By Carl R Cascone

URB is the property of the author, Carl R Cascone and is used with permission by Candlekeep.  Email Carl with any comments and feedback on this story.

The tavern was filled with clamour before the eccentric adventurers walked in, but upon their entrance, all the noise ceased, and every patron’s eyes laid a wary glance on the two strangers.  Drandarian, with his enormous size was the most noticable of the two, and it is likely the patrons of the establishment never set eyes on a sight such as he.  At first glance the people probably thought him some type of centaur, but this illusion gets dispelled upon the realization that his lower body was that of a lion and not a horse.  He had the torso of a humongous man, rippling with muscle and sinew, but his head was more leonine than human, with a savage mane; hair twisted and formed into wild dread-locks that fell over his shoulders, and landed half way down his back.  Where the torso ended, a sturdy, golden,  lion’s body extended ten feet behind him, ending in a long, slender tail that swayed lazily from side to side.  Drandarian’s four powerful legs ended in paws as large as a man’s head, with sharp claws that could easily rip man or beast asunder extending from them threateningly.  Upon his back, in a scabbard made from zebra skin, and wolf hide, was a bastard sword of deadly sharpness, the perfect complement to his natural claws.

                Drandarian’s companion, while not as giant as he, was no less frightening.  He was a quarter foot shy of six feet tall, and his sturdy, lithe form was attired in complete black raiment.  His form was followed by a flowing black cloak, that cowled the dark mask that covered his face.  Rizzen was a dark elf, that breed of the elven folk that spread terror.  He knew, to show his onyx skin or white hair, would spread panic throughout the town, and inspire a mob to hunt only for his dark elf blood.

          The two companions walked up to the bar of the tavern, Drandarian’s cat-like grace was easily matched by his slender companion.  Drandarian turned his head to look upon his friend, and a tooth filled grin lit up his feline face.

          “Should I go get us some drink Rizzen?” Drandarian asked, in a tone similar to that of a child in a toy store.

          “Yes Drandarian, but do not buy drinks for these… other people like you are always so prone to do.  And remember I want wine, not ale,” Rizzen answered as he surveyed the tavern contemptuously.

          “O.K. Riz; should I get white wine, red wine, or that fey wine stuff?” Drandarian asked.

          “Whatever they have, my friend,” Rizzen said as he looked around, “though I doubt a place such as this could carry fey wine.”

          “Where are we gonna sit?”  Drandarian asked.

          “In the corner, Drandarian where we always sit,” Rizzen said.  “You know we always sit in the corner.  Why do you always ask?”

          “I don’t know,” Drandarian said sadly, “I’m gonna go get the drinks now.”

          Drandarian turned around and tromped off to the bar.  No one could see the smile Rizzen gave to Drandarian beneath his mask.  Rizzen turned around and walked over to the corner furthest from the entrance, and chose a seat facing the common room.  He sat down and began to relax, when he heard the powerful, roar-like yell of Drandarian, shout, “Drinks for everyone!” and he saw the wemic begin to throw the yellow sparkle of gold around the establishment.

          Rizzen shook his head slowly, and layed his head down into his arms.  He hated how Drandarian wasted his gold on tavern rabble.  He waited several minutes for his companion, preparing his thoughts for the lecture he must give to the wemic on the importance of thrift.  Rizzen could see the large form of Drandarian, walking towards the table, gracefully navigating the crowded common room, without bumping even a stool.  Drandarian was smiling at the shouts and yells of gratitude, given to him by the patrons of the tavern; it was obvious the patrons feared him no more.  He approached Rizzen’s table carrying a large, burlap sack, and gave Rizzen a tooth-filled grin.

          “What is in the bag?,” Rizzen asked, with an edge of irritation in his voice.

          In reply the wemic opened the bag and dumped thirty bottles of wine onto the table. Fortunately none of them broke, as they rolled onto Rizzen’s lap and the floor.  Drandarian’s grin became a heartful smile.

          “What is this Drandarian?,” Rizzen asked with increased irritation in his voice.

          Drandarian’s smile receded into a disappointed frown at Rizzen’s tone.  “It’s wine, that’s what you wanted.”

          “Yes Drandarian, but thirty bottles of it?  Just when do you think I am going to drink all of this?”  Rizzen picked up a bottle and glanced at its label, it was local wine.  “And cheap wine none-the-less,” Rizzen stated, as his mask formed the contours of a contemptuous expression.

          “You said you wanted whatever they had, so that’s what I got,” Drandarian replied sternly.

          Rizzen, as he was usually prone to do when dealing with Drandarian, put his head in his hands and shook his head.  “Yes Drandarian, I did say that, but I meant whatever they had would be fine, not that I wanted it all,” Rizzen said, in a tone very nearly resembling a whine.  Rizzen’s voice immediately went back to its razor edge, “How much was all of this anyway?”

          “Ninety Gold,” Drandarian answered quickly.

          “Huhmph.  Ninety gold.  And just how much did you spend on the drinks of your new found friends of this fine establishment?,” Rizzen asked as he waved his arm around, as if blessing the entire common room.

          “Only fifteen gold.”

          “Only fifteen gold?” the ice in Rizzen’s voice could have frozen the air.  “Why Drandarian?  So the tavern rabble would like you, and not think you are mean?  Well we are mean Drandarian, and if the patrons are scared of us, they will leave us alone, and not assault us with their smell!  Go Drandarian!  Bring the wine back, and do not buy drinks for any more tavern rabble in here, we have much better things to spend our gold on!”

          Drandarian pouted, gathered up the wine, and headed back to the bar.  Rizzen heard the wemic mutter something under his breath, about being nice to people, and Rizzen felt a mild pang at being so harsh to his friend.  Drandarian was not the only one to receive his words badly, for at that moment, a group of patrons, farmers by the looks of them, approached Rizzens table.  The other patrons of the bar drew deep breaths and glued their eyes to the bravest of their bunch.  Drandarian, upon hearing this disturbance, turned around lazily, and watched the spectacle with a smirk on his leonine face.

          Rizzen drew his blade he named cold and layed it upon the table, staring at the lead farmer with his deep purple eyes, that were just turning crimson.  He said a word, and his blade began to draw the heat out of the room.  The atmosphere of the tavern had the feel of an over-cocked crossbow ready to snap.

          The lead farmer’s confidence wavered under Rizzen’s stare and the sudden cold in the room, but his pride was too much.  “HEY! We don’ like-“

          Rizzen’s eyes were a deep crimson now, and  he rose from his stool as he interupted the farmer in mid sentence, “I am not concerned with what you like,” he said calmly as he drew his other sword ‘dark’, and held it in his left hand.  “I am not here to make you feel nice, indeed, what my friend just treated this tavern too is more gold than you have probably seen since you were a whelp.  I have not needed to use this blade in three days.  Please.  Do not give me a reason to use it now, for I will have nothing but your corpse to clean it on,” Rizzen said as he held the blade closer to the farmer’s chest.  The farmer stared at the blade’s edge, as sharp as diamonds; this was enough for the unseasoned farmer, who began to waver under the threat, and drop to his knees.

             Rizzen smiled, and in a quick, flipping, gesture sheathed his blade.  “Good,”  He turned to the other farmers and said, “Now take him back, and see he does not bother me or my friend again,” he said in mock kindness as he nodded towards Drandarian.  The farmers helped their friend to his feet, and returned to their table.  The tension began to slowly ease.  Drandarian’s laugh resonated through the establishment, and he turned his head back to the barkeep.  “Are ya sure ya won’t take these bottles back,” he said with a grin.  The barkeep took ninety gold from his coffer and laid it on the bar.

          The tension settled down in the tavern, but as if to disturb the calm, a new person entered the pub, nearly commanding all eyes to hail her.  She had long red hair which flowed down to her waist, the sunlight from the window payed homage to it as her long locks swayed with her seductive walk.  Her hair, which hid her sharply pointed ears, was a perfect complement to her eyes, which were green, and sharp as pine-needles.  Her face was the colour of freshly cut poplar, and her features were sharp as daggers.  Hugging her body close was a beautiful green robe embroidered with gold, worn open and tucked into her belt so that her sensuous curves tempted all men who dared to take a glance.  Where her robe was open, a dress-like suit of chain mail was revealed, forged so finely that its texture matched that of linen, and looked to be possessed of strong magic.  Upon her shoulders lay an ivory and silver bow; a blade slender as her body hung on the left side of her belt.

          The wood elven sorceress, surveyed the common room stopping for a moment when she saw Drandarian’s giant grace.  When her gaze met Rizzen, she gave him a bright smile rivaling even the sun’s powerful glow.  The elf walked over to Rizzen’s corner table, all the men in the tavern were looking upon her with fascinated, and bewildered eyes, but she did not honour a single one of them with a return glance.  Still smiling, she sat down across from Rizzen’s dark form, her radiance creating a perfect contrast to Rizzen’s dark corner.  The woman leaned onto his table with her elbows, and placed her slight chin in her elegant hands, as if her forearms were a pedestal for a sharp, and fair sculpture.  With a twist of her head, she moved her beautiful hair behind her left ear, so that its cute point could be seen.  The elf-woman could see a slight smile form beneath Rizzen’s mask.

          “Well met Rizzen,” she said happily, “want to help me find some herbs?”

          “Well met indeed dear Chloe,” Rizzen said, his tone possessing a rare instance of joy.  “What brings you to this…fine, establishment?”  Rizzen looked at Chloe, the twin to Rizzen’s now deceased lover, and reminisced how beautiful his dear Narciss truly was.

          “Looking for you and Drandarian of course!  Brother Tomi, doesn’t want me bothering him while he is reading his word, and Zaylor is obsessively polishing his sword and armour,” Chloe replied.  “I’ll never figure out how people can move in such silly looking, bulky, shiny plates.”

          “Nor can I my dear, why do you think Drandarian and I walk so far ahead.  Brother Tomi and Zaylor’s clunking around would alert a deaf orc to our presence.”

          “I know!  I told Zaylor if he didn’t polish his armour he would be harder to see at least, and he practically snapped, yelling ‘NO!, RUST! RUST!’ I don’t think our friendly paladin is all there sometimes,” Chloe said with a smile.

          “Indeed.  That is why we think, and Zaylor strikes.  I sometimes worry his chivalrous code has him bottled up, he really should just let it go, and let Tomi be the annoying one!”

          “RIZZEN!  How can you say that!  Zaylor lives by a strict noble code, and no one, even you, should critisize him for it.  They may be loud, and shiny, but they are still our friends!”

          “Yes of course Chloe.  I meant know harm you know that,” Rizzen said as Chloe gave him a stern, reprimanding glare.  “Now, why do you want me too come help you find some herbs deep within the forest, with nothing around but annoying nuisances like sprites.  You are the wood elf my dear, can’t you go find them on your own?”

          “Yes Rizzen, thanks for making that point clear, but I don’t need the overly light sensitive eyes of a dark elf who lives underground to help me find herbs,” Chloe said completely annoyed at Rizzen’s tone, but quickly looked from side to side to make sure nobody heard her.  “I’m going into a somewhat dangerous area of the forest, and I may run into trouble.  I could always use your help, though I could have also used your company.  But I see I could just as easily find a badger that could match your company.   At least I have Drandarian for that!”

          “Flattery will never get you anywhere my dear,” Rizzen replied haughtily.

          “Perhaps,” she said as she looked at Rizzen, and raised one eyebrow seductively, “but my looks do.”

          “Hmmph.  Very well m’lady.  But why is this area of the forest so much more dangerous than the rest?”

          “Long ago a god died there, and it is said that many magical and unique herbs grow in the area he fell.  I think I can find a particular herb I need for a potion I have been trying to brew there,” she replied.

          “A love potion for dragons perhaps?,” Rizzen said snidely.

          “Shut up Rizzen!  Perhaps I don’t want you coming along!”

          A violent ruckus shook the common room.  By the time Chloe turned around, Drandarian was holding a dented pewter mug, and two patrons were lying at his feet, badly beaten and unconcious.  The barkeep, went to the corner of his bar, just before Drandarian began to resonate his powerful voice.

          “If anyone talks about my friend Chloe, in that way again, I will break them in exactly the places they are referring to!” Drandarian yelled deeply.  “Here,” he said to the barkeep with a smile, who received the dented and bloody mug rather reluctantly.  “Sorry about your floor,” Drandarian said as he dropped a bag of coins on the bar.  “And the mug too,” at this he threw a stack of coins on the bar, and walked towards his companion’s table.

          “Well at least I can always count on Drandarian,” Chloe said sharply.  Rizzen said nothing and leaned back.

          “Hi Chloe!” Drandarian’s face was beaming with happiness when he came over to the table.  “Those guys over there said they wanted too…”

          “Its O.K. Drandarian, it looks like you took care of it,” Chloe quickly added for Drandarian.

          “Yeah!  They’re not going to be using their tongues for a long-time!”  Drandarian laughed innocently, and Chloe blushed.

          “Thank you Drandarian,” Chloe said, and smiled as she pet the big wemic under the chin.  “I was just coming to get you guys to go herb hunting with me but it appears our dark friend here doesn’t want to face the dangerous faeries and sprites, and so is going to stay here and drink with the farmers,” Chloe smiled obnoxiously.  “I guess you and I will have to go herb hunting alone Drandarian.”

          “O.K.  What kind of animal is an URB?” Drandarian asked.

          “Its not an animal it’s a pretty, smelling, flower Drandarian, now let’s go!” Rizzen said sounding quite annoyed, and walked towards the door.

          “Oh!  Now that Drandarian is here to protect you, you will come mighty Rizzen!  How cute!” Chloe said, knowing well she was pulling on Rizzen’s nerves.  He deserves it she thought.

                “Yep that’s right!  I’m here buddy, don’t worry!” Drandarian tromped out the tavern to join Rizzen, with Chloe close behind.  The barkeep sighed in releif, when the companions left, and called to patrons to clear the bodies from the floor.

                     *                                *                                *                                *

          Chloe explained to Rizzen it would take nearly three days to reach their destination, the forest was thick, and it made travel slow, though the three companions could move through it quicker than humans or dwarves could.  Chloe seemed to blend into the trees, and Rizzen blended into the shadows equally well; neither of them making a sound.  For all of Drandarians size and strength, he moved with the grace of the great cats, and it was doubtful, anything but a faerie or elf would hear him coming.

                Several hours after the third morning, before the noon-day sun took its position in the sky, Chloe found the area they were searching for.  The area was blanketed in clovers, and the herbs growing here, in a variety of bright and soft colours, swayed in the breeze like the comfortable and bright mosaic blankets that Chloe’s grandmother used to make for her sister and she.  They used to fit in the blanket like two little peas in a sweet smelling pod.

          The beautiful aroma from this patch of nature energized the three adventurers, and the scent from the mighty, and magical weirwood trees left a moist sensation in their throats.  Around them were beautiful plants, mosses, herbs, scents, and chirping birds, but amidst this beauty lied the mushrooms.  Rizzen spotted several of them; he was a master of poisons, and he knew that these strange magical mushrooms could poison a lion dead in his tracks.  He would keep this place in mind.

          “Well this is it friends,” said Chloe.  “I’m going to the middle of the patch, that is where the Orandius herb I need will be.”

          “Very well m’lady, we will keep watch here, besides I have some foraging of my own to do,” Rizzen said as he eyed the deadly mushrooms.

          “I knew you would,” Chloe turned in reply, only to spin back around again, and continue on her delicate path.  Chloe moved towards the patch’s center; each one of her steps was quick, silent, and deliberate, so that none of the flora would be disturbed. 

Rizzen noticed she left no tracks through the plants.  He sat down in a patch of clovers and watched Chloe.  She moved seductively regardless what she was doing; foraging, archery, or swordplay, it mattered not.  Rizzen enjoyed every move she made.

Drandarian was bewildered by this wild place.  The smells were appreciated by him, far more than they were by his friends, indeed, Chloe and Rizzen could not imagine some of the scents the wemic was familiar with.  Drandarian sniffed the air, and discovered a new scent.  Drandarian looked nearby, around the patch of the herbs near him.  There, something caught his eye as well as his nose, just inches from his immense form; the sweetest thing Drandarian had ever smelt, an emerald green mushroom.  He reached down, and gently plucked the fungus from the earth, and twisted it around in the air to get a better look.  The mushroom had little purple spots on it, resembling daggers pointing downward.  It smelled so sweet, the aroma was calling Drandarian, beckoning him to indulge, and taste its pleasures.  He could resist no longer, he placed his lips on the mushroom and sunk his sharp teeth into the scrumptuous morsel.  It tasted so sweet, and Drandarian could feel the warm juice flowing down his furry chin.  He licked his lips so none of the taste could escape him. 

“Hey Rizzen, is this an URB?,” he asked his friend, as he looked to him and held the mushroom in the air.

“What Drandarian?” Rizzen asked as he was broken from his momentary trance.  He turned to look at Drandarian, and saw his friend holding the emerald mushroom.  His eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“Drandarian!  Do not eat that!” Rizzen shouted.  He saw the wemic move clumsily from side to side, and his vertically slit cat-eyes, were dilating.

“Why….not…buddy,” Drandarian managed to say behind the cloud that started to enrapture his mind.  He stepped back several feet, and his legs collapsed, to weak to hold him.  The large wemic toppled over and landed on his side, a multicoloured cloud of pollen arose from his impact, moving like an ominous stormcloud on a sunny day before it pours forth its rain.

Rizzen immediately sprinted to Drandarians prone body.  He pressed two forefingers against the leo-centaur’s neck.  The pulse was still there, but it was weak, and getting weaker.  Rizzen did not have much time.

“Chloe!” Rizzen shouted, “Come here at once!”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Drandarian ate this mushroom,” he said as he held the vile thing aloft.  He doesn’t have much time, two hours at most.  Can you teleport us to Brother Tomi?”

“No, I can’t do that today,” Chloe was regretting she didn’t stock up on her magic, she was getting worried.

“I’ll have to see if I can make an antidote then.  Stay here and watch Drandarian, if I don’t find the correct herbs Drandarian is doomed.”

“I’m coming with you!” Chloe demanded, “Together we could figure out the herbs we need.”

“NO!  I already know what herbs we need, I’ve used that mushroom before.  I need you to watch after Drandarian!  We don’t need a group of pixies tying him up and carrying him away while he’s in this state.  Or some sort of situation like that!  Wait for me here.  I’ll be back soon.  Trust me Chloe,” Rizzen stroked her cheek, and moved farther into the patch.

“Hurry,” Chloe said weakly, as she gently stroked Drandarian’s forehead.

Rizzen had to act fast; though there were many herbs in this magical patch, the ones he needed to counteract the poison were not in sight.  Rizzen searched through the patch, all the while appearing as nothing more than shade from a tree.  It took some time, but Rizzen finally found the herb he was after, it was a deep crimson red, the shape of clovers, and grew near the edge of the patch.  Rizzen knew this magical clover, when mixed with his elixer, would be the antidote Drandarian needed.  With a sigh of relief, he approached, the herb bed which glinted like rubies in the sunlight that escaped through the trees.  Rizzen prepared a bag to gather the herbs in; once he aquired the proper amount, it would only be minutes before he had the potion Drandarian needed.

Rizzen grabbed a clover by the stem, and pulled it up with its roots intact.  The clover began to shimmer when it was pulled from the ground.  Rizzen stared at it closely and saw it begin to fade until he was holding nothing in his black-gloved hand, the clover was merely an illusion.  Rizzen could feel his irises turning crimson, the deepest crimson they had ever gleamed.  “Who’s trick is this?!” Rizzen snarled.

Rizzen heard a mischievous laugh coming from his flank.  “It is mine, it is it is!” said an overly happy voice, with a slightly higher pitch than normal.  “It seems you really need my clovers, for your big pet back there,” the voice said, followed by a quich happy laugh.

“Indeed, I need the plant to make a poison antidote, so I would appreciate it if you let me have the plants, and cease these demonic jokes!  And Drandarian is not my pet!”  Rizzen yelled in response.  “So please, may I have the herbs?” Rizzen asked, this time trying to mask the anger in his voice.

“Not until you tell me how to bottle the rage of a butterfly,” the voice replied, and the figure of a small tiny man, only about six inches high appeared, wearing a green tunic, with a green cap, and green boots.

“Excellent, a little leprechaun.  I have heard about your kind,” Rizzen said, his voice dripping with contempt at the sight of the man.

“Good,” said the little leprechaun, “now tell me how to bottle the rage of  a butterfly.”

“I have no time for games tiny one.  It is in your best interest to give me the herbs I need.”

“Give to me what I want, and you’ll get what you want,” the leprechaun said, unmoved by the threat in Rizzen’s voice.

“Fine!  I’ll give you a hundred gold if you give me the herbs,” Rizzen offered, clenching and unclenching his black-gloved fist in frustration.

“I got lots of gold in me pots at home.  I don’t want yours.  Just tell me how to bottle the rage of a butterfly, it doesn’t cost you anything,” the leprechaun laughed after saying this.

Rizzen had absolutely no idea what the little fellow was talking about, bottled rage of butterfly was certainly no mundane item.  He was not a philosopher by any means.

“Why don’t you just capture a butterfly, put the infernal thing in a bottle, and wait until it gets as angry as I am now?” he said as his crimson eyes gleamed.

“O.K., but how do I make a butterfly as angry as you?” the leprechaun asked.  His sharp accent was starting to irritate Rizzen profoundly.

“I don’t know, but your going to give me the herbs,” Rizzen said as he jumped at the little man and grasped him about the waist with a tight hand.  The leprechaun smiled in response to Rizzen’s grip, and faded away, it was another illusion.

Rizzen heard laughter from behind him.  When he spun around, he saw the leprechaun laughing and mocking him atop a tree branch.  Rizzen was at the brink, of drawing his swords and cutting everything in sight.  To relax himself, he pulled a wineskin from his belt and began to drink.  The leprechaun looked on curiously.

“What be in there?” the leprechaun asked.

Rizzen’s eyes turned purple again, as he calmed down and got an idea.  Why didn’t he think of this before?

“I’m drinking wine little leprechaun, smooth red wine.  You do like wine don’t you?” Rizzen asked and reached inside his pocket.

“YES!” the little leprechaun yelled, “I’m afraid wine is something a leprechaun will never turn down.”

“I know,” Rizzen said as he secretly withdrew a powder from his pocket.  With a sleight-of-hand unmatched by any stage magician, he dropped the powder into the wineskin.  “Would you like some?” he offered.

“YES!” the leprechaun yelled again and reached for the wine skin. 

Rizzen pulled the skin back at the last second, shaking it gently as he did so.  “Not until you give me the herbs I desire,” Rizzen said.  “What will it be, wine or butterfly rage?” 

“WINE!” the little thing answered.

“Then give me the herbs.  Fully prepared since you caused me this inconvenience.”

“Fine.”  The leprechaun conjured a tiny sack from the air.  “Here they are, I’ll give them to you at the same time you give me the wine.  I don’t trust you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Rizzen said.

The two adversaries made their trade, and Rizzen checked the sack to ensure he wasn’t being duped again.  Upon inspection he found the leprechaun was not cheating him this time.  The leprechaun, was not so cautious, and guzzled the dry wine down greedily.  Rizzen smiled.

The leprochaun dropped the wine skin and grabbed his stomach, a look of horror evident on the little creatures face.  He was losing colour, and his skin was drawing tight, like he was rapidly dehydrating.  Rizzen stared at the leprechaun’s tiny, writhing form with contempt.

It was Rizzens turn to laugh, and indeed he did.  “Now little friend, it is time you played my game,” he said.  “You have just ingested a powder extracted from the spinner mushrooms of the underdark, far beneath the earth’s surface.  The antidote, also can only be aquired in that subteranean realm.  Pity.”  The contours of a deep smile could be seen through Rizzen’s tight black mask.

“Fortunately, for you of course, I possess the antidote.  Of course, you could decide to die by this most vicious poison, but keep in mind, it takes a whole hour to fully dehydrate.  But you might die before then, if you are lucky,” Rizzen sneered.

The leprechaun looked up at him with pleading eyes.  He opened his mouth to say something, but only dry air came forth.

“See you cannot even scream,” Rizzen mocked.  “I am feeling kind, so I will give you this antidote, for all the gold you own.  In your little pot at home I believe?  Provided I believe there is enough gold of course.  Perhaps you are wishing you took my hundred gold now, hmmm?

“Now are we in agreement?” Rizzen asked.

The leprechaun nodded his head, and pointed to a large oak tree.  He held out his hand for the antidote.

“Not until I have counted the gold,” Rizzen taunted, and the little leprechaun dropped his head.

Rizzen walked over to the old, gnarled oak and gave it a thorough inspection.  At waist level there was a hole, and Rizzen peaked inside.

There he saw lots of cozy miniature furniture, all perfect for the leprechaun’s size.  At the far end of the little room was a tiny rack filled with green hats and shoes.  Rizzen reached in and toppled the wrack.  Behind it a small iron cauldron was revealed, filled to the brim with gold.  He grabbed the handles on either side and hoisted the pot out of the hole, dumping it on the ground by accident.  Rizzen took out a sack, and filled it with the gold as he counted.

“Here you go little man,” Rizzen said as he handed the leprechaun the antidote.  “You had just enough gold, one less gold and I would not have given this too you.  Do not stand in my way , when next I am trying to help a friend.  Aluve,” Rizzen said as he parted with the traditional dark-elf farewell.  He sprinted to reach the area where Chloe and Drandarian waited.

Chloe nearly cried in relief when she saw Rizzen approach.  “Hurry Rizzen he is fading fast,” she yelled.

Rizzen stopped near the wemic, and checked his friends pulse.  It was nearly still.  He drew a dagger from his boot, and cleanly sliced the lion-man’s forearm.  The blood oozed slowly, reminding Rizzen he did not have much time.  He applied the magical potion directly to the wound, and it disappeared into the wemic’s blood.

Several long hours passed by for Rizzen and Chloe, until Drandarian’s golden colour returned, and his leonine eyes sharpened.  Rizzen yelled in joy as he saw Drandarian rise on his powerful legs again.

“UUUURGGHHH!” Drandarian growled as he stretched.  “Did we find the URB?” Drandarian asked, thinking he merely took a nap.

“Yes Drandarian, we did,” Chloe giggled as she replied.

“Good then it appears everyone got what they deserved today,” Rizzen said, and he smiled as he patted his full gold sack.

“Where’d you get that Rizzen?” Drandarian asked.

“Lets just say the luck of the forest was with me today.”  Rizzen patted the wemic on the shoulder, and the odd pair atarted their walk down the path.

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