CHAPTER ONE

"Thunk."

The misty dream that played through Stray's head shattered and gave way to light consciousness. His body stirred and he turned his head toward the sound that disturbed his slumber.

"Thunk", came the sound once more, seemingly from the roof of his cottage.

He scowled and pulled himself upright on his bed. He knew what was happening, and this time he would not be so lenient on the offenders.

Peeking through the window with his one good eye, he caught sight of two young boys, not quite at the age of thirteen, standing on the hill outside his abode. The one in front held a hefty looking rock in his hand and the one behind was advising him on what to do with it. Even at a distance, Stray could hear the goading. "Keep throwing! He'll come out sooner or later-and then we run-and run fast!!"

Stray clenched his teeth and his nostrils flared, as was apt to happen when his patience was sorely abused. He pulled on his robe and quietly made his way to the back door determined to put a stop to this foolishness.

He had hoped to sleep in on this day after coming home from an extended excursion into the bowels of Mt Lethe; but it seemed that once again, the local children would rob him of it. For you see, Stray was the next best thing to a hermit. He disliked people in general and he doubly disliked children. He never had any use for them and wondered why anyone would ever want to bother having them in the first place. "Dirty, without manners, constantly needy, I'd take me a pet Moarsman before I'd even think of havin' a child." he would mutter. The problem was, this attitude had made most of
the towns children fear him. This in itself would have made Stray happy; but fear sometimes can have an unexpected effect. For as anyone knows, it is common for children to do things that will make them feel esteemed in the eyes of their peers. In some towns, this would be accomplished by running into the entrance of a supposedly "haunted" dungeon, or tormenting a Drudge Skulker until it came running after them. In Cragstone however, the test to prove your worth was to pelt Strays cottage with rocks until he came out screaming at the top of his lungs-always with his axe in his hands. If
there was no screaming, or no axe, your quest was considered a failure and the whole thing had to be repeated again at a later time.

On the surface, one would think that bombarding a half-blind, old mans house with stones was not a very good test of braveness and valor; but a rumor had started years ago that if you were ever caught by Old-Man Stray, that he would carve you up with his axe, put you in a pot with carrots and cabbage and eat you for supper. This had never happened of course, but it was enough of a fright to make their knees knock when they performed their 'rites of passage' atop the hill.

Stray was not to be outdone this time. Sneaking out the back door, he crept to the East, being careful to keep his cottage between him and his attackers. The intermittent sound of a rock bouncing off of his roof proved that he had not yet been seen making his way into the wood- and around the hill behind where the scamps had positioned themselves.

As he emerged from the woods behind the hill, he saw that two had became five. Four (including the thrower) were older, while one seemed but six or seven years of age. Still facing the cottage, they had yet to see the short and stocky robed figure approaching them from behind.

"Blast them!" he thought. "It's no wonder this land is going to Bael'Zharon in a barrel, when a child becomes a delinquent-barely after cutting his teeth!"

It wasn't until Strays shadow moved before the boys cast from the morning sun, that any of them realized they had been flanked.

"AAAAIIIIEEEE!" one of them screeched. And the mayhem of scattering children in fear of their life ensued.

Stray tried to grab the boy that was throwing the rocks, but all he ended up with was a large strip of torn tunic in his hands. The boy would no doubt have to explain to his parents why his nice new shirt lost a quarter of its fabric; but this was no consolation. Stray wanted an example set.

Just as he was thinking that he might not catch any of them, one of the boys fell while running down the hill. It was the youngest, but Stray was not picky at this point. He loped to where the boy lay sprawled on the ground and picked him up with one arm; holding him tight like a sack of potatoes. He walked slowly into his house with the child kicking and bellowing all the while.

He hoped that at least one of the boys' companions would see him as he picked up his axe that leaned upon the cottage doorpost. Offering an evil sneer for effect, he entered his cottage with the writhing lad and closed the door behind them.