Free The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) by Gary F. Vanucci Page A

listened intently.
     

     
    Randermotten did not leave his burrow this day for the morning meal, nor did he want to share anything at all with the gnomes that would surely gather throughout the day at Hedgewin’s Tavern. He was, however, very interested in the strangers that came calling last eve... he and the newly summoned demon, Zan’kuros, that is. Zan’kuros was an avatar demon from Pandemonium and servant to the demon lord, Amon. He had responded to the pleas of the warlock the day before last.
    Randermotten was an ambitious gnome and habitually excluded himself from most activities enjoyed by his brethren. He had been a hermit for several decades since his wife of many years passed away from a sudden illness. He kept to the shadows and eyed his fellow gnomes with contempt. The inhabitants of Dhegg generally respected each other’s privacy and so left him alone for the most part. However, they did consider him quite strange. He walked with a limp, a defect he’d had since birth, his hygienic habits were not usually well kept and he could often be found muttering to himself. Many of the villagers would whisper about the peculiarities of the hobbling gnome and gossip amongst themselves about his unusual mannerisms. This angered the misguided gnome, and instead of pursuing help from any of the Gods of Order, he instead begged for aid in the night to the demon lords and pursued the black arts of the warlock.
    From the abyss called Pandemonium emerged the fiend Zan’kuros, a demon that smelled of sulfur and brimstone. It did not have a corporeal form, but instead was a thing of mist and smoke, shimmering and fading in and out, and its eyes shone bright red in the darkness. It hovered in the shadows, whispering and planting seeds of treachery within the thoughts of the gnome, sometimes sending images into his mind's eye.
    “Weeee muuuusst fiiind a host foooorrrr meeeee,” it hissed to him in a very broken tongue. It spoke to the gnome in the common trade-speak, or Wothlondian as it was called.
    Randermotten had been dabbling with the dark arts in secret for a year now and was beginning to harness that magic, especially the necromantic spells associated with the Degenerative Plane.
    “I’ve a host in mind,” stated Randermotten, sweeping a mop of hair from in front of his dark eyes which harbored a palpable hatred. “We’ve been set upon by a group of Paladins. You must possess one of them!”
    “Yyyeeeeesssss,” it whispered, its red eyes glinting in the shadows. “Giiivvveeee meeeeeee a tasssssssste offf flleeeessssssshhhhh.”
    “I’ll bring one close enough and ye should have the time ye require ta trap his soul,” Randermotten informed the creature, seeing its eyes flash a bright scarlet at that comment.
    With that, Randermotten opened the door to his burrow and squinted into the sunlight, surveying the scene. He set off toward Hedgewin’s Tavern and then stopped as a fortuitous event occurred—one of the Paladins emerged from the tavern… alone!
    “Help!” called Randermotten suddenly, waving to the Paladin to follow. He was able to yell it loudly enough that the knight heard him across the short distance, yet softly enough as to not disturb anyone else. Or so he thought.
    “What be the problem, my lord?” asked a female gnome passing by, a neighbor to Randermotten, whose name eluded him. He ducked back into his burrow and she pursued him. She had long silver hair and the bluest eyes he had ever seen, so full of warmth and hope.
    That look changed to shock, and possibly despair, he thought, as he thrust a dagger straight through her heart with a crazed look in his deep, dark eyes. As he dropped her to the floor, her warm blood still fresh on his hands, the Paladin entered.
    His facial features distorted slowly beneath his helm, converting from puzzlement and wonder to sheer horror and disgust as he registered what had happened here. His gaze slowly adjusted to first regard the limp gnomish