ROUND THREE (OR HOW TO KILL A FROGHEMOTH IN THIRTY SECONDS OR LESS)
‘That must be it,’ Giovanni thought, for he could not speak aloud in the magically silenced room. ‘The Apostolic Scrolls.’ Carefully avoiding the writhing green beam, he walked around the back side of the altar, gazing at the scroll, but studiously avoiding reading any of the words. Who knew what even glancing at those powerfully evil verses might unleash? He could not, however, keep himself from summoning up his innate ability to detect magic. Instantly, a stabbing pain went through his head as the overwhelming aura of the scrolls bombarded him. Struggling to clear his mind, he tried to unravel the multiple auras that he sensed and focus on one at a time.
The first, and least powerful, dweomer that he noted was an unhallowing effect that permeated the chamber. It must be the source of the silence in the room. Probably placed by the priest they had just slain. Next, the green energy field that surrounded the scroll was some sort of temporal stasis. While it lasted, the scroll could not be touched or tampered with in any way. Most likely a defense mechanism of the item itself to allow the ritual to be completed without interference. Finally, the scroll itself radiated a supremely powerful aura of necromancy and evil.
Stepping out of the room, he motioned his team mates to him and told them of his observations.
“It’s certainly beyond my ability to deal with,” Vladius said. “And I doubt a simple dispelling field will affect it.” He looked meaningfully at Grubber.
“What if we destroy the altar itself?” Giovanni asked. “Would the scroll fall and disrupt the effect?”
Vladius shrugged and Grubber shook his head doubtfully.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Giovanni said, and then he stepped to the doorway, pointed one finger towards the altar and proceeded to send blast after blast of eldritch energy into it. Piece by piece he blew the stone block apart, until nothing was left but rubble. Floating above the rubble, the scroll was untouched.
“We’d best move on,” Dwilt said. “Perhaps we’ll find something that will give us a clue to deactivate this thing.” Nodding their agreement, the group formed up once more. The most obvious place to start seemed to be the doors through which the green beam passed. They had witnessed the fiendish priest walk through the beam without ill effect, but that didn’t mean just anyone could. Grim motioned the others behind him, and taking a deep breath, he stepped to the doors, reached through the beam and grasped the handles. Nothing happened. Letting his breath out, he pulled open the doors. Beyond was a twenty-five foot long, ten foot wide corridor. A large portal of stone, covered with the obscene depiction of an orgy of dead, worm-ridden corpses blocked the passage. In the middle of the macabre mass, a carving of the horrible skull of Kyuss uttered a silent scream of triumph.
The first thing the group noticed was that the silencing effect of the altar chamber did not extend to this hall. However, the green beam continued down the passage to strike the second set of doors, bathing them in emerald light. Cautiously, they approached the portals. Shay stepped in front of the others and carefully studied the entire surface of the doors, being equally careful not to touch them.
“If they’re trapped,” he said after a moment, “I can’t see the mechanism.”
“The same magic field persists here as in the other room,” Giovanni observed.
“Well, it didn’t harm us the first time,” Dwilt shrugged. He reached for the doors, only this time, his hand encountered a spongy, invisible barrier inches away from the handles. Instantly, a blast of black energy surged up his arm and through his entire body. He staggered back, clutching his cold, numb hand. He glared coldly at Shay.
“Hey,” the rogue said, holding up his hands, “I said I couldn’t see it. That didn’t mean it wasn’t there.”
“Well, we obviously aren’t going any further this way,” Dwilt said, still cradling his injured arm. “Let’s try the other door.”
They returned to the altar chamber, and crossed to the single door on the far side. On the other side was a short passage ending at a second door, and beyond this they found what appeared to be a bed chamber. A central pillar of green marble carved in the likeness of a segmented worm supported the ceiling. The room was dimly lit by a single incense burner that shed a sweet, fruity aroma. The chamber was lined with woolen tapestries depicting coiling green worms, and contained a bed, an armchair, and a cupboard. Near the bed were a small nightstand and an ornate, elongated trunk.
Before any one entered the room, Giovanni stepped to the fore, and opened his senses again for the presence of magic. Immediately, his attention was drawn to the trunk. Magic radiated from it and from within it.
“Shay,” he called over his shoulder. “Got another job for you.”
“Make sure you get it right this time,” Vladius jeered, after which he found himself on the receiving end of a particularly obscene gesture which could get a person dismembered in Calimport.
Shay crouched before the trunk. It appeared to be made of darkwood and bound with steel. A steel plaque representing a screaming skull infested by worms was nailed to the lid. The side panels were painted in tones of black and green with a cycle of apocalyptic images running around it like a frieze. The images were divided into two horizontal strips, underground and aboveground, by a cutaway of the earth’s crust. Underground, the horrible figure of a man made of worms lay imprisoned in a huge, stone monolith. The figure had been represented in perspective on each of the trunk’s four sides. Huge, green worms writhed in the surrounding caverns’ crust to invade the aboveground part of the paintings, where a sickly, green light illuminated a blasted landscape. There, the writhing worms towered over a population of monstrous undead and naked, terrified victims.
“Charming,” Shay muttered. He examined the entire trunk with a skilled eye, and there, just around the locking mechanism, he saw it…the faintest of glimmers, that to a trained professional such as himself, indicated the presence of a magical trap.
“Definitely,” he said to the others.
“Well, we’ve got the key ring that we took off goat-boy back there,” Grim said, twirling the ring around on one finger. “You’d think he’d have a way to bypass his own trap.”
“Be my guest,” Shay said, backing away to a safe distance. Grim scowled and strode purposefully up to the trunk, where he knelt and inserted what he hoped was the correct key. Turning it, he heard a satisfying click. “Hah!” he shouted, and lifted the lid. At that moment, he felt a searing pain in his hand where it touched the lid, and then he cried out as he jerked his hand back. Something beneath his skin was…writhing. Suddenly, a sickly, green worm burst from the back of his hand and dropped wetly to the floor where it hissed and bubbled into a noisome pool of goo.
“At least you got it open,” Shay shrugged, not quite meeting the withering stare of the mineral warrior.
The trunk contained several wondrous magical items, as well as gold and gems, but nothing pertaining to the scroll. A thorough search of the room likewise turned up nothing helpful. A single door led west from the room.
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Thrakerzog brooded within the large urn that served him as a resting place. He had heard the tell-tale sounds of combat several minutes ago, coming from the direction of the shrine. Bozal Zahol was probably under attack, and in need of his assistance, but he would be damned if he was going to trouble himself to assist the half-breed (technically, being a demon, Thrakerzog was damned anyway, but that was beside the point). The priest had summoned him in order to strike a bargain, but in hindsight, the demon felt that he had gotten the short end of the deal. Bozal had asked him to ‘domesticate’ the oozes that dwelled in the sewers, and to guard the shrine as a whole. Well, strictly speaking, Bozal’s exact words had been, “stand guard in this room,” and it was in this room that Thrakerzog intended to remain. As he chuckled silently to himself though, imagining Bozal’s current predicament, he heard the door on the other side of the curtain open, and saw a distinctly dwarf-like shape peering around the corner.
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Peering into the room, Grim beheld a bare chamber lit by a brazier in the northwest corner. A green and black checkered curtain hung from a steel bar fixed near the ceiling, concealing the southern part of the room. Cautiously, Grim pulled back one edge of the curtain…and abruptly wished he had not. A six-foot tall black earthenware urn stood near the middle of the south wall. The south wall itself was completely filled with a mosaic of tiny green tiles depicting the horrible skull of Kyuss. Suddenly, from out of the urn emerged a shivering, shapeless blob of phosphorescent green corruption surrounded by a cracked, leathery coating which constantly oozed, secreted, hardened, and split open again. Dark, swollen eye globules dotted the surface of the thing. As Grim recoiled in disgust, a blast of frigidly cold air erupted from the mass, blistering both his stony hide, and Hawk, who stood directly behind him in the corridor outside the room.
Reacting with the experience of years of military training, Dwilt and Hawk surged into the room without even knowing what it was they faced. No sooner had they crossed the threshold, than another wave of cold emanated from the thing in the urn, only this time it began to solidify into a wall of ice which would trap them on one side, and the rest of the team on the other. However, as the ice wall began rising towards the ceiling, Grim shoved the head of his axe directly across its sagital plane, causing the entire structure to collapse into a harmless pile of snow.
At that moment both Grubber and Giovanni entered the room, Grubber by charging directly in, and Giovanni by invisibly dimension-walking. Simultaneously, their eyes fell upon the visage of Kyuss on the wall behind the urn, and something within their minds snapped. An overwhelming sensation of hopelessness, panic, and impending doom swept over them. For a moment, Grubber stood wide-eyed and rooted to the spot. Not so Havok, who stepped between dimensions again, and was gone.
Thrakerzog was irritated that his attempt to split the intruders up didn’t work, but it didn’t really matter. Now the alkilith had four of them in his sights, and he unleashed a second arctic blast directly at them.
Grim was in trouble. He had now taken two direct hits from the creature’s magic, and he knew he would not live through a third. He needed to regroup, perhaps have Grubber use his healing powers, but as he turned towards the priest, he saw the goliath fleeing at full speed back the way they had just come.
“Get out of there!” Vladius shouted from his position still within the bedchamber of the priest. He had witnessed his team getting mowed down by some spell-slinging being, and now Grubber was in full retreat. As Grim heeded his warning, Pyro slapped one hand on the mineral warrior's shoulder, uttering an arcane word as he did so. Instantly, a troll stood where Grim had just been. The transformation process immediately healed some of the dwarf’s injuries, and, the wizard hoped, fortified him enough to go back into battle.
Dwilt and Hawk also took Pyro’s advice and retreated towards the bedchamber, knowing that the wizard was about to launch one of his signature fireballs. Before he had a chance, however, the oozing mass appeared in the hallway behind the paladins, moving amazingly fast for something so ungainly. A third conical blast of cold roared down the corridor, enveloping Grim, Hawk, Vladius and Storm. Dwilt dove around a corner at the last second, avoiding the brunt of the blast. As the cloud of ice cleared, Storm collapsed to the floor. Whether she was alive or dead, Dwilt couldn’t tell.
Shay had also avoided the frigid blast, and now he stepped to the open doorway, and launched a volley of arrows at the advancing blob. One by one, the arrows bounced harmlessly off the creature’s hide. “Oh crap,” the rogue whispered, and then leaped for cover as a tiny bead of flame went sailing over his head. The fireball exploded behind the demon, filling the corridor, but as the flames subsided, the creature looked only mildly scorched.
Hawk couldn’t tell whether Storm was alive either, but he had no intention of leaving her directly in the path of the monster. He ran to her side, and laid one hand on her forehead, channeling the healing energy granted him by Torm. He heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the sorceress draw a great gasping breath and open her eyes, but his elation turned to pain as a bolt of black energy struck him, chilling him all the way to his soul. “Run!” he shouted at the drow as he whirled to meet his attacker.
Storm didn’t need to be told twice. Hawk had snatched her from the jaws of death, but she was far from whole. One more blast like that would kill her. She bolted from the chamber, back towards the shrine, with Shay right on her heels.
“This is way out of my league,” the rogue said apologetically, but Storm understood completely. She was afraid it might be out of all of their leagues.
“Still alive, eh?” Vladius shouted defiantly at the still advancing demon. “Maybe I just didn’t try hard enough the first time!” Chanting again, he called a second flaming ball to his hand, and hurled it at the alkilith. In answer, the demon filled the bedchamber with a nauseating, greasy black miasma. As the cloud clung to their them, Grim and Dwilt felt their skin burn, but Hawk was seared to his core. Instinctively, he knew the effect to be one of pure unholy energy, which his celestial heritage made him uniquely susceptible to. In spite of himself, he screamed in agony. Dimly, he heard Dwilt and Grim shouting, and when he finally regained control of himself, he saw why. Vladius lay unmoving on the floor. With a sinking feeling, the civilar saw that the mage had assumed his normal form, his mephit shape gone. Such a thing would not have happened if he were merely unconscious. Pyro was dead.
With a cry of defiance, Hawk rose to his feet and charged the demon. “By Torm’s holy might, I smite thee!” he shouted. “Back to the pit, spawn of evil!” He drove his blade deep into the undulating mass, calling upon his god’s anger to channel holy power into the fiend. Thrakerzog wailed an inhuman cry as pain wracked his body. So blinding was the agony, that he could not concentrate to focus his magic. Instead he struck out blindly with four pseudopods, hammering at the paladin with rage. Hawk felt the blows connect solidly, but here his ancestry served him well. His thick skin barely registered the concussive impacts, and the acid which the beast secreted was like water to his celestial hide.
“It’s a demon,” Dwilt wheezed to Grim as they watched Hawk make his stand. “Only holy power can truly affect it. Hold out your blade!” Grim obliged, though he had no idea what the civilar had in mind. Dwilt drew a vial of oil from his belt, and poured the liquid directly on Grim’s axe. There was a brief flash, and then the axe began to glow with a pure white light. “Now,” Dwilt told the troll/dwarf, “it’s payback time.”
Thrakerzog knew he could not fight this aasimar hand-to-hand, and he recognized the holy nature of the blade the troll approaching him now wielded. He had to buy time. Once more he summoned the unholy blight, drowning the three warriors in its darkness. He felt a surge of satisfaction as he saw the chain-wielding human double over and begin heaving up his last meal.
Hawk knew he was done for. The second unholy surge burned even more than the first. He was being roasted alive from the inside out. If he didn’t use his healing power to tend himself, he would not live to continue the fight. He staggered back as Grim approached. “Go my friend,” the troll/dwarf rumbled. “I’ll hold it here.” The mineral warrior didn’t wait to see if the civilar obeyed or not. He simply turned and stalked towards the alkilith, death walking. The blob began to slither away from him, but not quickly enough. With an inarticulate cry, Grim raised his axe, and buried it to the haft in the sickening green goo.
Thrakerzog screamed again. Curse Bozal Zahol for abandoning him! If the priest still lived, the demon fully intended on altering their agreement. For now, he called upon his innate magic once more and teleported himself away from the troll, reappearing unseen in the concealed corridor beyond his room which led to the lair of Bozal’s human ally. There, he allowed himself a moment’s respite, and then smiled evilly. Closing his eye globules in concentration, he willed his body to change shape. Slowly, his viscous form turned to gas.
Hawk saw the demon vanish, but his knowledge of magic was limited. It may have fled, but it may just as easily be lurking invisibly in the corridor, preparing to attack again. Quickly, he lifted Vladius’ cooling body, and carried him from the room. Behind him, Dwilt struggled to regain control of his bodily functions while Grim scanned the hallway cautiously, looking for any sign of their enemy.
What Grim saw was a thick, noxious, yellow-green cloud begin seeping into the room containing the urn from under the north wall. Slowly, the cloud expanded and began moving towards him. He began backing up, but soon the vapor had filled the corridor and half of the bedchamber. He began gasping and choking as it filled his lungs, and Dwilt was no better off than he. He felt his strength begin to ebb and he knew that if he stayed in the cloud much longer, he would soon be incapable of moving at all. Rushing to Dwilt’s side, he draped the civilar’s arm around his shoulder and the pair limped from the chamber, rejoining their remaining team mates in the silent shrine. Storm and Shay were already on the other side, and Hawk motioned Grim and Dwilt to come too. Behind them, the cloud began flowing out of Bozal’s chambers and towards the shrine.
The team reached the training room, and still the cloud pursued them. “We can’t stay!” Hawk shouted. “We have to make for the upper levels!” Together, they ran from the room, back through the coffin storage chamber, and up the stairs to the wine cellar, closing the secret doors behind them.
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Grubber and Giovanni did not stop running until they had returned to the coenoby and their quarters. Even then, they spent several moments cowering in a corner. When the terror finally loosened its grip from their hearts, they said nothing to one another, merely looking shame-facedly at their feet. Though obviously ensorcelled, and forced to flee against their wills, the fact remained that they had abandoned their friends.
“Let’s go,” Giovanni said finally, and Grubber simply nodded.
They began making their way back to the upper ring as quickly as possible, but by the time they arrived at the cell block, they saw their team mates approaching. Grubber immediately noticed that several of them looked badly injured, and Vladius... ‘Oh no!’ the goliath thought as he rushed to take the wizard from Hawk’s arms. He realized immediately that Pyro was dead. He bowed his head as he listened to Dwilt tell the tale of what had transpired. Storm sniffled quietly in the background. At last Grubber raised his head when Dwilt had finished. “I can’t believe I’m actually saying this,” he began, “especially in light of the constant, nasty jibes I’ve had to tolerate from the arrogant, little bastard, but Grumbar help me, I think I can bring him back.” The others stared at him blankly.
“Are you serious?” Dwilt asked finally. “How? You said it was beyond you when Shay died.”
“I know,” the priest nodded, “and at the time it was, but all that we have seen and done has drawn me closer in my faith to Grumbar. He has granted me the power. Give me until tomorrow when I can perform my morning devotional, and you will see. For now, however, it seems we have a more pressing concern.”
The guards. That was what Grubber meant. There was still the matter of the four wardens they had locked in one of the cells. What was to be done with them? If simply left there, they would be discovered the next day and would readily identify their assailants, insuring at the very least the disqualification of Impotent Rage, if not their outright arrest.
Ultimately, Dwilt came up with a plan. When the wardens awoke in their cell, they were still bound and gagged. Standing over them were the leader of Impotent Rage, the one called Dwilt, and another of the warriors, Hawk. They seemed to be involved in some sort of disagreement.
“And I say they have to die,” Dwilt shouted, gesturing towards the wide-eyed wardens. “They’ve seen our faces, for one thing, and we know they are accomplices of Brokengulf. They have aided him in filling the catacombs beneath the arena with undead, not to mention that demon we fought. If they were on trial by the magisters, they would be found guilty and executed.”
Hawk shook his head vehemently. “I think you’re wrong. These men are unwitting pawns. How could any decent person stand by and watch the evil that Brokengulf has summoned unleashed upon their own city and people? They should be released.”
“Released?” Dwilt said in disbelief. “Why? So they can run to Brokengulf first chance they get and warn him that we are on to him? So that he can push his plan forward to destroy Waterdeep?”
“They would be fools to go to him,” Hawk argued. “If he knew that they had any idea what he was up to, he would kill them just to silence them and leave no loose ends.” Dwilt seemed to consider this as he glared at the bound men, who by now were sweating profusely. One, it seemed, had even soiled himself.
“Well?” Dwilt snarled, ripping the gag from one man’s mouth. “What’s it to be? Do we strangle you right here and now, and dump your bodies in the cistern below, or do we cut you loose on your word that you will leave Waterdeep and tell no one what you have seen or heard?”
The man’s mouth worked in silence for a moment, before he finally managed to stammer, “We…we…I mean to say…yes! Anything you say! We swear it! No one will hear a word from our lips!” Dwilt appeared to debate a moment longer, then he spat and turned away, motioning to Shay.
“Cut them loose.” The rogue kneeled behind each of the men, cutting their bonds, but whispering to them as he did so, “I have friends among the Shadow Thieves. Believe me on your life that if you break your vow, you will not live to see the sun rise.” The men staggered quickly to their feet and rushed en masse for the door, then bolted down the hall.
“Do you think they’ll talk?” Hawk asked.
“Maybe,” Dwilt said, “but not tonight, and probably not tomorrow. By the time they work up the nerve to cross us, this business will be concluded, one way or another.”
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Morning found Grubber deep in prayer beside Vladius’ cold body. The others stood back, their attention riveted on the priest. Finally, the goliath finished his chant, and then crushed a large gem with his maul, sprinkling the dust over the wizard’s corpse. Suddenly, Vladius’ chest heaved, and his eyes flew open. He scrabbled to grab the front of Grubber’s tunic. “You lying son-of-a-harpy!” he screamed. “You said you were guiding me to Celestia, where forty vestal virgins awaited my personal attention!”
Grubber shrugged, “I figured you wouldn’t come back if I just told you we needed you for the next match. Welcome home!”
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When the team emerged from their quarters, they saw Auric and Khellek striding angrily away from the posting board. The reigning champions scowled darkly at the group as he passed.
When they read the board themselves, they understood the reason for Auric’s ire. It seemed that his team was to face the Crazy Eight in the semi-final round, and Impotent Rage would be facing a creature known as Madtooth. Traditionally, the previous year’s champions would not fight another team in the third round, almost insuring their place in the finals. This was most unusual.
“What do you make of the night shift just up and vanishing?” a voice said from behind them. A pair of Wardens stood a short distance away. “Dunno,” one of them replied, “maybe they were afraid of what would happen to them for letting that prisoner get away. Maybe they figured they should skip town while they could.”
“Maybe,” the other shrugged. “Anyway, I wish it was them and not us having to deal with old Madtooth today. It’s been a royal pain in the arse trying to keep his cage so cold. I’ll be glad when this is over, and they send the brute back to the Spine. Frost salamanders! Hah! You can keep’em.” The men then seemed to take notice of the party’s attention on them, and they lowered their voices and moved away.
“Interesting conversation,” Giovanni said to no one in particular.
“Awfully convenient for us to ‘overhear’ that,” Vladius sneered.
“Very,” Dwilt agreed. “I think Brokengulf’s up to his old tricks again.”
“Yeah,” Vladius said, “for all we know Madtooth’s a red dragon.”
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Later that morning, Auric and Khellek returned victorious from their match, but they didn’t seem very pleased with their victory. Their glares spoke volumes about their feelings concerning Impotent Rage’s placement in the semis.
“Impotent Rage!” the warden called, and the team followed him upstairs to the lift. As the platform rose, Vladius assumed his standard mephit form while Dwilt quaffed a potion, enlarging himself to twice his normal size, and Shay and Havok both rendered themselves invisible. Upon reaching the arena, the air seemed electric with expectation. “Ladies and Gentlemen!” Talabir called out. “Once again it is my privilege to introduce the terrors of Daggerford…Impotent Rage!” The crowd roared their approval, stamping their feet and applauding. The floor of the arena, however, was otherwise empty. There was no sign of Madtooth.
“I beg your apologies, my lords and ladies,” Talabir shouted from the podium. “It would appear that our beast-wranglers are having a bit of trouble with Madtooth, but rest assured, he is on his way.”
Minutes ticked by and the crowd became increasingly restless. Vladius cursed as several of his preparatory defensive spells expired. Finally, just as it seemed the audience might be on the verge of riot, the eastern gates to the arena opened, and a team of a dozen soldiers dragging a massive iron cube on an oversized chariot entered. The sides of the cage bore the word ‘Madtooth’ in bright, red letters clenched in the massive jaws of some huge monster. Brackish water sloshed and leaked from under the cage.
“I told you,” muttered Pyro.
The wagon’s progress was slow as the guards dragged the massive cage to the center of the arena. The spectacle seemed to drive the crowd wild, and in moments they began chanting, “MADTOOTH! MADTOOTH! MADTOOTH!” The guards stopped some fifty feet away from Impotent Rage, each one taking hold of different ropes attached to strategic pins and clasps in the cage’s sides. Each guard then retreated to a distance of perhaps one-hundred feet, each holding a rope in his hands.
The crowd became momentarily silent again as Talabir spoke, “And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for! Watch in fear as these brave gladiators pit their skills against the eternal hunger of the worst the jungles of Chult have to offer! I give you…MADTOOTH THE HUNGRY!” With this final cry, the guards each tugged on their ropes, and the walls of the cage unfolded and fell away.
The monster was huge, and bizarre. Vaguely frog-like in shape, it had four writhing tentacles in place of front legs. Its head was mostly mouth, and its mouth mostly teeth. A retractable stalk protruded from the front of its head, at the end of which stared three bulbous eyes. The massive thing was dark green save for its belly, which was pale. A powerful tongue tipped with barbs lolled wetly from its mouth.
“That sure as Hell isn’t any frost salamander I’ve ever heard of,” Vladius muttered.
“Doesn’t matter,” he heard Havok say from somewhere nearby. “I’m betting it will still fry nicely, and I’m sort of partial to frog’s legs.” With that, a massive blast of eldritch energy erupted from right beside the wizard, as the warlock suddenly appeared in the aftermath of his attack. The bolt struck Madtooth a direct hit in the chest, but the beast didn’t slow. One giant hop brought it within ten feet of the group…and that’s where it stopped. Dwilt’s chain lashed out, slashing the froghemoth across the face, and a surge of stunning energy jolted down the weapon and into the creature. Instantly, it froze, immobile.
“He’s all yours gents…and lady,” Dwilt said, bowing to Storm.
Just like that, in a flurry of fire, lightning and flashing steel, the battle was over. Madtooth the hungry would never return to Chult. The crowd was stunned, but it wasn’t long before the familiar chant of “IMPOTENT RAGE!” began to shake the stadium. As Talabir Welik struggled to make himself heard over the tumult, the members of the League turned their eyes as one to the box of Prendergast Brokengulf. For several seconds, shock and discomfort were plainly visible on his face.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
