The news of Vlady’s murder at the hands of a party of rangers was still ringing in my ears as I stalked through the cold and windy streets of Flotsam. Very few people were in the streets, now almost deserted after the dragon-army had made its base here, and I was more likely to see the reptilian stare of a draconian than the fearful eyes of a human or dwarf.

The first drops of rain began to fall, and I pulled my cloak tighter about me, the black leather material glistening ominously in the half-light of winter. Snarling in disgust, I quickly made my way through the empty streets, the steel caps of my boots clattering on the slick, wet cobblestones underneath.

My destination was the one decent inn in this God-forbidden town where I knew that I could find lodgings suiting my standing as both a council member of the mighty Army of Angmar and as the Internal Overseer of the Gladiators of Tyr. This inn was also popular with the ranking officers of the dragon-army, and I had spent a pleasant evening there the previous night drinking with Kernan, the latest plaything of the high-lord Kitiara.

The front door swung open under my heavy hand, and my red eyes twinkled in the gloom of the interior of the inn. My lips curled back in disgust and my nose twitched, as I smelt the foul smell of an elf somewhere within the building. Non-goblins often laugh at us, claiming that our senses lack refinement, but any goblin can smell the disgusting scent of an elf, even when it is masked by an effete perfume as this one was.

I glared about at the draconian soldiers drinking at the bar, and then at the innkeeper who was serving drinks. The innkeeper placed a finger to his thin sly lips, warning me to be silent. He held up three fingers and then pointed to the stairs leading up. I nodded silently, and drew back my cloak, revealing the weapon belt slung around my waist. Scarcely making a sound, I unclipped my magnificent black axe and drew my double morning-star in my other hand.

Remembering where to step to avoid the squeaking stairs, I quietly snuck up the stairs, keeping to the shadows as much as I could. I reached the top of the stairway, which opened out onto a landing with a closed door to the west, leading to Kernan’s room. Standing in front of the closed door, readying themselves to break in, stood two elves and a dwarf.

One of the elves, a black-haired and green-eyed male, was cloaked in the unmistakable garb of a ranger, worn over a suit of blue dragon-scale armour, the sort normally worn by Kernan. Strapped to his side was a jagged black scimitar, the legendary weapon wielded by an orc chief in Shire, near the headquarters of the Army of Angmar. The other elf and the dwarf both looked to be small followers, not worth considering seriously as a threat. The second elf looked like a follower of Pyros, while the dwarf wore the cuirasse of a gladiator.

Without a second thought, I jumped out of hiding, screaming at the ranger, waving my double morning-star dangerously. To the elf’s credit, he merely stepped back, my sudden appearance not seeming to make a big impression on him. Perhaps he felt confident with his equipment and his comrades backing him up, I thought to myself with a grin. Well, the fool would soon find out about the perils of overconfidence!

I lashed out with my axe, the black blade drawing a tiny trickle of blood from the ranger’s body. I followed up with a blinding flurry of attacks, utilising the secret powers taught to me by my gladiator trainers long ago. The black-haired elf looked dazed at this sudden flurry, and I laughed out loud. My laughter swelled in volume as the ranger’s mohawk-haired elven friend looked from me to his comrade and then back at me again, with stark terror in his eyes. His fear kept him motionless, and he didn’t dare to assist his comrade against me.

The ranger drew his scimitar with a flourish, and in reply I drew blood with successive blows from my axe and my club. I stepped back as the ranger swung the jagged black scimitar harmless through the space near me, and spurred on by the look of fear that came over the dwarf’s eyes, I cut the ranger’s head hard with my axe, blood gushing out in a crimson spray. As quick as lightning, my double morning-star followed up, crashing into the elf’s temple.

The ranger seemed to stagger from this blow, looking very dizzy. Almost by reflex he lashed out at me, and I felt a fresh wound open on my body as his jagged black scimitar tore into me. The jewel on the jagged black scimitar’s hilt pulsed brightly, and I felt a bad migraine start to pound in my head.

The ranger panicked, and fled down the stairs, his two useless comrades following him. At the bottom of the stairs they were stopped by the draconians who were drinking at the bar. With demonic laughs, the draconians forced the trio back up the stairs into my waiting arms.

I smiled grimly, thoughts of Vlady’s murder at the hands of rangers filling my head, urging me to greater bloodshed. I attacked the ranger once more, my magnificent black axe grazing the elf’s legs, drawing more blood. Then as quickly as it had begun, the fight was over. With a mighty swing, I slammed my club into his head, and the ranger dropped to the ground as if he had been poleaxed, knocked out by the blow.

Once more the ridiculous looking purple-bearded bald male dwarf tried to summon up the courage to attack me, but the fear in his eyes was plain for all to see, and he was left shaking uncontrollably as I calmly went about butchering the unconscious ranger.

Almost playfully, I tickled his legs with both my axe and my club, thin lines of blood welling up through the armour. Again I struck the ranger with a blinding flurry of attacks, and I felt something inside the elf’s body rupture.

I laughed contemptuously at the dwarf as his breathing became heavier and a sweat broke out on his brow. As an Overseer of the gladiators, I knew full well that he was entering into a berserker rage in an attempt to gain the courage to attack me. As the dwarf finally worked himself into a rather pitiful battle rage, he snarled at me but was still unable to muster the courage to attack me. Pointedly turning my back on him, I continued with the butchery.

My axe and club slammed into the unconscious body on the floor, thudding wetly as they crushed bones and sliced through flesh and tendons. Raising my club high above my head, I brought the double morning-star crashing down upon the elf, almost smashing the ranger to a pulp. My axe smashed into the elf’s legs with a sickening thud, and finally I massacred the black-haired green-eyed male elf with my double morning-star, killing him. A sudden chill permeated the air, and a dark shadow seemed to sweep over his lifeless eyes.

The mohawk-haired elf almost seemed to chirp as he shrieked out “NO!”, bringing a chuckle to my lips. His dwarven friend was more pragmatic as he proceeded to loot the corpse of his dead ranger comrade.

The heart-warming scene continued as the elf chirped “WHY?”, as his red eyes started to water. Almost in disbelief, he chirped “No…”, as the bald dwarf shouted at me “Why kill him?”.

The elf raised his fingers in a complicated pattern, cursing me with the wrath of Lord Pyros, at which I merely snorted with amusement. You can imagine how this amusement grew as the elf chirped out, in his pathetic high pitched voice, “My best friend? Dead? Why?”

I thought it would be more fitting if I didn’t even bother providing an answer. Chuckling to myself I cleaned my weapons on the corpse’s cloak, and then strode down stairs to share a drink and a laugh with Kernan.

Having read the ancient scroll, you can look around the library and ask for another manuscript to read, or you can consult your map of the strong hold to take you to some other area of the guild.