Ire
The Dwarven Brewmaster
“Why do ‘ey even need us down ‘ere?” Brommen asked, chewing on his lower lip as he and the seven other soldiers of the Goldstone Guard descended to the lower levels of Khalgrim.
The quartermaster of the group, Thermund, grunted and looked over at Brom. “The miners broke into a new tunnel. Said ‘ey found somethin’ strange. Don’t a’ know what though,” Thermund said, his calloused fingers stroking his grey beard as the lift lowered through the Great Cavern.
It was hard not to look out over the grand expanse of the monstrous cavern. Stalactites hung forth from the stone ceiling, but most were tamed by the towering pillars that connected the ceiling to the floor. Hundreds of dwarven miners hurried about, and the forges roared with life. Chasms existed on the far end of the cavern, magma lighting their blackened pits aglow.
Several moments passed before the lift groaned and came to a stop. Thermund led the troupe through the Great Cavern, the prospectors halting their work to observe them pass. Every dwarf belonging to the team was adorned with black and gold armor, a piece of Goldglow crafted into their breastplates. Their armor clanked as they followed their quartermaster through the fire-illuminated domain.
As they neared the Durite Bridge that connected the Great Cavern to the deepest mines, a soot-covered dwarf jogged toward them. His lips and hair were blackened from his work, and his skin didn’t even seem to be of a tanned tone. The dwarf’s eyes were wide with shock and fear. Brommen, along with his Goldstone brethren, placed their hands near their weapons out of precaution. “Quartermaster Thermund!” The dwarf shouted above the roar of the forges. “Thank th’ High Beings ye’re ‘ere!”
“Wut ‘appened?” Thermund sputtered, examining the miner and the deep mine entrance behind him.
“Dolnur and some o’ his fellows opened up into a new mine! ‘ey’ve been gone fer hours and dem purple crystals in dere are worth some concern!” The dwarf miner yelled.
“Dammit,” Thermund mumbled under his breath, looking back at Brommen and the other dwarves belonging to his troupe. The quartermaster, turned back to the miner slowly, approaching him. “Get e’eryone outta th’ deep mines. And for the sake o’ me beard get another Goldstone brigade down ‘ere!” With that, Thermund pushed past the miner and his dwarven company followed suit.
The miner nodded slightly and followed the Goldstone brigade through the deep mine entrance. He began shouting through the tunnels, collecting the miners at work to relieve themselves of their duties for the time being. Brommen trudged on behind his quartermaster, his dark chocolate eyes scanning the dimly-lit, slightly narrow corridors that they passed by.
Several hundred yards down the network of tunnels, the miner at the commands of the quartermaster pointed out the fracture in one of the halls. It was a darkened crevice, large enough for five dwarves to fit in side-by-side. “‘ats where Dolnur ‘nd his minin’ company went,” the miner explained, his eyes fixated on the darkness of the hole.
“‘at’ll be all prospector. Get ‘ese miners outta ‘ere and do wut I said before,” Thermund demanded, his steel-grey eyes studying the crevice before slipping through. Brommen followed closely behind, and squinted as the darkness forced his pupils to adjust. The only light were the Goldglow emblems on their chests, and as they traveled farther and farther down the blackened tunnel, the sounds of the dwarven society faded away into the creeping solitude of the deep.
All that could be heard was the clanking of the soldiers’ armor, their rough breathing, and the dripping of water echoing throughout the span of the tunnels they inhabited. As they rounded a bend in the tunnel, purple light cascaded over them. A copse of purple crystal shards stood firm, some of the crystalline spires taller than Brommen. “This must be wut ‘at miner was talkin’ about,” Brommen mumbled, approaching the gathering of shards. His gauntleted hand reached out to touch one, but the armored hand of Thermund caught him, tightly gripping Brom’s forearm. The black-bearded Brommen eyed his quartermaster in a perplexed manner, but the stern gaze of his leading officer made Brom nod and back away from the crystals.
“Don’t touch a thing,” Thermund said, his eyes now scanning over all seven dwarves in his brigade. “I never seen no purple crystals, ‘nd I ain’t know wut ‘ey do. Just leave ‘em be.” The quartermaster turned back toward the direction in which they had been traveling for the past half an hour or so and ushered them to continue following him.
It wasn’t long before Brom’s breath was taken away by a sight he thought he’d never see. Light bathed over him, allowing him better vision. The cavern was enormous, topped with stalactites and bottomed with stalagmites. Heaps of purple crystals were sprinkled throughout the cavern, but this did not concern Thermund. The quartermaster broke away from the group, jogging through the cavern and then falling to a knee.
Brommen couldn’t make out what Thermund was addressing, but he soon discovered as he approached his position. Illuminated by the light of the purple crystals, a severed arm lay in the open, blood pooling around it. Thermund rose to his feet, and unhooked his handaxe from his hip. He reached backward and pulled the shield strapped his back into his left hand. “Arm yerselves!” The quartermaster ordered. Brom raised both hands behind him to grip the wooden shaft of the two-handed battleaxe and pull it over his head.
Upon the echo of his voice, another sound crept into the cavern. Someone, or something, was… laughing? Brom began to see movement in the peripheries of his vision, and he turned to his left violently, bracing himself. His eyes widened at what he saw: dozens of pale-skinned creatures climbing over the boulders and down the rocky pillars.
“For th’ sake o’ the High Beings, what in th’ hell is ‘at!?” Thermund cursed, the laughing of the monstrosities becoming a thunderous clamor all around them. One of the fiends dropped before them, landing in a crouch. It was eyeless, but bore a maw that could eat a dwarf’s arm clean off. It began to stand though, and Brommen’s face clenched as he realized the abomination stood nearly a full two feet above him.
Brom gulped dryly.
The quartermaster of the group, Thermund, grunted and looked over at Brom. “The miners broke into a new tunnel. Said ‘ey found somethin’ strange. Don’t a’ know what though,” Thermund said, his calloused fingers stroking his grey beard as the lift lowered through the Great Cavern.
It was hard not to look out over the grand expanse of the monstrous cavern. Stalactites hung forth from the stone ceiling, but most were tamed by the towering pillars that connected the ceiling to the floor. Hundreds of dwarven miners hurried about, and the forges roared with life. Chasms existed on the far end of the cavern, magma lighting their blackened pits aglow.
Several moments passed before the lift groaned and came to a stop. Thermund led the troupe through the Great Cavern, the prospectors halting their work to observe them pass. Every dwarf belonging to the team was adorned with black and gold armor, a piece of Goldglow crafted into their breastplates. Their armor clanked as they followed their quartermaster through the fire-illuminated domain.
As they neared the Durite Bridge that connected the Great Cavern to the deepest mines, a soot-covered dwarf jogged toward them. His lips and hair were blackened from his work, and his skin didn’t even seem to be of a tanned tone. The dwarf’s eyes were wide with shock and fear. Brommen, along with his Goldstone brethren, placed their hands near their weapons out of precaution. “Quartermaster Thermund!” The dwarf shouted above the roar of the forges. “Thank th’ High Beings ye’re ‘ere!”
“Wut ‘appened?” Thermund sputtered, examining the miner and the deep mine entrance behind him.
“Dolnur and some o’ his fellows opened up into a new mine! ‘ey’ve been gone fer hours and dem purple crystals in dere are worth some concern!” The dwarf miner yelled.
“Dammit,” Thermund mumbled under his breath, looking back at Brommen and the other dwarves belonging to his troupe. The quartermaster, turned back to the miner slowly, approaching him. “Get e’eryone outta th’ deep mines. And for the sake o’ me beard get another Goldstone brigade down ‘ere!” With that, Thermund pushed past the miner and his dwarven company followed suit.
The miner nodded slightly and followed the Goldstone brigade through the deep mine entrance. He began shouting through the tunnels, collecting the miners at work to relieve themselves of their duties for the time being. Brommen trudged on behind his quartermaster, his dark chocolate eyes scanning the dimly-lit, slightly narrow corridors that they passed by.
Several hundred yards down the network of tunnels, the miner at the commands of the quartermaster pointed out the fracture in one of the halls. It was a darkened crevice, large enough for five dwarves to fit in side-by-side. “‘ats where Dolnur ‘nd his minin’ company went,” the miner explained, his eyes fixated on the darkness of the hole.
“‘at’ll be all prospector. Get ‘ese miners outta ‘ere and do wut I said before,” Thermund demanded, his steel-grey eyes studying the crevice before slipping through. Brommen followed closely behind, and squinted as the darkness forced his pupils to adjust. The only light were the Goldglow emblems on their chests, and as they traveled farther and farther down the blackened tunnel, the sounds of the dwarven society faded away into the creeping solitude of the deep.
All that could be heard was the clanking of the soldiers’ armor, their rough breathing, and the dripping of water echoing throughout the span of the tunnels they inhabited. As they rounded a bend in the tunnel, purple light cascaded over them. A copse of purple crystal shards stood firm, some of the crystalline spires taller than Brommen. “This must be wut ‘at miner was talkin’ about,” Brommen mumbled, approaching the gathering of shards. His gauntleted hand reached out to touch one, but the armored hand of Thermund caught him, tightly gripping Brom’s forearm. The black-bearded Brommen eyed his quartermaster in a perplexed manner, but the stern gaze of his leading officer made Brom nod and back away from the crystals.
“Don’t touch a thing,” Thermund said, his eyes now scanning over all seven dwarves in his brigade. “I never seen no purple crystals, ‘nd I ain’t know wut ‘ey do. Just leave ‘em be.” The quartermaster turned back toward the direction in which they had been traveling for the past half an hour or so and ushered them to continue following him.
Brommen couldn’t make out what Thermund was addressing, but he soon discovered as he approached his position. Illuminated by the light of the purple crystals, a severed arm lay in the open, blood pooling around it. Thermund rose to his feet, and unhooked his handaxe from his hip. He reached backward and pulled the shield strapped his back into his left hand. “Arm yerselves!” The quartermaster ordered. Brom raised both hands behind him to grip the wooden shaft of the two-handed battleaxe and pull it over his head.
Upon the echo of his voice, another sound crept into the cavern. Someone, or something, was… laughing? Brom began to see movement in the peripheries of his vision, and he turned to his left violently, bracing himself. His eyes widened at what he saw: dozens of pale-skinned creatures climbing over the boulders and down the rocky pillars.
“For th’ sake o’ the High Beings, what in th’ hell is ‘at!?” Thermund cursed, the laughing of the monstrosities becoming a thunderous clamor all around them. One of the fiends dropped before them, landing in a crouch. It was eyeless, but bore a maw that could eat a dwarf’s arm clean off. It began to stand though, and Brommen’s face clenched as he realized the abomination stood nearly a full two feet above him.
Brom gulped dryly.
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