The air was hot with the acrid fumes of decay. Fog seeped out of the broken fingers of the trees, swirling and curling over the moldy earth. Fingers clenched tightly around the tattered leather grip of the broadsword.

“Azriel,” the pyromancer spoke, “we should report back to headquarters. It is not safe to travel The Bogs of Baldeen this late into dusk.” His grey eyes flicked nervously back and forth, as if some unseen foe was awaiting his discovery. He sucked the moist air heavily, feeling as if the thick canopy of the trees were trying to suffocate the dying light of the sun.
Azriel pretended not to hear him, he was more focused on the uncomfortable weight of his soggy black cloak. Which, thanks to his oafish magician BlackTongue, had become stained with mud when the wizard fell into him whilst tripping over a protruding root. He sulkily scrubbed at the crimson “B” of his house sigil. He knew they could not go back.
“We cannot BlackTongue! Don’t you understand? We must reclaim the Dragon’s Bane chalice!” Azriel rasped, “why fear anyway, we are a prince and his peon. No one would kill me I am a Prince! My sister is Queen! My death would drive the kingdoms to. War.” His mouth contorted into a malicious grin at the sound of that most succulent of one-syllable words. BlackTongue shook his head, slightly unsettled by the knight’s thousand yard stare. Azriel’s war-mongering ways always drove House Bazingard to engage in meaningless skirmishes time and time again. If he were to be captured again their house surely would not survive another fight.
“Azriel think!” Being the Queen’s brother is not a guaranteed claim to safety. We don’t have the power to run to your rescue at your whim.” This knave’s false sense of wisdom drew Azriel to madness, he drew his sword and let the tip fall upon the pulsating Adam’s apple of the pyromancer.
“You best learn to hold that BlackTongue of yours fool or I shall be forced to cut it out!”

“Azriel, BEHIND YOU!” BlackTongue shouted in alarm

Azriel turned as a cudgel struck him in the breast plate. He was thrown to the ground as a giant ogre let out a guttural shriek, knobby green arms flailing like a maddened orangutan.
“Hellius Firestorm!” Blacktongue shouted as a fireball launched from his open palm. It splashed on impact upon the ogre, flames licking hungrily upon its leather armor. The ogre snorted in laughter, its chest smoldering as it lumbered closer. Out of the fog three more materialized. Their pointed teeth glistening with saliva, torn blue trousers stained with mud… and blood. BlackTongue unsheathed his dagger. A short hooked blade that was used more for slicing roasted meat then living flesh. He was panicking; even a mage of his skill was no match for such a force. For it is known that ogres have strong resistances to the limited magic of men. Motionless, Azriel lay upon the ground.

“Azriel get the Hadelle up you fool!”
”I can’t” he moaned, “the ogres have immobilizer perks. I cannot move.” The ogres charged. And BlackTongue ran. He cursed at himself for not noticing the deceptively simple weaponry, etched with bright yellow hieroglyphics radiating paralyzing power. BlackTongue shouted to his incapacitated ally,

“Azriel, catch! Mists of Rejuvenation!” He hurled a red and white canister. Azriel caught the device and put it up to his lips, pressed the plunger and inhaled deeply the life-giving mist. His stiffened muscles awoke, revived with increased agility, strength, stamina, and dexterity. With sword in hand he was prepared to overkill. The first ogre fell screaming as metal burst through its chest. As he was yanking his blade free another tried to circle behind him. It swung a crude stone axe but Azriel performed a successful evasive maneuver, kicking the monster’s legs from beneath itself then cleaving its head off in a geyser of black blood. BlackTongue was weakening, trying to run and cast spells as the two ogres gained on him. He felt drained by his overuse of manna and his deteriorating spells couldn’t break the ogre’s magic resistance. Drenched in blood Azriel let out a war-cry and chased after his ally and adversaries. His pudgy cheeks becoming the same color as his wispy red hair. BlackTongue was cornered, a wall of thorns and muck behind him, a wall of death moving closer towards him. He attempted to parry with his dagger but was unarmed easily through the overpowering strength of the ogre. Unarmed and depleted BlackTongue reached for a small item in his pocket. Suddenly a scream rendered the woods as Azriel came charging through, sword raised high above his head. The ogres turned surprised by this most epic spectacle. Azriel leaped though the air, swinging with all his might upon the startled ogres.

Suddenly the mask fell off.
“Guys. GUYS! Everybody pause the game.”

Melvin froze. Sword still in the air.
“Dammit Norman of all the times for your stupid mask to fall off! What the F gives man?” Norm stooped to the ground to pick up the plastic Shrek mask. The elastic cord snapped from Melvin’s excessive force. Fumbling, his fingers nervously tried to retie the broken string. Upon this sad spectacle Melvin’s face turned into sheer reddened terror. BlackTongue and the other ogre awkwardly stood in place exchanging glances. BlackTongue whispered, “Are you almost dead?” The ogre nodded. “Okay. Uh, cool.” One of the ogre corpses propped itself up onto its elbow and retied its shoe lace.
“Man, this is gonna cost your team experience points. You can’t have this happen in the middle of a fight you dingus.”
“Awe come on Melvin!” The would-be ogre shouted back, “It ain’t my fault the friggin string on my mask broke.”
Melvin, arms shaking from holding the sword, huffed “Norm you better get some gooder equipment or else me and the committee are gonna kick you outta the tournament.”
Norm’s eyes widened, “Awe screw you Melvin” he whined as he slipped the mask back on, “ugh. Whatever. Continue game!

Azriel’s sword hit hard against the ogre’s neck. Bones crushed and sinew tore as the sword struck it down. “OW… er um… YYYAAAAARRRGH!” The beast screamed as it died.
“Stupid beast.” Azriel smirked as he kicked the dead ogre in the stomach with his steel shod boots. As he turned to help BlackTongue he found there was no need. The last ogre lay on the ground, Slashed by the numerous cuts of BlackTongue’s little britva. The pyromancer was smiling as he scavenged the carcass.

“Why art thou grinning BlackTongue?” Azriel questioned.
Wordlessly BlackTongue yanked off a satchel made of genuine leather. Too fancy for such a lowly monster to have obtained legally. Slowly, he pulled out a silver chalice with handles carved to look like snarling serpents with glowing ruby eyes. Azriel gasped at the beauty of the Dragon’s Bane.
“Give that to me knave” said Azriel as he yanked the chalice from BlackTongue, “I can’t believe it. I found it. BlackTongue do you know the legend? It is said that whoever drinks from this relic shall raise their experience by two hundred percent! We could kill them all BlackTongue. This kingdom will be mine. Come! We must make haste.” Azriel bolted through the woods. BlackTongue lingered for a second. This kingdom will be mine… BlackTongue stuck his lower lip out as he pondered what his companion just said. Then ran to catch up, his flowing black and scarlet robes tangling majestically between his legs.

When the two warriors departed the ogres awoke from death. Norm ripped off his mask and threw it to the ground. Muttering to himself as he massaged his bruised abdominals. “Friggin Melvin. I hate that kid. Takes this game way too friggin seriously. S’not my fault that frigging string broke. He hit me too hard…” He got up along with his companions and followed a path with a crude wooden sign nailed to a tree reading
SWAMP TOWN. ?
Beware. Lest ye be feast for the beasts.

“Awe whatever, come on guys let’s get back to Swamp Town. Awe man they’re gonna be friggin pissed when they find out I lost that stupid cup to that psycho butt munch.” They followed the path home with resentment growing in their ogre hearts.

The feast at Bazingard was full of merriment.
“THREE CHEERS FOR AZRIEL! THREE CHEERS FOR BLACKTONGUE!”The whole tent was alive with shouts of gratification. Azriel and BlackTongue smiled with deserved pride as they drank and passed the Dragon’s Bane to each member of their order. Men, dwarves, elves, magi specializing in multiple fields, and even a few orcs who defected from the Maloreon Mines. All drank the sweet wine of victory.

“Attention! Attention everyone!” shouted a maroon clad squire, “I present to thee, Lady Lin! Queen of Bazingard!”
The Queen walked through the entrance of the tent and an instantaneous hush fell over the crowd. All eyes stared upon her beauty. Fiery red doublet laced in gold encased a slender but strong frame. Upon straight shoulders fell soft curls of fire. A stern face with soft features held both love and mercy, death and justice. Her voice ignited the still air, “Members, no, Family of House Bazingard tonight is a turning point. Till our return next weekend, battle plans shall be drawn. No longer shall we have to defend ourselves against our enemies. TODAY OUR ENEMIES DEFEND THEMSELVES AGAINST US!”

Cries of agreement flooded the room as people pounded on tables and shouted the praises to Lady Lin and House Bazingard. She smiled at the excitement and joy emanating throughout the tent. Raising a small hand up high she bid for silence.
“I bid thee all farewells and goodnights and shall see you all next Friday and Saturday. Now eat, be mer-“ A pixie flew up and whispered into her ear. Then with a bow flew back into the crowd.
“Oh yes, and do not forget! You must R.S.V.P by tonight if you are attending Pixie Miltree’s Medieval Movie Marathon tomorrow, so talk to her for more information. Have a blessed night and may House Bazingard protect you!”

The tent was empty by ten o’clock at night. By the light of the full moon and some spare flashlights the queen’s servants cleaned up McBurgerTown wrappers and assorted juice boxes and soda cans. Meanwhile, the queen and her younger sibling conversed by their 8-horsepower drawn iron chariot.

“Melvin” Linda spoke as she nervously cleaned her glasses, “you did well today.” She smiled hoping for a smile back.
“Thanks Lind-uh, your grace.” He gave a haughty swooping bow and made as if he were to kiss her feet “Anything for you my liege.” He scoffed. She stepped back, a confused look of disgust crossing her face for a second at such insolence. Quickly she regained her temper in  fear of starting another argument. Before the two could continue a familiar figure clad in black came stumbling and hopping through the parking lot, his cloak entangling his legs.
“Hail Jonathan” Linda said with a curt smile and a laugh, “what brings you here, shouldn’t you be home practicing spells hahaha.”
“Mel-auu. I-I… hhuuuuh, I need… in-i-inhaler. Now!”
Melvin shook his head and smiled wickedly. “I don’t know who or what your talking about.”
Pupils wide in confusion and pain Jonathan blubbered, “Wh-whut? Inhaler?” He fumbled with his hands trying to imitate the device in question. “Ughack, guh Now!”
Melvin continued the interrogation, ignoring his sister as she pleaded for him to give back the inhaler. “Call me by my proper name Blacky, I am a prince of Bazingard, and I don’t know what this inhaler is you speak of.”

The mage’s face twisted in anger and pain, “Oh fuughhh, ya g-guh-gotta be kiddin- Az-azuh-reel, Mist- Rejuvenation. Gimme now! Wheez, I’m gonna huh die!” Melvin laughed as he tossed him the inhaler. Jonathan snatched it, pressing and inhaling greedily. Gaunt cheeks sucking in as he took one gigantic breath after another. Slowly letting the air out of his chest he gave one spiteful look at Melvin, then at Linda sternly. She looked down at her feet, embarrassed at what just happened. “My lady” He said as he turned and ran off to his car. Before he was out of sight they watched as his foot caught his cloak and he collapsed into a tan sedan. Melvin went into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
“Melvin, hush now.” He proceeded to laugh. “MELVIN!” Linda’s voice grew irritated and she grabbed her brother by his shoulders. “Melvin. Listen to me. Stop being so callous towards everyone. People are starting to hate you in the real world now.” Her face grew soft as her brother stared sympathetically at her. “Ya gotta remember Mel. This is just a game.”

Just a game??? Azriel laughed in his mind at the preposterous notion. He hopped into the passenger door. Silent as he planned death in his mind.
Just a game. This isn’t some stupid game. You’ll see how much of a game this is when I usurp the throne. MY rightful throne. This isn’t a game.
LARP is love. LARP
…Is life.