Role

Chapter 4

It was indeed a dark day from the Seaport and the Dhrunkul family.
Rumors swirled from that roll, how those bloodied dice were cursed by
fourteen witches from different continents. How the Conclave had been
planning for this eventful day since Ghrunkels birth, jealous of the
wealth amassed by the Dhrunkuls luck and forgesmithing. How the
Empire was behind the entire plan, to instill order within the Seaport.

The rumors that were verified swirled around the happenings of that
night after Ghrunkel lost not only his fortune, but the fortune of his
allies. He had been cornered by the Conclave and their mages in an
alleyway after narrowly escaping the angry mass. His prize possessions
were torn asunder, his famous red beard unkempt and burnt, but his
haughty and courageous expression appeared unbroken.

'You do not have your friends to protect you anymore, dwarf. Now we
claim what we truly want.'

The voice of the drow showed its true character as he recited an
incantation, paralyzing Ghrunkel in place. The bloodied dice emerged in
the drows fingers as his hollow laugher echoed with the dice before the
dice shuddered and transformed itself into the winking form of a gnome
shapeshifter.

'Take them.'

Ghrunkel struggled with all his might but was helpless as another
assailant uttered an incantation, creating slices of air across his body,
starting from his leg, crossing his abdomen, and butchering his hair.
Amidst the pain, Ghrunkel realized finally what they truly wanted. It was
too late, as those razor thin air cut off his extra fingers.

"AHHHH MEH FINGEHS!!! YE BASTIDS!!! MEH GUNNA CRUSH YER SKULL!!!"

Perhaps his luck was still working as he broke from the paralysis, but the
assailants were already gone, along with his fingers.

That day the luck of the Dhrunkuls had expired, and Ghrunkel had become a
ten-fingered nobody.