Wednesday, May 25, 2011

The Campfire Council

Mathron held the yellowing parchment in his grasp, unsure if he could believe what was contained therein.  The text described a container which had the power to produce a never ending supply of a certain substance- something Mathron had been searching for a better part of his years.  A chalice of immeasurable standards, a literal Holy Grail- The Mighty Thor's Ale Horn.  It had been lost to centuries untold, but here he held a parchment describing with unmistakable detail the item which Mathron had seen so frequently in his dreams.  The problem, Mathron realized now, was the same problem he had always had: Finding it.

"You no doubt see something that captures your fancy, Sir Master Elf." Gilorhem said, a sparkle in his eye.  "The words on the parchment are all true, and I can even lead you to the dungeon that contains the relifact you seek...but not for free."  He smiled a wide toothy grin that simmered Mathron with a cold rage.

"What is your price, Dwarf?"  Mathron regreted the answer before he heard it.

"Oh, nothing much, simply shall I I pursue another magical item of my interest.  And the help in gathering a competent team to aid in the recovery of these artifacics."

Mathron did his best to not frown, or rather not frown more.  "I am a solitary person.  I do not think I could tolerate others, much less guarantee their safety."

"Who said anything about their safety?  Fuck their safety!" The Dwarf swore loudly. "Just keep me alive, that's all!" He threw back his head and cackled wickedly.

"I agree then, with one condition." Mathron said standing. "I shall protect you to my dying breath 'til our deal is done, but know this, 'Mad Dwarf', I am Thor's servant first and foremost.  Give me but one reason to think you are in league with the Trickster," Mathron paused, and leveled his hammer at the Dwarf's face, "And I shall smite you so violently it will be hard to tell from whence the crater of smiting destruction ends and the Dwarf begins."  Mathron's gaze was cold steel and his voice a clash of thunder as he spoke, swearing the words. 

Gilorhem quickly rose and took Mathron's hammerless hand into his own, speaking in exctited tones.  "Oh yes, Lord Paladin Elf Sir, oh yes."  His toothy smile again appeared. "We shall be wonderful friends."

This time it was no rage that seized Mathron's heart, but icy black dread of what was to come.

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