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The early autumn sun beat down through a cloudless sky upon the tent that stood amidst the hustle and bustle of the marketplace of the Dwarven city of Nirzumbil. The vast area allotted to the market was enclosed by stout stone walls pierced with bastions, these having just recently thwarted an assault by the newly arisen orcish armies. Usually crowded with human traders from the Far Coast and other portions of the Empire, the market was only half as active now, due to the recent troubles with orcs, and many of those present were finished conducting trade and now simply loitered angrily, awaiting a chance to escape their de facto prison and make their way home safely through the mountains.
The tent in question was occupied by two men, each a stark contrast to the other. The first was a tall bear of a man, leaning against the tentpole nearest the entrance flap and quaffing a good brew of Dwarven beer in one hand and working his dagger through a small wedge of goat cheese with the other. His calloused fingers and staunch frame marked him as a seasoned fighter, and the large, rune-covered greataxe strapped to the back of his platemail left no doubt. At a distance, the large man might even be mistaken for a half-orc, for though nature had been generous to his physique, it had taken payment in kind from his appearance, and whether due to an accident of birth or, as was whispered in his homeland, an ancient curse, his face was pockmarked with lesions and his features were misshapen.
The other man within the tent was physically his opposite. He was short, barely 5 feet from toe to crown, and thin enough to be termed gaunt. His skin was pale from a life spent indoors with his nose in his books, and his face, though not scarred in the way of the warrior's mien was hawkish and a bit pinched. He was deep within the tent, seated at a wooden table studying intently a large grimoire whose leather cover bore a metal engraving of a fearsome creature with a dog face, crab claws, and a nasty set of teeth. Occasionally the man would mutter to himself and cluck condescendingly as he perused a page. At last, however, the bookish man closed his tome with a "whump" and looked to the back of the warrior, who was framed against the bright outline of the open tent flap. He picked up a nut that was sitting on the table near him and held it over his right shoulder. Quick as lightning, tiny little hands reached out and grasped the nut and began chipping through the shell into the meat within. The man gave his familiar, a squirrel, a soft pat and cooed the name "Filbert" in a whisper before addressing the warrior.
"Kirawyr," he said impatiently, "you are blocking the sunlight and putting undue strain on my eyes. Please…stop staring out of the tent like a wife waiting for her husband to return from sea."
Kirawyr laughed and took a long draught from his beer. "It is just that I grow impatient Argus. Lady Kelliene and Lord Marco have been negotiating with these dwarves for three days now, and though it has been interesting here in the Dwarven lands, I long to return to home to Dwillingir. It has been a while since I dallied with Resora at the brothel."
Argus rose from his seat and walked over to Kirawyr. "You are a man of action to be sure Kirawyr, and I see how you chafe in idleness. I too wish to be gone and return to the Far Coast. We have been gone far longer than anticipated, and we have sent no word back to Lord Barnabus. I wonder what they presumed has happened to us. In any event, I am sure all will be forgiven if Kelliene and Marco can work out some favourable trade terms and if we can bring the red-stripe honey we have procured to the markets of Dwillingir."
Kirawyr merely stood silently, staring out into the marketplace. After a pause, Argus poked the big man in the ribs. "Are you listening to me?"
Kirawyr grunted and motioned outside the tent. "That dwarf over there has been eyeing us for the last few moments and is now heading this way. I wonder what he wants."
Argus pushed his way past Kirawyr and blinked as he stared out into the sun. Stumping across the marketplace, heading in a determined line towards the tent, was a strange-looking dwarf. This dwarf was old to be sure, and he had a look about him that could only be described as "crusty". His silver beard was wispy and unkempt, and his clothes were patched and unadorned and stained a variety of colours. His skin was bronzed, as from long exposure to the sun, and wrinkled like the bark of some hoary old oak tree. He walked with a pronounced limp, favouring his right foot, and apparently he was not much used to his new gait, as several times he almost tumbled to the ground after stepping in some rut or pothole.
Straight up to the tent did this dwarf march, until he was standing mere feet away from the bemused warrior and his companion. He then gave a low bow, so low that his white beard was tinged with mud and he windmilled his arms slightly to keep from toppling over on his bad leg.
"I be Haggofik, an ore-sniffer from round these parts," he said in a gruff voice that crackled like dry wood aflame, "ye be them who recently slew that old wizard on yonder and returned the prince's axe?"
"Indeed," answered Kirawyr, who commenced to stand up from his leaning position and readied himself to swing with his mug should this dwarf prove, however unlikely, to be an ally of the wizard, "who is it that wants to know?"
"Why I be he," said the dwarf, "and I note that you two be stuck here by yer lonesomes while your friends treat with the high and mighty."
Now it was Argus' turn to step in, and he spoke in Dwarvish, "We thank you for your concern good dwarf, but do you have business with us?"
The dwarf arched his eyebrows at hearing his own tongue spoken, though whether it was simple surprise at a human speaking so, or inner shock that his mother tongue might be so badly mangled Argus could not say. "No good humans, I merely have a job that needs a-doin', and seeing how ye be doing not much of anything I thought ye'd be interested in hearing me proposition."
The two humans glanced at each other for a brief moment, and then nodded their assent.
"Good!" said Haggofik, "come to me tent and I'll fill ye in on the details."
And with that the crusty old dwarf spun on his good leg and hobbled off towards a corner of the market. Kirawyr and Argus quickly grabbed up their rucksacks, tied off the tent flap, and ran off after the dwarf. They caught up to him in a portion of the market that was set against the wall, thereby gaining a bit of respite from the sun when the shadows were right. The tent was a plain affair, moth-eaten and covered with the stains and markings of a well-used life in the wilderness. Two mules were tied to a stake next to the tent. The humans ducked inside.
Within, all was in a state of readiness, with bags stacked in piles, crates marked and nailed shut, and little in the way of furnishings evident. Haggofik was seated on a metal stool, clay pipe in hand, and had just finished lighting the leaf in its bowl. Behind him, two younger dwarves were evidently completing the packing job and were bustling to and fro putting items into their places.
"Sit ye-selves", croaked Haggofik as he motioned to two crates set before him. The humans sat and the old dwarf took a few puffs on his pipe, regarding the humans.
"As I said, I be an ore-sniffer. Some might call me a miner, but I try to leave the actual digging to those I hire. And some might call me a prospector, but that'd be wrong because anything I go after ain't a prospect…it's for certain. No, I'm an ore-sniffer, and I hunt valuable metals and minerals and then stake me claim on the vein and reap the profits."
After another puff or two he continued, "Well, it was last spring when I was out on the mountainsides after a fierce rain when the mountain comes loose and slides on me. I was lucky to jump to shelter, but not so lucky to miss getting me leg broken in four places. Well, I ain't a fool ye see, so I know that I have to lay up a bit and rest and get better, or I may find meself with a game leg and a powerful need to run one day. So as much as I hate to lay-about, I set meself up here in Nirzumbil and rested. And being bored, I read a lot. And in one of these tomes I was a-readin' this dwarven trader mentions that the birdmen he traded with, the very same birdmen who live atop Barazburil, prized a smoky glass that he described as 'ashen in colour but with a hint of fading embers deep within'."
Haggofik paused and watched the humans, as if seeing whether anything he was saying had registered with them. He smiled and continued, "This glass he mentioned is the type that is commonly found with arandur. Do ye know what arandur be?"
When the humans merely shrugged, he explained, "Arandur is a rare and valuable metal that some believe is the blood of the god Ringkol which spilled upon the earth during the ancient times and mingled with silver or iron. I don't hold much with myths and religion, but arandur does have the interesting property of resisting the effects of bad sounds. Now, I don't mean bad singing or flatulence…I mean the kind of sounds that'd make yer ears bleed, like the wail of a banshee or sounds of power."
"So, when I read that the birdmen who live nearby had this glass, I knew that they had discovered, inadvertently perhaps, a source of this arandur. And I vowed that when me leg healed I'd be heading out to stake me claim on that vein of metal. Unfortunately, as me leg got better, though it ain't fully healed even yet, the orcs began to get frisky. So, when I tried to raise some dwarves to come with me to treat with the birdmen and stake claim to the metal, none of them would come with me, claiming that they had to remain to tend to kith and kin. Well, me two cousins, they agreed to come, but I figured I might need more help than that, what with the orcs about. And in any case, though the birdmen are not enemies of the dwarves, nor are they friends, and we've had both trade and scrapes with them. But humans have no history with the birdmen and so having some along to parley with them might not be such a bad thing."
"When I come to the market and I start asking about capable humans, all hands point to them that has defeated the old wizard, by which I mean ye. So that's where I end this tale, with me coming to ye and making this offer."
The two younger dwarves were now standing behind Haggofik, having finished their packing.
"These are me cousins on me mother's side, named Gimbul and Thimbul," Haggofik explained as each dwarf bowed politely.
"Me offer to ye is that if ye'll accompany me on this trek up the mountain to meet with the birdmen, and if ye then accompany me to the vein of metal and I can stake me claim, then upon returning here to Nirzumbil I'll pay each of ye…hmmm…a hundred gold coins each of fine Dwarven mint. What says ye?"
Kirawyr and Argus glanced at each other and then quietly conversed in whispers and hushed undertones. After a few moments, Argus answered, "The peak you speak of is nearby. We passed it on the way to the wizard's tower. Assuming this trek will be a few days at most, we will accept. It'd do both of us good to get out and stay active. We will just need to notify our companions as to our whereabouts and then we can leave on the morrow."
Haggofik frowned, "The morrow? Why not right now? I don't want no one to jump me claim!"
"Indeed," answered Argus, "but I must spend the night studying the proper incantations for the journey ahead. You did, after all, mention orcs did you not? In any case, it is past noon today and we would not make good time before having to camp, so you will lose no more than half a day's march."
Haggofik reluctantly assented, but ordered the humans to meet him at the crack of dawn.
Dawn cracked the next day. In the gloam of the early morning's sunrise, Argus helped Kirawyr strap into his platemail armour. The warrior then sharpened his greataxe with a whetstone and polished its rune-covered blade with a cloth. Upon his shoulder he strapped a small bow and set a quiver of a score of arrows on his back, placing his large steel shield over the other shoulder. Meanwhile, Argus spent a few minutes mouthing the incantations of his spells to himself. He then stuffed his spellbook into his rucksack, picked up his walking cane, and slipped a slender wand of twisted wood into his belt. He then hefted a crossbow, groaning under its burden as he tied its strap to his shoulder. Finally, the mage tied a case of bolts to his belt.
So accoutered, the two humans met up with Haggofik and his two cousins. All three dwarves were dressed in mail and open helms of steel. Haggofik balanced a large war pick on his shoulders, the head of which was made from a strange pale-silver metal that seemed to sparkle with tiny beads of argent and specks of red. Strapped to his back was a small shield. The cousins hefted large waraxes over their shoulders, and all three had light crossbows dangling from the other shoulder and a case of quarrels tied to their belts. Each had a small steel shield slung over his back. Behind each cousin stood a stout mule, laden with packs and bags.
With few words, the group made its way through the marketplace, past bleary eyed humans peering from their tents wondering if this was a group of humans who had hired dwarves to see them through the orc blockade. They passed up the main road running between the wall gate and the main gates of Nirzumbil that pierced the side of the mountain. Without a challenge, the dwarves guarding the wall gate opened the iron valves that swung aside soundlessly, and the group left the safety of the market and headed east down the Dwarf Road.
After only a few minutes of traveling along the well-cobbled and drained roadway, Haggofik led the group off of the road and they struck out across country to the north, angling slightly back to the west. Before them loomed the high peak of Barazburil, the very tip of it still bearing a crown of patchy snow even in the midst of early autumn. As Kirawyr glanced up at the peak, he could swear he saw tiny black specks wheeling around its summit. He wondered if those were the birdmen they sought.
The going for the next few hours was relatively easy, though there was no road or path and the ground was uneven. The group picked its way through small valleys and between ridges, and Haggofik seemed to know this land well, as he never seemed to pause to take his bearings and, in retrospect, it appeared he chose the best paths through the rough terrain.
By lunchtime, the group had arrived at the base of Barazburil and after a short rest and meal of cheese and jerked meat, they began to ascend. The way was not too difficult, for at its base the mountain was a wide and gently sloping cone punctuated by a few moderately sized cliffs that could be scaled by way of the massive taluses that marked ancient rockslides.
It was after ascending one of these natural ramps and pausing for a breather that a wave of warning washed over Argus. He knew the source. His familiar, Filbert, had scampered off ahead to forage for some food. He had warned the squirrel to stay close by, for eagles and hawks were known to prowl these mountains. He sent inquiring thoughts back to the squirrel and in reply received a sense of imminent danger.
The mage immediately alerted his fellows and ordered his squirrel to return to him post haste. He then hefted and loaded his crossbow, as the dwarves did the same. Kirawyr nocked an arrow into his bow.
"There!" Thimbul hissed in Dwarvish as he pointed to a small space between two large boulders, "I saw something move past there, it was fast and on two legs!"
The group fanned out now, facing the direction of the sighting while Argus held his crossbow in one hand and drew his wand with his other. As he did so, Filbert came chittering back and leapt in a bound onto his right shoulder.
Suddenly, a deep, throaty shout came from beyond the rocks. Apparently their ambushers realized they had been spotted and had decided to cede the element of surprise. With a shrill holler, orcs poured from behind the boulders. There were approximately a dozen of them, full six feet or more each and bedecked in hides and bits and pieces of scavenged armour. Each bore a wicked curved sword swinging from its belt and in its hands held a brace of javelins, one in the right hand cocked to throw and two more in the left, ready to use. They came at the group in a full run, bellowing curses and hurling insults at their racial enemies - the dwarves. Behind them, a particularly large orc drove them on, he with great up thrust tusks sprouting from his bellowing mouth and a curved sword in one hand and a large shield of burnt wood in the other.
"Steady lads!" came Haggofik's voice, "hold yer line and don't draw yer axes until I draw me own weapon." And with that he loosed his crossbow. Around him, four other twangs resounded and the missiles sped their way into the orcs. Two missed and clattered off of rocks, but three found their mark. Two orcs dropped, one with a bolt square in the throat and gurgling blood. Another dropped straight dead with a bolt deep into the right eye. The third bolt took an orc in the thigh, but the brute kept on at a dead run.
The group carefully reloaded their crossbows and bow as the orcs veered away from a straight charge and moved around rocks to gain cover while still advancing. Without shields they were vulnerable to the bows, which even now found their marks between the rocks. A few orcs paused to launch javelins at the group, but these were quick throws, ill timed and poorly aimed, for the orcs did not want to be exposed to the group's fire.
The large orc bellowed again and waved with his sword hand. Immediately, the orcs fanned out into two groups, trying to flank the humans and dwarves. Argus dropped his crossbow and now held his wand up, looking for a target. Meanwhile, the dwarves and Kirawyr took a final shot and then dropped their missile weapons and hefted shields and axes and pick. The two groups of orcs emerged from their cover and crossed the final distance to their prey. As they did, a single orc emerged into the centre of the battlefield and this time took careful aim, loosing his javelin against Thimbul, who had turned to meet the flanking onrush. The spear caught him in his left side below the armpit and tore through his chainmail, cutting a wide gash before clattering to the ground. The orcs let out a howl and crashed into the waiting combatants, dropping their javelins and drawing their curved swords.
The melee was fierce. The orcs wielded their swords two-handed and with great strength, though with little expertise. The dwarves, trained from youth to fight orcs, stood their ground and parried aside arm-breaking swings with shields set at precise angles of deflection, countering then with a great hew of axe sweeping across the legs of the orcs or an overhand chop into the belly or lowered head of an orc. Haggofik's pick was also wreaking havoc, and when it hit an orc, tiny motes of electricity and small tongues of flame would leap from the pick into the wound, causing the orc to howl with agony.
Meanwhile, mighty Kirawyr wielded his magic axe, dwarf-made itself, in great two-handed arcs, the cords of his muscles taut as he wove a glistening arc of death that sang with the notes of orcish armour, bones, and flesh being sundered.
Argus was not idle either. Though he was careful to position himself behind the semi-circle of dwarves and Kirawyr, he espied three orcs who had lagged somewhat behind their fellows. Seeing his chance, he pointed his wand at the three and muttered a single word under his breath. The area around the three orcs became ensconced in a rain of glittering specks of sand and all three dropped down in an enchanted slumber, their snores sometimes reaching through the din of the battle.
With two orcs shot dead and three more sleeping, the remaining half dozen or so fought fiercely but were outmatched. Two more fell dead or dying when finally the large orc, seeing that he either had to turn the tide or flee, charged forth. The brute crashed into Thimbul, who had just disemboweled another orc with his axe, and his scimitar slipped between the dwarf's axe and shield and cut through chain links, piercing the lad through the ribs. As blood gurgled up between his teeth, Thimbul staggered back, trying to fend off the orc, who was pressing the attack. Haggofik cried out and tried to reach the young dwarf, and as he did, Argus intoned a cantrip he had learned as an apprentice…one designed more to commit pranks than to help in combat. But it was quick, and it worked. The magic hit the orc leader and his vision swam and his balance was thrown off slightly and mocking laughter filled his ears. All of this lasted for a mere second or two, but it was sufficient to throw the orc off balance. Seizing the moment, Kirawyr roared and swung his greataxe through the torso of the orc facing him and without losing momentum, he took a single step to his right, whirled on his left foot, and brought the still swinging axe around and into the neck of the distracted orc leader. With a quick "snick!" the axe clove the orc's head from its body.
At this, the remaining two orcs, bleeding from various hacks and cuts, turned to flee, for they neither expected nor gave quarter to dwarves. The luckier of the two made it precisely three steps before being cut down.
Haggofik immediately ran to Thimbul, who was clutching his side and clearly wheezing from a lung that had at the very least collapsed and might be punctured. "Ah me lad, ye mother'd never forgive me if I lost ye, and I'll not this day!" With that, the old dwarf reached into his leather pouch and pulled out a small glass vial. He unstoppered it and poured the emerald-coloured liquid into the young dwarf's throat. Within seconds the wheezing stopped and the dwarf seemed to be breathing easier. He smiled a bit, wincing through his pain.
"Can ye stand me lad?" asked Haggofik, and Thimbul nodded and, using his axe for support, staggered to his feet. Gimbul kicked the head of an orc and watched it bound down the talus as Kirawyr policed the area for his spent arrows.
Argus motioned towards the still snoring orcs, "What about them?"
"What about them?" countered Haggofik, "Gimbul, ye saw what they did to yer brother."
Gimbul grinned and loped over to the orcs. One after the other he raised his axe above an orc, muttered what sounded like the names of relatives, and then executed the orc.
Silently, the group took hold of the mules, with Thimbul leaning on one of the beasts for support, and they continued up the mountain.
It was not more than an hour later, as the group had just wound down from its short, sharp battle with the orcs, that Kirawyr and Haggofik, who were at the vanguard of the expedition, rounded a large rock outcropping and stopped short in their tracks. So did the massive boar that was apparently rounding the outcropping from the opposite direction.
The boar, twice as long as a man is tall, and five to six feet at the shoulder, was dark brown in fur with bristly patches jutting up from its spine and shoulders. Two massive tusks, yellowed and dirty, jutted from its lower lip.
The boar regarded the human and dwarf. The human and dwarf regarded the boar. For a moment, nobody moved. Then the boar gave out a basso snort and stamped its foot.
Kirawyr whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Haggofik "Why don't we just back away from it?"
But Haggofik countered in a whisper of his own, "It's too late lad, if ye be alive this evening then there's pork on the menu for certain."
Kirawyr was not about to let the matter drop, and he started to turn his head to debate the matter with Haggofik when the giant boar charged.
"Aside ye fool!" yelled Haggofik as he bumped Kirawyr aside and then sprang back on his good leg so that the raging boar ran between the two. As the beast skid to a stop and wheeled around, Kirawyr turned and gripped his axe while Haggofik backed away so that the boar would have to give its back to one of the two.
Meanwhile, the noise ahead had not gone unnoticed with the rest of the group. Gimbul handed the reins of his mule to Thimbul and ran ahead towards the outcropping, with Argus in tow. As he ran, Gimbul yelled out to the injured Thimbul to stay behind out of harm's way, but the young dwarf was having none of that. He dropped the reins to both mules, gave them a sharp command to "stay" in Dwarvish, and limped towards the combat while loading his crossbow.
Meanwhile, the boar gathered its steam and charged again, this time right at Kirawyr. Haggofik slashed at the beast as it passed him and then 1200 pounds of angry fur launched itself into the burly warrior. Kirawyr waited until the last split second before springing back, allowing the rock wall to his left to absorb the blow, though he was pelted with a spray of granite as the beast impacted the stone. The fighter quickly hefted his axe and brought it down in a glancing blow along the flank of the beast opposite the wall.
Now frothing with rage, the boar turned away from the wall and found itself facing Haggofik. The dwarf, on a dead run, yelled and plunged his pick directly into the skull of the beast. The pick sank all the way to the crossbar, with a crunching sound as it split the skull above the base of the snout and impacted fleshy brain. Further, sparks of lightning and gouts of flame erupted from the wound, sending the beast into squeals of pain. As it struggled, Haggofik planted his bad leg on the snout and pulled his pick out, which gave suddenly, overbalancing the dwarf and toppling him over on his behind.
The great beast was dying. Yet, as is the wont of its kind, even though the brain was passing into the great darkness, it was still a vessel of primal rage, and so it came on, unthinking. Directly at the prone Haggofik it came, intent to carry its attacker with it into the Great Beyond. But at that moment Gimbul arrived and stood over Haggofik and hacked a great gout into the boar. But a razor sharp tusk caught the dwarf in the groin and flipped him head over heels up and over the boar, to come crashing down at Kirawyr's feet near the stamping back hooves of the creature.
As Argus and Thimbul arrived on the scene, Kirawyr sprang over the crumpled form of Gimbul, who was moaning in pain but certainly not mortally wounded. Argus snapped a short incantation and two glowing blue balls of energy slammed into the boar, causing it to stagger. Thimbul ducked past the gesturing mage and tried to line up a shot, but as he sighted and tried to steady himself against the pain in his injured side, a great fountain of blood and gore arose from the flank of the beast. The thing staggered against the stone wall of the outcropping and whimpered once, then nearly separated into two halves as it fell to the ground motionless. From out of the spray of blood stepped Kirawyr, his great axe still cloven through the haunch of the beast, having almost hewn it in twain with a single mighty stroke.
Haggofik stood up and, grinning, limped over to Kirawyr and patted the warrior on the back. "That's a fine stroke ye have there lad! That axe of yers be Dwarven make for certain, but no finer hands could wield it from what I've seen."
Meanwhile, Thimbul helped his brother to his feet, and both battered young dwarves hung onto each other for support.
"One more fight like that," remarked Argus, "and we may not make it to meet the birdmen."
The others just shrugged and took a deep breath and gathered themselves up to continue the ascent.
Bruised and battered, weary from a hard journey and two tough fights, the group staggered on as the sun began to creep behind the mountaintops to the west. As some discussion was given over to possibly finding a camp and stopping early before twilight, a shrill screech broke the thin mountain air. This was followed quickly by another, though this cry stopped short and sudden.
Haggofik blew out a huff of air, a gesture of weariness that caused his mustache to flap outward. Then he hefted his pick and motioned for the others to follow. Argus took Filbert from his shoulders and whispered into the squirrel's ear. The squirrel chattered once and then sprang to the ground and ran in the direction of the screeches. A few moments later, Argus was awash in the thoughts of his familiar. Two large birds were fighting and some birds were dead on the ground. Argus tried to get a clearer description of the scene from Filbert, but the squirrel's world view was rather limited and he was deathly afraid of birds to begin with and didn't care to draw fine distinctions among them.
As the group shambled up a rise and rounded a bend, they came upon a tableau. Across a stretch of broken ground, two combatants were locked in a mortal struggle. The first was a humanoid figure approximately five feet tall and covered from head to toe in orange feathers. Its head bore a beak, but also features that gave its face an intelligent and somewhat humanoid cast to it. Its feathered wings bore small prehensile hands, and the creature held a small metal buckler in one hand and a large spear with feathers on the end opposite its point in the other.
This birdman was struggling against a strange creature. The thing had the body and talons of a large eagle. However, where the eagle's head might have been was the head of an elk or large deer. Its eyes blazed orange and in its teeth were razor sharp teeth.
Two birdmen lie unmoving on the ground nearby, one with a gaping hole in its chest where its heart had been ripped out.
Argus recognized the deer-headed creature. It was a peryton, for he had encountered one a month past and had blinded it with his magic. They were vicious creatures, intelligent and dedicated to feasting on the freshly harvested hearts of their victims. The birdman, Argus surmised, was certainly one of those they were seeking. As such, it was clear to the group whom to aid.
Dropping the reins of the mules, Gimbul and Thimbul drew their axes and ran towards the peryton. Haggofik gripped pick and shield and did likewise, Kirawyr following on his heels. Argus groaned, for he was almost drained of memorized dweomers and he did not have his blinding spell.
The charge of half a dozen humans and dwarves distracted the peryton, which left off its savaging of the birdman. The birdman, also surprised by the charge and eager to seek an advantage, leapt into the air and flapped furiously skyward. As it did, it dropped its lance from its hand, only to catch it in midair with its talons.
Gimbul reached the peryton first, and his waraxe struck true. However, the peryton is not a creature of nature, but is a beast born of strange magicks, and the axe barely ruffled its feathers as it struck. With a bizarre shriek that was a combination of neigh and squawk, the peryton flapped and hopped at the dwarf, bowling him over and striking into his mail and shield with its brace of sharp antlers, its rending talons, and its powerful bite. Gimbul cried out as the peryton's attacks began to batter him through his mail armour, and the rest of the group responded to his call. Kirawyr stepped forward and smashed the peryton with his axe, the Dwarven runes of power on it flaring to life as it struck. The magic of the axe contested with the peryton's own magical nature and prevailed, the axe biting deep into its hide and drawing a long line of blood through its feathers.
Kirawyr's blow alerted the peryton to the fact that it had to be careful, and so it leapt away from Gimbul and faced its attackers, who by now had surrounded it and were harrying it from all directions in an effort to gain an opening. As this cat-and-mouse game progressed, Argus hung back, crossbow loaded and ready but knowing that his bolts could barely harm the creature, if at all.
The stalemate was broken by the birdman, which dove down from above, the lance in his talons leading the way. In a dead fall that ended in a swoop only at the last instant, the birdman launched his lance directly at the peryton. The tip bounced off of the beast's hide, but it distracted it enough for Kirawyr and Haggofik to close. Kirawyr's axe again bit into the creature, and Haggofik's pick sent shock and flame through the feathered body. The creature, in a desperate frenzy, now turned into a veritable whirlwind of horns, claws, and teeth as it began to attack all comers from all directions. The ferocity of the attack managed to stagger Haggofik, who was gouged across the shoulder by the horns, and both Gimbul and Thimbul were raked by the claws. Kirawyr took the worst measure by far, for the beast had reserved its most potent attack for the warrior, and as Kirawyr closed in, the peryton ducked under the warrior's swing and bit deeply into his leg. As the peryton then arose, Kirawyr was knocked off balance, and although he tore his leg from the creature's grasp, it then savaged the burly fighter with its antlers, hooking them between the shoulder joints of his platemail and turning the armpiece red with his blood.
Once again the birdman dove, and the peryton was knocked off balance, its head splayed at Kirawyr's feet. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, the fighter raised his axe on high and brought it down for a telling blow that severed the spine of the creature. The thing flopped around for a bit before settling motionless.
As everyone gathered their breath, the birdman alighted, his spear once again in hand and held ready against the group. Sensing an opportunity, Argus raised his hands in a gesture of peace, slung his crossbow, and stepped forward.
"Can you understand my speech?" he asked as he approached the birdman.
In response, the avian spoke in a high-pitched, almost parrot-like tone, but the language was unmistakably the Common Tongue. "Yes, I hear and know your words tall-legged one. I am called Zaarastiir, and I give you my name unasked for because you have aided me this day. I was on a mission for Yimik the All-Father to the great eagles to ask them for aid. But your arrival, as timely as it was, cannot be a coincidence. I am certain the All-Father has brought you to us in our time of need. He has shown us the way. But you are wounded, as am I, and there is time for words later. Come, follow me, and bear the head of the beast and bear my fallen wingmates on your fourlegs and I will take you to a hidden place where you can rest the night!"
With that Zaarastiir flew up into the air and urged the group to follow. With the peryton's head and the fallen birdmen secured to the mules, the group wearily made its way for another half an hour. As the sun set into the west, the group was guided to a secluded dell, not quite a cave, that was located behind a brace of boulders and hidden from casual observation.
"Here you can make a fire and spend the night. I will take the head of the beast and return to my nest to explain your coming and your deeds. Then I will return." With that, the birdman flew off into the twilight.
The next morning came too soon for the group. Though unmolested during the night, their wounds had not healed and the minor aches and pains forgotten in the heat of combat now made themselves known. Thimbul was particularly out of sorts and spent a good deal of time coughing and hacking.
It was not too long after their breakfast of travel rations and spring water that four birdmen alighted at the dell. One was Zaarastiir, and of the other three, one seemed to be of some import, for he wore a braided leather thong around his neck that held a large crystal engraved with runes. The ornamented birdman stepped forth.
"I am Kaaraathacoa, high priest of the nest of aarakocra who claim this mountain. Zaarastiir has come to us during the night and told us of your coming. Blessed be Yimik the All-Father for bringing you to us in our time of need. We know why you were brought here, but we know not why you have come. Tell us this."
Argus, with an approving nod from Haggofik, stepped forward. As he did, the ornamented birdman gestured and the group felt a force pressed upon their minds and upon their tongues, compelling them to speak the truth. Argus shrugged off the compulsion, as he had no intent to lie to begin with. "We have come to speak with the birdmen…with you aarakocra…because we seek a rare metal that is found alongside a type of glass that we believe you possess. My dwarf friend here seeks access to this metal and wishes to negotiate an arrangement with you for it."
Kaaraathacoa nodded. "We know of this glass. It is called 'ash glass' by us, and although we do not lust after material objects, we do find this glass beautiful and enjoy crafting it into our lives. The glass we found in a hole in the ground. But we have not been able to harvest this glass for many years, for we aarakocra have a grave dislike of enclosed spaces and cannot abide being separated from the skies granted to us by the All-Father for very long without losing our minds. We harvested all the glass we could from that part of the hole within sight of the opening…though even that was difficult for us. The tunnels within descended further into the earth, and without a doubt more glass is down there, but we could not bring ourselves to go any further to get it."
"It seems we could arrive at a mutually beneficial arrangement here," the priest continued, "we could show you where this hole is and grant you leave to access it. In exchange, as you go deep into this hole to gain your metal, you could harvest the glass for us. In this way both may benefit."
"However, we have dealt with dwarves before, and sometimes this has been in trade, and sometimes in battle. And we do not know how it will be with you. But Yimik has sent you, and if the All-Father favours you, then we will know you are of good intent and honourable. Yimik has sent you in answer to our call of need. If you will answer this call, and if you survive, then we will know Yimik blesses you and we will come to an arrangement. If you do not answer Yimik's call, then we will not grant you access, though you will have our gratitude for rescuing Zaarastiir, and we will escort you down the mountain away from our lands with our thanks."
At this Haggofik stepped forward. "I have no ill intent towards ye birdmen, and I agree to the arrangement of metal and glass as ye have stated it. And I am no coward either, though I come and go at me own behest and not the will of some god. Nevertheless, tell us what need ye have and we'll answer it as best we may."
Kaaraathacoa nodded again in assent. "Near to here is a shrine to Yimik. A priest of the All-Father only several days ago was at the shrine praying when he was beset by something. We only know of this because the priest managed to make it back to his nest before dying in the arms of a wingmate. He could not tell us what had assailed him, but we examined his body and found large fang marks. As well, his tongue was bloated and the area around the mark was corrupted, as if by poison or disease."
"We sent half a wing of warriors to the shrine to investigate. None returned. Those observing from above could not make out what attacked the warriors, but from their report the fight was quick and lethal and took the warriors entirely by surprise."
"We wish you to go to the shrine and kill or drive off whatever haunts it. If you do this, we know you have Yimik's blessing."
At this Thimbul moaned and staggered forward. "With all due respect sir, we are all of use wounded and some of us near to falling and not rising. How can we face, in our condition, something that slew six of your warriors?"
For a third time Kaaraathacoa nodded. He stepped forward and began to chant in a twittering tongue. As he did, a nimbus of light surrounded his body. He touched Thimbul and the nimbus of light left the aarakocra's body and was transferred to Thimbul. Instantly, the bruises, cuts, and gashes that marked the dwarf's body disappeared. He stood up straighter, not favouring his wounded side any longer. And the vitality of youth flushed back into his face. As the stunned dwarf felt himself to make sure every wound was gone, the aarakocra stepped forth and touched each of the group in the same way, with the same chant. Within minutes, the entire group was cleansed of its wounds.
"Now you are healed," squawked Kaaraathacoa, "pack up your belongings and we will take you to the shrine."
The journey to the shrine was short, no more than an hour. The group stood at the bottom of a small plateau. Cut into the base of the plateau was a rectangular opening some five feet wide by six feet tall that led to a tunnel that faded into the darkness.
"Beyond this way," said Kaaraathacoa, "you will travel up the plateau until you arrive at the shrine. The shrine is in a hollow that is open to the sky. There you will find your destiny. We will remain here and ward your fourlegs. Yimik's blessings upon you. And accept these as our blessing."
The aarakocra held forth a clay pot sealed with wax. Argus took this and chipped away a small piece and smelled the contents. "It is silverbark sap extract!" he exclaimed, "a potent ward against poison. We must each consume a palm full of this and it will ward us for an hour or so."
As each of the group sipped the extract, Kaaraathacoa held forth four bladders, likely from rabbits, each sealed by a wax cork. "These are poultices blessed by the grace of Yimik to heal the wounded. They are not as potent as my healing arts, but they should serve you nonetheless."
The group took the bladders, each dwarf and Kirawyr stowing a bladder into his pouch. Then they lit two torches and prepared to enter the tunnel.
"Wait!" cried Zaarastiir. "As these grounders aided me, so I shall aid them. I cannot abide the journey through the tunnel, so I will fly above the hollow and await your appearance. Once I espy you I will enter the hollow and aid you as I can. Farewell!" And the warrior flew off towards the top of the plateau.
The group entered the tunnel and quickly left sunlight behind. The passageway quickly became a stairway leading up towards the top of the plateau. At Argus' insistence they stopped while the mage wove a quick spell and one of the lit torches floated in midair about twenty feet ahead of Haggofik, who was leading the way. The old dwarf winked at Argus and continued on.
A short time later, the floating torch illuminated a small chamber. Unlimbering weapons, the group cautiously crept forward and peered into the room. The chamber was approximately twenty feet in diameter, and the tunnel continued on past the room opposite their location. However, the passage was screened by a sheet of giant webbing.
Within the room, six cocoons of webbing lay on the floor, these being oblong bundles about five feet in length…the size of an aarakocra. Kirawyr moved over to nudge one of the bundles with his foot, but no sign of life responded. "A large spider did this. And these bundles are likely the flight of warriors that was attacked."
"Aye," agreed Haggofik, "and it's a good thing then we drank that sap. I've killed me a few spiders in the High Forest. Have ye no fear!"
Argus directed the floating torch to burn away the webbing, and soon the passage beyond the room was cleared. At the end, some thirty feet ahead, sunlight diffused into the tunnel.
Slowly, the group passed through the chamber and towards the sunlight. Haggofik stopped just before the end of the tunnel and peered ahead, his eyes adjusting to the light. The shrine was before him.
The shrine stood at the bottom of a cylindrical hollow, some thirty-five feet in diameter and fifty feet high. Its top was open to the sky. In the centre of the hollow stood a stone pedestal, three feet high and likewise in diameter. Set upon this pedestal was a life-sized statue of a giant eagle made entirely of some sort of crystal. The eagle's wings were upraised, as if taking off.
Other than the statue, the shrine was empty.
After a moment of careful viewing and listening, Argus came up with a plan. They worried that some giant spider was perched right over the opening and would leap upon them as they advanced into the shrine. So the mage brought to mind one of his most powerful enchantments and summoned forth a giant beetle, which appeared in a cloud of smoke next to the statue.
The spider came.
Indeed it did. But not as was expected. It did not leap from above. Nor did it burrow from below. Nor did it spring from behind the statue. The huge spider, some dozen feet in diameter and grayish brown in colour, simply materialized out of thin air!
The arachnid bit down on the giant beetle, which was caught unawares, but its fangs glanced off of the insect's tough carapace. As the beetled raised its abdomen to fire a cloud of vapour at the spider, it faded away into nothingness.
"Phase spider!" both Haggofik and Argus intoned simultaneously, a look of dread on their faces.
"I don't care what it is," bellowed Kirawyr, "if it bleeds it dies," and he stepped out into the hollow, greataxe at the ready.
The dwarves did likewise, standing all of them in a circle around the statue waiting for the spider to reappear. And reappear it did. It's massive bulk phasing in right before Kirawyr. Haggofik, who had perched himself atop the pedestal alongside the statue, swung his pick, which tore an eye from the spider and sent fire and lightning screeching along its face. Thimbul and Gimbul likewise hacked at the thing's legs. The beast turned to face Thimbul and clamped down on the dwarf, its fangs tearing gouges in his flesh but injecting no poison.
As it began to fade away, two blue globes of energy streaked out of the tunnel and slammed into the creature, which burbled in pain. Argus, having cast his spell, emerged from the tunnel and stood next to Haggofik.
The group waited, trying to be ready for the next strike of the creature. Moments passed, but no one let down his guard. Then the spider phased in, this time away from Kirawyr. Again Haggofik struck it with his pick. And again Thimbul and Gimbul swiped at it with their waraxes. Again it came down hard upon Thimbul and, though wounded, the dwarf managed to roll away before the beast could inject its lethal venom. As the creature began to fade away, Zaarastiir plummeted from on high, lance in talons, and speared the beast in the thorax. As the birdman leapt back into the air, the beetle reared its hindquarters and sent a blast of noxious vapours into the face of the spider. The arachnid, bleeding from half a dozen wounds, screeched as it phased out.
Argus took a step back and reached into his pouch for a bit of sulfur. He held his palm up and outward and awaited the creature's return.
Soon enough the thing rematerialized. But Argus was ready. Before anyone else could act, he stepped forward and intoned his spell, crushing the wad of sulfur in his hand. A fan of flames erupted from his palm and seared the beast, melting two of its eyes and searing its forelegs. The creature reared, bellowing in pain, and as it did, Haggofik's pick and Gimbul's and Thimbul's axes made sweeping uppercuts that chopped into the soft underbelly of the spider. Gouts of blood showered down as the dwarves sprang out of the way to avoid the massive carcass of the beast as it crashed lifeless to the ground.
A day later saw the group standing at the lip of a hole that pierced the ground a few miles further up the mountainside from the shrine. Zaarastiir and Kaaraathacoa were with them, along with two other aarakocra.
"There is the hole," pronounced Kaaraathacoa, "and within is a cave from which we have harvested every last chip of ash glass. Beyond the cave are three tunnels which lead into the unfathomable depths, away from the open skies." As he said this, all four aarakocra visibly shuddered.
"Very well then," Haggofik said, beaming, "alright lads, break out the equipment and let's get to work!"
And with that, the dwarves became a blur of efficient activity. The mules were unlade, their bags and packs unstrapped and spread out on the ground nearby. The dwarves put on metal hats each with a small oil lamp across the brow, directed by mirrors to shine a beam of light before them. They hefted coils of rope on their shoulders and placed mining picks in their belts. Lanterns and candles were put at reach, and Thimbul carried a large ball of twine, while Gimbul produced a set of coloured pieces of chalk.
Finally, Thimbul attached a strange device to his body. The device consisted of a stone slate, a foot wide and a foot and a half tall. The bottom of this slate was attached to a belt, and the top had a cord looped from end to end. Thimbul attached the belt to his waist and brought the cord over his head, so that the slate formed a writing surface in front of him that he could draw upon while walking. A strap in the middle of the slate, extending from either side, could be used to quickly tie the entire slate to his torso, so that it would be out of his way when fighting. Thimbul placed several pieces of parchment upon the slate and began to sharpen a set of charcoal pencils.
When all was ready, a process that took a good fifteen minutes, the group descended the sloping passageway that led to the first cave beyond the hole. The aarakocra bid them good luck and tended to the mules.
The slope descended some twenty feet or so before alighting upon a wondrous cavern. The place was at least fifty feet in diameter and half that in height. Marvelous mineral structures of all sorts dotted the cavern, forming a fairy wonderland of colours and shapes. The air and the floor were damp, and the dripping sound of water was persistent.
Evidence of years of glass harvesting was prevalent around the cave. Great gouges were scored into the walls everywhere one looked, and flecks and chips of flint and stone indicated the types of tools used by the aarakocra to harvest the glass.
Opposite the entrance, three small tunnels pierced the cave wall and descending quickly into the gloom.
Haggofik gave a cursory glance at the walls of the cave, and seeing no sign of arandur metal, he went to each of the three passages. At the first passage, he sniffed the air for several moments before wrinkling his already pinched face and muttering to himself. At the middle passage, he wet his index finger and stuck it out into the passageway and wiggled it slightly. Again he muttered to himself and moved to the third passage. Here, he bent down, using the wall to support his bad leg, and grabbed a pinch of dirt. This he proceeded to taste, like a gourmand sampling fine cheese. At once he twirled around and declared that the third passage would lead to the vein of arandur.
The tunnel sloped steeply downward for a time, before leveling off and beginning to branch out in a hundred different directions. Thimbul was religious in keeping his map, and Gimbul made a great many obscure signs with various coloured pieces of chalk, hopefully, the humans prayed, measures enough to keep them from getting hopelessly lost in this labyrinth of passageways.
As they traveled, Haggofik was busy. Every now and again he would stop and study the walls, sometimes running his knobby fingers across the wall, other times sniffing or even licking the walls. Occasionally he'd give the wall a tap with his mining hammer here and there, and as often as not would then chip off a piece of the wall and suck on it like a piece of candy. All the while, he would be muttering to himself in Dwarvish as if talking to the very walls themselves or to the arandur vein.
"Ah, ye are a sly mistress metal ye are, but I be here to seduce ye and coax ye out of yer shyness me lady", or
"Bah! Ye think to distract me, an ore-sniffer, with yer twists and yer lies. Ye cannot fool me!" or
"Do not be coy me lass. I seek only to embrace ye and take ye as mine."
And so it went for several hours, with Kirawyr and Argus wondering if there really was any arandur to be found here. For certain, there was plenty of ash glass. The stuff ran through the walls everywhere in great glassy streaks. But none of the bluish-tinged flecks of metal could be found accompanying it.
It was Haggofik who suddenly motioned for the group to halt. "Be silent!" he ordered, causing the humans to wonder if now he thought he could hear the metal calling to him.
"Did ye hear that?" asked the ore-sniffer. The rest of the group was silent for a long moment, but they all shook their heads.
After another pause, Haggofik motioned for the group to continue. But a short while later he halted again. "Did ye hear that then?" he queried.
Again the group halted and strained to hear. Just as Argus started to say he heard nothing, Filbert's thoughts of alarm washed over him. At the same time, Thimbul whispered "I hear it now."
And there it was, a distant, high-pitched shriek, followed by another. It was impossible to tell how distant the shrieks were, or from which direction they originated, even for the dwarves who were accustomed to living underground. But as they listened, the shrieks became more numerous and louder.
"Bats?" asked Argus.
"Possibly lad," answered Haggofik, unlimbering his crossbow, "I think they be stalking us."
The shrieks suddenly became louder still, as if having turned a corner they eliminated a great deal of solid earth between them and the group, and Thimbul quickly tied his mapping slate tight to his stomach, leaving the parchment on the slate. He then drew his waraxe, Gimbul doing likewise. As Kirawyr pulled out his greataxe and Haggofik dropped his crossbow and hefted his pick, the sources of the shrieks flapped around a corner of the tunnel.
They had a wingspan the length of a tall man. Bats they were, but with long tails that ended in a razor sharp diamond of bone. Their eyes gleamed feral in the group's torchlight and in the lights from the dwarven hats, and the beasts emitted a high-pitched bark as they came, flying below the tall ceiling towards the group.
But Argus was ready. He formed the image of a spider in his mind and took a pinch of cobwebs out from his pouch. He tossed the cobwebs in the direction of the giant bats and intoned a word of power. Suddenly, the cobwebs leapt through the air towards the bats and when it reached them it blossomed out into a huge mass of sticky webbing that covered the passageway completely. These magical webs were as thick as a slender finger and caught the bats within. As a half dozen of the creatures tried to wriggle free of Argus' magic, another group flew in from the opposite direction, apparently intelligent enough to approach their prey from behind.
The bats flew in with their tails rigid and pointed ahead of them, like a phalanx of spearmen. They crashed into the line of warriors arrayed to meet their charge, and a vicious, swirling melee began. Both Kirawyr and Haggofik were slashed by the sharp tails, which could cut even chainmail and were small enough to slice through the joints of plate armour. Then the beasts began to rend with claws and needle sharp teeth while sweeping their tails around in a wide arc and slicing at the extremities of their prey.
Not that the group was idle. Kirawyr's axe rang out as it clove through bone and flesh, in one great stroke decapitating two of the creatures. Argus, meanwhile, summoned fire beetles to help in the fray, and these began to gouge fist-sized chunks of flesh from the bats. Haggofik and the young dwarves cut their own swaths through the beasts, and soon all were dead, including one that had wriggled free of Argus' webbing.
As Kirawyr quaffed some of the healing potion given to him by the aarakocra, the rest of the group set about firing the webs with torches and chopping up the remaining giant bats as they attempted to flee the flames.
"Farewell to you and know that the arrangement between us stands," intoned Kaaraathacoa, "as long as we aarakocra receive all of the glass you harvest as you mine the vein of metal you found, you may come freely to the hole and work the mines there under."
The dwarves bowed to the aarakocra, as did Argus and Kirawyr, and the group said its farewells to the birdmen, taking their mules with them down the mountainside back towards Nirzumbil.
Haggofik had located the vein of arandur metal shortly after the fight with the bats, and he had let out a booming "huzzah!" the moment he spied the flecks of metal in the walls surrounding a large streak of ash glass. Wasting no time, Haggofik had produced two stone tablets that looked, at first glance, like small headstones for a grave. He measured off 200 paces from the vein and set the first stone down onto the ground. He then walked the opposite direction another 200 paces from the vein and did likewise with the second stone. He then returned to the vein and, almost ritually, began to declare his claim.
"I Haggofik Terizmul do hereby claim this vein of arandur metal and all other mineral rights in the earth within the lawful area of me claim as me own for as long as I live. Let none seek to despoil me claim or to take the benefits of it from me. May the all the gods who respect this lawful claim curse any who do seek to take me claim or keep me from it. I have made me claim in the presence of witnesses so that the truth of it will be known."
With that, Haggofik had then taken a piece of chalk from Gimbul's set and had written in large Dwarvish letters:
"THIS BE THE CLAIM OF HAGGOFIK. MAY ANY WHO SEEK TO TAKE IT BE CURSED BY THE GODS AND DIE!"
Haggofik had been eager to return to Nirzumbil as quickly as possible in order to gather up miners and begin extracting the metal before someone came along who didn't respect his lawful claim and took it for his own.
And so, the group descended the slopes of Barazburil and reached the market of Nirzumbil by nightfall. Haggofik summoned the Claimsmaster and brought him into the market to record his claim and to accept the sworn oaths of the four witnesses. Each witness was then handed a metal card that memorialized their status as witnesses to Haggofik's claim. As the Claimsmaster stomped off to finish his supper, Haggofik was handed two sacks from his cousins. The sacks clinked with the sound of gold, and he placed these into the hands of Kirawyr and Argus.
"Ye been true and faithful to me lads, and for that I be grateful. I cannot tarry though, for I must gather me a crew and get to work on the vein. I wish ye good journeys when ye leave from here, and I would ask that ye keep the knowledge of me metal vein close to yer hearts and tell no one of it. Come Thimbul and Gimbul, we've work ahead of us!"
And with that, Haggofik turned on his good leg and limped off into the night. Gimbul and Thimbul each gave a slow bow to the humans, and then turned to follow their cousin.