“I am the Chosen One. Only I can bring peace and restore balance to the land,” said the blonde Knight in Shining™ Armor.

“You still don’t understand,” said the Ranger, clad in mail. He hiked up his sleeve and showed the mark that was burned into his arm. “This symbol of the Cruel God Azaz signifies–”

“Azaz my Az-ass! That signifies your whore of a mother spilled bacon fat on you when you were a child.”

The men drew swords and faced off. But before either of them could swing, a thin man dressed in a faded black cloak stepped between them. He said, “Please, my Lords, please! We mustn’t fight amongst ourselves.”

“Out of my way, Rattick! You are but a hireling!” cried the Ranger. He waved a gauntleted fist in Rattick’s pinched face. “It is my destiny to run him through.”

“Your destiny? Don’t be absurd. I am the CHOSEN ONE!” shrieked the Knight.

“Perhaps,” said Rattick, “you have both been Chosen.” They stopped to consider this possibility. Rattick pressed on, “We go to face a mighty foe. A powerful Wizard in a deep dungeon. Perhaps all the others have failed not because they didn’t have a Chosen One, but because they didn’t have enough Chosen Ones.”

“I AM THE CHOSEN ONE!” they both shouted.

Okay, thought Rattick, that was a mistake. Best to let the morons fight it out. But before he could step off the field of idiocy, the Enchantress chimed in. “Don’t talk to him like that,” she said. “He is a member of this party. Moreover, the sacred vows I have taken at the Shrine of Lauranda mean that I must treat all beings with courtesy and respect, and eat nothing that has a face,” she intoned with reverence.

To Rattick’s surprise, this worked. The men lowered their swords and apologized (apologized!) to each other. Rattick stared longingly at the Enchantress. She was beautiful. Her curves were accentuated by the belt of gold rings that encircled her hips and the massive ruby that gleamed from between her breasts. Perhaps there was a way he could… No. Better not to think of such things.

“Forgive me, good Rattick,” said the Knight, his head bowed. “Though it is true that we have hired you to guide us to the lair of the foul Wizard Dimsbury, you have served us true and are a member of this party.”

“We brave Companions,” said the Ranger, “we happy few, each, in our own way, fulfilling a mystical and wondrous destiny. Yes, we are all sorry to have used you so badly, faithful Rattick.”

Rattick’s jaw dropped. Could they be serious? Was it possible that they were conning him rather than the other way around? He clacked his teeth together and pasted a smile across his sour mouth. “Not at all, good sirs,” said Rattick. “We are Adventurers! Spirits run high with ones so bold as we.”

“Huzzah!” cried the Knight, as he lifted his heavy blade in the air.

“Huzzah!” cried the Ranger, clanging his blade against the sword of the man he was very recently going to run through.

“Huzzah,” giggled the Enchantress, clapping her hands together and sending a tiny fireball up to dance against the blades.

“You gotta be kidding,” thought Rattick as he lifted his dagger in half-hearted salute.

* * *

A few hours later, they emerged from the forest into a strange clearing and Rattick announced, “This is it.”

“What do you mean?” asked the Ranger. “You mean this? It’s just a door in the side of a hill.” And so it was. A frame and stout oak door had been incongruously installed into the side of a well-grassed mound perhaps 25 feet high and 50 feet around. In front of the door was a reed mat that read “Go Away.”

“You expected a sign?” asked Rattick.

“Well, I… I don’t know what I expected,” said the Ranger.

“That’s why you hired me to be your guide.”

“No, good fellow,” protested the Ranger, “do not wound me so. You are no longer hireling, but boon Companion, a full member of our brave band.”

“Yes, yes,” said Rattick, “let us to it, boon Companions.” He reached for the door but before he could open it, the Enchantress interrupted.

“Stop! We must first seek the benediction of Lauranda. Her blessing will keep us safe during our time of trial.”

The Knight and the Ranger both drew their swords and knelt. Rattick rolled his eyes. Just get it over with. He didn’t know how much more amateur hour he could take. But he consoled himself with the knowledge that it would all be over soon.

The Enchantress completed her babbling, and they ventured into the Wizard’s lair. It did not take long before the Companions heard rumblings and gnashings of teeth from the darkness ahead. Rattick smiled. The Troll was still there, and he sounded hungry. “Stay here, faithful Companions,” he said, playing it for all it was worth, “I will use my mastery of stealth and shadow to scout the way.”

He handed his torch to the Ranger. He took two steps forward into the darkness of the cave. With a flourish, he wrapped his cape of faded black around him and vanished. Rattick heard his boon Companions gasp as he disappeared.

“Oh, he’s very good,” said the Enchantress.

Rattick was good, but so were his tools. The cape, mean and worn as it looked, was a powerful Magical item. It possessed three properties that Rattick knew of. One: when closed, it imposed upon all who saw it a powerful desire to look elsewhere. Two: in anything from darkness to light shadow, it rendered the user invisible. Three: it was an item so enchanted as to be nearly impossible to steal from its rightful owner. Rattick had learned this the hard way, procuring this wonderful item only after killing its previous rightful owner.

“Be thankful he did not charge us more,” muttered the Knight.

Again Rattick smiled at the nothingness of the dark. The bill for Rattick’s services was about to come due, and the brave-but-stupid Knight would find it held many hidden charges. Rattick took a few steps around the corner and squatted in the passageway. Faithful Companions? How could they fall for that? Rattick wasn’t sticking his neck out any farther than he had to. He waited for a time, then unwrapped his cloak and returned to the pool of torchlight in which his brave, faithful, and gullible Companions waited.

As he stepped into the light, he donned an expression of fear. With a skill long practiced, he trembled as he spoke. “It is a Troll my Companions. A creature most large and fearsome. I fear it is more than we can defeat. We should turn back.”

“Ha ha ha ha!” laughed the Knight, taking the bait. “A Troll! That is nothing to a Knight of the Yarven Dawn.”

“And it is even less to the Blessed and Chosen of Azaz,” said the Ranger, revealing the strange mark branded on his arm for what felt like the thousandth time.

Rattick swallowed his disgust and said, “You are so much braver and stronger than I.”

The Knight drew his sword and said, “Stay behind me and learn how it is done. Fear not, Rattick, for you are in the company of Heroes.”

“I shall not let you steal the Glory!” cried the Ranger as he shouldered the Knight aside.

Rattick couldn’t believe it – the idiots charged! A frontal assault on a Troll? They were so stupid it was a wonder they could remember to breathe.

The Enchantress edged past him, smelling of exotic perfume. “I will see if I can bind the creature with The Mother’s Embrace. Stay behind me, and you will be safe.”

He followed her swaying hips through the corridor, for once grateful for torchlight. There was a roar and the stench of something awful. Rattick knew this to be the Troll’s breath. Nothing smells worse than rotting flesh trapped between Troll teeth.

When she saw the Troll, the Enchantress raised her arms and began casting a spell. As her hands wove their intricate pattern, Rattick slid his knife across her perfect, white throat. She gasped as her life’s blood poured down her neck, over the exquisite ruby necklace and into the deep valley of her heaving breasts. Before she could make another sound, Rattick covered her mouth and dragged her into the darkness.

She whimpered softly and grew weak. Rattick set her against the wall and removed his hand from her face. When he lifted her chin she mouthed the word, “Why?” Rattick bent down and kissed the dying woman on the lips. Her eyes fluttered as her life left the husk of her body.

Rattick tore the necklace from her throat. Then he wiped the blood from it with a black silk handkerchief. In the distance, the screams of the Chosen Ones ended in terrible, wet, bone-crunching noises.

Staring into the glittering facets of the ruby, Rattick answered the dead woman. “Why? Because it was a kindness. Because there are worse things in the depths of this dungeon than you can imagine. Because this is what happens when you choose to play a dangerous game. All of those are close, but if you really want the truth of it…” He looked up and saw that she was dead. “Because I can.”