"It is believed the trolls shall descend on Al Zahbi this night," Shurtugal remarked, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.

"Excellent," sneered Yalosraf, who was sitting beside him on a box outside the Whitegate residential area. No wonder the poor people of Al Zahbi didn't trust these rogue adventurer types! But Yalo had a few new tricks up his sleeve, and nothing pleased him more than teaching evil beastmen the error of their ways.

"Indeed," replied Shurtugal, thinking very similar thoughts.


They entered Al Zahbi that night as the civilians were leaving the commoner's ward for refuge. Yalosraf paused as he overheard a Galka boy eagerly chattering away to an adult Galka.

"And the trolls have the best equipment of all the beastman armies!" the boy was saying as the two walked along.

"Yep, and all thanks to the Moblins, I hear," the older Galka explained. "The Moblins gave the trolls all their fancy guns and big metal helmets." He smiled as the child's eyes widened in amazement.

"Wow! Can I have a big troll helmet? The trolls won't need them anymore when we're done with them!"

"I don't think so," the older one chuckled, "unless you want to come out and get one yourself!"

When the child didn't respond, the adult stopped the child. "Look at me," he commanded, serious now. "I did not mean that seriously. Do not even think about sneaking out; it is far too dangerous out here when the beastmen come."

"Even for you?" asked the child, with still a little hope in his eyes.

"Even for me," the other replied, with a tone of finality that erased that hope.

The younger Galka hung his head a bit as the two walked away again.

Yalo wanted to cheer the kid up somehow, but Shurt was calling him from up ahead, sounding anxious. He hurried to catch up. Shurt was right; the beastmen would arrive any minute.


"Why me? Why must I shoulder such responsibility? I owe you nothing!"

"Oh, we know you better than that. We know it doesn't really matter to you whether you owe us or not. Saving the lives of thousands of innocent people has nothing to do with any debt to us. Your own sense of honor will not let you refuse."

"That doesn't explain why you cannot choose another! Surely there are others of my skill who have more personal attachment to the city. I do not even live here!"

The plaintive look he received told him enough. A large sack was held out to him. In the distance the alarms were sounding and the declaration of martial law in Al Zahbi could be heard.

"You should hurry. The beastmen are arriving."

With a grim expression he took the sack and walked out the door.


"Here they come!" Shurt exclaimed. He and Yalo were watching as beastmen poured into the main square, to be met head on by the defenders.

"Let's do it!" yelled Yalo. And with that they charged into the fray. But before they got to the fighting, Yalo stopped. He thought he heard something, something terribly familiar, coming from the side. He turned to see a giant flying beast enter the square, and his guess was confirmed. The beast was coming towards him. Eyes narrowing, he drew his daggers, and waited.

If the Wamoura was anything more than a mindless beast of war, it may have hesitated at that moment. It may have seen in Yalo's eyes the hatred so fierce that it nullified all rational thought. It may have sensed that hatred that shatters the boundaries to which one would normally subject oneself in the interest of staying alive. But the Wamoura was oblivious to such things, and it immediately closed in on the Tarutaru, who merely stood, waiting.

"What the hell are you doing, Yalo?!" Shurt called from across the square. But Yalo didn't hear. All he heard at that moment was the beating of the gigantic wings and the hiss of steam from the thing's mouth. He knew those sounds came only from that loathsome monstrosity, that reviled foe, the Wamoura. And he wanted it dead.

He rolled right under the beast as it swooped down for its first strike, springing up behind it before it realized where he went. As the thing paused, Yalo flipped his daggers over in his hands, and, now holding the blades, invoked a quick incantation. When he flipped them back, they shimmered and swirled, magically coated with a thin layer of water.

The Wamoura turned around to meet two quick slices to the face. The beast was trained for such encounters, and it quickly lifted its head out of range of its diminutive assailant with only a small scratch to show for its error. But that scratch hurt! Steam hissed loudly from the wound as the water from the blades did its work.

Infuriated, the Wamoura countered with an attack of its own, an erratic flutter of its wings, raining fire down on Yalo. Yalo had prepared for this, however, and thanks to his protective spells the searing heat was merely uncomfortably warm. Such magic has its limits, though; he would have to be more careful now.

Next, the Wamoura came at him fast—impossibly fast—with several swipes of its legs, pushing Yalo back and off balance as he struggled to parry and dodge. Noticing something amiss, Yalo purposely fell onto his back, muttering something, and threw a dark magic spell at the Wamoura, which slowed down considerably as whatever magic had increased its speed was dispelled. Yalo rolled away from the next strike—a fierce lunge aimed at the seemingly helpless Tarutaru—but was berated by the wings and badly burned. Yalo too was in a primal fury, however, and this only served to ignite his rage. He sliced viciously at the wings as they rose away again, tearing a large hole in the lower one, then sprung to his feet as the Wamoura shrieked in pain.

Grinning at the Wamoura's pain and through his own, Yalo began the motions and chant of a Ninjutsu spell, while the beast tried to regain its balance in the air. When the Wamoura finally gave up the use of its lower wings and turned to focus on the Tarutaru again, there were now four of the little humans, snarling up at it. Even the Wamoura could tell which was real, as three of them flickered and wavered, mere magical shadows. But when it swooped down at Yalo again, one of them promptly dove in its path and blocked the strike, disappearing. Meanwhile the real Yalo responded with a quick and painful stab in the jaw. Frustrated and with steam once again coming out of its face, the Wamoura reared and violently spat a large stream of magma that engulfed all three remaining Tarutarus, destroying the fakes and sending Yalo flying, ablaze, into a wall.

Yalo landed on hands and knees, pushed himself up into a kneeling position, and began a healing spell to keep him going. But he was interrupted as the angry Wamoura slammed into him, sending him crashing again into the wall. This time he landed sprawled out, face down, and this time it was not so easy to get up. As a last resort, he rolled onto his back and pulled out a strange white drink and drank as much of it as he could before the thing struck again. When it did, swiping once more with its legs, a hiss of confusion escaped its damaged face, as the attacks glanced harmlessly off the Tarutaru.

With a sigh of relief, Yalo used this bought time to heal himself and spring to his feet with renewed vigor. The Wamoura, still trying futilely to hurt the Tarutaru, decided to try spitting magma again. But Yalosraf had learned his lesson, and he dove under the attack and right into the thing's abdomen, daggers leading the way. He stabbed the Wamoura several times before it finished blasting the wall, and then hooked a dagger into the side of the abdomen and swung himself up on top of it, coming down face first and digging the other dagger into the other side. The Wamoura shrieked in pain again and thrashed wildly, but Yalo held on for dear life, holding the abdomen in a wicked embrace, digging the daggers even deeper as his feet flailed in the air.

Steam and interstitial fluid poured from several holes in the Wamoura's body and face, a wing was shredded, and it was nearly blinded with pain, but it didn't stop thrashing, and Yalo had few apparent options. He gritted his teeth against the oncoming dizziness and braced himself, then removed the daggers and was sent flying through the air. He landed in a roll and was quickly up on his feet, turning to face the crazed beast that was already coming after him. Even with half its wings usable and such terrible injuries, it came quickly and ferociously, and Yalosraf barely had time to jump out of the way as it charged. Not missing a beat, it turned, charged, and forced the Tarutaru into a desperate dodge again, and again, and again.

Finally Yalo tripped over himself and landed on the ground once more. He rolled over to see his doom fast approaching in the form of a giant fire moth thing gone berserk. The Wamoura swooped down for the last time, ready to descend on Yalo and tear him apart. But for some reason it missed; there was a loud crack and the beast flew over Yalo and crashed into the ground several feet above his head. Both Yalo and the Wamoura were back up at once. Yalo was ready to fight to the end, but the Wamoura ignored him and started for another foe, a Qiqirn mercenary standing nearby. When Yalo saw the crossbow bolt sticking out from the Wamoura's back, he understood.

Blinded by rage, the Wamoura swooped down at the Qiqirn with a hiss, but all it found was a little bomb that exploded in its face. The weak explosion didn't harm the Wamoura much but did distract it, and when the beast regained its composure the fleeing Qiqirn was already halfway across the square. As the winged beast turned to pursue, it heard the final strings of an incantation from behind and was suddenly pummeled by magical streams of water from all sides. Hissing and steaming, it was all the Wamoura could do to stay in the air. Meanwhile Yalo was already reciting a second spell, and as he finished, magical spikes of electricity appeared all over his body.

Before the Wamoura could stabilize itself, it was sent crashing to the ground by a small form that leapt onto its back, stabbing and slicing like mad, with sparks flying and enchanted daggers spewing water and steam everywhere. Yalo didn't stop until he had unleashed his hatred and fury to the point where he could barely lift his daggers anymore. He was exhausted and badly burned and hardly able to function, but he knew it wasn't over yet. The Wamoura, even if all it could do was lay there and twitch pathetically, was still breathing. Yalo stuck his daggers into the back of the thing's head, then with one final burst of adrenaline jumped up and stomped on them as hard as he could, digging both daggers down into its brain. When he wrenched them back out again, the Wamoura was no longer breathing.

Across the square, Shurt, who had been keeping an eye on Yalo's battle while fighting a troll, quickly jumped away, sheathed his sword, and ran over to the Tarutaru, who was now struggling to remain standing. Yalo managed to get one sentence out, through ragged breaths, before he simply collapsed: "I… hate… Wamouras."

Shurt, running again, scooped Yalo up in one arm and with the other gulped down a strange white drink much like Yalo's. As soon as he finished drinking, Shurtugal's speed doubled, and he sprinted up the nearest stairs and all the way to the other side of the city, where he found an abandoned shop to hide Yalo in. Back at the square, the troll was still staring where the golden blur had gone, until a painful whack at its side reminded it that it had other foes to worry about.