Leon stopped at the corridor’s intersection and signaled for the rest of his adventuring party to stay back. Leon began to peer around the corners, keeping a tight grip on his mage staff.

First in line behind Leon was Victor, who fidgeted impatiently as Leon observed the surroundings. Victor stood at an imposing seven feet in height, a full foot above Leon, and he was not one to wait around. He scratched the back of his neck under his long blonde hair, fingering his enchanted claymore in anticipation of the next fight.

Leaning on her longbow behind him was the elven woman Whitedove. At five feet, she was utterly dwarfed by the massive Victor, and even Leon rose a foot taller than her. She wore the form-fitting green outfit of a ranger, which seemed out of place next to Victor’s polished armor or Leon’s flowing blue robe.

In the rear, oblivious to any danger he might be in, Gron was busy gnawing his fingernails. He was a goblin, and thus the shortest of the group, dressed in stinking rags. Whitedove had her objections about traveling with a goblin, but Leon had defended his useful thieving skills, and she relented.

Leon saw no danger to either side of the group, so he signaled the o.k. to the party and continued to walk forward.

"So, Leon, when are we gonna see some action?" Victor asked in his deep bass voice.

Leon sighed in mild annoyance. "You’ll get plenty once we find Fearon. Meanwhile, keep on your toes. That goes for all of you."

"Right," Gron and Whitedove agreed in unison.

After five or so more minutes of walking, Leon arrived at an ironbound oak door. Motes of magic hung about the keyhole. Leon motioned for his companions to halt again and held his staff parallel to the ground, chanting what sounded like gibberish, closing his eyes in concentration.

Suddenly his eyes snapped open, and blue energy shone brightly from his pupils. He looked intently at the lock for a moment before speaking.

"Gron," he said in a soft whisper, "this lock is heavily enchanted. If you touch it, it’ll blow us all to bits. I can dispel it, but that will only buy you about ninety seconds, and I can’t cast it again. I detect some hideously powerful magic beyond this door, so I can only assume Fearon is behind it. So, listen up everyone, I’m only gonna say this once."

The other three nodded, and Leon continued. "I’ll dispel the trap, and Gron will pick the lock. Once he gets it open, Victor, throw the door open with your sword out to protect us from his initial onslaught of spells. Whitedove, cover us with your bow, while I ready my own counter-magic. Gron, hurl some of your flaming oil bombs to distract him. After my initial cast, Victor, attack his front, and Gron, try to get behind him so you can do some real damage. Whitedove and I are no good up close and personal, so we’ll hang back and launch our attacks from a distance. Got it?"

"Let’s do this," Victor said. The others nodded in agreement. Gron walked close to the door and Leon began his chanting again. Victor flanked Gron, and Whitedove stood beside Leon. Whitedove readied her bow, Victor drew forth his scorched claymore, Gron retrieved his lockpicks, and Leon completed his spell, spreading his arms suddenly in a bright flash of light.

"Go!" he ordered.

Gron made short work of the lock with time to spare, and Victor threw the door open, jumping a step into the room beyond, holding his great sword vertically before him, gripping the weapon tightly in both hands. The room was occupied by a table equipped with some sort of restraining devices, a wizard in blood red robes, and over a dozen gibbering imps.

The wizard wasted no time and flung a bolt of lightning at Victor. The bolt slammed hard into the warrior’s blade, knocking him back half a step, but the blade absorbed the attack.

"Not as powerful as you thought, eh, Fearon?" Victor shouted with a laugh.

"Imps?!" asked Gron nervously, throwing a corked vial of black liquid into the crowd of imps. The vial smashed against an imp’s forehead, and the imp burst into a fiery inferno, falling into a smoking heap. The other imps seemed undisturbed and advanced toward Victor, gibbering more loudly than before.

"I had no idea," Leon admitted to Gron, and he prepared another spell. Whitedove silently let loose three arrows into the room, only one of which hitting its mark, embedding itself savagely into an imps right eye, disabling the gibbering beast.

Fearon threw another bolt at Victor, with the same results. Fearon snarled in annoyance. Gron drew his rusty dagger, and Whitedove let loose another volley of arrows, all of which missed. Whitedove cursed the small targets. Victor held his ground, stepping forward once to regain lost balance.

"Chain Lightning!" yelled Leon in plain common after chanting. A bolt of pure electricity shot out of his staff as he pointed it at the closest imp. The bolt flew swiftly, and struck the imp squarely in the chest, exploding the beast into ashes. The bolt was not done yet, though. It hopped from where the imp stood to another imp, and then another, and another, with similar results. The bolt then hopped to Fearon, who harmlessly absorbed it.

"He’s immune to magic!" shouted Leon. "Attack now!"

Victor led the assault, charging forward with a blood-curdling yell, but was intercepted by a pair of imps. He quickly cleaved the first in two, but the second took advantage of Victor’s attack and slashed the warrior’s hand with its poisoned stinger. Victor’s attack had thrown him slightly off-balance, and his sword was knocked out of his slashed hand. Gron hesitated to make an attack.

Fearon took the opportunity to blast Victor with a third lightning bolt. Without his enchanted blade to protect him, Victor took the full force of the attack, and was thrown hard against the wall next to the door. Victor collapsed into a limp heap, sparking with electricity. Four imps lunged onto his prone form, clawing, biting and stinging him until a pool of crimson blood formed under them.

"No!" shouted Whitedove, running into the fray. Leon intercepted her, catching her shoulder in midstride.

"Retreat, Whitedove," Leon said solemnly. "We can’t win. The portal will stay open for fifteen more minutes. If I can hold them off, you and Gron can make it."

"But-"

"Don’t argue! Go!" Leon ordered, pushing her back out of the room, slamming the door, and separating himself from the elf and goblin. Leon turned to face his opponents.

"I’ll see you soon, Victor," Leon said as he chanted another spell.

"Not this time," Fearon cackled. "Seize him!"

Fearon pointed at Victor, and the remaining imps charged. Leon completed his spell, and the lead imps slammed hard into an invisible wall.

The remaining imps split into two teams to flank Leon, and Leon’s spell did not protect his sides. Leon, out of magic, spun to the right, and cracked his heavy oak staff against the lead imp’s skull. The crack echoed loudly, and the imp fell, moaning and bleeding.

Leon could not turn fast enough to intercept the attack from the other side, however, and he was ambushed from behind. Leon was knocked hard to the stone floor, his staff skittering across the floor. He could feel six small bodies pinning him to the floor.

"Our deaths will be avenged, Fearon," Leon said matter-of-factly.

"Your death has not yet arrived, fool," Fearon replied. "Imps! Restrain him! He will be most useful."

Leon was carried to the table and the imps restrained his wrists and ankles with steel wire. Fearon pulled a small knife from his robes and looked down at Leon.

Leon gave up. He had lost, his adventures over. "Disconnect," he ordered quietly.

For a moment, all Leon could see or hear was static. Then his senses returned, but his situation was not better than before.

"Unable to comply," a voice echoed in his head. Leon broke into a cold sweat, and was, for once, lost for words.

"This may hurt… tremendously," Fearon warned, and he laughed the cruel cackle of the insane.