Rotgoriel opened his eyes, and stared up at the white ceiling. He felt the weight of his soft body, and snarled in disgust. Human! Human again!

Once could have been a dream, or a hallucination. He had been dicking around with eldritch powers earlier. They did that sort of thing. But twice?

No, this was obviously magic. Some mage had cursed him, and that was that.

The solution was simple; find the mage and beat them until they undid their curse. Or maybe eat them. Come to think of it, he was feeling a bit hungry.

Rotgoriel rose from the soft pallet he woke upon, and peered around the room. Was there anything that could help him with his goals here?

The floor was littered with small treasures, and he was a bit mollified to see that he had a hoard. At least until he started picking some of the items up, and he discovered that what he thought was metal was some sort of really smooth wood. At least that was what he thought it was, the stuff was so light it didn't seem like it could be anything else. Bone? No, he knew bone. This wasn't it.

The shiny, not-metal stuff seemed to be mostly in the shape of armored humans or other bizarre creatures. There was some non-shiny material in the form of shapes, squares and cubes and rectangles and more varied patterns. Those little pieces of junk had pegs on the top and holes on the bottom, and when he trod on them by accident they hurt his soft, puffy feet.

About the only metal things were small and squat, with round rolling things on their bottoms. Wheels, he knew, and he wasn't sure how he knew. The word drifted into his consciousness and just sat there.

To the side of the meager hoard he found a club sized for his hands. Good! He was starting to worry. Most humans carried weapons of some sort, and this seemed familiar to his grip. He slung it over his shoulder, and peered around.

Everything was as fuzzy as he remembered from last time. Weak, weak human eyes.

There was light coming up from above this time, though. Rotgoriel frowned up at a thin spot on the wall that was filled with glass. That was a human thing, but he couldn't recall the word for it. The back of his mind didn't supply a word, so he grunted and clambered up onto the soft pallet to peer through the glass.

It was dusty and dirty, but the sight revealed made him gasp in disbelief.

This was, this had to be what the ancestors had called a city. A vast hive of humans... and probably some other creatures.

Those buildings were stone, and large enough to hold hundreds or thousands of humans. So much stone, carved so perfectly... they probably had dwarves here too.

More glass squares lined each one, but his eyes couldn't pierce them. Some were reflective, like mirrors. Others had cloth and stuff in front of them. Flickers of motion here and there, but it was a bit too much to focus on. Rotgoriel closed his eyes and rubbed them, then took a second look.

And after a second look, he reconsidered his first impression. These weren't dwarven make. Most of them had small cracks, or crumbled bits. Others had stains, or dirt patterns over them. No self-respecting dwarf would ever let something they'd made get this bad, not if they had any choice in the matter.

Perhaps it was stupid, lazy humans squatting in conquered dwarven territory? That sounded possible.

Something whirred by, and Rotgoriel ducked back. Then he growled at his cowardice and raised his head once more.

It had been a little spinny thing, that shown in the weak sunlight. He watched it go, then whipped his head around as more motion caught his eye.

They were small, battouta-sized things that moved stiffly. Presumably those were wings moving so quickly that he couldn't see if they were feathered or scaled. As he watched, one hovered in front of a glass square across the way until someone opened the square, reached out, and drew it inside.

Trained birds, perhaps? Or insects? There were a couple of different types going around. Rotgoriel didn't know.

Then something big growled by below, and he stared down at a squat shape with wheels. It slowed, then sped up, and disappeared from sight. Obviously some sort of apex predator. Large enough that it probably ate humans. No wonder he didn't see anyone outside.

He had the feeling he was far from home. Finding his way back was going to be tricky.

Clambering down, he looked around the lair one last time. There were a couple of wooden objects that he puzzled over for a bit. They sat, square and carved, and after a bit of fumbling he figured out how to pull on the knobby bits until they opened.

They were filled with cloth, and he breathed heavily as he pulled item after item out. This! This then was the true treasure! It was so finely made, without stitchmarks and in such vibrant colors and designs that he paused for several minutes to look over and fondle every bit with greed.

It was somewhat interesting to handle things without scales getting in the way. His human fingers were far more sensitive than his true claws.

But not so interesting that he wanted to keep being a human. With a growl, Rotgoriel shut away the priceless cloth back into its treasure chests, and fumbled the door open.

The door across from him held a cleaner lair, a larger one with bigger chests and no hoard visible on the floor. Obviously a more powerful human lived here, one with no need to scatter a decoy hoard on the floor. Which meant that the treasure chests here were probably trapped, so Rotgoriel gave them a wide berth. Instead he backed out, shut the door, and walked up the passageway to a clear area, filled with unfamiliar furniture and structures.

Then his belly rumbled.

It hadn't been his imagination earlier; he was hungry. Well, this wouldn't do.

Rotgoriel took a long look around, but found nothing edible. The closest thing he found was in the smallest room. It looked like a rounded font of water with a cushioned ring around it. He knelt and drank, and it eased his thirst at least but did nothing for his hunger. It also had an aftertaste that he couldn't place, but lingered unpleasantly.

A little more searching convinced him there was no food to be had here. There weren't any signs of those cauldrons that the humans used to cook their food, either. Obviously they ate elsewhere.

Well, that was just perfect! He'd have to go into the city and find something to hunt. Then he'd have to find a pot to cook it in. That was inconvenient.

He wasn't getting any less hungry just by standing there, so he put his club back up on his shoulder and tried opening more doors, looking for a way down out of the building.

One of the doors opened into a long hallway, so long in one direction that he couldn't see the end of it. The lights were low here, half the glowstones either stolen or broken. Numbers adorned each door, and the few he tried didn't open.

Then he glanced the other direction, and saw a door at the end of it. A carved metal box sat above the door, and a red glowstone inside made the carvings look like glowing letters.

Exit, it read. Rotgoriel was impressed. Such a simple trick, and it made for neat-looking artwork! He made a mental note to obtain colored glowstones and display them like that when he had a better hoard, and enough tribute from his servants to work with.

Perhaps glowing tributes that praised him. Yes, you could make entire sentences of glowing words! My that was clever. He'd have to tell Geebo about it later.

His belly rumbled then, startling him from his distracted haze and focusing his priorities. Food first. Mage-killing next. Lair decorations later.

The exit sculpture was truthful. It revealed stairs descending, and Rotgoriel took them slowly, easing his flabby bulk down. They were lined with metal bars, and he paused a minute trying to figure out why.

That lasted until he poked his head through and looked down. It was a long way down, and he was reminded that humans didn't have wings. Cautiously he eased back to safety and resumed his downward tread. He passed doors as he went, but they didn't seem to want to open and none of them were marked as exits, so eventually he stopped checking.

Midway through the trip, he heard someone say something from below, and tensed up. It was followed by a low moan, and a laugh.

They didn't sound like bandits. That didn't mean anything, though.

He took another turn of the stairs and looked down, and there a few flights down was a man wearing a hooded black jacket. He stood sentry, gazing at something out of Rotgoriel's view to the side.

Then he looked up, caught sight of Rotgoriel, and shook his head. He raised a hand and Rotgoriel tensed... this man could be a mage, he was wearing a hood after all. But instead the man just flapped his hand, irritated.

Rotgoriel took a few more steps, trying to see what he was guarding.

It turned out to be a trio of humans, lying there on a flat spot on the stairs next to a door. They had metal strings running from their heads, connecting them to each other. They moaned and thrashed, and one of them was drooling.

“Beat it, kid,” the man in the hood said. “Turn around and walk away.”

Rotgoriel looked him up and down. The man was taller, but thinner, scrawnier. Rotgoriel was bigger. Did the human think to intimidate him? He wouldn't give way to someone weaker.

“You move,” Rotgoriel said, and thumped his club on the metal bars. They rang, and the man flinched, then clenched his lips.

“These people are paying for a good time. It's none of your business. You want to get past, go back and use the elevator. Stairs are closed,” the man said, folding his arms and glaring up.

“No,” Rotgoriel said, and started walking down.

The man shook his head and started up to meet him, one hand dipping into a hole in his jacket. “Last chance, kid. Turn around and walk away!”

Rotgoriel roared his challenge and pounced on the man.

At least, he tried.

What actually happened was that his traitorous human foot came down half on the stairs and half off, and he tumbled down them, slamming into the human's legs. His club went flying, and they both ended up in a heap on one of the flat surfaces between stairs.

“You crazy shit!” The man howled, and Rotgoriel felt hands slamming against him, punches and elbows that dug into his sides and arms.

But he'd ended up on top. And his head was free. Rotgoriel lowered his face and bit down with all his might.

“Agggh!” The man grabbed his hair and pulled, but Rotgoriel clung and chewed. He was chewing flesh through fabric, and the man couldn't get the leverage to throw him off.

Then the human under him twisted, and Rotgoriel's head exploded in pain! Everything was dark flashy bits, and he couldn't help it, his mouth hung slack, warm blood trickling down to pool around his chin. The bars rang like a bell, and Rotgoriel knew he'd been slammed into them.

Dimly, he saw the man scramble back, clutching his chest. “My nip! My fucking nip! Jesus!” He was bleeding fiercely, and Rotgoriel groped for the bars, used them as support to pull himself up as the man hobbled away, shouting. Commotion below him, out of Rotgoriel's sight. Human voices, panicked, and slamming doors.

And a whining, rising wail, that seemed to fill the stairwell.

A banshee? Oh, this was bad. Rotgoriel tried to pull himself up, failed. That knock to the head made everything harder.

Finally he managed, shaking off some of the vertigo. His legs hurt, his side hurt from where he dimly remembered the human punching him, and everything was doing a slow spin. Holding the bars for what little safety he could, he resumed shuffling downward.

Then the door just below him burst open, and two humans wearing matching black clothing rushed in. They looked bulky, and had strange masks on with glass eye coverings. He didn't know what those stubby metal things they held were, but they were pointed at him and probably a threat.

Rotgoriel stopped. They were bigger than him, so it was not his right to challenge. And right now, he didn't think he could take two enemies down.

“On your knees, on your knees now!” One of them barked.

The other one freed a hand from what was presumably his weapon, and tapped a box on his chest. “Eyes on a perp! Blood covered kid, no visible weapons!”

Rotgoriel didn't kneel. Dragons didn't kneel!

“I will shoot!” The first one said.

“Confirm Juve?” The box asked.

“Confirmed.” The second man said.

“Hold fire, apprehend and subdue,” the box crackled.

“Hold fire, roger.”

This wasn't good. The humans had fire. And he wasn't a dragon right now, so he probably wouldn't' survive it. Rotgoriel decided to try cunning, instead. “Hello, friends,” he said, pausing to spit out a bloody hunk of his foe's flesh. “Have you seen my club? I dropped it while I was trying to kill the weak man who ran away.”

He was entirely unprepared when they shot him with lightning darts.