Time had passed since the sun had risen; it was the hour of the Nauseated Monkey. Stran Geness flexed his muscles, making the veins pop in his forehead from the tension. His arms were like huge knotted oak limbs, his broad chest a granite boulder hewn into a fine physique like the great warrior Wew'Wrub, The Ruler of the Universe. He wore aged black leathers about his lower half and a chemise of black silk with short tattered sleeves about his upper half. A sparkling silver overshirt of tightly linked mail hugged his upper body over the black undergarment. A plate of formed metal shielded his right thigh from a sinister weapon that hung beside his sinewy leg. His head, shaved bald, reflected the sunlight. A series of black tattoos, lines of various shape, width and length, covered the tanned skin--liked baked sand--of his right side from head to toe. Fierce blue eyes were set beneath the ledge of a slightly jutting brow; he had that partially civilized Cro-Magnon look to his chiseled puss.

Standing on a sandy bank before the Chaotic Marsh of Great Visions in the Land of the Nine Royal Skulls, Stran untied the large, low-hanging cord that hung at his right hip. The cord was black and jutted with barbs of varied sizes, shapes and sharpness. He took the steel handle (entwined with several strips of thin leather to give him a better grip) and held it firmly in his great fist. He snapped his thick arm out, uncoiling the cord. It flashed out like a studded serpent across the brackish, bubbling and burping waters of the vast swampland.

"Onward, Clawgibber!" Stran shouted as his barbed weapon flew straight and true, extending an impossible distance across the weedy marsh that changed appearance after every fifth eyeblink. One moment, 20-foot high cattails pin-cushioned the stagnant pond , then a few moments later it was a glade of wagon wheel-sized orange lilypads and yellow acidic water, then a landscape of jutting brown rocks and swirling blue-green water.

"Onward, Clawgibber! And don't let the changings stop you!" Stran shouted.

A large brown horse, sunk up to its belly in the muddy marsh, whinnied as it struggled. Its rider yelped as Clawgibber's tendrils wrapped about his waist and took hold. The man on the horse was dressed in a mud-caked blue riding shirt and dark blue-dyed leathers. His dark hair curled about his shoulders. Upon his back was strapped a large sword with an unusually wide blade that was wrapped in a soft scabbard of lambskin. The barbed cord wrapped three times about his waist, also managing to cling a spiked length across the large sword.

"Agh! By Okote, the Tormentor of the Wasteland, I have been bit by a fangy-mawed snake!" the man cried as the barbs bit into his back and drew blood.

Stran yanked back upon the whip handle, pulling the man off his mount. The cord seemed to shrink as if merely reeling into the handle, dragging the man through the water, over rocks and around small sputtering volcanoes emitting purple puffs of smoke. The bald barbarian urged his magical whip on, calling in Clawgibber as if calling a pet hound.

Finally, Stran dragged the man, spitting and cursing, up on the sandy shore.

"What's the meaning of this?" the man asked as the barbed coil fell limply from him and Stran coiled it back up, tying it to his belt.

"Gregor Minkoen, ye churlish hell-hated malt-worm! Gregor Minkeon, owner of Bright Nymph Inn, also known as Risek the Tracker, husband of many wives in the County of the Cerulean Oxen. I have two days to live, and it is that great sword I want of yours." Stran leaned over the man like a giant. He flexed his great sinewy arms, his fists pressed on his sides.

Gregor's eyes grew wide in surprise. He had never met this huge man, yet the barbarian knew all about him. He attempted to stand, and a great sun-browned fist struck him on the head, and forced him flat to the sandy ground.

Both men looked when the horse screamed a shrill and mucus-heavy death blare that roared into the blue sky. A huge gray slab of rock appeared about the horse like a robe, slicing the beast in twain. The severed body splashed into the bubbling dark water.

"I have saved you, so hand over the sword, and we shall call it a day." Stran reached for the sheathed sword. His hand wrapped about the hilt, near Gregor's black-maned head, gripping it firmly.

Gregor, still on his knees, took the opportunity to punch the barbarian in the crotch, followed within a cricket's heartbeat by a metallic PLANG and the man crying out, his knuckles smashed.

Stran hoisted the man up by the hilt of the sword; Gregor gasping as the ties that secured the sword to his body constricted his chest. He set Gregor Minkoen firmly on his heels, still gripping the sword hilt. With one swift hard tug, he yanked the great blade free.

"If you want a fight, you will meet your death early. Earlier than I will be meeting my own," Stran said, holding the sword out before him. The blade was three feet long and six inches wide and made of a lustrous green metal that twinkled like an emerald. "If you simply leave here and accept your small loss..."

"You know the worth of the Portalpiercer?" Gregor eyed the green sword in the barbarian's hand "It's a power you may not want to deal with. I would gladly just give you all my gold--three hundred lasgos out in a sack near my dead mount--than let you have the sword.".

Stran plucked a bag of the deepest black from the left side of his belt. HSpearing Portalpiercer into the ground, he dug into the bag; his arm disappearing to the elbow before he pulled it out and with it, held in his steely hand, a long thin crystal dagger.

"I have no more time to waste. My life comes to an end in thirty-three more movements of the sun, so I will give you Slaybloom the Cold, a dagger I stole from Lord Equllinois of the Empire of the Covert Armors." Stran dropped the crystal dagger on the ground at the other man's feet and tied the black bag back to his belt. "It is all I can give and all I have time to give."

Stran plucked the great wide sword from the sandy ground and turned from the man and the Chaotic Marsh of Great Visions.

Gregor Minkoen, his greed for the power within the sword making him senseless to the words of the barbarian, snatched up the crystal blade and leapt at the big man. "The power cannot be yours!" he bellowed as he reached out to thrust the crystal blade into Stran's wide back.

Stran twisted wildly about, bringing the huge sword blade parallel to the ground and at waist level. He rolled the sword in his hand at an angle. The wicked green edge met Gregor under his ribcage and cut the man in two. As the blade rose to finish its arc, the dark-haired man's upper body burst like ripe fruit. No blood or body parts spilled from the corpse, and the air quickly cleared. Only a torso and legs remained, which simply collapsed to the marsh shore.

"It is not the power I want, fool. It is just another trinket for the wizard who holds my life and death in his foul hands." Stran lowered the sword, speaking to the jumble of legs on the sand. "Should I retrieve all the items he has requested he will grant the release of my wife and daughter from his rotting prison and will let my soul retire to the Heaven of Heavens."

He wasn't sure why he rambled on to a pair of legs and guts.

A glowing portal appeared beside Stran Geness and, straightening his silk shirt and hauberk, he stepped through it, leaving for his next destination to acquire his next strange artifact or ensorcelled weapon. He had recalled the wizard mentioning something about the Steel Caves of Foulness after his short quest at the Chaotic Marsh of Great Visions. He hoped for an easy acquisition this next time, or at least a worthier opponent and a short but more heated battle.