Dorian the Thief

Dorian crept cautiously through the undergrowth surrounding the Tower of Ashboleth. The soft rumble of animal growling caused him to tense momentarily. Silently, he moved around the bush that obscured his view and breathed easily again. On the ground lay a sleeping lion; the growling was just the sound of its snores. By its head, lay a half consumed slab of **** meat - one of the many that Dorian had hurled into the garden not half an hour earlier.

Above the young thief, rose the cylindrical might of the tower that he had come to plunder. It rose out of the ground like a phallus, its domed top representative of the potency of the god worshipped with fanatical devotion within. He, Dorian, had come to steal the Seed of Ashboleth, a precious elixir with magical properties.

Dorian hurled a grappling hook up to an opening part way up the tower. It was not wide enough for a man to get through, but the grapple would lodge there firmly enough, as long as nobody heard it. The lions guarded the tower, but the Seed Bearers – a community of priestesses, forbidden to all but their god - guarded the treasure within.

As he began climbing, Dorian looked up to that domed top again. It alone had an opening wide enough to get through and so that was his ultimate goal. But he feared it would not be unguarded. On a clear night, strange sounds emanated from that dome: The chant of Ashboleth’s devoted servants; the squeal of the sacrifice – animal or… otherwise. Sounds of uncontrolled religious or sexual fervour. But that was in the early to late evening. It was much later now.

Dorian shivered and continued climbing. Finally he reached the small opening in which his grapple still held firm. It was dark within – a locked room or an unlit staircase, he knew not which. Dorian lodged himself in the gap and tried to get enough of a swing to hurl the grapple up to the rim of the domed head of the tower above him.

The first throw missed and Dorian hauled it swiftly in before it swung down and crashed against the wall below. The second throw caught on something and Dorian tugged it hard, to ensure it was strong enough to take his weight. Once absolutely sure, he gently swung out on the rope, needing to put his full weight on it but not wanting to push his luck too far. Carefully he climbed the rope until he made the outer rim of the dome.

From there, the young thief had to find his way to the balcony, just ten feet further up. He could not throw the grapple again from here. Fortunately, the rim of the tower had an ornate design that provided many handholds. Reaching the balcony edge, Dorian flipped himself over the top. In all his observations of the tower, Dorian had never seen a guard posted here; even so, he made his way silently to the wall and flattened himself against it, relieved to have made it this far without incident.

Cautiously, Dorian made his way round to the single opening to the tower and slipped inside. As he walked silently through the inky blackness, Dorian became aware that he was not alone. He could hear the low breathing of slumbering forms.

The young thief continued his silent journey, when suddenly he kicked against something that jerked back in response. A light flared in front of him and Dorian gasped, half blinded.