female on the floor lying in a puddle of blood, and then the dark-eyed gnome standing with a bloody dagger in his hand.
“What is the meaning of this?” Bralon blurted out in absolute revulsion at the sight of the dead gnomish girl. But as the holy warrior unsheathed his weapon, intending to enforce the will of The Shimmering One upon the obvious and base murderer set before him, he froze. He jerked back suddenly and began to convulse as his helm flew from atop his skull to reveal the blonde hair beneath. His wide eyes showed a clear struggle within and turned to regard Randermotten, whose face widened with a wicked smile.
Bralon’s brow began to bead with sweat as the demon Zan’kuros asserted his will from within the holiest of holy warriors. The Paladin felt the darkness closing in on him, wresting control of his soul.
Randermotten watched intently, growing nervous as the internal battle seemed to go on for what seemed an eternity. He continued observing, beginning to wonder who would emerge victorious.
Bralon fought with the will and power of a true warrior of the sun god, but in the end it did him no good against this foul demon from Pandemonium. Now he was no longer Bralon the bold. In his stead was a demonic creature, the likes of which Wothlondia hadn’t seen in decades.
The Paladin rose to his feet and stood up straight once more. Randermotten held his dagger out before him in a threatening manner, worried about what he would do if Bralon had actually won the battle for his soul.
“I… am… Bralon… no…. more,” the creature struggled to say, seemingly having trouble uttering the words. “Zan’kuros… is… now.”
“Not used to the human’s voice, eh?” Randermotten chuckled with a relieved and devious grin. “We be needin’ to clean this up and ye be needin’ to be gettin’ back to your… friends,” he added with a sickening giggle. “Yer gonna’ have to act like all is normal until ye leave, and then,” he paused, “…slaughter ‘em!” Randermotten said this with confidence, knowing that the demon within Bralon was mighty indeed. “Then ye return ta me and we’ll decide what’s what.”
With that, Randermotten began to clean the gnomish woman’s lifeblood from the hard floor of the burrow while the demon devoured the body. Randermotten winced a few times during the procedure. He was still not used to the demon and what it was capable of doing. Once that task was finished, Zan’kuros, now in the body of the human paladin, began working his vocal chords aloud, familiarizing itself with the voice of its current host.
“Thank you again for providing us with food and shelter,” Garius declared with a gesture toward his plate. The meal had not been very appetizing, but he had eaten it nonetheless out of respect for the gnomes’ kindness and hospitality. “I am finished eating now.”
“So ye are,” observed Larwinckle, standing and heading toward the door to the lower level that Garius had questioned him about earlier. “This heads into the tunnels below the village,” he said matter-of-factly. “We gnomes don’t do much of our traveling above ground, ye see.”
Garius nodded in understanding. It made sense now to him. The gnomes were generally under-dwellers, subterrane-born with a penchant for doing things in the dark rather than the light. That type of existence would not sit well with the warpriest. He needed the constant reminder of his god’s presence.
He watched as Bralon came back into the tavern and wondered how long he had been gone. Garius realized he must have been listening to the gnomes’ story for over an hour, and so intently that he had not been paying attention to the comings and goings around him. He watched as Bralon walked unsteadily toward the others, took a seat next to them and began speaking to them in hushed tones.
Is something wrong with Bralon? Garius wondered. But, before he could give it another thought, he felt the hand