Greg approached William, ready to go on a journey.

"You already heard, good, we will ride within the hour." William said proudly.

"I don’t understand." he admitted, checking his lucky rock.

"The army of Ash is riding out to meet with South Elm. King Theyren has agreed to meet me. We suspect a trap. I assumed you were informed." he said as servants fitted his armor.

"No. I came to tell you I was leaving." Greg said, looking confused.

"You must go with us, your strength could be useful if and when they decide to strike. We must move while there is a chance of truce or convenient counterstrike." he informed.

"I have to go." Greg said abruptly.

"You can't just leave on the dawn of battle." William sighed.

"I made the damn sword, we agreed there would be payment, my job is done." he said checking his rock again impatiently.

"So then you have no allegiance to anyone, do you?" William asked angrily.

"My word, and those few who have proven they honor theirs…nothing more. I made my blade, as soon as I am paid for it, it's your blade." he shrugged as Muradin approached in armor.

"Perhaps we can join them, follow the stones when it is over." muttered Muradin.

"Stones…" William sighed. "you will leave what is to be glorious battle and see your weapon in action, because you follow a stone? The priests said you were eccentric, but I expected more of you." he scoffed richly.

"And I expected payment for my work." Greg insisted. William shook his head, disappointed with his blacksmith. He motioned one of the advisors to pay him and he was off. Muradin kept silent until they were out of earshot from the city of Ash.

"I don’t understand. Tell me what we are looking for." he begged.

"I don’t know. The stone has always lead me, and I've always followed. I assumed it wanted me to join them, but the same night the army began prepping to go, it pointed away from the battlefield." he explained.

"How do you know this stone is leading you to the right place? This magic may be cursed, leading you away from your destiny." he noted.

"It leads me to the city as a boy. I was too weak to follow it through and my sister died. Had I followed it to the end, she may be alive. I ignored it when the elves took me in and offered to help me. I was betrayed. Now it leads me to my finest weapon and it is in the hands of someone who is as likely chosen to wield it, as I am chosen to make it. Now it wants me to go north…so I go north." he said sadly.

"I cannot change your mind, and I swore an oath. So as much as I wish to ride with you into victorious battle and glory, I will also follow you into obscurity." he reluctantly nodded.

Bacon stood motionless, staring intently at a beehive, from a few inches away.

"There you are. Don’t bother the poor bees, they have their own things to tend to." Miranda said trying to lead him away by the hand. There was no give, like trying to lead a house by one of the sturdy posts. She crossed her arms with a playful scolding manner.

"We have to keep going if we want to be safe, and I can't travel with a bee-hive." she insisted. He stood silently for a moment, casually turning to her and drooping a little as if sad that he had to leave the bugs and go. He lumbered along as she counted her supply rations.

"I know you like the critters, but there are critters everywhere. When we get to the sea, we can go wherever we want and settle down. You can have all the bugs you want then." she smiled. They walked along the trail into the open fields and Bacon suddenly stopped. Miranda rolled her eyes, about to lecture him when she heard it as well, the faint huff of large wings above.

"Run." she whispered. She bolted for the tree line and made it a good ways before realizing Bacon couldn’t run. He walked somewhere between regular walking and a brisk strut. She couldn’t let him stay in the open, a dragon wouldn’t likely go after him, but if mistaken for a soldier, he may look like a hearty meal. She went for the high grass and quickly got her bow out, stringing it hastily and taking aim, thinking she could distract it. The winged beast swooped down and nearly grabbed him, missing and circling for something more appetizing. She felt the relief in the first moment that the dragon didn’t want Bacon, and then immediately the relief vanished as she realized she was now the most appealing piece of meat around. She sprinted for the trees and refused to look back as the wing-buffeting grew louder. As she reached the trees, she darted left, hearing the crash of limbs and foliage being ripped apart behind her. The roar of the beast was followed by the bright light of its fiery breath igniting the nearby brush. She fell, dropping her bow and expecting to be devoured as the beast took to the air again and disappeared. She hid in the cool shadows for a moment, afraid to leave her friend but afraid to move either. She slowly made a quiet path to the smoldering brush and spotted Bacon, looked around for her.

"Oh my, I thought you had been torched." she said hugging him. She jumped to attention, grabbing her bow at the sound of voices. She aimed the arrow carefully as they approached the woods. As the voices became clearer, Greg and Muradin entered the clearing, looking perplexed at the smoldering wreckage.

"What happened here?" Greg asked.

"Dragon." she said breathlessly lowering her bow.

"Thought I heard something big." Greg yawned.

"You aren't concerned, there is a dragon nearby!" she whispered alarmingly.

"Dragon, Dire wolf, gang of trolls, this area is a death-trap. Whatever gets in my way is what needs to be concerned." he said checking his magic rock. "Oh what the hell?!" he said tapping it a few times. He was either the bravest thing alive or the most foolish. She wasn’t sure.

"What is wrong with your stone?" asked Muradin.

"I don’t know. It won't stop moving, and there are 2 lights, opposite directions." he said, feeling rather stupid. He watched as the blue spot facing north remained still and another brighter one wobbled from east to south.

"What does it do?" she asked.

"Guides me. Like a compass." he said tossing it up and over his shoulder in frustration.

"Like a broken compass." Muradin muttered, earning a very shitty look from a Greg that was not in the mood.

"What do they point to, then?" she asked.

"Not entirely sure. I've never made it to the end to find out." he sighed, sitting down and having a drink to relax.

"They stopped moving now." she said picking it up and handing it back.

"Yea but which one do I…" he paused. "How did you know they stopped moving?" he asked, squinting his eyes at her. She looked confused by the question, hesitant to say the obvious, but having no better suggestion.

"Because they were moving…and now they are just stuck." she said rotating it and noticing it moved with her.

"You can see the lights?" he asked, smiling and standing up excitedly.

"Of course…I have my glasses on." she shrugged. He surprised her with a sudden hug and bacon stood up, drawing his shovel to attack.

"Be still, soldier. He means no harm. You mean no harm do you?" Muradin asked.

"She can see the stupid lights!" Greg said as if winning a bet.

"Glasses." she muttered, and was ignored. Muradin sighed and looked rather defeated, realizing he was right.

"I don’t understand. Can they not be seen?" she asked.

"Everyone thought I was insane, talking to rocks and seeing lights that were not there, but they are there, and therefore I am not insane." he bragged.

"We are very proud of you, mister." she said nervously patting his arm supportively.

"What exactly is a glasses?" asked Muradin.

"I invented it…sort of." she explained, removing the glasses and showing him. "You wear them and they let you see things you can't. The voices named them, but I made the ear thingy." she smiled proudly.

"You see the lights and hear voices… the madness is spreading." Muradin huffed, feeling paranoid.

"If all can see what you cannot, are we mad or are you blind?" she asked Muradin crossing her arms.

"Bacon" grunted Bacon, agreeing with whatever she just said.

"You are the eldest of the group, maybe you have bad eyes." Greg smiled, looking at Muradin. He gave up, breaking out his tobacco pipe and looking for a shady spot to rest as the idiots decided what to do. He puffed away, sharpening the broken tip of his sword. He nearly had it ground to a point again.

"I say North, but we cant take the open fields." Miranda explained.

"Open fields are faster." Greg countered.

"Not if we get eaten by dragons." she reminded.

"I've encountered worse things and lived. If it comes back, I'll kill it, and we will have food for weeks." Greg boasted.

"You can't slay a dragon. Dragons are immortal." she argued.

"They're not immortal; they just live for a very long time…so do Dwarfs and they die constantly." Greg reminded.

"May I make a suggestion?" asked the Dwarf. The stopped debating for a moment.

"You may be immortal, but we are not, and open fields are suicide with a dragon on the hunt. If we wait it out, we lose a full day. If we double back and take the caves, we can go north safely." he smiled.

"What caves?" asked Greg.

"The caves to Ferria." he said triumphantly.

"Ugh, I hate caves." Greg muttered under his breath.

"It's okay to be afraid of something." Miranda said cheerfully.

"I fear nothing…unfortunately, I am annoyed by many things." Greg nodded.

"Caves annoy you?" she asked.

"Dwarves…especially in large numbers." he groaned.

"Yes, the Dwarven city of Ferria. Known across the land as the gem of the underworld." Muradin began rambling.

"Pebble of hell." Greg corrected.

"All know the name, few know the location and only a Dwarf knows the way inside. We would be welcomed and greeted with strong beer and smoked meats."

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"That sounds pleasant for someone like you." she said peering at Greg in a manner fitting a subtle dig. "So why do you dread this so much?" she asked.

Muradin rushed through the dimly lit tunnel into the vast cave opening, The sprawling city a bustle with Dwarves and torches, a marketplace of smells and chatter he missed greatly. Out of the opening followed Miranda, looking curious and intrigued, then Bacon, with a few new scratches on his helmet. Greg followed a moment later, slowly leaning back and stretching for the first time in about 12 hours. He groaned and straightened his spine, sore as hell from the hunched manner in which he spent the day's travel. He tied off the horses and proceeded to limp like an old troll to the nearest pub.

"Ferria, gem of the underworld." Muradin bellowed.

"Pain in the ass." hollered Greg as he drug his sore back into the small crowd as Dwarves made room for him.

"It's very cozy." Miranda said, leading Bacon by the hand so he wouldn’t get lost, or sold, or lured in by any carpenters. Greg waddled to the main gates, carrying a small barrel of something cheap and strong as he gave a sigh of relief and stepped out into the light of the moon. He peered up into the cone of stairs leading hundreds of feet into the sky and to ground level. The city was smack dab in the middle of the woods, hundreds of feet below it. What was thought to have been an ancient mining excavation made a perfect defense system. The only way down the nearly vertical shaft was the winding stairs carved in the sides of the spiraling pit. Anything attempting to invade would have to funnel down into a row and descend hundreds of feet down a clearly marked path, perfect for a volley of arrows. Climbing the piles of the dead in order to proceed, would slow them even further, making the city as safe as a stone vault. The natural light of the full moon made it exceptionally beautiful, the spirals of torches dotting the path and the glow of small openings here and there. Greg checked his rock, noticing it was very bright. He was close to it, very close. He wandered back into the city, ducking every doorway and cutting through the market for a snack as he went. He arrived near the entrance to the caves again, but was drawn to a dim corner. There was a dusty and rather petrified rope blocking off the dark area. He stepped over the rope and as he got closer, the stone's light illuminated a fairly formidable door. There was an inscription on the front, and it was clearly a door not meant to be opened. Cobwebs sealed it shut, indicating it had been closed for many years, if not decades. The wooden levers on the crank to open it were rotted and mossy. Nobody seemed to be interested in what was inside, at least not enough to risk it. The light was leading through, so the choice was obvious…but weather or not to go alone was not.

The group stood there, examining the door.

"The bridge of the deep. Gateway to hell." Muradin whispered cryptically.

"So where does it go? And don’t say hell." Greg asked.

"None are sure. Hell, probably. It was here before Ferria was built, already ancient and worn. Many followed it, most never returned. The few who did gave up and turned back before solving this mystery. The elders feared its lure, believing the mystery was too enticing to be left open. The door was built from the stone around it, keeping the ancient inscription intact as a reminder that the depths hold many evils. Legends disagree with what lies beyond.

"What does the inscription say?" asked Greg.

"None have been able to read it." said Muradin.

"I speak 6 languages." Greg assured, looking at the tablet closer.

"What does it say?" asked Muradin. Greg turned slowly.

"You realize there are more then just 6 languages?" he asked dryly.

"And this is not one of them." he huffed.

"Nope." Greg said, stepping back and pondering if it was just nonsense. Miranda put her glasses on and began closing one eye at a time.

"Something something, guarded by fire, the price of victory is death, something about feeding the darkness. Only 3 shall enter." she said confidently. They both stared at her in amazement and mild doubt. "What?" she asked.

"You speak…whatever that is?" asked Greg. "I speak everything, and I can't read a single letter of that." he added.

"Then you don’t speak everything, do you?" she smiled.

"Point taken. How sure are you that this is…what language is this?" he asked.

"No idea." she shrugged.

"Then how can you read any of it?" he asked.

"Glasses. I could read it all but part of the stone has been chipped off. I assure you, it is correct, minus the skipped parts." she grinned.

"I trust her." Muradin said. "And that means we stay put. A warning is a warning." he nodded. Bacon grunted in assumed agreement.

"No, I didn’t ask you to go. You hate fire, it's a bad idea." she muttered to Bacon.

"Well, whoever feels like going with me better supply-up, because I am going." Greg decided. Muradin rolled his eyes.

"What part of DEATH and feeding the darkness was unclear? And it said 3 must enter." Muradin barked.

"Only 3 can enter, that means no more then 3. One is less than three and I doubt I'll get 2 volunteers." Greg explained.

"Only 3 may enter…not "no more than 3" may enter. It means you must enter with exactly 3 people. Clearly it demands a sacrifice or two!" he argued.

"Nothing about that was clear. It's a cryptic message with missing pieces, interpreted by a girl who doesn’t even know what dialect it's written in. The only thing we know for sure is that none of this is clear." Greg grumbled.

"Precisely why we shouldn’t go." Muradin hollered.

"I go where the stone takes me, especially now that I know it's real and not in my head." he replied.

"According to the girl, who's sanity you question regarding the translation! A translation with the word "Death" in the warning!" Muradin barked. She looked annoyed.

"I am right on the translation." muttered Miranda as they ignored her and continued to argue.

"Why do you care so much if I go, you don't even like me!" asked Greg.

"Because if you go, I have to go…and I don’t want to go!" he admitted.

"Nobody is forcing you." Greg scoffed.

"I have sworn an oath to repay my debt. It was a foolish oath to make to such a thrill-seeking maniac, but I made it before I knew you were insane. This is my home, the city of the Dwarves, where the scrolls of the Dwarven code were written and carved in the temple walls. If I break my oath out of fear, my family will be dishonored and my name marred for a century. If you march into the jaws of stupidity, I will follow." he said reluctantly.

"That's unfortunate. What if, as your master, I order you to stay behind?" he asked.

"A Dwarf never lets a friend march into danger alone." he said, grabbing his sword and a sturdy satchel.

"I have to go. This blue light means something and if I stop now, I'll never know what. It wants me to find something in there, and I have to get it." he insisted.

"Then pack light, I have a feeling it is going to be a long walk." Muradin huffed.

"I'll go with you." said Miranda, cheerfully as ever. Bacon grabbed her arm and gently solidified his grip so she couldn’t budge.

"You can stay, buddy. I'll be fine." she assured. He didn’t respond, keeping his grip and slowly pointing at the sign. "They need me, in case there is more to read. 3 must go, and you can't even speak. A tree has no place going somewhere with the word "fire" in the warning." she assured. He wouldn’t budge. "Bacon…I'm not asking you. Stay here and guard the supplies." she ordered. He reluctantly let her go, unsure what to do. "Good boy." she smiled. He grunted. "I'll miss you too." she added. Muradin looked dumbfounded, approaching Bacon and getting uncomfortably close to his knee armor.

"He is a Walking tree?" Muradin asked. The others looked as if this was old news.

"Not very observant are you?" Greg asked rhetorically. Greg motioned him to the gate crank and began turning it. The door opened and creaked as the rotten wood seals on the side's buckles and crumbled. Greg got his hands under the door and assisted its corroded mechanism, propping a large rock under it so it wouldn’t fully close behind them. He turned to Bacon.

"Guard the door, Bacon. Nobody goes in, and this door doesn’t completely shut…got it?" asked Greg. Bacon grunted. "Good…I think." he nodded, holding the door enough for the others to walk through. He placed the heavy stone back down on the jamming rock, and Bacon was alone. He didn’t mind so much, if not for the worry about Miranda's safety. He shuffled to the supplies and got his shovel, scraping some of the loose dirt into a pile big enough to stand in. He patted it down and poured some water over it to make a nice little mud puddle. He stood in the center and sunk his roots into the sad little patch of soil, getting comfortable as he began his guard duty, shovel in hand like a statue of protection. It wasn’t long before someone noticed him.

"So where are you from?" asked Miranda.

"Right here in Ferria. Moved around a lot after I served in the Ferrous guards in the great war." Muradin boasted proudly. The screech of a bat startled them both, as Greg seemed to care very little. He casually opened his robe and revealed his sword, a rather oriental single-edged Odachi. He clicked the blade from the sheath's seal with his thumb and kept walking.

"I don’t like bats." She said nervously.

"Fear not, I have lived among the cave creatures long enough to know their ways." he said trying to draw his sword and getting snagged again.

"Why do you carry that piece of shit?" Greg sighed.

"This Steel was smelted from the ore of Ferria, the finest quality of steel in the land.

"Nope." Greg yawned.

"What do you mean…NOPE!?" he grumbled.

"Cast iron, Ferrian Iron has high carbon content. That is a high-sulfur scrap, the same shit that the Elves sell back when they have leftovers. It gets stamped as Elvin steel so it fetches a high price and they mark it down so everyone buys it up. Absolutely worthless garbage." Greg muttered.

"Preposterous speculation. My grandfather carried this blade into battle and passed it down-" he said finally freeing it from the scabbard.

"Broken and re-forged at least twice, that's why it's twisted and slightly curved. It may be your grandfather's sword, but it's still elf-shit. It belongs on a mantle above a fireplace as a family keepsake, not on a belt as a tool of defense." he informed.

"A blade is more than just-" he said ducking and swiping as the bat returned. Greg stepped to the side and drew his Odachi, turning and swinging over their heads. The two halves of a dead bat plopped down beside them.

"Wow, you didn’t even look." said Miranda, mildly impressed. Not to be outdone, Muradin whistled into the darkness, trying to lure in another bat to prove his skill. Greg shook his head.

"Stop fiddling around and save your energy, we have no idea how long this bridge is." Greg encouraged.

"I'm a Dwarf, I know how difficult it is to carve a bridge of stone into solid rock. it cannot be more than a few hundred steps beyond this." he assured.

Greg sat on the edge, peering down into the nothingness, dropping stones to see if he could hear the sound of it hitting the bottom. Nothing at all.

"We have been walking for hours. Are we even moving?" complained a very sore-footed Miranda.

"Dark magic, there are forces beyond our mortal abilities in this place." Muradin shivered.

"No magic, just a really impressive bridge." Greg said stringing his bow and wrapping an arrowhead in some cloth. He pinched the cloth and lit it on fire. Knocking the arrow. He aimed 45 degrees upward and perpendicular to the bridge. "Just a simple matter of finding the walls or ceiling." he said confidently, releasing the arrow and waiting for it to hit something. The arrow sailed into the darkness and vanished into the black fog without a trace. Greg blinked a few times, waiting for the ping. "Okay…now I am impressed." he admitted.

"Endless blackness in all directions. Dark magic is this. We should go back." Muradin said shivering again.

"You're cold too?" asked Miranda.

"I thought I was just being paranoid." he admitted. It was getting rather cold. Greg knocked another arrow, aiming straight up. He loosed it and watched for something. The faint tap of it bouncing off the stone re-assured him.

"See? Not endless, just really, really large. I figured the ceiling should be getting closer by now." he muttered.

"Closer?" asked Muradin.

"Yea, the bridge is slightly angled upward. The first arrow down took 35 seconds to hit bottom, the next took 43, and the last 2 just disappeared, so the chamber is level, and the bridge is angled. So the top should be getting closer as we go. I bet when we reach the end of it, we will be able to see the top. Maybe another hour." he estimated. The others whined and grumbled. They continued down the endless bridge. Muradin began noticing the bridge gradually narrow, from 3 or 4 meters wide at the gate, to what was now only 2 meters at best. It was getting very cold and Muradin didn’t feel so bad about complaining now that his breath was visible. Miranda shivered and rubbed her bare arms for warmth as Greg seemed to completely be oblivious.

"Did anyone pack a blanket?" she asked.

"I assumed in the warm caves, traveling light would be a good thing." Muradin admitted. A faint gust of wind was wreaking havoc on the torches, and the heat of them meant very little. Muradin held it close, losing his focus and running into Greg, bumping the flames against his own beard. Miranda shrieked as Muradin frantically tossed his torch and began patting out his smoldering whiskers.

"Bloody damnation and Elf shit!" he hollered, kicking the torch and pacing angrily.

"Are you okay?" asked a very concerned Miranda as Greg snickered silently to himself.

"I lost at least a finger's length of my mustache. Now I have to shorten the other side to match or look ridiculous!" he complained.

"I can shorten it." she shrugged.

"That's not the point. A Dwarfs honor is measured by his beard. I may as well have lost a season of respect…And now I'm cold again!" Muradin barked.

Greg sat on the edge again, thinking deeply about his theories and what percentage of them was complete guessing. They had been traveling for hours, the bridge seemed to go on forever, leveled out so much that Greg couldn’t detect the angle anymore. Muradin and Miranda were attempting to sleep, though the cold was now unbearable for them. Greg rolled his eyes at the mortals and their almost comically low tolerance for the cold. He scooted closer and began radiating heat for them. By his calculations, they were around 15-18 miles deep and directly under the mountain, something between a hundred and 2 hundred meters below the surface. It was no longer even considered Ferria land anymore. The bridge was lightly frosted over and slightly slick, making each chunk of missing stone rail even more menacing than the last, now that the bridge was only about a meter and a half wide. Greg checked his magic rock, tempted to throw it into the darkness and turn back, but it couldn’t be much further now…probably. Muradin shuttered and tilted his head.

"That is the third time I have dozed off and woke in this hellish cave." he said sitting up and getting ready for some food before they had to walk some more. He broke off a piece of frosty, cold pork jerky, and sighed as he tried to chew it. He held it out to arms length trying to thaw it near Greg, he noticed something felt off. There was a weight to his face that seemed abnormal. His eyes got big and he hopped up, holding out his beard and noticing it had been meticulously braided with a few wooden beads and a few metal trinkets.

"Damnit Greg, if you did this I will slay you and tell everyone you fell!"

"Like I would take the time out of my boredom to play with another man's hair." he scoffed, fairly insulted.

"A Dwarfs beard-" he started, noticing he had woken Miranda, who was now yawning and starting to sit up. He paused his rant and felt slightly bad about it, realizing the likely culprit, and finding himself no longer enraged.

"Morning…I think." she said looking up for any sign of the time."

"Very possibly morning." Greg said squinting into the darkness.

"This is madness, Greggory. We should turn back." he suggested, shaking off the cold.

"We are almost there…almost somewhere at least." he smirked.

"How could you know that, we have been debating weather or not this bridge ends at all, for nearly an entire day." Muradin yawned.

"I can see the light ahead. Where there is light, there is either an exit or something with torches." he deduced. The others squinted and saw nothing but blackness. Miranda applied her glasses and still saw nothing.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Positive. It's bright, flickering a little, a nice warm glow like that of a mighty bonfire. In mere minutes you should see it. If we are lucky, we may even get some kind of greeting." he shrugged optimistically.

Muradin was the last through the opening, pausing with the other two as the bright chamber revealed exactly what was providing the light. He slowly turned his head left and up to give Greg a very irritated glare.

"I hate you and your damn horse." he muttered as he panned back to the massive open chamber where the bridge extended for a long distance further, over an ocean of molten rock that seemed to be almost as endless at the dark behind them.

"Well that's unfortunate." Greg scoffed. "Not gonna be cold anymore." he shrugged.