Dungeons & Dragons Page #3

is sought for the brutal murder

of Vildan Vildir.

A reward will be...

I can't believe this!

You better believe it.

They're framing us.

They're framing you.

You're nothing but a Thief.

They can't be framing me.

I'm an aristocrat. I'm a Mage.

A low-level Mage--

completely expendable.

Practically worthless.

This is ridiculous.

I'll go to the authorities.

I can't go to the authorities.

That's right.

They'll toss you in prison...

and torture you

till you confess.

You better tell us,

'cause like the man said...

we're your accomplices.

All right.

Come on!

You allow...

a slip of a girl

to escape you...

with the scroll...

and now Norda,

the Empress' finest tracker...

is in pursuit...

and you tell me

not to concern myself?

It was a mistake.

It will not happen again.

There you are right.

And here's why...

Just a friend I'm sending along

for the ride.

A gentle reminder

not to make any more mistakes.

The moment you deliver me

the Rod...

I'll ensure that he--

it...

vacate the premises.

Now...

may I suggest...

that once you two have become

fully acquainted...

you follow the Empress'

tracker Norda.

She happens to be good

at her job.

She will lead you

to our missing friends...

and the scroll...

and this time, Damodar...

don't fail me.

It's about time!

If we find the Rod, the Empress

heaps us with gold, huh?

Why don't you try and rise above

being a Dwarf?

This isn't about gold.

It's about saving our Empire.

Empire?

Who cares about the Empire?

You Mages are the only ones

who benefit from it.

Oh, really? That's

an interesting sentiment...

coming from a guy

who steals things for a living.

Have you ever heard

of honor amongst Thieves?

We might live outside the law,

but we respect each other.

Unlike a bunch

of back-stabbing Mages.

That is just the sort of

half-baked, illiterate drivel...

that proves Commoners

really are common.

That's it. We're out of here.

Come on, Snails.

We'll go into hiding.

She can find the Rod herself.

Fine.

I thought you were leaving.

Mind if we eat first?

No. Be my guest.

Those red marks there

look like the locks...

my father used to put on plans

in his carriages.

Please.

This is an ancient scroll,

not a blueprint for a bucket.

You don't seem to know

what you're doing...

so you might as well let me

have a look.

Give that back!

Let's see. He used to put

his fingers like this...

and then he'd say

something like...

Alanor, salah--

What was that word?

Bidet.

Bidet? Bidara! Bidara.

Alanor, salah, bidara!

Can't blame me for trying.

At least I--

See that there?

I knew that boy had talent!

Alanor, salah, bidara!

Do not let them escape...

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