Underneath fading lantern light in a dim corner of earth, deep below the Northern High Pass the man sat amongst the goblins. His fate resting in the odds of a handful of dice. And the Gambler was losing...
*******
...The goblin's muscles tightened. He was on the edge of excitement, giddy even, albeit nervous knowing the man was about to lose the bet, as well as his life.
Six, four, three and two. Duramarth set aside the six and tried again. Five, four, five, five he rolled.
“Ah, a ten manling, an admirable effort indeed,” the goblin offered. “But not enough it seems.”
“I'm not finished,” the gambler answered.
Duramarth rolled once more. The dice landed. A six...and then another.
Duramarth laughed aloud quite happy with himself. “It appears I've bested you!”
The goblin jumped up in a fit of rage “As I live and breathe, you are a liar and a cheat! Liar, liar!”
The goblin pounded his fists down on the table uncontrollably.
Duramarth's smile quickly faded. He jutted forward, hissing back in a serpentine-like whisper, “You only live and breathe so long as I had allowed it, Goblin.” The creature stared back blankly and wide eyed. The only response the goblin could muster was the release of his bowels; a final farewell before crossing over into oblivion.
Duramarth gripped the handle of the dagger that still remained buried within the neck of the upright corpse as he glared at the other evil creature remaining at the table.
“You are no ordinary merchant, manling” the other goblin accused. “Who are you really?”
“I am never who I say I am, but always who I mean to be,” Duramarth answered vaguely.
The goblin cackled. “I need only to cry out wake the nearest guards. They'll drag you to the slave pens before you can blink and they won't let you off with a quick death either. They'll keep you alive while they pluck the fresh meat from your warm bones.”
Duramarth closed his hand over the pommel of his other dagger. “Perhaps, but you will surely not be one who is alive to see it.”
The wretched goblin seethed with frustration knowing the gambler's words to be true. “Why are you here manling? One does not travel to the darkest depths of our city to test his luck in silly games. What is your true purpose?”
“There was a man who journeyed this way during the last new moon. A hunter cloaked in crimson raiments like this.” Duramarth produced a bloodied piece of tattered red cloth any laid it on the table.
The goblin reached forward grabbing the cloth and put it to his nose, inhaling it's scent; feigning sincerity while concealing his amusement and shaking his head. “I do not know.”
Duramarth was losing his patience. “There are very few things I care for in this miserable land and know this for certain, you are not one of them. I will most assuredly help you join your friend if you do not tell me what I want to know. Now, I will ask once more. Where is the hunter?”
“Maybe you should ask the dice,” the goblin answered stubbornly as he spit upon the floor.
“Very well.” the man answered...
*******
...A while later the Gambler strode forth, unhindered. The head of a goblin lay mounted upon his satchel. Duramarth pressed on alone, down the dark halls, delving ever deeper into the depths of Goblin-town in search of his friend Cynraede...
