Khaz opened his mouth and silently screamed his anguish. Memories raced through his mind rapidly passing the inside of his tightly shut eye lids. Faster and faster until they became a blur; his head spun around and around and the vertigo increased until he started to lose consciousness; then it was over. He opened his bloodshot eyes and the candle light stung as if he had been plunged into light after many hours of darkness and glared at the warlock with open hatred.

“You are full of surprises, Khaz Axzen,” Creed said with a smile while removing the spell of silence over the mentally drained dwarf so as to hear his reaction to the information he was about to reveal. The wizard stroked the small horns on his forehead while he sorted out Khaz’s memories. “You are the bastard child of an ill fated union. Your mother was a warrior priestess from the clan of the Bloody skull who dwell in total darkness and practitioners of the dark arts, and your father was a subterranean ranger from the elite slayers of clan Mauler, the most powerful and influential clan of dwarves in the world.”

Khaz stared at the wizard wide eyed; Creed met the dwarf’s stare before continuing in a purring, captivating voice. “Your kind will never accept you, Khaz Axzen as I am sure you know which is why you were sold into slavery. So I have a proposition for you.” Creed’s voice had taken on a hypnotic tone, and he noted that some of the anger had drained from the dwarf’s face. “I give you a choice; join me, Khaz. You can achieve greatness with my tutelage. Soon King Pharus will meet an unfortunate end opening the throne for his nephew, my pawn, Dandyar Pharus.”

“Resist him Khaz!” Yelled Sarel as he saw his friend’s expression softening; Creed was hypnotizing him.

Moving with almost blinding speed, the wizard approached the frost elf and cuffed him across the left side of his head tearing three gashes along his cheek and banging the back of his head against his stone restraints. Sarel saw blinding lights before his eyes then slumped unconscious.

Kimba strained in her bonds; a fire burned in her slitted, cat-like eyes. She felt responsible for their current situation and helpless. Khaz continued to stare ahead as if in a daze. Primus Creed chuckled at the druidess’ discomfort before returning his attention to the dwarf.

“This druid would have you wandering around the continent fighting her fights while you remain clanless and family-less impoverished, living in caves and sleeping in mud. She almost led you to your death today!” Creed’s eyes continued to hold Khaz’s gaze. “When my hold on the Khorian throne is complete, I will turn my sights on Ghan and Reban. You will lead my army, Khaz Axzen; only you will be known as Khaz the destroyer, Khaz the conqueror. Your name will invoke fear. Then our combined might will turn north over running the horse barbarians of Brynhalla. As we speak, the Timborian elves are gathering an army to invade Ravenholt; and then, Khaz, the dwarves of the Graode Mountains and the great city of Graodolin will lay between the hammer of the frost elves and the anvil of Khaz the destroyer’s mighty army. You will walk through Graodolin’s ruined front door with your head held high as, Khaz the conqueror, instead of Khaz the clanless and do what you will with the people who sold you into slavery.”

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