Fiction:Steel of the Plagued Land

Steel of the Plagued Land is a Historical Event

"Steel of the Plagued Land" is considered a historical event or a completed fiction within the SporeWiki Fiction Universe. You must ask its original creator if you wish to add any additional stories.

“D-Desperate times... call for desperate measures, I am afraid.”

- Lord-Thane Hreithar II of the Khargrim Greatholds

Steel of the Plagued Land records a mission undertaken by two of the Great-Captains of the Khargrim Greatholds into the far southwest of the Tropical Lands in order to seek a means to resist and survive against the onslaught of death and destruction brought by the invasion of the Vulcanus Horde from across the southern sea. At the same time, it documents an adventure tackled by an up-and-coming band of young adventurers, who each seek to garner wealth, recognition, and experience from the trials set before them in the land of Qliphoth; a region fit only for the strongest and boldest of souls, for the penalties for weakness within the Black Westlands often prove exceptionally and unforgivably lethal.

Cast[]

Story[]

Chapter 1: Assemble the Dwarves[]

17 Verdant Earth, 35 NA, Late Morning: Throne Room of Lord-Thane Jalaric Hreithar II, Hold of Lord-Thanes, Central Khargrimhold

Beams of sunlight shimmered through the windows of the throne room, allowing the large seat that was the elderly Lord-Thane's throne, carved many dozens of generations prior from archaic rock and ancient, rune-engraved metal, to cast an imposing shadow across the royal hall that encompassed the long, red carpet that led from the double doors that served as an entrance to the very steps of the throne itself upon which the old dwarf rested his feet. At his side stood another dwarf, encased in armour of brass and iron while a greatsword, its copper-tinged blade etched with runes of power, rested over his pauldron-dressed shoulder, whose weary eyes glanced upon the sight of two of the mighty Great-Captains of the Khargrim Greatholds kneeling in respect to their venerable lord; Great-Captain Jalaric Hathgar III, the eldest son of the Lord-Thane Hreithar II himself and the First Heir of Khargrimhold who happened to head the 4th Khargrimhold Company, and Great-Captain Zonmesir Aslaug, who gained some amount of recognition due to her status as the youngest dwarf to have assumed the position of Great-Captain and being one of the 6th Khargrimhold Company's few female Great-Captains, alongside her own impressive feats in and out of combat. The two dwarves knelt with their heads bowed low, honouring the Lord-Thane as he sat before them, clad in fine robes of red and brown while a gem-encrusted crown of stone sat upon his head, rings and other accessories being tied into the braided strands of his long, grey beard.

Soon, however, the Lord-Thane raised a hand, gesturing for the two military commanders to rise to their feet so that they may address whatever matters they had come to discuss with him; in truth, neither he or his son felt any particular obligation to perform traditions such as kneeling when it was so very clear that a threat of dire proportions loomed just beyond the proverbial horizon, although it would have looked greatly improper and informal before the young Great-Captain Zonmesir - a poor impression to leave upon her and the other dwarves present, such as the collection of honour guard who surrounded Lord-Thane Hreithar at almost all times. Hathgar rose to his feet first, before turning to assist his companion with a hand outstretched to her, which she grasped before rising to her own two feet.

Lord-Thane Hreithar - Now... If you would both be so kind as to tell me why you have come before me this day. For all our sakes, I hope that you are serving the role of harbingers of good news... Ancestors know we need it.
Hathgar - ... I'm afraid that I'd be lying if I said we were. The Vulcanus Horde continues to ravage further into the lands of the Greatholds, burning every village and town they come across and laying siege to our easternmost fortresses and cities. The reinforcements from our western settlements are only slowing them down ever so slightly. ... It's not looking good for any of us, father.
Aslaug - Aye, the demons of Akriarion seem innumerable. Our arms are greater than theirs, but they are pushing us back through sheer numbers.
Hathgar - And even then, our weapons cannot help to stand against their more elite warriors. ... Elites, such as the Scorched General, Wrugrak. It'll only be a matter of time before he makes a bid for Khargrimhold, father, and I'm afraid that not one of the Khargrimhold Companies are in any position to stop them without the chance of failure.
Hreithar - Goodness... For generations, the Lord-Thanes of the Greatholds have sat upon this throne to guide and defend their kingdom from harm. I shan't be the first to suggest the possibility of me and my court moving out of Khargrimhold, but I fear for the many lives we are bound to lose if we cannot find a way to push back the bastards... We've lost far too many, already.
Hathgar - We weren't ready. None of us were prepared to fight a foe who spits in the face of dwarven steel and runic magic... Thob, what about the coastal settlements? I hear some of the clans on the coastline have uncovered a possible hope for our dwarves on the field.
Aslaug - I've heard talk that a group of miners broke into a tunnel filled with some sort of magical blue rock. But I've also heard the local Runemagi representatives are claiming the thing is cursed.
Hathgar - Cursed? What kind of curse do they speak of?
Aslaug - I've not seen the stone myself, but these mages are saying it's... demonic rock.
Hreithar - At this rate, whether it is cursed or not, we shall have need of it for the battles to come. I've spoken with the Runemagi and they say that the substance is tough and strong - equal, if not superior, to the weapons and armour of black, molten rock and carapace that our enemies use against us. ... It shan't be enough, however. We do not have the time to produce enough equipment from this rock to save ourselves--

Suddenly, the Lord-Thane raised an arm to his face, coughing into his forearm as he harshly spluttered and wheezed where he sat. The sudden coughing fit caused Hathgar to instinctively step towards his father, although he was reassured as the old dwarf opened his palm and gestured for his son to stay back. To Aslaug's mild horror, she could see the old Lord-Thane wipe away a trickle of blood that seemed to have come from his mouth or nose, swiped upon the sleeve of his regal, crimson robe, while the sound of his weak lungs struggling to breath amidst the fit filled her ears. Clearing his throat and softly massaging his chest, the old dwarf lord glanced towards the two Great-Captains, his voice partially shaken as he spoke and sought to gather breath;

Hreithar - Agh... D-Desperate times... call for desperate measures, I am afraid. Great-Captain Zonmesir, I would beg for you to gather your guard and take my son to the lands of the far west, beyond the settlements of the Greatholds... I need you both to make contact with the dwarves of the Black Westlands and plea for their support in our war. And you musn't return without... y-yes for an answer, else Khargrimhold may already be lost to us.
Aslaug - ... As you will, milord.
Hathgar - Qliphoth? Father, times are harsh, for sure, but you must be mad in thinking that those bastards at the far west will have anything to do with us and our cause. It'd be suicide and a waste of time, let alone trudging into the lands of Qliphoth alone will put us at risk. ... There is no hospitality to be found there.
Hreithar - The dwarves of Qliphoth... shall understand, whether they like it or not. If they are smart and value their kingdom and clans so much, they will have little choice in helping us repel the threat of the Horde... for if Khargrimhold falls, the Greatholds fall with it. And if the Greatholds should fall... who is there to protect them when the tide of fire and brimstone eventually comes to their lands? ... The Sovereignty and the Empire are already lending their support, setting their differences aside for they realise that the threat of Akriarion's demons are far greater than any hate they share for one another.
Aslaug - We shouldn't waste time then. Qliphoth is at the other side of the world.
Hathgar - It shall take us weeks to get there. Weeks that will be put to waste by trying to convince those thick-headed bastards to join our side--
Hreithar - ... Hathgar. My son... I know it is not easy. You only want what is best for our kingdom and its peoples, but no matter how hard you try, you cannot protect them by staying here. ... You are the First Heir of Khargrimhold, my very pride and joy and the inheritor of my throne when I go to join our ancestors...
Hathgar - ... Father, you are risking much by sending us away. I have no doubt that our lieutenants can guide our Companies just fine, but the threat of the Horde can arrive at Khargrimhold's doorstep at any moment. Who will be there to protect you should they arrive in our absence?
Hreithar - Just because I am simply sick, my child, does not mean I am incapable of defending my kingdom myself should I have to. ... I am sending you away because I have faith in the Great Mother and Thunardormir that you two shall be able to sway our Qliphotian cousins to our side. Why else would the Lord-Thane send his inheritor to lands as dire and feral as the Black Westlands if he was not begging for their aid?

Hathgar hesitated for a moment, unable to glance his father in the eye as he contemplated on his words; indeed, there would be very little need for the First Heir to come to Qliphoth by the Lord-Thane's order were a threat not dire enough to put the very integrity of the Greathold's existence on the line. Passing a hand through the red, fiery hair at the back of his head, the dwarven prince sighed.

Hathgar - ... You'd better not die on me while I am away, father. I don't want my concerns to be proven right.
Hreithar - Ohohoho... My child. I remember the days of old when you were but a youth, who eagerly awaited the opportunity to go beyond Khargrimhold's walls and fight to protect it.
Hathgar - And I still do. Father, I am a warrior before anything else, you know this. I am no diplomat or scholar like Hafgrim; I am not suited for convincing our rivals to accompany our side in battle. ... And what good would I be doing for my kingdom, my family, and your legacy by moving away from the fields of battle where I belong?
Hreithar - Have some faith, Hathgar. ... Your family shall be safe so long as I still draw breath, my son, I swear it to you. As will your kingdom. And it shall be your kingdom one day, Hathgar, whether you are ready to accept your place as Lord-Thane or not. I kept you as my heir in spite of your protests for a reason. ... Your journey to the hellhole that is Qliphoth and your talks with the dwarves that live there will serve as preparation for your duties once you come to take my place.
Hathgar - ... Fine. We've no more time to waste, in that case. If you insist that I can protect the Greatholds by travelling to the far west, father, then I'll believe you. But I am uncertain if I would be able to live with the consequences of failure--
Hreithar - You speak as if you have already failed... You won't fail. Now, begone, my child, for day shall turn to night sooner than you may think. And, of course, time is of the essence. ... Zonmesir Aslaug, I've a special request for you.
Aslaug - Yes, milord?
Hreithar - As your Lord-Thane, I request that should my son start to doubt in himself or lose faith, that you grant to him a good kick up the backside to remind him that his dear father believes in him and that both the Thunderous Hammer and the Great Mother are at his back.

The dwarven woman appeared to hold back a chuckle before responding to her Lord-Thane.

Aslaug - If that's what it takes, milord, it shall be done.

The streets of Khargrimhold bustled with life as the day persisted on; young dwarven and gnomish children played with one another in the streets while engineers, soldiers, miners, and tutors worked the day away to support their city and nation, either through educating the next generation in the scholarly arts or in the arts of combat, or through exercising raw thought or strength to forge new ideas, crafts, or armaments. In a quiet corner of the Humgrim district, where merchants worked to sell their wares and goods, resided a small, humble temple, its presence barely noted by those present within the streets as it sat out of the way. Within, stone figures and statues, carved and forged in the image of the Thunderous Hammer Himself, dotted the interior, placed upon shrines or upon platforms that were positioned on the brickwork floor layout of the place. The monks present wore cloaks and robes of gold and red as they sat and tempered their minds, praying and meditating, aside from one, who adorned robes of red and grey.

This monk was not from Khargrimhold, but rather, was a member of the brotherhood from Bheldaral, another, separate city recognised by the Greatholds. Kvo Eirik sat with his legs crossed, arms folded one another as he kept his eyes closed before the statue of the great Thunardormir, his mind wandering scapes of thought otherwise unattainable to the simple commonfolk who did not seek to pursue enlightenment or awakening to the world beyond the world they knew. He was silent, savouring the tranquility of the building, even after the sound of armour in motion as it was upon a person almost stirred him into opening his sole eye - standing in the doorway to the entrance of this monastery were Hathgar and Aslaug, each fitted with their respective suits of armour while their weapons were, as of that moment, resting. Hathgar looked upon his old friend with a smile, crossing his arms as he knew that Eirik already acknowledged their presence there, while Aslaug spent her time adjusting her gauntlets - she did not know Eirik much, being more of an acquaintance if anything.

Eirik - ... If I was to take a guess, I am assuming that you have not come by to offer your respects to the Thunder Hammer, hm? Or for a spot of tea, perhaps?
Hathgar - You know me far too well. We've got a new mission to do. I was wondering if you'd like to accompany us as a bodyguard. Me and Thob here, we will have our personal guard travelling beside us, but... well, when the going gets tough, there's no one who can really compare to you.
Eirik - A mission, hm? ... Must be dangerous if you would seek my assistance with it. I would have thought that two Great-Captains would have been more than enough for any threat to the Lord-Thane.
Aslaug - We need to go to Qliphoth and gain the support of the dwarves there. I don't know much about Qliphoth myself, but from what I hear, it's gonna be a rough ride... Once again, I'm sent to an inhospitable wasteland.

There was an eerie quiet within the monastery after Aslaug was finished speaking, with Eirik refraining from a response for some moments before he unfurled his arms and began to stand to his feet, his back kept facing the two dwarves as he gradually began to glance over his shoulder towards them.

Eirik - ... The Black Westlands.
Aslaug - Yes, that place. I hear the very earth is poisonous.
Eirik - Qliphoth... The home of old Khosrovhreiar before he set his sights upon the lands of the elves. ... I thought I could have perhaps gone a lifetime without bearing witness to the destruction wrought by a sole Minotaur ever again.
Hathgar - Khosrovhreiar's small fry compared to what else lives in that place other than Oevrumine and dwarves. It's not any wonder why Hald sought to get away from it. ... Heh, I can only imagine the look on his face if I told him that we were going to be heading headfirst into that place.
Aslaug - When you two are ready, we should depart immediately. It'll take weeks to get there, and every day is a potential day that the magma beasts of Akriarion can push into dwarven land.

The dwarven monk stood, relaxing his shoulders and rolling them back before turning to face the two Great-Captains. As he did, he nodded to Aslaug, before beginning to approach her. The monk was otherwise unassuming to most - merely a humble, slightly older dwarf who wore cheap, easily-reproduced robes and carried a kind, harmless attitude about himself. Yet, as he walked to accompany her, Aslaug could feel something dwelling within Eirik's aura begin to simmer and crackle, very much like a fire, and it was somewhat unnerving in spite of his otherwise harmless appearance.

Hathgar felt it too, although he only continued to smile, for he had seen the consequences of Eirik losing his nerve; he knew from experience that the crackling energy that seemed to persist about him was very, very minor compared to what could happen if the monk became enraged or desperate. This was but him simply adjusting to the somewhat uneasy idea of venturing into the lands of Qliphoth of their own will and dealing with whatever hellish forms of life happened to thrive and exist there.

Eirik - ... Absolutely, Great-Captain Zonmesir. There is no time to be lost. I am ready to depart for such lands whenever you two happen to be. I require only my robes and bread.
Aslaug - Good. Hathgar, what should be our first step? Shall we leave straight to the west or is there anything to do before that?
Hathgar - I'd like to pay a visit to another old friend of mine. You know him as Thane Ermek of Kunmaldur. His mastery over dangerous beasts and monsters will enhance our chances of survival when we cross the border into Qliphoth... That and his 'pet' should dissuade most who seek to attack us and should do a fair bit more convincing for us when we manage to speak with one of the Qliphotian Thanes.
Aslaug - Hm, I suppose that's fair. Kunmaldur is west of here, so it's on the path.
Hathgar - What about you, Thob? You want to say your goodbyes to your family before you set out to the far west? ... I don't mean to be a pessimist, but the journey to and fro will be dangerous for everyone involved.
Aslaug - I have not seen my family since the magma monsters first arrived. I already gave them my goodbyes... I'd rather be optimistic that I will be able to greet them again once we're back.
Hathgar - ... For a young dwarf, you're certainly dedicated. I've seen older warriors crack under this kind of pressure. Hell, I'm smiling now, but I'm positively shaking in my boots at the thought of leaving our home to the mercy of those... things.
Aslaug - I've faith in the Thunderous Hammer that everything will be alright in the end... though that's not to say I'm not nervous myself. These creatures are the most foul I've ever encountered outside of the Duskwoods.
Hathgar - Ah, I remember the Duskwoods. Awful place, that was. Although, I'd certainly have to pick going there over Qliphoth any day of the week.

Hathgar turned, patting Aslaug on the shoulder with an armoured glove as he began to regroup with his personal guard - a force consisting of several dozen dwarven warriors, each a skilled and proficient adept of combat, only fit for protecting a Great-Captain upon a quest outside of the realm of Khargrimhold. There transports were awaiting their presence, rearing to leave while Eirik quietly contemplated upon the situation at hand; while having the Thane of Kunmaldur, Ermek Trughs, in their company would surely benefit their position, he more dreaded the possibility of having to come to direct blows with whatever monstrous fiends or beasts waited upon their journey into the Black Westlands. As Hathgar had said, the Oevrumine the monk had fiercely beaten into what was nearly a pulp all those years ago was but small fry compared to some of the monsters he had heard resided within those deathly lands.

Several days came and went following the meeting of the Great-Captains with their Lord-Thane and the beginning of their journey to the far west under his orders. Upon the way, after collecting the monk Kvo Eirik, Great-Captain Jalaric had opted for their transport to take a swift detour towards the ancient fortress-city of Kunmaldur; a city remarkable for its historic value, for, millennia ago, it was the warriors of Kunmaldur who stood to defend the settlements neighbouring the path to Khargrimhold from the likes of Chief-King Karn'Gor the Immortal, an ancient Bharloron warlord who had once unified their primitive tribes into 'the Grand-Horde'.

In fact, it served as the site for the ancient Khargrim dwarves' last stand against the force of the Grand-Horde of Karn'Gor and it was here where the Chief-King met his end at the hands of the ancestors of the valored and popular Clan Ermek after the Bharloron warlord had unwittingly turned the last Lord-Thane of Clan Khargrim, Khargrim Throthok, into a martyr. Now, millennia later after the climactic battle that ended the Savage Wars between the Grand-Horde and the Greatholds, Kunmaldur was considered a bastion of a city in the Greatholds' more westerly territories, commanded and governed by the likes of Thane Ermek Trughs - a dwarf deemed especially popular for his brutal, yet admirable, honesty and his lack of hesitation in enforcing the laws and regulations of his proud city, alongside being an active influence in keeping its history of alive via culling growing Bharloron tribes in the region.

Using directions given by the local guards, Hathgar and Aslaug would be led to the outer stables of Kunmaldur, where they would find Trughs himself; the Thane, plated in steel armor and with a lair of swords on his back, appeared to shake his hand in mild disgust as it appeared to be covered in saliva, while assistants around him let out hearty laughs. Hathgar eyed the Thane from afar, observing his actions curiously while paying some attention to those within his company, proceeding to glance across the area, before stepping forward in order to make his presence known to both the assistants and the dwarven lord himself with a firm clearing of the throat. Trughs would turn his head to the source of the noise, his expression changing into pleasant surprise as he locked his eyes into Hathgar.

Trughs - Oh! Hathgar! I didn't know you were visiting!

The Heir approached Trughs, his lips cracking into a smile as he moved his arm to clasp the dwarf's hand into a strong shake - a smile that slight reeled back as he realised that he had just clasped the hand that had been covered in animal saliva, causing him to wince somewhat in disgust.

Hathgar - Heh, thought I'd drop on by while we were travelling westward. Wanted to check in on my old friend Trughs and see how things west of home were doing.
Trughs - Well, other than sending reinforcements to the war front, there's not much to do here. You caught me in the middle of animal training.
Hathgar - Training Maulings to grow up big and strong?
Trughs - Not just that. We've finally been able to breed a fully tame one! But she's a bit... too friendly at times. Covering my arm in its spit, for example.
Aslaug - Excuse me... Maulings?
Trughs - Aye! We of Kunmaldur have been trying to domesticate the Dwarf Mauler for generations! Never really had much success... until now at least!
Aslaug - Aren't Maulers gigantic killing machines?
Trughs - Well, yes. Which's why we must learn to harness their strength and throw them straight into the Vulcanus Horde.
Hathgar - You see, Thob, it must no longer be a mystery to you exactly why Trughs here is considered a just and popular Thane. Your father would be proud.
Trughs - I do what I must. But anyway, how goes the war front? Any luck pushing the Horde back to whence they came?
Hathgar - ... I wish. The reinforcements from across the Greatholds are only buying us slightly more time than before and we're still struggling to compensate for both their numbers and their molten rock weapons and equipment, alongside their powerful fire magic. ... For every one magma demon we happen to defeat, another ten seem to take its place. That aside, father has been growing increasingly sick.
Trughs - Agh, that's terrible. But you'll see. Soon enough, we'll push those things back to their island and make sure they never rise again. Many others tried their luck against the Khargrim, and they've all failed.
Hathgar - Speaking of which, that is why I've come to talk to you. I was wondering if you'd be interested in taking an excursion with me and Thob here into the far west... To the lands of Qliphoth, to be precise.
Trughs - Qliphoth? Why would you venture into that wasteland?
Hathgar - Father believes that we can get the help of the dwarves living there if we go pay them a visit and show them how in need the Greatholds are of their aid. I don't like one scratch of this plan myself, but I wouldn't hear the end of it from my old man if I didn't go... He seems to be sure this plan will work, but I'd rather not take too many chances if I can help it.
Trughs - Qliphoth's dwarves, eh? Don't they hate our guts because... reasons?
Hathgar - Old feuds and something about wanting to govern themselves, but yes, they hate us and our cities, our people, our Lord-Thane, our clans... Father thinks that we might be able to get their trust and be able to supply extra reinforcements, armed with weapons that can put us on the same ground as the Horde's hardier, more elite sons of bitches.
Trrughs - Hmmm... I can understand the Lord-Thane. Him seeking the help of the Qliphothian dwarves isn't too different from this hold's attempts to control the Maulers. I can help you in your task, as it's about time I contribute to this war myself. Plus Fang can use the chance to be in a real mission.
Aslaug - Fang?

A loud growl was heard as, from the stables, a creature leaped over the fences and landed in front of Hathgar, Aslaug and Eirik, causing an audible thud as its clawed feet hit the ground; it was definitely a Dwarf Mauler, its scales black and covered in moist secretions, though by its size - no bigger than a horse - it was clear this creature was no more than a year old. Hathgar placed his hands on his hips and bellowed with a heart laugh at the sight of Fang, while Eirik simply perked a smile, pleasantly surprised to see that such a hostile, dangerous creature acting so affectionate and obedient as to come running whenever it heard its name spoken by dwarven lips. Aslaug, however, recoiled back with an arm raised in front of her, surprised by the Mauler's sudden arrival as Trughs's eyes narrowed, his face turning to the fence to his side.

Trughs - We're gonna have to do something about this fence. It won't work if she can just jump over it.
Hathgar - Ahahaha! Crafty little tyke, she is! ... What's that look for, Thob? You look as if you just crapped your briefs.
Aslaug - You're very calm for having a Mauler just jumping right up to your face! This thing could eat your head in one chomp!
Hathgar - You think that's scary? You need to spend some time with the Kyrsacov. The Maulers they deal with are usually about two to three times the size of an adult Mauler over in our region. Those are scary.
Trughs - Ah, yes. The Under kin and their tales of the "big mouths with legs".
Hathgar - To be honest, I wouldn't know which is scarier; the larger than average Maulers that they live with, or the certain Kyrsacov among them who beat the crap out of those things with their bare hands.
Trughs - Come on, Hathgar. You're not the kind of person who should be fooled by tales like that. Especially tales told by the Under kin. They can barely speak our tongue right!
Hathgar - Ah, but I would like to see any of us grow a beard half as grand as them, eh? Besides, you ever wonder why the Duergar haven't gone and conquered their lands for themselves yet?
Trughs - Well, trying to conquer the Under kin would just get you piles of rocks and mobs of rats. Don't get me wrong, I love our cousins from the north, but they really need to bathe more often.
Hathgar - ... True. Now, how about we assemble your guard together so you can accompany us westward? We're going to need all the security that we can get if we want to stand a chance spending time in Qliphoth, especially in the company of the dwarves there.
Trughs - Aye, we should do that. Prepare Fang for me, men. I want her ready to depart as soon as possible.

With a grunt, the Mauler waved her tail, hitting Trughs across the head and sending the dwarf straight to the ground. His assistants once again let out hearty laughs, as if this was a common occurence for them, before Eirik moved to lend a hand to the fallen Thane and help him to his feet. Hathgar could not help but join in with the round of laughter at Trughs' expense, his nerves and doubts perhaps soothed by the company of his friends, and, bizarrely, the fact that he had come to Kunmaldur to witness something once thought to be an impossibility. All Aslaug could do was scratch her head in astonishment and confusion; Hathgar's friends were far more unusual than she had anticipated.

Chapter 2: A New Adventure[]

29 Verdant Earth, 35 NA, Mid Afternoon: Outskirts of Meath Village, Northeastern Duskwoods

Moonlight lit the stretch of open, fertile land as darkness persisted in the godless sky; the Duskwoods, a place seemingly forsaken and abandoned by the gods, even by the likes of Mother Isiris Herself, were caught within an eternal, penumbral dusk. and while plants grew as they did throughout the rest of the Tropical Lands, these territories settled by the Empire of Man less than two centuries ago found more strife and challenge here than anywhere else, for these woodlands were prowled upon by seemingly endless, increasingly horrible and bloodthirsty monsters. The village of Meath sat towards the outer regions of the Duskwoods' northeastern border, with roads tying it to the prospering town of Leonberg, and was considered known for its inhabitants having settled stretches of land in order to produce a variety of foods and resources - grain, wheat, and oats, alongside vegetables and, to an extent, fruits such as apples. While usually a quiet locale, inhabited and worked by farmers and their ilk, it would seem that the recent disappearances of those assistants and farmhands who wandered into the fields of wheat to work the harvest caused something of a stir among the populace, which was why they had sent a representative of their settlement to Leonberg in order to hire someone who was capable of investigating into the matter.

Khara Greenforge, a half-orc adventurer of some growing renown in recent months, kept a keen eye upon the dark horizons beyond the wheat field, her bastard sword held close to her body while one of her companions, the hedge-mage and student of luxomancy Tassarion Brighthand, stood close by, channelling his light magic into a lantern so that it would shimmer and illuminate the surrounding area - allowing them all to see whatever stalked them in the darkness, while also making their presence known to them. The long stalks of wheat could obscure both smaller creatures and those that happened to crouch or hunch over in order to prowl and hunt, thus why the half-orc had sent her goblinoid companion to the ground in order to use his own stalking tactics against the culprit of the recent disappearances.

Bilrika Wilybar, the gnome mage, spent her time passing a hand over her hair as she looked around the area, while the goblin Anklebiter walked on all fours, sniffing the air to look for any leads or tracks, occasionally chomping down on insects or rats caught on his path. Khara glanced down towards Anklebiter, watching him work and exercise his goblin senses, before crouching down and observing him closer with a perked eyebrow;

Khara - You have any ideas?
Anklebiter - Hmpf, hmpf... smells like... snake.
Tassarion - I do not recall any grass snakes large enough to consume a full grown man inhabiting these areas. That aside, they are usually warded away by the sight of fire or the presence of larger creatures in general. Unless these farmhands were acting stupid, I doubt it could have been one of those.
Anklebiter - It definitely smells like snake. Snake and... sniff sniff... stone? Wet, moist stone.
Khara - What's wet stone supposed to smell like?
Anklebiter - Bad. Stones that smell are not natural.
Tassarion - Aye. Stones do not have noses, thus they cannot smell without the use of magic.
Bilrika - Guys, look at this!

The gnome waved a hand at them to get their attention, while her familiar elemental Icicle hovered over her head; she pointed at a small patch of wheat which appeared to have been turned into solid stone. Khara approached these bizarre stone formations, and indeed, they definitely resembled stalks of wheat, which caused her reach out a hand in order to touch them. As she did, Tassarion was swift to clasp her wrist, before gradually lowering her arm down and away from these thin, wheat-like structures or formations that grew out of the earth.

Tassarion - ... Cursed magic.
Anklebiter - Smelly stone! This is where the smell is coming from. It smells of wet snake's spit.
Khara - Does this ring any bells to you, Blondie?
Tassarion - Hm... A hydra, perhaps. Or a Cockatrice. There should be tracks that we can scour nearby in order to ascertain what kind of creature caused this.
Bilrika - Cockatrice, definitely. Hydras don't turn things into stone. Meanwhile cockatrices have petrifying breath.
Khara - Ngh, that sounds terrible. Can't say I've ever seen a cockatrice before... I only heard stories about them a couple of times from my granddad.
Anklebiter - Sounds like a stupid name.
Bilrika - It's a giant rooster... thing. It can breathe petrifying gas. We see them occasionally over at the Greatholds. Most dwarves are offended by their existence.
Khara - And you say the humans at the Duskwoods have to put up with bad shit.
Bilrika - The thing is, they're only as big as actual roosters... well, when they're young. They can get large but most don't live that long. They usually get eaten by weasels.
Khara - Pfft! Weasels?! You're telling me that these monsters that can turn people into stone with petrifying magic are food for... weasels?!
Bilrika - Yeah. Weasels are immune to cockatrice gas... for some reason.
Tassarion - They say that those who seek to hunt a cockatrice prepare themselves by lathering their skin and armour with the blood and furry coats of weasels in order to survive being exposed to their enemy's petrification curse. Unfortunately, we did not know what we were up against before coming here. ... Regardless, search the ground around the area and we should find some tracks or remains of their prey which could take us to their nest.

The group of adventurers proceeded to nod in agreement, with Khara and Bilrika beginning to examine the earth near the patches of hardened, petrified wheat in order to find any trace of a cockatrice's tracks - remnants of one of the farmhands it must have hunted and petrified, or clawed, heavy footsteps in the dirt that would have given them a solid direction to follow. Tassarion, meanwhile, remained standing, shining his lantern over the site as his allies searched among the wheat stalks for any indication of a cockatrice's presence. As they searched, a sound was heard through the trees, scaring off smaller birds like ravens away; a screeching roar, which quickly caught the attention of Bilrika and Anklebiter, whose pointed ears shifted to the source. Accompanying it was the sound of what appeared to be beating wings - something was approaching.

Khara turned her head as she heard the sound of something flying through the field of wheat, stalks being severed or battered aside as flew upon its trajectory, before the half-orc, gripping her sword, proceeded to swing her body around in order to gather momentum and speed as she swung her bastard sword towards where she happened to think the flying creature would happen to suddenly appear from, aiming to intercept it in midair with a horizontal slash enhanced by her boiling, orcish blood.

She would find herself way too far from its reach, however, as the cockatrice flew over their heads, causing a blast of wind to nearly knock the smaller Bilrika and Anklebiter off their feet as it turned in midair to looked down at them; it was nowhere as big as a rooster. In fact, the creature appeared as massive as two warhorses put on top of each other, its head resembling that of a deformed, toothed chicken covered in black feathers while the rest of its body was covered in green scales, ending in a long and serpentine tail. The monster roared out once again as it gazed at them, its eyes being nothing but glowing spheres of pitch-red colour. Khara stalled for a moment as she glanced upon the monstrous cockatrice, having massively underestimated the sheer scale of her opponent, while Tassarion was swift to begin conjuring orbs of light as a means to light the surrounding area so that they would not easily lose its location in the darkness.

Khara - W-What the fuck...?!
Anklebiter - It has the head of a cock!
Bilrika - ... Oh, that's an adult alright.
Tassarion - I would suggest that everyone attempt to take cover!
Bilrika - Watch out for the claws, it can inject poison which can also petrify you!

The cockatrice beat its wings until it landed on the wheat field, turning its head to Khara as it roared at her, immediately charging the orc without hesitation. Although she considered the possibility of charging it head on and striking it with the pommel of her bastard sword in a swinging half-blade manoeuvre, which most likely would have looked incredibly awesome in her mind, the half-orc panicked and instead opted to roll to her side, narrowly evading the claws of the cock monster before aiming to spin her blade to possibly catch the back of one of its shins as she tried to recover. The beast reeled back in pain as its black blood spewed from the wound - as intimidating as it was, it did not appear to be inhumanly resilient, and luckily for them all, it was clearly not undead. As the cockatrice attempted to retaliate by sending its beak at the orc, it found its head pestered by Bilrika and Icicle's magic, who launched beams of cryomancy at it.

Tassarion watched the fight unfold, preparing his healing magic in the event that one of his companions would suffer a major or lethal blow from the enraged beast's claws or beak, while Khara, caught in the heat of the moment, utilised the opportunity of the cockatrice having its head partially frozen by Bilrika's magic in order to charge the creature; with a roar of her own, she reeled back her free arm, before thrusting it forward in order to deliver a bash to the monster's face with her metal buckler. The cockatrice's head recoiled in response, a bruise left where Khara's blow was delivered, though she found it had not slowed the monster down, perhaps only infuriating it further.

Khara - Uh oh.

With a swing of its forelegs, the cockatrice struck the half-orc with its claws, knocking her back and leaving heavy dents on the steel of her breastplate. Her heavy armour had absorbed much of the blow, although she was still sent stumbling unevenly backwards from the sheer force and strength behind the monster's attack, before clasping the handle of her sword once more and unleashing a battle cry - aiming to strike the cock in its own chest with the tip of her blade in a slashing motion, if only to deal an injury of any kind that could be exploited by the sneaky and opportunistic Anklebiter.

Before it could be attacked, however, the cockatrice beat its wings as it took flight again, hovering over the group's heads as it reared back; its throat begun to rapidly expand in size, as if filled with gasses. It was prepared a breath attack.

Bilrika - The throat! Hit it in the throat!
Anklebiter - Hah. A big target for me.

The goblin begun to run, before leaping into the air at Tassarion's direction; the hedge-mage found himself used as a stepping stone as Anklebiter jumped on top of his head, and then leaped at the cockatrice's throat as it continued to inhale air. The human groaned as he felt the goblin boisterously use his head as a platform, although as he saw what the rogue happened to be doing and his reasoning behind the sudden jump, the mage proceeded to bring his hands together and cause a brief burst of light and magical energy, propelling Anklebiter even higher and further into the air as he sought to close the distance between himself and the monstrous cockatrice while it prepared its petrification attack. As he clung onto the creature, the goblin begun to stab its swollen throat with his dagger, which caused the cockatrice to scream and its throat sac to slowly return to normal as it coughed out blown-coloured vapors from its beak. It begun to thrash in midair, attempting to throw Anklebiter off as the goblin continued to viciously stab its throat.

However, the attack would not cease as the cockatrice, distracted by the goblin cutting and slicing fiercely at its throat, suddenly felt the side of its face and writhe in pain as Khara threw her buckler like a discus towards the creature, spinning through the air with Khara's orcish strength so that its sharp, metallic edge buried itself into the monster's cheek and gum, causing the shield to effectively hang loosely from its face. The cockatrice roared in agony as it shook its head, eventually launching Gretchbite away into the ground as it beat its wings faster, gaining height as it then fled the area, disappearing through the trees from whence it came.

The half-orc warrior moved to retrieve her shield, picking it up to examine its blooded, partially damaged edge after it had come into contact with cockatrice scale, muscle, and bone, before angrily glaring towards the trees that the monster had retreated towards; she contemplated chasing the beast down in order to finish the job, although as she took a step forward, she found Tassarion's hand firmly clasping ahold of her shoulder.

Tassarion - Leave it, it's gone. Now that we've identified the culprit, we know how to ensure that it shan't return to use these fields as its hunting ground anymore.
Khara - Grr... This sucks! I wanted to bring something back to show granddad, show him that we fought and tackled a cockatrice and lived. ... Bah, can't win them all, I suppose.
Bilrika - When the other mages back home said they got big when adults, I didn't know they got that big...
Anklebiter - Agh, my back hurts... Though I wonder what that thing tastes like.
Bilrika - Probably like rock.

Without saying a word, the human mage knelt down to Anklebiter as he laid with his back to the ground, before placing a hand upon the goblinoid's body; in an instant, the goblin stalker felt a rush of light magic through his miniscule form and large head, a pleasant, briefly ecstatic feeling as the bones in his back found themselves repaired through the channelling of divine, healing magic. However, as Tassarion moved his hand away, the goblin also found the human quickly slap him across the cheek with the back of his hand. As a creature of darkness, Anklebiter found light magic healing very uncomfortable, though he made no effort to stop the mage from doing his thing.

Tassarion - There, your back should be better now. But please, refrain from using my head as a stepping stone without letting me know in advance.
Anklebiter - You're welcome for not being stone right now.
Khara - That was some nice quick thinking you did. For a moment, I was worried that at least one of us would die when its throat started expanding.
Bilrika - ... Ew. Cockatrices are so gross.
Tassarion - I remember my studies at the Noble Palazzo, where I was given an assignment to write a paper about the dietary needs and habits of the cockatrice. They use their beak to break segments of stone away from their prey and then use their excessively strong stomach acids in order to melt them down, while its throat can expand to allow it to swallow its food without having to chew. ... The teeth are simply there to transmit venom or tear away soft meat from prey immune to its petrification.
Bilrika - Ngh. Gross.

With that said, Khara placed her buckler back upon her arm after storing away her bastard sword back into its sheath, before folding her arms over one another and letting out a sigh as she gave her companions a smile;

Khara - Come on, let's go back to the inn. I feel like having a bite to eat before we all tuck in for tonight... Chicken, anyone?
Bilrika - Let's not.

A platter of steaming hot, barbequed pork ribs was placed upon the surface of the wooden table, its tantalizing smell causing the mouths of the group to water simultaneously as they could only imagine the taste that lied within the roasted, piping meat while they all sat and awaited their supper, some more patiently than others. Tassarion was the only one to turn his nose up at it, his face contorting into an expression of only slight disgust as he saw Khara and Anklebiter reach for the same rib, with the orc glaring at her goblin companion when she found his filthy claws placed upon the particular one she had set her eyes on. He grit his fanged teeth in response, his eyes narrowing at her as he had no intention of letting her have his food.

Khara - You have a whole platter here... and you decide to take my rib.
Anklebiter - You mean my rib.
Khara - Funny. I could've sworn I was the one who paid for these ribs.
Anklebiter - Tough. My rib.
Tassarion - Must you two cause a scene in the middle every inn? It is like we cannot go anywhere without you fighting over something petty.
Bilrika - This kind of uncouth behavior would get you both thrown out back home... Granted, I don't think they'd let a goblin inside the city walls to begin with.
Khara - Now, you wouldn't bite the hand that feeds you, would you, you little shit? Let go of my rib!
Anklebiter - I could bite and eat you! Let go of my rib!

Tassarion sighed, placing a palm to his face as he appeared visibly discomforted by the petty squabbling between his two companions, before he turned his gaze towards Bilrika, displaying an expression that clearly indicated that he was perhaps suffering in their company. The inn in Meath, the Lustful Fairy, was not particularly busy this night, although those farmers, farmhands, and animal handlers, among other occupations within the village, who were present at the time did happen to turn their gaze towards the adventuring group, while a maiden, a young Eirish woman possessed of fiery orange hair, a stout figure, and a rather notable, partially-exposed rack, merely smiled from behind the bar as she cleaned the glasses and mugs with a wet cloth.

Soon, as was to be expected, Khara and Anklebiter had thrown one another to the wooden floor, wrestling and scratching and pounding at one another in competition for the juicy set of ribs that they happened to both lay their eyes upon, leaving Tassarion to turn his head and glance away from the platter of ribs with some indignation while Bilrika could enjoy the platter of hot food to herself for the meantime. As the goblin attempted to chomp on Khara's face, Bilrika had taken the rib the two were fighting over for herself, promptly eating it as Icicle hovered the two, and with a thrust of its tiny arms, unleashed a blast of wind upon them, freezing Khara and Anklebiter solid in ice.

It was at that moment that the bell above the door serving as the entrance into the tavern dinged with the aforementioned door's opening, followed by a series of particularly heavy breaths and footsteps upon the floor of wooden planks. As Bilrika looked up from the scene of the half-orc and goblin being encased in her freezing magic, mildly amusing herself as she claimed their prize for herself, she could not help but notice something which caused the small, gnomish heart within her chest to almost skip a beat, for it startled her and came from seemingly nowhere; stepping through the door to the inn were two figures, one of them appearing to be a Khargrim dwarf, his red hair shaved while a braided red beard hung from his face, his body encased in a suit of greyish-black armour, while the other figure was a beastman who happened to tower everyone present, standing at roughly two meters tall at minimum while their broad form and suit of armour made them particularly stand out - alongside the horns that grew from his skull, for he was a Minotaur.

The gnome became apprehensive; she had never seen a minotaur before, and she could feel something off about it, as if it repelled the magic of the world around it, while she also happened to know that, despite never having seen one in flesh, they did not usually possess fur as white as snow as this one did, or eyes of a somewhat rosey red or darker pink. Not only was this her first sighting of a minotaur, but it was her first sighting of an albino minotaur. She also noticed the dwarf accompanying the minotaur, which did not make her rest any easier; he could be yet another one of her father's hired men, looking for her to try and convince her to return home. It was the sudden rise in unease that Tassarion could sense radiating from Bilrika that caused him to turn his gaze towards the dwarven warrior and his minotaur companion, and as they walked past their table, their platter of food and any glasses, bottles, or mugs on the table's surface shaking with each of the latter's footsteps, they made their way towards the bar, quiet and almost ignorant to the adventuring party's presence.

Tassarion - ... That's mildly worrying. Certainly not something you'd see very often in a village like Meath.
Bilrika - W-What's that thing?
Tassarion - I do believe it is a minotaur... The fact I happent to be unable to sense its soul, plus its size, weight, and horns, tells me so. They are monstrous warriors native to the westlands of Qliphoth, infamous for their sheer physical strength and their resistance to magic.
Bilrika - I've heard of Qliphoth. Apparently it's a terrible place.
Tassarion - You wouldn't be wrong. If you believe that the Duskwoods are horrendous, well, you may start to appreciate them should you ever take a visit westward. ...Is that dwarf not a Khargrim?
Bilrika - It is. Why would a Khargrim hang out with a minotaur?
Tassarion - Perhaps they are hitmen or bounty hunters. They could be looking for you.

Soon, the dwarf and the titanic beastfolk assumed their seats at a neighbouring table, sitting opposite of one another with drinks in hand - the dwarf handled a mug filled to the very brim with ale, while the minotaur happened to be handling several of the very same large, full mugs at once between his fingers. At this moment, Icicle hovered over the frozen Khara and Anklebiter, and with a snap of its fingers, the ice instantly disappeared, freeing the two of them. There was a loud, pained shriek as Khara felt Anklebiter's teeth chomp into her face once they were allowed to move again, which was followed by the half-orc sending her knee upwards and kicking the Grim Goblin into the ceiling, causing him to scream on impact before he fell to the ground, unconscious.

Khara - Gah... Hmph! That'll teach you not to take my shit, you little rat! ... And what's the big idea using your ice magic on us, gal? That was cold! Too cold!
Icicle - Hhnyah!
Bilrika - She said "Stop making a scene".
Khara - Eh?! Anklebiter started it! ... Wait, who are those two over there?
Bilrika - Don't know. But it can't be good.

With that, Khara stood, taking another set of ribs from the platter and biting down on the succulent, barbequed meat, taking a moment to savour the taste of the ribs' exterior and the mildly spicy sauces that they were cooked with. However, she did not sit down, instead moving past her companions' table in order to approach the one that the two strangers had made themselves comfortable at, much to Bilrika and Tassarion's displeasure as the human's almost-blind eyes watched the half-orc move towards their vicinity. She had a bold, confident stride, while the light mage wore a frustrated expression, agitated that she would be so reckless as to approach a couple of complete strangers - strangers who, they all knew, were definitely not local to the village of Meath, or the Imperial settlements in the Duskwoods at all.

As she made herself known, audibly clearing her throat after swallowing another generous bite of cooked meat and sauce, it was the minotaur whose attention was caught first, as his white-furred head turned to glance almost menacingly over his shoulder while he sipped from a mug filled with what Khara could smell to be some form of rum. His pinkish eye peered through Khara, causing her to almost stop in her tracks as the larger, far more muscular creature glared down at her, before she once again tore another chunk from the ribs clasped in her gloves hands.

Khara - ... You're not from around these parts, are you?
Minotaur - ... Right... Is there a problem, miss?

The Oevrumine gradually turned to face her, finishing an almost full mug of drink within moments as he did before gently placing the vessel upon the surface of the table he was sat at. He eyed the half-orc, his pink eyes squinted as he analyzed her, before his nostrils expanded when he took to sniffing the air that radiated around her. Soon, he leaned in, his large snout nearing her face before he spoke again;

Minotaur - ... Are you going to eat those?
Khara - W-What...?
Minotaur - Those ribs. I haven't eaten for some time. Several days, in fact.
Khara - So, you're starving, then?
Minotaur - Damn straight. I'm so hungry, I could eat a horse.
Dwarf - Eryx, stop bothering the girl. We've already put in an order at the bar. We're both starving, but that's no excuse to be an impatient sop, now is it?

The dwarf glanced up from his drink, allowing Khara to see a series of three deep claw marks upon the bearded warrior's brow, extending down from over his cheek and towards his chin and jaw. These scars appeared to be somewhat freshly dealt - days old, perhaps - which caused the half-orc to admire them for a little longer than she should have done, for the dwarf eventually caught her gazing at him.

Dwarf - You might want to paint a picture, lass. It'll last you longer. Did no one ever teach you that it's rude to stare?
Khara - O-Oh, right. Sorry. ... Wait, no. How about you two tell me exactly who you are and what you're doing here in Meath, eh?! It ain't every day a minotaur and a dwarf walk into a bar together! It's like the start of a joke!
Minotaur - A dwarf and a minotaur walk into a bar; they say, "ouch".
Dwarf - Who says it's any of your bloody business what we're doing here, lass? What's it look like we're doing? We're getting drinks and a bite to eat before we go upstairs and have a good kip for the night after being on the road for days. Couldn't even afford a carriage into this damned place.
Khara - ... Are you both from Qliphoth or something?
Minotaur - Yep. He's Kotric, a dwarf from one of the Westholds, and I'm Eryxhreion. You are?
Khara - Khara. Khara Greenforge.

Tassarion listened intently as the conversation unfolded, at the same time pinching his nose to avoid the smell of the luscious ribs that sat in front of him, for the stench of cooked meat made him feel almost queasy. Bilrika eyed Khara as she continued to eat, while Anklebiter groaned as he regained consciousness and sat upon his chair once again, mumbling under his breath.

Tassarion - Travellers from Qliphoth. So my suspicions were confirmed. Now, we need only ascertain what their intentions are for being here...
Bilrika - They don't seem interested in trouble.
Tassarion - I never took minotaurs for being a pleasing bunch to hang around with. This one, however... Something is off about him. And it extends beyond his fur.
Bilrika - We'll see.

Khara stepped back, reaching a hand towards the platter of ribs in order to grab another set, before launching it towards the albino minotaur as he eyed the partially-eaten meat grasped in her other hand. Without a second thought, the beast lunged forward to catch the ribs between his pair of large, crushing jaws, snapping bone while his manoeuvre had caused him to knock his chair over onto the floor, sending it some distance away. He hungrily chewed on the ribs for but several moments, eating and swallowing them, bone and all, without hesitation before wiping at his mouth with a napkin placed upon the face of his table, dabbing it to rid his maw of sauce and meat.

Eryxhreion - Ah, ribs. Nothing quite compares to catoblepas meat after it has been finely roasted over an open fire, but these shall have to do.
Khara - So, now that I've fed you, how about you answer my question; what are you both doing here, in Meath, in the northern part of the Duskwoods, instead of being in Qliphoth?
Kotric - Go ahead, Eryx, you may as well tell her.
Eryxhreion - Right. ... I'm a sellsword. I recently took on my first, proper job patrolling the border between the dwarven lands, the edge of Qliphoth, and the Tropical Lands, and Kotric was the sergeant of the company I was attached to. Our mission was to get rid of one of the gnoll warbands that had been growing more powerful as of recent, yet in the midst of a battle, our squad was set upon by rabid, frenzied beasts; creatures in Qliphoth are usually hyper-aggressive towards even one another, but these animals were... different. Far more aggressive, violent, and feral than usual. Tell me... have you or any of your friends heard of a minotaur by the name of Mivtanreior?

Khara paused for a moment, pondering to herself as she raised a hand to her chin while Tassarion perked his head up from his seat, something of a cold sweat beginning to enter its starting stages as he heard the name spoken. Unable to keep to himself any longer, the young light mage stood and approached Khara from behind, before walking past her and folding his arms while his softly-glowing eyes glanced towards the face of the white bull beastfolk that sat before them.

Tassarion - ... Mivtanreior the Outcast. The Demon of the Border. An old Oevrumine champion, a strong one at that, who lost his mind in an attempt to further his strength beyond the limitations he'd reached.
Eryxhreion - Right. An abomination so absurdly strong and terrifying to my people, his name is spoken of to keep Oevrumine offspring from ever following in his footsteps and to tell of the possible evils of magic. Old Mivtanreior infused the essence of fae into his blood in order to try and gain the strength of a god... I suppose some would say that he succeeded, at the cost of all semblance to who he was before.
Bilrika - Essence of fae? What?
Eryxhreion - Fairy dust.
Bilrika - Oh. But aren't minotaurs anti-magical? I didn't think fairy dust would affect you.
Eryxhreion - Nobody is certain how it happened, but it did. Something that should never have been possible came to be on the day that Mivtanreior infused his body with fairy dust. And now, it seems that his condition only worsens for the rest of us, for those animals I spoke of... The beasts were far stronger and far more aggressive than they usually are. As if they had been cursed with Mivtanreior's madness.
Bilrika - Sheesh. That's not good.
Kotric - It's become a virus. A plague from the Border Demon's blood and essence that's starting to make rounds across Qliphoth, expanding to the wildlife and being passed on to make the plethora of already pissed off things living there even more pissed off. And we think it's starting to spread to people, too. That's why we came here; we were the only ones to survive getting past the border road we took and came here looking for help getting back and stopping this thing.
Anklebiter - Heh. Good luck with that, then. You'll only find death and evil in this place.
Eryxhreion - Aye, we've heard of the Duskwoods. An inhospitable land plagued by monsters and their ilk. Not too much unlike Qliphoth, in fact, were it not that my homeland is becoming more and more of a barren, lifeless wasteland as time passes. ... I heard that the people living here must be hardy and strong to survive, so we're holding out some hope.
Kotric - Here's the thing. Not only does this plague mean that life and society in Qliphoth is threatened, but where is it gonna go when it spreads even more? ... That's right, the rest of the gods-damned Tropical Lands. Just a horde of insane, infectious monsters running around, destroying everything. Why, imagine it spreading here, of all places.
Bilrika - Fairy-dust-crazed undead?
Anklebiter - Sounds fun.

Khara continued to wonder, tapping her chin with her index finger while she contemplated on the possibilities; the consequences of being unable to contain such a spreading threat while it is still small would be catastrophic should it be given the time and chance to grow, and should this chaotic madness move to the lands of the Duskwoods, it would only add to the strife that the Imperial settlements must survive by tenfold. Clenching a fist, the thought troubling her, she proceeded to slam it upon the wooden table's surface, catching the attention of Kotric and Eryxhreion as well as her other companions. Already, Tassarion began to dread the words that came out of her mouth;

Khara - We'll help you! We'll go to Qliphoth with you and we'll help slap Mivtanreior the Outcast - to save both your homeland and mine! Gotta get to the source of it and stop it from spreading while it's still small!
Anklebiter - What do I gain from this?
Khara - You get to be admired... as a hero!
Anklebiter - ... I don't think you quite understand what I am. I'm a Grim Goblin. I'm evil.
Khara - Erm... In that case, you get to live! Otherwise, you'll likely die later if we're unable to contain this plague and then it spreads here. That and it stops me from kicking the shit out of you right the fuck now.
Anklebiter - Grrrr! I'm going to chow the nose out of your face!
Bilrika - I'm not sure about this. If these minotaurs failed to fight this Miv-person, what hope do we, a bunch of novices, have?
Khara - None with an attitude like that, gal! You gotta believe in yourself a little more! You said the same thing about the cyclops and then we took it down like badasses, didn't we? Come on, we'll be fine!
Bilrika - Yeah, but cyclopes aren't immune to magic.
Tassarion - ... As much as I would love to feel otherwise, Khara is correct. Not doing anything shall result in a worse outcome than at least doing something. But Bilrika is also right; we're but novices, new to the adventuring business. And minotaurs happen to be immune to magic.
Kotric - If it also sways you anyway, a 10,000 gold reward split between the four of you is being offered by the Thane of Gimgari, the Westhold that me and Eryx work for. And there's other stuff to kill there other than Mivtanreior which you'll get paid for too - stuff that's not quite as immune to magic for you mage types. And, hey, it'll be some good experience for you all, eh...?
Anklebiter - ... 10,000 gold?
Kotric - 10,000 gold pieces, split between the four of you, aye. So, if you decide to help kill the Demon of the Border, that's 2,500 gold pieces for each of you; alongside payment for taking other missions while you're staying in Gimgari. Other missions that also offer big money... Of course, if one of your friends die, you'll come out with their share of gold pieces at the end of your quest.
Anklebiter - Keheheheh... I guess it's time to leave the woods, then.
Khara - That's the spirit! Also, if you even think about backstabbing us, I will punch the teeth right out of your scabby little mouth.
Anklebiter - Whatever you say.
Tassarion - So, it has been decided... We're going to Qliphoth. The Black Westlands. ... Needless to say, I am only slightly more than mildly concerned about our chances.
Khara - Ah, stop worrying, you big baby. You don't have to fight any minotaurs yourself; you just gotta keep us alive while we do the fighting for you. If anything, you have the easy part of the job.
Tassarion - It means I must entrust you to keep me alive so I can heal you. That is why I am so worried.
Icicle - Mmmmhuuuuh...
Bilrika - Yeah, Icicle, I'm starting to miss home too.

Some days had passed since the meeting in the tavern. In that time, the adventuring group had been able to return to Leonberg from Meath and ascertain supplies and additional equipment for them to use in case of any accidents or incidents either on the roads or past the border of the Black Westlands. There was much preparation to be had, as with any expedition or excursion to someplace else, and Khara could not help but use the time before their departure to express herself to her beloved grandfather, the most proficient blacksmith in the town; she told him of her battle with the cockatrice in the wheat fields some nights prior and how her companions had managed to ward it away, before going on to tell him that she shall be taking an opportunity to venture into dwarven lands for new opportunities. She did not have the heart to specify to her poor grandfather that she meant the dwarven lands of Qliphoth rather than those of the Khargrim Greatholds to the east, for if she did, she had a feeling that he would almost certainly suffer a cardiac arrest from shock.

Mounted atop her horse, a Black Forest cold blood with fur like night that she affectionately called Stormlight, Khara rode upon one of the northern roads leading to the northernmost border that separated the Duskwoods from the realms throughout the rest of the Tropical Lands that touched by the light of the sun. If her adventuring group followed this road, they knew that it would eventually lead them to yet another pathway outside of the Duskwoods which would take them towards the subregion of Qliphoth in the west; in spite of the perpetual night, it was not hooded or masked bandits that the adventuring group had to fear while travelling the roads out of the Duskwoods or between settlements, but the various monsters and undead that prowled through the forests, hungrily searching for flesh to sink their jagged, rotten jaws into.

Tassarion rode upon a steed of his own, a Pure Northern Aynachian horse possessed of white mane and fur by the name of Moonwind, and guided it through his spiritual senses, following Khara and the others while he manoeuvred the reins of his horse and whatnot - not very often was a blind man capable of riding and controlling a horse seen. Bilrika rode not upon a horse, but an animated cryomantic creature summoned by her magic, resembling a small block of ice on four legs, with the gnome sitting on top of it. Anklebiter, who did not know how to ride horses, nor liked them to begin with, was content by simply following them on foot, as was the minotaur they had become familiar with some days prior, for he was too large and heavy to be able to sit upon an Imperial mount without harming its back. Kotric sat upon the back of an older, matured Qliphotian mountain pony by the name of Iron, riding behind Khara as she held a map to navigate the roads and paths that led through and out of the Duskwoods.

Khara - So, Eryx; what's it like being a young minotaur with your condition?
Eryxhreion - That was rather forward. But I shall have you know, white-furred minotaurs are considered to possess greater strength than their brown-furred brethren and inherit the strength of our old ancestors from millennia ago.
Khara - What drove you to become an adventurer?
Eryxhreion - ... Didn't feel like wasting my time doing nothing in the Throne's lands. Had to put my strength and training to good use somewhere; preferably somewhere that wasn't intent on doing anything while it slowly suffers and dies.
Tassarion - What do you mean by that?
Eryxhreion - The Throne's government is set on being content with just surviving for as long as possible. They have no interest in doing anything to go out and try to cure our people of this sickness we suffer... It rubbed me the wrong way. It makes me feel sick knowing they're happy to let themselves die.
Bilrika - Heh. I know a thing or two about stubborn leaders.
Eryxhreion - Oh? Do tell.
Bilrika - Khargrim are a bone-headed lot. They see change as a bad thing and evade it like the plague.
Kotric - What choice words.
Bilrika - Don't pretend I'm wrong.
Kotric - I wasn't disagreeing with you, lass. The Greatholds are a ruled by pompous fucks who think that they're better than everyone else if they have so much as have an inkling of an idea that the blood of a Rune-Herald or Runemaster or one of their close affiliates runs through their veins. Not very interested in letting the people govern themselves if they've not got a demigod or celebrity's blood in them. Meanwhile, the Westholds were built by undesirables - convicts, clanless, exiles, and the rest of their ilk - and we're doing equally fine in far more dangerous lands.
Khara - Sounds like Qliphoth dwarves don't take kindly to Greathold dwarves.
Kotric - Aye. Can't stand them. We're not descended from Khargrim Asmund's chosen, thus we don't identify ourselves as Khargrim dwarves - we're Qliphoth dwarves, moulded and forged by the Black Westlands themselves.
Bilrika - Eh. At least Lord Tinloflink knows what he's doing. That's all I really care about.
Kotric - Oh, don't get me started on you gnomes, lassy. Your ancestors really cocked up by letting themselves take the easier option of being integrated into the Greatholds instead of trying to rebuild yourselves.
Bilrika - You don't know a thing about history. It was join the Greatholds or die. Would you prefer to have died? I know I wouldn't.
Eryxhreion - Kotric, can we not have this discussion? I'd rather we get to Qliphoth quietly and not convince our new companions to consider turning around and not help us anymore.
Kotric - Alright, alright... Still. You don't look like any human I've ever seen before, lass. Not that I've seen many humans before in my time until recently.

Khara glanced over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing towards the dwarf as he spoke;

Khara - Meaning?
Kotric - You're one of them halfbloods. Half-orc, if I was to take a guess.
Eryxhreion - Kotric.
Kotric - ... Alright, disregard what I said.
Khara - ... Just so you know, the orcish side of me is Clan Deathtusk. My father was said to be a good man, which is why my human mother married him... I'm hoping I'll find him so I can make that decision myself.
Anklebiter - It matters very little, she's not even one of the orcs from the wood depths. They're the only people my kind does not mess with.
Tassarion - The Aenigmar orcs are rather curious. I hear their leader possesses... terrifying capabilities and a supposed connection to the God of Death Himself.
Anklebiter - I wouldn't know. No one ventures into the depths and comes back to tell the tale. Any other orc is very boring in comparison, as are humans, dwarves, elves and everything else. Filthy outsiders.
Tassarion - Oh, the joys of travelling with a goblin--

Tassarion spoke, yet his sentence was cut off with a yell as he proceeded to fall from his horse, blood spilling from his mouth while a spear, tipped with a rudimentary, sharpened head, pierced through his shoulder, tearing through his robes. Moonwind whinnied as her rider fell, while Khara was swift to look back to see the light mage on the ground, drawing her sword as she did in preparation for a fight. Bilrika made her ice construct stop on its tracks, taking out her wand while Anklebiter twirled his daggers, looking around with narrowed eyes. Their dwarven accomplice quickly dismounted, rolling off the back of his pony and drawing a shield and shortsword while the white minotaur drew a greataxe from his back, glancing towards the trees with fierce, red eyes.

Another spear was launched from the underbrush of the forest, causing the horses to begin to run and dash in a panic, although Khara was swift to deflect it with her buckler, allowing her to see the culprit as she glanced into the trees and past the darkness; she gazed into the eyes of several Grim Goblins, armed with throwing and thrusting spears, which caused her to not notice the dart that came from the other side of the road which pierced into the nape of her neck. There was a small amount of blood spilled, although the half-orc nonetheless began to lose balance from both the shock of being pierced by the head of the dart and whatever drug or substance the head had been dabbed in before it was launched. Anklebiter clenched his teeth in anger as he realized the identity of their assailants, raising a dagger and yelling at them; Grim Goblins all belonged to the same culture, and were much more eager to torment other races than to attack their own kind.

Khara - A-Attack...
Anklebiter - Idiots! I am one of your own!

From the trees, however, came not Grim Goblins, but larger, more bestial creatures armed with spears of their own, in addition to axes and bucklers and shields; gnolls, their dark, mottled fur soaked with substances and materials that made them blend into their environment even better in the perpetual darkness. The minotaur roared as he felt a net be drawn over his form, clasped by various tougher gnolls, while Anklebiter, Bilrika, and Kotric were faced with a combination of gnoll and goblinoid assailants that aimed to engage them in melee range.

Kotric - Watch your flanks and keep your eyes to the trees...!

The presence of goblins among the enemies greatly offended Anklebiter, who immediately charged at them, digging his daggers into their throats mercilessly while Bilrika and Icicle used their magic to launch beams of frost at the gnolls. Kotric was quick to engage his enemies as they wished, bashing a gnoll upside the skull with his shield and causing a sickening crack as its jaw became dislocated from the rest of its skull, before the dwarf thrusted his sword into its side repeatedly. Following this, he launched the gnoll's body, not even having died completely, into one of its companions that happened to be attacking Bilrika, pinning it under its dead weight.

With a fierce roar, Eryxhreion clasped the net and used it against the gnolls that attempted to incapacitate him, proceeding to ferociously throw and swing the net with the gnolls still grasping to its ends to violently shake them about and disorientate them in the midst of breaking their bodies with his immense strength. Reaching down to grasp his greataxe once again, the minotaur's pink eyes widened and his nostrils flared as he then used its blade to cut through the trunk of a nearby tree; without hesitation, he threw his axe to the ground and clasped the trunk, before throwing it towards the other side of the road, crushing gnoll and goblin beneath it.

As the group fought, a trace of dirt and earth was picked up as Anklebiter felt and saw something strike near his body - another dart, an oddly large one at that, that seemed to have come from the trees. Raising an eyebrow, the goblin took one of the throwing knives from his pocket and launched it at the direction of where the dart had come from, before witnessing a spurt of blood from the bunch of trees that the dart had been launched from; it did not take the goblin long to hear a loud, bestial groaning sound emerge from the trees, and soon, he saw a large figure emerge, clasping its face with its hand. It was a Bharloron, its stature great and large, yet it was hunched over, its tusks broken and its body covered in scars and wounds that seemed to have been dealt only recently - regarldless, an injured Bharloron was still a threat, as Anklebiter saw when the beast was quick to remove the knife he had luckily managed to throw into its eye.

Bharloron - Eugh... Dat hurt... r-reel bad...
Anklebiter - Giant!
Bilrika - ... B-B-Bharloron!!
Eryxhreion - I'm on it!

The minotaur wasted little time in engaging the Bharloron, for as the beast recuperated, its lumbering form was unable to avoid the slash of a greataxe dealt to its inner thigh and leg, causing it to drop onto its knee; something was off, they could see, as the giant beastman seemed to be unable to react in time in spite of how strong and athletic their kind usually were. As the giant collapsed onto a knee, Eryxhreion dealt a blow to the space between the base of his neck and his shoulder, causing it to be knocked onto its side, almost lifelessly as it struggled to breath through heavy panting and gasping. The gnolls and goblins present watched the giant go down, and as they did, some of them proceeded to try and scatter, for the one that had brought them all together had just been downed so very easily by the minotaur present among them. Anklebiter yelled in rage at the goblins as they fled the scene, as if ashamed of them while Bilrika took a step back, unwilling to approach the Bharloron even if it had been taken down.

Eryxhreion grunted as he drew back his axe, swiping the Bharloron's blood off of it with a swing while Tassarion slowly got to his feet, clasping the spear in his shoulder before pulling it out and beginning to seal the wound with light magic. Khara also soon stood to her feet, removing the dart from the back of her neck and balancing herself against the trunk of a tree, before glancing towards the fallen, unconscious Bharloron;

Khara - ... The fuck? What's a Bharloron... doing here?
Bilrika - Kill it! kill it kill it kill it!
Eryxhreion - Relax. It should be dead now. Doesn't look like it shall come back up again.
Anklebiter - What is this thing?
Tassarion - Bharloron. They are giant, reptilian beastmen, a subrace of the Loron species, who are thought to have arisen from the southern Tropical Lands. Extremely tenacious, difficult to kill, and also excessively lacking in intellect.
Anklebiter - It was enslaving my kin. Filthy, filthy outsiders.

Suddenly, the ground trembled; before anyone could react, Eryxhreion was launched off his feet, collapsing into the trees at the side of the road while the Bharloron that had thought to have been dead just minutes ago now stood, its muscles twitching while its claws spasmed uncontrollably. Its eyes rolled into the back of its head, while it did not attempt to speak, only unleashing guttural roars and growls while its blackened blood seemed to have a glistening aspect to it - some kind of bright, shimmering dust. As the Bharloron rose to its feet, the flesh and scales upon its muscular body almost ripped and tore itself away, as if the underlying muscular tissues were outgrowing its exterior. The gnome let out a terrified scream as she pointed at the beast, while even Anklebiter stepped back, intimidated by its growing muscles and how it appeared to come back from the dead.

Bilrika - I-It's covered in magic dust!
Kotric - ... It's the plague! Mivtanreior's Frenzy! We must kill it before it has the chance to spread it!
Tassarion - The most effective means of dealing with creatures such as these... is to burn them.
Bilrika - Well, shit. My magic is the exact opposite of burning things.
Khara - Encase it in ice so we can smash the shit out of it!
Tassarion - ... That may perhaps also work. Shattering frozen organs, protrusions, and appendages and whatnot.

With a fierce roar, the Bharloron clasped the nearest tree, proceeding to uproot it with relative ease before swinging it towards the group like a club; the earth quaked and trembled as it slammed the tree into the ground in an attempt to squash and crush its prey, locked and lost in a supernatural frenzy of anger and rage that it could not hope to break out of as it did what it could to tear the adventuring group apart. Khara rushed to the monster's ankles as it raised the tree, delivering a slash as she ran through its legs, when at that moment, Tassarion noticed something particularly odd about the Bharloron now that it had succumbed to the curse of frenzy it was somehow afflicted with.

Unlike other Bharloron, its wounds did not happen to regenerate - or if it did, nowhere near as quick as what was to be expected. Instead, they continued to bleed, very much like that of an injury dealt to a human or elf. Anklebiter rushed alongside Khara and delivered blows to the Bharloron's ankles with his daggers, while Bilrika and Icicle combined their magic so that, rather than launch two weak beams of ice, they launched one single large one at the monster's head. The frenzied Bharloron roared and screamed in rage as the blast of cryomancy struck it, and while it was certainly held back, reeling from the attack as its flesh and scales began to cool and freeze over, it did not do so perfectly; it threw the tree in Bilrika's direction, although as the large, brutalized plant travelled through the air, Eryxhreion's greataxe was quick to cut it in two, giving the gnomish mage more room to dodge and evade the attack, though she nonetheless cowered, holding on her head with her hands.

Bilrika - Eek!
Tassarion - Wilybar!

Thinking swiftly, Tassarion turned and unleashed a kinetic pulse of light magic from his palm, firing it in Bilrika's direction so that, on contact, she would be forcefully blown away from her current position and sent off the steed of ice magic she had been riding, which further helped her evade the massive tree parts launched at her general direction. Anklebiter continued to slash at the Bharloron's legs, using his superior agility to almost dance between his legs, delivering blows with each turn of his body. Khara did similar, although her move were directed by strength rather than dexterity, as she aimed to slash her bastard sword into the joints of the Bharloron's shins.

The fight was set when the Bharloron could no longer stand from having his muscular tissues and joints shredded by Anklebiter and Khara's combined assault, and as he fell onto his knees, punching and tearing at the ground with its bare hands in a maddened, wratfhul frenzy, the half-orc took notice of its frozen features. She clasped her sword once more, before dashing, aiming for a running start;

Khara - Bilrika! Again, freeze it more!

Gulping, Bilrika twirled her wand while Icicle cast magic in its hands, and another beam of frost was launched at the Bharloron's head. The beastfolk's feature froze over more significantly, its flesh and scales cracking as ice magic filled its large, reptilian head, and the last thing it saw before its eyes cracked was Khara leaping into the air, her sword raised over her head. She had made a powerful leap, almost inhuman in how high and far she had jumped, and she soon brought her sword down onto the Bharloron's frozen head and skull with a powerful, heavy thrust driven by the full extent of her orcish strength. Before their eyes, the Bharloron's headless body slumped onto its side, its head shattered into bloody, icy pieces across the section of road they had been passing through.

Khara - Yeah!!
Bilrika - Eeeaaugh!
Anklebiter - Impressive.
Tassarion - Exceptionally barbaric... but efficient. Nice work, Greenforge. Everyone, in fact.
Khara - Oh, stop it, you. You're gonna make me blush.
Eryxhreion - Hmph... Yes. That went far better than what I was expecting to happen.
Kotric - Still, that's worrying. This means the plague's already managed to somehow spread outside of Qliphoth... Let's hope that this is just a one off and we won't have to deal with anything like that until we cross the Qliphotian border.
Bilrika - Ngh... did you see that thing? It was horrifying! I hate Bharloron...
Eryxhreion - Mivtanreior and those others infected by his curse are not much better, I can assure you. ... Or, well, not 'assure'...
Khara - Ah, we made quick work of it, anyway. We'll deal with Mivtanreior easily at this rate... Except that he's immune to magic. That's gonna be difficult to cope with.
Tassarion - You are fortunate that this particular victim of the plague had lost its regenerative abilities. If I was to make a scholarly guess, I would say that it sacrificed nearly all ability to regenerate from wounds and injury after it had become infected in order to boost its physical strength and stamina so that it could sustain its rage.
Anklebiter - At least we know this is going to be interesting.

Soon, the adventuring group gathered their horses and their supplies shortly after burning the body and other remnants of the Bharloron so that no wildlife could feast upon its corpse or blood and become infected as it somehow had. Gaining first-hand experience with the likes of those infected with this Mivtanreior's Frenzy plague that seemed to be spreading throughout the lands of Qliphoth, Khara was left with conflicting feelings, for while they had managed to survive and even defeat the infected Bharloron simply enough, there was no denying that its great strength indeed quietly terrified her, for soon, she and her friends would be forced to face the victims of this plague in the Black Westlands themselves - lands notorious for the warlords, predators, and even flora and rock that somehow resisted, if not outright opposed, the flow of magic through its accursed earth and deadly forms of life.

Chapter 3: Crossing of Paths[]

4 Arisen Sun, 34 NA, Early Afternoon: Lake Duriddamri, Western Jungles, Southwestern Tropical Lands

Dwarven eyes peered over the calm, tranquil surface of the water, some in appreciation for the environment beyond their rather urban, industrialised cities and other settlements that were to be found in the Greatholds, while others glanced to it in contemplation, using it as the scenery for their thoughts. The two Great-Captains and their small company of armed warriors from each of their respective private guard, alongside those soldiers sworn to the Thane of Kunmaldur that had accompanied him, made camp in one of the seemingly endless jungles located in the westerly regions of the Tropical Lands, setting up tents and hammocks and posts which overlooked the beautiful surface of Lake Duriddamri - an expansive lake located within a clearing, discovered by dwarven nomads and travellers some millennia or so before the coming of the New Age, its waters inhabited by the likes of exotic, tropical lake fish that could be caught and cooked into food, alongside a host of insects and amphibians that folk such as dwarves found to be either no problem for them or as additional sources of food while on the go. Streaks of sunlight peered through the treetops onto the dwarven camp, establishing temporary accomodations for the night beside the shoreline while certain members of each Great-Captain's guard took on a number of roles suited to their abilities beyond combat; hunting, fishing, pitching shelter, gathering firewood and the likes.

Great-Captain Hathgar sat beside his old war-boar, Khegrit, whose left eye had been struck scarred and blind in a battle long ago, as they both looked over the waters of Lake Duriddamri, the dwarven prince seemingly becoming absorbed in watching the dragonflies that danced and flew above the surface. He sat in a vest, having removed his armour, and took the time to contemplate on his surroundings, observing the flora and fauna; all of it, should he fail, would be reduced to naught but ash and dust, mercilessly engulfed in the ancient flames of hate and madness spawned thousands of years ago. Not many souls would be able to survive, he knew, and those that did would find that living in the knowledge of such catastrophe to be almost as unbearable as the Underworld itself. He had witnessed first-hand, as did many of the dwarves present today, the horrors brought by the Vulcanus Horde, their weapons of black obsidian and their magic of chaotic, untempered fire inciting endless destruction and death wherever their daemons and warriors went. In that instant, as he looked past the lake, the Great-Captain thought he could see the trees, the underbrush, even the very earth and water itself ignited in hellfire, the entire region caught in the Horde's ceaseless, burning path of war.

Aslaug - Hathgar?

The First Heir paid little heed to the sound of his companion's voice, his eye locked upon the horizon, his expression contorted into one of defeat and uncertainty; she could see the prince's breathing grow heavy, his attention elsewhere as he seemed to grow distant from the small dwarven army working around him, as if stuck in some form of trance or spell that had so suddenly overcame him in his contemplation. The dwarven warrior would resort to clasping onto the prince's shoulder and shaking him vigorously to get his attention.

Aslaug - Hathgar!
Hathgar - Huh, what?! I... O-Oh, it's you, Thob. ... My apologies. I am not sure what came over me... Merely tired from travelling, I suppose, heh.
Aslaug - Heavens above, you look like you saw a ghost or something. The men caught fish and are about to finish cooking so you should stop staring at the horizon and get ready to eat.
Hathgar - Ah, yes, of course! We all need to fill our bellies should we all wish to make it past the border into the Westlands. ... Tell the men I shall be ready to eat with them soon. I... need a few moments.

The prince's tone and expression did not serve to give Aslaug any confidence, for he spoke with a reserved voice and spoke his words conservatively, alongside his face having grown somewhat pale since he had been locked in contemplation. Beside him, Khegrit's nose sniffed the air, and the boar was quick to stand and leave its master's side at the scent of cooked food wafting through the jungle air, oinking and making a variety of other typical, mildly amusing pig grunts and noises as it trotted across the camp while leaving the two Great-Captains to themselves. Aslaug crossed her arms, sighing under her breath as she turned back and returned to their men, leaving the prince alone to his thoughts.

Hathgar watched Aslaug turn and leave to eat with their soldiers and felt some sense of guilt towards the fact that, in spite of having eaten only military reserves only when he absolutely had to for the past few weeks, he did not feel any hunger writhe within his stomach - only dread and the fluttering of butterflies. He could not understand, for he had never before been so sick and worried in his adventures and travels with either the Greatholds' military or heroes from beyond the dwarven lands before, although he thought that it could have had something to do with the stakes at hand. It was considered an indication of either an overly self-righteous or foul attitude or of deeply-stricken emotional turmoil for a superior to choose not to eat and drink with their warriors, and while Hathgar knew of such and wished not to place a bad impression of himself upon his soldiers, he did not feel the appetite for lavishly cooked fish this afternoon.

Perhaps it was fortunate, however, that the prince decided to remain sat at the shoreline of the lake for some minutes more, glancing at the water's edge as it glistened beneath the sun, for he was the first to witness the sudden ripples as they came upon the otherwise flat and still, peaceful surface. He dismissed them at first, in fact he had barely noticed them up to a point, before his eye was drawn towards the slight bubbling of water some distance away - a sign of air being released beneath the surface, even if it was only so little. He squinted, grunting as he tried to confirm what he happened to be seeing was actually a part of reality rather than a figment of his mind, until he saw the bubbles growing more in number, as if more air was being more consistently released. Slowly, he reached for his axe, lightning crackling through the muscles of his forearms, until he gazed upon the sight of something - large and roughly humanoid, yet as tall and broad as a tree - emerge from the lake with a terrifying leap, exploding from the water and soaring through the sky with athleticism unseen in dwarves.

Hathgar - ... Bharloron!

The creature that had burst from the waters of Lake Duriddamri was, indeed, a Bharloron; its scales were coated with mud and other materials in order to camouflage its presence beneath the waters, while it had hidden its pair of rudimentary axes within the base of the lake, hiding them in mud and rock. Although the dwarves saw these giant beastfolk as dim-witted and foolish, they could not deny that when it came to matters of battle, they were masters equal, if not superior, to them in the ways of guerilla warfare, as shown by the shocked and horrified expressions of the unsuspecting dwarves who were partway through consuming cooked, steaming fish before their heads were either cleaved or parted entirely from their bodies by the sharp edge of the primal beastman's weapons.

Aslaug, who had not removed her armor to eat, promptly reached for her silver-plated warhammer as she charged at the massive intruder, with many of her men scrambling to reach for their own weapons. Meanwhile, in the distance, the gruff, dragon-like roar of a Dwarf Mauler was heard as Trughs mounted upon Fang, taking out one of his runed swords as he commanded his men to prepare for battle. From the water, it seemed more of the giant beastfolk emerged, either leaping into the air with axes in hand or skulking slowly out from beneath the surface, their reptilian eyes slitted and glaring spitefully towards the dwarves as they engaged them in battle, taking them by surpise with their sudden appearance while, from the trees, diminutive, goblinoid creatures - Smeevers - unleashed volleys of arrows, spears, and javelins down onto the dwarves, further catching them off-guard.

Aslaug - It's a bloody ambush! To arms!
Hathgar - They were waiting for us! Bastards! We'll have to murder every last one of them!
Trughs - Fang! Kill!

The Mauler roared at the Smeevers as they approached, and with a leap, she jumped straight into their mob, chomping down at them and easily crushing their bodies between her teeth before devouring her whole, while Trughs swung his sword at those to the sides of his mount. Aslaug confronted the Bharloron by sending the head of her warhammer straight to their ankles, aiming to cripple them on the spot. The Bharloron that had first emerged roared in agony, its feet being knocked out from under it and being sent into the ground by the force of Aslaug's swing, although it did not give up so easily as it proceeded to throw one of its stone axes in the Great-Captain's direction before struggling to attempt to stand. The axe chipped through the surface of her steel plate armor, leaving the dwarf unharmed as she swung her hammer at the beastman's head, crushing its skull beneath the weight of her weapon in a bloody mess.

Stepping out from a tent was the monk Eirik, mildly shocked as he watched the chaos begin to unfold around him while Hathgar, Aslaug, and Trughs were all engaged. The dwarven prince had, with his axe, just tore through a squad of charging, spear-wielding Smeevers, although he was now locked in combat with yet another Bharloron, aiming to slash at its feet while the beastman, wielding a greatclub, swung its weapon in arcs in an effort to crush its prey.

Eirik - What in the Great Mother's... Where did they all come from?
Aslaug - Does it matter? They're killing our men!
Trughs - Pay those savages back in the same coin!

Eirik, at heart, was a pacifist; if he could avoid it, he would not reduce himself to fighting. However, that did not mean he would not help his friends and those dwarves who bravely placed their lives on the line, as he proceeded to wrap his hands around a tree trunk that had been cut and stripped earlier and sent it flying through the air with ease, causing it to smash against the head of the Bharloron engaged with Hathgar and, while not killing it, disorientating it and causing it to drop its club. This allowed the Great-Captain the opportunity he needed to send his axe into the giant beastfolk's shins and ankles with his blade that crackled with electricity, stunning the monstrous foe and causing it to fall onto its knees before disembowling the beast with another powerful swing of his axe.

Around them, dwarven soldiers were routed and disposed of by Bharloron and their Smeever slaves, as they had not been anticipating an attack and those that had taken off their armour to relax and free themselves of the heat placed upon their bodies were swiftly cut down. A Bharloron ambush was a terrifying spectacle, for the barbarians that were cunning enough to follow some semblance of a plan executed it with terrifying results, as one would not usually expect to find creatures as giant and brutish as them essentially hiding in plain sight. As Hathgar finished off the Bharloron he had been engaged with with a swift cut to the neck and throat, he could not react swift enough to evade or counter the multiple arrows and spears launched at his back by Smeever hunters, sending him to a knee and bloodying the vest he wore before he managed to accumulate the rage and strength needed to get back up again.

With powerful kicks, Fang sent Smeevers flying across the battlefield, often colliding with other goblins in the process, until the Mauler suddenl begun to shudder and almost cower, confusing Trughs - had she been wounded beneath his notice? However, the creature then roared again and from her mouth, a blast of dark energies was launched at the invaders, exploding violently amidst a mob of Smeevers and reducing them to little more than bloody gibs.

Trughs - ... W-What was that?! Not that I'm complaining but, what in the Hammer?
Eirik - Dark magic, Thane Ermek! It seems Fang has learned how to use her own form of dragon's breath!
Trughs - I had no idea Maulers could breathe darkness!
Hathgar - I thought you spent your life studying these things!
Trughs - I did! And I've never heard of this before!

The effort to unleash the magic attack appeared to have been great, though, as Fang panted and huffed loudly as she appeared to struggle to stand. It was at that moment that they all felt the earth beneath them beginning to quake and tremble, periodically shaking for brief moments which, as it grew more violent, almost knocked the dwarves to their feet while their hearts slowly began to fill with some sense of dread. Hathgar twirled his axe, cutting through another few Smeevers before turning his head towards the forest at the other side of the lake, the waters rippling as what seemed to be loud, thunderous footsteps grew closer, followed by the sound of trees collapsing to the ground.

Trughs - ... Seems you did your thing a little too early, Fang.

Soon, emerging from the trees near the shoreline at the far end of the lake, was yet another Bharloron; however, this one was different, as he seemed larger and more imposing than his kin who had ambushed the dwarves from within the lake and instead of being covered in mud and camouflage, he wore a cloak and robe of leaves that had grotesque components such as bones, teeth, and tusks weaved into its material, while at the straps of his belt and across his arms and chest, he wore broken skulls - skulls of men, elves, dwarves, and a number of other creatures that had been skinned and polished - and at his head, he wore the skull of what seemed to be a slightly larger Bharloron as a helm, his lizardlike eyes peering through the emptied sockets while his smile of jagged teeth could be seen spreading beneath his headpiece's upper jaw. A worried expression grew on Aslaug's face as she gazed upon the massive Bharloron, tightening her grip on her warhammer while Trughs bared his teeth in some apprehension. Hathgar remained quiet, narrowing his gaze towards the great Bharloron as he made his presence known while Eirik merely stared, before glancing towards his friends with a worried look.

Suddenly, the Bharloron raised his weapon - a giant spear - and bellowed with horrendous laughter, before speaking in his crude tongue with a voice deep and haunting, echoing between the trees with each word he made;

??? - DIS! DIS IS WAT YOO GIT FER TRESPASSIN' INTO DA LANDS OF TRIBE SMASHEDMOUTH, YA LIL GITZ! DIS IS WAT YOO GIT FER MESSIN' WIV CHEEF TOR'KHLOG AN' HIS BOYZ! TURN BACK NOW AN' LIVE TA FIGHT ANOTHA DAY, OR STAY 'ERE AN' SAY YER PRAYERS!
Aslaug - Augh, my bloody ears!
Hathgar - We can't turn back now; we'll waste more time that we can't afford! Ngh... We have to stay and fight or we'll lose Khargrimhold before we know it!
Eirik - ... If we stay, it is likely that more of your warriors will die, Hathgar, with an increasing probability of that number including yourself. That goes for you too, Great-Captain Zonmesir and Thane Ermek. We cannot rule out retreat as an option--
Hathgar - To the Twelve Hells with retreating! We can't afford to retreat! Khargrimhold, and the Greatholds as a whole, rests on our shoulders and we can't waste time turning back around and looking for a damned alternate, longer route! This is the most direct path!
Aslaug - ... Hammer Throne gives us strength.
Tor'Khlog - BAHAHAHA! Sounds like yoo gitz are in a bit of a predicament, ain't ya? Well... TUFF! LUCK! My boyz have been scoutin' ya dis past week or so an' I see dat yer in a rush ta git to Qlithoff, eh? I'm afraidz I can't let ya do dat, but I'm bein' kind by givin' ya dis chance to git out wiv yer lives!
Trughs - We're not going anywhere, you cocky freak of nature. You and your rabble better get the hell out before I have your head crushed between my mount's teeth!
Tor'Khlog - Well den! Yoo've already made camp 'ere; ya may as well dig yer own graves in it too! Bahaha! At leest yer corpses are gonna 'ave a nice, lakeside view! Ahahaha!

With that, Cheef Tor'Khlog withdrew back into the jungle, while more Bharloron warriors charged out from behind him and at his sides, leaping, diving, or rushing into Lake Duriddamri without a second though while they wielded axes and a variety of bludgeoning weapons in order to finish off what remained of the Great-Captains, the Thane, and their combined guard following the initial decimation. Twirling his greataxe, Hathgar wasted little time in showing resistance towards the Bharloron tribe as he plunged his electrified weapon into the waters of the lake, sending a current of powerful lightning through the ripples and shocking any nearby Bharloron into a stunned or unconscious state; however, in spite of this, the dwarves present knew that without help, they would likely either die or be forced to retreat anyway, likely with severe or lethal injuries if they remained.

Hathgar - Damn it! ... Thob, if you want to live, I'd suggest leaving this place now. Same to you, Trughs.
Trughs - You're the one who told us to stay and fight, you bloody idiot!
Hathgar - I know, but I was trying to sound big and tough to try and give you both some courage. ... I can't make you stay here and fight, so if you want to leave, I'd not blame you. But if we don't secure this place and abandon it, then Khargrimhold's life may be tipped in favour of being snuffed by the demons of that damnable isle. And if Khargrimhold dies...
Aslaug - Not about to leave the crown prince in the middle of a lizard-orc horde.
Hathgar - There are worse, more humiliating ways to die. ... I'd not complain if you decided to stay at my side, however. But only if you're certain. I wouldn't want to force any of you to fight a battle that isn't going our way.
Trughs - Then we make it our way, and tear these troglodytes to pieces!

Given time to gather their armaments and equipment, the dwarven soldiers that had accompanied the Great-Captains and the Thane unleashed bolts and arrows etched with ancient runes, igniting them with fire or causing them to crackle with volts of arcane electricity which were sure to put at least some of the Bharloron tribesmen back in their place. Regardless, the Bharloron under Cheef Tor'Khlog continued coming and it seemed that there remained some who hid themselves within the banks of the lake even after the initial ambush, having prepared to accompany and reinforce a second wave of attackers; they equalled, if not slightly outnumbered the dwarves present, and they likely could overwhelm them given enough time and opportunity to exploit any mistakes the remaining dwarven militants made. Hathgar glanced over the lake, watching as Bharloron, joined by Smeever reinforcements, swam through the lake or crawled and prowled through the neighbouring trees to strike the dwarves from their sides, and huffed as he clenched his greataxe.

If he was to die this day at the hand of an enemy as old and barbaric as the Bharloron, then he would die fighting, knowing that he had given his life in order to at least attempt saving the kingdom and family he held so dear and close to his heart; a death worthy of a dwarven prince, he felt, were it not that he was certain that the mission was undertaken in vain hopes regardless of whether they survived the Bharloron onslaught or not. As the primal beastfolk drew closer, the images of the lake and surrounding forest - the entire world, in fact - alight with flame flashed into his mind, the skies blackened with ash from smeltered cities and razed towns and villages, while folk - dwarven, elven, human, and beast - were set upon pyres to be burned alive by the demons of southern Akriarion.

That was, until he glimpsed the sight of what was most certainly ice beginning to form upon the surface of the water's edge, freezing the Bharloron that attempted to swim through to the shoreline of Lake Duriddamri with a thick, hard layer of biting frost and cold.

Khara - Quick! Freeze the lake before those sons of bitches get the chance to crawl out!

The half-orcish warrior and her companions had managed to emerge at the rear of a dwarven camp that looked to be recently established while travelling upon the western roads, albeit ravaged and wrecked by a conjoint ambush of Bharloron and their Smeever slave-warriors. Her adventuring group had taken a detour from the main path in order to venture through a supposed shortcut that would significantly reduce the time it would otherwise take to get to the Qliphotian border after having managed to make it out of the Duskwoods, allowing her, for the first time, to observe the beauty that was sunlight - an impossibility for her home in the sunless lands of darkness. It was perhaps by some fortune that upon this shortcut, she had happened upon a contingent of dwarven warriors and soldiers, who seemed to be locked in combat with the likes of a company of Bharloron axe-cutters and club-bashers.

Dismounting from Stormlight, Khara watched the dwarves make their stand against the Bharloron tribesmen, and while she saw that they were prepared to make a sacrifice for a battle that would probably be lost on the dwarves' part, she knew that she could not simply stand by and pass through without offering some assistance of her own to try and assist the Khargrim in a victory. She triumphantly pointed towards the water of the lake as it rippled and bubbled with Bharloron swimming and diving beneath its surface, while her companions stood at her side, also having been about to witness the last quarter of a battle unfold before their eyes before the young half-orc member of their team decided to intervene. Bilrika froze the water without any hesitation; her kind hated the Bharloron with a passion, and having the chance to rid the world of so many of them at once was one she cherished.

Utilising both her powers and that of her ice elemental familiar, the rippling water grew still and cold, losing its liquid consistency as it suddenly became a chilling solid that trapped the wet or submerged Bharloron; their scales and other softer tissues froze over, the ice mage's spells enhanced by the presence of water in the vicinity which caused them to become stuck and cease all major forms of movement, for they were trapped in magical ice. Khara did not waste the opportunity as she drew a crossbow from the saddle of her horse and raised it, firing several bolts towards the frozen heads and skulls of the cannibalistic, giant beastfolk tribesmen and taking some delight in watching them crack and shatter. Over the dwarven side of the fight, Aslaug would take note of the new arrivals, bringing her hand to her eyes to get a better look and quickly realizing they were on their side.

Aslaug - Hammer be praised, seems we got some help coming!
Hathgar - By the Twelve Hells! It seems the Hammer and the Mother have answered our prayers after all! ... Give it all you've got, soldiers!

The surviving dwarven militia nodded, raising their weapons - bows, crossbows, javelins and slings - and began to pelt the frozen Bharloron, bolts and balls of iron thrown from their slings making quick work of them as their icy bodies shattered and broke, breaking appendages and protrusions alongside their skulls when they were fortunate enough to land a blow to the head. Eirik swiftly turned to see the band of adventurers that had arrived just in the knick of time to assist them in their plight, smiling as he saw them emerge from the jungles with magic and sword in hand; the human mage of their group, who looked to specifically be a light mage, threw his hands forward and began to bathe and shower the injured dwarves in divine, holy light, healing their wounds through channelling the aura of light magic that seemed to swirl and radiate around him. Meanwhile, the dwarves saw a dark, evil goblinoid among them, who leaped on top of the frozen Bharloron and finished them off by thrusting his blades into their frozen throats, a malevolent grin on his face as he did so.

Even stranger, perhaps, was the presence of a minotaur among them - a minotaur whose white fur, red eyes, large stature, and his primary choice of greataxe as his weapon caused Hathgar to freeze in place. He glanced upon the albino Oevrumine as it charged into the fray, delivering heavy, devastating blows with the head of its weapon which felled the Bharloron as the icy magic that froze them in place began to gradually wear off, their bodies slowly beginning to move once again. Eirik, too, was hesitant to move as he watched the white minotaur in action, its cries of battle causing him and his old friend to shudder in place with confusion and, perhaps, horror.

Hathgar - ... What is he doing here...? Is that...
Eirik - ... Khosrovhreiar...? It cannot be, surely...

Orbs of black iron were launched towards the Bharloron as they emerged from their frozen state, launched from a slinging weapon wielded by the Qliphotian dwarf Kotric, whose armour certainly made him stand out among the other dwarves present - in fact, some of those very same dwarven soldiers could tell that Kotric happened to come from the dwarfholds of Qliphoth due to his armour and his lack of any crest or insignia that gave hint to being a member of, or affiliated with, any Khargrim clan. Khara, meanwhile, swung her bastard sword at the Bharloron that managed to escape from the partially frozen lake, her weapon, backed by her impressive orcish strength, striking through the tough scales of the beastfolk's shins and ankles and sending them to the ground while she moved and handled herself with great ferocity and excitement.

It did not take long, however, for the dwarves at the camp to recognise at least one figure who travelled among the adventuring band as they happened to lay their eyes upon Bilrika, her gnomish heritage, mage robes, and elemental causing her to stand out like something of a sore thumb among the armoured and heavily-equipped warriors present for the battle.

Bilrika - ... Ngh, they're all staring at me.
Hathgar - You... You're Bilrik's lass!
Bilrika - Shit, they recognize me! ... Wait. You're the prince of Khargrimhold!
Hathgar - What are you doing here?! Where... Where have you been these past few months? Your father's been worried damn sick, girl!
Bilrika - .... Hmpf! You're welcome for us saving your hide, "your majesty"!
Aslaug - I don't know who that is, but I think we should leave the chit-chat for after the Bharloron are dealt with!
Khara - Agreed! ... Wow, that's a really nice hammer. So cool...
Aslaug - Leave it, I said!

Soon, there were some among the Bharloron who took to turning tail, rushing and swimming through the lake to reach the other side of the shoreline while they're brethren remained either dead, frozen, or determined to try and fight the dwarves and the new arrivals on the scene - they were strong opponents, for sure, thus they deserved to be fought with. Joining forces and coordinating with one another, Khara and Hathgar led their companions forward, with the First Heir keeping the reptilian ogres at bay in the water by sending strong currents of lightning energy from his weapon into the lake, while Khara used her strength to assist the dwarven soldiers, with her bastard sword grasped fiercely in both hands, in downing and finishing any of the beastfolk who managed to make it past Hathgar's defensive technique or attacked from the trees at either side of the encampment. While Bilrika continued to use her magic on the Bharloron, Trughs chased them while riding Fang, who snapped and tore chunks out of any beastman unfortunate enough to be caught within its massive jaws.

Eryxhreion and Kotric, meanwhile, assisted Aslaug in felling any Bharloron that came towards her and her soldiers' position, with the minotaur utilising his own immense strength to combat the Bharloron with his greataxe of Qliphotian steel while the Westholds dwarf thrusted his Qliphotian blade into the shins and feet of the beastfolk, using his stout figure to manoeuvre his way between their legs and generally pester them. As combat was waged, Tassarion and Eirik both managed to tend to the wounded or fallen, using a combination of light magic spellcasting and adept, dwarven medical practice respectively in order to heal and close wounds alongside assist in removing pain or trauma dealt to the bodies of the Greathold warriors. Soon, as they looked up from the wounded dwarves, both could see the Bharloron beginning to retreat en masse, having been greatly reduced and weakened and filled with a desire to regroup in order to recoordinate their schemes and tactics - while they were most certainly loud, bumbling idiots, it could not be forgotten how dangerous they were, for many dozens of dwarves - each finely-chosen and trained for this mission - lay dead or mortally wounded by their hand, the Great-Captains' guard utterly decimated several times over.

Once the bloodshed was over, Khara deposited her bastard blade back into its sheath and glanced towards the dwarves, smiling as she approached them and outstretched a hand; Hathgar was once again locked into something of a trance as he saw the many corpses of both dwarf and beast, although he was swift to shake his head and turn to face the half-orc, peering down at her hand before taking a moment to greet it with his own.

Hathgar - ... Nice fighting out there, lass. You really saved our asses this time. For a moment, I was worried those ass-looking, dim-witted beastfolk would string me up by my hands and feet and parade me through these gods-forsaken jungles, but you and your friends put a stop to that.
Khara - Ehehe, it's nothing, really. What was I supposed to do, eh? Let a bunch of dwarven soldiers get brutally murdered by a bunch of Bharloron brutes? Nah, that ain't me. I had to do something.
Tassarion - It was fortunate that we decided to take the shortcut through Lake Duriddamri off of the main roads, otherwise we would have missed you. I dread to think about what could have possibly happened here otherwise.
Aslaug - Aye, you have our thanks, adventurers... but why do you have an evil goblin of the night following you around?
Anklebiter - See, at least this woman realizes what I am.
Bilrika - Don't worry about it, Khara keeps him in check.
Hathgar - We can see that well enough, but why does she also happen to keep in check the daughter of the famed Bilrik Wilybar, hm? You've got some explaining to do, lass.
Bilrika - Ugh! I already told father a thousand times I'm out travelling the world! Why do you care anyway? Don't tell father went as far as getting the prince of Khargrimhold to chase me around like I'm some sort of dog.
Hathgar - Like your father would dare do something like that. I'd not need a whole company of elite, dwarven soldiers to capture a little mage girl, anyway. That aside... My reasons for being out here are far more important than simply chasing one man's little runaway daughter.
Bilrika - Who you're calling little? Ugh, you're such a jerk.
Khara - Wait... The prince of Khargrimhold? ... As in, J-Jalaric Hathgar? Of the Warriors of Dar-Nahalant?!
Hathgar - Oh, I see someone has heard of me. Why yes, it is the very same! First Heir Jalaric Hathgar III of Khargrimhold, Great-Captain of the 4th Khargrimhold Company, at your service, lass!
Khara - W-Whoa, that's... so cool! I never thought I'd actually meet a Warrior of Dar-Nahalant! And... A-And you're also a Goldhawk too! Gah, I'm so glad I chose this shortcut! In your face, Tassarion!
Tassarion - I only said that if we decided to take this shortcut, we would have to deal with the consequences of straddling into more tropical insects and crocodiles than what it's worth... How very convenient that we happen upon this, however.
Anklebiter - You talk of insects as if they were a bad thing. Snacks are always welcome.

The group could see Khara's face ignite with blush in the presence of Hathgar, only for it to grow redder as her eyes gazed upon the presence of Kvo Eirik, another old Goldhawk member who had also accompanied the Warriors of Dar-Nahalant. She dropped to her knees, unable to stand as she kept a tight hold of the dwarven prince's hand;

Khara - T-They tell stories about you, you know! Stories about all the cool and awesome stuff you've done! I... Y-You're one of my idols! Nearly everybody told me not to bother being an adventurer, that I couldn't handle the difficulties and trials of it, but you were what inspired me to try it!
Trughs - Seems you got yourself a... fangirl, Hathgar.
Hathgar - Well, if I had a quill, I'd give you my autograph, lass. But... I'm afraid that I've dire matters to attend to with my own companions. I'm not simply out here in the middle of nowhere for no reason. ... Miss Wilybar, the reason why the First Heir of Khargrimhold is out here at Lake Duriddamri is because I have been tasked by my father, the Lord-Thane, to go to Qliphoth. Because Khargrimhold, and the Greatholds as a whole, are in grave danger.
Bilrika - Eh? Why?
Hathgar - The ancient demons of Akriarion, the Vulcanus Horde... They have launched an attack on the mainland of the southern Tropical Lands. And they grow in number with each passing day... We've managed to gather enough information to know that they are planning a mass invasion of the Greatholds and wish to raze it to the ground, alongside all neighbouring societies, in a tide of chaos fire. They are here to kill us all; man, woman, and child.
Bilrika - Vulcanus Horde? I thought they were just a bogeyman.
Hathgar - No. I've seen them with my own eyes - fought against them on the battlefields, in fact. Dhagdaral... was the first major city to fall. And others have fallen since, alongside countless villages and towns. The Scorched General is real, too. Khargrimhold, as is everything any dwarf ever knew or loved, is at risk of being turned to cinders.
Bilrika - I... I had no idea... I-Is Whistlehold still standing?
Hathgar - It is, but only by grace of the Greatholds' western settlements, like Kunmaldur, sending support their way to reinforce and bolster their numbers. Your father is also doing his best to bind as many water and ice elementals as he can to fight and counter the Horde's fire monsters, all while fearing for your safety. He works tirelessly each and every day, for if he didn't, Whistlehold would join Dhagdaral in flames.
Bilrika - ... He always said I could lose my life if I traveled the world. And now, if I were home, I could be dead.
Anklebiter - Danger in the west, danger in the east, you outsiders bring nothing but trouble.

From behind, Bilrika felt the soft palm of Eirik lay itself upon her shoulder, the monk glancing down at her as if to comfort her following the sudden revelation that, for all her father knew, she could very well have died in the raids and assaults launched by the chaotic demons of Akriarion and that, in spite of that, he worked without end to see the safety of Whistlehold. It was a staggering realisation, to say the very least.

Hathgar - My mission is to get to Qliphoth and reason with the Westhold dwarves to send reinforcements to the Greatholds; to put an end to the old feuds and set aside our differences in order to save the region, for if the Greatholds fall, the Westholds shall too.
Kotric - Good luck with that, mate. The Westholds would rather not have anything to do with you if they can help it, whether you're prince or not. They don't owe anything to the Lord-Thane or any of his kin.
Trughs - How about not dying to a horde of bloodthirsty magma-men, eh?
Kotric - All well and good, if the Westhold Thanes will give you the time of day. Which, seeing as you're Khargrim, I seriously doubt unless you convince them that you're worth their time.
Trughs - Like I just said, bloodthirsty magma-men. Unless the Westholds want to die, they damn well better listen.
Hathgar - ... Wait a moment. Wilybar, what are you doing all the way out here, at Lake Duriddamri? Surely you are not also considering...
Bilrika - Uh... We were actually going to Qliphoth ourselves.
Hathgar - Whatever for, girl?!
Bilrika - There's apparently a rabid, superpowered minotaur over there infecting others with a maddening plague. It's spreading to the east, going so far as the Duskwoods. Khara here wants to put an end to it.
Khara - Yep, that's me. It was my idea, your majesty. I... I wanted to try and help the people living there, otherwise, they're gonna fall into chaos before these fire monsters ever manage to get there.
Trughs - Huh. This... orc and her friends fancy themselves heroes then.
Anklebiter - I'm in for the cash and the feasts.
Aslaug - Of course. Vile little creature.
Khara - ... That's "Khara", sir. That's my name. I'm also half-orc, not fullblooded.
Trughs - Whatever.
Aslaug - Well, you've proven yourselves capable. Perhaps we can travel together.

Khara's face lit up as Aslaug provided the suggestion, briefly clapping her hands together out of excitement while Tassarion watched, passing a glance towards the rather unimpressed expression worn over Thane Ermek's face. As Eryxhreion rejoined the group after cutting apart several of the dead Bharloron, ensuring that they happened to stay dead this time, Hathgar and Eirik both passed looks of uncertainty towards him.

Khara - T-Travelling with real heroes? O-Of course! That'd be amazing!
Hathgar - ... Who's the minotaur?
Eryxhreion - My name is Eryxhreion. And I am the son of Khosrovhreiar, the minotaur raider-lord the Goldhawks fought against all those decades before now.
Anklebiter - You cow-men have irritatingly long names.
Hathgar - His... son. I thought I could see a glimpse of the devil in your eye.
Eryxhreion - ... You must believe me, your majesty. I harbour no ill will against you for your attempts on his life; in fact, it was the only right thing to do. From the stories my people tell of him, he was vile and cruel and deserved to die by your hand.
Bilrika - It was Eryx here who told us about the plague. He's a helpful fellow.
Aslaug - If there's really a plague coming from Qliphoth, then it would only make sense for us to work together. This definitely concerns the Westholds and poses a threat to the Greatholds, if it ever spreads to it. We don't need a plague of madness in the middle of a war.
Hathgar - ... Alright. Perhaps working together, we can achieve two goals at once; rid the region of the plague and get an audience with a Thane of the Westholds to see about reinforcing the Greatholds' military. ... I won't lie to you, though, lad. Working with the son of Khosrovhreiar is... unnerving, to say the least.
Bilrika - Hey, he can't help repelling magic around him. Don't blame the poor guy.
Eryxhreion - No, no. It is fine. I can understand why the proposition would be daunting for an old member of the Goldhawks. I will do my best to prove myself to you, your majesty, that I am very little like my father beyond my looks and abilities.

Hathgar contemplated for a moment, stroking a hand through his beard while glancing towards the great white minotaur; indeed, he very much resembled Khosrovhreiar of old, although he lacked the distinct scarring of his father, appearing more fresh and young by comparison. He also held no clear malevolence in his eyes as his predecessor did, no indication of madness or malign insanity that drives him towards acts of violence and barbarism, even if the aura that pervaded around him sapped at the magic of those in his company - granted, thankfully, not to as significant an extent as Khosrovhreiar.

Hathgar - ... You don't need to prove yourself to me, lad. You need only prove to yourself that you are a different person from your father.
Eryxhreion - Thank you. Now, what shall be our next course of action? You and your men are wounded and tired, yet to remain here may be dangerous. Does anyone happen to have any ideas?
Aslaug - ... First of all, we must give the dead their final rest.
Eirik - I shall see to that, Great-Captain. As a priest of the Thunderous Hammer, I shall do my duty and give the dead their last rites. Then I can begin the burials.
Aslaug - Thank you, monk.
Hathgar - While you do that, Eirik, I think it'd be a good idea if we all paid that Chief a visit. His warriors are wounded and shaken and many of them lay dead here. There won't be much stopping us from paying him back for what he's done.
Trughs - Hah, that's what I like to hear. Fang should be able to track their fetid smell all the way back to wherever they're hiding.
Bilrika - ... T-That dwarf is riding a monster...
Trughs - Don't worry, lassie. Fang here is tame. She only eats people who deserve it.
Khara - That's so awesome... I need to get me one of those one day. I reckon I'd look great sat on top of one those.
Trughs - Maulers belong to the dwarves, half-orc.

An awkward silence overcame the group, with Khara attempting to find words to respond with before simply glancing away towards the earth, appearing somewhat disappointed and unable to glance any of her new dwarven companions in the eye anymore. Eryxhreion, somewhat disturbed by the sudden silence, unsuccessfully attempted to creepy away quietly in order to clean his weapon and armour, undone by the fact he was a towering monster of a minotaur clad in heavy armour, while Tassarion resisted the urge to pat the half-orcish adventurer on the shoulder - he could see that she had been effectively stunned by the Thane's comment, even if it was but a minor thing, but he felt unsure as to whether he was ready to go so far as to touch her out of sympathy just yet.

Bilrika, however, pouted at Trughs and stepped forward; unlike the others, she was not one to hide her feelings.

Bilrika - Hey! You got a problem with half-bloods, guy?
Trughs - ... Eh? Who do you think you are to-
Bilrika - I'm the daughter of Bilrik Wilybar, master elemental binder, that's who! You got a problem with my friend because she's two races at once? I bet you're the kind of guy who hates the thought of Khargrim and gnomes being happy side by side!
Trughs - Hey, what the hell? I didn't say that!
Bilrika - Then what's your beef? Eh?
Trughs - I... I owe you no explanation! You're lucky we're not at the actual Greatholds, or I could well throw you into the dungeon for insubordination!
Hathgar - Ease up, Trughs. ... She's just a child. She doesn't know or understand. ... He did not mean anything personal by what he said, Khara. My friend simply has... reserved feelings regarding orckind. That's all there is to know for now.
Bilrika - So he's a racist. What did the orcs do to you, guy? What's your freaking beef?!
Trughs - ... They killed my wife and children, you little big-headed pest. That's what.
Bilrika - ... Oh.

Once again, the silence resumed, only to be broken by the giant Eryxhreion uneasily humming a song as he wiped a cloth over his blood-splattered axehead in order to try and take his mind away from the situation. The dwarven prince sighed as he turned to face Trughs;

Hathgar - ... I suggest you go find some food and water for you and Fang, as well as the other soldiers here. We should still have some trail rations.

With an annoyed grunt, Trughs pulled Fang's reins to make the Mauler turn around and leave the scene, with Hathgar looking on with his arms crossed, lightly shaking his head. At that point, Tassarion had decided to assist Eirik in granting the corpses of the fallen dwarves their last rites and preparing them for burial, while Khara, softly biting her lip and keeping her face low, moved to sit upon a nearby rock. Bilrika twirled her fingers somewhat nervously over the realization of the Thane's distrust for Khara, while Anklebiter appeared to have thoroughly enjoyed the scene, smirking and giggling under his breath as he watched them, though as Fang walked past the goblin, the Mauler's tail swat him across the side, sending him flying into the lake.

Kotric, taking a swig from a hip flask, watched as Great-Captain Jalaric moved to assemble the remaining dwarves, before taking his opportunity to approach Aslaug from behind, a somewhat perverted grin upon his bearded face as he admired her in her armour before giggling somewhat loudly to himself.

Kotric - So... Do you come by Qliphoth often? You look like a lass who can handle herself, after all.

The Great-Captain turned her head over her shoulder, glaring at Kotric as she responded.

Aslaug - I'm married. Get lost.
Kotric - You look like the kind of girl... who could use two husbands.
Aslaug - I'm the kind of girl who can crush skulls with this here silver-plated warhammer, guy.
Kotric - ... So you are. ... I-If you ever reconsider, you'll know where I'll be, yeah? Yeah. Alright...
Aslaug - Hmpf.

The sound of hooves clopping against the earth sounded through the air as, upon the backs of horses and war-boars, the newly-combined force of dwarven warriors and the novice adventuring group approached the encampment where the Chief Tor'Khlog and his tribe of giant beastfolk were supposed to reside, with the Thane Trughs, sat upon the back of his young Mauler, guiding the way. His monstrous beast sniffed the air, tracking the foul stench of reptilian ogre back to their settlement, while the afternoon began to grow into evening, the sky darkening somewhat as the group of heroes sought their revenge against the tribal warlord for his decimation of the Great-Captains' personal guard; attacking the First Heir of Khargrimhold knowingly was to be considered an attack upon the Khargrim Greatholds as a nation and to slaughter his personal guard meant a deep, grave insult that was in definite need of repayment.

It would seem that Lake Duriddamri sat at the edge of the Smashedmouth tribe's territory, just within distance for them to reasonably maintain access to a consistent supply of water and food in the form of lake fish and other fauna that were drawn to bodies of fresh water semi-regularly. While the sky had begun to grow dark, Trughs and those that followed his guidance did not need great powers of observation in order to spot the location of the Smashedmouth encampment, for black smoke - a sign of fire - grew into the sky and the light of flaming beacons and torches could be seen from some distance away once they ventured further into the tribe's territory. The smell of the forests had also grown more vile and putrid as they neared the settlement, allowing everyone present to sense that there definitely were, or had been, Bharloron in the vicinity as of recent.

Soon, their eyes were posed with the sight of a wall at the end of the dirt path that took them through the jungle and towards the site; a great wall, composed of tree trunks uprooted from the earth and replanted in a gargantuan, circular formation, attached together with rope in order to form an outside barrier around their camp several meters thick. The ends of these trunks had been crudely sharpened into spiked points, while striding above their heads on basic platforms on the inside half of the barrier were Smeevers, torches alight with flame grasped in their hands as they patrolled the wall of trees and occasionally glanced down at the earth in order to watch for intruders. Around the perimeter of the site was some form of rudimentary moat, crudely dug and filled with the likes of still water, mud, and sludge among other substances and materials, with the only point of entry into the Smashedmouth tribe's camp beyond the wall being a primitive drawbridge that, for now, remained closed. They would not be able to get inside without otherwise making their presence known.

The sound of their arrival caused several Smeevers patrolling the wall to glace over the spiked tips of the trunks their main defence was composed of, their snarling faces glaring down at the dwarves and adventurers with malign, crooked smiles and squinted eyes that betrayed innate mischief. They cackled among one another, while Khara dismounted her horse, approaching the moat on foot while glancing up at the Smeevers - before long, she was met with a javelin thrown at her feet, before being pelted with fragments of bone and rocks, causing her to raise her arms in grunt in annoyance.

Smeever - You come too close! Leave Smashedmouth tribe! No want you here, go away!
Anklebiter - Hmpf, Smeevers. They're the butts of goblinkind.

The Grim Goblin was swift to find a rock thrown towards his head by one of the Smeever guards, their irritating laughter ringing in his ears while Khara attempted to try and call out to them. In the meantime, Hathgar dismounted Khegrit and watched the humiliation unfold, leaning upon the back of his war-boar while Eryxhreion moved forward, bringing his tough, large arm in front of Khara so as to catch most of the debris thrown at her with his armour.

Eryxhreion - You have a plan?
Khara - Ouch! Agh! Grr... Would you knock it off, pipsqueaks?!
Smeever - No! Go away!
Khara - Agh! We-- Ouch! You fucking-- Grr, we need to talk to your Chief! We want to see Chief Tor'Khlog and have a word with him!
Smeever' - Cheef Tor'Khlog not want see anybody but Redaxes! If not Redaxe, go away! Shoo, shoo!
Anklebiter - Let us speak to your Chief before I gore the eyes out of your skull, you green-skinned trash.
Smeever - What want talk to Cheef Tor'Khlog for?! You enemy! ... Unless you looking for fight with Cheef Tor'Khlog, kehehehe...
Anklebiter - Yes. We are going to murder him. And then I'm going to devour your flesh.
Smeever - Good luck with that, gobbo coward! Kehehehe, kehehehe! Cheef Tor'Khlog feeling hungry! You save us from being eaten! Kehehehe hahahaha!

Growing irritated from their provocations, Anklebiter took out a pair of throwing knives and threw them at the Smeever, aiming so that each would pierce through one of his eyes. The group watched as the miniscule goblinoid screamed and reeled backwards, daggers thrusted into his eyes by Ankebiter's seemingly excellent skill with throwing weapons, before falling off the platform he had been standing on - it was perhaps a good 30 ft. or so drop, one that the likes of a Smeever had little to no hope of surviving. The other Smeever guards perched upon the wall shrieked and retched, before disappearing from sight entirely, retreating and saving Khara and her companions from being pelted with anymore rocks. As the green goblins fled, Anklebiter sat on the ground beneath him in disgust.

Hathgar - Good throw, lad. Never thought a goblin had it in him to be quite so skilled.
Anklebiter - Smeevers serve only to make outsiders underestimate us. Other than that, they're trash worthy only to be eaten.
Khara - I mean, I've heard of a thing called 'Smeever soup' before. They're little shits but apparently they're supposed to taste good if you put them in a stew.
Anklebiter - We Grim-kin inhabit the land of death and darkness. You don't survive there by being a bumbling idiot.
Kotric - Seems the Duskwoods and Qliphoth are more alike than we thought, eh?
Eryxhreion - Yes, although I am surprised you happen to still be alive, Kotric, given what the goblin just said.
Kotric - Now that's a bit unnecessary, lad.
Eryxhreion - Is it? Was it not you who decided it'd be a good idea to take some random eggs from a cave to bring back for lunch and ended up attracting the ire of a Myrmidon?
Kotric - ... You know what? Fair point.

Minutes passed before the drawbridge began to lower, attached by rope and composed of bisected logs and cut wood that had been hastily attached and strapped together. It was a crude bridge, for sure, but it would be enough to allow the group of companions to cross over the moat of sludge and muck; at the other side, they could see the camp, littered with huts of wood, straw, and animal fur while multiple campfires raged beneath the dark sky. They were also not blind to the various smaller tree tunks that had been turned into poles or beams, and placed upon them were the bodies of both deiwes and beastfolk, the wooden beam seemingly entering through the anal cavity and making its way up through the body until it poked out from the mouth of the corpse. Flies and other insects, alongside various carrion birds, picked at the rotting and decaying flesh from these bodies, infested with maggots and worms which the Smeevers gorged on as their main source of food beyond any scraps of meat that happened to be spared for them.

The sight of such barbaric displays caused Khara to topple over and puke, coughing and spluttering while Hathgar winced at the sight - he had seen many grotesque displays in his time, including what the Bharloron did to their captives they did not immediately eat, although he never got used to seeing such. Bilrika too was very nauseated at the sight, forcing her eyes away, while Anklebiter appeared unfazed. Trughs and Aslaug narrowed their eys in disgust; it only showed how despicable Bharloron were, and how these jungles would be much better off if they were wiped out. Within the camp, Bharloron strolled and sat, with a couple of them engaging one another in casual, playful brawls that came off as almost fierce to the outsiders, for the sound of bones cracking and breaking with each punch dealt between the brawling beastfolk rang through the air, as did bellowing laughter and cheer as it seemed an audience had gathered to watch. They smacked and punched and kicked at one another, bludgeoning each other with their bare hands before resorting to using their tusks and jaws to maul and bite at each other's flesh.

Khara stood again, stumbling uneasily to her feet while clenching ahold of her stomach and wiping away the puke that was left on her chin and lower lip, before making her way towards the drawbridge with the rest of her companions at her back. The interior of the camp was lit by both campfires and torches, illuminating on a number of large huts that were designed to house multiple Bharloron at once, while smaller huts were reserved for the Smeevers to squeeze into with one another. At the corners of the camp, piles of bone, picked clean of flesh and meat in order to likely be woven into an article of clothing or attached or turned into a weapon at some point in the near future, while pointed spears that poked out of the ground were located in seemingly random places around the site, each supporting a number of decapitated heads that were ran through from the neck to the scalp. Among the huts, a larger one sat at the far side of the encampment, three times the length and size of the other Bharloron-sized huts circling the location - the Chief's hut, where Tor'Khlog resided, which was protected by a pair of Bharloron wielding spears and wooden shields dressed with animal leather.

As the group stepped into the site, uneasily eyeing their surroundings, it seemed that most of the Bharloron appeared to ignore their presence - either they had not noticed them, or were simply acting ignorant - while one of the Smeever guards, holding a javelin, approached them behind, taking Khara by surprise when the goblinoid cracked a smile and scoffed with a raspy tone;

Smeever - You still want speak to Cheef Tor'Khlog, kehehehe...
Anklebiter - How many more of you scum must I kill before you get the hint?

The Smeever shrieked for a moment as Hathgar kicked it in the side of the head with his armoured boot, causing it to panickedly scurry past the group and towards the large hut that loomed over the campsite. The smell of the barbarians and the rotting flesh dotted throughout their home was almost overwhelming, causing Khara to hold her nose as her eyes watered, trying not to breath in the air too deeply in order to evade suffering the brunt of the stench; in the end, she resorted to tearing some of the clothing beneath her armour while they waited for the Chief to show himself, making a strip of cloth which she then placed over her mouth and nose to drive away nausea. The dwarves were largely unaffected, for their constitution was great although they nonetheless felt disgusted standing among these barbaric savages' lands. Fang could be seen salivating greatly as it turned its head to the Bharloron around the area, while Trughs climbed down from the Mauler and reached for his second sword, in order to wield both of them at once; the runes etched on the blades shimmered as they both ignited in flames.

Khara - Huh, that's neat. You know, I can do a cool trick involving some fire and some oil...
Aslaug - Now's not the time for that kind of thing, friend. We're here to purge these monsters from the land.
Hathgar - We'll teach these bastards not to mess with the Greatholds. Eugh, their putrid stench and savage nature deserves to be burned away into the Underworld.
Anklebiter - So nice of these giants to have prepared meals for me ahead of time.
Khara - Don't you dare.
Anklebiter - What? Flesh is much tastier after it's rotten.
Khara - You make me sick sometimes, you know that?
Anklebiter - Grow a spine, orc girl.

Soon, their chatter was interrupted by a round of cheer and applause from the Bharloron gathered around the largest, most central campfire, as the battle between two of the warriors they were watched concluded, with the larger of the two gaining victory by tearing away the lower jaw of their slightly smaller opponent before tearing away at their throat, nearly decapitating the loser entirely. At the sound of their cheer, the fire seemed to roar fiercely with them as the Smeever that had gone to alert the Smashedmouth Chief of the group's presence was forcefully kicked from the tribal warlord's hut, flying into the flames and joining the pile of firewood and other, less pleasant materials the brutal savages stacked. From the large hut, the group's eyes were drawn towards the Chief Tor'Khlog having to crouch in order to fit his particularly large body through the entrance while he carried his spear with him at his side, his cloak of bones and skulls flowing from his back while he glanced over the camp - he narrowed his eyes as he saw the fiery beards of the dwarves, before cracking a wide, horrid smile upon his face.

Trughs - What's the matter, you massive coward? Too afraid to have stayed to finish the job?!
Aslaug - You have commited crimes against the royalty of the Khargrim Greatholds. Your sentence, and that of your tribe, is death.
Tor'Khlog - Bahahaha! Aaaahahahah! I dun't tink dat yoo quite undastand where yoo are, ya lil bearded gitz! Yer on Cheef Tor'Khlog's turf! Hells, yer at his doorstep! Ya practikully deliva'd yerselves to me!
Anklebiter - All I see is a manchild. One who would probably taste well cooked, then left to the sun for a few hours.
Khara - What you've done is brutal savagery and is unforgiveable! We'll put an end to you so no one will have to suffer your--
Tor'Khlog - Blah, blah, blah! Hero monologues! I hate dat stuff!
Anklebiter - Shush shush. Food doesn't talk.
Tor'Khlog - I was bein' kind before when I gavez ya da opportunity ta run away, but den yoo decided ta stay an' git shanked by my boyz! I'll tell ya, if yoo lotz tinkz dat yoo can hurt me or git away from dis alive, den ya all got anuva thing comin', cus Cheef Tor'Khlog ain't so kind as ta give second chances--
Trughs - I'll have no more of this mongrel's infernal voice! Fang! Maul!

The Dwarf Mauler reared up and then let out a terrible roar as it turned to the Bharloron audience who watched their chief, before promptly ripping the head of one warrior's shoulders as it tackled them with violent force. The other Bharloron present were taken by surprise as their warlord's own monologue was interrupted and one of their number viciously decapitated before their eyes, reaching for their spears and axes in order to try and quickly put down the Dwarven Mauler before it could deal anymore damage. However, the beastmen found themselves quickly attacked by the rest of the group, with Hathgar channelling his strength and magical power into his axe swings which sent the lesser Bharloron combatants off their feet.

Trughs - Death to the Bharloron! Burn their village! Let none escape!

The dwarven thane attacked the barbarians and goblins with quick swings of his runed swords, each blow leaving a trail behind it while Anklebiter reveled in the carnage, throwing his knives at any Smeever not already caught in the fray. Bilrika twirled her wand and she cast an incantation, and Khara and Aslaug found their weapons covered in a layer of ice as they were enchanted by her cryomancy. The half-orc warrior charged into the fray without a second thought, wildly swinging her bastard sword at the joints, shins, and ankles of the beastfolk, causing them to collapse while the dwarves present unleashed a storm of carnage. From the gates into the campsite, a small horde of dwarves rushed over the drawbridge, firing crossbows and launching debris from their slings in order to finish off any downed tribesmen or disorientate those that were standing, with their heads as the soldiers' primary targets; they had been commanded to stay at the rear until they heard the sound of conflict arise, with Trughs' yelling alerting them to join the battle.

The Bharloron Chief angrily glared at his camp's assailants, clenching his spear before stepping forward and casting its metallic head into the campfire, igniting it and heating it until it glowed a fierce, imposing red; he then sent his leg towards the Dwarven Mauler as she tore his warriors apart with her bare teeth, aiming to knock her away from him so she could separate her and her master from one another with a powerful kick that could easily shatter the bones of smaller creatures. Fang growled as she was thrown some meters back, landing on her feet as she bared her teeth at the Chief, before letting out another great roar at his direction, now displaying fangs drenched in blood with the odd piece of Smeever flesh stuck between them. Picking up a flat-faced shield, Tor'Khloh aggressively glared towards the Mauler before bashing his spear against it, aiming to provoke the monster into attacking while yelling and roaring in retaliation.

Tor'Khlog - Come on den, if yoo tink yer 'ard enuff!

While he was distracted with Fang, however, Tor'Khlog would not notice Anklebiter sneaking behind him, and before he knew, the goblin had delivered a bite into one of his ankles. However, Anklebiter was met with tough, leathery flesh as he tried to sink his teeth deep beneath the scales, while the Bharloron Chief began stamping his foot in order to either crush the goblin beneath him or send him away so that he could not interfere with his fight with the Mauler - in fact, Tor'Khlog's attention was now drawn mostly to Anklebiter's irritating presence, his mind distracted away from the provoked Mauler.

Tor'Khlog - I'll squash ya like a bug! ... Wait...

Given the opening, Fang delivered a powerful headbutt to the Bharloron, enough to dislodge Anklebiter and send him flying off. The giant beastman was disorientated for a moment, before angrily back-handing and bashing the Mauler with his shield-arm, employing enough strength and force to shatter the wooden shield against her head and face as he then aimed to send his steaming hot speartip into the side of the monster's thigh. While largely unfazed by the shield blow, Fang growled in pain as the spear penetrated its tough hide, though Tor'Khlog would find the fire he had put on his weapon being slowly covered by the Mauler's moist hide slime. The Bharloron glared in the face of the beast, letting go of the spear as he then resorted to what most large Bharloron knew best; he sent his fist crashing into the side of Fang's head in a powerful swipe, strong enough to almost knock himself off-balance as he threw the attack, which caused the Mauler to stumble backwards and be left dazed, swinging her head as she attempted to regain her composure.

Before any more harm could be done to the creature, however, the Chief found himself the target of Bilrika and Icicle's beams of ice as they attacked him from a distance. He reeled and struggled to keep his footing as he found one of his legs beginning to freeze over, his scales and flesh hardening as the heat was deprived from his appendage and being covered in a layer of frost and ice. He growled as he made an effort to try and crack the ice layer, although he would soon find himself in something of a predicament before he could release himself from the grasp of Bilrika's ice magic; from the front, Khara charged towards the frozen appendage with her bastard sword readied for a heavy attack, while from behind, Trughs delivered a swing with both of his runed swords aimed at the leg.

Ice and blood was sent in all directions as the joint assault tore through the massive Bharloron's shin, ice and scales shattering while flesh was torn and damaged by the synthesis of magic and blade in union. Tor'Khlog roared as he was sent onto his back, crashing with a thud into the earth, left with only a single leg while his dismembered shin flew off in a wide, bloody arc. Khara panted in the aftermath of the attack, grasping her sword with both hands before glancing towards Trughs to observe the state he happened to be in while then trying to perk a small smile. The dwarf appeared particularly angry, likely due to how the Chief had successfully wounded his mount moments prior.

Khara - ... Y-You alright there, big guy?
Trughs - Eh? ... I'm not the one you should be worried about. Beat the ever-loving shit out of the bastard before he gets up!

With a nod, Khara raised her sword again, aiming for another heavy attack towards Chief Tor'Khlog's body, although she was quickly intercepted when a rock, about the size of her forearm, was launched in her direction and collided with her armoured torso; the Bharloron was not done, it seemed, and Khara, winded and spitting blood, was thrown backwards from the impact of the rock the Chief had angrily thrown. There was untempered rage in his reptilian eyes, burning with hatred as he manoeuvred his crippled body around, supporting himself on his two arms and single leg as he then roared towards Trughs before sending a back-handed slap towards his stout, armoured body. The dwarf gasped as he was launched back, landing on his feet as he had not been given the opportunity to dodge or defend himself.

Tor'Khlog - Dere will be nuffin left of ya when I'm through wiv all of ya!

With that, the Bharloron slowly approached Trughs, dragging himself across the ground with his arms and the assistance of his other leg, before the impact of a bastard sword against the side of his head caused him to turn his gaze towards a winded, bloody Khara, who clasped onto her side while it seemed her armour had partially crumpled from the attack with the rock. Snarling mad and baring his bloodied teeth, the Chief began to turn his attention to Khara, pursuing her as the half-orc could only half-run due to having the air knocked out of her and that part of her body had just been subject to bludgeoning with a rock.

Eventually, she fell, collapsing onto her side as she could hardly stand upright anymore before gradually shifting to lie on her back, a gloved hand still clutching her side. Trughs watched as the Bharloron chieftain made his move towards the crippled girl, the beast's eyes piercing through her with untold savage rage and barbarism. However, he also caught a glimpse of the half-orc looking straight at him, raising an arm and weakly gesturing for something - a weapon, perhaps? Trughs was not comfortable with the idea of working with someone whose body flowed with orcish blood, but for the sake of dealing with the savages, he was willing to make an exception as he threw one of his runed swords to Khara.

Trughs - Show me the trick you talked about, girl!

Khara's bloodied lips perked a faint grin as she heard him speak, clutching onto his fiery sword while moving her other hand away from her side and towards her belt; she grasped ahold of a waterskin, sealed until she slowly brought it to her face and undid it with her teeth. All the while, the mountainous Bharloron continued his approach, earth and dirt being upturned with each move he made, while his gargantuan tusks and fangs bared down at the half-orcish girl - if she was not quick or smart, she would surely be crushed or devoured by the beast. She brought the waterskin to her lips, tilting it slightly to allow the contents to flow into her mouth, and while Chief Tor'Khlog did not notice, Trughs saw that it seemed as if she was holding the liquid inside her cheeks instead of swallowing.

The giant loomed over her, growling and roaring, watching as she laid weakly beneath him, loosely grasping a blade set alight with runes of fire and a letting go of a waterskin, all the while swishing its contents around in her mouth. It was when the Chief made his move and lunged towards her in an attempt to grasp her between his jaws that his downfall would be made, for Khara, opening her eyes wide and narrowing her gaze with a determined glare, brought the fiery sword up to her face and, without a hint of hesitation, blew the oil that she had stored within the waterskin and then inside of her mouth out from between her lips, sending a mist spraying forth into the flames upon her breath. Trughs watched as a jet of fire was unleashed into the open maw of the Bharloron while the half-orc girl exhaled and blew upon his sword, filling the tyrant warlord's face with a large swathe of searing flame that ignited the gums and flesh inside of his mouth and sent him rearing back in shock, horror, and panic.

Tor'Khlog - M-My face...! I-It... It burns...!
Trughs - ... Hah! Not bad, lass.

His face burning and set alight with fuel and fire, the Bharloron Chief's widened eyes desperately glanced all around for a means to extinguish the inferno that his mouth had become, before locking his eyes onto one such possible solution; in one corner of the camp were several large buckets, each filled with water collected from Lake Duriddamri, that would be used for activities such as... drinking, purely, for neither Bharloron or Smeevers felt any need to bathe or wash themselves with clean, fresh water. Horrified that his head had just been turned into a fireball, the Bharloron warlord made a desperate attempt to reach these buckets and, once he did, grasped ahold of them in order to pour them over himself so that the flames that engulfed and consumed his skull would die.

As he did so, the gnome cryomancer and her familiar both begun to cast another incantation as Bilrika pointed her wand at Tor'Khlog's direction; using her power over the cold, the gnome begun to freeze the water the Chief was using to extinguish himself, in turn freezing his head. At the very least, the flames had been extinguished.

While the Bharloron's head and skull were frozen by cryomantic energy, immobilising him for the time being, the minotaur Eryxhreion grasped his bloodied greataxe with confidence as he then charged the other, attached leg of the Chief, aiming to dismember it as the other had been with an overwhelmingly powerful, two-handed strike of his weapon, aided by Aslaug who swung her warhammer with the intention of weakening and breaking the enemy's bones. The bones throughout the Chief's leg snapped and shattered as they were sent one way by Aslaug's warhammer, while the flesh and tendons of his leg was sliced through by the minotaur's greataxe, sending the appendage whirling into the air in yet another arc of blood as it was dislocated, dislodged, and dismembered; at this moment, Tor'Khlog slammed his head and face into the ground, shattering the ice that trapped his head, before he fiercely turned to gaze at his enemies, his fists clenching in agony and unrelenting anger. It was clear when he turned around that his head and skull was yet still partially suffering the freezing effects of the young gnome's ice magic.

Tor'Khlog - Grah... Graaaaargh! Yoo'z gonna... pay fer dat! Y-You... Yoo gitz! No one messes wiv da likes of Cheef Tor'Khlog an gitz away wiv it!
Aslaug - For Khargrimhold!

Before he could retaliate, Aslaugh swung her warhammer at the Cheef's partially frozen head, causing parts of his skull to shatter instantly and sending the Bharloron's wounded body flying across the campsite, eventually colliding into the very hut that he used as his residence and sending it down as it collapsed in upon itself under his immense weight. Tor'Khlog roared, his body twitching and spasming as part of his brain had been wounded and broken apart by the hammerdwarf's attack, causing him to become sickened and nauseated while he struggled to even orientate himself back into the fight.

Certainly, his brain would regenerate as it had not been completely destroyed, as would his legs given enough time, although it would seem that he had been, at the very least, crippled and incapacitated for the time being, attempting to roar while slurring words that could not be understood even by other members of his Bharloron kin. He would regain his composure only to feel Fang's massive clawed foot stomping down on his chest as the Mauler jumped on top of him, saliva drooping down from her mouth as she then begun to viciously devour the Chief alive. His brain damaged and body broken, there was little the Bharloron could do to resist or struggle against her other than scream and slur pleas for mercy, until, with sickening tears and crunches, he soon stopped making sound altogether, growing silent and still as the Dwarven Mauler finally put an end to his irritable and horrid yelling.

Some distance away, Khara struggled to stand; in spite of the rock that had collided with, and subsequently crumpled, her armour, the half-orc still managed to muster the strength to at least attempt to right herself onto her feet, none of her internal organs seeming to have collapsed under the impact or pressure. She nonetheless shook and bled, however, and her eyes watered while she wiped at them with a sleeve. Hathgar, finishing off another, lesser Bharloron warrior as they began to scatter and flee following the demise of their Chief, glanced towards Trughs and the half-orc adventurer, seeing that the latter was holding onto the former's fiery runeblade - a sight the prince thought he would not see, for Trughs, of all people, despised the presence of orcs and would not tolerate them being anywhere near the proximity of his belongings. Not even the city he was crowned Thane of. Bilrika appeared disturbed by the rather violent death of the Chief, even if she believed him and his kind to be the bane of her race's existence, while Anklebiter approached the corpse in an attempt to take a bite of his own, only for Fang to swat him aside with her tail again.

Khara - Urgh... D-Did we win...? Is he... dead?
Aslaug - Aye. We won't have to worry about this tribe threatening the land anymore.
Trughs - That's what you get for provoking the ire of the Khargrim! ... Ahem. My sword, if you would.
Khara - ... O-Oh, right.

Shrugging for a moment, Khara let the sword slip from her hand and allow it to fall at Trughs' feet; she would have outright given to him properly were it not for the pain surging through her body at that very moment in time, causing her to almost hunch over while she still clasped the damaged armour above her side. The dwarf hunched forward to take it back for himself, inspecting the sword for a moment - to make sure it was in good shape - before putting it on his back with its twin blade.

Khara - ... T-Told you it was a neat trick.
Bilrika - Ugh... Was the whole dismemberment necessary? Couldn't we have just... stabbed him in the heart nice and quickly?
Trughs - Well, I do feel bad we didn't bring any siege weapons in this mission. Would've saved us the trouble, but it'd probably scare the Qliphotian dwarves a bit too much.
Hathgar - Aye. That aside, good luck getting to its heart when it was that big. Guess you could say we had to... cut him down to size, eh?
Anklebiter - Bah.
Eryxhreion - ... We should return to our own camp and make rest. We do not have much time and who knows for how long Gimgari will remain free of infection from this plague. That and who knows how much further the Vulcanus Horde has travelled?
Icicle - Wwwahaaaa!

The small ice elemental suddenly flew in the middle of the group, and it carried in its tiny hands what appeared to be several pieces of tattered paper, scribbled in vaguely coherent writing that were accompanied by crudely drawn pictures.

Bilrika - What are those, Icicle?
Icicle - Mmyah!
Bilrika - Bharloron plans? What?
Khara - Bharloron have plans? They can have plans?
Aslaug - The beasts can be surprisingly cunning... though I don't believe they know how to write. That's probably written in goblin tongue.
Khara - Oi, shitcunt, you can read this, right?
Anklebiter - Of course I can, asshead. Hand it over.

Icicle levitated over to Anklebiter, handing the papers to him as the goblin then begun to read its contents while Khara curiously glanced over his shoulder. He grunted under his breath as it appeared to have been clearly written by Smeevers - that is, very badly written.

Anklebiter - Hm. It says here the Chief we just killed was meant to take something to another Bharloron warchief to the east. Warcheef... Maka'Doza, it seems he's called.
Hathgar - ... Maka'Doza. Does it say on there what the bastard wants? If Maka'Doza is involved in anything, it usually has something to do with increasing his already great influence over the eastern Bharloron hordes.
Anklebiter - Hmm... Well, well. I think you dwarves are going to like this.
Aslaug - Spill the beans, goblin.
Anklebiter - Tor'Khlog was in charge of taking steel from Qliphoth and selling it to Maka'Doza's tribe.
Hathgar - ... Oh, by the gods, no. Bharloron... with Qliphotian steel?
Trughs - By the Hammer's beard. It seems our detour just allowed us to cut off a massive Bharloron trade route.
Khara - ... Whoo! I knew there was a reason we all came here! Fate wanted us all to get here so we could kick that chieftain's ass and stop his plans, I'm sure of it!
Bilrika - Vulcanus Horde to the east, minotaur plague to the west, Bharloron marauders in the middle. What's with the Tropical Lands becoming so stupidly dangerous lately?
Hathgar - Oh, my sweet child. The world is a dangerous place. Your eyes are only just beginning to open on the dangers that it poses now that you are beyond the walls of Whistlehold. This is what your father wanted to protect you and keep you from.
Anklebiter - Doesn't say here if the chief already delivered any steel or not. It's just a bunch of very boring death threats demanding him to hurry up and a few scribbles... and also a couple of food stains. As expected from Smeevers and their giant slavers.
Eryxhreion - Hmph. It seems my homelands are becoming increasingly popular, if only for its materials rather than the people who are in need of aid there. We already have enough warbands armed with Qliphotian metal already roaming the realm; we do not need any more.
Aslaug - This was a considerable victory we just achieved. But the Oevrumine lad is correct in saying we must return to our camp, rest and then resume our travels. We are still many days away from Qliphoth.

Tribe Smashedmouth was left in cinders that day, their Chief brutally slaughtered by the dwarves he had sought to decimate and torture following their rest near Lake Duridammri and the plans to deliver Qliphotian materials to the tribes of Bharloron to the southeast under the authority of the Warcheef Maka'Doza, of Tribe Redaxe, sent up in flames. While many Bharloron were laid to waste this day, never to pester the realms of the Tropical Lands again, there were yet many dwarves whose lives had also been lost - mercilessly killed for the entertainment of the monstrous savages.

Their personal guard decimated and their morale split between the deaths of so many honoured soldiers and a significant victory over the possibility of the Bharloron tribes ever coming to unify into yet another Grand-Horde, the Great-Captains would gather what remained of their forces and persist onward, for if they allowed their spirits to falter, then they would be placing Khargrimhold, and the entirety of the Greatholds, at risk. There was little time for emotional turmoil and doubt when the fate of an entire nation rested upon the shoulders of so few, although, perhaps the arrival of a new branch of heroes, even if they were but novices and rookies, would lighten the weight imposed upon their spirits as they continued forth to attain the steel of the plagued land...

Chapter 4: Road to the Black Westlands[]

12 Arisen Sun, 35 NA, Mid Morning: Restless Wilds, Western Jungles, Eastern Border of Qliphoth

Leaves crunched and bark crumpled beneath their boots as they travelled through the into the border that divided the subregion of the Black Westlands from the rest of the geography of the Tropical Lands, the sound of clumps of thick branches and vines being slashed through by dwarven blades filling the ears of the half-orc adventurer. A broad dwarven utility blade in hand, Khara assisted in dicing through the forest growth alongside her new dwarven companions, grasping its handle tightly while she made an effort to ignore the bugs biting and scratching at her sweating skin, while Hathgar removed vast amounts of plant matter around himself with casual swings of his greataxe, his thick dwarven hide only giving efforts of the jungle pests minimal impact. There were no streaks of sun shining upon them as they trudged through the Restless Wilds, for heavy clouds, their colour darkening the further one glanced into the horizon, persisted above their heads, prohibiting much of the sunlight that sought to meet the earth.

Eirik remained near the rear of what remained of the group, his keen eye observing their surroundings in order to catch any glimpse of danger upon the border, while Tassarion kept his hands within his pockets, a stern and tired glare locked upon his face as they travelled further and further westward. In spite of the tropical surroundings, the heat upon their skin was only mildly warm, far more mild than the exotic warmth provided eastward of Qliphoth, which caused a number of dwarves, who resided near the southernmost coasts, to start to become slightly discomforted. As Bilrika and Anklebiter followed, Trughs used his Mauler's massive teeth to clear the way, the creature chomping on the plants before spitting them aside - Maulers did not like the taste of plants, only meat - while Aslaug kept her hands in her pockets as she looked at their surroundings; the border was, so far, not too different from the rest of the tropics in terms of vegetation, something which surprised her a bit as she expected all of Qliphoth to be a desert.

As they ventured further into the border, dwarven machetes clearing a path for them to safely trek through, Eirik slowly turned towards the rest of the group before clearing his throat to garner some attention. Hathgar was quick to turn his head, while as the monk spoke, Khara and her group continued working;

Eirik - Something is not right.
Aslaug - What's the matter?
Eirik - Listen.

The monk raised a hand to his ear and eyed the surrounding vegetation, gesturing for the others to do so as well. Hathgar, clasping the shaft of his greataxe, proceeded to do the same, with the dwarven soldiers following the Great-Captains' orders soon also raising their heads in order to listen to the sounds of the jungle; what caught them off-guard, however, was not any particular sound in the jungle, but rather, the lack of sound. A near-silence barring the buzzing wings of the insect life, for there seemed to be little trace of birds flapping through the sky or cawing to one another, or chimps and apes howling and singing to one another from the treetops.

Even the streams they had crossed had been lifeless, becoming more devoid of fish and other water-dwelling animals the further in the troupe explored. While jungles were usually noisy and filled to the very brim with many forms of life, it seemed that only scant populations of insects happened to reside within these Restless Wilds - a name that had since been accepted as being almost ironic in nature.

Bilrika - ... Where're the animals at?
Eirik - That is what I would like to know.
Hathgar - ... It's like the whole place is almost dead.
Anklebiter - Perhaps they've run off after smelling Khara's breath.
Khara - Yeah? Well perhaps they all crawled into a pit and died after catching whiff of your shitty arse, you monkey's fetus.
Aslaug - Well, this can't bode well. Everyone keep your weapons ready for an ambush.

With weapons drawn, the dwarves persisted onward, slashing their way through the flora while the absence of larger, more complex fauna residing within the region still mildly shook much of the party once they had made the revelation. With morning soon to become noon, the combined force of adventurers and soldiers would eventually cut their way into something of a clearing at the edge of the jungle, the thick clumps of vegetation soon dispersing as the very land itself seemed to grow more dead and lifeless, with the sight of large, decaying trees, their branches devoid of leaves, soon meeting their gaze. As they walked, the soil, where once it had been fertile, seemed to grow black and dry, with patches of grass and underbrush soon turning into cracked, broken earth.

Unwittingly, it seemed they had stumbled upon a graveyard of trees long deceased, the very fertility of the land sapped and bled away, leaving only great, rotted husks in the wake of whatever catastrophe had occured that struck this region of jungle so horrendously. The bark of these dead trees seemed bizarrely warped and malformed amidst the rot and decay, almost burned or corroded through, while there was little, if any, life to be found left at this jungle that had since transformed into a wasteland. In Khara's eye, she could have sworn that the day was brighter but moments before they trespassed into the archaic site.

Aslaug - ... So this is Qliphoth.
Khara - ... It's like a wasteland. It's all... dead. Rotted away.

Near the front of the group, Kotric and Eryxhreion paid little attention to the details of the land, with the minotaur sniffing the air and seeming eager to continue moving while those outsiders to this land still reeled from what they were seeing. The Qliphothian dwarf, meanwhile, scoffed and folded his arms while keeping ahold of his sword and shield;

Kotric - Gimgari's a little more fertile than this, but... Let me be the first to welcome you all to Qliphoth. Isn't it beautiful?
Anklebiter - No. This place is deader than the Duskwoods.
Tassarion - ... I am guessing this is a result of the Trickster God's corruption upon this land. The very earth itself has been tainted.
Aslaug - Trickster what now?
Hathgar - That is one of the names for the Colossus of Poison, Thob. Xitannoth, the Trickster God; the Lying Giant. ... The Storm of Death. I've had the misfortunate of gazing upon his form with my own eyes decades before now. He is truly as terrible as the legends claim he is.
Bilrika - A Colossus did this? I thought they were children of the Great Mother.
Eryxhreion - Now you know why there are those among my people who believe that, for the crimes committed by our ancestors against their old masters, who in turn also committed heinous crimes themselves, this land was punished for its sins. Abandoned by the gods and left to rot while its people slowly die.
Trughs - Ouch. That's harsh.
Kotric - Either that, or this place drew the short straw in the Colossus birthing lottery.
Bilrika - I'm not an expert in Colossus knowledge, but I remember reading their births tend to be... violent. But I've never heard of a Colossus actively cursing a landscape like this.
Eryxhreion - It was said to be a test of his divine power. Part of a game to weed out the weak from the strong; to make the people who survived his wrath fear him and pay tribute to him in the hope that my ancestors would be spared. ... It has been told that he finds our suffering amusing.
Bilrika - By the Hammer. I can't believe a child of the Great Mother is this evil.
Kotric - He didn't do this out of any hatred or spite or prejudice, lass. He doesn't hate mortalkind like you'd believe from seeing this and doesn't hold any vendetta against our kind. He did this because he thought it'd be funny.
Bilrika - You know that's even worse, right? Sadism?
Kotric - Well, it's too late to change anything now. Be thankful that it's Qliphoth that has to suffer this fate and not any of the more populous or civilized lands... No offense, Eryx.
Trughs - Regardless. We need to move on.

With that said, the white-furred minotaur at the head of the group nodded, clasping his greataxe in hand as he proceeded to walk ahead amongst the graveyard of dead trees; with every step they took, each member of the group kicked up ancient dust that had settled upon the earth and as they glanced upwards, they saw a sky tainted a vile blend of green and red from pollution and decorated with colossal clouds of darkened grey. It appeared as if the very end of the world itself had occured within the subregion of the Black Westlands - the aftermath of some ancient day of judgement - leaving some to wonder how and why the minotaur and the dwarves survive here.

Soon, some of the dwarves and certain members of the adventuring group took to inspecting their surroundings closer, allowing them to see that, protruding from the ruined earth, happened to be old, scathed bones. Bones of ancestral denizens of the region who had once inhabited these lands - both animal and mortal - who now found themselves resting here, their remains discarded improperly beneath the infertile soil and left to be witnessed among this graveyard for perhaps millennia. The war-boar that hosted Hathgar upon his back sniffed and grunted at the ground, oinking somewhat noisily which broke the unsettling air of silence that had come over the group; however, the ears of both Khara's team and the dwarven warriors were swiftly struck with the sound of the mount squealing as his blood splattered onto the earth, falling onto his side and throwing the Khargrim prince off his back as a spear stuck out from the boar's hind leg. The Great-Captain grunted as he collapsed and gazed upon the spear protruding from his old mount's hip, before he angrily bared his teeth and reached for his weapon, only to find an arrow lodging itself into the padding beneath his armoured side as he extended his arm.

Aslaug - Ambush!
Trughs - By the Hammer, we need better scouts.
Hathgar - Grah! Most of them died during the Bharloron attack!

Using his free hand to remove the arrow jutting out from his side, Hathgar stood to his feet, angrily swinging his great and powerful weapon in a circular motion. When Eryxhreion turned to watch Hathgar swiftly recuperate from the attack, he soon found a similar piercing sensation driving its way into the side of his neck as an arrow, tipped with a dark, metallic head, lodged its way into the beastman's thick neck. The group's eyes were quick to turn to their surroundings, and for those that were swift enough, they could catch a glimpse of what they thought to be shadows hiding among the dead and rotten trees - roughly humanoid, perhaps, with short, coarse fur coating their bodies and wielding recurve bows. While Bilrika created a shield of ice around herself - which Anklebiter conveniently hid behind -, Aslaug ordered her men to fire their crossbows back at the assailants as she pointed her warhammer at their direction, and Trughs took out both of his runed swords as Fang let out a powerful roar.

Hathgar and Khegrit found their auras brightened with light as Tassarion channelled his healing powers from afar, their wounds sealing and the blood clotting swiftly in a quick, painless procedure, while Khara kept her buckler raised. A good idea, as she soon found an arrow's metal head sticking through its steel defense - a shot which could have easily caught her in the head or face had she not quickly assumed the defensive. Amidst the forest of dust and dead trees, the once-quiet air became filled with twisted, bellowing laughter, high-pitched and innately irritating to the ear while the furry demons that had so suddenly emerged from their hiding places revealed themselves; they laid their eyes upon the sight of gnolls, beastfolk who sported traces of hyena-esque heritage in their physiology and behaviour, as they uncontrollably laughed and giggled at the predicament they had forced the outsiders into. Some of them kept their hands firmly upon their bows and arrows, while others charged with shields and either spears or blades in hand, and as Tassarion soon unfortunately discovered as one found its way into his heel, some of them even wielded javelins.

The dwarven guardsmen circled their leaders' position, raising their shields to prepare for the incoming assault while a secondary line stood behind them, composed of their own dwarven spearmen or crossbowmen. Qliphotian steel clashed against their rune-enforced shields, damaging them with efficiency unseen by the dwarven outsiders as the supposedly infamous steel that these gnolls' weapons were built from bent or tore through their heavier defenses; all the while, arrows tipped with the same dread-metal hailed down onto those behind and within the dwarves' shield wall.

Anklebiter - More of these shaggy dog people. I was sick of them the first time they appeared back home.
Aslaug - They're tearing our equipment apart!
Khara - Then we've gotta kill them before they're given the chance!

Eryxhreion was quick to remove the arrow piercing into his neck, treating it with a hint of irritation as he then caught the swiftly-bisected torso of a gnoll spearman in his retaliatory swing, tearing through their chainmail and underlying padding. Reaching down, he grasped the dead warrior's shield and threw it to land near Khara's feet, causing her to glance at it before disarming herself of her buckler and quickly replacing it by clasping ahold of the Qliphotian steel shield; it proved far more effective in parrying the next blow that she would have otherwise suffered as an axegnoll came at her position, knocking him off-balance before thrusting the length of her bastard sword into the beastfolk's throat. With a charge, Trughs stomped through the gnolls on top of his mount, swinging his burning blades at them while Fang used her massive teeth and grotesque appearance as her weapons, while Aslaug used the covering fire of her crossbowmen to attack with her warhammer, sending it into the knees of the beastmen to cripple them into the floor before finishing them off with blows to the skull.

As the outsiders made their stand against the gnoll assault force, metal slashing and bludgeoning into flesh and beastfolk howling and desperately attempting to evade the gnashing jaws of the monstrous Mauler set among them, the battle-cries of the dwarves and Khara's heavy panting was to be interrupted when the call of a horn resounded through the air, causing her partially-orcish ears to perk and the dwarves to begin turning their heads while defending themselves against the gnoll onslaught. When the second call bellowed through the grave-land, it was Hathgar who saw the taller, more muscular form of a gnoll adorned in a red cloak and a helmet crafted and shaped to resemble an iron skull of a beastfolk step out from the trees, a string necklace decorated with teeth, bone, and claws draped around her neck while black armour clad around her body.

She stood taller, larger, and perhaps broader than the gnoll males that served beneath her, her form made even more imposing by the presence of a tattered, bloodstained cloak of black that flowed at her back alongside the dust as a light breeze picked up. In one hand, she held a blowing horn, while in the other, she held a throwing axe; an axe that soon left her hand as it then found its way into the armoured head of one of the Great-Captains' dwarves, allowing her to reach for the curved sword that rested at her hip and draw it before twirling it with flicks of her wrist. Her lips parted to reveal rows of pearly white jaws, her canines appearing more exaggerated compared to her male underlings, and she salivated much like an animal as she watched the bloodshed unfold before her sanguine eyes. The Great-Captains and their adventurer companions were also quick to notice that also resting at her hip were skulls - deiwos skulls. Dwarf skulls.

Aslaug - You have commited a-
Trughs - Shush, Aslaug. Skip the formalities and kill these savages.
??? - I think not, foreigner. If you value your lives and the flesh that dresses your bones, I suggest you lay down your arms and turn yourselves around.
Trughs - Blood for blood, you animal!
Anklebiter - Foreigner. You are the foreigner! Stupid dogs on two legs. Stupid dogs on four legs. All the same. Serve only to pee on trees and hump your human masters' knees.
??? - Silence! You are the ones who have trespassed into lands bordering the territory of the Dustclaw Pack; you walk upon my turf. In spite of your... insulting, dismissive attitude, I shall give you this one opportunity to leave with what lives are left amongst your number.
Bilrika - Yeah sure, we could totally see the sign saying "Dustclaw residence, please don't disturb". Who do you think you're fooling, shooting first and talking second?
Anklebiter - Filthy, filthy leg-humping outsiders.
Trughs - Bloody hell, shut up. Kill that gnoll already!
Eryxhreion - ... That's Syl-Rheah. Syl-Rheah, Alpha Matriarch of the Dustclaw Pack.
Syl-Rheah - You're damn well right it is. You foreigners have nerve moving into Qliphoth when word of plague spreads around these parts; the last thing we need are stupid, dim-witted outsiders coming in to get infected and spread it even further.
Trughs - I don't care who you are. We need to get to the dwarven Westholds, and if we must go over a pile of dead gnolls to reach them, then we will.
Anklebiter - And for your information, you ball-licking dog, your infected have already spread. You're doing a terrible job at containing them.

The gnoll alpha passed a heavy breath, a low growl passing upon her breath as she placed the blowing horn back upon her belt and drew forth a spear before stepping forward. The sight of the monstrous creature that terrified her warriors caused her to become curious, eyeing the sheer size and mass of the Dwarven Mauler that had taken to crunching on the bloody bones of an unfortunate gnoll who had not managed to escape its hungry, carnivorous clutches.

Trughs' eyes would soon find themselves locked onto another beast as it emerged from behind the rotten trees, its large form prowling towards Syl-Rheah's side as it growled and exchanged a predatory glance with the outsiders that had strolled onto their territory - a dire hyena, standing almost one and a half times greater than the minotaur present among the group, or roughly three times the size of Khara, who was, other than Eryxhreion, the tallest person present.

Aslaug - Bloody hell, that's a big hyena.
Anklebiter - That your girlfriend then.
Syl-Rheah - She is Groul and she is my companion. You are not the only one who rides a great beast of war, dwarven lord, although needless to say, its size and strength has me curious. What is that thing?
Trughs - Your death, if you continue to threaten us.
Syl-Rheah - As I said, lay down your arms and I shall call back my gnolls. You've a toll to pay for trespassing through my land.
Trughs - You've a toll to pay for the dwarves you've murdered.
Syl-Rheah - Why should I have to pay for the consequences of your mistakes? What are your kind even doing this far west? You should not be here. Any of you.
Trughs - We have our reasons. They don't concern marauders.
Anklebiter - How about we cook you and your Groul over a campfire? I've never eaten "hyena", though I assume it tastes like dog.
Syl-Rheah - Hmph. It's clear to me that you have no idea what you are doing by incurring my wrath. I offered you mercy and you spat it back in my face. I tire of dealing with fools who know not the ways of our ancient land.
Bilrika - If your idea of mercy is this, then I'd hate to see you on a bad day, sister.
Aslaug - We face the fires of hell at the east. It won't be a group of marauding gnolls who will stop us in our quest. To arms.

Eryxhreion remained quiet, nervously glancing towards the dwarves as his hands shuddered faintly upon the handle of his weapon, while Kotric swallowed in uncertainty, his eyes wide and brow sweaty as he heard the exchange. They were both left uneasy, it seemed, which struck Khara as somewhat strange given that a minotaur could easily, vastly overpower a gnoll female, even if they were the superior sex among their kind; for once, she found her bravado retreating back into her stomach, while the dwarves seemed all too eager to fight her and her warriors. Once Syl-Rheah mounted the dire hyena at her side, the battle would quickly resume, with dwarves and gnolls clashing against one another while the gnoll matriarch glared spitefully towards Trughs, unable to hold back a laugh as the blood coursing her veins boiled with excitement.

The roars of one another's war-beasts resounded through the forest of dead trees as the giant hyena lept, its strong muscles allowing it to manoeuvre around the great Mauler and bound itself off of the surface of the rotten husks of trees that littered the graveyard. From one tree, Groul would propel herself forward and dig her sharp, monstrous claws into the black scales and hide of Fang's backside, before sinking her teeth into the Mauler's flesh to tear and rip away with fierce, bestial motions of her head. The Mauler let out sharp roars of pain as she shook herself in an attempt to get the hyena off of her, and Trughs, who rid her back, responded by thrusting one of his flaming swords into Groul's head, hoping to pierce its skull and tear through its brain in one blow. The dire beast reeled its head back as she felt the fiery edge of his sword pass through her flesh, and while the dwarf had not pierced through the skull, it was enough to send Groul leaping back, black blood and other viscous fluids splattering as the hyena lept away from the Mauler. Once her paws made contact with the earth, her rider sent her spear in Trughs' direction, throwing with a strong arm in an attempt to dismount him from his war-beast.

As she was freed from her assailant's attack, however, Fang turned around, her mouth shimmering with magic energy as she then opened it; from her throat came a blast of darkness in the form of black-coloured flame which was launched at the gnoll and her mount's direction, burning through her spear and reducing it to ash. The matriarch's eyes widened as her mount moved to evade, escaping direct contact with the brunt of the blast of dark magic although not moving away unscathed, as energy that radiated outward beam seared Groul's right hip and leg, causing the beast to land with a wince and a yelp. Syl-Rheah's eyes narrowed towards the Thane as she proceeded to leap from the dire hyena's rear, thrusting into the air so that she could drive the claws of her free hand into the scales of Fang's upper skull - she aimed to face the Mauler's rider directly.

The dwarf watched as the gnoll matriarch drove her claws into his monstrous mount's otherwise impenetrable scales to avoid falling, landing in a crouched position atop the Mauler with her head lowered before slowly raising her gaze upward. She was no ordinary gnoll, it would seem, for no gnoll could have possibly possessed the strength to perform such feats of their own power. Fang repatedly shook her head, snapping the air as she attempted to bite and eat Syl-Rheah.

Syl-Rheah - ... Suppose I should blame your friends for bringing you here. For not teaching you to fear my name.
Trughs - Terrible idea, scum!

As she was left directly in front of Trughs, the dwarf swung his flaming blades at her, each swing leaving a trail of flame behind it. She manoeuvred her body backwards, evading one swing aimed towards her face and upper body while moving her sword-arm to parry another, sending the Thane's arm backwards and knocking him off-balance for but a moment; a moment enough to allow her to propel her forehead against Trughs' own, her helm of Qliphotian steel colliding with his dwarven skull in a fierce engagement of close-quarters combat. The Thane winced as he was knocked off of Fang's back, falling into the ground beneath them as Fang continued to ferociously attempt to crush the gnoll between her teeth, having resorted to swinging her gigantic tail in order to hit her own head with it in an attempt to attack the matriarch. Syl-Rheah was soon to follow in dismounting from atop Fang's monstrous body, leaping away from her head to gracefully land among the withered, thicker branches of the dead trees. With her free hand, her claws soaked in black goo and fluid, she reached for a javelin set upon her back and clasped it intently, before raising it high as her eyes met Trughs' own.

Syl-Rheah - Any last words, fool? Or do you continue to believe that you can do something as foolish as cross me and leave with your life?

The dwarven Thane, disoriented from the fall, did not respond as he attempted to regain his footing and stand back on his two feet. Sparing no more patience, the gnoll matriarch shot her arm forward, unleashing a powerful throw as the javelin launched through the air; in her sights, she had the Thane's face in mind, and even if she struck his helmet, there was little it could do to block a direct piercing blow from a javelin tipped with Qliphotian steel.

Her wild, frenzied smile soon lowered, her crazed, uncontrolled laughter dying as she witnessed what should have otherwise been impossible. Her immense throw, which should have sent any she caught with it backwards into the ground, was intercepted between the fingertips of the bald, one-eyed monk who had accompanied the dwarven soldiers past the border. Eirik, his face locked in a neutral glare, had caught the javelin mid-launch, clasping it between his middle and index fingers as he then twirled the projectile around and gained a full hand on its length, before unleashing a retaliatory throw. The limb of the tree that Syl-Rheah poised herself upon collapsed from under her as its base connecting it to the rest of the tree's trunk was ferociously destroyed upon the javelin's impact, causing the matriarch to fall while she was stunned in a cocktail of awe and shock. Trughs watched the whole incident with widened eyes, turning to look at Eirik with awe of his own as he got up to his feet once again.

Trughs - ... Mister monk! You need to do that more often!
Eirik - No offense, Thane Ermek, but fighting is your job. Not mine.
Trughs - Regardless, lad. You just saved my life. You have my gratitude.

The gnoll was quick to rise, however; unlike Trughs, she was not so easily disoriented by a mere fall, the muscles throughout her body and the padding beneath her armour cushioning her impact with the hard, rough earth. Syl-Rheah reached for her sword while glaring towards the dwarves, eyeing them with eyes that glowed like fiery coals, before stepping forward to continue the fight. Dust and dirt was picked up, however, when a bolt belonging to a crossbow buried itself into the earth near her foot, causing the gnoll matriarch to twist her head around to watch as more dwarves, armed with heavy shields, morningsters, and other weapons forged from Qliphotian iron, began to move through the trees, catching her gnoll warriors from behind as they found themselves flanked.

Meanwhile, Khara had occupied herself with shield-bashing an unfortunate gnoll, caving his skull into itself before glancing up to notice Kotric and Eryxhreion beginning to relax themselves, for dwarven warriors dressed in armour of dark steel ran through the trees, some of them mounted upon ponies of an identical breed to Kotric's own Iron. Tassarion had fell onto his rear, cautiously removing the javelin that was lodged into his heel while channelling his light magic into the wound, an immense stinging and burning sensation overcoming him with each slight movement made with drawing back the weapon. Bilrika sighed in relief at the sight of the reinforcements while Trughs walked over to Fang, who had fallen to one knee out of fatigue in order to check on her state. Aslaug kept close to Hathgar as she watched the arrival of the dwarves, with the prince eyeing them with relief as he removed the edge of his greataxe from what remained of a gnoll's neck.

Hathgar - Took them long enough!
Aslaug - Keep an eye open, though. I don't imagine they'll receive us well.
Kotric - Ah, lads from Gimgari! Lucky that they happened to be covering this part of the region at the same time as we wandered into those bloody gnolls' land!
Eryxhreion - Hmph. Perhaps next time, we shouldn't let the Greathold dwarves do the speaking. I'd rather not end up left dead or dying in a ditch somewhere by Syl-Rheah.
Anklebiter - Afraid of dogs now? We fought giants already. Dogs are nothing in comparison.
Eryxhreion - Clearly, you've never heard of Syl-Rheah. She is... more than a gnoll.
Anklebiter - Of course I haven't. I don't care for outsiders of the Duskwoods.

Mounting atop the injured Groul once more, Syl-Rheah growled fiercely as the dwarven reinforcements, sent from the Westhold city of Gimgari, arrived in the knick of time to assist the outsiders in warding away her company of gnolls. She witnessed the dwarves decimate her soldiers as they were hopelessly flanked by both them and the new arrivals, reduced to barely even a challenge as they were fought with weapons also crafted and forged from higher-quality, more refined Qliphotian weaponry. As much as she desired to continue fighting and tear these foolish outsiders apart with her bare claws, the gnoll matriarch instead turned, directing her dire hyena away from the conflict alongside any gnolls that managed to disengage in time.

The marauders were initiating a retreat.

Bilrika - Yeah, get lost!
Anklebiter - No, stay and die! I wanted to eat her eyes and cook her snout.
Khara - Grah! First sign of reinforcements show up and you turn into cowards!

Sheathing her sword, Khara glanced down at Tassarion as he grunted and winced from the pain rushing through his leg - he had yet to remove the javelin, struggling to do so while the puncture bled and stung. Beads of sweat dripped down the human's face before his eyes suddenly burst open, a desperate gasp and a loud wail escaping from his lips as the half-orc yanked the weapon out from his heel, allowing him the chance to heal the wound properly while she knelt over him.

Khara - Hey, hey, it's alright. It's out now.
Tassarion - D-Dawnbringer's light, agh! F... F... F-Furrowed badger's brow, damn it! It hurts!
Khara - Well, duh, it hurts. You had a javelin in your leg. You were only gonna hurt yourself more if you kept toying around with it like that.
Tassarion - ... Gah... T-Thank you, Miss Greenforge. You're right. I... I should not have had to require assistance when posed with t-treating my own wounds. But please... tell me when you are going to do something like that.
Khara - ... Do you want me to help bandage that up, or...?
Tassarion - N-No, no, please, don't touch me. I shall be fine, honestly. Nothing I c-cannot treat myself.

As Khara stood over Tassarion, scratching her head as she contemplated on how to assist him while watching him pass a hand brightened with magic over his injury, Hathgar, his armour and beard soaked with gnoll blood, stepped towards Trughs, his greataxe in hand as he saw the Thane looking over the injuries Fang had sustained during the course of the battle. Trughs was patting the Mauler in the snout as she rested; despite the injuries, creatures like her were remarkable for their resilience and regenerative power, meaning she would be back up and running in a matter of hours at most.

The First Heir placed a hand upon the Thane's shoulder;

Hathgar - She gonna be alright, lad?
Trughs - Maulers are a hardy lot. She'll be as good as new provided some hours of rest.
Hathgar - That gnoll lass was stronger than any gnoll I've ever faced. Old Hald used to tell me that Qliphotian gnolls were a tough lot, but I never thought they'd be this tough.
Trughs - Hmpf. Wish I could've claimed her head. It'd have made a good trophy.
Hathgar - Oi, Thob! How're you holding up, lass? Still standing on both feet?
Aslaug - I am, yes. It was a tough fight, though.

Hathgar turned his head as he watched Kotric approach him and his companions, with Eryxhreion and another Qliphotian dwarf at either side. The dwarf standing beside Kotric was dressed in a full set of Qliphotian armour that was decorated with what seemed to be fur, yet the strands themselves almost seemed to be like flowing threads of metal, and he carried a greatsword over his shoulder while he strolled towards the Great-Captains.

As he stepped closer, allowing them to see the his scarred lip and the spiked rings and pieces that decorated his beard, it could be guessed by the prince and his company that he seemed to be a figure of importance, which was only exemplified further by how the Qliphotian dwarf glared with almost a hint of disgust in his tired eyes while he gazed upon Hathgar, Aslaug, and Trughs. The Thane narrowed his eyes in response, while Aslaug appeared somewhat apprehensive, unsure if she had done anything wrong out of her notice.

??? - ... You should not have come this far west, Khargrim. Have you gotten lost or have you gone mad?
Hathgar - Not sure, lad. Maybe a bit of both. Suppose it depends on who I'm speaking to. I'm Hathgar. Jalaric Hathgar, First Heir of Khargrimhold and Great-Captain of the 4th Khargrimhold Company... Son of Lord-Thane Jalaric Hreithar III.
??? - Bermean Hegreth. Adept-Lieutenant of the 2nd Gimgari Regiment and loyal servant of Thane Volgratin Gignaeg of the Gimgari Westhold. State your business here, prince, and why you've travelled so far from your homeland into our lands.
Trughs - Because we need your help. And considering what we've learned on our way here, it seems you could use ours.
Hegreth - Sure. And my father was a gnoll matriarch and my brother was half-minotaur. The Westholds don't need help - especially not from the likes of you Khargrim scum. And we're most certainly not going to help you with anything other than turning you around out of these lands.
Bilrika - What's your beef, guy? We've done nothing to you.
Hegreth - No, you haven't. But your ancestors have. And we all know how sons should pay for the sins of their fathers, now don't we, Khargrim?
Hathgar - ... That was all so long ago now. We should not allow old feuds and conflicts to intervene in matters as pressing as these.
Bilrika - Yeah! You're mad at us because our grand-somethings did whatever to your own grand-somethings? We're different people, you know!
Hegreth - Different people, but still intolerably annoying to the ear. Do us a favour and shut your trap while the adults talk, lass, otherwise I might step on you.
Bilrika - Excuse me, guy! Watch your mouth before I turn your head into a popscicle!
Hathgar - Bilrika, please! Just... allow me to talk.
Anklebiter - Filthy beards on legs, the lot of you.

Hathgar approached Hegreth, the Adept-Lieutenant glaring with hostility flaring in his eyes as the prince came closer. To his companions' surprise, the heir of Clan Jalaric allowed his honoured greataxe to fall to the earth at their feet, before he moved to kneel and bow before Hegreth, closing his eyes as he did so; such an act left a foul taste in Hathgar's mouth, although he could not afford another conflict or allowing anything else to intervene and waste more precious time, thus swallowed his pride so he could address the Qliphotian dwarf.

Hathgar - You already know who I am. Beside me are Great-Captain Zonmesir Aslaug of the 6th Khargrimhold Company and Thane Ermek Trughs of the Kunmaldur Greathold... We've all come to you today to request assistance in a time unimaginably dire, for all of us, and to set aside our bad blood so that we may all survive the threats that happen to plague our lands.
Hegreth - ... A time unimaginably dire, you say? So, the Greatholds are at risk of collapse.
Aslaug - Tell us. Have you ever heard of the Vulcanus Horde? The magma demons of Akriarion Island?
Hegreth - Of course; they are but old wives' tales, cooked to scare children into behaving lest they incur their wrath.
Aslaug - Wrong. They have arrived to the eastern coast, and are making their way west. They seek to scorch the entirety of the Tropical Lands ablaze, from one corner to the other.
Hegreth - I don't believe you. They are little more than myth.
Trughs - Myths don't destroy cities.
Hegreth - ... I find it even more difficult to believe that Kunmaldur has fallen, Thane.
Trughs - Kunmaldur has not yet fallen. But other cities have. Reduced to cinders by hordes of magma beasts, spiders and orcs. All of them speaking of their Mad Pyromancer... "Xacutus", is his name.

Hegreth paused, contemplating for a moment as he passed a hand through his beard, before Eryxhreion coughed and spoke up. The minotaur stepped forward as he did, glancing towards Hathgar;

Eryxhreion - If I may speak, Adept-Lieutenant.
Hegreth - You may.
Eryxhreion - Let us not forget that this dwarf is Jalaric Hathgar. One of the old Goldhawks and one of the Warriors of Dar-Nahalant, who have fought to save lands across our world from horrors unlike any that we have had the misfortune of seeing. He is also the slayer of Bandit-Lord Khosrovhreiar, my tyrant of a father. If he possesses such strength as to stand before the threats he has in the past, to come here must mean that something he cannot handle on his own has arrived at the Greatholds' doorstep.
Hegreth - ... You make a good point, lad. But you've little idea what his ancestors have done to our people.
Aslaug - We are not out ancestors, lad. Neither are you yours. Let us speak us to you, not our ancestors to yours.
Eryxhreion - If we must pay the crimes of our ancestors, Adept-Lieutenant, then why have I not yet been slain?
Hegreth - ... Alright. If you seek an audience with Thane Volgratin, then I shall bring you back to Gimgari so that you may attempt to speak with him. But I cannot guarantee that he shall wish to respond to your pleas or believe a word you say. However, fighting and managing to survive a direct confrontation with Syl-Rheah is impressive, so you might just gain at least a small amount of favour from that.
Bilrika - Surely if your holds have any scrying mages, we could show you there actually are magma monsters all over the far east. If you don't... well. You'll have to take our word for it.
Anklebiter - I know I wouldn't.
Hathgar - The Westholds do not have mages of any kind, Bilrika, lass. They have abandoned the practices of runic magic in favour of forging with the metal that fills this land.
Bilrika - ... That's so boring! Magic is useful, you know. It shows images from a distance, for one.
Hegreth - Not in a land where most things resist or outright deny magic, girl. Steel has proven far more effective in dealing with pests such as the Demon of the Border's infected horde.
Anklebiter - Steel you've been losing to "Loron" things. You're welcome, by the way, since we killed them on the way here.
Hegreth - Hmph. The goblin sure has a mouth on him. A mouth just right for kicking.
Anklebiter - And you have a nose just big enough for a snack, but alas, I'm not allowed to eat you. In public, at least.
Khara - We also heard that Qliphoth was suffering from a plague. We're not exactly with Mister Jalaric's lot, but we've travelled with them by convenience to get this far. We're interested in sorting out your problem before it spreads any further.
Anklebiter - Yes, your animals are running off east and getting into my homeland. I don't want more mindless beasts in my homeland, I've already got undead to deal with.
Hegreth - All in due time. Now, gather your mounts and follow my dwarves, as I shall bring you to the gates of Gimgari so you may have your audience with the Thane and recuperate from your trek here... Oh, and Thane Ermek?
Trughs - What is it?
Hegreth - You'd best know how to keep that damnable thing under control, otherwise there shall be trouble.
Trughs - My "thing" is far better trained than whatever monsters you have in this place. You don't need to worry about it eating your people, if that's what you're afraid of. It only devour those who deserve it.
Hegreth - It's not what I am afraid of. It's what I happen to be waiting for.

With little else said, the Adept-Lieutenant turned away, leaving Hathgar and his companions to regroup and mount up once again so that they could follow the Gimgari patrol out of the ruined lands they had entered into. Khara shrugged and mounted atop her horse, while Tassarion, barely having managed to heal the vast majority of his wound in the time the dwarves had been speaking, required assistance from one of the Great-Captains' warriors in order to properly mount his steed.

The First Heir sighed, raising back up onto two feet and approaching his war-boar, before glancing over his shoulder towards Aslaug, Trughs, and Eirik. The monk appeared mildly uneased by the experienced suffered here during the attack of the gnoll marauders, as shown by his silence throughout the exchange with Adept-Lieutenant Bermean, while Trughs huffed under his breath, forcing himself not to respond so that it would not ruin the diplomatic meeting before it even started. Bilrika, though, was clearly pouting as she spoke outside of the Qliphotian dwarves' ear range.

Bilrika - Dickhead.

Chapter 5: The Thane of the Westholds[]

12 Arisen Sun, 35 NA, Late Afternoon: Eastern District, Gimgari Westhold, Qliphoth

Grey skies sat above the walls of the Westhold of Gimgari, blotted by clouds of black which glanced down at the ruined, desolate lands beneath them as if they were the dark, foul eyes of the Storm of Death himself. Cracked and warped from having weathered long millennia of age and acid storms, the outer walls of the hold-city loomed over both the interior and exterior as they circled the entirety of the settlement, watched and defended by the keen and wary eyes of dwarven warriors armed with harpoons, javelins, and crossbows; weapons that were aimed towards the earth as Adept-Lieutenant Bermean and his retinue of soldiers found themselves accompanied by strange company. Bilrika saw that much like the cities of the Greatholds, the Westholds preferred to keep their settlements heavily-defended with an active military presence, and indeed, even the foundations and philosophy of Gimgari's ancient architecture rang familiar to what the gnome remembered of her homeland.

However, it seemed the Westhold dwarves held a preference for black where their cousins to the east held red, with great spikes protruding from the walls casting imposing shadows across the land. Khara, sipping from her waterskin, felt her nerves begin to writhe as the archaic, towering gates of Gimgari loomed over her and her companions, gradually opening through dwarven mechanisms yet unseen. Within the walls, the streets, composed of bricks paved through discoloured, grey sand, housed a great number of buildings and structures - a range of homes, forges, stalls, education centres, and private and public facilities among others - while dwarven children scattered and played with one another, some engaging in games and others content to watch as armed patrols of enforcers strolled by. Their eyes saw this beyond the bridge their mounts carried them across and connected the city to the rest of the region, its length extending over a great moat filled with sewage, water, and a number of other unpleasantries.

Once they reached the gate, they were granted little time to stop as the Adept-Lieutenant and his company persisted onwards, while denizens of the city, young and old, watched them return with smiles upon their faces. Wives, sons and daughters, and mothers and fathers looked on as the men and women of the 2nd Gimgari Regiment came home safely, their weapons and armour marked with gnollish blood, before glances turned towards the strangers that followed behind them, talk and chatter beginning to arise while they caught glimpses of Hathgar and the dwarves under his command. It seemed he was guarded in all corners and directions by a combination of his own armed guard gathered at Khargrimhold and Qliphotian dwarven warriors that served as escorts and additional security for the prince, while Khara and her group were given only passing, if disdainful, glances by the majority of Gimgari's populace - not a settlement that welcomed the arrival of strangers often, it seemed, especially not those that kept company with wretched bastards dressed in armour and wielding weapons crafted in Greathold forges.

The half-orc grumbled beneath her breath, irritated by the suspicious and inhospitable nature of the city's locals, before her eyes widened at the sight of one dwarven woman, a rope clasped in her hand as she walked beside a peculiar beast; a creature faintly resembling a bull of sorts, for its thick, quadruped body was endowed with plentiful muscle, yet it sported a head similar to a wild boar, fit with both a boar's tusks and a buffalo's horns, at the end of a partially protruded neck, its narrow, bloodshot gaze locked downwards as its walked and found itself unable to lift its heavy head. A bizarre beast, Khara thought as she continued watching it be led by rope by the dwarven woman, who only stood up to its knees, before she opened her mouth to speak;

Khara - ... What's that thing? It's pretty big and looks... off.
Bilrika - I dunno. Some sort of diseased cow?
Eryxhreion - Pfft. You've never seen a catoblepas before?
Aslaug - Afraid I've never heard of one.
Eryxhreion - They're the cattle of Qliphoth. Both my kind and the dwarves farm them for their milk, their meat, and their hides and the like. ... It may surprise you to know, however, that much like the rest of the life living in this region, they are still surprisingly dangerous if not handled cautiously.
Kotric - Aye. The beasts exhale a deathly breath of poison when stressed or angry, capable of killing a grown dwarf dead if exposed for less than even half a minute.
Bilrika - And you handle that on a daily basis? Wow.
Eryxhreion - They are a testament to the resilience of life in Qliphoth. They eat little else but the poisonous earth and flora that came with the Storm of Death's birth and trickery. Before, it is told their ancestors were not so dangerous and that their breath would rather stun than kill, but they had to adapt if they wished to survive... Now, they thrive.
Kotric - They also taste bloody good. So good, in fact, that the Throne and the Westhold keep eye on poachers and hunters who seek to hunt them down in excess.
Anklebiter - Just like the cows of the Duskwoods then.
Bilrika - You mean the cows who get turned into rotting undead?
Anklebiter - Yes.
Khara - Yeah, that's kind of awkward when that happens.
Anklebiter - No, flesh is tastier when rotten. A much better, sourer taste.
Kotric - You know, I'm not sure about you, lass, but part of my personal philosophy is to never trust anything that would gorge itself on decomposed, rotten corpse-meat than a cooked meal.
Anklebiter - Foolish. We cook our carrion before eating it. We're not savages.
Kotric - Could have had me fooled.
Hathgar - Quiet, all of you. ... How much longer until I may see your Thane?
Hegreth - Soon. We are not too far from the Hold of Thanes of Gimgari. I suggest that when you kneel before Thane Volgratin, you choose your words and how you put them across very cautiously, else your journey westward could very easily have been for naught.
Bilrika - You should leave Anklebiter outside before he says something stupid.
Anklebiter - You are cows that eat cows. Must be enlightening every time.
Bilrika - Kinda like that.

Eryxhreion huffed at the Grim Goblin's comment, before he turned his head forwards to be welcomed with the sight of yet another set of walls just as heavily-defended as the ones that formed the city's exterior defenses. These walls were located near the centre of the city, with dwarven warriors perched atop it with their weapons aimed eagerly downwards towards the new arrivals, before they soon withdrew as the Adept-Lieutenant lightly gestured with a dismissive wave. As the dwarven lieutenant's retinue and charge approached the slowly opening black iron gates of the walls, engraved with a stylized skull of a minotaur across its two colossal doors, their eyes were met with the monumental turrets and front gate of a dwarven hold, constructed of black iron and brickwork with sharp, flat edges and corners, with little to no sight of any rounded architecture; everything held straight and narrow, with the turrets built into semi-cuboid shapes rather than rounded cylinders as was typical of human architecture.

There was intimidation and pride to be found in the design of the hold's exterior, while banners flew in the breeze as they were suspended from pole stemming from the hold, flags of green cloth decorated with the symbol of a double-sided axe woven in black - the insignia of Clan Volgratin, it would seem. A larger military presence could be seen standing within and outside of the hold, and as the group followed behind the path led by the Adept-Lieutenant, they all came to a sudden halt as Hegreth's pony ceased moving, the dwarf pulling upon the stallion's reins. Khara tilted her head as she brought Stormlight to a stop, the horse whinnying while a smaller squad of dwarves, armed with polearms, approached her and her adventuring band.

Hegreth - Escort the half-orc, her companions, and the dwarven foreigners in my company to the tavern so that they may acquire some refreshments; they have had a long trek from the east and are low on supplies. And alert Thane Volgratin that he has guests from the eastern holds who wish to speak with him. ... In the meantime, Heir Jalaric, you and your chosen companions shall wait with me inside the hold.
Aslaug - So be it.
Khara - Hey, why don't we get to see the Thane? We saved these guys from getting eaten by Bharloron and fought at their side against that gnoll bitch.
Bilrika - Because we're not politicians.
Khara - ... Oh, yeah, that's right. Although, I am a noble's daughter! So that technically means I'm a politician, right?
Aslaug - This is a matter concerning only dwarves, lass.
Tassarion - Come, Miss Greenforge. You would likely find yourself bored with such intricate matters. Why refuse an opportunity to lose touch with yourself and everyone around you at the bar when such an opportunity is offered to you?
Khara - You know, you're right. But you're also kind of a dick when you say it like that.

The pathways and corridors that led to the numerous halls, floors, and chambers of the hold seemed reminiscent of those to be found within the holds of both Clan Ermek and the Archclan of Khargrimhold, with intricate brickwork interiors decorated with rigid patterns and non-magical runes that lined the walls and tiled flooring. Hathgar could not help but briefly analyze the constitution of the building, admiring how vaguely familiar it happened to be to the architecture built by the Khargrim of the Greatholds - which in turn derived from the ancient structural trends and frameworks set by the ancient Dweorg prior to the occurrence of the migrations outward from the archaic Runehaven Domain. It was a strange sensation for him to walk among the halls of traitors and find only similarities and the slightest divergences from the original Dweorg structural designs, although perhaps he of all dwarves should have expected as such, as the Westholds were, after all, composed of dwarven kin.

While before leaving Khargrimhold he saw his father's throne room streaked with sunlight upon its stone walls and warriors of Clan Khargrim kneeling in line at either side of the carpet that led from the doors to the throne itself, he was graced with the image of Clan Volgratin's soldiers with their weapons in hand, stood to attention while the hall was only faintly lit by the little light that strayed through the windows. Instead, torches held by sconces upon the walls contributed the majority of the light, allowing Hathgar and his companions to see Thane Volgratin, a dwarf dressed in dark robes of black and grey while his stomach hung somewhat over his belt, as he peered down at the young dwarf woman at his feet, her body draped in rather revealing brown cloth as her shoulders and cleavage were put on show for those present. Her hands were placed around one of his feet, massaging his sole and toes as if she was ignorant to the presence of the two armour-clad minotaurs positioned at either side of the Thane's iron throne.

Volgratin Gignaeg seemed only some decades younger than Lord-Thane Jalaric, his face scarred and marked with wrinkles while his beard had turned from red to dreary white, while strands of long, whitened hair crept down to his broad shoulders. He leaned lazily over the side of his throne while his consort tended to his feet, grasping a drink-filled goblet in one hand while sparing only the slightest of passing glances towards his Khargrim visitors and the Adept-Lieutenant who had brought them here. The old dwarf cackled to himself for a moment, before taking a sip from whatever poison he was drinking.

Gignaeg - So... What can I do for you, Khargrim? A drink, perhaps? Some rum? Ale? ... I've consorts to spare if you wish for more than a drink, should they please you. And believe me, I know they should.
Hathgar - ... A drink shall suffice, Thane Volgratin. Rum. And drinks too, for my companions. We have all suffered a long and... terrible journey.
Gignaeg - Why, at once. I'll have my serfs pour you your drinks... Perhaps I should also have them unlock my vault and hand over my family's expenses and treasures, the keys to every room in my hold, and hells, maybe I should give you my fucking throne while I am at it.
Aslaug - ... That escalated quickly.

Suddenly, the cold splash of alcohol overcame Aslaug once the goblet struck her breastplate, the old, plump Thane laughing as he drew back his arm after having thrown it in her direction. Shortly afterward, he sent his foot into the face of the dwarf tending his foot, knocking her onto her back with a forceful kick before she stood to scurry.

Gignaeg - You heard me, wench. Drinks! Drinks for the fucking Khargrim, aye! ... What is it you really want? You were found wandering the borders of Qliphoth, a company of elite dwarven warriors under your command alongside some... mercenaries, are they? Surely, you were not hoping to ransack and conquer my hold, were you? Not like your ancestors did all those millennia ago...
Hathgar - ... I'd prefer it if you treated Great-Captain Zonmesir with some respect, Thane.
Gignaeg - Don't tell me what to fucking do in my hold, Khargrim! You dare come all this way to stand before me and try to tell me how I should treat your curse-ridden lot! How about, rather than trying to talk back to me, you start answering my damned questions?
Hathgar - We came this way because we needed to speak with you. I needed to speak with you. I am Jalaric Hathgar, Great-Captain of the 4th Khargrimhold Company and--
Gignaeg - Oh, stop it. I know who you are. You're that prince who was exiled from his own hold and only returned decades later, when he tired of travelling with his band of vigilantes and mercenaries. They speak tales of you, you know? How you've faced such terrible dangers and monsters from across the planes... If such tales ring true, First Heir, and you are as strong as folks say you are, then why have you come here if not to conquer my hold?
Hathgar - ... Because the Greatholds are in dire need, Thane Volgratin, and I cannot defend it alone or with the company that I keep. We need more help, lest my kingdom, and the entirety of the south, will fall.
Gignaeg - Oh, is that so? You... The Greatholds... need my help? ... Kehehe... Ahahaha! Oh, you are a comedian, I must confess! Ahahaha-- Absolutely not. The Greatholds can rot in whatever pit they've dug for themselves for all I care. And your clan can join them, with Lord-Thane Hreithar lying at the very bottom of its centre. Go home, Jalaric, and try not to let the gates strike you upon your departure.
Hathgar - Thane Volgratin--
Gignaeg - No. After all your ancestors have done, there is no good reason for me to lend my arm to help you. I would shame the memory of my own ancestors if I did, even if I wanted to. After the Burning of Kinthiod, you lost your right to ask anything of me or my people. You razed that hold to its very foundations to set an example to our brethren. Consider your example made.
Trughs - That was done by dwarves who died two thousand years ago. We're not those people.
Gignaeg - You are their progeny. Raised upon their ideals and glorified tales of what unfolded; spoonfed lies regarding the old war. You are as untrustworthy as the inbred scum you stem from.
Aslaug - Blaming us for the crimes of our ancestors is nonsensical. If we were all to follow the footsteps of our forefathers, we should all still be slaves of kobolds.
Gignaeg - That is easy for you to say. Rather slaves to the damned kobolds than slaves to the likes of you Greathold curs.
Trughs - This goes beyond the Greatholds! Should we fall, all of the Tropical Lands will follow suit!
Hathgar - Aye. The Greatholds... are under attack from a grave and dire threat. The Vulcanus Horde - the demons of forbidden Akriarion that we once thought as myths - have come from across the sea to raze the south to little more than cinders, starting with our kingdom. My kingdom. And should we fall, they shall inevitably come to Qliphoth and engulf the Westholds in their flames too.

At this moment, a loud bash was heard as a figure entered the chamber, hitting his staff against the ground in order to make himself present. It was a dwarf, his body covered from head to toes in black robes, leaving only his face exposed; the great wrinkles, the extensive white beard and the apparent blindness of one of his eyes made it evident that whoever this was, he was easily thrice the Thane's age, and he limped as he walked, using his staff, which was decorated at its top with an orb of solid Qliphotian steel, as a walking cane. Upon his head, he wore the skull of a horned beast, clearly draconic in nature, whose fangs covered what little hair he may have had. At his side stood yet another minotaur, a polearm clasped in their hands as they accompanied the seemingly ancient dwarf into the throne room, an uneasy expression on his bull-like face.

His teeth were bared and crooked and his expression was one of a frown, though he did not direct it to Hathgar or any of his companions. Instead, he glared at the Thane. Hathgar turned to face the blind dwarf with a look of surprise, while Thane Volgratin almost growled as he peered towards the old dwarven elder, the cold iron of his throne's arm meeting his fist as he thumped it.

Gignaeg - Your services are not required, cripple! Leave at once!
??? - ... You petulant child! You diaper-wearing baby! Do you forget who you speak to?! I have been here since your great-grandfather learned to walk on his two feet. I go where I please.
Trughs - Yickes. And I thought my dad was grumpy.
Hathgar - ... And you are...?

The old man pointed his staff at Hathgar, and due to the proximity, nearly hit the prince's head with the large ball of steel.

??? - I am Volgratin Elndrulim. Elndrulim the Cripple, as I'm called after the passing of my brother. Thane Fatty's grandfather.
Gignaeg - You may be my elder, but I am your Thane! So you shall treat me as one, you tick-ridden corpse bag!
Elndrulim - So eager to mistreat your elders?! Your father taught you no respect, it seems.

The old dwarf turned to Hathgar once again as he bashed the butt of his staff against the floor once again.

Elndrulim - Did you say the Vulcanus Horde has returned?
Hathgar - Aye. They have returned, seeking to raze our holds and scorch our lands for their "Mad Pyromancer" - a character they call Xacutus. Would you hold any wisdom for me, old dwarf?
Elndrulim - Prove it to me you aren't merely re-telling fairytales. Describe the Horde to me.
Hathgar - ... They are beasts of magma and fire, shaped into the form of monstrous men and spiders. They wear armour of molten rock, while their weapons are forged from raw obsidian and their mages control the very essence of the flames of death which consume my people. Among them, the Scorched General stands as the greatest bane to the safety of our Greatholds, for I have fought against him on the battlefield and have tested his wrath myself. Our weapons... could do little to stall him or his greater servants.
Elndrulim - Scorched... General... A hulking orc, made of magma and flame?
Hathgar - That would be the one, aye. Wrugrak, he called himself.

The old dwarf huffed under his breath, twirling his long beard with his fingers as he turned to the Thane. Gignaeg scowled towards his elder as the old dwarf gazed in his direction.

Elndrulim - It appears these Khargrim are speaking the truth.
Gignaeg - Sure. Of course they are. And we both know that my mother was a minotaur!
Elndrulim - Clearly she was, for raising such a bull-headed buffoon as a son!
Gignaeg - Whatever makes you think that these curs' tales ring true? The Horde is a myth, crafted to keep the dwarves from venturing to this Akriarion place as it's so useless and inhospitable.
Elndrulim - A myth your hairy arse! My grandfather - your forefather - fought Wrugrak in the ancient past, when us dwarves attempted to colonize the isle of Akriarion.
Gignaeg - Bah, what would you know? You are old and maddened. While you may entertain the populace of this place, you cannot buy my conviction!
Elndrulim - ... Enough! You clearly forgot who you're speaking to, boy. I am your Lord-Seer, your highest advisor, as I was to your father, and your grandfather. It is my job to record our history - which you clearly have no regard for - and ensure it survives the passage of time. And if Wrugrak the Terrible has truly risen, then these Khargrim speak the truth. We are under the threat of death.
Gignaeg - ... We are already under the threat of death. That damned plague spreads further and further with each passing day and it is only a matter of time until it finds its way within our walls and contaminates our food and cattle. We cannot afford to help these... Khargrim, even if I believed you.
Aslaug - We know of your plague. It spreads east, and according to the adventurers we travel with, it goes as far as the Duskwoods.
Elndrulim - Duskwoods? I'm not familiar with the name.
Trughs - East of here, but before you reach the Greatholds, lies the Duskwoods. It's a cursed land infested with the undead.
Elndrulim - ... By my mother's hairy cheeks. Our plague infesting undead?
Hathgar - The "mercenaries" we were venturing with are young adventurers from those lands, seeking to put an end to this plague before it reaches ever further. They want to destroy it at its source - this "Outcast Demon". The one called Mivtanreior.
Elndrulim - So... You intend to destroy the Demon of the Border himself?
Hathgar - If it would garner your trust and support, yes. We have all heard stories of how Qliphotian steel is infamous for its ability to greatly resist the effects of magic and how it stands far stronger than any other mortal metal. We sought to use it and gain the support of your warriors to help us fight the Horde.

The old, grizzled dwarf begun to pace around the Khargrim trio, passing his fingers through his beard as he turned to stared at them, much to Aslaug and Trughs' discomfort.

Elndrulim - It is true that the Vulcanus Horde is a very real, and very terrible threat. However, the Thane is not completely wrong - your forefathers did commit crimes against ours. Crimes which cannot be simply disregarded.
Hathgar - As the heir to the Greatholds' legacy, elder, I beg that you allow me to repent for the actions of our ancestors. To put this bad blood aside for the sake of all our holds.
Elndrulim - You want to repent?

The old seer stopped on his tracks, pointing his staff to Thane Gignaeg.

Elndrulim - Let us put these Khargrim on trial. Let them prove their loyalty.
Gignaeg - ... What would you suggest? I would have them bring me the pelts of a hundred or so Qliphotian lions, just to buy a chance for us to even consider allowing them such an opportunity!
Elndrulim - Lions? Nonsense. They forced us to this land, they shall learn what they have forced us through - the Khargrim will bring us the eggs of a Myrmidon.
Gignaeg - ... Ooh... Ohohoho... Yes, yes...! Yes! A Myrmidon shall... do just nicely.
Trughs - I'm sorry, what's a Myrmidon?
Elndrulim - You Khargrim have your Maulers. We Qliphotians have Myrmidons, which are twice larger, twice crueler, and twice hungrier.
Hathgar - ... Ah, bugger.
Elndrulim - Conquer the Myrmidon, and you'll prove to us you have mastered the wilds of Qliphoth. But just that won't do to repent for your crimes... Gignaeg, were you not talking about a hold gone rogue the other day?
Gignaeg - Aye, I was. A contingent of dwarven marauders have taken an old dwarf hold for themselves, demanding resources from Gimgari and other Westholds, else they will unleash the frenzied monsters they have captured upon our lands. Monsters afflicted with the Demon's plague. Apparently, I have heard rumours that they are also holding something of... immense value within that hold. A key to curing these lands of not just the plague... but of Xitannoth's curse entirely.
Elndrulim - That so? Then the Khargrim's second trial will be to reconquer this hold, bring the leader of the marauders to justice, and bring us whatever this valuable treasure is. That should prove you are willing to fight in the name of the people of Qliphoth, rather than merely your own.
Hathgar - And is there a third trial you would have us put through?
Elndrulim - ... Kill Mivtanreior! Free us of his cursed existence!
Hathgar - ... I've a feeling he shall surpass even the Myrmidon we are bound to face.
Elndrulim - When the Oevrumine refer to you as a "Demon", you can bet you are a bane on this world's backside.

The old seer stopped in his tracks and nodded his head.

Elndrulim - Conquer the wilderness, fight in our people's name, and rid us of our woes. Do so, and I will believe the Greatholds are truly willing to make amends. Your ancestors' crimes will be put aside.

Hathgar nodded, lowering onto a knee as he bowed before the elder, his ancestral weapon laid at his feet while he closed his eyes. They were only three trials, perhaps, but such trials were unlikely to be at all easy. A creature to surpass the Maulers, a dwarven warlord armed to the teeth with Qliphotian steel armaments and captive beasts frenzied with plague, and the entity resting at the very centre of the hastening death of the region and its inhabitants. With a heart that almost thumped its way out through his chest and nerves wracked at the very idea of facing a possible demigod in direct battle, a bead of sweat crossed the dwarf's brow, before he glanced upwards to face Elndrulim the Cripple with a determined, steadfast glare;

Hathgar - ... I accept.

Chapter 6: Trial I - The Omega Predator[]

14 Arisen Sun, 35 NA, Early Morning: Forest of Shattered Skulls, Northwest of Gimgari, Edge of Central Qliphoth

The cloud-ridden skies were still dark by the time that those dwarven warriors, with the young adventuring band accompanying at their side, set out for the Forest of Shattered Skulls in order to uncover the lair of the dread Myrmidon that Elndrulim the Cripple of Gimgari informed them about. Such monsters, while capable of thriving within the central regions of Qliphoth due to their immense strength and their tendencies to create burrows and lairs for themselves beneath the toxic earth, away from the acidic rain, were known to occasionally venture towards the border settlements of the few civilisations that persisted in this part of the south and cause problems that would become difficult to solve due to the aforementioned strength they wielded.

The Forest of Shattered Skulls, so called by the dwarves due to the vast amount of wild monsters and carnivorous flora that resided within the woodlands, sat just upon the edge of the wasteland that was central Qliphoth, where Mount Mynas, the supposed 'birthplace' of the Colossus responsible for the transformation of the region into a land of death, resided. Settlements belonging to the Westholds in turn sat near the Forest, for while they were to find death among its underbrush and its treetops, they yet found water and land that could be used to harbour agriculture, alongside a steady supply of food for those brave enough to hunt it.

Eryxhreion guided the group into the deathly wilderness of the Shattered-Skull Forest with Kotric at his side, for he was at the very least vaguely familiar with the environment, while Khara and Hathgar's groups respectively stood back, allowing the minotaur to guide them while they cut through vines and brushes and other such natural obstacles which served only to unnerve or irritate them. Unlike the jungles throughout the rest of the southern lands, it seemed those thriving within Qliphoth were mildly cold to an almost discomferting degree, with the plant life grew dark with shades of brown and green.

Many of them had gone to Qliphoth being told the place was little more than a dusty desert, and as such were unprepared for the revelation that it was still situated in the Tropical Lands, where great extensions of wood were common; in this case, the curse cast upon the landscape forced the plants to adapt to survive, turning them immense in bulk and filled with all sorts of defenses to protect themselves from herbivores.

Flowers possessed great colourful spots - an easy way of identifying venom, while carnivorous plants dripped with acidic substances, their insides filled with the dissolved husks of flies and other insects. Each vine wrapped around the trunks or bushes around them was filled with hooked, serrated spikes, almost as if designed by nature to cause agony upon contact, and great extensions of spotted mushrooms covered the ground, which was littered with the remains of beasts long dead. Qliphoth was not merely a wasteland, but a region of many biomes, all of them equally deadly.

Icicle - Mhuuuh...
Bilrika - Yeah, for all the crap we give to the Duskwoods, at least that place has normal vegetation. This place is a nightmare!
Aslaug - I've lost count on the number of vipers I've spotted just in the last hour. Everything in this place drips with poison.
Eryxhreion - I have heard tales from my old elders which claim there reside beasts within the wastes and wilds of our homeland capable of felling a grown Oevrumine with but a single dose of venom. That the toxins of the snakes and insects here are also suppposed to be acidic enough to corrode flesh and bone in order to melt through the tough hide of everything happening to live in these regions.
Trughs - I can't help but admire your people for being able to survive in such conditions.
Eryxhreion - If you wish to call it 'surviving'.
Khara - Man, I just remembered the acid zombie gnolls we had to fight that one time. That was the same night we killed the burning undead cyclops, right?
Anklebiter - I don't recall any acid zombies. Perhaps because I was too busy fighting that one retarded gnoll.
Aslaug - I can't fathom why the Great Mother allowed places like this and the Duskwoods to continue existing as they are. Perhaps she was wronged very gravely in the distant past and sees it as a fitting punishment.
Tassarion - Isiris works in ways mysterious to us. To some, she is kind, yet to others, she is unforgiving. I can see why some would turn to worshipping a number of the Simulacra; at the very least, you can consider the majority of them as possessing... consistent behaviour.
Bilrika - Yeah but they're almost all evil so they don't deserve worship.
Tassarion - Evil, perhaps, but even among their kind, they are not exempt from giving gifts to their most dedicated... Oh, what knowledge the Blood God must spare for those who please him. It is almost enviable.
Trughs - Being rewarded for bad behavior is not something we dwarves accept. Demons deserve nothing but contempt.
Tassarion - ... Of course. The Blood God is the reason why vampires prowl the world's night. No matter what knowledge or gifts he may seduce his followers with, his methods shall not work upon iron-willed souls.
Khara - Well, it must take an iron-willed soul to think it's alright to live here, that's for sure. ... So, how are we even supposed to fight a Myrmidon?
Kotric - Very carefully.
Aslaug - We should avoid fighting it, if possible. If this animal is as dangerous as you all claim, we should focus on getting the eggs and running off, not fighting it to the death.

As the group walked through the dense woodland, however, the rustling sound of leaves was heard over their heads as roars were sent at them; from the air, the dwarves found themselves attacked by a pack of small, purple-coloured wyverns with huge stingers on their tails. The sudden ambush had taken them all by surprise, their minds perhaps distracted enough by the thoughts of the daunting Myrmidon awaiting them that they had not perceived the sudden onslaught of the small wyverns, although they were not slow to respond in kind. Hathgar was swift to retaliate atop his boar, an arc of lightning shining through the air as he made various swings in the dragons' direction.

Khara rolled from the saddle of her horse upon sight of the wyverns and drew her sword before raising her shield over her head and body, while Eryxhreion swatted at the beasts with his greataxe, grumbling as his muscular body made for a large target.

Bilrika - What're these things?!
Eryxhreion - Venom Drakes. Drake-scorpions of the sky.
Hathgar - Ah, they're much like miniature Poison Drakes! Little pansie cousins, at that!
Anklebiter - Scorpions? They should taste well roasted then.
Eryxhreion - Ah, at last, the goblin speaks sense.
Tassarion - Given that these creatures inhabit Qliphoth... I am under the impression that their venom is stronger here than that found in Venom Drakes living outside of this region.
Khara - Probably, so try not to get stung!

The dwarves accompanying the group raised their shields to defend themselves from the creatures' stings, though while they did a good job at protecting them, the dragons were nonetheless relentless. With a swing of his runed blades, Trughs shattered the stinger of one of the Venom Drakes, causing it to shriek and flee the scene through the trees, while others fled upon being attacked by Bilrika and Icicle's cryomancy.

However, Khara was knocked to her feet as one of the beasts thrusted its body against her own from her flank, causing her to drop her sword. Left with but a buckler, she felt the talons of the wyvernling scratch at the outer surface of her defence as it made tries to claw at her face, while a metallic clang resounded when its stinger made contact with the raised shield. With a growl, she threw her shield-arm to the side to parry the wyvern's stinger; then came the shrill yelps and shrieks as Khara then sent the blunt face of her buckler into the side of the miniature drake's head to knock it aside.

It growled as it was left disoriented, leaving it open as Aslaug came to the half-orc's rescue, striking the drake in the head with her warhammer and knocking it off of her entirely, before it flapped its wings and flew away. Khara glanced towards Aslaug, sighing with relief as she felt the dwarf assist her to her feet with a tug.

Khara - T-Thanks. Thought I was drake food for a moment there.
Aslaug - No problem, gal.

As the prey proved itself too resilient for their liking, the Venom Drakes gave up and dispersed, disappearing through the wood as quickly as they had arrived. Eryxhreion laxed his broad shoulders as he watched the drakes take their departure, readjusting his armour while wiping some toxified blood off the edge of his weapon.

Eryxhreion - Usually, Venom Drakes are not so desperate as to attack a larger group of armed prey, as they usually prove more than what it's worth to them. This must mean that their usual food source has been compromised, which can only mean we are getting closer to the beast's lair.
Trughs - The things were skinny. I'd not be surprised if they were starving.
Bilrika - Yeah but I'm not about to let them eat me to satiate their hunger, thanks.
Hathgar - Hmph. Given the plague that has been going around and a Myrmidon supposedly moving into the area, I'm not surprised. Food must be becoming more scarce.
Eryxhreion - Yes. Both dwarves and minotaurs have taken great effort in trying to protect our livestock from the onset of Mivtanreior's curse. We cannot extend all our hands towards defending the wildlife, however. We can only hope to quell any infected populations of animals that could pose a threat to us.
Khara - Heh, could you imagine one of those Myrmidon things jacked up on that plague?
Eryxhreion - I dread to think.

Free of the Venom Drakes' onslaught, the group was free to continue on their path. An hour would pass until the trees themselves grew more split apart as they left the heart of the Forest of Shattered Skulls, only to be replaced by great skeletal remains; the dwarves and their companions would find a massive burrow leading down, its entrance grimly decorated with the bones of a long-devoured Great Poison Dragon. A colossal, lightless mouth that led only downwards into deeper darkness, Hathgar fell quiet as he glanced at the remnants of what was once one of Qliphoth's most infamous apex predators, a shiver crawling its way upwards across his otherwise sturdy spine. It was a menacing sight, with Khara and her adventuring band too falling silent as they were met with the vast, open expanse of shadow that they were yet to trudge through.

Eryxhreion said nothing, merely standing in place while grasping the metal shaft of his greataxe, before he turned to see Hathgar tugging on Khegrit's reins to drive him slowly closer towards the lip of the burrow. A cold, unpleasant air radiated from the cave mouth, chilling those present to the very depths of their souls, with Khara, in her discomfort, believing she could hear the low, deep growls of a stomach as the dwarven prince moved to enter.

Khara - ... You're gonna go ahead?
Hathgar - ... Yes. I am no stranger to dark caverns and the monstrosities that live within them. You do not have to follow me, lass, but I cannot turn back and leave without those eggs. I've no choice but to move forward.
Trughs - No eating these eggs, okay Fang? That'd complicate our lives enormously.
Bilrika - Yeeeeah, gonna wait for you guys out here I think.
Tassarion - Hmph. Anklebiter, you can see in darkness, yes?
Anklebiter - What do you think?
Tassarion - You are going to go ahead of us and serve as our scout while I supply light for the rest of us.
Anklebiter - Who put you in charge?
Aslaug - Do as you're told or I'll crush your grotesque goblin skull.
Anklebiter - Filthy walking beards. Fine.

From his belt, Tassarion grasped the handle of a lantern, and in moments, the wick within was alight with a bright, magical shimmer that supplied an intense source of what seemed to be sunlight - so intense, in fact, that even when stood outside their eyes could see this luminesence beneath the gray skies.

Eryxhreion, struggling to hide the increasing twitches in his hands as he stood before the Myrmidon's lair, strode ahead to walk beside Hathgar, with Tassarion following at the very centre of their group, approaching behind the dwarves on his horse while also backed by a dwarven rearguard. Khara glanced down towards Anklebiter as she followed on her own horse, lowering her brow as she sought to steady her resolve in the face of the challenge surmounted before them.

Khara - ... What's the matter? Scared?
Anklebiter - I am no one's servant. Let that be clear.
Khara - Oh, I know. I never considered you my servant... I was just gonna say, it's alright if you're a little afraid. I'm kind of afraid too.
Anklebiter - My only fear is wasting my days doing errands for outsiders only to gain nothing in the end.

The goblin jumped into the burrow and quickly disappeared in the darkness, before returning to signal the dwarves to follow. The Myrmidon's burrow was massive, and it needed to be for the creature to be able to move around within it. There was no sight of the actual monster at first glance, but it did not take long for them to notice what seemed to be things squirming in the cavern walls as the light from Tassarion's lantern radiated upon them; wet, sloshing and squishing sounds that became louder and louder as the group trudged further into the depths of the burrow, the light from outside soon fading away.

In Tassarion's lantern light, the dwarves could see what seemed to be large, spiked objects that curled and crawled within large nooks and crannies throughout the cave, both left and right and up and down as they saw what they would come to understand as monstrous, great larvae moving at whims in the ceiling, walls, and floors. Soft-skinned and graced with putrid, sucking mouths, the worms or maggots greatly outsized the dwarves themselves, with only the large Eryxhreion barely matching their mass, length, and width, and as they trekked further into the throat of the burrow, they observed their numbers increasing. Infant Myrmidons that were born larger than horses.

Aslaug - Bloody hell... You could fit two dwarves or more inside each of these grubs.
Hathgar - And these are just the babbies. I'll be damned when we see the mother.
Anklebiter - Hear that?
Trughs - Eh? Hear what?
Anklebiter - The sound of snoring.

As they moved past the larvae, a much larger chamber was presented before them, and within the center lied the Myrmidon itself; it was monstrous in bulk, easily over fifteen meters long, resembling a bizarre cross of insect and reptile. The creature snored, deeply asleep, yet it seemed to have its eyes open - likely because it had no eyelids. Behind it laid its eggs; a whole pile of them, each comparable in size to a dwarf, with many of them already broken from being hatched. A lesser demi-colossus in its own right, perhaps, the gargantuan creature could easily crush even an adult minotaur such as Eryxhreion between its great jaws or beneath its heavy, serrated and spiked appendages.

Within their chests, their hearts raced, and a cold sweat creeped down Hathgar's brow as watched the immense monstrosity sleep, oblivious to their presence. Dismounting from Khegrit's back, as the boar refused to trot any further, Hathgar quietly huffed and passed a nervous glance of uncertainty back towards his companions. Fang, the Mauler, begun growling as it had its head turned to the Myrmidon, causing Trughs to pat its snout in an attempt to quiet it down, though he had no success in doing so.

Aslaug - We need to get one of the eggs and get the hell out of here.
Hathgar - Starting to think it was a bad idea bringing the Mauler in here.
Trughs - Ngh. She won't stop.
Eryxhreion - Can't you take her outside?
Trughs - I wanted to put the egg on her back for her to carry. That's why I brought her alone.

Scattered across the cavern floor, shattered and broken bones from the meals of the Myrmidon and its offspring, accompanied by eggshell and traces of what seemed to be shredded, ripped sheets of steel armour and clothe, with the rock and earth being soaked in dried blood. While the uncomfortable, stagnant warmth of the burrow's stomach could be felt upon their skin and fur, the adventurers experienced a sharp, chilling sensation grow within their chests as the realization struck them that they must soon get to work - they would need to approach the flank of the monster.

With the light of Tassarion's lantern glimmering upon them, the dwarves could faintly see the coiled silhouettes of unborn maggots beneath the eggs' shells, some of them slightly squirming or stretching within the fluids that sustained them, causing Khara to wince somewhat in mild disgust.

Trughs - One of you bring the egg up to me, quickly.
Anklebiter - Dwarves can do it. I can't carry eggs this big.
Khara - In that case, keep an eye on the Myrmidon and tell us if you think it's gonna wake up.
Hathgar - I'd advise watching your feet. Bones and debris scatter the ground and I'd hate for someone to tread on something that can be avoided. We cannot afford any grave mistakes today.

With a nod, acknowledging his words, Khara stepped forward after taking a moment to swallow her fears and doubts and quietly removed the metal armour upon her person before moving towards the network of unhatched, developing offspring residing behind the monstrous Myrmidon matriarch. She was not the most perceptive member of the group, but she was capable of the heavylifting required to move at least one of the beast's eggs; this was her chance to impress the heroes who now watched her, throwing in her strength to contribute in completing their trial.

Lightly she tread past the slumbering hulk, her stealthy approach assisted by the fact that she had removed any metallic pieces that could have clanked or clinked or otherwise compromised her. Hathgar and his company watched silently, shuffling uncomfortably as the fate of his men, his companions, his kingdom, and himself rested upon the shoulders of a novice adventurer who he had met just recently - a task he would have preferred allowing one of his own trustworthy dwarves to perform, although he had not the heart to deny the girl her chance to prove herself useful.

His eyes lit up as he observed her circling around the Myrmidon's hide, resting her hands upon the exterior of one of the dark eggs sitting in the dirt, and hoisting it over her shoulder with ease. However, his heart sank, as did those of all present, once he heard the snapping of a bone as it gave way beneath Khara's foot, the half-orc having miscalculated her step partway through her return trip. A growl rang through their ears as the Myrmidon shifted its massive head to face them, the monster barring its teeth, revealing three rows of sharpened fangs, each larger and thicker than a minotaur's torso. It had just awoken and, like many animals stirred from their sleep, it was growing increasingly irate by the moment.

Khara - ... Oh, fuck.
Anklebiter - RUN!

And run she did, moving the egg from above her shoulder to beneath her arm as she broke into a desperate sprint. Her eyes wide as she ran, she resisted the urge to glance back towards the awakened Myrmidon, for if she did, she would be surely met by the image of the beast beginning to open and expand its great jaws, whilst its hot breath touched the sweat upon Khara's back. From it came a terrible roar which stirred the larvae across the burrow to begin screeching as well, and Anklebiter wasted no time to turn around and make his way out of the Myrmidon's reach. However, Trughs clenched his teeth as he had Fang step forward, the Mauler roaring back at the monster as he took hold of one of his runed swords.

Trughs - Get the egg to the surface, I'll keep the thing distracted!
Hathgar - Are you insane? Get your backside out of here this instant!
Trughs - I'm not staying, I'm just slowing it down! Hurry up!

The Myrmidon rose one of its immense limbs and swung it at the Thane, causing him and Fang to be flung off of the ground into a wall, the dwarf being knocked off of his mount in the process. Khara bit her lip as she forced herself to run past the fallen Trughs, moving to mount her horse once again with the egg still within her grasp while the shrieks and squeals of the larvae throughout the burrow caused a stinging ache to arise within her ears. Panicked breaths escaped her quickening lungs as she, along with her adventuring band and the dwarves, turned and rode back the way they came.

As Fang attempted to get back on its feet, it found the monstrous insect's jaws clenching into its head and its sharpened claws digging into its body as it held it in place. Before their eyes, the Mauler was ferociously mauled, its roars of agony echoing throughout the cave amidst the sounds of the larvae and its assailant's growls while it was mercilessly shredded and torn apart, until it gasped a final time, then going silent entirely. The Myrmidon's immense fangs and claws had cut through the young Mauler's toughened hide as if it was little more than cloth, its scales unable to withstand the ferocious assault of the angered giant as it hungrily ripped and eviscerated through the demi-dragon's gut and innards. It was barely even a struggle.

Trughs found himself grabbed by the collar by Aslaug, who dragged the Thane away as they fled, the latter's eyes widened and wet with tears as he stretched an arm for his fallen mount.

Trughs - F-Fang...!

There was a clang as Khara raised her shield, resisting the sucking mouth of a larva as it launched its head in her direction and almost knocking her from her horse. Wide arcs were swung as the dwarves struggled to cut their way through the suddenly aggressive offspring and found themselves thankful that their blades could cut through their softer flesh and tissues, their wounds bursting and exploding with bright green, flourescent blood.

The light of the world beyond the burrow was in sight as, upon horses and boars, the group rode as swiftly as their mounts could manage, encouraged by the screams of the larvae as they shoved their squishy bodies past one another through the tight crevices of the walls they slept within and the roars of a dying Mauler as it founds its insides being swiftly dragged and splattered outside. As they found themselves graced by the exit to the surface, meeting the part of the team who awaited them outside, Aslaug spoke out as she turned around to face the tunnel. The Myrmidon was giving chase.

Aslaug - Collapse the place on top of it!
Bilrika - W-What?
Aslaug - Do something to block the exit! Now!
Bilrika - A-A little warning would've helped, you know!

The gnome mage and her familiar begun launching blasts of ice at the burrow's entrance as the group escaped, causing the loose stone to begin collapsing and form a barrier which stopped the Myrmidon on its tracks. That, helped with the blocks of ice formed by her magic, would stop the monster from giving chase, though it would surely be able to dig through it given time. They had to flee the area entirely.

The shrieks of the larvae were replaced by the squealing of dwarven war-boars and the whinnying of horses as they made their way through the jungles that led them here. Hathgar and Khara, in unison, huffed with a tinge of panic remaining deep inside their chests even if they were, for the moment, safe from the great Myrmidon whose slumber they had stirred. Blood coursed in a rush through her veins as Khara clasped the egg close to her body, struggling to seek a balance between simply holding it and not crushing it in her grip between her muscular arm and torso. She did not even consider that she had left her pieces of armour within the depths of the burrow.

Once they had put a significant distance between them and the burrow, the group finally stopped in their tracks in order to rest and process everything that had happened. Thane Trughs was clearly affected as he had brought his hands to his eyes, breaking into tears and crying rather audibly over all that had just happened, while Hathgar tiredly slumped beside his boar, barely able to lift his head to peer towards his friend as he wailed in distress.

Hathgar - Trughs... Trughs!
Trughs - F-Fang is dead! ... Dead! T-The best Mauler... the Greatholds ever had!
Hathgar - D-Dead? Dead?! ... Trughs, I told you that... y-you should've ran! By the Hammer... Damn it!
Aslaug - Ouch... If I can say anything about this is, it gives us one more reason to succeed in our mission. Honour those who sacrificed themselves to see it done, be it the Mauler or the dwarves who died... or may yet die.
Trughs - I should grab that Thane and his weird druid-looking granddad and set both of their beards on fire for making me go through this!

Collapsing onto her backside, panting and struggling to compose her breathing, Khara laid back, resting her head upon the ground while, in both arms, she kept the Myrmidon egg close to her body. Tassarion allowed the light magic he had channelled into his lantern to flow back through his hand as he trotted towards Khara, the sight of her exhaustion giving him some relief; he much preferred to see her tired than dead or dying.

It also seemed that she was fortunate enough to escape serious injury, which the same could not be said of Trughs' beloved Fang once Tassarion saw a notable absence of the imperfect drake. Khara looked up towards him, saying little for a minute or so before allowing words to flow where gasping breaths once did;

Khara - ... S-Sorry...
Anklebiter - You should be. You ruined everything.
Aslaug - Shut up, you little pest. ... You've done your part, lass. We've all gone down that hole expecting to make sacrifices.
Tassarion - It was a mistake. You are only human, Miss Greenforge, and humans - in fact, all mortals - are inclined to make mistakes.
Khara - ... I shouldn't have been the one to do it. I... I only wanted to impress you all. I should've let someone more able do it... otherwise Fang would s-still be here.
Aslaug - ... Let's get the egg back to the westhold. I'm sure we're all sick of this place.

Soon, Hathgar stood upright, rolling his shoulders before he turned his gaze towards Khara as she splayed herself backwards and allowed the Myrmidon egg to rest atop her torso, effectively hugging it. He was quiet, locked in contemplation, before he allowed a deep sigh to escape his lips and brought a hand upon his brow. There was a noticeable tremble of hesitation in his voice as he spoke.

Hathgar - Lass... When we get back to Gimgari, I think it'd be for the best if you grab your belongings and prepare to leave. I appreciate your efforts, but... I think you've bitten off more than you can chew and as much as it pains me to say it, I can't risk you compromising my mission anymore.
Khara - W-What...? ... Oh... Oh, right. No, I... I understand, sir. I only wanted to just... try and prove myself to you, you're a Goldhawk after all... A real hero. ... I fucked up. I didn't mean to... to harm your chances or hold you back or anything... I... I don't know what I was thinking...
Hathgar - Worry not about it, lass, and don't beat yourself up about it. I just hope you understand that, well... Maybe it is not yet your time to become a hero. You are still young and inexperienced. No one becomes a hero right off the bat. ... Regardless. I cannot put it lightly that your mistake has cost us - cost Trughs, a good friend of mine, even greater. Thus, I can't allow you to travel at our side anymore, for both our sakes.
Bilrika - She puts her life on the line for you and that's how you reward her? Not cool.
Anklebiter - Grrr. They want to hoard all the glory for themselves.
Hathgar - You are mistaken if you think I am doing this for glory. For anything but the future of my kingdom. The stakes are so much greater than I believe you understand them to be, lass.
Khara - R-Right...
Trughs - G-Get lost, you d-damned orc!

She passed the egg to Hathgar, allowing him to hoist it over his own shoulder as he once again mounted a tired and hungry Khegrit. Khara glanced downwards, a sadness dwelling within her eyes as she continued to sit upon the ground, incapable of glancing either the dwarves or any of her companions in the eye as she fell quiet.

Tassarion huffed, mounted upon his horse and pretending to have been oblivious to the words exchanged between those around him, an awkward expression of discomfort written upon his young face. Bilrika pouted her cheeks and shook her head in disappointment as she cast her magic to create her icy mount, while Anklebiter hissed at the dwarves as he begun walking away.

Anklebiter - What a waste of my time. I'm going home.
Tassarion - We must grab our possessions in the city and prepare a means of travel to return to the border safely. I'm sure we shall be at least rewarded for our involvement in this particular mission, even if it had to end this way.
Bilrika - Like it matters at this point.
Khara - ... D-Don't be angry at them, guys. It's my fault this happened. ... He's right, no matter what way you look at it. We're not ready to be heroes just yet... Or rather, I'm not ready to be a hero yet...
Tassarion - ... Come along, Miss Greenforge. We must receive our payment and make preparations. I believe we all also require a night's rest.

Chapter 7: Hyena's Grin[]

16 Arisen Sun, 35 NA, Early Morning: Southern Central Gimgari

The Sun was yet to rise above the edge of the horizon as the inhabitants of Gimgari began to awaken, while the pattering of rain, thankfully not corrosive, could be heard throughout the streets. Against the glass of Khara's hired room did it tap and pitter, causing the half-orc to shuffle and stir beneath her bedsheets while she groaned in discomfort. A sleepless night, the second in a row since the incident at the Forest of Shattered Skulls. Slowly, she began to sit herself up once the sounds of the monstrous cattle blaring and dwarves yelling to one another from either side of the roads caught her ears, meaning it could only be another cold morning - the morning, she had decided, which would herald her departure from the city, along with her band.

Swiping her brow, Khara set her feet upon the floor while clasping her head in her hands. Draping herself with her blanket to grant her some extra warmth that her undergarments did not, she huffed, glancing at the bastard sword sitting in its sheath and leaning against the wall beside her bed. She could barely hear the footsteps approaching her door as she seemed somewhat lost in contemplation, thoughts swirling around her mind while someone brought a knock upon the wooden surface, causing her trance to break.

She voiced a grunt, allowing Tassarion, his sunlight hair neatly combed and his ropes uncreased and tidy, to step within her chamber and exchange a glance. Even while detrimentally short-sighted, he could see the uncouth mess that Khara was, although such came as no surprise considering she had never entirely been a morning person, he came to guess. However, it seemed he was in something of a rush, as the words that left his mouth were not a comment upon her unready, messy appearance.

Tassarion - How long have you been awake?
Khara - Eugh, all night. Couldn't sleep... Ain't it still early yet? Why're you looking so prim and proper at this time?
Tassarion - I would rather not waste my morning sleeping when I could be doing something more productive, such as informing you of some... trouble that has seemingly arisen, if the rumours are anything to go by.
Khara - Rumours? What rumours?
Tassarion - Word has gotten out that while we were trekking, a hamlet recognised by the Westholds was pillaged and razed to the ground. There are those among the populace that suspect it is the work of the band of gnolls that we encountered at the border and their Alpha Matriarch. Apparently yet another one in a string of incidents... They shall be coming for yet another, I believe, northeast of here. Sitting on the border of, what the gnolls happen to call, "their territory".
Khara - ... What do you expect me to do about it? You heard what the dwarves said. We need to be up and gone, otherwise they're gonna be unhappy and think that we're still trying to get in their way.
Tassarion - I was only bringing it to your attention, in the event that you did wish to do something about it. Did you not come all the way out here to prove your worth as a hero, after all?
Khara - ... I'm no hero, Tassarion. Not a real hero, like Hathgar. We're biting off more than we can chew by staying here and not going back home. ... Fuck. If what you're saying is true, and the gnolls do attack, then by leaving we're going to allow people to die.

There was a brief exchange of silence between the two of them, before Khara took the initiative to stand and reach for her clothes and armour. Gearing up and placing her sword at her hip, Tassarion watched Khara intently as she hastily began to prepare herself, his arms folded while his eyes intently analyzed her. While she had been a mess just some minutes before, she was now clad in armour, grunting as she reached for all the pieces and the rest of her equipment.

Tassarion - ... Shall I inform Anklebiter and Bilrika that we are not leaving just quite yet?
Khara - Do it. And tell the gobbo that if he doesn't want to help, he's free to leave, but he'll be leaving by himself. And good luck going out into the wilderness by yourself in these parts.
Tassarion - Yes, Miss Greenforge.

With that, the mage turned and made a swift exit, lifting the hood of his robes over his head as he knew that they would not be spending too much time indoors once Khara was done readying herself. Downstairs sat the two other members of the team within the inn, among a crowd of dwarves and a small number of minotaurs hungrily seeking breakfast for the work day ahead of them, alongside shelter from the rain as it grew harsher and rougher as the morning went on.

The gnome cryomancer spent her time passing her fingers over her familiar elemental's head while Anklebiter ate his own food messily - a bowl of wheat and milk and the like, which, as was to be expected, radiated with a peculiar stench that only the outsiders to Gimgari seemed to mind. Catoblepas milk. Tassarion shrugged and huffed tiredly as he saw the goblin devour his share of food, having not quite adjusted to the little monster's eating habits, before standing at the table to make his attention known to his considerably shorter companions.

Tassarion - We shan't be leaving quite yet. Not upon the roads back to the Duskwoods, anyhow. You are free to return home should you wish, Anklebiter, but Miss Greenforge has made it clear that you shall be returning home alone for the time being.
Bilrika - Why not?
Tassarion - Rumours spread that the band of gnolls have assembled a force to raze dwarven settlements beyond the Westholds themselves to the ground. A string of attacks commenced by the Alpha Matriarch, Syl-Rheah, with the latest being a hamlet while we were adventuring into the Forest of Shattered Skulls. If my predictions are correct, they will be targeting a village northeast of here next. Today.
Anklebiter - So you want to hoard all the glory and rewards for dealing with the dog woman for yourselves after I leave? Not a chance, you walking candlestick. I'll be there.
Tassarion - Good. And I do believe that we shall not be bringing the dwarves with us for assistance. Ourselves, combined with whatever local armed forces protect the village, should be enough.
Anklebiter - Let the filthy walking beards be slaughtered and burned. I couldn't care less for what happens to them.
Bilrika - Oh come on, you don't mean that... actually you do, don't you? Screw you.
Tassarion - I would not expect a goblin to understand the stakes of the dwarves' mission. Curse them as much as you wish, Anklebiter, but their failure shall result in the destruction of the Duskwoods and your kind in turn.
Anklebiter - I wouldn't expect a man-thing to understand I am no one's babysitter. Much less of those who waste my time.

The wooden steps of the staircase creaked as Khara, now fully geared up, rushed down to meet with her companions, a hand clasping the sheath of her sword while the other scooped up the peculiar-smelling bowl of cereal sat in front of Anklebiter. In a matter of moments, the contents of the bowl vanished as Khara drank them without much of a second thought, the smell not stirring her as much as it did Tassarion and Bilrika, whose noses were not accustomed to such foul-smelling produce. Once she set the bowl back down upon the table and wiped her mouth of milk and oat, she huffed, rolling her shoulders;

Khara - I'm guessing Tass filled you both in?
Bilrika - Yes, he did.
Khara - Nice. We leave as soon as possible, so I suggest if you haven't got your stuff ready, then you go ahead and do it. Haven't got a clue when those hyena-faced bastards are gonna strike, so best to get to the village as early as we can.
Icicle - Mheeeeow!
Bilrika - Yeah, I'd say we're ready to leave.
Anklebiter - Surely just the severed head of the dog woman will be necessary to get the reward. I will be able to eat her eyeballs like I wanted to.
Khara - Sure.

Hastily, Khara approached the door to the inn, pushing softly past the dwarves and minotaurs currently greeting one another and discussing over food and drink - or rather, as softly as a broad woman like Khara could push - and swiftly made an exit, wasting little time in making a dash for the stables in order to acquire her and Tassarion's horses. The rain did little to stop her and as he watched her rush across the street, Tassarion perhaps perked the slightest of smiles, bearing witness to a Khara now rejuvenated with charge and energy where a day or two prior she had been quiet, reclusive, and sunken with misery.

Qliphoth was not a land made anymore romantic or beautiful by downpour, it had come to their attention, as they rode their horses quickly across the trails and paths to the north. In fact, the land was made ever gloomier and colder by the rain, and no doubt hellish creatures would soon emerge from the puddles of mud and patches of soaked, moist earth to devour them, Tassarion thought as he kept his lantern alight with magic while he rode. Unpleasant as it was, they were thankful for the skies to not have graced them with the fall of corrosive acid, as they had been told the gods occasionally do to the lands of this subregion.

Upon the horizon, their eyes could see it; the turrets and watchtowers of a settlement miles ahead of them, lit by torchlight in the darkness imposed upon them by the black clouds. Khara knew not whether this light was cast by the torches of the villagers or of raiders, but it was light at least, allowing her to brave the rain onward. Dondihr, they were told, was this settlement's name, supplying Gimgari with a consistent supply of livestock, meat, milk, and other materials such as leather as it was settled upon uncommonly fertile soil. A point of prosperity in this hellish land of monsters and waste.

Khara narrowed her eyes as they crossed the distance, a look of rough contemplation sculpted onto her face as her horse whinnied and cantered through the downpour, her black mane flowing as she ran. For southerners like herself and Anklebiter, the weather had become discomfortingly chilly, not used to the dropping temperature in the cold showers, although Bilrika remained unfazed as she maintained consistent exposure to forces even colder; it was the wind, however, that caused her some discomfort.

A storm seemed to be brewing, clouds swirling while thunderous roars sounded through the air to meet the ears of both the band and their increasingly worried horses, although their attention would soon turn towards the distinct traces of smoke struggling to remain thick as it ascended upwards from the village.

Khara - Please tell me I'm not the only one seeing smoke!
Bilrika - We're late!
Tassarion - They got an attack in early... Hmph. I can only wonder how many we shall be faced with.
Anklebiter - The more the merrier. I will enjoy butchering these dog people.
Tassarion - Have you ever faced an opponent you feel you could not best, Anklebiter?
Anklebiter - A horde of dogs? Are you mocking me? I come from a land where the dead rise to attack my people once every month.
Khara - Hey! How about we leave the shit talking for when we're actually fighting them, eh?!

Soon, their band would arrive at the gates of the village, dismounting from their mounts as swiftly as they could. It seemed that the gates to Dondihr, usually defended by wardens armed with blades and crossbows, were left abandoned in the rain, with no one to watch over them while Khara and her group meagerly strolled through to inspect the danger. Unsheathing her sword, Khara's boots left imprints in the soaked, damp earth, soon filled with rain while her band followed at her back, their eyes peering towards the wooden houses and other establishments as they found themselves quick to find the culprits of the smoke they saw from afar.

Throughout the streets, their blades drawn and fangs bared, the hyena-headed beastfolk were scattered, engaging those few dwarven defenders who had not been taken off-guard by the fall of their sudden and devastating ambush. The wounded and dying were discarded to the roadside as the hyena-men laughed and bellowed animalistically, accompanied, in fact, by the presence of true hyenas, which flanked and shredded into any dwarves that sought to either fight or escape out in the open with jaws lined with blood and saliva.

And, the band saw, at the centre of it all was the Alpha Matriarch Syl-Rheah herself, saddled upon the back of her dire hyena as she watched the chaos and slaughter unfold with her claws revealed and her gaze piercing through the stylized fanged skull helm she wore. Her cloak flowed with the rain and wind as it strengthened, eventually turning to leer towards the band of adventurers that had just freshly arrived for her and her warriors. Khara, sword wielded in both hands, returned a fiery glare;

Khara - Didn't expect to see the alpha herself here.
Syl-Rheah - Foolish girl. Only a coward refuses to travel with her brethren into battle.
Anklebiter - I'm gonna be rich.
Khara - Before I ram this sword up your ass, lady, I'm gonna have to ask the obvious. Any particular reason why you're doing all this, other than the fact you're a bunch of stinkin' barbarians and low-lives?
Syl-Rheah - ... Hmph. It would not change anything if I told you. These lands once belonged to my ancestors - our ancestors - until the dwarves came and claimed them for themselves. And even today, they push our turf back ever further, leaving us with the dirt and wastes this land has to offer.
Anklebiter - Enough talk. You useless dogs deserve no purpose but to feed my people's hunger.
Syl-Rheah - You've a lot of pride if you consider your kind 'people', goblin.
Anklebiter - Says the dog who spends her time licking her own genitals for fun. Come on, I've a bounty to claim and two eyeballs to eat.
Khara - Now you're speaking my language... Except that last part.

The hyena glared, before a smile - twisted and bloodthirsty - worked its way upon her face; a menacing, toothy snarl left her lips as Groul sniffed the air and took a heavy, hungry step towards the adventuring band. There was an eerie quiet amidst the destruction and chaos unfolding around them, the sound of screams and uncontrollable laughter drowned by the sound of pattering raindrops falling and crashing to the earth in unison. Then, their eyes locked on to one another, the silence ended as Khara made a desperate rush towards the great laughing beast, while its rider proceeded to leap from its back and leap for the half-orc, her sharp, monstrous claws extended at the end of her grasp.

Khara huffed when her back met the ground, splashing mud onto her armour while Syl-Rheah stood over her, a fist clenched resting at her hip as Groul then launched her monstrous body over her owner and towards the other adventurers that had accompanied the half-orc. The beast was met with an array of icicle shards coming from Bilrika's wand and sharpened knives launched from Anklebiter's fingers, which only lightly pierced into the hyena's hide as it pounced on them. The weight of her colossal body caused the ground to shudder at her feet, bowling Bilrika off her feet while Groul laughed and giggled with feral, insatiable hunger.

As Groul's starving smile approached the gnome, however, she found her dark eyes swiftly closing as a sharp flash of light rushed through her senses; Tassarion's hand illuminated with light magic as he watched the dire hyena sway and stumble in a daze. Taking the chance, Bilrika backed away from the monster while Anklebiter jumped into Groul's side, furiously plunging his daggers into her head as a grin grew across his goblin face, causing the beast to yelp and fiercely shake and rear.

Meanwhile, Khara heaved herself onto her feet, rubbing her aching, bruised jaw while the gnoll matriarch approached her with a brisk stroll. She focused her predatory gaze upon the adventurer's eyes, awaiting for that sense of fear and regret to arise, although by the time she had moved within arm's length of Khara, the half-orc had already implemented her plan and clasped her bastard sword by its blade. With a fierce swing, the skull helm was struck by the pommel and hilt of the sword, causing Syl-Rheah to gasp and yelp in a brief moment of vulnerability and surprise - a brief moment Khara exploited by following with a second swing, causing the gnoll to reel.

Syl-Rheah - Grr... What sort of warrior uses not the lethal end of her weapon to fight?
Khara - Both ends of a weapon can be lethal, dumbass!

Another, downward swing, yet the gnoll's reflexes had allowed her to step aside and deliver a strong, disorienting shoulder bash to Khara's temple, causing her to stumble. The sword clattered to the muddy earth, the chill of the rain and the heat of sweat running down Khara's brow as she reeled in to deliver a punch to the hyena's face. She froze, however, once a twang of pain coursed through her and witnessed blood - her blood - launching itself out from the cavity that ran through her breastplate, past the internal padding and cloth, and into the soft, vulnerable flesh underneath, with Syl-Rheah's clawed hand in the process of tearing through her muscle and tissue at the end of it.

A splattering of blood, followed by another cavity working its way into her stomach. Syl-Rheah had torn through her steel armour with her claws as if they were knives slicing through butter, ripping through the underlying padding designed to cushion flying arrowheads, and now moved to disembowel Khara and bring the insides of her stomach to the outside in a grizzly, merciless display. She could only groan as her intestines now dangled near her knees, a trickle of blood coursing from her nose and gasping, heavy breaths escaping from her lips, before the gnoll heaved her away and through the wooden door of a nearby, emptied house, knocking it off its hinges and breaking the wood into bloodied splinters beneath her weight.

Khara moved her lips weakly to speak, only for blood, blended with saliva, to make their way out from her shredded lungs rather than words. Syl-Rheah, shrugging and rolling back her lean shoulders, turned to eye the rest of Khara's band with a cold, crimson stare while Groul ferociously laughed and swung her head either side, with Anklebiter beginning to grow dizzy, if not nauseated. The goblin decided to let go of the monster and launched himself away from it, continuing to throw knives as he did while Bilrika and Icicle channeled their magic in unison, attempting to summon a pillar of ice under the dire hyena in order to impale it.

Groul's yelp filled their ears, although it had only been a glancing blow across her shoulder for the monstrous animal had lept from her position. It was not until Tassarion watched Syl-Rheah slowly approach them and noticing that his companion was not occupying or engaging her that his gaze looked beyond the gnoll and towards the slumped, bloody heap that was Khara; she was disarmed, left by their enemy to die in the doorway of some stranger's house in a village far from home while her entrails hung from her gut.

Anklebiter - There goes my meatshield then.
Bilrika - K-Khara!
Tassarion - Greenforge!

Before anything could be said or done, however, a gnoll was suddenly sent flying between Khara's friends and Syl-Rheah, screaming in agony as he crashed against a wall which made quick work of his spine. A terrible, monstrous roar deafened any other noise around them. There was a speechless silence for a moment, with both the adventurers and their adversary pausing to register what had just happened, before Syl-Rheah slowly turned her gaze towards the row of houses, sheds, and pens to her left, the roadside streaked with trails of fire that raged in spite of the downpour. Tassarion's eyes, however, did not leave Khara's lifeless body as she was left splayed in the doorway, eyes rolled back into the depths of her skull while a pool of her own life essence coalesced around her.

Standing in the center of the burning battlefield was a hulking creature resembling an Oevrumine, but nearly twice as tall as his blood-red eyes let out a fearsome glow. His upper body was swollen, forcing him to stand on all fours as he brutally attacked the gnoll forces, using his gigantic fists to grab them and break their bones between his fingers. His horns looked more like those of a great daemon rather than those of a minotaur, and his clenched teeth were crooked and fanged, constantly salivating in what appeared to be great fury. Around him was an aura of shimmering red energy, which further made him stand out to all in his vicinity.

The laughter of the gnolls turned to unheeded screams as they scattered and ran, the air around the gargantuan demigod burning with chaotic magick as he tore their kind apart with his bare, monstrous hands. The adventuring band witnessed the rain vaporize into steam as it fell upon the minotaur, incapable of touching his bloody, coarse fur. Tassarion felt the collective confidence of both his companions and his adversary shrivel in the face of the fear hoisted upon them by the mere presence of the beast: Mivtanreior; the Demon of the Border. The Outcast Demigod.

Syl-Rheah - ... By the Twelve...
Bilrika - What the hell is that?!
Tassarion - ... I-It is him. The... The beast we came to these lands... to kill.

Mivtanreior slowly walked to the direction of the Alpha Matriarch and the adventurers, and as he approached, they could all tell he wore no equipment other than tattered leather trousers and a pendant across his neck, decorated with the fangs of dragons he once killed. Groul, incapable of restraining her quivering panic and snarling aggression any further, made a leap at the minotaur, aiming to pounce upon his hulking mass and tear into his flesh and tissue with her own fangs and claws as she unleashed maddened laughter; Mivtanreior did not react at first, the dire hyena striking his right shoulder, though her attempts to penetrate his unnaturally thick hide were futile. The monster's eyes narrowed as he then threw a hand to Groul, grasping her by the neck and lifting her up from the ground with near bone-breaking pressure.

Mivtanreior - Serve... me... or be... broken!
Tassarion - I-It speaks... The demon speaks...!
Syl-Rheah - Groul, no!

Seemingly infuriated by the group not answering him, Mivtanreior took grasp of the dire hyena's head with his other hand and, with one tug, tore her neck from her upper body before tossing her aside. The twitching, headless corpse of the dire hyena collapsed lifeless to the ground, blood splashing from the brutal, messy wound, bone, muscle, and tenden ripped straight through and pulled apart. Syl-Rheah's red eyes could only gaze on as Mivtanreior's approach continued, causing her to reach for a javelin within a quiver set upon her back and, with a mighty throw, launch it towards the demigod's bloody path.

The adventuring band, meanwhile, was quick to regroup and move aside, with Tassarion's dash towards Khara only to being interrupted by another gnoll warrior being flung aside. The javelin would hit its target, but not the way its thrower would have wanted; opening his jaws, Mivtanreior sent them into the javelin as it approached him, breaking it between his teeth.

Mivtanreior - Gnoll... obeys... or dies! ... Dies... like animal died!
Syl-Rheah - N-No... No! I've come too far... Grr! Argh!

Syl-Rheah took a step towards the minotaur, the mottled fur across her person beginning to extend and grow while her claws only grew sharper and mightier. She tore away the helm, revealing the bite marks embedded into her scarred scalp, before she glanced up at Mivtanreior with a furious leer. The sound of bones snapping, cracking, and breaking apart before being changed and rearranged within her body sounded outwards, her own muscles growing painfully beneath her tearing flesh while the fangs that lined her mouth only grew more fierce with each passing moment. Her blood boiled within her veins as her innards shifted, crumpled, and squeezed, and with a hand tipped with blade-like claws, she tore away the Qliphotian steel armour protecting her reshaping, transforming body.

A werehyena. Syl-Rheah, an Alpha Matriarch of the Qliphotian gnolls, stood before what little remained of her pack, the adventurers, and the Demon of the Border as a werehyena, possessed of unbridled fury. The transformation, however, did not faze Mivtanreior, who merely huffed at her direction, each exhale releasing mist from his bull-like nostrils which shimmered with magical dust.

Anklebiter - The dog woman is a were-kin!
Bilrika - ... Wait a sec. You're telling me she's a hyena woman... who can turn into a hyena woman?
Syl-Rheah - I... will devour... the flesh... of a demon today!
Mivtanreior - Come... die... then...

With a fierce, untempered laughter, Syl-Rheah prowled in circles around the minotaur, her body, her claws most notably, twitching and spasming as she stalked the monstrous demigod, before suddenly pouncing. Her claws could tear through Qliphotian steel with ease, Tassarion knew, perhaps even easier when fully embraced by the touch of therianthropy. But, while she might have stood a chance at breaching the minotaur's hide, what then?

Mivtanreior opened his arms to grab the Matriarch in her pounce, displaying frightening agility for a beast so immense, before throwing her into the ground ahead of him. Magical energy begun to course and consume his right arm, sheathing it in a gauntlet of crimson, arcane mana while a great double axe head, formed of the same power, extended from his wrist and engulfed his monstrous hand. A weapon that angrily glowed with a wrath as bloody red as his eyes. Syl-Rheah, snarling, adjusted her body and footing before lunging for the monster's neck, driving her jaws into the flesh and raw muscle between his head and shoulder, before she felt the demon's massive fist punching her back as he retaliated. Growls escaped him as his saliva, saturated in the magical dust which caused the great plague across Qliphoth, coursed through her head.

Such was her folly, she realized, before the madness that came with his corrupted blood soon found itself trailing into the depths of her mind like a cancer. No longer did she lunge or leap for Mivtanreior, instead desperately clawing at the flesh and skin upon her scalp, tearing away chunks of her own bloodied, snarling face. All of it left the Matriarch vulnerable as the massive minotaur swung his magical axe at her direction, sending her transformed body flying through the air and crashing through the burning, broken wall of an inn. An inn set alight to be razed by her own warriors, which quickly came to collapse on top of Syl-Rheah as she continued reeling from the agony and tearing away her own burned flesh and underlying tissues.

Khara's body remained still, her sightless gaze locked aimlessly to her side while Tassarion shook where he stood. His breathing grew heavy, trembling as the rain continued to pour on the monster of a minotaur now that he was finished with his brief, pointless scuffle with the werehyena. Anklebiter, for once, appeared to show fear at the sight of Mivtanreior, while Bilrika shook Tassarion's side to get his attention.

Bilrika - We need to take Khara and get the hell out of here!
Tassarion - ... R-Right... Khara...

He spoke the words, as did Bilrika, yet Tassarion found himself unable to move. Locked, frozen where he stood in fear as the looming, hulking figure of Mivtanreior skulked ever closer towards them. Bilrika would encourage him, yet he knew that whether he reached Khara or not, he would stand little chance against the Demon of the Border once it came upon them. It was a false hope to believe that they could leave with Khara in tow or attempt to swiftly heal her now, if she had not yet crossed over into the next life. Tassarion gulped, before Bilrika saw what seemed to be bright, golden energy begin to emerge from his robes, before coalescing into a set of five, perfectly spherical orbs of light energy hovering above the hedge-mage's head.

Bilrika - What's this?
Tassarion - ... There's no reason for you to die here, Miss Wilybar. I... I-I suggest you make a swift departure while such an option... remains open to you.
Bilrika - Oh, come on! You can't be suggesting I leave you two behind!
Tassarion - It is not... possible for me to heal Khara. Not while the demon approaches. I must... concentrate to heal wounds so severe, which shall cost time. ... Time we do not have. I cannot ascertain whether... w-whether Khara is even alive or not.
Anklebiter - What a bag of bollocks this all is.
Tassarion - Go, both of you. ... The very least I can do is ensure... that Khara does not cross over alone at this point. That and... my feet and my body seem... to wish not to move. ... Go!

Tassarion flung his arm forth, sending the five orbs of light magic to crash into the massive frame of Mivtanreior's torso in unision, creating a bright, almost blinding array of light that momentarily engulfed the beast and the carcasses of the butchered gnolls he waded over. The minotaur growled as he brought his hands to his face in order to blot out the blinding light, while Bilrika whined for a moment before stepping back, making her way out of the battlefield. Anklebiter, grumbling under his breath, would do the same, leaving Tassarion, shaken and incapable of bringing himself to move, with an enraged demigod.

As the light faded, leaving Tassarion with a clear view of the hulking minotaur, his focus seemed to turned towards the wet sensation of the raindrops softly pattering against his robes and body. He almost forgot about Mivtanreior's approach and the body of Khara that was so thoughtlessly discarded in the doorway of a house some distance away, letting his arm drop carelessly while he gazed upwards towards the broken sky. The monstrous minotaur's arm reverted back to normal as he clenched his fists and begun beating on his chest, roaring out in anger as he turned his head to Tassarion; his little trick had definitely earned his ire.

Tassarion - ... What were we thinking...? ... Damn it, Khara... You got me into this mess. You got us all into this mess... Did we even save anybody by coming here...?
Mivtanreior - Crush... you... like... a bug!

There was a combination of growls and roars as Mivtanreior, once again, found himself interrupted. Clawing into the back of the gargantuan minotaur's spine and shoulders, her flesh melting off in seared, burning strips while her soft tissues shimmered with flame, Syl-Rheah shrieked in her frenzy, dragging her claws into Mivtanreior's hide make him bleed as she dug her way partially through his musculature. There was little left of what could be called her face, having been shredded and singed away to reveal blackened, charred muscle and some underlying bone and skull fragments.

Syl-Rheah - D-Diiieee!!

Infuriated, Mivtanreior turned his body around and sent his clenched fists at the werehyena as he swung his massive arms at her direction, aiming to strike her with a flurry of punches. An obliterative onslaught was dealt to what was left of Syl-Rheah's body, weakly rolling away from the minotaur and struggling to recover as her nerves were utterly destroyed or damaged beyond her regenerative ability by the damage afflicted by the fire.

As she slumped over, unable to retaliate significantly any further, Syl-Rheah laughed at the feet of the monstrous Mivtanreior, peering up at him with red eyes singed with ash and flame. It was enough to keep Mivtanreior's notice as the large, strong arms of another combatant locked themselves around the great daemon's torso and sent him off his feet to the side, tackling him following a charge with impressive strength and momentum. Tassarion, meanwhile, found his attention turned once again towards the battle as it continued on, watching as something - a blur of snow white - drove itself against the Outcast's side.

Roars and growls escaped Eryxhreion as he engaged Mivtanreior, his body clad in reinforced Qliphotian steel while his arms rippled with overwhelming muscle. Behind him, dwarven warriors, dressed in the garb and armour of the Greatholds, surrounded the area wielding halberds, axes, and spears, with the Great-Captains Jalaric Hathgar and Zonmesir Aslaug, accompanied by Thane Ermek Trughs, wandering into the village square to see Tassarion seemingly guarding Khara's cadaver.

Hope, it seems, had arrived.

Mivtanreior would roar loudly in rage at the arrival of even more enemies, retaliating by clenching a fist and swinging it overhead at Eryxhreion's direction to crush him under it. He was quick to disengage Mivtanreior, narrowly evading the fist with a roll as it crashed into the earth, before sending a flurry of punches - swings and hooks - at the Outcast's head and face. In spite of his impressive confrontation with Mivtanreior, it was no secret to anyone present that Eryxhreion's expression was locked into one of panic.

Eryxhreion - D-Do something before things turn south! Aaah!

As the dwarves serving at the rear stepped forward and aligned their bows and crossbows, Tassarion took a glance back towards Khara's body, quickly dashing towards the doorway with light coalescing at his fingertips. If she had not yet passed on, and given her resilience and sheer fortune she may not have, he thought, he could possibly heal her wounds and save her yet.

However, he came to a sudden stop as he approached her corpse, tilting his head and panting as he could have swore that, minutes prior, the woman's entrails were torn towards her knees and feet and the werehyena's claws had shredded through her flesh beneath her armour. Yet, as he loomed over her, observing the state of her body, there was no mistaking it; she lay bathed in a pool of her own blood, yes, but the wounds delivered to cause the puddle had since disappeared, as if sealed by the flow of healing magic while never actually having knowingly received it. It was as if her body had simply managed to heal of its own accord, or perhaps they had all mistakenly thought Khara was so severely wounded, Tassarion thought while the fight waged on behind him.

Mivtanreior brought his hands to his face as he was peltered by arrows and crossbow bolts, roaring in anger as he was quickly outnumbered. The demonic minotaur begun stepping back as his red eyes glared at the dwarves, before he begun speaking once more;

Mivtanreior - Outsiders... This... not... your... land... Qliphoth... is... mine!
Eryxhreion - You only exist to bring naught but doom to our homeland! You shame our dying kind!
Mivtanreior - Lost... gnoll... will... return... for you.

The hulking monstrosity then turned around and, using all four limbs, sprinted away from the dwarven reinforcements, quickly disappearing through the flames. Eryxhreion huffed as he watched Mivtanreior make his departure, collapsing onto a knee as he swiped his brow and passed a sigh of relief from his lips. Content to have merely survived the encounter with the Outcast, let alone ward him away from the burning remnants of the village of Dondihr, Eryxhreion was perhaps too overcome with relief, as he could have easily stopped Syl-Rheah, maddened from the infected blood and fluids coursing through her veins, from making a final, last leap of desperation in her frenzy. A gasp, then a pained yell, escaped Tassarion's lips as he felt the claws of the werehyena slash through the robes and skin upon his back, the wound sizzling and steaming as her claws were yet fresh from the fire of the collapsed inn.

Not only that, but the black blood of Mivtanreior, alongside her own blood festering with the curse of therianthropy, found its way past the flesh of the young mage and into his own bloodstream. He had been taken by surprise, as he was in the process of pondering over his companion Khara's condition when Syl-Rheah unleashed her last, painful assault.

Tassarion - A-Aaagh! W-What the hell...?!
Aslaug - Get away from him, you cursed bastard!

Rushing to Tassarion's aid, Aslaug swung her silver-plated warhammer - the bane of werebeasts at the Duskwoods - at the maddened gnoll's head, crushing it to a bloody pulp and splattering it like a grape beneath the blunt face of her weapon. Tassarion collapsed, falling onto his back and reeling and wincing as pain, raw and unrelenting, coursed through his body. Already, Aslaug could see, the veins in his face leading to his cheeks began to blacken. The miracle of Khara surviving the fight, in spite of her wounds, would yet have to wait.

Aslaug - Ah, hells... Kid? Kid, are you alright?!
Tassarion - A-Agh... I-It hurts! I-It... Gah, I-I can feel the m-magic... o-overtaking me! ... K-Khara! Is... Is K-Khara alright...?
Aslaug - Well, she looks far better than you at the moment. Save the armor, she'll need a new set.
Tassarion - G-Good... Ngh...

He released a gasp, his body continuing to spasm and twitch even as he lost consciousness at Aslaug's feet. The dwarven captain shook the young human's shoulder in worry, calling for the others to come to her aid as the battle came to a close. Dondihr did burn and Tassarion's blood burned with it, while Khara, her eyes coming to flutter open as the noise of the commotion reached her ears, struggled to sit herself up as she balanced herself with a hand resting on the door. Her memory yet hazy and her perception blurred, she looked at the crowd of dwarves gathering the fallen body of Tassarion and muttered;

Khara - ... What... What the fuck happened?

Chapter 8: Trial II - The Qliphotian Warlord[]

15 Arisen Sun, 35 NA, Late Evening: Central Gimgari Barracks Infirmary

Tassarion's groans and wordless yells had echoed through the halls of one of the Gimgari Regiments' infirmary wards for almost two days now, his body wracked with agony he once thought unimaginable - impossible, even - following the battle at the town of Dondihr that now laid in ashen ruins. The veins throughout his form had darkened, with black, viscous fluids now flowing where crimson blood once did, while the disfiguring changes to his body could already be seen, his flesh barely managing to remain threaded together as the muscles and tendons beneath forcefully expanded and thickened.

Tassarion laid with his back upon cloths set atop the cold, stone table, his every nerve twitching and writhing, his lungs pumping desperate, pained breaths while his breaking, changing body radiated with heat. Khara rested with her back to the wall, arms folded and head turned aside while the others in her company watched the unpleasant process of Gimgari's dwarven alchemists and healers applying cuts to the unfortunate mage's body with sharp tools in an effort to drain him of the bad blood that coursed through him.

She had said little since the day before, for her mind flowed with a rush of conflicting thoughts and no words to express them, and while it was ordered of her to leave the premises of the city, Khara found herself unable to commit to doing so, especially now that one member of her adventuring band - a friend - lay bleeding and in dire condition before her. Birika sat upon a chair, twirling her fingers unsure of what to do while Anklebiter had entertained himself with the sound of his bag being filled with coins after having claimed the bounty for the gnoll matriarch's head, though at this point he had already gone bored of doing nothing. Accompanying them all were the dwarves that saved them, alongside Eryxhreion, whose strength was put to good use as he restrained the berserk Tassarion to the table by his arms. Great-Captain Hathgar and his own company of warriors glanced at the sight of the young man undergoing the early stages of the monstrous transformation that would be soon to come; a quiet, reserved sense of pity and sadness.

Hathgar - ... This could've been avoided. It should've been avoided. But I suppose that your hearts must be true if you decided not to leave at the implication of danger upon the horizon, even if you knew it meant perhaps suffering the consequences. ... Hmf. What a tragic fate for such a brave young lad, eh?
Aslaug - Aye. To go toe-to-toe not just against a cursed weremonster, but that hulking minotaur demon? These children are either very stupid, or we are for considering not taking them along with us.
Khara - I don't get it... He should've just left with the others. Why stay back to defend a corpse? I should have died there.
Anklebiter - You're an awfully talkative corpse.
Bilrika - I don't get you guys and your insistence of this "no, leave me behind! Save yourself!" mentality. You're all a team, you should fight together, not split apart because you're scared! This is how we gnomes survived as long as we did; by fighting as one!
Hathgar - An entire race of gnomefolk is different to a group of inexperienced teenagers, lass. If the poor lad hadn't ordered you to leave, you'd likely be in his place right now if you weren't killed back there. He was smart to get you out while he still could.
Anklebiter - A lot of good that did him. If he doesn't mutate, he's going to turn into a were-kin in the next full moon. You're all just delaying the inevitable by keeping him alive.
Hathgar - Hmph! You've a lot of nerve, goblin--
Khara - No. He's right. Either way, whether he mutates or not, Tassarion is going to suffer the effects of at least one of those curses. ... If you die in a fight, it means you weren't smart or strong enough to survive; if you die, you died because you weren't able or willing enough to overcome your enemy by any means necessary. ... Why do I get the second chance while he has to suffer like this? He shouldn't have to pay for my mistakes...
Anklebiter - Beats me. Perhaps the candlestick has a crush on you.
Khara - Last thing I remember before passing out was trying to shove my innards back into my gut and struggling to breath because that bitch tore a hole in my chest, yet when I wake up, everything is fine and Tassarion is the one dying. ... I... I'm not even sure what to think anymore... Grr, this is my fault and I can't do anything to set things right!

An impulse-driven fist found its way against the hard stone brick as Khara huffed, her jaw clenched and lips parted to bare her teeth. There was a sickening crack of bone as her fist made contact, although when she reeled her arm back and let it drop to her side, she was yet somehow able to keep it balled. It was a cough that broke the awkward silence that came afterwards, with Eirik turning towards the group while he stood at the far corner of the room, washing and scrubbing blood and other fluids out of sheets and cloth.

Eirik - Perhaps the Reaper was kind enough to mend your wounds. Perhaps it was not yet your time... Or, perhaps, you possess some hidden power that you're only just beginning to be made aware of. You already possess more strength and toughness than what I believe to be usual of people your age.
Bilrika - You know, he might be onto something, Khara. I don't think Tassarion was the one who healed your wounds.
Khara - What makes you think that? You think I just... healed those wounds all on my own? I don't even know how to use magic, it doesn't make any sense. Tassarion is the only one able to properly heal among our little crew.
Hathgar - Hm... Trughs. Do you reckon this could have something to do with the lass'... heritage?
Trughs - Maybe, but I don't know of orcs being able to put their entrails back in place, much less as quickly as she did.
Eirik - Hmhm, aye. I can feel a... power resonate with the girl. I cannot for certain place my finger upon it, but something emerged within her aura just now when she punched that wall. A... power that stems from her rage, perhaps? Or maybe it is amplified to a notable degree by it... Hmm...
Khara - Urgh, I don't think any of us are in the mood for cryptic bullshit, old man. You're beginning to freak me out; do you know what's going on or not?
Eirik - ... No. Not yet. I may require more time. I could guess that you were perhaps afflicted with but a miniscule dose of Mivtanreior's faerie dust, but I have seen you demonstrate this fluctuation in your aura long before now. Regardless, you are very fortunate to be alive, so relish that fact while you can. It would be ungrateful to an apothecary such as your friend not to.

Khara glanced towards Tassarion as his body spasmed and writhed upon the surface of the table, his blackened blood leaking onto the sheets prepared by his caretakers as they tried to drain him of the affliction - the only thing they could do, in fact - and felt her eyes twitch. She sniffed, wiping her face into her sleeve as her adventuring company and the dwarves watched light tears trail down both cheeks while her hardened exterior seemed to suffer a brief crack of vulnerability.

Khara - I... I gotta find a way to save him. If I've got this... "power" then I need to do something with it and not just s-stand around doing nothing. The more time I spend questioning it, the less time he's got... T-Thanks for opening my eyes, Eirik.
??? - That's a damn fine mess you got yourselves into.

With a bash of his staff against the ground, Elndrulim the Cripple emerged into the infirmary. The old, wrinkled dwarf sniffed the air around him before shaking his head in disgust, mumbling under his breath. The stench of blood and death pervaded the room, strong enough for even Elndrulim's severely reduced senses to register it. Those within the chamber turned to face the old dwarf as he appeared, with Khara being swift to wipe aside her tears while Hathgar respectfully bowed his head;

Hathgar - Volgratin Elndrulim.
Elndrulim - I've heard something about an outsider getting infected with two curses at once. Fate seems to have decided to kick you in the groin, eh?
Khara - You wouldn't know the half of it.
Elndrulim - Well, remember what I told you about your second trial. The dwarven marauder rumoured to possess a miraculous treasure which can cure Mivtanreior's plague.
Hathgar - ... Aye! So the lad might have a chance if those rumours prove true.
Khara - But what if they're just that; rumours? What if there is no "miraculous treasure" being kept by that warlord guy? ... How can you be certain?
Elndrulim - I'm not. You're supposed to go there and find out. Cure or no cure, the warlord needs to be brought to justice if you want the Koll dwarves' aid against the Vulcanus Horde.
Hathgar - Hmph. These "trials" are costing us much, Volgratin. It seems the Thane has no sense of urgency about any of this if he insists we go through with these.
Elndrulim - The actions of your ancestors forced us into this Isiris-forsaken wasteland. This is the least you can do to receive the forgiveness of so many of my kin who died here.
Hathgar - Your grand-nephew's forgiveness doesn't seem to be worth much, if I can be honest. If he truly cared about his kin, he'd not put us through these trials in the first place. In fact, he puts us all more at risk with his insistence on witholding military support.
Elndrulim - He's a boneheaded buffoon, yes. Doesn't respect his elders. Doesn't respect women. Is fat. Very, very fat. Like, yickes. Fatty. ... But I am not able to hate him. He's my blood.
Hathgar - So why can you not convince him otherwise if you can understand our plight?
Elndrulim - I'm a record keeper, and nothing else. I hold no influence in the holds' government. And, in Fatty's defense, we deliberately made the younger generations believe the Vulcanus Horde doesn't exist. Why would you want to share a world with such monstrosities?

Hathgar glanced down, huffing as Elndrulim's words circulated through his mind, before he nodded. He could not deny that the Greatholds had done the same with their own youths; none of the Khargrim present could. Khara watched as the Great-Captain stepped back and assumed a more reserved stance, curbing his frustration with these deathly "Trials" to thoughts elsewhere.

Elndrulim - Besides, the Koll and the Khargrim haven't spoken in thousands of years. The war was the last we've heard of one another, and that's obviously going to be how one sees the other. As an enemy. The Great Mother made us dwarves exceptionally stubborn too, which doesn't really help either of our cases. I guarantee it, if it were my grand-nephew venturing into Khargrimhold asking for help, you'd treat him just like he's treating you.
Hathgar - That... you are correct about, Volgratin. I suppose my father knows the same as you do. He sent me here to convince our scorned kin to assist us in our war with the fire demons... He knew it would not be easy. That is why he has deemed this my quest to prove myself worthy of the title of Lord-Thane. ... This is a diplomatic mission, in a dwarven fashion.
Elndrulim - Believe me, Khargrim. Despite my appearance, I am a reasonable man. I would like the animosity between our people to come to an end once and for all, so we can perhaps leave this blasted land for greener pastures... Hm, if I were in charge, dwarven diplomacy would involve a lot more booze instead of running around collecting bug eggs.
Hathgar - Hah! You and I both, Volgratin. You and I both.
Khara - ... Hey, as much as I like witnessing history in the making, I think we should try and get a move on. Tassarion's condition isn't gonna get any better if we stand around being all... philosophical and the like.
Elndrulim - Yes, you should probably go and get that cure, if it exists. ... By the way, don't you dare tell Fatty anything about what I said! He'd probably make fun of me.

Koldahral. An archaic dwarven fortress located some distance away from Gimgari's borders and the lesser territories that settled around it, converted from an even older ruin once belonging to the ancient lords of the Oevrumine's ancestors, before the birth and awakening of the Colossus Xitannoth. Once used as a military bastion during the wars between the Qliphotian Koll dwarves and the Khargrim, now only marauders and outcasts occupied it, exploitings it as a base and headquarters for their criminal activities.

Should the adventurers and the Khargrim have attempted to enter through its massive, fortified gates, it likely would have been suicide; however, the Koll dwarves were cousins of the Khargrim, and many aspects of their architecture were carried over into the blasted wastelands of Qliphoth, which would prove fortunate as the band happened to posses not just one, but 'four Khargrim dwarves among them. Designed to descend downwards into the deep earth, the occupiers of the fort would exploit hidden caverns and caves to mine and gather resources.

And there would more than likely be caverns which were then converted into emergency exits and entrances upon their discovery, allowing the likes of Hathgar and his companions a means to gain access into the interior of the fortress without having to suffer the full brunt of the dwarven warlord's regiment of criminals. They would surely be less defended than the main gates, although while equipped with Qliphotian weapons, the group had the benefit of possessing a heavily-armed and powerful Oevrumine at their leisure. An Oevrumine that, inevitably, assisted in dealing with the militia defending the additional entrance points rather quickly before an alert or warning could be sent.

Aslaug - Didn't you mention doing this exact same thing before, Hathgar?
Hathgar - Aye, long ago in the Tropical Lands. A fortress built during the time of the war between the Khargrim and the Koll, occupied by the likes of Khosrovhreiar and his army of bandits. We thought we'd killed him that day after... Well, after myself and other Goldhawks brought him to near-death.
Bilrika - Dwarven habits die hard, eh? Make a backdoor at the caverns even though some weird creepy Myrmidon thing might come inside.
Anklebiter - As annoying as the bearded men are, they don't seem to be stupid.
Bilrika - Hey, I'm a bearded man too! ... Kind of.
Anklebiter - Yeah, and I'm an orc.
Eryxhreion - I cannot help but find this situation just somewhat ironic. The roles seem to be reversed, in my case.
Khara - That was always one of my favourite stories as a kid.
Aslaug - Let's leave the storytelling for when we're done with our mission.

Stepping forth into the dark caverns that would guide their way into the depths of the ancient fortress, the band of adventurers would be met with squads of readily-armed warriors clad in a combination of Qliphotian iron armour and underlying padding - already far more well-equipped than the bandits serving under Eryxhreion's father roughly four or so decades ago - and the numerous war-beasts they happened to keep; mostly, reared hyenas wearing specially-crafted armour designed to protect their hide and numerous other vulnerabilities.

Groups composed of scouts, berserkers, and bowmen engaged the small battalion of surviving dwarves the Great-Captains and Thane Trughs had brought with them, while Khara charged into the enemy lines to bludgeon them with the pommel of her bastard sword - if their armour could not be cut, she would simply have to bash it. Trughs' runed swords left trails of fire as they were swung at the marauders, while rays of frost were launched from Bilrika's wand and Icicle's hands as they attempted to freeze the enemies in place, so they may be left vulnerable to their allies. While the Qliphotian iron armour worn by the opposing dwarves resisted the magical affects of being frozen for the large part, there were still occasional blows of fortune between the chinks and gaps in their defences, and that aside, their conjoined attacks served as a distraction regardless, allowing Khara, Hathgar, or any of their allies to come in close and deal heavy, devastating blows.

Eirik, meanwhile, stayed at the rear of the Khargrim attack company. He kept low to the ground, his eye closed while placing his hands upon the earth and soil within the dirt-ridden caves and tunnels as crackles of electricity coursed through his arms. For the first time in a decade, perhaps, Eirik's face showed a sense of genuine discomfort as he came to understand that the properties of the Qliphotian ore kept him from accurately detecting the positions of the dwarven marauders that yet lie ahead of them through their aura - or the natural bioelectricity produced by nearly all living, organic forms of life in this world.

Eirik - I am afraid I am unable to pinpoint any precise locations, my lords. I will be of no use in detecting an ambush before it happens should one lie in wait for us.
Bilrika - Why can't it ever be easy?
Eirik - Wait... Wait! I sense... something...
Hathgar - What're you seeing, mate?
Eirik - I sense... C-Could it be? I sense... overwhelming magic...! Magic producing a highly benign aura...! ... Light magic, perhaps. Lots of it, at that, I believe.
Aslaug - It appears the rumours are true then.
Khara - Y-You mean you've sensed the cure that old dwarf was talking about?!
Eirik - It would seem so... If you wish, I can try and guide us there.
Hathgar - Aye. You focus on that while we do all the heavylifting. Tell you what, it's more entertaining being unable to rely on magic to overcome our enemies, don't you think? Much more of a challenge!
Eirik - I am afraid that given how little time we have... it seems I must assume a more active stance to guide us there with haste.

With that, Eirik, an otherwise unassuming dwarven monk, proceeded to march to the front of the dwarven battle company, removing the robes upon his upper body and neatly folding them before casting them towards Bilrika. As Eirik was set upon by one of the dwarven marauders defending the fortress, wielding a greatsword of Qliphotian steel that was swung in a fierce, downwards arc, Khara, Bilrika, and Anklebiter, alongside the rest of the dwarves who had not seen the monk assume an offensive before, bore witness to the blade shattering into miniscule, pathetic fragments of itself as it clashed with his fist. For a brief moment, the marauders and the Khargrim dwarves fell quiet, watching as fragments of sword rained throughout the tunnel.

Then, there was a swift retreat. The dwarven marauders hollered back to their companions at the rear of their position as they witnessed one among their number having his armour shattered into useless pieces and his body launched far backwards from a mere punch delivered by Eirik's fist - a punch that almost none present could have possibly registered with their naked eye as it happened. Khara was left nearly as stunned as the Koll dwarf that Eirik had attacked, her body and mind struggling to conclude what she had just seen unfold before her.

Khara - ... W-What... What the fuck?
Trughs - Yeah! What the fuck?!
Anklebiter - What happened? I blinked and missed it.
Khara - That's armour I can barely dent with the pommel of my sword... And you can break it with your bare hands like it's wet parchment?!
Bilrika - That ain't normal, you know!
Eirik - If you wish, I can offer to refrain from the frontline if it so disturbs you...
Aslaug - Are you kidding, lad? I would much prefer you contributed like this more often! It'd have made our lives considerably easier up to now!
Eirik - Ah... My apologies, but I am no warrior as you all are. In truth, I despise conflict. But we've little time to waste, as our human friend's life, among much greater things, rest upon our shoulders.
Eryxhreion - ... This must be how the Goldhawks defeated my father...
Bilrika - Not normal, I tell you!

Soon, the battalion pushed into the interior of the fortress, with some dwarves among their number falling victim to the odd marauder who managed to evade the notice of the heroes and adventurers they served to protect. As far as Hathgar could tell, this fortress, Koldahral, was far more lethal than anything old Khosrovhreiar could have thrown at them during the course of his life, as the warlord commanding these marauders had access to a far more well-regimented and better-equipped force.

Before the electrifying fists of Brother-Adept Kvo Eirik, however, the marauders scattered in fear of their lives, their equipment shattered and torn asunder by even the softest of the monk's strikes. However, the fighting would soon come to a pause after clashing on various levels, wading through the barracks and various narrow corridors and hallways sabotaged with spikes and other traps, as Eirik's guidance through the fortress, led by the aura of a source of light magic, brought the adventurers to what the minotaur Eryxhreion knew they would inevitably have to come to face; a labyrinth, a remnant of the old Oevrumine architectural design that was intended to dissuade outsiders from traversing any further.

A grand maze, with many dead ends and misguiding directions, and probably fitted to the brim with traps and ambushes devised by the engineers and craftier criminals under the dwarven warlord's employ. Khara growled at the sight of the narrow walls, which left only enough space for them to travel in something of a straight line, before passing a frustrated huff;

Khara - Gods damnit!
Trughs - Is... is this a freaking labyrinth?! You put labyrinths inside of your buildings?!
Anklebiter - It must be hilarious when they really need to take a bowel break.
Eryxhreion - Koldahral was converted and rebuilt upon the ruins of an old Oevrumine bastion. I should have known that the dwarves would have found use for at least one labyrinth. They're quite common in my folk's architecture; somewhat easy for Oevrumine to navigate, not so easy for foreigners and outsiders.
Aslaug - Well, put your skills to work then. You lead.
Eryxhreion - I... I wish I could help here. But this piece of architecture comes from a time long before my own, plus, this labyrinth was built in a territory foreign to me. I would be unfamiliar with navigating it fast enough... If the ruins of other Oevrumine lords are anything to go by, making our way through could take at least a day.
Bilrika - Ngh! We don't have that much time!
Eirik - I do believe I may have a solution to our problem.
Aslaug - Do tell.
Eirik - No need.

Debris flew in all directions as Eirik punched the first flat wall he came across, the ancient architecture erupting and exploding into dust and rubble at the dwarven monk's feet. The knuckles that headed his fist steamed fiercely, as if radiating with the heat of white hot iron before the he continued onwards, once again punching through the labyrinth's walls as he was guided by the strong presence of whatever magical source awaited them at the other end of this maze.

Anklebiter - I had that in mind, I was hoping he'd do it.
Aslaug - ... Well, can't say that doesn't take care of it.
Eryxhreion - I'd like to say that this would be considered an insult to the marvels of my ancestors' engineering... but I'd rather not be on the other end of that dwarf's fist right now.

The old dwarf, donned in a suit of heavy steel armour, strolled through the garden that rested within an extension from the main establishment of Koldahral, his hand clenched around the shaft of a halberd as he observed the literal fruits of his labours. He was surrounded on all sides by trees, sprouting and growing forth through the earth that had been laid bare of stone and brick, with their trunks growing thick and bright green leaves glistening with an aethereal tinge. His blind, elderly eyes would have admired the glow that radiated from the fruits that hung from the branches of these trees; apples, firm with flawless green skin, dangled above his head and prospered much to his satisfaction.

Even without having to sink his teeth into the skin of the fruit, the dwarven marauder could feel the essence of light that pervaded them simply by standing in their presence. In spite of the toxic, infertile landscape that persisted throughout much of Qliphoth, these fruits, and the intense magic that they produced, had somehow managed to thrive. The chamber they were stored within was built above-ground and fitted with sizeable breaches in the ceiling in order to retain access to whatever amounts of sunlight could penetrate through the thick, ashen clouds, closing only in the event of acidic rainfall, while a labyrinth ensured that any who sought to find this location without the guidance of a map would take presumably days in order to find it amidst a maze of dead ends and traps. These were sacred fruit, undoubtedly, and Khebrid Aldraem, Master of the Bloodmetal Company, had taken every precaution he could in order to ensure he would not lose hold of such a precious resource.

He was alone. An old dwarf whose form had aged better than his attitude, he much preferred to be alone when he could, which was why, when he heard crashing of brick and stone beyond the hallway that led into the chamber of these sacred fruits and the dire calls of dwarf, gnoll, and minotaur as they rushed to his feet, he grew to become swiftly irritated. He did not turn to face his underlings as they came to alert him about the presence of intruders within the fortress and how they were swiftly advancing upon the garden, or when they informed him that the Qliphotian steel and iron equipment they wore was torn apart into broken, useless fragments by a particular dwarf's mere fist. Instead, he passed a heavy sigh, clenching upon his halberd's length tighter.

Aldraem - So... The Westholds have found some worthy challengers, at last. By the sound of things, this should be... interesting, at the very least. Send them through. They've earned the right to admire my garden.

It did not take long for the intruders to arrive upon the steps leading up to the main platform at the centre of the chamber where the garden built, uplifted towards the circular breaches in the ceiling in order to bathe within the minimal amounts of sunlight. The marauder-lord's soldiers and warriors stepped aside, clasping their armaments fiercely, as he heard the steps of a group of adventurers upon each step, ascending upwards with each moment in order to meet him. He passed a hand through his white beard, bleached of colour in his old age, before he raised the helm tucked underneath his arm to his head.

As Khara ascended the steps of the platform within the great chamber, she saw flickers of light dance and glide throughout; spheres and dots of magical light that floated peacefully around the garden, perhaps insects or some primal form of local fae drawn towards the magic that even she, a person otherwise deemed non-sensitive to the aura of magic, could feel flowing from the top of the platform. Eirik, in spite of having relentlessly punched his way through several dozen walls with bare, naked fists, tirelessly continued to carry the spare equipment and belongings of the Khargrim warriors who had made it this far.

Meanwhile Hathgar kept a keen hand upon his greataxe as the dwarven marauder-lord came into view at the top of the steps, his first sight of him being the minotaur horns portruding from either side of his helm as he kept his back turned to the intruders. Aslaug and Trughs followed their prince with their weapons in hand while Bilrika could not help but stop to admire the trees they had encountered; she could feel the magic coming from them, and it was a pleasant sensation. Anklebiter, however, would raise a hand to his eyes and hiss out - a creature of darkness like him could not stand the presence of this blessed fruit. Eryxhreion huffed as he ascended the steps, taking a swift glance towards the seemingly divine fruit growing from the strangely prosperous trees, before he turned his gaze towards the marauder-lord;

Aldraem - ... So. You've come to appreciate my work, have you? Whoever you are, I know that you've been sent by one of the Thanes of the Westholds. I know why you're here.
Trughs - If you know why we're here, then make your part and let go of your weapon peacefully.
Aldraem - Your accent suggests that you've come all the way from the Greatholds to the east. Surprising. ... By how many am I outnumbered?
Aslaug - Six to one.
Aldraem - Ah. Judging by the weight of your footsteps... Three dwarves, one minotaur, a gnome, a goblin, and... one human, perhaps?
Trughs - You've misheard, there are no humans here. Now how about we quit the chit-chat?
Aldraem - You're a brave one. Have a death wish, do you?
Bilrika - Hey, we got a guy here who can punch a whole labyrinth down. I wouldn't be smug if I were you! It could be your teeth next.
Aldraem - Yes, yes. I've heard of you, Kvo Eirik. And if you are here, that must mean First Heir Jalaric Hathgar has also accompanied you. My, what a treat.
Hathgar - Hmph. Who are you, old dwarf?
Aldraem - ... Aldraem. Khebrid Aldraem. I am the Master of the Bloodmetal Company - that is, the band of mercenaries and warriors who you've just cut a bloody path through. Please, it's not often I get the opportunity to entertain royalty. ... Why don't you allow me to tell a tale before we get underway with things?
Bilrika - Tale? ... Oh, I bet it's gonna be about the trees.
Khara - What is it about old men and telling stories? Hope I'm never this talkative when I get old.

Aldraem turned, revealing the old, ragged blindfold that was wrapped over his eyes, while the front of his helm was forged to resemble that of the upper jaw of a bull or minotaur cast from Qliphotian iron. Khara could not help but scoff as she saw the dwarf reveal his blind nature to them, yet Hathgar did not do the same, for in spite of his weakness, their enemy still wore a heavy set of Qliphotian armour and a halberd to accompany him. He may have been blind, perhaps, but he certainly did not appear weak, even as signs of old age - wrinkles, old scars, and slumped tattoos and brands - were evident upon his face.

Aldraem - Some time before now, I was a member of a renowned yet also infamous mercenary band. I had spent much of my life working as a dog-of-war, travelling across this world and participating in endless battles. I had battled all but the gods; orcs, men, elves, beastfolk. Monsters. Dragons. I fought them all. Needless to say, it all took a toll upon my body as the years went by. I grew weak and old, and over time, even my sight began to leave me. Almost two decades ago, I retired from the battlefield, settling back into the Westholds to thrive upon the wealth I've accumulated throughout my years. ... But I grew sick of it. I grew sick of being worn and tired and left to rot without purpose. And, after some years, my old, almost deaf ears caught wind of the rumours. Rumours that a tree - graced with leaves of gold - had somehow grown within the wastelands surrounding the most inhospitable parts of Mynas. And upon its branches grew fruit that radiated with... unparalleled magic.
Anklebiter - That abominable shrub next to you?
Aldraem - Once I found this tree and its enchanted fruit for myself, hiring a small, private force of warriors of my own with what remained of my wealth to protect me on my journey there, I took a bite into the skin of one of its fruits. With but a single bite, I could feel the aches and pains throughout my body vanish; my old bones healing and growing young once again. My sickly state left me, leaving me in better health than when I was in my prime! ... That is why I decided to do what must be done. Gathering the fruits and keeping the seeds within, I set the tree alight with flame so no one else other than I could exploit its divine secrets. The key to curing the plague that spreads across Qliphoth was now held in my hands. That is when I decided to do a little... testing.
Aslaug - You hold the cure for Mivtanreior's Frenzy... and you keep it all for yourself!?
Khara - Why the Hells?!
Aldraem - I needed to find a way to accumulate my wealth once again and the gods did not see fit to stop me in my actions. They allowed me to ascend to the position of "saviour" of these lands - I hold the cure and, for suitable payment, I will grant access to it. If they are so desperate to survive, they've no other choice than to supply me with money and warriors so that I may reign as Thane of my own Westhold. So that I can sit and spend the rest of my days as a revered lord rather than an old, purposeless warrior... 300,000 pieces of platinum coin per fruit. In the meantime, I have been using these fruits to experiment with the lifeforms afflicted by Mivtanreior's Frenzy...
Bilrika - You what now?

With a snap of his fingers, three dwarves ascended the steps behind the group. It appeared as if to of the trio kept the third member locked in some form of hold, restraining him while his body, clad in torn and tattered clothes, was wrapped in heavy, thick steel chain. Khara was quick to evade the dwarves as they climbed the steps, with the bound dwarf snarling and growling in an animalistic fashion while veins tainted with blackened blood almost burst out from his skull, body, and arms, before he was set down onto his knees at Aldraem's side.

Bilrika - What have you done to that poor guy?
Aldraem - These are the symptoms of Mivtanreior's Frenzy. They reduce you, psychologically, into a mere animal while transforming your body into a weapon of war and muscle. It demolishes certain organs and functions of your body to promote regenerative abilities and muscle growth. ... He volunteered to participate within my tests with the divine fruit and allowed himself to be infected by corrupted blood.
Aslaug - And you turned him into a maddened guard dog?
Aldraem - Oh, no. Not him. He's merely a test subject. If you wish to see my guard dogs...
Bilrika - I'd rather you don't show us your guard dogs.
Trughs - Despicable! You're a disgrace to whatever kind god tried to heal this forsaken land! I will enjoy watching you be forced to kneel down before the Koll Thane!

Aldraem huffed, reaching into a sack upon his belt before revealing the glowing skin of a golden apple sitting within with his palm. The light that shimmered around it resembled intense Summer sunlight as the marauder-lord placed it near the maddened dwarf's mouth, allowing him to sink his teeth into it with such ferocity that one would think he was starved for days on end. Khara took a step forward, growling as she saw Aldraem clench his halberd tighter and completely ignoring the throbbing, bulging veins almost erupting through the test dwarf's flesh begin to deflate and lose their black taint.

His growling and snarling soon reduced to pathetic whimpers and pants, while his over-expanded, deformed muscles shrivelled down to proportion until it seemed that he had never been afflicted with the Frenzy at all. Hathgar watched intently, unlike his half-orcish companion, and stroked a hand through his beard as he watched the process unfold. It seemed that the properties of the fruit were, in fact, perhaps truly sacred and divine after all. The other dwarven commanders, however, only grew more irate at the sight; this bandit truly was hoarding a salvation for Qliphoth's woes to himself out of pure greed.

Aldraem - This dwarf is one of the more... fortunate ones. Sometimes, a victim of the Frenzy is too far gone - their mind too fractured and damaged, or their body too irreversibly twisted and broken - that they cannot survive, or otherwise live for long, without the increased adrenaline in their corrupted blood. Animals are more likely to die than mortals from these tests, perhaps, but the uncertainty remains.
Anklebiter - I don't believe you'll ever find the answer.
Aldraem - Maybe. But I've told you my tale. You see what I operations I have been undertaking here; why I decided to use old Koldahral as a headquarters for my own Bloodmetal Company. Now I must ask in turn... What business do the Khargrim have here?
Trughs - None of your damned business, you scum. These fruits will be all given to the Westholds. For free.
Aldraem - ... I recognise your voice. Thane... Ermek Trughs.
Trughs - I sincerely could not care less.
Aldraem - ... I must not have been there, or else you'd surely remember my face, even in old age... How befitting that the gods have weaved fate to bring you here to slay me. Alright... Thane Ermek, surely you remember the name of the band known as the Hanged Men. The ones who tried and failed to eliminate you on that fateful day decades before now. When a strike force, led by the orcish Lieutenant Karrhig...

Khara's feral growling ceased for a moment as she heard the words leave Aldraem's mouth. The Hanged Men, Lieutenant Karrhig; both names familiar to her since her youth, for they were names spoken to her by her mother when she was but a child. The Hanged Men, an infamous mercenary guild that had been in secretive operation for over a century. Karrhig, the supposed name of her orcish father and Captain of the Hanged Men before Khara's conception.

Simultaneously, she felt a pit of dread open within her stomach while her heart began to race within her chest. This dwarf, Khedrig Aldraem, knew her father. The marauder-lord, meanwhile, would feel the sensation of spit across his face as it was launched out of Trughs' mouth, as the runes in his sword shimmered in red, a flaming aura engulfing them both.

Trughs - Tear the head from his shoulders! Attack!
Hathgar - Aye! This has gone on long enough!
Anklebiter - Finally, all this talk was making me doze off.

Caught off-guard with her head among the clouds, Khara was launched from where she stood as her bastard sword barely defended against the heavy, devastating blow launched by Aldraem with his halberd. As she regained her footing and her mind returned to the present, she clasped the hilt of her sword furiously before she swiftly turned her head to see a pair of large, wet jaws looming over her shoulder, a harsh, demented giggle escaping from between them; a dire hyena, its body bursting with muscular mass as it showed the same symptoms of affliction as the now-cured dwarven test subject. Before she found herself impaled within its maw, Khara rolled to the side in a panic.

The half-orc would notice a black blur jumping over her head as Anklebiter leaped at the hyena, intending to thrust his knives into its throat while Trughs and Aslaug both charged at Aldraem, with Bilrika giving them support with beams of ice magic. However, Aldraem's heavy suit of armour made him almost impenetrable to the rays of conjured ice magic, withstanding them as he proceeded to walk ahead and lash out with his halberd in the dwarves' direction; he was fit, far fitter than Trughs, and his Qliphotian halberd granted him the reach he needed in order to avoid having to grapple with either Thane or Great-Captain. In spite of this advantage, however, he could not hope to keep all three of the dwarven heroes at bay, as Hathgar charged past both of his accomplices and slammed his shoulder into Aldraem's breastplate. To little avail.

Khara - Gah! Another dire hyena?! What the fuck?!
Anklebiter - Can't even eat this one, it has that bull thing's sneeze in it.

The hyena cackled as it fiercely shook its body, shrieking and laughing while Anklebiter could barely manage to hold on. While his daggers, since having 'attained' a set forged from Qliphotian iron, could penetrate through the animal's hide, they seemed to be doing little to stop its rampage, while Khara fiercely used the pommel of her blade to bludgeon its large, jaw-filled head. The beast reeled, retorting by snapping in Khara's direction and forcing her back against one of the golden trees. It was within the second that her back met the bark of the trunk that the half-orc instinctively reached to pluck one of the apples from the branches, before pelting it towards the beast's direction with a fierce throw.

It proved ineffectual, only serving to motivate the rampaging hyena more as it then sent its massive, flesh-rending claws to the half-orc and proceeded to swipe her backwards with immense force. She rolled backwards several times, grunting as she did, and noticed that the monstrous animal's mass had collided with the tree, knocking it from its roots, before it used its powerful legs to launch itself at her through the air once again. Grasping her blade, she did the only thing she could think of; she lower her body and delivered a slash as the hyena's great form flew over her, rending the tip of her sword through the beast's more vulnerable underside.

A shrill yelp escaped the hyena's maw as it landed, blood dripping from its belly and thick, muscular neck as Anklebiter continued to tear away at it with his knives, although he found that the wounds seemed to close almost as swiftly as he could make them. Establishing some distance between herself and the monstrous pet, Khara ran, turning her back so that she could make a maddened dash for the fallen tree and its fruits. She moved as fast as her strong legs could carry her, while she was yet to recover from the wind being knocked out of her lungs by the monster's previous overwhelming swipe, as the beast itself moved to follow with murderous intent. Once again, Khara forced herself to roll, dropping her sword to free a hand in order to grasp ahold of one of the fruits knocked from the branches of the tree.

Khara - Grr! Who's laughing now?!

It was then that she moved to throw once again, yet as she did, the sharp, crippling pain that came with the hyena's massive jaws sinking deep through her armour and into her flesh rushed through her limb and across her body. Straight down into the bone the dire hyena bit down, shearing through steel, flesh, and tendon with but a single bite, almost tearing the arm straight off - a move it would have done next had it not then collapsed onto its side, its heavy weight bringing Khara to the floor with it while its teeth sunk into her and locked around her arm.

The golden fruit had found its way through its throat with Khara's throw, yet now she felt the beast's blood beginning to course and rampage through her own veins. The Grim Goblin crawled through the body of the hyena as he approached Khara, taking a look at her state before bringing his hands to the monster's jaws, attempting to pry them open. He was quickly helped by Bilrika's familiar Icicle, who put her own tiny hands around the hyena's mouth to open them, allowing Khara to fall back with her arm hanging by literal threads as torn flesh, damaged nerves, and bleeding muscle were put on display for all present to see, alongside an increasing amount of flowing, blackened essence that swiftly mixed with her vital fluids.

Khara - C-Crap! I think I'm i-infected! Ngh, g-get me one of those damn fruits!
Icicle - Mhheeeeyaaaah! Myeah! Myeah!
Anklebiter - I can't understand your stupid baby talk. No one can.

The elemental let out a high-pitched huff as she quickly flew to one of the sacred fruit to pick it up, before bringing it to Khara's mouth. She held her torn, almost entirely dismembered arm with the other as she leaned her head forward, swiftly biting into the skin of the golden apple, before she paused. As she chewed and swallowed the essence of the fruit, an overwhelming, sweet sensation overcame her, filling her mouth with a citric taste that seemed to not only null the pain coursing through her wound, but in fact refreshing her fatigue in the process. Her companions saw only a blank expression on the half-orc's face as she allowed the sensations and feelings brought on by the fruit to flow through her, before she moved to bite into the sacred apple again.

Aldraem deflected and parried with extreme hostility, unwilling to allow himself to be moved back by the dwarves' onslaught. While blind, he could sense where they were by their heavy breaths and footsteps, and struck with unmatched precision in turn. Hathgar clasped his shoulder as he fought the marauder-lord, wincing as the wound dealt by the pointed spike at the halberd's tip thrusted its way through his reinforced dwarven armour as if it were made of wood. Someone, with the revitalization granted by the fruit, one old, blind dwarf had managed to match and equal three younger, experienced warriors from the Greatholds.

Trughs' armor was filled with scratches and his face was bloodied as he grew fatigued from attempting to strike the marauder, while Aslaug had been forced to stand on one knee after being struck across the thigh, causing her to lose hold of her warhammer. The sounds of metal clashing against metal rang through the air while Hathgar and Aldraem contested each other, their weapons locked between one another as they circled around before an exchange of headbutts was inevitably had. Aldraem stepped back, swiftly removing his bull-like helmet from his face and launching it through the air to strike the side of Hathgar's face, bludgeoning him with blunt, reinforced metal which knocked him to his feet before the edge of the halberd's axe drove its way into the flesh and steel between the First Heir's neck and shoulder.

Hathgar - Argh! By the Hammer's bollocks, that hurts...!
Aldraem - Never thought I'd see the day when the First Heir of Khargrimhold would beg for his life at the feet of a Koll dwarf.
Hathgar - W-Who's says I was begging?! A Lord-Thane... n-never begs!

As he was distracted taunting the First Heir, the marauder-lord did not notice Trughs tackling him, using one hand to throw his halberd out of his grasp as he sent a clenched fist to his now unarmored face. Aldraem reeled back, grunting as Trughs' fist clocked him in the nose, before he retaliated with his own punches and grapples. The two engaged in a brutal, close-quarters war of attrition as they struck each other repeatedly in the head with armoured fists, eventually causing them both to become gradually more and more disorientated before Aldraem grasped the Thane by his beard and delivered yet another blow to his cheek.

Aldraem - You were supposed to die that day! Yet somehow the Hanged Men's Black Hands failed to get you! ... It was one of the Bharloron Warchiefs who sent us. They were willing to pay the Black Hands with gold should they have gotten rid of you, but they failed! ... I trained the recruits! I trained Karrhig, the orc that led the attack!
Trughs - Drown in the Abyss, you motherless, godless coward!

Another blow was struck which sent Trughs to the ground, with Aldraem battering the Thane as he tightened his grip on his beard. The old dwarf growled as he spat blood and saliva from his mouth from where Trughs had equally battered him, and while he could not see it, he could certainly feel that both of them had already began to develop fierce, grotesque bruises where metal-plated fist collided with dwarven facial hide. However, before anymore strikes could be dealt, the noise of shaking leaves rung through the ears of all those present as the sacred trees which Aldraem had hidden so much from the world suddenly begun rustling fiercely, almost as if they had suddenly become animated.

As Aldraem raised himself to watch the leaves of the golden trees violently rustling, he did not have the time or focus to stop Khara, now standing upon both feet and her arm almost entirely healed, from unleashing a spew of burst of fire from her lips, spraying ignited fuel onto the Qliphotian steel armour and the dwarf's beard - non-magical fire. While the small forest of trees rustled and shook, the marauder-lord yelled and bellowed, swiftly removing pieces of his red, burning armour as the metal gained searing heat increasingly faster.

In her hand, Khara clasped the waterskin filled with oil and she watched as Aldraem had taken to rolling across the ground, close to the base of the trees, to extinguish the fires that gradually engulfed him. As he did so, roots erupted out of the ground and wrapped themselves around him, trapping the dwarf against the ground as they shrugged off the fire completely, while all those present suddenly heard a voice through their ears; it was feminine and motherly, but fierce. Displeased.

Voice - Khedrig Aldraem... You have commited crimes against the Mother of Life.... Crimes against the Garden of the Gods from beyond your world... These sacred trees are not your property!
Aldraem - W-What... What is this...?! What's happening...?!
Voice - I am Eos-Traeya Druantia. And I demand repayment for your actions against my sacred seeds!

Khara stepped back as she watched the crushing grasp of the golden tree roots wrap and coil around Aldraem, slithering over his limbs torso like serpents while she could only watch in both awe and terror; the garden had come alive before her eyes. Was this an effect of the fruit she had eaten, perhaps, or did this "Eostraeya" entity truly act through the trees the marauder-lord had grown within Koldahral? The dwarves did the same, stepping away from the incident as it unfolded before their eyes. Eos-Traeya Druantia, they had heard the voice say. The Simulacrum of Life, influencing her divine wrath upon the marauder-lord with little subtlety or secret.

Eostraeya - You would take my gift to this land for yourself... My seeds are a gift to all who inhabit Qliphoth. Your attempts to exploit these miserable folk show your true nature to all who can see... You shall serve as fertilizer to these trees!

At this moment, the roots begun forcing the marauder downwards; he was being slowly buried alive. Aldraem struggled, his burned body making every effort it could to try and resist the pull of the roots while he was gradually brought back to the dirt and earth from which his ancestors once crawled out from. Screams, yells, and bellowing pleas echoed throughout the chamber, yet they were answered only by stunned silence as the adventurers watched the marauder-lord soon vanish completely beneath the soil, engulfed by the dry, infertile earth from which the godly trees stemmed from. As Aldraem disappeared from view, the trees slowly stopped rustling until they finally stood still once more, as if nothing had happened.

The silence persisted for some minutes more, with Khara barely noticing the flesh of her wounded arm finally sealing completely, leaving only something of a trace with scar tissue, while Hathgar, letting out a long, relieved huff, stood to his feet and brought himself over to Trughs' side so that he could place his bloodied hand upon the Thane's shoulder, whose first action was to spit on the spot where Aldraem was buried. Pain flourished through the First Heir's body, his royal armour damaged and broken in places, and the same went to almost everyone else present within the now quiet, empty chamber; while they fought with Aldraem and his Frenzy-afflicted dire hyena, Eryxhreion and the surviving Khargrim enforcements had dealt with the marauder-lord's warriors.

Khara - ... Karrhig. ... That... That's dad's name.
Bilrika - Your dad?
Khara - Yeah. ... Mum told me my dad left home when I was about two years old. That he was a good man, who loved us both to bits, and that's part of the reason why he had to leave. She... She told me he served with the Hanged Men before marrying her.
Anklebiter - What a big happy family you got. Your dad used to go about trying to murder walking-beard leaders.
Khara - ... Trughs... Trughs, I... I didn't know...
Trughs - ... As you set the bastard's face on fire, I'm willing to believe it.
Hathgar - Well... What a right old mess this all is, eh? First Eryxhreion, the son of old Khosrovhreiar... and now you. The daughter of the guy who murdered Trughs' family.

One of the roots of the golden trees emerged above ground once more, though it displayed no violent intentions; instead, it wrapped itself around one of the fallen sacred fruit and extended itself towards Khara, offering it to her. The Goddess of Flowers' voice rung through their ears once more.

Eostraeya - Take it to your friend, before it is too late.
Khara - Huh? I-- W-What is this? Who are you? How do you know about Tassarion--
Bilrika - You don't know Eostraeya? She's the Simulacrum of nature and hope! She's, like, the only good one!
Khara - You forget that I'm... well, Imperial. They don't teach us about the Simulacrum much other than that they're evil or self-interested and wanna use mortals for their own gain. I... I don't know what to think right now.

Khara clasped the fruit and placed it within a pouch, releasing a long sigh as she did. Thoughts rushed back and forth through her mind, before the soothing voice of the Simulacrum spoke to her once more;

Eostraeya - I seek the healing of this cursed land. These sacred fruits are but one of many future blessings.
Khara - ... What about the Duskwoods?
Eostraeya - The woods of that place are healthy. Even if the landscape is hostile. But Qliphoth's state is worse. I walked your earth once... Qliphoth used to be beautiful.
Eryxhreion - And then the Storm of Death was born and brought ruin and destruction. ... Thank you, Goddess, for seeking to set things back to the way my ancestors once knew them. My people shall forever be in your debt.
Eostraeya - A great darkness looms both above and beneath you at the east. Children of the Dweorg, you must hurry.
Hathgar - Above... and below?

There was no response. It appeared the Goddess' presence had vanished altogether. Soon, the dwarves began packing a number of the fruits to be found within the garden, while Khara remained quiet, instead glancing at the ground. Throughout the course of this adventure, she had been struck with both shock and surprise, although as of recent, there was little to convince her otherwise that - as the daughter of a murderer and possessed of strange powers of strength and regeneration - she was not some form of monster.

Hathgar, however, was not stricken so hopelessly. Injured and wounded, perhaps, but as he stood beneath the light radiating from the golden flora, he took a moment to contemplate. Both Eryxhreion and Khara, the son and daughter of seemingly evil men, both stood at his side ready to place their lives on the line for not only the land at large, but for each other - for their companions. Their friends.

In the First Heir's eyes, he saw them not as the offspring of an old fierce minotaur bandit-king or a mercenary lieutenant, but as aspiring heroes. And in that moment, when looked back upon Khara's will to save the afflicted Tassarion and the town that was since razed to earth by the bandits of Matriarch Syl-Rheah, Hathgar smiled. Within his chest, some sense of hope in himself - in the survival of his kingdom - seemed to take hold; especially so now that he knew that a goddess seemed to be watching over them.

Tassarion - K...K-Khara... B... B-Bilrikaaaa...! Kharaaa... K-Kharaaa!

The Sun was beginning to set, gradually dipping beneath the horizon as Elndrulim sat within the infirmary with Tassarion, observing the growing symptoms of his affliction. Tassarion's arms and legs were now bound with chain, keeping him only barely restrained against the flat surface of the stone table while his body continued the process of destroying itself, agonizingly tearing itself apart from within and reconstituting itself again as the Frenzy crawling across his mind desired. His face was stained with blood as it seeped from his nose and mouth, spluttering while that which remained in his system was stricken with a severe imbalance of adrenaline, although it did little to numb the pain of his involuntary self-destruction.

Standing beside the Cripple was Bermean Hegreth, the Adept-Lieutenant of the 2nd Gimgari Regiment and the one who had found the outsiders at the borders of Gimgari's land and Matriarch Syl-Rheah's band of gnollish bandits and warriors. Hegreth kept his greatsword steady in his hands as he observed the transformation unfold before him, watching Tassarion with wary eyes as the hold of his maddening affliction worsened. The chains, the only barrier between the infection and the populace residing within Gimgari's centre, would not hold the mutating human forever and once they broke, there would be little to stop Tassarion from infecting others with his curse. Hegreth huffed as he saw dwarves clearing the floors of the blood the apothecaries had drawn from the human's veins earlier in their futile attempts to drain him of the corrupted essence, before taking a step towards the table that held him.

Hegreth - ... The outsiders haven't returned yet, Lord-Seer.
Elndrulim - Hm. We'll wait a bit more.
Hegreth - We might not have "a bit more" to wait. The more time we waste keeping this whelp alive, the more we risk endangering our city. ... Who knows how much longer those restraints will keep him for.
Elndrulim - It'll be enough. If he does turn, then you just kill him. Simple.
Hegreth - Why not kill him now? We've done all we can to keep the Frenzy out from behind our walls, yet here we are, allowing some infected outsider to rest at the very core of our hold--
Elndrulim - Because when the Khargrim step through that door, they will bring that boy's salvation with them. And I'd like to watch it when they spit at the face of the Frenzy.
Hegreth - That is a bold claim, Lord-Seer. You said yourself that you were unsure as to whether the cure even truly exists.
Elndrulim - A record keeper doesn't last as long as I did by having bad intuition.

Hegreth scowled for a moment, contemplating Elndrulim's words as he watched Tassarion's changing body writhe and struggle to free itself of the restraints, before once again resting his sword. The record-keeper held no official power over the military authority of Gimgari, but Hegreth, as suspicious and suspect to old dwarven tradition as most of his kind were, would rather not test fate by challenging his word. It was not an easy decision to come to, especially as it held the fate of the very hold itself, but dwarves surely paid for disrespecting the wisdom of their elders. He seated himself, folding his arms and resting his greatsword to his side while the growls and furious gibberish spouted from Tassarion's mouth rang in their ears.

It took the sound of the entrance into the chamber being abruptly opened to get Hegreth and Elndrulim to their feet, watching as Khara Greenforge, dashed past the both of them as if they did not even exist in her young, determined mind. She was soon followed by the likes of Bilrika Wilybar, Anklebiter, and Eryxhreion, with the minotaur's footsteps causing the hallway and the room to shake as he approached while the two smaller members of the team could barely keep their footing. The Khargrim would also soon appear at the rear, appearing more reserved and steady than their younger companions as, rather than a mad dash, they merely walked at a brisk pace.

Elndrulim - Well, would you look at that.
Khara - Outta the way, coming through! I'm walking here!
Hegreth - ... They found a cure?!
Bilrika - We did! Magic fruit blessed by Eostraeya herself!
Hegreth - ... A Simulacrum's magic?! In Qliphoth, of all places?
Trughs - It seems there are actually some forces trying to heal this wasteland after all.

Khara stood over the bound Tassarion, watching as he uncontrollably began to gnash his teeth in her direction while she hurriedly searched through her kit for the gift granted to her by the nature goddess. She mumbled to herself, fidgeting as she reached for the golden apple, causing her to be struck with a dose of shock and surprise once the sound of Tassarion's grossly mutated arm shattering the Qliphotian iron chains that kept it restrained met her ears. She swiftly stepped back, although she was not fast enough to avoid her friend's strong, clawed fingers wrapping themselves around her neck and throat with such ferocity and power that she could feel her trachea close and squish into itself.

Tassarion glanced upwards, his eyes darkend as he snarled and seethed with unrelenting fury, madly beginning to throttle and choke Khara until her face turned purple. There would be little need to intervene, however, once Khara slammed her fist, and in turn the apple, into Tassarion's face, ramming the fruit into his mouth so that he could tear a sizeable chunk from it. But a moment later, the furious grasp clenched around the half-orc's throat was relinquished and Tassarion's arm fell to his side, the mage collapsing as the essence of the divine fruit coursed throughout his body and cleansed his veins of Mivtanreior's corruption. His inflated, swollen muscles shrank and the dark veins nearly erupting through his flesh subsided, the fruit's powers soon returning him back to some semblance of normality before restoring his previous state entirely.

Khara fell back, clasping her aching neck as she let a breath of relief escape her lungs, while the Khargrim and Koll dwarves watched Tassarion's body reform itself, reversing the self-destructive transformations he had undergone throughout the past few days. A bead of sweat ran down Khara's brow as she leaned her head back, clenching a triumphant fist before allowing herself to fall onto her back. Bilrika and the dwarven commanders appeared relieved at the sight of the fruit's miraculous effect on Tassarion, though Anklebiter appeared somewhat disgusted by the whole incident. The elderly Elndrulim would approach the Khargrim as he passed a hand through his beard, before speaking;

Elndrulim - And what of Koldahral? The marauders?
Hathgar - Koldahral hosts a garden for these fruits, propagated by the leader of the marauders. Said leader is now six feet under and his men have either scattered or have been apprehended. You need not worry about them anymore.
Elndrulim - Hm, we should probably secure this garden then, before more traitors try and take it from us. ... Wonder if these fruits can get my back to stop aching. And if they can be used to make you lose weight. Thane Fatty could use that.
Eryxhreion - ... If the fruit is able to cure the Frenzy and lycanthropy... then perhaps there is hope for my people yet should it prove able to remove the curse of infertility that slowly drives our kind to extinction. Perhaps there may yet be a generation of minotaurs not plagued by a swathe of stillborns and miscarries...
Elndrulim - You have conquered the wilderness, and now you have given us these magic fruits blessed by the gods themselves... You Khargrim are miracle makers. But can you do do one more miracle and rid us of the Demon of the Border?
Hathgar - If these sacred fruits are worth anything, then they could help us with that. Perhaps even remove the curse that has afflicted Mivtanreior himself.
Trughs - I doubt anyone here wants that thing alive, de-cursed or not. But yes, we can certainly weaponize the fruit against him.

The Lord-Seer walked over to the nearest window, where he looked up to the cloudy sky, gripping into his staff. The night caused the clouds to loom ever darker, serving as a blockade against the distant starlight, yet even then, the Cripple held little doubt or fear as he gazed into the blackness.

Elndrulim - We have waited for so long... but it seems the Thunderous Hammer has finally smiled upon us again.

Chapter 9: Trial III - The Outcast Demigod[]

18 Arisen Sun, 35 NA, Morning: Valley of the Damned

Three days had passed since the battle of Koldahral; the Khargrim expedition and their adventurer allies had gained quite a reputation across the Koll Westholds, yet there was still one more trial for them to go through to prove their loyalty to the people of Qliphoth: Mivtanreior had to die. Taking a small portion of the sacred apples of Eostraeya with them, they had their way to the eastern border of the region, where the monstrous nemesis of the Oevrumine was known to reside. The Valley of the Damned, as this particular region had come to be known, was riddled with the remains of past battles and conflicts fought throughout the history of this accursed land - the bones and rusted weapons and armour of Oevrumine, dwarves, gnolls, and bizarre, almost humanoid beings, betrayed only by long, serpentine tails extending from their spine in place of legs and feet. But most notably, this expanse of infertile land was potted and marked with scars and wounds dealt by time and the course of nature, such as gargantuan earthquakes and astral debris that survived falling to the crust and soil of Koldenwelt in burning streaks of energy.

A company of dwarves - composed of both the surviving Khargrim warriors and reserves drawn from the regiments of Gimgari - marched across the Valley, equipped with heavy weaponry, shields, and bows crafted of metal rather than wood, while the Great-Captains of Khargrimhold strode at the very front atop their war-boars; at their side, Khara, Tassarion, Bilrika, Anklebiter, and Eryxhreion marched with them, allowed to accompany them with high honours for their assistance and enthusiasm in saving Qliphoth and its peoples. The trek here had lasted many hours, though they would see their goal over the horizon; at the edges of a great crater laid the long-dead remains of a massive Poison Dragon, and it was said the Demon of the Border's favored resting place was within the jaws of its skull. Getting to the great skeleton of the drake would not be easy, though, as the dwarven company immediately witnessed figures wandering across the Valley; infected Oevrumine, mutated into Mivtanreior's servants, groaned and moaned in agony as they walked from side to side aimlessly, awaiting for the chance to kill something.

Khara - I'm guessing that these would be the damned this place's name speaks about.
Trughs - Let us cut our way through them. They're the last thing between us and the monstrosity.
Eryxhreion - ... I hate to say it. But I'm scared.
Bilrika - Make that two of us. Did you see what he did back in the gnoll fight? The guy is a legit demon!
Aslaug - We're not going to fight him like we did last time. We're going to feed him the sacred fruit and see what happens.
Eryxhreion - I shall have to be the one who does it. I've the greatest strength and reach of all of us present... Not that the fact gives me any confidence in having to face Mivtanreior's jaws up close.
Bilrika - Hey, you won't be alone, big guy. We'll be giving you support.
Anklebiter - This is the last time I let someone talk me into adventuring.
Khara - It's gonna be alright, Eryx. I think we're all scared, deep down... Even the dwarves.
Tassarion - The fate of the southlands rest upon our shoulders. Hmph. I never would have thought that I'd be involved in something so significant... I wonder if we shall be considered heroes.
Aslaug - I imagine we already are.
Khara - ... You think we're heroes? Like... Us? Me, Khara, Tassarion, Biter?
Aslaug - Well, all of us. You included.
Anklebiter - Bleh. Count me out.

Khara's lips perked into a warm smile, while within her chest, she felt something warm arise from the thick sense of fear that swarmed around her heart. There was something to those words - of being considered a hero - that made the half-orc feel accomplishment inside of her; that she now had a reputation, that others now spoke her name and would tell this tale of her and her companions. Hathgar, meanwhile, remained stern and quiet as he rode. There were no thoughts of glory or heroism upon his mind, only the thought of saving his beloved kingdom from the fiery clutches of the Vulcanus Horde and seeing the end of these Trials. As they approached, the battle for the fate of the Khargrim Greatholds would begin as the mutated minotaurs were alerted of their presence and begun charging at them in a maddened frenzy, their roars echoing through the empty landscape.

The company of dwarves raised their armaments and prepared for the onslaught of madness and blood that was to arise from this conflict. They fought as a reinforced, regimented force, perhaps, but while the lifeforms inhabiting the Valley were driven wild and insane by the effects of Frenzy affliction, they wielded enough strength to outmatch a dozen dwarves each - a reason as to why the Koll dwarves held a fondness for ranged weapons and polearms while exterminating the likes of creatures infected by Mivtanreior's curse. Once again, blood, steel, and flesh was shredded and torn as the battle commenced, a horde of minotaurs pouncing upon the dwarves in a chaotic, collective fit of fury and hunger.

There was little time to be lost, thus why the group of heroes who marched ahead of the company would need to eventually split off from the main force while the combined Koll and Khargrim army drew the ire and attention of the damned Oevrumine, Adept-Lieutenant Hegreth commanding them in the Great-Captains' absence. The dwarves fought with renewed vigor, however, as the monstrisities of the Valley fell to their blades - it appeared the visit from the Goddess of Hope had, in fact, filled them with hope, even if unconsciously. They would see it done, and would finally bring peace to this cursed, tortured land, even if their lives depended on it.

As they descended into the edges of the crater, they would see the massive form of the Outcast Demigod resting inside of the jaws of the great dragon fossil, his red eyes locked at them as his expression turned into a displeased frown. In one hand, he held the gored body of a minotaur, clearly half-eaten before tossing it aside as he stepped out of his lair into the open.

Mivtanreior - Puny... men...
Eryxhreion - Your reign of terror ends today, Outcast! No longer shall my people live in fear of your shadow, but they shall dance in it when I parade your corpse through the Throne!
Bilrika - We, Eryx. We parade.
Eryxhreion - ... Yes, of course. When we parade your corpse throughout these lands, demon!
Mivtanreior - You... try... to hunt... me? ... You... stand... no... chance...

The monstrous Oevrumine clenched his fists and bashed them against the ground under him, causing it to crack open from his sheer strength. Eryxhreion observed, unnerved by the display, but steeled himself as he clenched his fists, grasping an apple in one of his mighty closed palms.

Mivtanreior - Two... hundred... years... could... not... think... straight... But now... can think... can plan... make... army... to... crush... Throne... No Outcast... if King!
Eryxhreion - You fancy yourself a king, Outcast? ... You will die a lowly animal.
Trughs - It's time to end this insanity. For the Greatholds!
Hathgar - For the lands of the south and all who dwell within them! For the sons and daughters of Dweorgkind!
Mivtanreior - I... will... BREAK... YOU... BONE... BY... BONE!

Mivtanreior's arms were enveloped in the energies of the Source as a pair of massive, ethereal axe-heads manifested over his hands, and he charged at the heroes in a fit of utter rage. As the Outcast demigod charged, his anger blockaded him from noticing Tassarion step lightly ahead of Eryxhreion; the puny human from before, who once stood at his feet and blinded him with pitiful light magic, once again found himself in his path. Somehow, he had survived the infection granted to him by Mivtanreior's corrupted blood, yet such a revelation did not cross the hulking Oevrumine's mind as his mere footsteps tore the earth and crust up from beneath him.

Raising an arm, Tassarion glanced towards Mivtanreior, before beginning to conjure a sphere of magical light within his palm; a magical evocation utterly dwarfed by the Outcast's overwhelming, overpowering aura. However, in his rage, Mivtanreior did not see the collection of golden apples strapped to Tassarion's belt and robes, from which the luxomancer began to draw power from. The immense amount of divine light magic flowing through these sacred fruits found itself shifting away from apples it inhabited and merging into Tassarion's own aura, infusing itself into his body and flowing through his veins, before the sphere he had conjured grew brighter and larger as he focused.

A burst of light followed, almost forcing Tassarion off his feet as a blinding eruption of golden energy arose forth from his hand, meeting Mivtanreior as he charged headstrong into the blast. The mutated minotaur would have been expected to shrug off the blast, like any other attempt to harm him. Yet, this time, the heroes witnessed him stopping in his tracks, bringing his arms to his face as he roared out in agony, his brown fur being set alight with magic. It was in this moment of vulnerability that Eryxhreion dashed, his massive, white form leaping and rushing across the battlefield, grasping the golden apple on his person tightly in his grasp. Within moments, unable to recover from the devastating blast in time, Mivtanreior felt Eryxhreion's powerful fist, enhanced by rage, adrenaline, and momentum, collide into the side of his face; in the seconds it took for him to reel from the blow, the albino minotaur pressed his body against the his own, locking his large head in his arm before repeatedly punching the Outcast in the face and mouth, until, eventually, the sacred fruit found its way into his throat.

While dazed and pained from the attack he had suffered, Mivtanreior would retaliate against Eryxhreion's offensive by sending his own fist against the albino Oevrumine's skull before throwing another clawed hand across his torso in a savage display of rage. He beat and tore at Eryxhreion with murderous intent, seemingly losing what little reason he had. Eryxhreion could have escaped, yet he refused, instead enduring the blows Mivtanreior dealt him and the subsequent immense amounts of damage that came with them, for the more that the Outcasted unleashed his strength and anger upon him, the more time the others had to assume position. His body was shattered and broken, his white fur stained red as Mivtanreior tore him apart, yet with what strength he could muster, he continued to punch and resist him - ineffectually, for the most part. Blood coalescing in his maw, the albino called out;

Eryxhreion - Agh... Y-You fool... I... I'll see you rot in the Underworld with me, you son of a bitch!

Before Mivtanreior could continue with his onslaught, however, he suddenly stopped in his tracks once more; this time, he brought his massive hands to his own throat as he begun choking, his eyes widened as blood begun to pour out of his mouth, nostrils, ears and eyes. His massive muscles begun to convulse violently as he begun screaming in agony, stepping back and nearly losing his footing. Eryxhreion, his flesh ripped apart and plenty of his bones crushed to dust and fragments, persisted onward, even if he stood upon the very brink of death. The cold touch of the Underworld did not scare him, however, not as much as the thought that a creature as foul and powerful as Mivtanreior could conquer his homeland. In a final, desperate act, the albino launched himself forward, flooring Mivtanreior in his pained spasms and drove his horns into his gut.

The Demon of the Border struggled on the floor as he depserately attempted to make whatever was happening to him stop, and before the eyes of the heroes, his body begun to shrink as a bright, shimmering liquid begun to ooze out of his body; the fae dust he had bathed himself in to become what he was abandoned him like sweat. Khara watched in horror as Mivtanreior's form twisted and spasmed, convulsed and twitched as the source of all his might and strength burned and melted with his fur and flesh, while Hathgar, his eyes wide, struggled to watch as Eryxhreion focused on keeping the Outcast pinned, forsaking his own survival for the sake of ensuring their victory.

Hathgar - No! ... Quick, Eryx has him pinned! Finish this!
Mivtanreior - E-Exiled... a-abandoned... d-deserved... b-better... than... t-this!!
Eryxhreion - Ah... Ah... Y-You... deserve... nothing...

Grasping the necklace of dragon teeth wrapped around Mivtanreior's neck, Eryxhreion wrenched it back, tearing away one of the draconic fangs before sending it into his side once, twice, before letting go. Eryxhreion slumped, his horns still buried deep into Mivtanreior's burning insides and outside, yet he no longer made an effort to pin the Outcast of his own accord. It was no longer possible, for in these last moments, he had forsaken the regenerative power that graced his people so that he could empower his final blows.

With what remained of his strength, Mivtanreior lift a hand, reaching out to the sky before his body went limp. In the end, his corpse resembled that of a normal, though badly battered Oevrumine warrior, with Eryxhreion's once-white form, now a bloody, gore-soaked red, resting on top of him. The albino minotaur, however, found his body forcefully launched away as a mass suddenly erupted out of Mivtanreior's torso, rapidly growing upwards before splitting itself into various branches; a golden tree. The ground around it almost exploded with life as verdant green grass erupted from the soil, flowers blooming as the tree's branches were quickly covered in leaves. And as the land found itself flowing with life, the sound of hundreds among thousands of minotaurs, afflicted with the curse of Mivtanreior, roaring towards the sky as their bodies twisted and contorted, shrivelling back to normality as many dropped dead outright, with others merely collapsing in a sleeping, unconscious state.

Anklebiter - ... Well, that was a lot easier than I expected. I didn't even have to do anything.
Khara - Eryx!
Bilrika - F-Fruit! Give him the fruit!
Tassarion - I drew the magical power from all of mine...

The tree which had grown out of the Outcast's body seemingly responded to the group as, from one of its branches, a single blessed fruit grew and fell to the earth. Khara was swift to retrieve it, stepping over Mivtanreior's fallen corpse to do so before she turned and ran for Eryxhreion, his broken body laying lifelessly some distance away from where the Outcast had met his end. He did not respond as she called his name, or when any of the Khargrim called for him either, and he did not bite down upon the sacred fruit as Khara desperately attempted to feed it to him.

The group could only watch as Khara, unwittingly soaking herself in his blood, uselessly tried over and over again to convince the quiet, still Eryxhreion to eat the fruit. Each moment more painful than the last, Tassarion glanced away, unable to watch any longer as his friend continued; he was incapable of watching as Khara, her eyes welling with tears, struggled to undo what had already been done. Bilrika and Icicle both had their hands covering their mouths as they watched it unfold, while Aslaug and Trughs chose to remove their helms and bow their heads in respect for the albino minotaur's sacrifice. Hathgar's chest grew heavy, his composure wracked as he saw the son of his old nemesis lay in a pool of blood and broken bone, having paid for the sins of his late father.

Khara - Eryx! Eryx, wake up! W-Wake up...! Eat the fruit, Eryx! D-Do it! Come on, do it! J-Just... Just one bite, Eryx, please! Please! Eryx... Eryx!
Aslaug - Lass... he is no longer on this earth.
Khara - Eryx! E... E-Eryx... ERYX!!

Hathgar stood at the centre of Thane Volgratin's throne room, his head lowered as he glared towards the dwarven lord while his companions, his fellow Great-Captain and the Thane of Kunmaldur, stood at either side. The stone chamber was quiet other than Gignaeg mumbling to one of his consorts in Koll dwarven, before he dismissed her from his sight as he then turned his gaze towards the heroes that had returned from the Valley of the Damned victorious and drenched in minotaur blood. He grumbled, looking up and down at each of the dwarves before him, before leaning back in his throne and stroking a hand through his beard.

At the base of the throne rested the decapitated head of the Demon of the Border, the blood still warm and fresh as the head bled at Gignaeg's feet. It was clear to Hathgar that the Westhold Thane was feeling uneasy - his nerve broken by the victory the Khargrim had achieved, perhaps - as did all the other dwarven warriors who lined the throne room. There was a long, hostile silence, before Gignaeg brought himself to speak after taking a long, hard gulp of ale;

Gignaeg - So... You did it. You surpassed the Trials. ... I won't lie to you. That's far more than what I expected from the likes of Khargrim scum like you--
Hathgar - Shut. Up.
Gignaeg - ... Excuse me?
Hathgar - You heard me, Thane. Shut up. We completed your Trials, did everything that was asked of us, and we saved the westlands from an inconceivably horrid fate. I think we're entitled to a little more than your worthless, petty antagonism when we went out of our way to prove ourselves to you and your folk while you did nothing.
Gignaeg - ... You better watch your fucking tongue, Khargrim, as I can easily go back on our little deal--
Aslaug - No, you watch your fucking mouth, Koll dwarf. We've done your job for you. We will no longer tolerate your abusive attitude!

The Thane glared furiously towards the Khargrim, his face reddening with each moment that passed. He slammed his fist against the arm of his throne and stood, causing his guarddwarves to exchange concerned and worried glances between one another, before Gignaeg kicked the bloody minotaur head in an agitated fit. He yelled, babbling and shrieking at the top of his lungs - profanities and curses among a slew of insults and gibberish. Hathgar, quiet and stubborn, merely watched in silence.

Gignaeg - How fucking dare you Khargrim scum question me?! So, you completed those fucking Trials - who fucking cares?! If you want my help after insulting me in my throne room, well, you can all forget it! You should be honoured that I even allow you breath the same fucking air I do after what your ancestors did!
Trughs - We saved Qliphoth! The people out at the streets of this hold are singing praises in our name, while you stood in your chair doing nothing! Mivtanreior has terrorized this land for two hundred fucking years, and what have you done about it?! Nothing! You worthless sack of shit!
Gignaeg - Get out! Get out of my throne room! Don't ever think of returning back to this city again! Your Greatholds can rot in the pits of the Underworld! I don't care if you saved Qliphoth; not even the gods question a lord in his own fortress!

Without a second thought, Trughs reached for his runed blades, which erupted in flame while Aslaug took out her warhammer, both glaring at the Thane with such hate that it was uncharacteristic of them;

Trughs - I have not come this far and endured what I did to be double-crossed!
Gignaeg - So you've done it all so you can insult me and my ancestors even more, eh?! And now you'd raise your arms at me? ... Guards! Guards! Seize them at once!
??? - Dwarven scum!

A terrible roar deafened all orders given as, out of nowhere, a chunk of the ceiling was torn away by a blast of flame, causing debris to fall upon the throne room, which forced the dwarven heroes to seek shelter to not be crushed. Gignaeg fell to his rear, yelling and shrieking as the architecture, which had withstood the test of time for millennia, was blasted away in order to reveal an open sky lit with embers and fire; as the Thane glanced upwards, burning chunks of rock and stone fell at his sides, causing him to panic and crawl away from where the explosion had so suddenly happened. Hathgar, against his better judgement of simply leaving the Thane crawling and snivelling, was quick to grasp Gignaeg by his robes and pull him aside, away from the falling debris while the other dwarves present locked their gaze to the hole in the ceiling.

A pair of massive clawed hands grasped the edges of the hole as a head emerged from view; it was a massive Fire Drake, with eyes shining and burning like hellfire and flames escaping the gaps between its teeth as it looked down at the dwarves. It was covered in what appeared to be armor carved out of obsidian, which protected its shoulders and torso from any possible damage. It was the obsidian armour that caused Hathgar's eyes to widen not with fear or awe, but with unparalleled fury as he was quick to grasp his greataxe, allowing the electrical magic stored within the inscribed runes to flow nd crackle outward. Gignaeg's incessant shrieking and mumbling was ignored by the First Heir as he took a step forward.

Hathgar - ... Vulcanus!
Dragon - First Heir of Khargrimhold... Finally, I have found you.
Hathgar - And who is it that seeks me? Who are you?!
Dragon - I am Avakorah, Right Hand of Xacutus the Pyromancer. And I bring a message from him to you and your filthy dwarven rabble.

The dragoness let out another great roar as she fit her horned head inside of the hole she created, causing furniture, debris and guards to be flung away by its sheer strength while nearby cloth was set ablaze by the flaming sparks coming from her mouth. Hathgar remained stubborn, however, and did not move back as Avakorah leaned closer towards him, even if he could feel himself beginning to sweat from being within her mere presence. Again, sparks of lightning crackled from his greataxe and Hathgar's electric blue eyes narrowed.

Hathgar - Speak.
Avakorah - You attempt to consort with more of your wretched kin to strengthen your forces. You are fated to fail; bring as many soldiers as you please, equip them with the best weapons you can muster. We will take them for ourselves. Your kin, from the east to this place, will burn, and we will not stop until all that remains of your legacy is cinders.

Hathgar glared at the dragoness, his brow lowered as he thought upon the message she had brought to him. If Xacutus and his Horde knew to send one of their minions to Gimgari - to Qliphoth - and that he was attempting to bolster the Greatholds' armies with the assistance of the Westholds, he knew that time was running ever shorter. He did not question where she had ascertained this knowledge, but instead, he took another step forward.

And he proceeded to place his finger against Avakorah's snout, poking her as he spoke;

Hathgar - Tell your master that I, Jalaric Hathgar, Lord-Thane of Khargrimhold, said this; you can try.
Avakorah - Grrrrrhh.... Be thankful the Scorched General wishes to face you in combat again. Or you, and this entire city, would be reduced to smouldering ruins by me at this very moment!
Hathgar - And you be thankful that I am too tired to skin your hide and turn you into a nice, red cloak, you scaly-lipped bitch.

The dragoness clenched her teeth in anger as she let out a powerful huff to knock Hathgar off of his feet, which was followed by a blast of black smoke coming out of her nostrils. The First Heir grunted as his back met a wall, although as he raised his head to once more glare towards Avakorah, he cracked a wide, determined smile and pointed towards her once again.

Hathgar - And you tell the Scorched General that I look forward to our next meeting. I cannot wait to see the look upon his face when he learns why no one - no one - messes with Hathgar the Berserker. You got that, sweetheart?

With a beat of her great wings, Avakorah rose and took flight, though she was not content merely to give a warning; before she left back to whence she came, the dragoness flew near the ground, landing on walls and buildings across Gimgari for the sheer sake of terrorizing the population. Only when resistance begun to manifest did she fly into the sky, disappearing from the city. Trughs and Aslaug, despite their previous bout of anger, were both cowering behind a pile of debris, peeking out to look at Hathgar after Avakorah left.

Aslaug - ... Ack, what the hells was that?!
Hathgar - Please, Thob, do open your ears a little. She said it was a message. So I felt inclined to give them an appopriate response.
Trughs - By the Hammer, Hathgar, you poked at a Great Fire Dragon right at the face. She could've chomped your arm off! Or chomped you whole, even!
Hathgar - She's nothing compared to Old Deadeye. That was a dragon worthy of being feared. She was but a whelp compared to that one, I say. ... You can both come out now, you know.
??? - Eheheheheh!

Suddenly, out of the entrance to the throne room, emerged a new figure; Elndrulim the Cripple entered the chamber doing somersaults, curling into a ball as he spun through the air with grace unlike anything they would ever expect from a dwarf that old. He eventually landed in the middle of the room, raising his arms to reveal he was holding one of the sacred fruits of Eostraeya on one hand.

Hathgar and his dwarven accomplices each turned to face Elndrulim as he made his grand entrance, with furrowed brows and confused, stupified glances. A dragoness did not cause Hathgar to stir in the slightest, perhaps, but the sight of an old, centuries-old dwarf, living far beyond the limit of most dwarven lives, somersaulting into the throne room and demonstrating athletic feats even elves would be envious of caused him to become somewhat unnerved.

Elndrulim - This is the best thing! I feel like I'm 300 years younger! ... Oh. What happened here? What did I miss?
Gignaeg - Oh, it's so terrible! It's awful! The dragon just... just came in here and ruined everything! She's gonna burn down my city and destroy everything! Agh!!
Elndrulim - Dragon? What in a gnoll lady's privates are you talking about? Poison Drakes are up to no good again?
Hathgar - Wrong. Lord-Seer, I assume you know the name of Avakorah in regards to the Vulcanus Horde?
Elndrulim - Avakorah? Hmmm... Avakorah... Oh! There is one mention of a Fire Dragonling by that name, who despite being a child, tore one old dwarven commander's legs off during the battle of Akriarion Island.
Hathgar - Well, we just received a visit from her. And she's done a whole lot of growing up since then.

The Cripple looked up to the hole on the ceiling, scratching his beard as he did so.

Elndrulim - Well then. No dragonling did that, that's for sure.
Gignaeg - ... T-Take them! Take what you want! Just please don't let that dragon thing in here again, please, I beg you! Take the soldiers! The warriors! The weapons, everything! Aagh! I... I-I don't want to die!
Trughs - Hah. I wish the dragon had devoured your rotten hide, but this will do.
Aslaug - We shall see that the dragon pays for its crimes against dwarvenkind. All dwarvenkind.
Hathgar - ... Well, I do believe we are done here. I shall have words with your military authority and shall see about those reinforcements and armaments that you're going to send to the Greatholds, hm, Thane?
Gignaeg - Yes, yes! I'll send anything! Anything!
Elndrulim - Ah, what a wonderful day! The Khargrim have repent from their ancestors' crimes, and now our people can join forces once again and do what they do best: kill things!
Hathgar - I'll drink to that!

Epilogue[]

20 Arisen Sun, 35 NA, Late Morning: Central Gimgari

Beams of sunlight shimmered through the thick clouds, gracing the streets and roads of the Gimgari Westhold with a brilliant rays of gold. For a moment, it seemed, the curse of the Black Westlands' perpetual dreary and miserable weather uplifted, allowing the folk of the hold to bathe in the Sun's glory as they celebrated the demise of the Demon of the Border and the end to the plague that ran rampant across their homeland. While some remained shaken by the experience of a colossal Great Fire Dragon making its present known within the city some days earlier, many others had attributed its sudden disappearance to the achievements of both the Gimgari military arms and the heroes from the east who had arrived weeks before - that the dragon, made aware of their victory, fled in terror.

In the square at the heart of Gimgari's central district, a plaza dotted with statues and monuments honouring the reputation, glory, and victories of past Koll dwarven lords and heroes, the Dweorgfolk of the Westlands gathered to watch as Jalaric Hathgar, Zonmesir Aslaug, and Ermek Trughs, with the assistance of their venerable warriors who had survived the adventure and the quiet monk Kvo Eirik, gathered their belongings and discussed among one another plans for the future that laid ahead of them back at the Greatholds. Now that the the Vulcanus Horde somehow knew of the Westholds' agreement to reinforce the Greatholds' military branches, both sides would be required to act swiftly, and while Hathgar would have more than loved to have remained within the city for some time to participate in the folk's celebrations, there was little time to be lost.

Resting beside Khegrit, the large war-boar still half-asleep, Hathgar locked his eyes upon the fountain at the very core of the square as he sharpened the edge of his greataxe. He awaited for Adept-Lieutenant Hegreth to assemble the first wave of reinforcements, at which point they would then take the trek to leave back towards the Greatholds with an impressive stock of Qliphotian weaponry and equipment in tow, yet as of now, he took the opportunity to find time to recollect upon the Trials and the events that had unfolded here. Trughs was glad to have the mission done, though he could not help but feel saddened by the fact he had to sacrifice Fang, his best trained Mauler yet, to see it done. Aslaug spent her time polishing her warhammer, a faint smile across her face as she was content with how it all had ended, even if she did not have the chance to bash her weapon against the head of the manchild that was Thane Gignaeg.

Hathgar - I'd complain about how long it is taking for the Adept-Lieutenant to organize his forces, but to be honest, I feel like we all need a moment of peace and quiet. I feel that life, for all of us, is growing increasingly turbulent with each passing day.
Aslaug - Aye. But considering the Frenzy has been put down, that's one less thing to worry about. We should be able to direct all of our attention to the Vulcanus Horde for now on.
Hathgar - I'll admit, I had underestimated how lethal this venture was going to be. The Bharloron were of no help to us and many good-hearted dwarves found their ends here, so far away from their homes and families... Not to mention poor Fang and... Eryxhreion.
Trughs - I'll never be able to tame a Mauler as fine as Fang was, I'll tell you what.
Aslaug - There's one thing we should consider though... When that goddess of nature spoke to us, she said there was darkness looming over and under us. Obviously she meant the Vulcanus Horde over us but... what about the other?
Hathgar - ... What do you mean?
Aslaug - I think she implied there's danger under the earth.
Hathgar - The Greatholds have been mining beneath the southern coast and mainland for a long time now, Thob. If there was any danger to be found beneath our feet, we'd have found it by now in the space of four thousand years, don't you think?
Aslaug - I wouldn't dismiss the words of a goddess so easily, Hathgar.
Hathgar - Hm. Perhaps you're right. They say only stupid dwarves disrespect the word of their elders and what can be elder than a goddess, eh? ... Still, she is a Simulacrum. She is kin with the other liars, tyrants, and manipulators, even if her heart shines brighter than the rest.
Trughs - I don't know about Simulacra enough to say anything. But I do know there are evil things under the Greatholds. Those monsters who resemble animals mashed together, for one. But we've always managed to kill those, so I don't see why we'd be warned about it now.
Hathgar - Perhaps we've only just begun to scratch the surface. ... But we shall cross that bridge when we come to it. We've the journey home to look forward to, with reinforcements at our back and hope in wait ahead of us. The Greatholds now stand a chance at surviving - no, defeating those fire-demons from Akriarion and I'm very eager to talk with the Scorched General again.
Trughs - That's such a stupid name. "Scorched General". It sounds like he was trapped in a spit and turned into dinner.
Hathgar - How else do you think he became a servant of this Xacutus fellow, eh? Haha! ... Oh, you know, Trughs. I think I just had a good idea.
Trughs - What's that?
Hathgar - The Myrmidon egg we retrieved. You should ask about it, to take it with you back to Kunmaldur so you can raise the little maggot inside into a bigger, better, stronger war-mount for yourself.
Aslaug - I think the Thane may have already eaten that.
Hathgar - Oh... Fat bastard.
Trughs - I'd not try and train something like that. Maulers are vicious, but at least they're predictable.

At that moment, the Adept-Lieutenant Hegreth emerged into the square, wielding a halberd and shield while wearing the same gruff, stern glare upon his war-marked face. At his side stood Kotric, the dwarf who had accompanied Eryxhreion's side, who seemed to be also equipped to go back on the move with the other dwarves; to return eastward, where he was found by the half-orc Khara and her array of companions. Hathgar stood and nodded to Hegreth as a company of Koll dwarves, some saddled atop mountain ponies, soon followed their commander into the square, each soldier looking more prideful and tough than the last.

It would seem that the Thane had no say in which squads to organize, for if he did, he surely would not have selected the finest among the elite that Gimgari had to offer as the soldiers standing before the Khargrim were. Accompanying them was Elndrulim the Cripple, who appeared to have returned to his usual hunchbacked stance as he used his staff to walk; it appeared the fruit's effects on the elderly were temporary. Hathgar and his accomplices each glanced towards Elndrulim with some suspicion, uncertain as to whether he happened to be pretending about his elderly state or not, although the First Heir shrugged as he stepped forward to meet with the Koll;

Hathgar - It's been an honour serving your hold.
Elndrulim - You Khargrim have done much for us. Your feats will not be easily forgotten.
Hathgar - Not while you still draw breath, Lord-Seer, that's for certain. What shall you do now that you have access to the sacred fruit and your lands have been purged of the Frenzy?
Elndrulim - Well, if people have any sense here, we should preferably cultivate the plant so whole gardens of it can grow. But we won't be like those bandits who tried and hoarded it all to themselves; this is a gift from the heavens and should be shared to all of Qliphoth.
Hathgar - So, you'll be sharing your stock with the Throne, in that case. ... You know, I never liked minotaurs. Could say I've had... bad experience with them in the past. But that Eryxhreion fellow... He would have wanted that.
Elndrulim - We'll have to see. As cursed as they may be, the Oevrumine are difficult to work with and tend to be not very worthy of trust.
Hathgar - You can say that again. ... What of your grand-nephew? How can you be sure he won't pull support from our cause as soon as we turn our backs on this place and leave for home?
Elndrulim - I can't. But I hope the fact we had a Fire Dragon in our city makes him realize that would be a terrible idea.
Hathgar - You know, I know that Gignaeg isn't going to say it, so i might as well; you've been a big help to us, Lord-Seer. More than you can know. And I appreciate your hospitality and patience with us all.
Elndrulim - Dwarves should not hate other dwarves. We've more deserving things to hate than each other.
Hathgar - That we do. ... Good luck, Elndrulim. I hope that when this is all over and the Vulcanus Horde's dying embers have been sent back across the sea, you can visit Khargrimhold so that I may arrange transport to get you to see the Hammer Throne with your own eyes.
Elndrulim - That... would be good. Thank you.

Hathgar turned after patting Elndrulim's shoulder, returning to his companions before mounting on top of Khegrit. The boar oinked and grunted as Hathgar pulled upon her reins, the Great-Captain raising a hand to wave to Elndrulim and the Koll folk gathered around him while the Gimgari warriors followed behind Hegreth's lead; the Adept-Lieutenant said little and felt it would have shattered his cold, disciplined image should he have made it known, but as he rode behind Hathgar, he felt perhaps honoured to accompany the Heir of Khargrimhold back to the Greatholds. To be among one of Gimgari's first to return to the lands of the east with an army at his back, to join his distant cousins in battle against a unified foe. To represent Gimgari and the Westholds in a battlefield soon to be known to him and the dwarves under him.

Trughs soon found Hathgar grasping his hand and forcefully encouraging him onto Khegrit's back, the large boar groaning again as she now had to sustain the weight of two adult dwarves upon her back. Given the animal's strength, it was more of a nuisance than a viable bother. The Thane was taken by surprise for a moment, eyeing Hathgar with suspicion, though he would make no effort to dismount the boar.

Hathgar - Don't give me that look. You really wish to walk all the way home?
Trughs - I could've ridden a boar or horse of my own, you know. But if you insist in carrying me, who am I to complain?
Aslaug - Don't start getting feisty with each other now.
Hathgar - Apologies that not all dwarves can be as cold and level-headed as you, Thob. You've the attitude of an elder locked in the body of a beautiful young woman, you know?
Aslaug - All I'm saying is, you should at least take him to dinner first.

Khara awoke some hours later, breaking from her slumber as she rolled off of the bed she was splayed on top of her. With a grunt and a knock to the head against the wooden floor, she rubbed her eyes and let out a long, irritated groan, her headache made worse by the small, aching bump she now suffered. Her memory was but a blur; a mishmash of events and occurrences the night prior that did not coherently string together in her mind, although she knew that whatever had happened, she must have drank to the brink of her body's limit. Whatever that may have been. While she may have suffered a headache intense enough to floor a minotaur, she was at the very least thankful that she awoke with her clothes on and in her own bed.

Khara - Fuck me...

She stood, shambling towards the door to notice it laid partially ajar, before exiting the room and emerging into the upper floor hallway of the tavern she and her companions had rented for rooms. The sunlight beaming through the windows was a little strong for her eyes at that moment, although she soon slowly adjusted as she made her way towards the staircase and descended towards the tables and chairs at the bottom. It was when she tripped and fell to Tassarion's feet did she notice her accomplices watching her, the mage glancing down at her with his arms folded over one another as Bilrika and Anklebiter were seated at one of the neighbouring tables.

The gnome, who was having her hair brushed by her floating familiar, eyed Khara with a wary expression, while the Grim goblin appeared to care little for her state as he had one hand gripped on a cloth bag of significant size. Khara held her face in her palm, her face heating up as she blushed from embarrassment, before she struggled to her feet and clumsily took a seat with her companions, with Tassarion accompanying her shortly afterwards. She continued rubbing her face, groaning as she seemed to ache all over, before taking a brief glance at each of her teammates.

Khara - ... Good morning.
Tassarion - It was morning when everyone else awoke. It is the afternoon now, I think you shall find.
Khara - ... How much did I drink last night?
Bilrika - I think it'd be easier to ask how much you didn't drink.
Khara - And how much didn't I drink?
Anklebiter - I'm getting a bit confused here. Let's just say you embarrassed yourself.
Khara - Bollocks. Sorry, I... I don't know what came over me last night. I had one drink, then another, then it just... all kinda became a blur after that. I wasn't feeling... right.
Bilrika - It was because of Eryxhreion, wasn't it?
Khara - ... I told him it was gonna be alright. He was scared just like the rest of us and... I wish I didn't have to watch what happened. He... He didn't deserve any of that.
Bilrika - I like to think he was at peace with himself for doing that. He's in a better place now.
Khara - Yeah. A fucking... bloody mess in some shithole wasteland. I just wish I could've done something! I... S-Sorry. I didn't mean to yell, Bil.
Anklebiter - Actually, he's now in a bone-filled shithole wasteland amidst a sea of screaming souls.
Bilrika - Shut up, goblin.
Tassarion - At the very least, the dwarves did not mind you getting so intoxicated. They thought you were celebrating with them. And to clarify, Eryxhreion's body has since been respectfully cremated, his ashes scattered about the garden that arose after Mivtanreior's death.
Khara - Gods, I don't know what the Hells is going on anymore. These past few days have been so strange to me. Like something out of some damn fairy tale.
Bilrika - We did good things. That's what matters.

Khara sat back, nodding with a huff as she slowly began to crack a smile. She glanced towards each of her companions, observing their faces, before she leaned over and rested her elbows on the table's surface. Tassarion was unnerved by the presence of a smile upon her face, as she had just been something of an emotional wreck some moments ago, but he decided against saying anything about it.

Khara - We did, didn't we? We're... heroes now.
Bilrika - Yep.
Khara - You know what that means, right? It means we've got a reputation now. People are speaking about us, the stuff we've done. We're... known names now! Isn't that great?!
Bilrika - It's nice, yeah. Though not so much in my case, since I'd rather people not know where I am.
Khara - ... Wait. I forgot that you were a fugitive.
Bilrika - I'm not a figutive. My dad is just overly protective.
Khara - Didn't Hathgar tell you how worried your dad is about you? ... Saying that, it's probably safer that you stay with us for the time being, what with the Horde and all.
Bilrika - My dad won't let me be my own person. And yeah, if I went back home now, where it's filled with nasty fire things running around, then he'd have a reason to be worried.
Tassarion - I suppose that leaves us with the question of where to leave to next. We cannot spend all our time in Qliphoth, after all.

Anklebiter got down from his seat, throwing his bag over his shoulder as he did so; the sound of dingling coins was quickly heard.

Anklebiter - I don't know about you, but I'm going home.
Khara - ... W-What?! You're abandoning us?!
Anklebiter - All those claimed bounties got me enough money to retire and live a good life where I belong; in the dark reaches of the Duskwoods.
Khara - But... Where's your sense of adventure?
Anklebiter - We've been stuck with one another for so many months and you still don't understand... I am no adventurer, girl. I am no hero. I'm a Grim goblin - evil. I was in for the money, and I got it.
Khara - So many months travelling and you still don't consider us your friends? Even after we've been through thick and thin?
Anklebiter - I don't particularly feel like assassinating you and taking your share of the coin.
Bilrika - Gee, thanks, you asshole. I knew you weren't a good person even deep down.
Khara - Well... Feels like you stabbed us in the back anyway. Especially after I saved you getting killed by those knights when you ambushed us. Not even a thank you, eh?
Anklebiter - My kin isn't one to exchange pleasantries. But fine. You can feel good for yourself for your good deeds, "heroine".

Khara huffed, folding her arms while having to focus on resisting the urge to throw something hard and painful at the Grim Goblin's fat head, although after some moments, allowing her rage to boil down, she smiled again. With a sigh, she glanced towards Anklebiter and spoke, softer and less agitated this time;

Khara - Thanks for sticking around. Hope you have a good life and keep yourself out of trouble, you... little ugly bastard.
Anklebiter - I'll see you when I see you.

The goblin proceeded to walk away to make his way to the exit, so that he could begin his trek; back home and as far away from the danger Khara attracted to herself as possible. As he disappeared from their view, the gnome stuck her tongue out while her familiar let out annoyed yelps as it threw its arms up and down. Tassarion remained quiet, merely shaking his head softly as he watched Anklebiter depart from the tavern. Khara, on the other hand, slammed her fist on the table in order to attract her companions' attention as she wore a worryingly wide grin on her face, which caused Bilrika to jump on her seat, startled.

Khara - We're going north!
Bilrika - North? ... Be more specific.
Khara - Just... north. See where the wind takes us, you know?
Bilrika - Oh. Uh... I guess?
Khara - Oh, well, try not to sound too excited, Bil. Isn't it you who wanted to get as far away from the south as possible?
Bilrika - Yeah but... there's a lot of north. Like, it's even bigger than the Tropical Lands.
Khara - Which means there's a lot of opportunity for us there.
Tassarion - Well, I had no other suggestions for where else we may travel. Miss Greenforge seems to have a rather solid idea in spite of its intended fluidity. ... We travel northward and wait to see what happens to come to us.
Bilrika - Well, alright then. North it is.

With that, Khara arose from her seat and dashed for the door, a newfound flame burning within her chest as she made for the stables. Now that their quest within the lands of Qliphoth were over and the region was saved from an outbreak of chaos, alongside having been witness to the birth of a new hope for the folk living within it, Khara and her companions could travel anywhere they so pleased for the whole world, large and seemingly infinite, was open to them. In her mind, Koldenwelt yearned to be explored and while she was a name to be remembered among the Westholds, she was yet unheard of much elsewhere. There would come a time to change that.

Tassarion and Bilrika would soon follow their half-orcish friend, tailing behind her as she guided their way with bravado and confidence. Although Khara's eyes had seen tragedy and violence she had not seen before, such as the murderous rampage of the Myrmidon, the raids of the Qliphotian gnolls, and Eryxhreion's last stand against the Outcast Mivtanreior, she could not allow these memories to hold her back.

Instead, she was steeled, hardened through her experiences in this land. She would not disregard them, but keep them with her as examples to grow and learn from. And northward she would go, with little else to stop her in her tracks beyond the most dangerous of foes and obstacles. Even if she chose to never again return to Qliphoth, her name would be uttered by the dwarven residents for generations to come for her bravery and selflessness - an outsider whose name would be sung in song. Khara would leave behind the plagued lands, now freed of their curse, and would venture onward, eagerly awaiting for the next grand venture that fate would lay for her.