Gulan stomped off towards the center of the Khazini territory. The axe felt quite good in his hands. It almost made him feel satisfied, but not quite. He decided that he would risk being seen by his people one last time, and travel upwards to the Dwarven kingdom. It was closer to the surface, and he would have a greater chance of running into stupid adventurers upon which he could recklessly mete out injury. As an added bonus, he would happen to be going through Scalemin territory. He recalled that the Scalemin were not as warlike as their Lizardman cousins, and hoped that he would get to try a few of them out on the end of his new axe before the journey was done.
He passed through the center of his former territory unhindered. Most of the Khazini were attending a matriarchal ascension. They happened whenever an elder matriarch died, and her position was taken by a new female. Gulan had sped that ascension himself, by slaying the elder matriarch for the female that was taking her position on this day. For that reason, and because of his disinterest in following the tenets of the Khazini lifestyle, Gulan had been exiled. He quickly climbed the columns and ladders to the higher levels above the home of his people. “Never again will I set foot in that hell,” thought Gulan, as he made the final climb out of his old territory into a no-man’s land between their caverns and those of the Lizardmen.
He stalked the Lizardman territory for several days…completely unaware of the danger that lurked just behind him at nearly every step. The Nombril was closing on its prey. Gulan had no idea anything was hunting him, or he might have fled. He killed Lizardmen as he found them, often without them even getting a chance to counterattack or even to react at all.
“This greataxe is clearly of a superior quality. It must be heavily enchanted,” muttered Gulan. To his extreme surprise, the axe actually responded. It was just a sensation, not a verbal or even telepathic response, but it was a definitive “YES.” Gulan’s hairless hide prickled, the tiny shark-like scales stiffened in an imitation of goose bumps. Intrigued, Gulan decided to pursue the thought further. /You must be ancient, to be so powerful,/ thought Gulan, still not convinced enough to even whisper aloud the thought. “YES,” was the immediate reply from the greataxe. This time, there was no mistaking it as a fluke or as an errant artifact of his own mind. Gulan nearly dropped the axe with the shock of realization that this gaudy, overdressed greataxe was addressing his questions directly even when he only thought them to himself!
Would you like to kill again?, thought Gulan, now thoroughly entranced by the “talking” greataxe.
“YES”
“Okay then,” thought Gulan aloud, “who’s next?” There was no reply from the weapon. Gulan decided that the weapon simply didn’t care who was next.
Gulan had wandered through Lizardman territory leaving a path of corpses that was easily readable by all but the most simple of creatures. The Lizardmen had finally been alerted to the menacing Khazin that was randomly killing their brothers, and had created a full search party to wipe out the intruder. When they discovered that he had passed on through their territory into the regions occupied by Dwarves, they decided instead to let the murderous Khazin go. They were uninterested in explaining their losses to the Dwarves, who would be eager to take advantage of a weakened Lizardman tribe. They chalked up the deaths to the cost of living near Khazini zealots and went home dejectedly.
The Nombril stood over the lifeless body of the Ota, Brambles. It had been even more difficult than killing the Sorceress, but The Nombril had prevailed once again. It had used more of its power reserves than it thought prudent in order to destroy the Druid, but a Druid would never have left The Nombril alone, once discovered. It was too much of an abomination to nature, no lover of nature would willingly ignore its presence. Fortunately, the Ota Druid had a great reserve of spells, which The Nombril had now added to its own repertoire. This was one aspect of The Nombril that historians had gotten right.
“It appears that most knowledge from a slain subject becomes temporarily accessible to the creature. This only takes place if the creature has the opportunity to contact the victim psychically during the encounter, and when faced with multiple targets, The Nombril unerringly seeks out those with arcane, divine, or metaphysical (psionic) powers, and attempts to usurp those powers from that victim before moving on to destroy others, often using spells stolen from the mind of the slain individual.” –excerpt from The Book of Constructs, by Uriah Paumborter, Artificer
Gulan’s grin went wide with glee as he spied the small band of Scalemin. He had unknowingly passed through the edge of Dwarven territory and back out into the wilds of The Deep. The Scalemin were particularly distasteful to the anarchic Khazin. He once again felt his blood boil in his head, and his arms grew light. The greataxe seemed to gleam with joy at the possibility of drawing the life from another creature. It buzzed positively in Gulan’s grip, and he tightened his fingers on the well-worn haft as he grimly strode forward into the field of view of the Scalemin.
It never occurred to Gulan that he might be quite close to the surface at this point in his travels. Ever since he had attacked the cavern wall that the sneaky Ota had hidden in, he had been overwhelmed with a desire to kill and spread chaos. It was overriding his natural inclinations to self-preservation, and driving him much closer to the sun that he had ever been before.
