The Curator Onalna stood with the stone in her hand. According to Lord Arlash of Chooru, the stone had been recovered from a nest of Mag Der’al. The room had gotten heated when the gentleman adventurer had presented it, so Onalna had it brought to the back room under the watchful eye of her hired adept, Maverick Multimancer.
In her hands, one side of the round and smooth stone crumbled away. The empty hollow inside was a the perfect impression of an Olgog hand, but only dust was in it. And a shine? A strange shine, as bits of shattered crystal tumbled from the hole in the stone ball. This had once held a crystal, but something had broken the crystal.
Maverick hollered, “Woah there Madame Curator. Don’t let any of that dust his the…damn.”
One of the crystal particulates struck the floor and fullsize Olgog of Brezan and Karovian bloodline stepped forth. His fists were calloused and his eyes spoke of the madness of endless warfare.
He sneered at the Curator and at Maverick.
“What you don’t want to let them all free?” he asked with a sadistic grin, “Don’t worry I’ll be back to release the rest of my GulTor’Gor. And when that time comes, no fop in a red hat, and no curator is going to stop me.”
One of his massive paws swung out knocking Maverick out with a single strike. The other grabbed Onalna by the throat lifting her up. He held a single finger over her mouth, while his eyes scanned the party-goers outside. His eyes fell upon Olgog the Olgog and a rage so great it nearly consumed him grew in his belly. That was the monster who had battered his pride on that beach. He would have to be the first to suffer. But not here not now.
Too many other threats. Rapi’og considered crushing the red hat’s head, but he needed the adept to keep the mirror lalder from escaping as well. There was too much for him to do here before the tyrant escaped, Rapi’og thought.
Rapi’og let the curator go and grabbed a long black cloak. He wrapped it around himself and pushed out the doorway. He followed the infamous Olgogs scent, passing by the beautiful and haunting statues of the torment of immutable cubs. He had no sympathy. If Bill had done the right thing, Rapi’og thought, OtO would have been a dead baby, and Rapi’og would have taken the armies of Mag Buskt as his own. Rapi’og never realized how drastically different his story might have been if OtO had died as a baby.
He passed by a jolly roger as it fluttered at the entrance to the Museum where it had been hung.
Under its dark swaying form, he finally disappeared into the Brezan night.
Onalna the Curator finally got her wits about her and chased after him. Smacking straight into a dark knight trying to tell her Lord Morgoth visited the goblin lands. She grabbed the knight by the face and barked, “That is not Lord Morgoth. That is his father Bishop Kasanth Dannor. If you have any honor at all. Help me find the tall Olgog who just walked past here in a black cloak. If he escapes…”
Sir Mag’Nrs said, “A damsel in distress? I am here for you mlady curator.”
