“Unbelievable!” The Ghoul spat, he was appalled that such a potent transformation was at the command of a dirty old witch. The state of the world as he found it was appalling. The Ghoul had located his guide and admonished him. His wroth passed quickly as he sought the small clues to his next conquest. His time as a toad had given him a new perspective and he had found a buried chamber that no full sized man would have noticed. Once the transmutation had worn off he forgot all else and found his way back to the spot and pried the stones up.

A book lie here, dirt encrusted it but its pages were sheets of gold. He recognized the inscriptions on them. Not that it was astounding in itself; the modern language was derived from the ancient tongue he had known. Any literate school boy could have made it out in time. What he recognized was the formula and processes outlined in the book. They were from his works during that bygone age. Someone had studied, learned, transcribed and then lost these derivatives of his researches.

He easily understood what was here and the words of power settled on his mind gently. Such forces were tenuous at best, they rest on the outer fringes of consciousness and once evoked they fly away, but it was knowledge worth having. The carving on the stones told him a thing or two as well. If he could but cross the river from the nearby forest he would be at the cave of the mysterious Warlock.

It took some doing but the guide felled some small trees with the axe he had acquired and soon the crude craft was assembled. It was a treacherous crossing with a few close calls. A dunking in these rapid deep waters would not be an easy thing to recover from; soon the further shore was under foot. The raft seemed to be grateful to break apart and drift away with the current.

The cave entrance was covered in curious runes and the Ghoul suspected that they had no real meaning. He would not underestimate this Warlock however. Perhaps he was insane but he held the secret to gaining the one thing that was absolutely required, a true Talisman.

“Hail Warlock!” the Ghoul shouted. Hardly an appropriate deed for one of his station but he had no herald to announce him in a proper fashion.

Silence from within the cave was the only response.

“I seek an audience with the master of this place.” He called. “Please honor me with your presence.” A galling thing to say but it needed to be done.

Fire light rose in the cavern, he took it as an invitation. The torches lit the way down, not that he needed such aid but the Warlock could not know this and these sorts loved their theatrics. Once he possessed the Crown this one would have to go. He could not have anyone else gaining access to the seat of power.

“You are of an ancient line.” The Warlock stated. They had walked suddenly into a chamber. All about there were trinkets and treasures, no small amount of gold as well as more than a few skeletal remains.

“Yes, from a noble house, the line of the first Emperor.” The Ghoul boasted.

“Yet you are denied your right to rule. You seek the Crown.”

“You do indeed see the truth of things.”

“I do, I will show you something that may dismay you.” The Warlock bade him look into a mirror.

He saw a young woman riding a beast with a single horn growing from its forehead. She sported a Lance and shield and laid low a mighty guardian on a bridge. Motioning to a bowl of clear water he saw a familiar face. A young Warrior, he seemed to be wandering aimlessly, followed by a nagging old woman. The Ghoul laughed.

“I dare say you have rivals on this quest. Dare you face them? Can you continue onward with the knowledge that they would endeavor to thwart you?”

He laughed again. “This bumpkin in the bowl is known to me. He seems to be doing himself in. Outside one lucky moment he is no threat. The woman bears closer examination but I wager she is no more a problem than the average tavern wench.”

The Warlock smiled, the Ghoul took it to be approval.

“You have the knowledge of those artifacts called Talismans.” The Ghoul said; it was not an inquiry.

“You seek to cross the Valley of Fire and claim the Crown?” the Warlock asked.

“Why else would I come?” this game was wearing thin but it was out of his control.

“If you be stalwart in your desire than I will show you the path to take, however, it requires a ransom of blood.”

“I have no blood to give.” The Ghoul stated.

Until now the guide had been content to let this play out, he suddenly realized that his part in this was to be more than ever he bargained for.

“Blood I must have or you can leave my sanctuary and may you fare well.” This was no polite dismissal, it was an ultimatum.

“Guide, kneel before me.” The Ghoul ordered.

“Master!” he squeaked “I have been loyal and true, let me continue to serve you!”

“Do me but one more service and you are released from duty.”

The opening to the cave was some how gone. The guide found himself in a sealed chamber with his ghoulish master and a mad Warlock. No matter how he pleaded the Warlock only laughed the more for it and his master became more insistent.

The Ghoul grew impatient and grabbed the guide by his hair and plunged his sharp fingernails into the pleading mans throat. He held tight as the poor man tried to staunch the flow of his life’s blood. Screaming, squirming pleading but it was too late and darkness closed about him.

The blood pooled and flowed down an indentation in the floor. The small red stream made a steaming path in the coldness of the cave.

“Follow that trail; you are truly one who could claim the Crown. Go, I anticipate the drama that waits.”

The Ghoul followed the bloody trail down a winding stair and there he saw it, on a small pedestal, a true Talisman. He claimed it triumphantly; the race was nearing its end.