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“I told you all it was certain doom. Cruel of you all to force SilverHorn to endure all this.

Heh, heh, heh!”

– Trollgod; February 27, 2007 AD.

 

The madly thrashing tentacles carried SilverHorn toward the cavernous mouth. SilverHorn relaxed and let them carry him upward. It had been a good run, and if he had to die horribly at the end, so be it.

Suddenly the Trollgod’s ring began to shimmer and dissipate, and SilverHorn heard a voice echoing in his mind – “By the will of Trollhalla, thou shalt return to us!” When the ring was gone, so was SilverHorn, leaving a very baffled and frustrated Certain Doom monster.

Meanwhile, Rrraff reclined with his head in an houri’s lap. Another one wafted a big feather fan nearby to generate a pleasant breeze, while the other five danced languorously in a circle before him. Ah, what a life!

When the dancers paused, Rrraff sat up. “This is all very fine,” he said, smiling enormously, “but I still have a race to win. Do any of you know the way to the finish line?”

They looked baffled. “O Troll of our Delight, wouldn’t thou leave us?” one asked.

“Reluctantly, but I must,” said Rrraff.

“It shall be as thou wishest.” An houri brought an old brass lamp. Another one took a bit of her silken costume and rubbed it. Green smoke emerged and coalesced to take the form of a genie.

"Wouldst thou leave us?" the houri asked.

“What is your command?” asked the genie in basso-profundo tones.

“Take this troll to his finish line,” said the summoner.

The genie grabbed Rrraff in one outsized hand. “It shall be done!”

Then Rrraff found himself hurtling away from the seven desolate houris. Into the tunnels he sped, back the way he came, back past the two Uruks playing cards, down the other tunnel, through an arena as monsters leaped futilely at his hurtling form, out of the arena, through more tunnels, into a room full of mist – no time to even take a breath – still more tunnels, and into a guard room full of Khazani guardsmen, then past them, out of the tunnels, through the northern gate of Khazan, through the streets to the Courthouse where the Trollgod, the Death Goddess, and a great throng of spectators including all his former adversaries waited. A great cheer arose as the genie sat Rrraff on his feet before this crowd, bowed once, and swiftly dissipated into green smoke.

Rrraff is carried to the finish line by a magical genie.

The winner of the race had arrived.

The teary-eyed crowd remembered Rrraff’s words at the beginning of the race: “I’d just like my fans to know that I’m training hard, and taking the competition seriously! This is real competition folks, and all the goblins and snotlings better stand aside! Hoo-ha!”

The End

Post Script:  That pretty much completes all the dungeon stories I had to tell you readers.  Monday, I’ll offer a portrait of a couple of T & T dungeon delvers with some outstanding portrait art by Greywulf.  Be sure to stop by and see it.  After that, perhaps some of my own fiction will appear here.  I’ll find something to put in this blog.

–Atroll

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