Free Sea of Death by Gary Gygax Page B

comes of EMI, Master Gord – remember that! Even I, in my young and foolish past, have misused my powers and wrought badness, seeking nothing but seclusion. Now folk fear and hate me, I know. Though their feelings are misplaced at this time, the past gives them cause. But I digress." Basiliv paused and quaffed his concoction again, then continued.
    "My friend and associate, Rexfelis, has always believed as I do now. That is why he and I are united now to achieve a certain goal. He suggested that you, Gord, might be the one to bring our desires to fruition. I believe his perception is correct." After another short pause, the Demiurge explained himself further.
    "The contending factions which would have the Final Key are so busy fighting with one another that most have effectively taken themselves out of the contest, as it were. That is as it should be. But can the Lords of the Upper Planes use, or even hold, the Key? Not likely. Its base vileness would soon bring it into the hands of those who want to awaken… that dark being who sleeps. Do the Cabalists have better skills? The Hierophants? Never! And I am no more fit to employ such an object than is Mordenkainen or any of the others who would have it. Despite intentions, they would find themselves growing as evil as the one whose essence is the artifact. Do you understand?"
    "I hear what you say, Lord Demiurge," Gord replied slowly. "I think I perceive the point you are driving at. I do not understand, however, why you are telling me that you have no desire to yourself possess the Final Key."
    "Quite so! You do not yet understand because you are unaware of what has recently transpired. Let us have another round of potables, and then Rexfelis and I, my boy, will provide you with all there is to know on this matter."
    Several hours later Gord saw the whole matter in a new and very different light. He had taken no oath, nor sworn any vow, but he knew within himself what he must now do. After shaking hands with Basiliv and bowing in farewell to the Catlord, Gord simply walked out of the Demiurge's strange palace and into Bardillingham. In less than an hour he met up with a party of the Demiurge's soldiers (who apparently had been awaiting him), packed his possessions (which had been brought from his room in the castle), and was on his way out of town.
    He rode northward in company with a mixed group of close-mouthed men and taciturn elves. The latter were called Grughma by their own kind, and "Valley elves" – a term of derisive sort – by men and other sorts of elves who dwelled outside the realm of Basiliv. It was not a particularly pleasant trip. The soldiers of the Demiurge showed great respect and deference to Gord, but kept themselves isolated from him. The landscape was interesting, at least, which made the journey somewhat more bearable. They traveled from valley to foothills to mountains – the first peaks Gord had ever seen.
    On the second day after leaving the town, once the group was well into the Barring Range, the elves and men turned back, taking with them the horse that Gord had ridden. They would not go farther than the boundaries of their lord's domain. New escorts took over, though, so Gord did not have to worry about being abandoned in the vastness of rock that jutted and towered so majestically.
    The fifty soldiers of the Demiurge's troop were replaced by four times that number of dour dwarves dressed in iron and steel armor. The long-bearded mountain dwarves dealt summarily with any predatory creatures foolish enough to approach them. Gord and this small army of dwarves trudged upward into the mountains, going ever higher. Soon, Gord recalled, the very air seemed so cold and thin that he felt like he was being strangled. The broad-chested dwarves appeared not to mind the rare atmosphere, but they deferred to the young human, taking a path through the mountains that was not the shortest but which enabled the group to avoid climbing to even higher