a collection of artwork,

battle logs, and stories

from the boardgame
Too Many Bones

written by: James Boutilier

illustrated by: Anthony LeTourneau
designed by: Josh Carlson
 produced by
Chip Theory Games
Chip Theory Games is a boardgame design
company founded by Adam Carlson and
Josh Carlson in 2012. The company’s top
priorities are: exceptional game-play, high-
end components, and maintaining an active
and personal dialogue with their fans and the
gaming community at large.

The game Too Many Bones, its characters,

and even some of its game mechanics were
inspired by the many hours invested in
MMORPGs like EQ, AC2, WoW, DAoC,
Vanguard, and so many others.

CTG’s success would not have been possible

without all the love and support given by:
Mikenzie Carlson, Serena Carlson, Kirk and
Ginny Dyreson, Cheryl Morgan, our entire
convention and event staff, and of course, our
“play-makers” - the thousands of Kickstarter
supporters and owners of CTG games.

Adam Carlson Josh Carlson

COPYRIGHT © 2016 CHIP THEORY GAMES

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Contents

MAP
PROLOGUE ...............................................6
LOGBOOK ENTRIES ................................8
Picket ....................................................10
Boomer .................................................12
Tink .......................................................15
Tantrum ................................................18
Patches ..................................................22
Ghillie ...................................................25
Nugget ..................................................28
THE EBON .................................................34
Goblins .................................................36
Orcs ......................................................38
Trolls ....................................................40
Golems & Bogs .....................................42
Wolves, Owlbears, & Griffins..............44
Dragons & Kobolds.............................46
ADVENTURE INTO BALON ....................48
Day 8 - In Over Our Heads .................49
Day 9 - A Dire Story of Wolves...and
maybe a Dragon ...................................59
Day 10 - Home is Where the Truth Is..89
prologue
The Deepwood, an uncharted and ominous place that
claims the entire mid-west region of Daelore. This
seemingly untraversable forest encroaches upon the very
edges of the Sibron river, isolating much of the northern
hemisphere. One ancient path winds its way through her
darkened woods, yet some would insist it is even more
perilous than the woods itself.

A shroud of mystery fueled by tall-tales, has kept the

Deepwood and those that live hidden inside it, safe and
unknown to the rest of Daelore for centuries. This is,
however, no longer the case. As the leaves turn a new cycle
begins, and with it comes a stirring in the north. Day by
day the Deepwood is becoming corrupted, morphing her
into the horrible place spoken of in the legends. This veiled
forest and those within, are being overrun by an ancient
foe known as the Ebon. This impending threat has forced
Deepwood inhabitants out of their primordial cover with
no other choice but to take shelter within the walls of
Obendar. You are one of these refugees.

Due to your reclusive lifestyle, many in town are

encountering your race for the very first time. Some in
town believe you to be an elf, due to your distinct facial
features; others, would say a goblin, from your size and
build. Others still, would insist your high technological
aptitude proves you a gnome! Only those most intimate
with the Deepwood, know your true kind and kin
6
as: Gearlocs. Big-eared, thin-bodied creatures with a
conflicting love of nature and machine, and overall, an
insatiable thirst for adventure!

Gearlocs are an old race and your numbers have dwindled

over the centuries to less than 100. The Council of Eight,
made up of elder Gearlocs, know the Ebon and the dire
threat they present. The Ebon are melting a pot of lawless
creatures ruled by tyrants, each with a firm stranglehold
on various northern regions of Daelore. Because each of
these regions has little to no communication with one
another, it is the Council’s belief that a smaller party will be
most effective in overcoming this threat by systematically
infiltrating and removing their leaders. They have selected
your party of adventurers and have tasked you with
venturing northward to silence the Ebon for good, one
tyrant at a time.

This was never to be your task alone! Others were

sequestered, but the Obendar militia is thin in ranks and
any sellswords worth hiring have already been swayed by
the promise of plundering rights if they aid the enemy. But
no matter! For you are Gearlocs! And being the resourceful
and fearless race that you are, your party has happily
accepted this challenge! You will be among the first to
travel north in many decades and your adventure begins
today!

7
To Council Elder Gavenkog,

As you requested, I have informed our party of

the importance of individual accounts during this
first week. However, I question why my report
alone does not suffice. Be that as it may, I will
collect these reports by week’s end and send
them by way of Ghillie’s hawk. After that, we
will have ventured too far north for any reliable
means of communication with you or the rest of
the Council.

I must warn you, some of these companions you’ve

chosen are not well-spoken. Tantrum
seems to grunt more than he
speaks and Tink is constantly
stuttering and muttering. I don’t
have much confidence in their
written entries. I will try to
set the proper tone and
example by going first and
maybe they will use it as a
reference. I’ll begin my
report this very evening
with the Sibron river not
a day away.

Picket

8
9
Liberation Log - Day 2

My chest is swelling with pride.

Of course I’m sure everyone expected success

when you seated yours truly at the helm, but it
is the team that shone today. They displayed
what a prepared and determined team can do
under the leadership of a confident strategist.
Suffice it to say, the Deepwood’s future has been
entrusted to the most appropriate mind and hands.

‘Bring on the northern threat!’ I’ll match their

force, no, I’ll thwart their intrusion with the same
contempt and flair seen in battle today. Where
they have size I have speed, where they have
numbers I have strategy, and where they have
power I have invention. Some artists paint on
paper, but the battlefield is my canvas and my
teammates are the strokes of my brush!

It is true a few skirmishes went

a little, off-script, due to the
over-enthusiasm of some younger
and more zestful members.
Because of our zeal we relied
a little more heavily
upon Patches’ healing
concoctions than
future engagements
10
will hopefully require. But rest assured, honorable
council, that for generations to follow songs will
be sung and bedtime stories written about the
deeds we are set to accomplish in the coming
days.

Today I would like to commend Boomer and

Tantrum whose off-the-rails approach, albeit
somewhat naïve, was both effective and colorful.
I’m sure in the days to come these journals will
prove the talents and merits of the rest of our
illustrious troop.

We are aware that the road ahead becomes

ever more perilous the closer we come to the
treacherous north, but the new landscape and
its encounters only serve to sharpen our mettle,
heighten our senses and secure the unity of our
resolve. Every battle is both an opportunity to
design a more memorable and predictable next
encounter, and a knife in resolve of our mutual
enemy.

We see our destiny approaching with every inch

of forest left behind, but our nemesis will not see
us coming – they will only hear of the valor and
might of what comes to meet them. And what of
tomorrow? I say, one more time into the fray!

Picket
11
Logbook - Day 2 & 3

Whooooh!! Everybody say, Yeee-Haaa!

There were bodies diving behind boulders,

launching into the Great Oaks and sprawling
into all kinds of twisty pretzel contortions.
That was more fun than Initiation Day back in
the Deepwood.

Good 'ol Tink didn't let me down either. I don't

know what mechanical thing-a-ma-jig he
added to my grenades, but wow did the pink
mushroom powder go off like stink! 'Can I
say stink?' Haha, I
just did…deal with it.
Oh…I have got to take a
few deep breaths and say
something useful here? I
just felt so, so alive being back
in the woods so close to…home.

Okay, so I got a little excited

and spent my supply a little
early in the mash-up, but my
buddy Tantrum had my back. I
grabbed the little spark plug by the
one good horn on his head and
launched him into the oncoming
band of, well, I can't really say

12
13
what they all were with all the new intruders
breaching our forest, but it doesn't matter
- Tantrum knocked them down like he was
bowling toadstools! I know what to call them…
sport!

Yeah…it was a good day. But we're still close to

home and had the advantage. Picket knew the
layout and we could count on Ghillie to have
an ear on what was approaching.

It won't be all kick'ins and lick'ins the further

north we march, leaving our familiar woods
behind. The more I think of it, I'm
almost hesitant to leave even
this stinkhole city that's
been our makeshift
home this past while.
I think I'll just follow
Picket's lead on this one
and just not think but
instead - do!

Boomer

14
Required Log Entry - Day ?

I must remember to
remind you, that is,
the council that, well,
I didn’t need to be here
in the first place. I’m
committed to my duty,
but, my mini-mechs are
capable, very capable
I say to take orders,
your orders, my orders,
somebody’s orders on
the field and, well, act
accordingly.

Hum..? Oh yes, the day,

how the day went. Well, it went
smashingly. Oh my, smashingly is
such an unfeeling thing to say about a day of
battle, isn’t it? Well, isn’t it? Maybe not. But
it was a sight. Gearloc and mech side by side.
I couldn’t be more proud of the little guys- Oh
oh, the mechs I mean, not ‘our’ little guys, haha.
Don’t tell Tantrum I said that or he’ll get the
wrong idea- he’s so touchy.

The day, right. Ouch! Oh, that’s where I put your

pincher- ha! One of the spider-bots lost a leg
today. Sometimes I feel a little like Patches

15
16
repairing parts whether organic or mechanic.
Truth be told, it was Tantrum that hit the little
bugger. Got in his line of sight I suppose. But
that was Tantrum’s fault... he should have let
my mech be and do what he was programmed to
do and there wouldn’t have been any need for
Tantrum to be there in the first place, now
would there little fella.

Oh, I’m not talking to you, the Council... that is,

one of my bots just came over for his missing
pincher, hobbling left and right, but he did make it.
He is determined- they all are. You can count on
them.

That’s what I was saying...there’s no need for

me to be here in the first place. Or at best, I
can stay back at camp and remotely fiddle with
whatever hiccup...Hum...maybe I can rig a thing or
two with this gear and, ah, that sprocket and
make a plug for the team’s ears where they can
give the mechs new commands on the go? Yes?
No?

What am I supposed to say here anyway? Hum?

We showed up, people fought, my mechs did what
they were made to do, some people died, some
mechs were damaged. No no, don’t worry, we
still have plenty of constructions here, and I can
rebuild things on the fly from scavenged parts...
17
if Tantrum would stop dismembering them.
I-I got to get back to work, tomorrow is coming
quickly and I’d like to hash out plans
for this new remote command
override gizmo.

Tink

Logbook thing - Day 3

Pardon the food stains but fight'n makes

me hungry, and thirsty. I'm sure I'll be
unconscious before I get this stupid
thing written, if this juice
is what I think it is- good
ol' Patches! What can I
say, I might be small
but I fill the shoes of
three of you, and it does
work up a mighty appetite.
You got somethin'
to say
about
it?

18
And while we're talk'n,
what's up with Boomer
tossing me around like a
common wood dwarf? Talk
about invading my personal
space, taking advantage
of my rather lower line of
sight- why I didn't even see
her skinny arm reach down to
lift me up! I should'da lifted
her up...on the end of my good
helmet horn! I was of half
a mind to do just that,
after I shook the stars
out of that landing! But those
good for noth'n dirt-kickers
softened the fall well enough-
ha ha!

Boomer would line'em up and

I'd knock'em down. She'd
shoot the first one and
I'd clobber the next. Now,
if Tink would learn to keep
those meddlesome mechanical
contraptions out of our

19
20
way...I can barely see over-top of them!
It's fine enough for him, huddled behind
some boulder or piece of deadwood.

Guess it 'did' end well alright. I must

have looked rather heroic soaring through
the air, the wind rushing through
my broken horn and howling
like a wild banshee, power
axe glistening as the sun
hit its power core. Tink
made the thing big enough
that I wonder what
those vermin saw
coming first, me or
my wondrous axe of
destruction!

That's right, fear

me! I'm coming for you,
and whatever goodies
you've got stored up.

Tantrum,
Harbinger of Doom!

21
Liberation Logbook Entry - Day 4

I never understood the supposition that a field medic

ought to be a wet nurse. My profession has more to
contribute than the patching of various boo-hoos and
missing parts while friends and family rush towards
ultimately bad endings.

The human doctors have a saying, ‘Do no harm.’ Well,

we Gearloc practitioners are more practical…Oh, did you
see what I did there? I made a funny off the word
practice. And my friends say I am without humor. Don’t
worry you’ll get it, eventually.

But I digress, and I do so loathe digressing…almost as

much as recording these verbose scribblings when I
should be seeing to those, runny noses.

While I’ll dress wounds and reset broken bones, I’m merely
patching Gearloc meat for the grinder. Medicine then can
be an act of neglect on the battlefield. Must I remind
the council this is not my first performance in the theatre
of war?

So, the logical solution, the only solution that sees my

compatriots avoiding further critical distress, is to put
my bonesaw to better use - that is, by removing our
opponent’s ability to walk, swing or breathe in the first
place. One of them saves three of us - now that’s good
medicine.

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23
Oh, unscrew your judgmental faces and grow a set of
ear-points! Medicine both heals and prevents, and this
medic would rather err on the side of severe prevention.
I’d sooner drop a five-foot giant with a poisoned needle
than wait to fix whatever atrocity he has planned for
one of ours. Besides, it would be a quick acting poison…I
am ethical after all.

In such light, it was a good day. Any day my tools of

employment are visited upon the enemy as opposed to my
friends, well, that has the makings of a good day. And
fear not, there were still plenty of runny noses to wipe
and adrenaline shots to satisfy your squeamish stomachs.

Surmising by this eclectic band

you all have consigned to Picket,
the days ahead will see plenty
of opportunity for both compassion
and extreme prejudice, soothing
ointments and more aggressive
amputations…and if I have
any influence in the matter,
I’ll be saving the ointments for
our team.

This entry is finished- I have

a bonesaw to sharpen.

Patches

24
Logbook - Day 5

Ahh…quiet. It’s finally quiet, and

still. No one is jumping from
behind trees or bushes, no one
waiting to ambush a mile up
the path or appearing from behind
dark shadows. Only ear plugs left
to put in, a heavy cloak to roll up in,
then find some hole to fill.

I know, I know…I can’t. I’ve got

first watch, and second…ehh, maybe
third. It’s not that I don’t trust the
others to defend the perimeter,
but they ‘are’ a little short in the
ear and in too celebratory a mood.
Now’s not the time to celebrate…
deafens the senses…dulls the
defenses. A bottle of ale can mean
the difference between hearing the
enemy a mile out, or not until he’s
stabbing everyone in their sleep.
No, not a good idea. I might be
quick with a bow, but that’s leaving
too much to chance. I don’t like chance.
25
It’s fine. I need Tink to tune up my mech-leg
anyway, it was a little stiff today. A lot of
good it is to spot a troop a couple miles out
if they overtake me as I’m hobbling back to
camp on one leg.

Besides, I have a reconnaissance mission

first thing in the morning. I’m sure Patches
can cook something up to keep the cobwebs out
tonight and a booster for the morning. We’ll be
good to go.

After today I’ll want to scout a little

farther out- there were too many surprises.
Sure everyone fought well, better than
expected actually, but readiness is
better than blind
reaction. A few
more traps along a
wider perimeter
are sure to
calm my nerves
a bit, unless
they do something
completely

26
27
unexpected... Luckily, Picket is more than
capable of turning little information into an
albeit flamboyant campaign, a successful
campaign all the same.

Well, I can’t be dividing my attention on what

to write when there’s still so much to ready.
Not to worry, I’ve got our bases covered for
tonight and the group will be ready for the
coming battle. Every skirmish betrays the
enemy’s tactics and the earlier I can get my
ears on their business the bigger the blow we
will deliver.

Ghillie

Liberation Logbook - Day 6

Yeah, yeah, yeah… I know – I’m late to the

party and from what it looks like - the last
entry. I’m just “hyped!” I got invited to
the party. Okay, “technically” I wasn’t –
actually – invited… more like party-crasher.
But I come dressed for a good fight!

Come on, when I overheard the Council

28
mentioning that the middle of the show was
going to be a bit tough, and that you were
so concerned for the gang and—

-okay, maybe not so worried for the gang

as much as worried for the future of our
Deepwoods. And maybe you and the other
elders didn’t exactly know I joined the
party. Haha, well, surprise!

You should have sent me from the start,

so it’s your own fault. Did
you really think I’d
let my gal Boomer
get thrown to
the wolves and
not be there?
What’evs.

Boomer and I
haven’t been apart
on an adventure
since, well, since
n-e-v-e-r. At
least not since
our ears were
bigger than
our arms. I mean,
where do you think
Boomer got her
29
name? And would anyone live with a name
like “Nugget” if not given between sisters?
Okay, maybe not “actual” sisters, but as
close as you can get without bleeding the
same blood.

I mean, that girl can make things go Boom!

Nugget though, sounds like something
Tantrum would come up with, but we were
kids. Haha, sounds like a name that would
suit him instead. But I get it. I don’t think
Boomer ever sees me without a sling or bolo
in one hand and a pouch full of anything
I can find or make to shoot from it. And
when I started adding explosive nuts to my
arsenal, she was all in my face, like, “Come
on, gimme a try, gimme a shot Nuggs.”
Eh…forget I mentioned Nuggs. I’ll stick with
Nugget.

I can’t wait for them to see me. Oh yeah,

I forgot to mention that didn’t I? I haven’t
actually joined the party, yet. I’ve been
picking off a few scouts from behind cover.
I think Ghillie caught a glimpse of me once
last night because he snapped his head
my way when I pinged an Orc scout in
the snout, and then ordered one of Tink’s
spider-thingies to check out my cover.
Luckily I was faster than that. I couldn’t
30
31
resist sneaking into camp last night and
swiping this logbook just for sport. But
I’ll have to show myself tomorrow. I’m
running out of food, and the fighting is
getting pretty thick. I haven’t seen Boomer
or Patch yet, but I’ve certainly heard her
aftermath.

I can’t wait for tomorrow!

Nugget

Liberation Log - Day 7

That’s it for entries. I’m sending these two days

later than intended! While I don’t condone Nugget
stalking us, I do agree with her - she should
have been with us from the start. As it turned
out, she arrived just in time to warn us of what
she’d seen from the foothills. For the past 48
hours we’ve had nothing but wave after wave of
‘happenstance’ encounters...I hope my sarcasm is
clear. Something is not right! These trees are
crawling with Goblin scouts and every access
point to the river this stretch of Daelore is
being watched. I’m not liking this hawks chances
of reaching Obendar. You said this was a secret
32
mission, right? It’s as if we’ve been blowin
trumpets every step of the way for all the low-
life Ebon fodder that’s already crossed our path.
I mean no disrespect to the Council but someone
knows more to this story than I do. I don’t care
what the Council decided was our best route, my
team is in danger and I’ve decided we are going
to alter our course. Don’t worry, we will still fulfill
our task, but I’m going to take some precautions
I didn’t think I’d have to.

Picket

33
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 Adventure into Balon
a gearloc story

by James G Boutilier
2016

48
Day 8
In Over Our Heads

It was becoming difficult to breathe for all the water they were
gulping, every time they risked surfacing from the swamp’s
murky grasp for a sip of precious air. The best part of the day
was already spent with their bellies stuck to its floor, while a
small but persistent dragon spat burning phlegm down around
them, threatening to ignite the whole swamp. Thank goodness
for small mercies that the overgrown lizard was still too young
to be a serious flamer; young in dragon years but still effective
none the less. Picket’s finely plumed mohawk was not near
as monumental, having already suffered a few near misses.
There’s nothing like the sight, or smell, of a Gearloc on fire,
running for dear life as he plunges unceremoniously into the
equally pungent bog.

Sure, there were breaks in the assault but their choices for
escape were limited, and they could hear something gathering
just beyond their restricted vision; something with less
menacing playfulness - something hungry. Tink’s mechanical

49
spider-bots had begun to malfunction thanks to the swamp’s
infecting sludge, and Ghillie couldn’t get enough air to
distinguish between a wolf huffing and the sound of his own
pulse beating like a drum in his quivering ears. Though what
was unmistakeable was the sound of powerful jaws grinding,
and grinding, and grinding. It was bizarre how cold they could
feel with the air above becoming increasingly infused with fire.

“And now I think my thoughts have become unsettlingly

sporadic, or maybe that’s just the onset of asphyxiation,” Picket
considered. “At least that means sleep comes next,” he finished,
both disgusted for feeling so defeated and yet relieved that the
burden of leadership was nearly over, regardless of how the
now wearisome mantle got put down. For all his pomp and
bravado, it seems neither fine breeding nor fancy dress helped
anyone this day.

Tink was considerably older than the young leader and the
rest of the gang, and so he had grown to appreciate the “hide
and seek” approach to battle; he would hide and let his
automatrons do the seeking, and all the heavy lifting. It was
times like these that his lack of overexertion came in handy.
While everyone was exhausted from both the week’s relentless
battles and the molasses-like grip this bog had on their limbs,
Tink was still surprisingly spry. Knowing his air was quickly
fading, and that his only likely chance of waking up again
rested in his underappreciated inventions, Tink blindly felt
around inside his satchel bag for the right module.

“Eureka !” Tink bubbled through the muck, pulling free a clear

dome full of gears and tubes. He pulled himself through the
bog and located the nearest spider-bot.

50
Unfortunately, its own mechanical limbs were twitching
without purpose while various ports and orifices spat and
gurgled. It didn’t matter, Tink thought, turning loose its multi-
purposed dome top. All activity ceased as its primary directive
core was removed and swapped for another. A few moments
passed as he fiddled with connectors and lined up the module’s
connecting threads.

“Zuuuuurp-bezzz-Thunk!” was the satisfying reply as the new

core module communicated with the rest of the bot. Scout-
bot was gone and Decoy-bot was ready to go. The good thing
was it didn’t have to “go” anywhere, it just had to distract, and
Tink had programmed quite a show. One more wire to cut,
removing the safety protocols so it could over-charge and get
the performance started--

“Booosh!” The automatron violently blew out all necessary

ports to allow light and sound to escape. Tink pushed away as
tiny arms sporting spinning cutting wheels appeared, cutting
free its larger limbs. As instructed, deep penetrating laser
lights burst through the murk. Red, blue, green and yellow
shafts of intense light rushed toward the unexpecting dragon.
The spider-bot began crawling through the sludge making its
way for the swamp’s far perimeter.

It was like catnip to the dragon. The overhead fire started to

move in the direction of the sacrificial robot. Tink wondered
how long his baby could last under that scorching heat. What
was more important, he knew his own body wouldn’t last
much longer without air, and so he took the reprieve in fire and
pushed hard for the water’s surface.

The light show even lit the depths of the swamp, waking the

51
fearless leader from his uncharacteristic journey into doom
and gloom. “Death by sewer drowning,” Picket contemplated,
“how terribly unceremonious.”

It went against character for a Gearloc to be so negative, even

when up against such overwhelming odds; well, maybe not
for Tantrum, he was always negative, and cranky, and angry,
but that just made him all the more fired up and dangerous.
So with that in mind and the bog gas above him now not
exploding, Picket stiffened his ears the best he could through
the water’s sewage, locked his armor padded knees and pushed
himself upright in one determined thrust!

“Free!” he yelled, inhaling as hard and fast as his lungs would

allow. “And… now what?” he thought, apparently out loud.

“Now duck!” a high-pitched female voice squealed from

behind a nearby Great Oak tree, as a whizzing noise suddenly
buzzed Picket’s head, building in volume until seconds later –
an explosion!

Instead of ducking Picket froze, caught betwixt the desire to

see the stranger’s identity and the need to flee the coming
barrage of smouldering dragon snot. The explosion popped
his bog-plugged ears, and now the Gearloc leader could hear
the gasps of his drowning team as he splashed sporadically
through the water trying to find them.

The evening sky erupted in a kaleidoscope of blinding colors

and deafening thunder, allowing him now to see the bubbles
breaking above the frightened faces of those he swore to
protect, or at least not get killed so soon.

52
No time to be ditching that mantle now, Picket thought.
Instead, though frightened, injured and without the foggiest
clue what would come next, he acted. After all, that was why
Picket had been chosen as leader. Because when push came to
shove, despite egos and certain death, Picket was at the core,
selfless. That selflessness was a strength no weapon could
replace, an armor that suffered broken bone, seared flesh and
burning lungs in order to cover his friends while pulling them
out from what was almost a certain watery grave.

The sudden brightness in the night sky had the opposite

effect on the juvenile dragon, freeing it from the spider-bot’s
mesmerizing attraction but blinding it and making its own
safety enter its selfish mind. For the moment it now chose to
hover a little farther away behind a cloak of tall trees.

“Whoever you are, fire again!” the commander ordered,

taking advantage of the enemy’s caution, one by one tossing
each Gearloc further behind the cover of the marsh along the
forest’s edge.

The mystery guest obliged, firing off a barrage of exploding

projectiles as Picket guided them deeper through the dense
maze of trees. Whether the dragon was injured was anyone’s
guess. For now safety was at hand as the beast had been
successfully pushed back, allowing a window of escape.

With everyone running for safety the cloaked figure happily

turned to join the retreat but was cut short by a sudden,
penetrating pain that seized her left ankle. She screamed as she
fell face first in mid-run. Turning to see what had dropped her,
the team’s would-be rescuer now lay prey herself. Attached
to the base of her leg was a gelatinous blob with beady eyes,

53
only this blob had rows of small but needle sharp teeth; many
of which now resided in the flesh of her leg. She kicked
reflexively, again and again, finally prying the creature from its
grip.

Picket heard the scream and turned to see the mystery woman
fall. He raced back and saw the bog frog cowering at the
water’s edge. He knew not to underestimate this creature. A
bog frog not only had a terrible bite, but it came with a nasty
poison that only got stronger the more you fought. And they
were persistent.

No sooner had he reached her side and begun to help her up

when the frog leapt for a second attempt. This time Picket’s
sword met the fool-hearty creature, grazing its side, something
akin to slime oozing from the slash.

The bog frog was still hostile, its fat throat croaking almost like
a growl. The girl was already weakened and Picket had to get
them back to the team.

“Run!” a voice cried.

Looking over his shoulder Picket saw Boomer standing tall

beside a tree some twenty arrows’ distance away. She must
have heard their commotion, he figured, grabbing a mess of
cloak and bone as he carried their wounded guest away.

Boomer had a grenade in hand. The dark sky made it

impossible to tell which kind. Without thought she lit the fuse
and gave it her best overhand throw, and ran.

Picket and guest had just reached Boomer when the frag

54
grenade went off. The ground shook, knocking the escapees to
the ground.

“Little overkill you think?” Picket joked.

With no time to admire her work, Boomer and Picket collected

their guest and ran in silence.

When he figured they had blindly run far enough into the
ancient woods Picket stopped, the others literally falling
over him. Without delay he reached inside his thick jacket.
Retrieving one of the small glow-sticks Patch had made for
him Picket made quick inventory of the Gearlocs he had saved.

He didn’t need daylight to know that cantankerous Tantrum

crouched beside him, as he hadn’t stopped complaining the
entire time. Then there was the nervous laughter of Boomer
as she rediscovered the comfort of cool air. They probably
didn’t need a spot-lite because Ghillie’s eyes were still as big
as walnuts and seemed to cast their own glow. It was a little
unsettling to be honest. The low clank and hiss of shorted
mechanics gave Tink away while he sat, trying to fix the remote
and GPS to his spider-bots. Tink seemed more concerned for
those robotic pests than he did living breathing Gearlocs, but
that was just Tink. They would salvage what they could of the
gear when they passed by the swamp again tomorrow.

“Quick thinking there Tink,” Picket acknowledged, adding,

“that little thing bought us just enough time.”

“H-he did indeed,” Tink replied, as much worried as thankful.

“That’s w-why he deserves f-for us to go back and g-get him,”
the old Gearloc argued.

55
“IT,” Picket corrected, “deserves for us to respect the time it
bought us. If we go running back there now, we lose more
than just metal and wires,” Picket quipped while turning his
attention back to his mental roll-call.

Of course Patches and Nugget had gone down a separate path

when they started the day, deciding this time to try both forks
in the road, meeting up on the other side at day’s end; that
didn’t go quite as anticipated he reckoned.

Then who-?

The cape and peaked hood gave its own answer, and now that
he had time to think rationally once again, Picket knew exactly
who had lit the night sky and drove back the relentless dragon.

“Nugget, glad you could join us. Cutting it a little close weren’t
you?” Picket joked.

Boomer made a tumultuous leap for her dearest and closest

friend.

Nugget gasped as her childhood soulsister knocked her off the

conveniently placed stump she was perching on, landing the
two in a tangle of soaked clothes on the forest floor. The young
pyronaut painfully laughed, taunting, “You’re lucky I couldn’t
bear Patches’ long – monotonous - explanations of e-v-e-r-y-t-
h-i-n-g we passed.”

“Here,” Boomer passed her a handful of Oggot herbs to brew in

a tea. It wasn’t near as potent as what Patches concocted, but it
would have to do; and she would need it if she hoped to be of
use come morning.

56
Taking the supplies, Nugget relocated to her stump and
continued her story as she began dressing her wound. “I
finally left his long-winded company when it was clear there
was nothing living on that path larger than a rabbit, which
I happened to bag when backtracking your steps.” Smiling
from ear to ear, Nugget held up a bag with two long rabbit ears
hanging from it.

“Tantrum?” was all that needed saying. Like a magician the

half-sized Gearloc disappeared the rabbit and was already
sparking embers to get it cooking. Everyone felt their strength
returning at the mere thought of eating and drying out heavy
clothes. For now, no time for bashfulness, the team stripped
free from the remnants of the swamp and huddled around the
warming fire, all but Ghillie. They were safe enough for the
night but Ghillie wanted to be doubly sure and went walk-
about to set perimeter traps, just in case. At least the grinding
jaws had stopped, that was a good sign, but as soon as he ate
he’d spend the night scouting high in the trees anyway.

Everyone knew Patches would burrow in for the evening, hop

himself up on stims and med-boosts just in case, and soak the
perimeter in whatever poisonous concoction he happened to
have on hand at the time. Morning would come soon enough
and they’d gather their unorthodox medic once they decided
how to get by what lay ahead.

Despite what happened and was yet to happen, they were one
day closer to the Tyrant of Balon.

57
58
Day 9
A Dire Story of Wolves...and, maybe a Dragon

The air held a trace scent of rabbit and charred oak from last
night’s feast, but thankfully the smell of bog had left their
clothing. The sun was just cresting through the tops of the
trees casting a lazy glow around their makeshift camp, if you
call a few overgrown branches and a few lengths of mud-
rubbed cloth a camp. Boomer and Nugget had already been
out and were just now returning from scavenging berries and
roots, medicinal leaves, and an assortment of explosive and
projectile parts that could be thrown or shot; it was always
best to send Nugget on such missions- she seemed to have
an innate ability to find loot where none existed. Ghillie was
shimmying his way back down another tree with the fruits of
his long hours making and mending an assortment of arrows.
As expected, Tantrum was still snoring to wake the dead. Tink
was exactly where they had left him last night with gears and
sockets in his hands, in his lap and scattered about where he
had burrowed. Of course Patches was on everyone’s mind this
morning, as well as what The Ebon might have in store for

59
them this day.

Time to ready the troops Picket decided. “Gather ‘round, we’ve

got some decisions to make, and quick while the best part of
the day is still in front of us.”

“We had all the time in the world last time, but that didn’t seem
to help the outcome, now did it.” Everyone looked at Tantrum
whom they assumed was still asleep. Clearly he had now
joined the planning stage.

“Thanks for stating the obvious,” Picket jabbed. “If memory

serves, you sprinted for that pig tied to the post beside the
swamp before anyone could warn ‘you’ of the obvious… It’s a
trap.”

Before Tantrum could add more of his agitated mood to the

proceedings, Picket laid out the immediate circumstances of
their latest quest, with the overstated gestures and verbose
pronunciation one might expect of a street performer. “Now
as I see it, we are faced with two choices. The road ahead is
the fastest, taking us through the swamp and to the base of the
mountains in about a day. But this land being as convoluted
as it is, there’s another fork about a mile back that bypasses the
swamp and whatever Ghillie heard last night. I believe it joins
the original path Patches and Nugget were on, and so it’s safe,
though it will add a couple days to the quest and I don’t know
if we have that long before the head Tyrant of our campaign
moves camp again.”

“The deeper into the mountains the Tyrant draws us, the less
likely we are to come out.” Ghillie’s observation was, as usual,
sharp and accurate. With surprise and early energy on their

60
side, they had been fortunate in dispatching the first tyrant
of the Ebon early. But now word had spread, defenses were
being strengthened and every regional tyrant was adding to
its armies. This one, this self-proclaimed Goblin King, he was
beginning to surround himself with bigger, stronger generals.

“If…if I may, I must point out,” Tink’s voice anxiously crackled

as he raised a finger and point to the discussion, “I must
r-retrieve my spider-bots if we plan on offering a strong
r-ranged attack, or d-defense if the situation warrants.”

“Don’t get your ears kinked about those freak’n contraptions,

we—”

“--We need them,” Boomer interrupted Tantrum’s latest gibe at

Tink. She always got in the middle where Tink was concerned.
He was kind of a father figure to her, not that he behaved as
such, but he did save her butt a number of times with those
‘contraptions’, and she felt protective of him. Though if it
wasn’t for the advantages of those spider-bots, she thought, he
would have simply been too old for such a mission. But no one
could put together mechanical wonders as amazing or as fast
as Tink, and everyone knew it; last night was the skin saving
proof.

“We need them,” Picket affirmed, adding, “Then it’s settled?”

With some resounding and some reluctant nods, everyone
huddling on the forest floor agreed. Gathering their supplies
and their nerves they were again on the way, whatever it
revealed.

They must have run farther than they thought the previous
night, because after twenty minutes of brisk walking they had

61
only just reached the edge of the swamp and what looked like a
clearing just beyond—then the mountains. Everyone stopped
and assumed defensive positions as best they could, the last
encounter teaching the team not to be so hasty…well, teaching
Tantrum anyway.

Picket took command, turning his attention to Nugget.

“Worked well enough last time, and you need to rest that leg,
so you stay back at the tree-line until we know it’s clear, just in
case.”

“Back-up, got it,” Nugget nodded, taking a knee and readying

her sling.

Once she was on the ground, Nugget caught a slight sparkle

in the corner of her eye no one else had noticed. Why would
they, she thought, as the glare was coming from about ten
arrows’ distance away, and between a small grouping of
ordinary stones where the ground was slightly raised. She got
up and started for the curiosity.

Picket took notice while shouting orders. “What is it?” he

asked on his approach.

Now beside the formation she bent over. There was a strange
shape in the ground that seemed to outline a small body. About
midway down, buried in the dirt, sparkled a brilliant red stone
in the pommel of a long rusted but ornate sword. Nugget dug
and pulled til the earth released it’s hold. An arm came up
from the ground with it.

Jumping back with her prize, Picket steadied his friend

and knelt beside what was clearly an unplanned grave. He

62
dug around the outline, finally revealing the long since
decomposed body.

“You always find the coolest stuff Nugs,” Boomer said,

somewhat enviously. It was good for Nugget because she didn’t
usually carry a sword.

Picket continued digging until he pulled free a skull and they

all jumped back at the discovery.

It was a Gearloc.

“No, it must be a goblin, or gnome,” Nugget offered.

“No, that’s a Gearloc,” Picket corrected, clearly confused. “But

there’s no time to figure it out now,” he added, continuing his
orders, letting command remove the mysteries that now filled
his mind.

“Ghillie.. Ghillie?” he repeated, breaking the scout’s stare at the

skeleton, “stay low but scout out past that clearing. We need
to know what’s ahead,” Picket ordered.

“Boomer--” Picket started.

“Tantrum, with me,” Boomer ordered and set off along the
water’s edge, Tantrum snapping automatically in line beside
her.

They did make a perfect team, Picket acknowledged. Though

it was funny at half everyone’s size, it was Tantrum who ran the
front-line of that duo.

63
“W-what about me?” Tink asked, looking up at the all-too-
happy looking commander.

“Well old mate, you’re stuck with me,” Picket grinned, combing
both hands through his scorched orange mohawk . “Let’s go
see a bog about some robots.”

The last stim injection was fading and stiffness had begun to
invade the medic’s thin limbs. As expected, the rest of the path
had been uneventful and Patch spent the remainder of the last
day and half the night brewing a new batch of various potions
and poisons for everyone’s future use. If he was anything Patch
was prepared; this wasn’t his first dance with enemies of the
Deepwoods, and he knew there were plenty of new creatures
in the northern region waiting to wipe them out. Without the
Gearlocs the Deepwoods might disappear from the face of the
earth, making the Gearlocs as much a future mystery as the
north had become—until now.

Nugget was too young to appreciate the moments of calm

before the inevitable storm, and the Tyrants of The Ebon were
a storm only read about in fairytales. Patch knew he was an
obnoxious pill to swallow, but you didn’t get to be a field doctor
and live as long as him without learning a few useful skills
along the way. If Nugget couldn’t put up with a little proximity
agitation, he thought, how would she ever be ready for a battle
that would most likely crush many of the team.

But, it was morning, and a lovely one at that. All things being

64
equal, his compatriots should soon be arriving. Their delay
was a bit worrisome but he allowed the thought to lessen,
passing it off as a lack of focus; after all, half the remaining
team were mere children, followed by a hot-head and an
indecisive old-timer. Patches wondered how Picket ever
managed to keep everyone together this long, this far from the
Deepwoods.

Try as he may to thwart it, the delay continued to prick at the

back of his expertly developed brain, despite his many attempts
to explain it away. So, he decided, what would it hurt to start
the morning stretching his legs back in the direction of the
team? It would leave the group no closer or further away by
the time they met up. And so that’s precisely what he did.

Not even ten minutes had passed when Patch felt the tiny hairs
of his lobes begin to stand. There wasn’t a sound in the forest
or sky. Even the morning birds held back their song. What did
they know? Patches wondered.

Suddenly the grass around him began to smoke and the air
above felt oddly heavy. With one hand tightening around his
trusted bone-saw, Patches put his free hand to his eyes hoping
to dim the morning sun enough to spot what his flexing
muscles already told him was near.

“Dragon!” Patches yelled as he ran for the cover of nearby

boulders. Diving behind their bulk he stole a better look as the
young sky lizard flew a mere 40 arrows length above his head,
spitting a fiery rain along his path. Clearly, it did not want him
proceeding further. He padded the fire spots from his coat and
was surprised at what happened next.

65
Unexpectedly, the dragon stopped in midair and flapped
its massive wings in place as it slowly lowered its mass to
the ground before him. Folding in its wings and gliding its
head along the ground the dragon began to creep toward the
boulders and the sole Gearloc behind its pathetic protection.

Patches was actually impressed. The dragon had made itself a

smaller, tighter target. But, he realized, it also revealed its flaw.
This was not only a young dragon, but an impatient and overly
confident one. Dragons by nature were prideful, but this one
hadn’t the experience to use that confidence from the sky.

The dragon wanted a quick meal, and today, Gearloc was on

the menu.

“Easy does it big fellow,” Patches cautioned the incandescent

red beast, “I know what you are thinking, and I am ‘not’ a
dwarf, or a gnome or an elf, well… not exactly.” He tried to
reason with a dragon for whom a dwarf or elf was a special
treat. “I won’t make you a tasty meal,” he continued, bringing
forward his poison dipped bone-saw in one hand and dosing
himself again with a stim-shot in the other. It never hurt to
have a little extra pep in your step when facing down a dragon
he thought. “I’m much bonier. I’m sure to get stuck in your
long sharp teeth.”

Taking a crouching step backwards Patches attempted to put a

small distance between himself and the largest boulder, causing
the dragon to lift himself over it, exposing his softer neck.
For the first time he noticed the Dragon was missing one eye,
in its place a badly burned and infected socket lay exposed.
“What’s the likelihood the beast would suddenly die as a result
of infection reaching its brain?” Patches mumbled to himself.

66
Almost there… just a little further. The gap between boulder
and Gearloc was nearly perfect… just one more step—

As Patches leaned back for a final step his balance faltered;

something had interrupted his progress, toppling him while
the dragon’s serpentine head crested the large rock.
Turning to see what he had stumbled upon, the Gearloc was
greeted with the smell of rotting meat and a burst of hot wet
air, while a low-throated and chilling growl filled his sensitive
ears. Patches was face to face with an enormous now-
awakened dire wolf.

Dire wolves general stayed close to mountain ranges, not

needing to hunt far from home as it was the dominant predator
of the forest. Even the giant trolls usually filled their diet with
smaller, less ferocious prey. When observing from a distance
and through a scouting glass, with much weaponry about one’s
self, you could actually appreciate their beauty. They could
grow to the size of a small horse, had piercing blue or steel
eyes, and a mix of rust or black with white and grey double
thick coats.

This was not a day for appreciation.

With no time to panic Patches reacted. Quickly sizing up his

newest threat it was clear he at least wasn’t an Alpha, so less
chance of it signalling others for aid. This was likely a younger
scout or one that simply wandered a little farther than it should
have; mind you, it was still twice or more his own size. The
problem besides being caught between two carnivores was
that Patches looked weak lying on the ground on his back,
and unlike an Alpha who took pride in the hunt, a cub would
eagerly eat the weak and unmoving.

67
Immediately the Gearloc got on all fours, making himself as
big as possible while keeping one eye on the rather amused
looking dragon. Was the dragon actually smiling at his
predicament? Patches mused. Bone-saw still in hand he knew
the wolf would—

Without getting to finish his thought the dire wolf snapped, its
drooling jaws catching Patches in the shoulder. Thanks to his
quick stim-enhanced reflexes and thick field jacket, most of the
bite missed the Gearloc’s flesh - most, not all.

Patches choked back the pain as at least one fang penetrated

near to the bone. Out of sheer reflex the bone-saw was in
the air, over his head and coming to rest near the wolf ’s neck.
Blood began to cover the front of Patches’ coat as the injured
beast released his hold, taking a half-step backwards.

Now he could see the wolf was less one ear and had taken a
crippling gash to the right side of its head. It shook its head as
if trying to clear a fog from its eyes. It wasn’t fog, it was blood,
and perhaps the first time this cub had seen its own in battle.

Taking advantage of the dire wolf ’s confusion or blindness

Patches lunged, this time with the benefit of aim on his side.
As the wolf brought its head up to meet the approaching blur,
the bone-saw met its mark – the carotid artery… or at least he
hoped that’s what he hit. Either way it didn’t matter as Patches
had laced the saw with a paralysing agent that was already at
work. The dire wolf could not move as it bled out.

Shocked and having lost its expression of amusement, the

dragon snapped its head back, and when it came round again a
tail of flame followed.

68
Patches jumped over and burrowed under the wolf.

The smell of meat filled the air as the once ferocious wolf burst
into flame as the dragon’s venom hit, its burning fur providing
the Gearloc with a much needed smoke screen.

Although smoke and hot air impaired his breathing, Patches

remained under the animal taking advantage of the barrier,
though the dragon wasn’t wasting any time. Grabbing the
burning mass tightly in its powerful jaws the dragon tossed it
away like a rag doll.

The giant serpent acted too hastily as it hadn’t considered the

paralysing agent in the wolf ’s bloodstream which now found
its way into his. At this amount and because of the dragon’s
mass the poison would not kill, but it was offering the beast a
serious buzz.

Patches made a dash for the large boulder, trying to duck

beneath the dragon in retreat, but it was on to him. The
dragon shook its head to clear the unfamiliar feeling which let
the Gearloc get under and beyond the danger of its heavy legs.
But Patches had not considered the tail which the dragon still
had enough wherewithal to use, whipping the armored thing
around enough to catch him in the back and sending him
flying in the air, far past the rocks he sought.

Arm bones crunched under his weight as the Gearloc’s twisted

body landed with force on the already limp arm. “Ahhh,” he
screamed, this time with no restraint. He was definitely out
one arm for the immediate future.

The dragon huffed with satisfaction, its movements becoming

69
slow, partly a lingering effect of the poison, and partly a form
of taunting his prey. This was how a dragon enjoyed the hunt,
steam rushing from its nostrils and mouth, head slithering
across the forest floor with its intricate wings sweeping debris
from the path. The creature appeared to be crawling, pulling
its weight across the earth as it kicked up an aura of dust on its
approach.

“Stupid creature,” the dragon mused as he played with his meal.

Unlike the wolf, he was old enough to remember it wasn’t an
elf, a dwarf or goblin- it was a Gearloc. And like all the races,
it screamed when hurt, it had flesh to burn and when cut, it
bled. To prove its point the dragon reached out one of the long
talons that tipped the end of its wings and glided it across the
Gearloc’s chest like a painter. Covering its face with just one
eye peeking out beyond its slowly retracting wing, it played
the bashful spectator. The dragon, though slightly dizzy, was
terribly satisfied with the result.

Shock and exhaustion made it impossible to scream as Patches’

eyes and mouth widened, his torn garment revealing torn flesh.
With a shaky hand he fumbled for a pouch on his utility belt
and pulled out a medipatch. Quickly applying it to his chest he
gulped whatever pills came out with it, hoping there were a few
stims or something amongst the mix.

The self-confident dragon merely laughed as his prey put on a

feeble last show of hope. The foolish imp was lucky it hadn’t
already suffocated, the hunter noticed, because the silly straw it
had taken out during the encounter with the dire wolf was still
sticking halfway out of its mouth. Smoke bellowed from his
long snout as it laughed at the thought.

70
Patches pushed himself against a nearby tree stump, making
great show of his attempt to regain his legs. He needed to bide
time for the medipatch to meld his wound together and the
stims to boost his resilience. Holding up a hand for mercy
while he caught his breath, he drew his performance out,
playing to the dragon’s lust for an entertaining meal.

The dragon actually appeared to bow in acquiescence; either

that or carelessly mixing drugs was beginning to cause the
poor Gearloc hallucinations. In fact, the dragon ‘had’ lost
balance from bowing as pride and poison did their work.

Within moments the stims had numbed his pain and Patches
was once again fully standing and taking in deep painful
breaths. The blood from his chest was down to a mere trickle,
just no functional use of the one arm. He could work with
that.

Or maybe not, as the dragon must have considered the same

thing, or decided the lingering effects of biting the wolf were
of concern. Either way, choosing appetite over amusement the
creature spread its wings and leapt clumsily for the sky. This
would be his final pass as he charred his meal for the eating.

Patches sensed the same thing and put all his focus into filling
his long syringe with every vile and disgusting thing he had
left. The needle was half the size of his arm and hopefully long
enough. Just one problem… that’s how close the dragon would
need to get, and he would probably be scorched long before.

The dragon soared high in the sky, turned and dove for
his prize. His chest filled with the combustible fluid that
would soon become a roasting fire. Now that the dragon

71
was committed and believed Patches to be without weapon,
the overly prepared Gearloc steadied the blow tube in his
mouth, poisoned dart already within, and aimed for the one
fortunately exposed weakness in the serpent’s armor… that
festering eye socket.

With renewed lung capacity Patches let fly his solitary hope.
As expected, the dragon either couldn’t see such a small threat
or was too conceited to care. Either way, the missile found its
mark piercing unprotected flesh and venturing firmly beyond.
The dragon’s head convulsed like one possessed as it screeched,
spraying fire throughout the sky.

Relief was short-lived as he realized a hysterical dragon was

falling out of the sky directly towards him and it was too late to
move. Patches was resolved for the inevitable splat he would
soon become as he threw his one good arm out in front of
himself as if to say, “Stop!”

And with that, the dragon rocked the earth, making multiple
impacts, head rolled back and wings under-tucked, finally
coming to a stop just beyond Patches’ out-stretched arm and
pushing it back to his wounded chest.

Surprised to be alive, the medic dropped to the ground and

carefully crawled from under the heavily gasping creature.
Only then did he notice that the toxic syringe had indeed
plunged in all the way. Walking a few lengths alongside the
giant, Patches found its backward-facing, upside down head.
The dragon’s good eye fixated on the Gearloc. There was no
love loss between the two. Patches met its gaze and held it
until the light dimmed in the creature’s eye and it rolled back
into its rott’n - stink’n head.

72
Patches wasn’t interested in admiring his success. In fact, he
wasn’t sure how long he’d remain standing and figured the best
course of action ought to be to continue on his original course
before he was so… ru-rude-ly… interupt—
A few feet into the woods the Gearloc lost consciousness.

The midday sun was bright and warm overhead. Relief came
in the form of birds singing through the trees along their
chosen path. It wasn’t surprising whatever Ghillie had heard
the night before had long since dispersed; excessive explosions
could have that effect on wildlife, even the big game they were
hunting. The reprieve was a welcome change of pace. Sure,
things had gotten hairy around day three and four, but for the
most part they had chance to recover and scavenge between
their big game encounters, until yesterday. This day found the
party worn, longing for home and more than content to put in
a few hours exploring their surroundings both for enemies and
useful salvage. And of course there was their missing medic.

Their encounter with a dragon the previous day had shaken

loose a couple good sized scales Picket was certain he could
fashion into upgraded shields. Both Nugget and Boomer
continued to scour the path for useful herbs, both healing and
poisonous, knowing Patches could work wonders with either.

“Whoot!” Tink exclaimed, looking down at his bot remote

as two of the lights began to glow and beep. “A couple of my
babies made it! They should be up ahead.”

73
Indeed, things were looking up.

In the distance they could see Ghillie returning from his

earlier scouting expedition, but something wasn’t right. The
Gearloc was running full steam, no care for his usual caution.
In response the team picked up their legs to meet him in the
middle.

Ghillie stopped to catch a breath with his hands on his knees.

With one arm he pointed behind, inhaling big gulps of air.
“Past the turn…”

“What, the dragon?” Picket steadied himself.

Ghillie shook his head.

“Goblin? We found the goblins!” Boomer offered. Weird fact,

Boomer liked blowing up goblins.

He shook again, trying to get in a word.

“You found my spider-bots,” Tink chimed.

Everyone simply looked at the tinkerer, nothing needing to be

said.

“Patches… dragon..,” Ghillie tried to form a coherent sentence.

“I was right, a dragon!” Picket yelled, drawing a sword and
furnishing a newly crafted dragon scale shield. “The dragon ate
Patches!”

The team ran down the path to finish off their latest adversary
and avenge their friend.

74
Ghillie decided to just sit down in the middle of the road, his
job accomplished, or as close as he could get to it. Now they
could wait for him.

The path became narrow and filled in with much denser forest
as they rounded the corner from where Ghillie had appeared.
There was no dragon. Instead, about 30 arrows distance ahead
laid Patches, or something that resembled him. The Gearlocs
ran to his aid.

Patches lay moaning, clothes cut up, a bloody bandage over

his chest and a bone protruding from under his jacket. But
he was alive. Picket quickly got water into his friend, most of
which he managed to keep down. Nugget made an herb tea to
start healing his insides, and Boomer ground explosive powder
into some of the bog frog blubber she had collected earlier to
rub onto his many wounds; the blubber would numb the pain
without all the stims while the powder would mildly cauterize
them, avoiding infection. Tantrum talked his ears off as usual,
only this time as a means of distracting him from what came
next.

SNAP! Bone never pushed back onto bone quietly.

Patches came to full attention as the sound of crunching

bone rang in unison with his own screams. Every fiber of his
battered body yearned to take flight, but the circle of familiar
faces at once calmed him. He quieted, slowly looking over the
combined efforts of the makeshift emergency crew. A slight
smile crept into his mouth and he nodded.

Ghillie no sooner made it back when Picket asked, “And the

dragon?”

75
“There’s no freak’n dragon,” exclaimed Ghillie, tired of words
being put in his mouth.

Holding up a correcting finger, Patches added, “Um, in fact,

there is.” He had their worried attention as heads bobbled back
and forth between Patches, Ghillie and Picket, and back to
Patches.

“Come again?” they all chimed.

Patches merely pointed in the direction from which he had

come, which was fortunately the direction they all must take
to the mountains. Everyone started to leave, forgetting poor
Patches, but remembered him soon enough and guided him
along the way. Shortly a break in the trees appeared, and to
their amazement, so did a dragon, their dragon, just more
dead than they had left it. And beyond that the dire wolf ’s still
smouldering carcass.

“You?” Tantrum asked after he picked his jaw back up.

“Indeed,” Patches acknowledged. “Needless to say, I had some

time to wait while you caught up. Oh, and there’s no stims
left.”

Tantrum whacked the stiff Gearloc in the back like they were
old drinking buddies.

“Well, okay. Everyone, you know what to do,” Picket ordered as

the team began the process of clearing the area of anything and
everything useful for the coming fight. “And I wouldn’t say
there’s no stims left my friend,” he added, passing Patches the
extra bag he had left when they had first parted ways. “Think

76
you can make these spread?”

The medic’s smile widened. “If Boomer wouldn’t mind sharing

some of that frog blubber, I’m sure something can be made,”
drawing an acknowledging nod from Boomer.

Mechanical noises soon joined the conversation. Tink turned

to see his two spider-bots coming to attention at his side, and
one of them still had strobing lights shining from it’s head.
You’d think the Gearloc had just seen a long lost son, had he
had any children. Immediately Tink removed the light show
and snapped in place the scouting module which would send
the bot on ahead to sniff out any traps or ambushes.

The gang was together again and mending. The path ahead
was certain. Only a hundred arrows’ distance separated them
from the bridge that would take them into the mountains of
Balon. Ghillie had already run ahead with a bot to scout what
perils might lie in wait.

Two things were certain - the dragon had been a warning to

stay clear, and if they not, today they would meet the Goblin
King.

It must be nearing supper time, Ghillie thought, for his

stomach was making the most unpleasant noises. The leaves
he had been munching on high in the trees were not satisfying,
but he couldn’t come down now, not after coming upon the
camp.

77
He had been hugging the tree-line for some time when he
came upon the mountain pass bridge. He was sure something
ominous would happen once he stepped out onto the bridge,
but he crossed without incident. Not far past the bridge
though, a loud commotion sent him scurrying up the trees for
cover. What he saw was alarming.

An enormous Alpha Dire Wolf sat at the foot of an equally

impressive stone throne. It was empty. Beside the wolf stood
a pair of heavily clad Troll Mules. This was the Goblin King’s
stand, and it was clear he had no intention of falling today.

As imposing as the task ahead was, at least they now knew

what to expect. But before he could sneak back to the others
who were soon to be crossing the bridge, Ghillie wanted to
take advantage of his position and set a few traps in advance.
They would need every advantage. Looking down he could see
the spider-bot had the same programming as it was carefully
removing mini explosive modules from itself and placing
them at the base of various trees. “That’s not a bad trick Tink,”
Ghillie admitted to himself.

It was a long bridge. It was an ancient bridge. It was uncertain

if it would hold together, even under the light load the
Gearlocs presented. Regardless, they had to pass. Somewhere
on the other side was the end of their journey and their ticket
home. So, one by one they stepped out across the path of
rotting rope and wood.

78
Just as they were about to step off the bridge Ghillie appeared.
It seemed he chose the sky route back, crossing from tree to
tree. Back on solid ground he informed them of the battle
ahead. The Tyrant had traded goblin minions for the larger
Troll Mules. The information immediately hit home making
the dragon seem like a stroll through the meadow. They didn’t
mind dying, well, okay they minded dying, but if they did at
least let it accomplish some good. And where was the Goblin
King? It would be an empty fight without the Goblin King.
But such thoughts were simply killing time, not goblins.
So they walked.

They walked, but this time they separated and made for the
woods beside the path and Ghillie again took to the trees; three
approaches in the cover of the forest. In previous encounters
they held back their most powerful strengths, even at the risk
of their lives, but not this time. This encounter they must
bring every ability to bear, every advantage and the riskiest of
weapons.

And they walked, entering the point of no return, for the dire
wolf was sure to have picked up their scent and warned the
others. A holler that sounded like a team of monkeys filled air
and carried through the swaying trees. The Goblin King had
welcomed them.

As the team separated, Tink attached a magnetic remote optic

to the remaining spider-bot so he could watch the battle and
control his champion from behind cover.

Tantrum and Picket chose to enter first, barging straight

towards the Alpha Dire Wolf. They were the most skilled in
close combat. The wolf met their challenge and struck first. It

79
was quick as his size made fast work of closing the distance.

Tantrum was the first to fall. He may have been smaller, but
his roar and the fire in his eyes presented the wolf a greater
challenge. “Good one,” Tantrum chuckled through bruised
ribs, the fight only building his rage - and he loved rage. The
mighty Gearloc didn’t give Picket a chance to aid him; in fact,
rage had made him completely unaware of Picket’s presence.
Swinging his power axe with both hands he sprang from the
ground and landed the mighty axe square in the beast’s jaw. A
bloody line opened, extending the wolf ’s mouth beyond what
was natural.

The wolf screamed alerting more of its kind. A dire wolf cub
answered the call, waiting at the tree-line as the Alpha wrestled
through the pain. Tantrum tried to deny him the chance to
regain its faculties, swinging for the hills in a rebound assault
but missed as the Alpha stepped too quickly to the side. The
creature was pleased and boastfully swaggered towards its prey.

Picket wanted to help but was already engaged with a huffing

and spitting Troll Mule whose smell was nearly as deadly as its
fists.

Tantrum knew he had screwed up but was determined to turn

a failure into a victory. With the Alpha this close his options
were limited, so he resorted to his backup plan; when all else
fails, play dead.

The Alpha leaned over the puny creature, sniffed him,

rolled his fat but limp body side to side. Pathetic, the Alpha
complained. This wasn’t glorious battle, it wasn’t even sport.
He signalled for the cub to come in and claim a prize.

80
As the dire cub approached and committed its jaws for the
clench, and while the Alpha had just begun to turn his jaws
away, Tantrum struck. The axe seemed to spark as if charged
and the fear, no, the anger of eminent death tripled the
Gearloc’s strength. The swing was fierce. The aim was true.
Tantrum swung so hard his own body flew in the air along
with the axe.

Alpha and cub alike were down. They would not be getting up.
To be sure, Tantrum pressed the blade edge into each animal’s
throat then sat to catch his breath. But the battle wasn’t near
over.

Picket dangled in the air, pinned against the Stone Throne by

an arm the thickness of a tree trunk. He swung his sword but
it was useless as the attack either bounced off the Troll Mule’s
thick skin, or simply missed without having the room to aim.
Thuck! Thuck-thuck!! Picket was loose and three perfectly
aimed arrows protruded from the back of the Mule’s neck.
Even that heavy armor was no match for Ghillie’s arrows with a
little wind and speed behind them.

The Troll Mule was hurt and angry. It slowly turned, looking
to the trees for Ghillie’s vantage point and found it. Reaching
the tree the Troll laid fist upon fist to the trunk, shaking the
tree to the very top as Ghillie held fast. Picket sprinted to the
Troll with sword held upside down. He stopped, firmly planted
his feet and drove the sword down into the back of the Troll’s
foot as violently as possible for a Gearloc. Blood sprayed from
the open wound. Its skin might be tough, but that was a weak
area for many races and Picket’s gamble paid off.

The Troll swung for Picket but was already weak from the

81
extreme loss of blood. Besides, the Gearloc was a good three
feet below its grasp. It started to bend for the smaller creature
but Ghillie was quicker, shooting an arrow straight down
through the top of its massive head. The Troll stiffened, its eyes
popped open and its jaw dropped. Picket could see the arrow’s
shaft in the back of its open mouth.

Meanwhile, Tink was hiding behind a rock with a branch for

added cover. From there he sent his spider-bots to distract
a late appearing wild dire wolf cub, giving a bloody Nugget
time to gain her legs and run for a better fighting position.
However, the wolf tired of the probing machines, leapt over
them and sprang for the limping Nugget whose leg wound had
reopened, the blood attracting the cub - but not before the bot
self-destructed a power node that had come loose, rendering
the beast unconscious in mid-leap. Ghillie yelled, pointing
behind her.

Nugget turned to look back, lost her footing and fell backwards
to the ground. To her dismay the wolf was in the air and only
a couple of feet away. And then it was on her, but unmoving.
She gasped as the air left her lungs and joined the wolf in an
unconscious slumber. The tip of a slender and very long sword
broke through the back of the motionless wolf cub.

Patches joined the battle when the remaining Troll made a

swipe for Boomer. Boomer was talented, but from a distance,
and so he yelled to catch its attention. In seconds he reached a
position opposite his friend and the Troll Mule when it wildly
over-swung its club. Patches ducked, taunting him, but the
club carried on ‘round and hit his friend unaware.

The impact tossed Boomer into the bushes. She was hurt

82
but alive, as revealed by a hand waving from behind shrubs.
Unfortunately, this sport excited the Troll even more and so he
headed for the bushes.

Ghillie shot an arrow which barely stuck in the creature’s arm.

It marginally caught his attention, but the slight pause gave
Patches enough time to close the gap. With bone-saw in hand
he sawed across one leg, ran through them and hit the other.
The Troll faltered but its wandering legs trapped Patches when
it fell.

Patches’ freshly mended arm cracked again and he shrieked

in pain. This time the arm was useless. He tried to roll free as
the Troll kicked, clamping the Gearloc between its legs. Ribs
cracked and the chest wound began to tear. Stars filled his eyes
though none had yet appeared in the sky.

Ghillie continued to taunt the Troll but it would not be tricked

again. That’s when the stunner exploded over the Troll’s head.
Everyone had forgotten about Boomer recovering in the
bushes. Sure, it was now certain Patches would be out cold too,
but so was the Troll.

Boomer jogged to the Troll, her legs refusing to go faster even

though she feared the stunner wouldn’t hold the giant very
long. Sure enough it wasn’t knocked out, but it was dazed and
couldn’t hear her approach. “Now what?” Boomer cried, not
having a pointy weapon on her, but Patches did. She quickly
lifted with all her strength to remove a Troll leg and gain access
to her friend. Reaching down she recovered his very scary
syringe and thrust it into the biggest, nastiest opening she
should find in the Troll’s impenetrable skin. The beast howled
as the needle plunged through the deep cavern that was its

83
belly-button while the toxins within quickly spread throughout
its body shutting down every organ. And that was that.

For the first time there was quiet. Ghillie had come down
from the tree, joining Tink who had cautiously relocated to
Boomer’s side. One by one they searched for their friends.
Patches, of course, lay before them rather broken and
unconscious but alive. Tantrum had located Nugget, also
unconscious but alive, her sword having clumsily found its way
into the wolf when she fell.

Picket sat on a rock and examined his team, his greatly under-
rated and victorious team. Bones would mend and cuts would
heal. Stories would indeed be written if they survived the
journey back home. It was Tink who asked the obvious, “
W-where is the G-Goblin King?”

An explosion rocked the ground, knocking the Gearlocs off

their feet, flying debris penetrating flesh, stones cracking
bones. The Goblin King had arrived and he brought the boom!

“Who dares challenge the Goblin King!” the Goblin bellowed.

It was a smallish creature, but clearly insane, and insanity could
itself be a strength. After all, he had commanded the loyalty of
creatures much more massive than himself. He stood jumping
on the seat of his Throne and threw another explosive device,
its concussive force pushing the team back even further as they
reeled on the ground.

“Gearlocs?” the Goblin King laughed, “I hate Gearlocs. The

pride, the self-righteousness, the half-breeds. What would ever
possess you to travel back to Balon and challenge its king!”

84
Patches had awoken moments earlier, confused by what
the crazy goblin had been saying. Using the cover of the
fallen Troll he stacked a massive dose of stims, along with a
powerful multiplier and injected the mix. Such a dose could
instantaneously heal him from any incoming wounds, but it
could also stop his heart or explode every vein in his body in
the process… who knew?

When the second explosion passed, an overly charged

Patches jumped up and tossed the dragon scale shield on
top of Boomer while hitting her up with a stim. She was the
explosion expert and he wasn’t about to charge that nutcase.
As soon as the stim entered her blood she bolted upright.
Patches quickly picked the shield up for cover as he shared his
idea with her.

Boomer dropped a smoke grenade to mask their position as

they made the unexpected move forward instead of retreating.
Looking back they could see the team helping each other
behind various offerings of cover. Patches nodded and
Boomer let fly something rare and special, and very dangerous
– her Big Boom. It took an extra couple of seconds but didn’t
disappoint as their ears popped from the resulting chaos. The
shield did little good as even they were thrown into nearby
rocks. Boomer was groggy and bleeding but still attempting to
stand. Patches, looking no better, didn’t feel a thing and stood
as normal.

When the smoke cleared there was no more Stone Throne,

no more trees, no more earth for about ten arrows’ distance.
The Gearloc did not condone such destruction of nature, nor
disregard for one’s own life. That was why the Big Boom was
so dangerous and rare, but perhaps in this case, necessary.

85
The gang slowly crawled from the forest edge, some bleeding
and everyone dizzy and deaf. Ground was still falling from the
sky like rain. Boomer and Patches turned to greet them when
they were suddenly knocked forward and fell to the ground in
silence.

Looking up they saw the Goblin King approaching, his head

shaking, apparently screaming, and also missing an ear, an
arm and part of a foot. It was baffling that he was still alive,
let alone charging them. Patches started to get up when
something jumped over him and grabbed the dragon shield. It
was Tantrum.

The startled Goblin King chucked another explosive but

Tantrum swatted it with the shield. The shield absorbed part
of the blast with the majority of the force being redirected
forward, blasting the Goblin King to the ground as shield and
Gearloc landed deliberately on his chest.

“Who dares?” Tantrum raged, banging the shield on the

Goblin King’s weakened chest. “I dare!” he finished as he took
the one horned helmet from his head and turned it upside
down.

The Goblin King’s eyes widened in recognition of what was

to come, and Tantrum wasn’t about to disappoint as the rigid
horn plunged downward in a devastating and final motion.
The tyrant shrieked while squirming and swatting for escape,
but Tantrum’s full weight held the helmet in place until the
permanent night overtook him.

Now it was over. No cheers, no pat on the back, no singing.

86
Tantrum got up and walked to his friend, putting an arm
around Patches whose stims were starting to wear off, again.
They walked out of the camp under their own strength, and
that of some powerful drugs.

Tonight they would make camp on the other side of the bridge.

Tomorrow only the road home lay ahead.

87
88
Day 10
Home Is Where The Truth Is

The sun had already risen above the tree line when they
woke. The sky was mostly blue and a light breeze carried in
the direction of home. Surprisingly a few small embers still
danced in the fire they had hastily made the night before. A
few dry twigs and sundry debris was all it took to ignite a
steady cooking flame.

“Just in time,” Nugget declared, returning with enough smoked

meat and bottled grog to feed a royal court. Since she spent so
much time on her back during the battle, she figured breakfast
was the least she could do.

“How? Where?” Tantrum was startled. How did she go from

laying on the battlefield to finding a full meal, he wondered…
but that was why Nugget was here.

“And these,” she reached into a satchel and pulled out a series
of ancient scrolls, passing them to Picket, “these are for you.”

89
Picket examined them. “They appear to be--”

“Yeah, yeah yeah, maps of Balon with all the hidden camps of
different warlords, treasure troves, and the last one seems to
be some history story that goes back before the elders’ time,”
Nugget finished for him.

“There was no building or holding cave I could find,” Ghillie

inquired, adding, “even Tink’s machines didn’t report anything.

“That’s because you ain’t got ‘The Eye’, ” Nugget laughed,

squinting one eye to make the other look bigger.

Everyone quickly found a spot to plant their bottoms ‘round

the fire, its warmth and the smell of meat momentarily luring
them into a sense of calm and safety. After all, hadn’t they just
defeated another Tyrant of Balon? The Deepwoods and the
lands to the south were that much closer to a lasting peace.
But something just felt… off.

“Anyone get the sense those guys knew us?” Patches asked,
remembering not only the familiar comments of the Goblin
King, but some of the other creatures along their travels in the
north country. And now this ancient scroll.

“Our renown has traveled,” Tantrum boasted.

“No, not that,” Picket agreed. “It wasn’t that they expected a
successful group of adventures… they expected us- Gearlocs.”

“Even the folks in town back home don’t know what to call
us. I’m always uncomfortable going into town because of it,”
Boomer added.

90
Silence followed for a few minutes.

“Well, time to eat and be off. It’ll all feel right as rain when
we’re back in the Deepwoods,” Picket assured them as they all
reached for the meal.

With the sun overhead and their bellies full, it was time put
distance between themselves and the north. They must have
taken a brief collective nap as the fire was nothing more than
smoke. Slowly stretching the creaks from their limbs they
turned for their gear.

“Anyone see my sword or shield?” Picket asked.

“What about my axe?” Tantrum added.

Something wasn’t right. The fire was out and their gear was
gone, but the sun confirmed they hadn’t been napping long.
Quickly they formed a tight defensive circle and began their
walk, picking up anything along the way that somewhat
resembled a weapon. They could hear childish laughter in the
trees. Someone was clearly toying with them.

“No tracks,” Ghillie whispered, his head on a swivel.

As they walked their circle broke to accommodate the twisting

and narrowing path, and the introduction once again of
the forest. Suddenly a dire wolf was on their rear but not
advancing. As they picked up their pace, a second and third

91
wolf appeared to their sides, but kept a distance. The laughing
continued.

“Boomer, got anything left?” Picket whispered.

“Boomer?” he repeated turning his head side to side, but she

was gone.

“B-o-o-m-e-r!” Nugget yelled, breaking ranks and running

ahead.

A blurry cloaked figure descended from the trees, swooping

her up without effort while leaving no trace. The team
ran after her, everyone foolishly scattering, each member
disappearing one by one into the trees in a blur.

Deep in the woods the unknown assailant returned with her

final trophy- Picket. She now had the full set of adventuring
Gearlocs, all bound and dangling from the trees while growling
dire wolves sat beneath them.

It seemed to Picket that the dire wolves, all Alphas, were under
her control. Unlike the tyrants whose minions feared them but
worked more with them, these Alphas submitted to her as she
walked among them, patting them like pets; it was unnatural.

She was small, as small as them. But she was faster, and even
more invisible than Ghillie, and that was saying something.
Her cloak was unusual, perhaps made of cured skin; that did
not bode well for their future. The figure walked until she was
in the center of her collection of Gearlocs. She wanted to see
each of their faces as she took down her hood.

92
Amazement – panic – confusion – disgust. There was no word
to adequately describe what they saw under the hood, or how it
made them feel, and how that delighted her.

She howled like a wolf and the pack joined her. Her long ears
straightened as the hood fell below her long thin neck. It was
unmistakable- she was a Gearloc.

“Impossible!” Picket spat as she laughed, walking amongst

them pushing their bodies around like wind chimes.

“Why? Because I live in the north? Because I harmed another

Gearloc and mean to harm more?” she returned. “Or,”
she started slowly, wanting this last revelation to hit home,
“because I’m the Tyrant they actually hoped you would kill?”

Their mouths dropped and they started the squirm. Only the
wolves kept them in check.

“You’re crazy lady,” Tantrum fumed.

“Why of course I am dear fellow,” she played, rubbing his head

like a child. “Not bat nuts like that Goblin King you dispatched
for me. Thank you by the way. I’m surprised there’s any of our
kind left with the stomach to do it. You did me a giant favor.”
She loved being one step ahead of her enemies, and clearly they
did not disappoint.

“My wolves deserve to roam the mountains and become the

leaders they were born to be. I owe my life to them, as well as
the abilities I’ve picked up over the years since…since…”

“W-what are you saying?” Tink interrupted her story. It was

93
even harder than ever for him to get his sentences out.
“I-I’m saying,” she teased, “I’m saying with the Goblin King
out of the way, I won’t have to hide in these damp woods any
longer as my wolves and I build our resources in this region.
As you saw he really hated Gearlocs. Many of the tyrants do,
but can you blame them, you make our kind so easy to hate.”

The would-be tyrant realized the group was simply too

ignorant to what was truly taking place, both here in the north
and back in their precious Deepwoods. One of the Alphas
growled, imitating language. “Quite right my boy,” she said,
“how rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself.”

She walked up beside Boomer and Nugget who were hanging

side by side. “I was born Duster, daughter of the Gearloc,” she
admitted, staring deeply into Boomer’s eyes. She waited. And
waited…There it was.

Boomer’s eyes darted, partly in fear but mostly in surprise as a

long buried memory returned. “No,” she said.

“Yes,” Duster returned.

“No, you died.”

“Is that what they told you?” Duster questioned.

“That’s what happened, I was there, you were sick.”

“Did you see me die? Did you see a body?” Duster yelled, her
own memories flooding back.

“They wrapped and burned your body…” Boomer retorted.

94
Duster interrupted, “They burned ‘a’ body…not mine! I was
only four years old! They rode deep into the woods, very deep.
And they left.”

“They wouldn’t do that to you… they wouldn’t do that to me,”

Boomer answered more as a question.

Duster walked over to her favorite wolf, turning back to see

Boomer’s face. “I assure you they would do that - sister.”

The End… for now

95
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