“Are you sure this is the right idea?” Domuna asks his partner with a wavering voice as the two of them approach the enormous walls on the other side of the deep chasm leading down in a dark abyss that is the Middle Stratum of the Bottom Layer. The two remain completely invisible as they walk towards the edge where the draw bridge is usually lowered down to offer access into the Dhaugrian city of Kjhandurall the current capital of the deep dwarves.
“Well, we have been sent here as messengers. Not much choice do we have.” Dekni says while staring at the imposing walls of opaque obsidian ornamented with strange sculpting of warped faces one could say once depicted dwarves. Their beards and flesh twirl into each other in a macabre fashion, their tongue sticking out from a gaping hole with eyes carven into their tips that seem to follow the viewer wherever they move. Strips of silver separate the sections at the watch towers that end a few meters below the framing top edge of the Upper Stratum’s wall resembling a massive maw ready to grind the walls into pebbles. Similar circular strips frame the strange, mind-altering faces placed haphazardly over the smooth walls.
“I guess we can still escape in the worst case.” Domuna adds as the two dark elves conceived by Dhaugrian matrons lower their silken hoods and their bodies gradually turn visible revealing their rough, but still eye-catching appearance. Domuna the eldest of the two by half a century sports a thick beard that would make any dwarf proud, a long line of dreaded hair in the middle combed at the back while the sides of his head are shaved and tattooed with various symbols filled with minor inscriptions that aided him in the past from being captured like his previous partner, by a huldra living in this stratum. Specifically, it helps him overcome mental assaults to an extent, but seems like the ones coming from those warped dwarven faces are above what the protective symbols can handle.
While Domuna has a rougher, more dwarven like face, Dekni inherited the good looks of her father, smooth dark bluish skin, violet eyes, slim, even eyebrows and dense long hair that seems to possess an otherworldly glow to them with the back knotted into a bun while her face is framed by two braided strands and a thick fringe swept to the right hides her forehead. Practically the only thing that could tell her apart from being a pure dark elf is her height that’s around hundred and forty-three centimeters while Domuna himself towers over her with his approximately hundred and eighty.
Unease settles in them which they manage to hide while staring at the massive walls over on the other side. They look at each other with Dekni waiting for Domuna to introduce themselves and their intentions, Domuna doing the exact same thing waiting for her.
“Greetings our fellow half-kins. We are envoys seeking audience with your Rulers and High Priests!” After a few minutes of back and forth, Domuna gives in, his deep voice echoes through the chasm and up to the peek of the wall as he declares their intentions in a firm, yet still somewhat friendly tone.
“What now?” Dekni asks as one minute, then two, then three passes by in silence after Domuna’s declaration. “We wait.” Domuna adds after thinking for a few seconds.
Then a deep groaning scares the two but they quickly calm down after noticing the drawbridge slowly descending towards them. A taller than average Dhaugrian matron standing on the other side. Her face, a perfect blend of the two races, sharp, angular characteristics of the dwarf mixing with the delicate, graceful lines of the elves, yet her smile sent another shiver down their spines.
As she approached the two slowly, they started seeing details of her religious Matron robes that still displayed the famed craftsmanship of the dwarven kind. Thick plates of carefully processed Dhaugrite plates stacked on each other while frames of hardened Vaurdr leather separating each plate into a honeycomb fashioned pattern reaching up to just below her motherly breasts hidden under a large breastplate with furred collars that the underground wind gently breezed through as it entered from beyond the gate, with a matching hood usually accompanied with a half face mask that she currently held in her right palm.
A dark vambrace fastened around her slender forearm and elbow with dark leathery straps, the Dhaugrite fashioned like thin, jagged bones with the middle, warped outwards the frames, creating a crater like gap with the void black jewels embedded into them. They even extended into wide and flat pieces that diverted in the middle and each continued its way towards her fingers covering them in glistening, liquid like dhaugrite dyed in a dark silvery color.
But in all reality what really sent shivers down their spines was the staff she was using, made out of the fleshy trees of the Upper Stratum with the top designed with a flat surface with a uneven spherical frame, in the middle an amalgamation of eyes grafted together into one large ball with each eye moving separately as if they possessed a will of their own still after being separated from their respective bodies.
“Welcome envoys of the Eviscai Kingdom! I’m Galeldeth, Matron of the Morthrikem Conclave” The short Dhaugrin Matron welcomes the two whose eyes are fixated on her staff while she lightly bows in front of them, appearing even smaller with her short statured body.
“Ah! We thank you for lowering your gates in these trying times!” Domuna quickly breaks his stupor and bows while poking the sides of Dekni.
“Do not fret it, my brother’s subordinates are always welcome.” She continues after straightening herself, her mixed dwarven and dark elven features appearing even more prominent as her large nose seemed out of place on her alluring face, recognizing that its shape seems similar to their Commander’s.
“Come better to talk inside. We’ve been waiting for this day.” She says while turning back, her smile now appearing ominous to the two, who shake their shoulders before following after her.
**
“Come, better to talk inside. We’ve been waiting for your Highness.” Galeldeth bowed deeply in front of the slender figure draped in layered black shimmering robes with an immense hood and a featureless lustrous gray metallic mask with the alluring eye holes.
“Thank you for the kind greetings, Matron! I hope for such relationship in these trying times!” While Griggorn found her greetings a bit odd wondering how she knows him, he ignored it and bowed in response to it while indicating his intentions in his dried, lifeless voice that comes through as barely intelligible muffled whisper through his Arch-Magus mask.
“Come inside, we have already prepared a dinner, hope it will be to your tastes.” For a moment he notices the sudden change on her face, as if realizing her mistake but then it quickly shifts back to her previous kindly complexion as she turns back and leads the way.
Griggorn hesitates for a bit but in that moment, he realized that the best option for the coming threat is to unite their people once more. Even though he had now small doubts after confirming the rumors about the Dhaugrians madness.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
As they head inside, he notes the strange faces sculpted on the walls, which at first, he chalked up for protective measures against invaders, sensing wane inscriptions belonging to the minor Aspect of Mind, something similar to what the dark elves placed on their labyrinthian crypt. But he becomes unsure of that when they reach through the gate. The sight of a long-paved road enters his vision with numerous sculpted horrors on each side, clearly molded from the old ones depicting the various gods of the Dhaugrians. Originally, they were dwarves from the south and center of the continent, but they were expelled from their respective clans after being found out consorting with various malicious entities to improve their craftsmanship.
Which he found commendable at the time, making sacrifices for the advancement of your race was something he himself believed in once, but not anymore after he had to take over the pact slowly feeling the three biting into his soul like serpents, inserting their venom into his whole being. Even after attaining lichdom, severing part of his soul to rid of it of the venom, the ceaseless hunger, the unending rage and creeping paranoia remained within him. Even now he envisioned how the Matron is just guiding him until the rest of her people attack him, the burning feeling of killing all of them before that comes to be scorches his mind, and the hunger to consume their flesh, their wealth and enslaving their souls comes over him before he manages to push these thoughts to the deepest recesses of his mind.
With each step closer to the enormous maw with a long step of stairs reminding him of enormous tongue of the notorious beast slithering between the worlds ready to swallow him into the gloom within, the thrumming of the renown Dhaugrian forge guides a cold tenderness along his withered, moldering body.
“They’re coming from East!” The sound of groaning and shouts combined with the cold dread presences entering through the wards he set up around the perimeters of their large camp awakes him just as he was about to take his first step into the dark maw.
“I know. Around five hundred, maybe a bit more.” He quickly replies to Erori who seemingly too just woke up, drenched in sweat and her dark cloak hallway pulled up.
“Let’s hurry.” He says as she grabs her hands and the two teleport to the east edge of the camp. The two appear slightly above the fighting between the Dhau-Íssz and the Nameless’s undead, their former reinforcements that were attacked on the way, turned into a force to slow them down. The two stands on a hulking branch of the Bunnlagite Forest of the Upper Stratum two days away from the former capital.
Erori walks to the edge and sends a swirling ball of flames at a young raised Dhaugrut Giant standing around five meters tall, swallowing two Dhau-Íssz clad in their scaled armour crushed between its putrid dark palms. Just as its body sets on raging flames, letting out a warped deep childish scream, the two unfortunate victims become part of its body before it crumbles into charred pieces.
One Dhau-Íssz necromancer foolishly tries to tap into the bound minds of theirs, his eyes turn white, his skin corrodes within seconds as he falls onto his crumbling knees, landing as a pile of ash that scatters in all directions.
A large orc Dhau-Íssz warrior and an accompanying ogre that developed fur around its bulky neck, clad in a similar crude scaled armour cuts down undead one after the another, pumping their ego till they lurch into the enemy ranks in their thanks to the budding egos, quickly meeting their doom by their clan’s former kin. Their rise up with the light consuming darkness filling their now putrid, heavily grazed moving cadavers.
Undead Vaurdrs rip and tear his warriors who screaming awakens the even the furthest of their camp. Their cold breath freezing some of the warriors and mages in place before they are cut down in a manner in which they can still serve their new master. The chaos slowly spreads in the eastern edge, creeping slowly towards the centre with each passing moment while Griggorn mulls over his mistake. He knew even the day before that they should have waited or just left those behind. But now because of his mistake, they lost a small number that may matter.
Then he calms himself down and joins Erori on the edge, raising his staff while pouring his filtered mana into its draconic head of mythrite. From its open jaws, a cone of flames slowly grows in length and girth while constantly twirling as it heads down at the enemy, burning undead into piles of ashes within seconds.
“Archers! Draw and release at will!” The harsh, commandeering deep voice echoes through the relatively small battlefield coming from Zhug-Rim his left hand, a large orc standing at two meters tall at least, blessed by the Nightscale. His hulking arms appearing more draconic, his feet clawed, incapable of wearing boots, even though it is no longer necessary thanks to the hardened dark scales adorning his limbs and chest.
His body disappears in a blink of an eye as he uses the greatest blessing of the Nightscale, appearing over the other side of the long wall of flames keeping the undead at bay. His swings horizontally with his enormous battle axe that makes his scaled arms bulge under his fine armour, cutting down swathes of undead. The flames engulfing the blade burn them to smoking crisps while continues lowering their numbers.
As he slowly pushes further into the enemy forces, the Dhau-Íssz warriors and mages follow after him after Griggorn controlling the flames, opens ways for them. Thanks to the renewed moral, they easily reduce the enemy numbers bit by bit, still incurring some casualties but even those meet their second ends at the hands of their fellow clan-kin.
Meanwhile Zhug reaches a weird amalgamation of two Dhaugrut Giants, the parents of the one destroyed by Erori, with mismatched arms that belonged to the reinforcement’s mages preparing spells just as they notice the hulking orc. A smile curves onto his pale, mutated orc face with dark scales shimmering under the frames of his open helmet slightly resembling the head of a dragon.
He glides under the undead construct, dodging the incoming spells that freeze and set aflame the ground behind him. Some even hitting their own, spreading the flames onto the nearby Dhau-Íssz warriors who came to help out their acting commander. As he glides under the four legs weirdly placed thanks to the necrotic fusion, he cuts through its loins opening a deep wound from which its dark blood sprays onto him, tainting his somewhat majestic looks.
The flames attach themselves to the putrid, hardened skin of the weird undead giant, spreading onto its four legs before a few of the hands refocus putting them out with frost. The more feminine looking giant body melded to the back of her once mate howls at Zhug, sending a transparent dark miasma in his direction that corrodes the nearby plants native to the Upper Stratum. Seeing them wither in seconds, he once again disappears in a blink, turning up at the sides of the giant’s front body whose left arm gets separated by the axe after Zhug leaps in the air.
The flames of his battle axe once again catch onto the wound spraying the blackened blood, spreading quickly all over the grafted together body. The hands once more change their target, focusing on Zhug, coming to the conclusion that even if they die a second time, better bring him with themselves. Their unified warped shout rings through the forest, as they lunge their towering mass of a body at him, but once again Zhug disappears. This time he behind them watching as their joined body lands in a large rocky formation, the masculine head with its skull exposed shatters into pieces on impact, their motionless body slowly consumed by the flames until nothing remains of it, just a distant memory.
With their leader down, the rest of the undead are slowly finished till a few remaining scatters into the illuminated dim distance. Zhug walks back while being greeted by the cheers of his fellow clansmen, patting the few in his path on their shoulders while giving orders to clean up the mess while remaining with a few to keep watch.
“How many we lost?” Erori and Griggorn appears near them after teleporting down, with Erori quickly inquiring about their losses.
“Around a 149 milady.” Zhug replies in a respectful manner as he bows his head down lightly to Griggorn.
“Thank you, my friend!” Griggorn walks up to him and says with his sour face hidden under his mask. “I did what is my duty milord!” Zhug replies once more, getting down on his knees to show full respect to one of the Chosen.
“That won’t be necessary. Soon you will be among us!” Griggorn replies while taking his mask down, revealing his smiling handsome elven face. “I’ll check the other sides, rest when you are sure there won’t be another attack.” He says before disappearing to ensure their forces won’t suffer anymore losses.