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that.”
     
    We continued along the trail which followed along the edge of the lake. I was feeling pretty stupid at this point but resolved not to let it get me down.
     
    I watched Phlixx as he skipped along by my side. To say I was grateful for having him was an understatement. He was a quest reward item and one which had been tough to finish. But worth it, in the end. Even if he could get annoying at times.
     
    Thorm, who was in the lead, held up a hand. We stopped. “There's someone up ahead,” he said.
     
    Just off the trail sat a well dressed man on a fallen log. His face was in his hands and he was crying.
     
    Ready for trouble, we approached.
     
    “Hello,” I said. “Is everything all right?”
     
    The man continued crying but didn't respond.
     
    This was obviously part of the quest so I engaged him further. “Sir, is something wrong?” I took a step closer but Feign waved at me to stop.
     
    “Don't get too close,” Feign said. “Look at his skin.”
     
    The man's hands were marbled with thick, black veins. His neck was covered in them as well. Was it a disease?
     
    “What do we do?” Mudhoof said. “Kill him?”
     
    I shook my head and looked to Thorm. “Think a cure spell of some kind would do the trick?”
     
    Thorm peered at the man's flesh, but shook his head. “No. That's not a disease.”
     
    Before I could ask what he meant, the man looked up at us. His face was worse than the rest of him, almost blackened with the strange veins.
     
    “He's here,” the man said, tears streaming down his face. “He's here and there will be no sending him back now!”
     
    “Who is here?” I asked. Mudhoof and the others had tensed for a fight, watching our surroundings.
     
    “The one who is all!” The little man said, working himself up into a frenzy. “The one who will rule!” He began to shake.
     
    “This guy's a nut,” said Mudhoof. “Let's just kill him and loot his corpse.”
     
    I ignored my bloodthirsty friend and tried to calm the little man down by trying a different approach. “I'm Vivian, these are my friends. What's your name?”
     
    The little man's eyes locked onto me, as if noticing my existence for the first time. “Why, I'm the mayor of Ashbrook. The place he has chosen to begin his empire!”
     
    The mayor of Ashbrook then stood and shook his fists in front of him. “Death to the despoilers! Death to the craven worms who do not worship the One!”
     
    Thorm stepped forward gripping his great broadsword with both hands. He mumbled a quick chant and the mayor abruptly stopped shaking, but his eyes were still wide with whatever mania afflicted him.
     
    “I don't believe this soothing enchantment will hold for very long,” Thorm said, eying the mayor warily. “But you may get a more coherent answer from him, now.”
     
    “He's not diseased?”
     
    Thorm shook his head. “No, he's cursed, and in a bad way.”
     
    I said to the mayor, “We would like to help. Where can we find this 'One' you are talking about? Did he hurt you?”
     
    At the mention of the 'One' the mayor's fists resumed shaking, and he took a step closer to me. “Do not think you can defile him with your blather!” He screamed. “He shall grant you the gift of death for your insolence!”
     
    “What a charming conversationalist,” said Feign, and a large snowball appeared in his hand. “Best get ready, I think this one is going to blow up at any moment.”
     
    The mage was right. The little mayor suddenly grunted and his body twisted about. We all eased back, weapons at the ready.
     
    The black veins in his flesh now ballooned outward, expanding against his skin. The mayor let out a blood-curdling cry as his torso and arms tore open his shirt and jacket. His shoes popped and his feet extended out.
     
    In moments, his entire body had mutated into a blacked, bulbous contortion.
     
    His eyes, one now freakishly larger than the other, looked to us. When he spoke, it was not with his