Whose Gruff?

[Mark S]

This is one of a batch of little story that I originally posted a while ago on a different site. It's based on the Quest for Glory series of games. I was looking over it and giving it a much needed polishing and decided to try it out here. Hope everyone likes it.


Whose Gruff?

By Mark Shantz


“So you want to be a Hero.” It was a simple enough statement when he had taken the correspondence course. And of course he had given it a resounding YES . Things had all been so clear back then. Back in his parents clean, warm cottage. Back where his meals were cooked and his clothes were washed. What he wouldn’t have given for a clean pair of undershorts now.

Now. That was a different story. Things were definitely not quite so clear here in the middle of a black forest, in the middle of a forsaken valley, in the middle of a nameless arm of the Alpollen mountains, in the middle of the coldest night he never wished to be out in. Not clear indeed.

And it was raining. Not that light, misty rain that you can forget about if you try hard enough. Not even that drizzly rain that can be kept at bay with the proper precautions even if it does annoy the hell out of you. No. This was hard, smack you in the face, chill you to the bone, soak every place and everything rain. A rain that was not fit for man nor beast. The men of science may dispute that distinction but it made little difference at this point.

“So you want to be a Hero.” Rolo spat those words through chattering teeth as he pulled his cloak and bedroll tighter. All that accomplished was wringing more icy water onto his clammy skin.

“So you want to be a Hero, do ya? I guess the Bards all decided to leave this little detail out of their stories.” He let out a quivering breath and watched it twist wraith-like into the moonlight. “At least it s not winter yet.”

The last statement was followed by three crisply controlled raps on the forehead by a pale, rain-slicked fist. That’s what Rolo was trying for anyway. Replace ‘crisply controlled’ with ‘spastic’ and ‘three’ with ‘repeated’ and it would be a little closer to the truth. It was the thought that counted though.

Those thoughts had to count for a lot now. He didn’t have much else left. The money was all long since gone (good thing, it was lighter going without it) and what food he had remaining was most likely ruined by the rain. Not to mention his only means of defence. He could practically hear the old short sword rusting in its sheath.

The waterlogged young man turned his green eyed gaze down through shaggy, brown hair to the puddle that had once been an attempt at a fire and then up at the towering pine he was huddled against. He glared accusingly at the tree, as if every woe he had suffered were its fault.


* * *


The ill weather broke in the night and the next day found Rolo just as tired, cold and wet as before, but not getting any wetter. ‘Always look on the bright side’, his dear Granny used to say. Granny was a senile, old bitty.

He took one last look at the map he had of the area and replaced the treated leather sheet back in his pack. Not far now, he told himself for the hundredth time. It was becoming his mantra. But it was true this time. Really.

The chart showed him not ten miles away from Hanslow, the smaller of the two towns that he had travels so far to reach. Not that Gretchel was any bustling capitol, but it was in fact bigger than its sister. There couldn’t be more then five hundred people between the two, mostly shepherds and goatherds by the sound of it. He might in fact even run across one of the good people before he reached either of the places.

And why was it exactly that Rolo had come to this little armpit of the world? What was here that was going to give him his chance at glory and a lucrative career of damsel saving, dragon slaying and ribbon cutting at market openings? Nothing less then a nasty beastie, of course. A troll to be exact. A big one.

Word had spread far and wide about Hanslow and Gretchel’s little problem. Well, not so little. To hear the stories now, the thing was a giant among giants. Truly terrifying to behold and devouring everything and everyone in sight. Exactly the kind of thing that was guaranteed to make a hero out of anyone who got rid of it.

Since it was really his first crack at this, Rolo was banking on the fact that things always grew larger in stories the further you went from the source. He was pretty far from home. The thing was probably just a baby or a rogue bear or something.

Taking hope in this thought, the would-be adventurer stooped his soggy frame down and grabbed a handful of rocks from the roadside. He casually pitched these off into the brush as he walked, it was something that always helped him break up the long marches. It didn’t hurt the muscle tone either.

So he plodded along, tossing stones, trying to see if he could hit the various trees and boulders that he came across. One rock cracked, dead centre, into thick trunk of an ancient oak, another bounced high off of a small, granite plateau, and yet another ricocheted through the forest from tree to tree. The last rock, however, didn’t cause a knock or a wack or even a thump. Somehow the last one produced a blood-curdling roar.

“Crap.” Rolo spun on his heels and drew his sword.

Crashing through the woods, retracing the path of that silly little stone, was the biggest wolf he had ever seen. Easily the size of a small pony, the monster animal crashed onto the path and shook its bushy, grey head, still trying to dispel the pain that had woken it. Its lips curled back and barred massive, yellowed teeth. Rolo couldn’t keep his eyes off of them at the time but later he could never say exactly how long they were. They were pretty damn long though.

Any normal animal, alone as it was, would have been angry, yes, but would have taken the opportunity of the path to make a speedy escape from its attacker. This wasn’t any normal wolf. A wolf this size could only be of one breed. A Dire Wolf. They were smarter then the normal kind and meaner. Much, much meaner. Seeing Rolo’s blade only made it want to kill him more.

The beast looked into the man’s eyes and snarled, pawing the earth. It didn’t need to speak to tell him that he was going to see his own entrails. The man widened his stance and readied his sword. The edge gleamed in the morning light, catching the monster’s glare and reflecting it off into the forest.

The creature crouched, the man crouched, both waiting for the other to make the first move. Both seeing how long the other’s nerve would last. Or at least that was what the dire wolf was doing. Rolo was doing his best to look strong and not run. If there was one thing you never did when facing a creature like this, it was turn your back and run. In reality he was close to wetting his pants.

The man’s senses were all on edge. No move the wolf made got past his eyes, he could hear its deep breaths, smell the wet leather of his breast plate and feel the sodden clothes around his body more then ever. He was sweating now as well. If something didn’t happen soon he feared his sword would slip from his grasp.

Then the tension snapped. Like a cut piano wire it let loose all the pent up energy of the murderous beast. The wolf leapt forward, flying at its enemy with incredible strength. Despite himself, Rolo lurched back and tripped over his own feet. The fall sent him head over heels and sent the wolf travelling harmlessly over to crash with its own momentum. The two combatants quickly righted themselves and the enraged animal charged again.

This time the young adventurer found a little grace and managed to step to the side at the last moment his attacker was upon him. He raked his weapon’s blade down the dire wolf’s flank and, impressed with himself, began turning to follow the thing’s movement. Only he couldn’t turn. Instead, Rolo found himself travelling backwards and getting closer and closer to the ground. The blasted beast had snapped a mouthful of his cloak as it had went past. Rolo landed hard, with his injured foe behind him.

A second later he felt the power jaws close. The monster’s snout engrossed his entire shoulder, its fangs digging mercilessly into the thick leather of his armour. Its low growl was all he could hear, its rank breath was all he could smell. Then it began to shake him.

For a while it was all Rolo could do to keep from dropping his sword. His brains were rattled, his shoulder was being crushed and he could feel the teeth working through to his raw skin. His only hope was that the creature would toss him at some point to spice up its game. He tried to remember if his old dog Lumpy ever did that with the squirrels it caught. Sure he did. Right?

Now his head felt like it was just about ready to pop and his neck felt a second away from snapping. He had to do something. And with this desperate though in mind, the flopping rag-doll that was Rolo wildly flailed his blade over his head and hoped for the best. Sure enough, there was a pained yip in his ear and he was sailing down the trail. This time he was able to prepare himself for the landing.

Rolling to a quick stop and springing to his feet, the young defender brought his weapon to bare once more. Yards away, the dire wolf was bleed from ear to eye on its right side. Or was that dire wolves, there seemed to be three of them now. The man shook his head and tried to steady his wavering knees. The monster let forth a hellish roar and charged anew as the ground reached up to smack the man’s backside.

In two mighty bounds the wolf was again snapping at his face. Rolo knew he should get up, wanted with all his heart to get up, but his body just wouldn’t respond. The thought of being that high off of the ground made him feel sick anyway. So he stayed on his butt, slashing and hacking away, keeping his opponent at bay as best he could.

For the monster’s part, it didn’t have half the fight it use to. The cut to its side had reached the bone and the gash on its face was bleeding into its eye. All it wanted now was to kill the human and crawl away to recover without attracting scavengers.

Impatient to end the fight, the dire wolf lunged forward. Dumbstruck, Rolo was caught with his sword aimed for a thrust into his enemy’s eye. His woozy hand didn’t catch the eye, but the creature’s throat was just as good. With a gurgling cough the monster animal twitched out its last breaths and collapsed into death. With a gurgling cough Rolo threw up the remains of his last meal and simply collapsed.

Later, when he could make it to his feet without his stomach trying to escape, Rolo cleaned himself and his weapon and went about unsteadily piecing together a makeshift stretcher for his massive kill. What was left of the pelt would probably add a few gold to his pockets. Not to mention any medicinal uses a healer might find for the innards. And, if Lady Luck decided to stop kicking him in the groin, there might even be a bounty on this beastie’s head too.


* * *


Early evening found the overburdened traveller dragging his trophy towards the gates of a small hamlet. Pulling the thing hadn’t been much better then carrying it would have but he hadn’t fallen on his face. Much. Had it been five or six times that he lost his footing on the uneven road, pulling that dead weight?

“Ho there!” a man called from the gates. He was one of two that had just begun to close them for the night. “You re just in time! Another minute and you would have been locked out ‘til tomorrow.”

“Impressive kill,” the other stated as the three men converged. “How long’ve you been dragging that thing?”

“Too long.” Rolo looked ready to drop.

“Come, Boy. Let us help you with that.” The lead man took one arm of the stretcher and motioned his partner to get the other. “It looks like you could use the healer’s touch.”

From there, Rolo was taken to a grizzled crone who cracked his spine, examined his bruised shoulder almost too closely, made him drink some horrendous concoction, and then wouldn’t let him fall asleep. Even though he was so tired, so very tired.

Soon enough though, the brew began to work its magic and he felt ten times better. Rolo had actually been taken to a small inn and seeing his recovery, the crone finally left him to his much needed rest. Warm, dry and comfortable, finally he could rest.

Early the next morning, the young man was pulled from his sleep by the same old woman. It seemed she was the owner of the inn as well as town healer. She had come to give him his clothes, cleaned and dried, and to make sure he was still alive. Seeing that he was, she tossed him the bundle and ordered him dressed and down for breakfast in ten minutes.

Rolo obliged and, sitting across from the woman, got his first good look at her. A stooped old thing in a mottled grey and brown frock, the hump on her back was as large as her head. A head that looked like a dried apple growing fuzzy white mould over its top. Her hands were just as wrinkled, as if the woman were wearing human-skin gloves that were two sizes too large. But they were powerful, those hands. And skilled. If there was one thing Rolo could remember about the previous night, it was the force in which he had been manipulated and manhandled by the tiny, frail creature before him.

After seeing that he was at the table, she had marched in and dropped a heaping plate of steak and eggs in front of him. “Eat. Ya need the energy,” was all she said as she sat across from him and watched.

When he was finished she spoke up again. “Last night ya were my guest as a Healer, now, ya pay or ya work.” She was a blunt one.

“Have you ever met my old Granny?” Rolo asked with one raised eyebrow.

He explained his situation to the old witch and asked about selling her any of his kill. She cackled. The sound was like two crows fighting for a scrap of garbage, and ended in a gagging cough.

“Nearly done in by that pup and ya expect to rid us of the Troll!” She laughed again. “Aye, I’ve use for parts of that Dire Wolf, not all mind but parts. Though I m just as curious to see what its got in its belly. Besides bits of you, that is.”

After breakfast the two walked down to the town square where the wolf had been hung up for display and was already attracting a crowd. The men from the gate the night before were foremost in the group and with them was a third, distinguished looking man. He must be the town mayor. Just the man Rolo wanted to see.

“My boy, my boy,” the slender man wearing the gold medallion of office opened his arms upon seeing Rolo. “Am I to believe that this monstrous beast was brought down by your hand?”

“And I have the bruises to prove it, Sir,” came the reply.

“I’m sure you do, young man!” The mayor eyed the traveller more closely now and then spared a moment for the hag at his side.

“And good morning to you, Lady.”

The old crone had nothing to say, she was already examining the hanging carcass with the eye of a jewel appraiser. Its eyes, its teeth and claws, the tongue, soon the woman was calling for someone to open the belly. And be quick about it!

“I don t suppose this fine town would reward a poor soul, out in the world to make his fortune, for ridding it of such a terrible creature.” Rolo put on his best airs and tried to look as bold and courageous as possible.

“Everyone’s looking for gold,” one of the gate keepers muttered to the other.

“Oh, my poor lad.” The mayor brought his long, slim hands together at his face and produced a look of dismay that was utterly false. “This town has no need to worry about creatures like that. In fact I would rather be kept awake all night to the howls of that fellow and its kind if it meant an end to our current troubles. You see, it’s those same troubles that keep us safe from things like that. He’s territorial.”

“The Troll you mean,” Rolo stated.

“Word has travelled then?” This was from the other of the gate keepers.

“As it generally does,” Rolo replied. “With leaps and bounds into the realm of fantasy, no doubt.”

The three men of the town exchanged glances that did not make Rolo the least bit happy. If he read those faces correctly, that troll was going to be every bit as fierce as the stories.

“That’s actually why I m here,” he continued. “I’ve come to try my hand at ridding you of this problem of yours. As you can see by my latest trophy, I am no novice and your countryside should be safe in no time.”

The mayor smiled. This wasn’t the first adventurer that had come through Hanslow, or probably Gretchel (it was impossible to tell, the troll blocked travel between the two villages), seeking a name on the hide of that monster. He wouldn’t be the last either, if things kept up as they were. Let them come. The town wouldn’t have to loose anymore of its able men and these hero types always brought new money with them. Most of them anyway.

“I m sure it will be, young man,” the town master beamed confidently back. Behind him the body of the wolf was spilling its innards in a torrent upon the ground. Hanslow’s tanner had also just returned with his sharply gleaming tools and was waiting to bargain for the pelt. “My men here will tell you all that we know of the creature and if there is anything else that you might need to enquire about just let them know.”

With a hand shake and a ‘good luck’ the man departed for his general duties of the day. Rolo had been hoping for a little more, but as old Granny used to say, ‘You take what you can get.’ She used to say that after being caught trying to take things from the marketplace. Then it was always, ‘Oh, I’ve been walking in my sleep again. Take poor Granny home.’ Yeah right.


* * *


Back in his room at the inn, Rolo stowed the gold he had made off of the Dire Wolf in his pack and thought about the thousand more that would join it once he had taken care of the troll. Not to mention the reward that Gretchel would be offering as well. His mind drifted back to the information the mayor’s deputies had given him.

Everything had started a couple of years ago. It had actually been a good thing to begin with. Over a short period of time the attacks on the herds made by the local predators became less and less. Soon there wasn’t so much as a saurus to be seen in months. The town was happy and the herds grew. Unfortunately, as the herds grew, the wild game got scarcer and scarcer.

That was the start of the trouble. One of the local hunters stumbled across the brute while tracking a deer. He ran home, of course, and gathered up a party to bring the beast down. They never returned. After that, the herds began shrinking drastically and a few of the shepherds went missing. It was only a matter of time before merchants were being assailed and travel had been cut off between the sister towns.

The troll had conveniently made its home in the ‘Seasons Pass’, the mountain gap that connected the two towns. Passage was all but cut off totally now and journey through the mountains was made that much harder. No one from either side had been able to dislodge the creature from its lair and the pass was the only way through this arm of the Alpollens. That’s why the towns had been built there in the first place.

Rolo smiled faintly and ran his fingers over the teeth marks that now punctured the shoulder of his leather armour. It had been his grandfather’s once upon a time. He had worn it battling the Hungolian hordes. That was the story anyway. Rolo always marvelled at how well kept it had been. Not a scratch or a nick on it when it had been passed down to him. How did someone go through a war like that and not get one scratch on his armour? Grandpa sure must have taken good care of it.

The same with the sword. The two foot blade shone in the stream of daylight that cascaded through the open curtains. It wasn’t anything special, just a common gladious, but the weight was right in his hand and it had served him well so far. Still, now that he had a little extra cash, Rolo was thinking about trading up. This weapon had seen its day and would probably snap in two at any time. Something new and big was more in order now. Yeah, big.

So with thoughts of a glorious future firmly reattached in his head, the would-be hero left the small town and started on his way to Seasons Pass. Through green fields and mountain meadows, and finally into the woods he marched, waving to the herdsmen and wary hunters as he passed. The sky was clear and the autumn air was crisp and clean in his lungs. A truly wonderful day for slaying trolls.

As evening approached, Rolo built a fire and settled down for the night. It would be better to reach the pass in the daytime. Trolls were known to sleep during the day, according to the field guides anyway. He would sneak up on it while it was resting and be done with it before noon. All he had to do was wait one night.

But trolls slept during the day. This fact turned itself over in Rolo’s mind for a moment. If they slept in the day, that meant that they were awake at night. But he slept at night! And he was, by all measures, well within the monsters range! He was almost at its lair for heavens sake!

The darkness closed in on the young adventurer and the moon stared down unblinkingly. At the edge of the small fire’s light the forest became a wall of shadows. They flickered and danced against the trees and boulders, turning each into a fiend more hideous then the last.

And as Rolo watched, backing himself up to the trunk of an unforgiving ash, the darting apparitions began chattering to each other. Every groan of a tree limb, every rustle in the underbrush, seemed to be moving in towards him. From all directions they came, surrounding him as he sat helpless.

At last, nerves cracking, he grabbed up a brand from the fire and pulled his sword free from its scabbard. Both weapons waved back and forth in the blackness, dispelling the demon watchers where ever they travelled. Soon Rolo dropped back to the ground from the exhaustive, whirling jig and shook his head.

“Some warrior,” he muttered, then quickly looked around to make sure no one was around.

‘There is nothing there in the dark that isn t there in the light,’ old Granny used to say. They obviously didn’t have trolls, or ghouls, or bats, or spiders, or even racoons for that matter, at the retirement home.

Suffice it to say, the rest of the night was spent wide awake with sword firmly in hand and teeth firmly clenched from chattering. The morning came slowly, revealing a grey, clouded sky and a day not quite as fit for slaying as the one before. There had been no sign of the troll in the night.

Rolo rose wearily to his feet and continued on his path. It wasn’t long before he had reach his destination. The pass towered up before him like a jagged cleft in the wall of granite. It was as if some immeasurable giant had struck the mountain range in two with one mighty stroke of its axe. He could hear the wind raging through the opening, an army of banshees bent on nothing less then the destruction of the entire world. There breathless screams buffeted his face as he drew nearer, turning his cheeks first red and then deathly white.

He took his time now, a caravan would never be able to sneak past the monster’s notice but one person certainly could if they were careful enough. If he didn’t make any mistakes he would work his way right up to the thing’s bed and be done before it knew what hit it. That was the plan anyway.

On he crept, slowly weaving his way through the field of boulders. Each step he took crunched with deafening echoes in the gravel. Soon Rolo began to wonder if the beating of his own heart, now thundering louder then the angry wind, wouldn’t give him away. Surely if not that then the stench of the sweat trickling from under his arms.

One last turn and he was there. And it was there. Right where it was supposed to be. The massive grey form was curled into a loose ball and barely moved. It was actually hard to tell it from the rest of the rocks. What luck! The creature was sleeping! Good, it could die that way too. Rolo readied his sword and charged. His feet pounded as he darted toward the hunched figure, expecting at any moment for it to turn and attack. It never did.

Forward he charged. That alcove was longer then it had looked! Finally the young warrior was upon his prey. With one swift strike he lopped the beast’s head from its motionless shoulders. Oddly, there was no blood. You would have thought something of that size would have spilled a lake of the life fluid. Oh well, who was he to ask questions.

Rolo crouched down, pushed the hair from his eyes and grabbed the severed head for a quick look at his victory. This hadn’t been so hard, he thought as he tried to ignore the adrenaline shakes racking his body.

A harsh call came suddenly from the other end of the rocky overhang. “What in Hades do you think you re doing!”

It was a tall, sturdy looking man with a mouse brown beard and leathery skin. He was dressed in varying shades of grey and black and blended perfectly with the stony surroundings. “You may well have ruined years of work! Look what you’ve done to my decoy.”

Rolo watched the man approach, returning the verbal assault with as much wit as he could muster.

“Wha?”

The man in grey pushed past Rolo’s stunned form and kneeled to investigate the damage to his ‘decoy’.

“Look at this,” he lamented. “I had to wait for days to set this up and you rush in a cut its head off!”

“Wha?” Rolo repeated, now noticing the two Goons following from the man’s hiding spot.

“Are you slow?” the older man looked up with true wonder.

“Slow,” the two Goons repeated, pointing at the adventurer, now steadying himself with his sword.

“I am not!” Rolo was losing that perfect cool. “And what do you mean, decoy? I came here to save the people of this region from that thing and that’s exactly what I did!”

“Sorry to burst your bubble kid but you just saved the people of this region from a corpse. I was using it to distract the live one so I could get in close to it. And don’t even think about pulling that stunt again. Do you know how hard it is to find a female troll? If the one in these parts had been male you could go nuts, kill it all you wanted. Hell, I wouldn’t even be here! But I’ve spent too long tracking this female for you to screw it up, so sit back and stay out of the way while I try and salvage what hope I have left.”

“Who are you?” Rolo couldn’t imagine any reasonable explanation for someone wanting to capture any troll, much less a female, alive. “And what makes you think I m just going to stand by and let you do what you want.”

“I m Tobin Solforth and I work for the Ranger’s Geographical Society. I m bringing the specimen back to the zoo at our headquarters in Munsic for study and hopefully captive mating. Big Hugo is getting lonely back there.

“What makes me think you won t be a problem? Oh, maybe my two Goons standing behind you right now.”

Rolo turned his head to see the two huge flunkies grinning like idiots behind him. That’s probably because they were idiots.

“Munsic, eh? I m from a town not far from there.”

“Oh yeah? Perch?” Suddenly the tone of the conversation had changed to that of two people chit-chatting at a party.

“No, Mulby.”

“Ah. I’ve been there. Nice pla...”

The ranger was cut off by a howling, bloodcurdling roar from the side.

As one, the group of four looked over to see the towering, nine feet of enraged muscle that was the troll of Seasons Pass. Completely bald, its skin was a slightly darker grey then the granite around it and its eyes shone with an eerie glow. A glow that reflected off the gigantic fangs that protruded from its lower lip. It stretched its razor claws in challenge and roared again. The sound bounced from one side of the pass to the other, becoming no less awesome with each return.

“Ooooh crap,” the two men gasped in unison.

Rolo was dumbstruck. It seemed to be a reoccurring theme with him. He was face to face with a live, very much awake, troll and he could barely hold on to the contents of his bladder, much less his sword.

While Tobin bolted for his equipment, still under cover, the younger man stood where he was, staring into the endless cavity of the monster’s mouth. Even at this distance he could swear he smelled its foul breath.

Luckily the Goons were a little less shocked. Too stupid to be afraid, Rolo guessed as they yelled in excitement and charged past. They reached the terror together and leapt on it like wild dogs on a turkey, pummelling with their bare hands. The troll, making even these two look small, snarled and rolled on the ground with them, slashing and biting with animal fury.

After a second of fighting, the troll’s attackers were thrown clear and the creature rose once again, now more terrible for its bruises. The Goons shook there heads and gathered themselves for round two. They didn’t bother to check their wounds, they were too worked up to feel them yet.

Finally, Rolo came to his senses. Brandishing his sword, he rushed to attack the troll himself, hoping to find an opening to strike while the beast was distracted. There were none. The monster was keeping its attackers at a short distance now and managed to keep all three from getting behind it.

“No!” Tobin shouted from behind the fighters. “I told you to stay out of it! We’re not trying to kill the thing!”

“It’s trying to kill me!” Rolo returned in a rather undignified screech as he jumped back avoiding a massive hand full of talons.

He was on the ground now and scrambling to get up. Suddenly, a sharp pain seared between his shoulder blades.

“Sorry, kid,” he heard as the world started to fog over. In moments everything was black and there was nothing left for him to do but drift off into unconsciousness. In the back of his mind, Rolo new he was missing something but at this point he didn’t care what it was.


* * *


The would-be hero awoke to the icy fall wind whipping through the starlit pass. Around him were all the signs of a good fight. Dark blood stained the ground and some of the larger boulders, foot and body marks scuffed the ground, and a number of broken crossbow bolts littered the area, not to mention pieces of his old sword. There was no sign of Tobin Solforth, his Goons, or the troll. Rolo’s only company was the headless troll-corpse decoy now. And, of course, the head.

He rolled over slowly onto his side to see another of the little arrows next to him on the ground. Picking it up, he examined the tip. Drugged. That bastard had drugged him! Drugged him and the troll and made off with it before he could wake. Great! The troll was gone for good, but how was he supposed to get the reward with out any proof?

Then the haze lifted slightly from his still groggy brain. Rolo peered through the night to the gruesome troll head, still where it had fallen from his blow earlier. A slight smile played across the young man’s lips as he relaxed back to the ground. As Granny used to say, ‘What they don’t know won t hurt them.’ He wondered if she knew he had sold off her silverware to finance this trip yet.

[Hendrake]

First to post! Eheh, been waiting ages to say that.

Excellent work, Marks! I love Quest for Glory and you have captured very well the spirit and irony of the games.

Are you going to write any sequels?

[Mark S]

First to post! Eheh, been waiting ages to say that.

Excellent work, Marks! I love Quest for Glory and you have captured very well the spirit and irony of the games.

Are you going to write any sequels?

Thanks. I have a couple of other stories that aren't sequals but are along the same lines that you might like as well.

[Hendrake]

Thanks. I have a couple of other stories that aren't sequals but are along the same lines that you might like as well.

I am absolutely sure I will, when ([madman] WHEN, DO YOU HEAR ME? WHEN, NOT IF!!!!! [/madman] ) you'll find time to post them.