“You can always take time in your journey to help the little people. There’s no reason to make the journey, otherwise.” Anonymous missionary for the Althalion Faith.

The landscape in front of Garassk looked like a war had been fought there recently. Every hut had chunks missing from it, and the scent of smoke was overpowering. The people cowered at his approach. Every single one of them was the size of a small human child, mole-like faces, and had large eyes to boot. He couldn’t see it, but he could taste the scent of rot. Clearly not everyone in the village was alive right now.

“What happened here?” he asked out loud. The dwarves all flinched at the sound of his voice.

“Hello!” Rathorn called out behind him, earning even more recoiling in terror. “What’s going on?”

Silence.

“We’re not here to cause trouble,” Garassk said. “We’re passing through. Is it safe to be here, or not?”

Nobody spoke up.

“We don’t want to say here,” Garassk added. “But we need to know how to leave. Someone say something. Please.”

Everyone in the crowd looked at each other and one of them came forward. A short woman with coal-black hair.

“We’re at war, sirs,” she squeaked in a timid voice. “We’re under attack.”

“Who’s fighting?” Rathorn asked.

“We’re not sure,” the dwarf said. “They only come out at night. We’ve sent envoys to our king to deal with the problem, but none have returned.”

“And where is your king?” Garassk asked. The dwarf merely pointed at the ground.

“Is there no other way around?” Rathorn pressed.

“We don’t know. We’re always ambushed. They could be surrounding our village. They could be waiting in the tunnels for all we know. We’ve had no luck catching them before they attack.”

“Perhaps we should deliver the message?” Garassk said, turning to Rathorn. “It doesn’t look like we’ll be getting out of here otherwise.”

“We shouldn’t,” Rathorn grumbled. “But I see no other options. Lead the way, dwarf.”

“Um… right. One moment,” she said hurrying off. Minutes later, she returned wearing a mail shirt and steel cap, and carrying an ax.

“This way,” she said, spinning around and taking a moment to readjust herself before heading off. Rathorn grumbled and limped behind her, and Garassk followed.

“There’s a cave not far from here,” the dwarf called back. “That’s the entrance to the kingdom.”

“So I take it everyone on the surface are the laborers then?” Rathorn guessed.

“Yes. We gather lumber.”

“We never caught your name,” Garassk added.

“Diama.”

“I’m Garassk and this is Rathorn.”

“A pleasure,” Diama said.

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“So who is this king?” Rathorn asked.

“King Basalt,” Diama answered. “We haven’t heard from him in months, but he’s always been good to us.”

As good as kings ever are, I assume, Garassk thought.

“You haven’t heard from him?” Rathorn asked.

“No. He’s supposed to come to the surface to collect tribute, and he hasn’t in a long time.”

“Might this have something to do with the attacks?” Garassk asked.

“They only started a week ago, so I doubt it,” Diama answered. “But I suppose we can ask him when we get there.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t open with that,” Rathorn warned. “Aristocrats are often quite prickly.”

“We’ll have plenty of time to think about what we want to say,” Diama said. Garassk flicked his tongue out for clues. The forest land was lush and full of life, but nothing unusual stood out.

“Have you ever met this king?” he eventually asked.

“Met as in went up and talked to? No,” Diama admitted. “Met as in seen? Yes. I’ll be able to recognize him when we meet him.”

“And speaking of which, it looks like we’re almost there,” Rathorn said. “I see a cave in the distance.”

“Yes, that’s it,” Diama said. Cold air gusted across them as they stepped into the cave. Glowing mushrooms dotting the walls kept them from going in blind. Three different passages greeted them. Nothing about the cave made it look inviting.

“Well, we’re here,” Garassk said. “Shouldn’t there be some guards or something?”

“Yes,” Diama said. “There should.”

“Where is everybody?” Garassk asked.

“And why do I taste blood in the air?” Rathorn added. Garassk flicked his own tongue out in response. The scent was faint, but it was there.

“I don’t like this,” he said. He and Rathorn drew their weapons and tasted the air for more clues.

“That way,” Rathorn growled, pointing to a path to the left. “That’s where the scent is strongest.”

They moved reluctantly in the direction he indicated. Garassk thought he heard a clicking sound as they got nearer, but nobody else seemed to. He tasted something, but he couldn’t say what it was.

The path led into a small room with nothing in it. At least, that’s what Garassk thought before something dropped down from the ceiling.

“Gods above!” Rathorn bellowed. The creature rose to meet them. It was a giant praying mantis with clawed fingers instead of pincers, a mouth full of sharp teeth that opened like a blooming flower, and a scorpion’s tail. It let out a strangled sound that made Diama scream in horror and swung its tail right at them. Rathorn shot off a bolt, which bounced right off of the creature’s chest. Garassk swung his sword and achieved a similar lack of results from the blow.

“Run!” he shouted. Both of them grabbed him and ran out of the room and back towards the entrance. Garassk turned just in time to see the creature unfurl wings they hadn’t noticed when it first appeared and take off ahead of them.

“It’s ahead of us!” he shouted.

“We know!” Rathorn and Diama called back. Garassk wanted to ask what it was doing, but he didn’t have the breath to ask while running, and they probably didn’t have the breath to answer.

He didn’t have to wait long for an answer anyway. The creature was right above the entryway when they arrived.

“It knew where we were going,” Garassk said once they stopped.

“Dead men tell no tales,” Rathorn snarled, loading his crossbow.

“Men, and whatever this thing is,” Garassk replied. Rathorn held his crossbow up and took careful aim. Garassk noticed that the creature was holding something in one of its hands.

“What is that?” Diama called out, evidently noticing as well. Rathorn adjusted his weapon, and shot at the creature’s hand.

“Oh shi-!” Garassk started to cry out, but Rathorn’s bolt hit the vial before he could finish the sentence. The orange liquid burst into flame, causing a renewed scream from the bug monster, and the stones from the ceiling to loosen. Garassk had only a faint moment to notice the bug fly out of the room entirely before looking back at the entrance. The entire ceiling had come loose from the force of the explosion and collapsed in front of them, trapping them underground. Their only hope of escape was now gone. There was only one way to go now: straight toward the bug monster, and whatever else lie in wait.