A thick branch wavered over the dirt road. Dew from the moist night gathered on its edges and fell upon wet leaves with soft pats. Merchants in covered carts once took this route with increasing frequency, all the way up until the small town at the end ran dry of magic. The town itself was now nothing more than a retirement settlement for aging adventurers, a place to hide for those that needed to remain hidden, and a home to everyone too slow to adapt to the whims of commerce. The latter group could often be heard muttering things such as, “We should have increased our prices!” or, “You were never skilled at negotiation, Margareht,” or, “It was all the Bane’s fault, that greedy Dwarf,” in between fishing trips, or at the local tavern.
But it was never the Bane’s intent to shift trade away from this village. He was just a Dwarf doing what he did best, which was digging. His real name was Throfokhet, not that anyone outside of his underground fortress knew, or could pronounce, that. Everyone on the surface referred to him as the Adventurer’s Bane, because entering his fort for loot or riches or the magic hidden inside meant you often died. Creating a home for his people to flourish for eternity was the only thing he wanted. And if he happened to discover a bit of magic or rare ore as he did so, that just meant he could trade with the surface world and splurge a bit.
For the most part, surviving underground was easy for Dwarfs. They were short, hardy, and every now and again one of them figured out how to wield the magic they uncovered. Of course, they also had a bit of magic of their own. The same could be said for every race that lived in Luniar. Race-specific magic wasn’t something that required a spellbook, a trinket, or an intricate pattern of hand movements, no; it was something anyone could do without much thought or action at all. Dwarf magic centered around their hearts, which were made of Soul Emerald. Any dwarf could dig a fortress, ward the entrance with its magic, then slowly steal the life force of those that entered. It is what most Dwarfs do, and it allows them to live longer than any other creature, from Trolls and Elves to Hognarts and Totelums. The cost of this magic is rarely paid, but when it is, it is always fatal. Dwarfs are often hunted for their Soul Emeralds, which allows anyone that carries such a thing to cheat death. They are the most sought after item for Adventurers. Each Soul Emerald they carry is another respawn, another chance at life, and another dead Dwarf. This is why Dwarfs dig. Underground sanctuaries mean that the short humanoids could live in relative peace. All they have to do is build some traps or summon a few Rockborn minions to guard their lair. Some clans even sealed themselves underground entirely, with no access to the surface. These clans are always the safest from Adventurer’s, but they are also doomed to live a mortal life.
Throfokhet wanted no such life for himself, his family, or his people. He was driven by the desire to discover the answers to the most sought after question of why. Why are we meant to dig? Why do Adventurers always want more? And when why wasn’t enough, he wondered what. What is deeper? What is below the next layer of rock, or soil, or metal? What makes the magic?
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
This is why he dug deeper and deeper. This is why he allowed dangerous adventurer’s inside his fortress to steal their life force. And this is why he died.
As various clans, cities, and peoples chased their whys and battled their battles on the surface, another creature wondered the same question Throfokhet often did: What is below, as below as you could go?
It was a Goblin, a type of creature prone to nonsensical rambling but great at tinkering. If you needed armor, weapons, or the latest innovations in farm equipment, you sought out a shop that peddled Goblin’s craft. This Goblin, however, did not put his mind to gold or riches, he put it underground. So he designed a contraption such as the world had never seen before. It was enormous, and it took his life’s fortune to build. Half of this contraption consisted of a bank of power Chrystal's all tied together in series. The other half was iron that twisted and twirled with sharp edges to a point. This Gobin pointed his machination to the ground, a portion he knew to be the easiest to get through, and powered it on. He drilled his way through Throfokhets fortress, right down to the legendary dwarf himself, when the contraption stalled and his power Chyrstals depleted.
If the Dwarfs of other fortresses were to hear of this moment, they would be sure to shiver in fear. But a day was not long enough for news to reach the nearest town, never mind the often isolated forts underground. And Kokz the DrillRider had to fund his continued expedition somehow, so he brokered a contact that few Adventurers could refuse. He would give them access to Luniar’s most coveted and well-guarded source of Soul Emeralds in exchange for half the price they were worth on the black market. This was the day that Throfokhet’s Fortress fell, as did every Dwarf inside but one.
Lo was his name, granted to him due to his proximity to the ground, which was unusually close even for members of his race. His stubby legs carried him far from his lifelong home, far from safety and familiarity. Even the air on the surface world was unwelcoming to him. It had too much oxygen and not enough carbon dioxide. Worse, there wasn’t even a hint of methane. The result of these conditions was a weary and lightheaded Dwarf, driven only by fear and fear alone. The green Gem inside his chest slowly grew dim, as did his resolve. Still, he pushed on in the night. Wet leaves stuck to his leather boots as he ran. Dire Owls hooted on the forest floor all around him, too heavy to perch. The moon sat gingerly in the sky, the bright purple of an otherwise beautiful autumn.
Keep going Lo, he told himself, keep running and don’t look back.
A particularly hungry hoot prompted him to look left, just as a thick branch wavering over the dirt road took him off his feet.