After roaming the mountains for a long period, the dwarf passed along the Kron Hills, heading eastward in search of a lost gold mine said to be there. He found the mine, but in his avarice, the dwarf entered the place incautiously. A great she-bear was denned therein, and she had two cubs to protect. The dwarf died quickly, and the bear devoured him, ring and all.

Hunters from the estate of a lord of Dyvers took the old brown bear when she came into their preserve. The animal had been driven there by swarms of humanoids who had moved into her territory and forced the bear away by their presence. The hunters shot her with arrows as the she-bear was held at bay by their hounds. One of these men discovered a ring lodged in the creature’s stomach. After washing it clean, the fellow donned it happily, considering himself a rich and lucky man.

The lord of the manor who employed him was not inclined toward mercy. When he caught the huntsman dallying with his daughter, the noble had the unfortunate fellow hanged without ado. Not wishing to soil his hands, the lord told the executioner that whatever the criminal possessed was his by way of payment for his work. So, the executioner got the ring along with some other, petty items.

In time the executioner took service in Dyvers proper, since the officials there were offering a good stipend for a headsman and torturer. When the fellow was discovered taking bribes to free certain political prisoners, he was himself sent to the block. His ring was seized and placed in the city treasury.

A spy who had just returned from a particularly successful mission was allowed to take the ring as a bonus for his services. In due course the agent went to Greyhawk on behalf of the Lord Mayor’s secret police, masquerading as an ally of that city. His true identity was discovered, and the Lord Mayor of Grey-hawk hired the Assassins’ Guild to deal with him. After all, it wouldn’t do to have the city’s own agents involved, for that breach of etiquette might precipitate serious difficulties between Dyvers and Greyhawk. Possessions found on the victim were always part of the payment for services rendered, so the assassin who did in the spy happily added the ring to his fee.

In this way, after a half-score years and several thousand miles of traveling, the ring had come full circle back to Greyhawk. Not one of the men or other creatures who had owned it in the meantime had ever found it worthwhile. To call the ring ill-omened was to be kind, only not one of those who gained it knew of its nature, for the previous owner wasn’t around to inform the next, or else didn’t actually know. It made no difference either way. Eladon the assassin would not have blenched even had he heard of the ring’s history. He liked the stone’s color and the way it appeared to wink in the right light.

In celebration of his success in disposing of the spy from Dyvers, and because he had gained so valuable a jewel as he now wore on his finger, Eladon went on a drunk of considerable proportions. He ended up in a bawdyhouse at the end of the Strip, and being what she was, the whore he was with rolled him for his purse and other valuables, for the assassin was too far in his cups by then to resist. Unfortunately for her, she had taken the precaution of bringing along the valuables she had stolen rather than leaving them In the room where she obtained them. This turned out to be a mistake because Red Mel, the doxy’s pimp, caught her trying to sneak the comatose form of Eladon from her crib to a place in the alley.

“Hey, ya stupid bitch! What are you up ta?” he hissed.

She dropped the fellow’s limp legs and ceased trying to drag him along. “He passed out on me, and-”

Smack! Red Mel hit her hard on the side of the head. “Don’t lie to me, not ever, else I’ll give you a second mouth right where your windpipe is. Yer rollin’ ’im, ain’t ya?”

The doxy held her throbbing temple and nodded while her other hand went protectively to the sash at her hip.

“Hand It over,” Red Mel ordered, and the woman did exactly as she was told, loosening the sash and then pulling the man’s purse from where it had been hung on the cloth.

“Wow! You’re one fine worker, Flos,” he said with real admiration as he saw the stack of coins and the ring. Who could have such wealth? Red Mel rolled the drunken man over with his booted foot to get a better look at him. “Shit! This bird is a killer!”

“Whadda ya mean, Red, honey?…” The woman’s voice trailed off as her victim suddenly sat up and stared bleary-eyed at her and her pimp.

“Whass goin’ on here?” Eladon was beginning to recover from his alcoholic stupor, adrenaline starting to surge through his system as he realized that something was very wrong. “You dirty-”

Red Mel used his heavy boot to shut the man up. He kicked him as hard as he could, and Eladon’s head snapped back with a crack. Just to make certain, he felt for a pulse. The assassin was stone dead, his neck broken. “Now, woman,” said Mel in an even tone, “help me get the body to the alley.”

Flos complied without saying a word, glad that the pimp wasn’t angry anymore but worried about what would happen when the body of the assassin was found. “What’ll I say if someone from his guild asks about him?” Her voice was nervous.

“That does it,” Red Mel said, not bothering to answer her until he had pulled the corpse out of sight. He turned then to the whore and smiled. “Don’t worry, Flos, you won’t have to talk to nobody at all.” She looked relieved until the dirk stabbed her. It was in her heart almost instantly, however, so her expression was one of mingled relief and shock when they discovered her body in the morning, next to that of the dead assassin. The crime was of no interest to anyone, not even the Assassins’ Guild. Eladon had not, after all, been on assigned work when he died, so the matter was of nothing more than passing concern, and even that faded when it seemed probable that he and the whore had done for each other in a disagreement of the sort often had between purveyor and client.

Red Mel’s fortunes took an upturn after that. Ladav Idnorsea, one of the greatest members of the Thieves’ Guild, took a liking to him and added Red Mel to his henchmen, which meant that he no longer had to maintain a string of trollops to make a living. For the next year everything went so well that the thief couldn’t believe it. Whatever Ladav Idnorsea set his hand to seemed to turn out right. Even his small portion of the take was sufficient to make Red Mel wealthy, and Mel was soon regarded as a figure to watch in the guild, one destined to rise high in the organization.

One warm night his boss took Red Mel and three others with him to work the Strip. They spotted a likely-looking prospect soon. The mark was a river-man, probably the owner of one of the small ships that carried cargo from the lake to Greyhawk and then took goods from the city on downriver to the lands below. The man was winning big, and he and the two sailors who accompanied him were drinking in proportion to the gains being made on the table. Idnorsea sauntered out, and as he went he signed for Red Mel to follow. After a little time, the thief did as his master indicated without anyone in the place noticing his movement.

“What do you think, Red?”

That was very flattering. Red Mel smiled and replied, “You always pick ’em right, boss. That riverman will be a pushover!”

“I’m not so sure of that, but he’s worth taking.” Idnorsea liked to deflate his henchmen now and then just to make sure they understood who was the top man. He was gratified to see Red Mel wilt at his words. He stared at the man a moment as if weighing his worth. “You and the others can take his two bully-boys, can’t you?”