“The hardest war is the one you’ve been forced to fight.” Anonymous journal from Teutonia (approx. 17 A. F. E.).

Rathorn let out a stream of curses as they took in the situation.

“I hope you really know your way to the king,” Garassk said, turning to Diama. “Because that’s the only place we can go now.”

“I know it well,” she said. “But I don’t know how many of those things there are down here, so be on your guard.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Rathorn snarled. “I’m not staying down here any longer than I have to.”

He let out one final snort of anger before limping toward the doorway at the center of the room.

“That is where we’re supposed to go, right?” Garassk asked Diama. She nodded. Garassk hurried to catch up with Rathorn and get into the next room.

The next chamber showed more signs that someone had been here and actually modified it. Instead of pure stone, metalwork adorned much of the walls.

“Well this looks fancy,” Garassk said.

“If we were here under any other circumstances, there’d probably be a welcoming committee,” Rathorn grunted.

“There would, yes,” Diama said. “I’m guessing that this is why King Basalt has never managed to get our messages.”

“But where did these things come from?” Garassk asked.

“I know where we’ll get answers,” Rathorn snorted. “And it’s not here. Which way to the throne room?”

“There’s a stairway around here somewhere,” Diama said. “I haven’t been down here in years, and don’t remember exactly where though.”

“What?” Rathorn barked.

“There were guards that activated it,” Diama protested. “And I never saw how they did it. I’m a peasant, not a part of the king’s court.”

“Fair enough,” Garassk said. “I’m guessing there’s another room around here, then? There must be a chamber that opens the doors.”

“You’re probably right,” Diama said.

“But you don’t know where exactly, do you?” Rathorn guessed. Diama shook her head.

“Well, we have several rooms to choose from,” Garassk said. “We’d best get moving.”

“I suggest the closest one,” Diama suggested, pointing to the door at the very right of the chamber.

“Sounds good to me,” Garassk said, stepping forward. The doors themselves were tricky to make out against the wall, but Garassk felt around for a way to open it. He eventually heard something click, and the door opened in front of him.

“Dwarven engineering,” he muttered, walking into the next room.

Large gold columns greeted him, and mighty statues behind them, giving the impression of an opulent cage. An altar stood meekly at the center of the temple.

“You serve your gods well,” Rathorn said. “This is a work of art right here.”

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“I’ve never seen this before,” Diama said, breathless. “I haven’t been down here nearly often enough.”

Everyone took a moment to gaze upon the beauty of the scene.

“Right,” Rathorn finally said to break the silence. “We’re here to find a way to open the door. Search the room for anything that might help.”

Garassk nodded and started scouring the room. Apart from some goblets, plates, and other assorted silverware (though “goldware” would be a more accurate description), there was nothing to be found.

“You two find anything?” he called out.

“No,” they said in unison.

“Perhaps we should try another room?” he suggested.

“Agreed,” Rathorn said. Something clattered behind them right after he said it, causing them all to snap to attention.

“Diama, go to the left,” Rathorn whispered. “Garassk, you flank from the right. We all go in slowly, and wait for my signal to strike, understand?”

They both nodded.

“Go,” he hissed. Garassk crouched down and crawled toward the direction of the sound. Torches in the back showed off grotesque shadows as they moved. Or were they shadows of what they were heading towards? He couldn’t say for sure, and tightened his grip on his sword. He saw movement and quickened his pace. As he drew closer he heard Rathorn thump his tail on the ground. That was the cue. He started to run. Diama charged from the other side. The figure stepped into view.

“HOLD!” he shouted. Garassk slid forward in shock. It was another dwarf. He was clad in mail armor and wielding a spear. Diama stopped in her tracks as well.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“We could ask you the same question,” Garassk said.

“I live here. You don’t.”

“Fair enough,” Garassk replied. “I’m Garassk, and my friend is Rathorn. We’re travelers who were passing through when Diama here told us about the attacks on the surface.”

“And as a subject of King Basalt, I’m here for answers,” Diama cut in, stepping forward. “What’s going on?”

“So they’ve made it to the surface,” the other dwarf muttered. “So much for containment.”

“What containment?” Rathorn snarled. “What is all of this?”

“You’ve known about these things?” Garassk asked.

“Known about them?” the dwarf said. “We summoned them.”

“WHAT?!” the two varanians and dwarf girl shouted in unison.

“King Basalt summoned those things,” the dwarf said. “He believed that there was treasure or untapped magic buried beneath his kingdom, and has spent the last few years controlling digging expeditions. Within the last few months, those… things emerged. We’ve been at war with them since then.”

“They’ve been attacking our village for weeks,” Diama said. “And you’re telling me that Basalt is responsible?”

“He didn’t know what they were,” the guard said. “He only heard rumors. We still don’t know, to be honest. Did we open a doorway into Hell? Are they demons? Are they from this earth? We even offered to negotiate several times, but it was like trying to make peace between wolves and sheep. They don’t talk, only kill. Our once-great kingdom has been reduced to an army of corpses by these things.”

“Not just your army, dwarf,” Rathorn grunted. “They’ve reached the surface. That’s why we’re here.”

“First of all, my name is Flint,” the dwarf said sternly. “And second, we were doing everything we could here. We don’t know how to fight these things.”

“Well we’ll have to find out now,” Garassk said. “The tunnel to the surface collapsed. We’re trapped down here.”

“Gods help us,” Flint gasped, gesturing as pious men did when invoking the divine.

“We were hoping to open the door that leads to the throne room,” Diama said. “Can you help us?”

“There’s nowhere else to go,” Garassk added, knowing that it might take a little extra persuasion to reach Flint. “We need to find the means to fight back, or die here.”

“I’ll help you,” Flint said, clearly working up the courage. “I don’t know what we’re doing, or even if we’ll get out alive, but I’ll help you. Whatever else happens, they must not be allowed to return to the surface again. That’s on us.”

A faint clicking noise from outside ended the conversation.

“They’re coming,” Rathorn whispered.

“Get ready,” Flint said. “This fight might be our last.”