to cut down," Marcus said indifferently. Roger looked at his watch. It was fourteen minutes past five in the evening, and outside a mist was starting to form in the cold dark air. Something bugged him, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was. What day was it again? He was in that state of mind of false wakefulness, as though he was looking at the world through a hazy cloud. His eyes wandered aimlessly around the room, first from the dirty curtains that covered the pane glass windows to the pastille grey painted walls. Marcus had sat down on the computer next to him and was typing away at an assignment. It was something to do with arrays. In turn he looked lazily at his own computer and his half-finished assignment. Didn't it need to be finished by today? No, of course not. It was due tomorrow. Friday, that was it, and today was Thursday. His thoughts were beginning to clear now. A grumble in his stomach caused his dim train of thought to move onto the topic of food. It was while wondering what he would have for tea tonight that he collected his thoughts, and everything fell into place. Shit. He was supposed to be eating dinner with his family tonight. He said he'd be there by seven o'clock and now it was fourteen minutes later. No wait. He looked at his watch again. It was five twenty six. Damn. He knew there had been a reason his assignment needed to be finished the night before.

"Gotta go," shouted Roger, as he sprung up from his chair and ran out the door. A bus was in the bus loop just about to leave. If he ran he might just make it. In his jumbled thoughts he somehow remembered that he had forgotten to log out of his computer. "Damn!" He ran back into the lab and hastily told Marcus to log him out before running back after the bus. It was leaving. "Shit." He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, stumbled once, regained balance and ran again, waving his arms at the bus. The cold damp air was making it hard to breathe and he felt a pain in his chest as he pushed himself to the limit. The bus stopped again. The driver must have seen him running and been kindly enough to give him a break. Puffing and panting he jumped on the bus, grabbed some change from his pocket and mumbled something incomprehensible. He could have said ice creams are pink in June for all the bus driver knew, but he took the money anyway and handed Roger a ticket. Roger sat in the nearest seat and began to gather his thoughts and regain his breath.

Chapter 2

An eyeball swayed in the breeze, hanging from the muscle by which it had previously been attached to a child's face. Hidden behind the rusty metal roofing, which was dumped carelessly under the remains of a condemned building, it had been missed by the squad whom had been sent to retrieve evidence. The air was musty, and a smell still lingered, that of burnt flesh, partly due to the few slivers that remained scattered amongst the fallen bricks and metal. Teeth marks could be seen in some of them. A black mark stained the concrete floor, as if a fire had been lit there. This wasn't uncommon, as homeless people would often scavenge empty buildings for anything that might burn to provide warmth. However in this case there were five fire marks, spaced evenly in a circle. The whole scene was lit by a full moon shining through the holes in the building from the night sky.

A stranger in a tattered blue business suit walked towards the scene. His name was Bert and he worked as a Loans Manager at the Metro Bank nearby. He often passed through the empty building as a shortcut to his one bedroom flat on the corner of 43rd and Burns streets. Tonight he had worked late at the office, not leaving till after four thirty. There was a position in head office coming up, and he was rather fond of the idea of himself filling the position. "After all," he often said to himself, "Imagine the sort of women I could attract in that line of work." The mention of 'the sort of women' he merely added for color. He would of course be happy with 'women' full stop. But still it would be a step up in the world for him. No more would he have to chase after half witted bimbos. No, now he would just sit back and let the bimbos come to him. Bert had been an only child.

Nothing could have prepared Bert for what he was about to see. This was how he would describe it later to friends, also known as acquaintances. Of course many things could have prepared Bert for this horror, he had just never been game to try them. For example, had Bert been allowed to go out to watch Nightmare on Elm St with his friends, this experience would have been a walk in the park. Bert had led a sheltered life. The scariest things in his life were kissing girls and swearing in front of his mother (He had once been dared to do this by a boy in his fifth grade class. No way would he be uncool. A smack round the ears was his reward. Bert cried for three hours and thirty-seven minutes.) Bert still occasionally could be seen writhing in a fetal position on the floor as he had flash backs of schoolmates farting in his face. Bert was a geek. And hence why he would have to justify his following actions.

The stench that filled the air wafted into his nose like a punch from Mike Tyson. Bert stepped back aghast, and after regaining balance started to search for the source of the smell. It was a hobby of his to categorize smells. This one was a new one. He was very excited. Sniffing like a police dog he started first one way, then the other, till finally he headed towards the pile of scrap metal. He quickly pulled back a large sheet of corrugated iron. Behind it sat what was left of the face of a young boy. It was now nothing more than a lump of flesh containing the nose and lips, and half an eye socket. A centipede crawled through the right nostril and scuttled off into the darkness again. Bert reeled back in horror. Bert was ill.

From the rafters that formed the next floor a woman sat in a crouching position. Through her long fringe of charcoal black hair she watched with intense interest as Bert vomited through the middle of the circle of ashes. She rubbed her hands together and breathed into them, as if trying to warm them. She wore expensive looking black silk gloves, only outdone by the diamond-encrusted ring on her left ring finger. The diamonds were arranged in the shape of a curling snake, with a red diamond where its eye might be. She flashed a broad grin. Her teeth were mildly stained from many years of smoking, but were otherwise in perfect condition. As Bert wandered off pale faced and dry reaching, the woman reached into the inner pocket of a long black cloak she was wearing and pulled a cigarette from a nearly empty pack of Camels. Laying back along the rafter and leaning against a pylon she lit the cigarette and absentmindedly noted the time to be eleven to six am.