Lair of the Unidragon, Page Three
You move quickly and silently through the forest, feeling very nervous without quite knowing why. Everything is quiet. Too quiet. It is almost completely black, even to your elvensight, and your senses are all keyed up.
Just then, you reach a large, moonlit clearing. Squinting against the sudden relative brightness, you shade your almond-shaped hazel eyes and spy a furry figure, clad in leather, sitting on a tree stump.
You groan. The figure belongs to a race known to other races only as "The Forest Dwellers"; their real name being unpronouncable except by themselves. They are about the size of a short-but-normal Human, but quite taller than an Elf, and look like nothing so much as chunky weasels standing on their hind legs. They are very stocky and muscular, and totally, utterly, hostile to all intruders in their forest. And absolutely untrustworthy.
At least this one has his back turned to you--that gives you something of a chance. You decide to attack him before he can attack you. You sneak up behind him, then pounce, clamping your small, thin hand over his furry muzzle, and place your sword edge alongside his throat, all in one fluid motion.
"All right," you hiss. "Who are you? Who do you work for? Tell me the truth or I'll slit your jugular."
"I am only a peaceful scribe from Talaris! I work for Llewelyn the Historian! Let me go!" he cries.
You pause. The fame of Llewelyn the Historian is widespread--you have even read a couple of his books. And you've heard he doesn't care much who works for him, as long as they get the job done.
On the other hand, Talaris is a long way from here, and scribes don't usually do that much travelling.
If you believe him and let him go, click HERE.
If you don't, click HERE
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