The chamber was dimly lit by a handful of torches burning in brass sconces on the walls and the flames of the forge which dominated its center. The ringing of a hammer echoed off its cleanly cut stone walls as the dark figure beside the forge hammered on a piece of red-hot steel held by a pair tongs against the anvil. The rhythm was simple, tap-tap-beat; tap-tap-beat.

In the red-tinged shadows of the room small figures, barely three feet tall, moved about doing the business of the forge. Their movements were curiously jerky, and their limbs extremely straight. Each movement began and ended with their joints which followed the impossible angles of the triangle exactly.

The smith was equally strange looking. He was gnarled and bony looking with wrinkled red skin and a bushy white beard. It was nearly impossible to tell where the beard ended and his wild, unkempt mane of hair began. His impossibly large eyebrows were completely unable to hide the fierce gleam that shone in his eyes as he worked the steel beneath his hammer.

He muttered to himself quietly as he worked, occasionally glancing to his right where four suits of full armor stood against the wall. Each was a masterpiece, very similar to the other yet beautiful in its own right. In basic form they followed the extravagant yet functional design of High Renaissance armors, yet each seemed subtly different.

"Well, 'Dr. Schmidt', hard at work I see."

The old nocker jumped in surprise at the voice, but visibly bit back an angry comment as he glanced up at the speaker who had appeared directly in front of him.

This new figure was taller, easily six feet, and simply dressed in black, with a dark cape whose exact color seemed to shift beneath one's gaze. His hair was dark and straight, and his face smooth and beardless. His skin had a slight dark cast to it, giving him a somewhat foreign look. His eyes were dark, but seemed to shine a little despite this.

"Mr. Donogaot..." The nocker begins, his hammer falling forgotten at his side.

"I know, Ring-maker. The sidhe chrysalid has awoke, and her coming has prompted warnings from the Light. I have come to... encourage... you to work swiftly on the Ring. You have little enough time for the task, and it must be done on time." Donogaot moves to the suits of armor and appraises them carefully, looking over each inch with caution. "Do not lose your focus. The Wendol move even now, and I must go for a while as well. Do not slow in your work, dwarf. It would be... unwise."

"Milord..." the dwarf speaks carefully, obviously afraid to cause offense. "The Light's tools... one of them is a Troll. If she were to find Runding it could make our task very difficult."

Donogaot considers, "Yes... that would be an unwelcome complication, and most likely the Light shall lead her in that direction. I shall take some steps."

Donogaot then turns and strolls from the room directly through one of the walls. Only a whisper of his voices remains , "Finish the Ring, Andwari... Finish Your new Ring..."

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The hoot of an owl sounded softly through the warm summer air, and a breeze stirred the leaves of the trees in the dark forest. Donogaot's dark figure moved silently along the gravel trail and up the hill to a small plateau. Earthen embankments surrounded the plateau, but it was quiet and empty.

Donogaot made a slight motion with his hand, and a silvery glow appeared directly in front of him. He stepped through the glow and moved on into the small circle of bark huts he could now clearly see standing about the plateau before him. A small fire burned in the center of the revealed settlement, and perhaps half a dozen figures reclined about it.

Donogaot moved unseen past the sentry standing guard at the embankments opening and walked boldly up to the fire. Silence fell upon the group around the fire, men in buckskin leathers with feathers in their hair and paint on their faces. Several reached for their weapons, dagger or tomahawks, but an older brave with a scarred face stood and motioned them to be still.

"I would speak with you, Chief Leatherface." Donogaot said firmly.

"I will speak with you." The scarred brave turned and led dark apparition into the shadows near the embankment wall.

Ignoring the stares of the others Donogoat followed, waiting until clear of the group to say, "Your war moves slowly, War Chief. Only one raid? Has Leatherface grown soft like the hare?"

"No, but these white-faces are cautious now, they give few opportunities for battle. But we shall strike again. They shall leave." Leatherface's eyes take on an intense air as he speaks of this eventual victory.

"A great victory would speed that day up." Donogaot suggests. "A blow to prove your warriors' prowess and your own bravery and skill."

'Such opportunities are few, unless I hurl my men against Chateau Lucre or Herbium Castellum. My warriors would follow but I plan to feast on the white-faces souls, not feed them the souls of my own braves. I shall not throw them away uselessly." Leatherface replies.

"Ahhh... but what if there were another tempting target? A symbol of the European invasions... ?" Donogaot smiles, seeing he fully has Leatherface's attention. "Would you strike such a blow?"

Leatherface smiles, a grotesque effect with his gaunt, wrinkled face. "Yes, Old Devil, I would strike such a blow if one made clear the target..."

Time: Midnight Saturday, 29 August 1998

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