“The Big Break is On Tonight…”

As it turned out, the gas from Lady Ira’s spell-tablet had tarnished the guard’s keys along with their bronze weapons. Still, the corrosive gas had weakened the cell door hinges too; just enough for Dragon-Face to burst them open with a blow from his shoulder.


“Mmmm?” Uuco muttering, squirming against the many bonds tying him, glancing left and right despite the thick blindfold covering his eyes. “Mmm! Mmm!”

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“How to Get a Head in Life…”

Dragon Face, Pilgrim and champion of the Southern Arenas, raced to reunite with his friends, carrying the bloodstained head of his bitter rival in his right hand.


He slid to a stop outside the gates of Baruck, holding aloft his gristly war prize. “Hail, guardians of the wall!” He proclaimed in a booming baritone. “Unseal your gates and admit this champion, returning in triumph!”


Strangely enough, the guards refused to let him in.

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“This Can’t Be Balanced…”

“Your story sounds quite implausible, Lady Ira,” Captain Zarth remarked dryly, tapping his flail against his bare arm.


“It does sound implausible,” Lady Ira agreed. “It is also true.”


Captain Zarth sighed, tucking his flail through his belt. “I believe you,” he said. “Gnashers!” He barked to his men, drawing his own bronze mace and gesturing. “Arrest them!”

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