—Acherys’ Dread Adventuring Team—

The five man... dwarf... adventuring team, Acherys' Dread, was on an exploration mission. Or more accurately, they were running away.

Something had set the entire Church into a state of frenzy. The kingdom of Adamer was a whirlwind of Church-sanctioned denunciations and executions. Eight weeks ago, an army of paladins and Pardoners had gathered near the capital city of Valis before setting off into the vast unclaimed wilderness to search for some necromancer. Six weeks later unverified reports of massive losses began to surface with no mention as to whether the necromancer had indeed perished.

From the wave of brutality Tyl's Church brought down upon the entire kingdom soon afterwards, they assumed not. Messages gleaned from the Adventurer's Guild scrying-links had told of similar events unfolding across all of Era, giving live updates of the unfolding situation. Some Guild outposts even spouted unconfirmed rumors of humans showing up in the middle of nowhere, confused and disoriented. They were probably unfounded, ugly elves could sometimes be mistaken for Exiles. What was more worrying was that those outposts went silent soon after those final transmissions.

It was time to leave Valis, and Acherys' Dread didn't bother waiting until morning, not when the gates could close at any time. They stocked up on essential supplies before returning to the Guild Hall. Once there, they registered a request for an adventuring team to explore the wilderness to verify the existence of a new dungeon.

It cost one silver in registration fees but it wasn't a problem. Roughly three seconds later, the team was delighted to discover that a new quest that had opened up outside of the city for dungeon exploration. What a coincidence.

They had happily accepted the quest and sprinted out of the city, paperwork in hand.

They had been happy to part with the silver, bureaucracy was alive and kicking despite the worsening situation, and even a small amount of Guild registered forms could go a long way towards aiding their escape. They didn’t know if the dungeon they had reported even existed, but since the location of the dungeon was registered as 'somewhere in the wilderness', it was technically true. Also, given the circumstances, the clerk was inclined to let a small degree of flippancy slide.

It was a good thing too, the paperwork had gotten them past the guards at the city gates without too many eyebrows raised, although one soldier had to muffle a snort of amusement.

Unfortunately, the team now had a new member, in the form of a lowly Guild clerk. She'd had the same idea as them and made the acceptance of their exploration request conditional upon her inclusion in the group.

Which was why an all-dwarf adventuring team now had a gnome as their newest member.

To their credit, the adventurers hadn't ditched her the moment the city disappeared over the horizon.

But they were dwarves after all. Not those hoity toity Sol-elva, who were just as happy to stab you in the back, while muttering something about racial purity, as they were to give you the time of day. No, dwarves had concepts such as honour and loyalty. And while they would readily admit they were probably a little biased, in their defense, at least they weren't those duergar scum. That filthy race of vermin probably had a thimbleful of dwarven blood between the lot of them.

The adventuring team, plus their newest 'member', reached the edges of Adamer a few days later. It didn't bother them in the slightest that there might be a necromancer on the loose. There was only one of him, if he was even still alive. Meanwhile, the whole kingdom, especially Valis, was swarming with thousands of Pardoners by now.

Heretics were, coincidentally, almost always a different race than the accuser, usually one of their people's sworn enemies. Valis was a city of many differences, including those along racial lines. Which meant that no one was safe when the Pardoners arrived in force.

As they crossed the border they took a long look behind them to ensure they weren't being followed by any of the Church's men. The dwarves immediately stopped paying their Devotions to Tyl, letting out a groan of relief as a missing part of themselves fit back into place. Their mana recovery increased by a small percentage, their tithed Lifeforce no longer being 'freely given' to the Goddess.

Such Devotions were a chore, but a necessary one. One of the fastest ways to be labelled a Heretic was to not pay your Devotions to Tyl. All of the Goddess' servants had ways of telling if someone was paying Devotions or not. Especially the Pardoners, they could smell unpaid Devotions like a Ravening Fly could smell shit. Those Flies were a menace to all adventurers. They would do anything for manure, including burrowing right through a meaty dwarven belly.

The gnome looked on at the scene in confusion. Why were the dwarves all groaning so happily?

The team's leader, Kort, explained.

"You see, lassie. Us adventuring types are... how shall I put it... lax... with our Devotions when the Pardoners are nae watching, you wouldn’t know since you stay in the Guild Hall all the time. Hard t’ revere a Goddess who does nae even bother t' help a humble adventurer fighting for their life, yet still demands part of the Life and soul of a fighting adventurer.

"We dwarves have an additional reason not t' pay Devotions. The world forgets but the dwarves remember," his team gathered around him, eyes burning with zealous fervor, each one repeating 'the dwarves remember' under their breath.

Kort looked around at each of them, nodding in approval, before facing the gnome once more, "Your Goddess is not our God, lassie. The dwarves remember,"—again his team echoed his words—"our God might be dead but that does nae make him any less of a God. Freedom to choose which deity we worship is nae freedom when there is only one choice." Kort looked her in the eye, enunciating each word, "Fuck the Goddess, fuck her rules and pretenses of autonomy and free-will. We have our god already, and always will. Gnur," he declared, slamming a gauntleted fist against his breastplate with an almighty crash of steel on steel, "the God Under the Mountain."

"The God Under the Mountain," the rest of the dwarves intoned, some quietly, some bellowing it to the Heavens—as if daring Tyl's wrath to fall upon them.

The gnome was silent for a second, "My name's Blue, master dwarf. Stop calling me lassie."

Kort's brow furrowed, he loomed over her like a steel-plated thundercloud. Then he burst into uproarious laughter, "I was wondering when you'd grow a beard. Blue," he tested the name. "Blue it is, and so you are. Welcome t’ the team, las—Blue."

Kort reached around and clapped her on the back, careful not to injure her with his gauntleted fist.

"Seriously though, Blue,” he stressed her name, “try not paying Devotions for once. Nae anybody watching ya. You can thank me for it later."

He turned back to his team, "Alright ladies, break time's over. Let's get moving. Put some distance between us and that shithole called Adamer." Kort looked back at Blue, "Nae offense meant by it. Place is going down the drain through nae fault of it's own." Blue nodded back.

He continued on down the road, missing a step when he heard Blue gasp behind him, a broad smile forming on his lined face.

"Proud of ya, lassie." He whispered under his breath.

—Bas—

Sebastian heard the floorboards creaking as his father approached his room. With a level of dexterity that was usually far beyond him, he seized his physics textbook in one hand and powered down his computer with the other, his game of Starcraft II going dark even as enemy zerglings overran his base, one final 'you must construct additional pylons' ringing in his ears. He loved the game, even if he sucked at it.

Remembering the precarious nature of his situation, especially with exams tomorrow, Sebastian dove towards his bed, book in hand, trying to at least give the illusion that he was studying. He already knew most of the material, but his parents wouldn't see it that way. If they weren't nagging him about schoolwork, they were nagging him about playing too many video games, not going outside enough, not doing obscure chores they never told him about, not doing enough sport, the list goes on.

It wasn't his fault that video games were better than reality, the ‘great’ outdoors obviously included, or that his parents’ communication could be better handled in ways other than nagging. And it wasn't his fault that he didn't really like spo... okay, maybe that one was his fault, but he preferred video games to sport... and his parents always told him to do what he loved...

Sebastian's bed wasn't there when he landed. He moved to push himself off the carpet, but the carpet wasn't there either. It had been replaced by a sharp, gritty texture beneath his fingers. It hadn't been cleaned it in days, but this was a bit much.

In shock he examined his hand, oblivious to everything else. It was covered in a fine dust, adhered to his hand by a thin layer of sweat left over from the final nerve-wracking moments of his game. Embedded in his palm were small bits of...

Gravel. Stuck to the meat of his palm, popping out as he flexed his hand, leaving small red ringed indentations behind.

He watched the stones fall to dusty track beneath him.

He looked around in panic. Where was he?

Was he in a different world? No, that wasn't it, it didn't happen anything like this in books he had read. It had to be a dark and stormy night, thunder and lightning abounding, voices of cosmic entities announcing the arrival of the hero of prophecy. Even a wardrobe with a few coats in it. Missing a landing on his bed was just… humiliating.

"Hey! You up there, Divine Being! I know you're watching me! Was a dramatic entrance too much to fucking ask for your hero of prophecy? Huh? Answer me, you cosmic asshole!"

Nope. Nothing. There you go, Sebastian, just humiliated yourself once again.

He stood up. Sat back down. Adjusted his glasses. Pinched himself. Closed his eyes wishing to wake up from whatever nightmare he was in.

He couldn't leave Earth now. Not just yet.

Sure, he had dreamed of exactly this type of scenario, one where he got to be the hero of his own story. But it wasn't meant to be like... like... this. He needed supplies, armor, blueprints for modern technology, a gun.

What did he have?

His glasses, a t-shirt, a pair of jeans, socks, shoes, three day old underwear.

A physics textbook.

...

Knowledge of science, maths, economics, politics, history, art, geology... and more, all crammed inside his head for some useless exam that would test things he never needed to know.

A lifetime of reading fantasy books with scenarios similar to the one he was in now. Prompting him to scour the internet for all sorts of survival skills and simple advances in technology that changed the world. Precisely in case something like this happened... well... that, and because it was cool.

He knew the basics of how to mass produce steel and the principles behind the waterwheel and printing press. Every day, he saw things on television that were commonplace to him, but wondrous to anyone living in a medieval world. Did they even know that there was something far greater than themselves beyond the thin atmosphere of their planet?

And in his left hand he held the starting point of every aspect of modern technology. A compendium of the most important discoveries in physics, all simplified down to a level that even an eighteen year old could understand. He had walked into a medieval world with all the answers to the universe sitting right in his hand.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!"

He stood up suddenly, pinching himself.

"Nope. Still not real. Definitely not real."

He didn't want to get excited about this. It wasn't real. He was just going to be ripped away from it by some rude awakening any minute now. Nothing here was real, however wonderful it would be to believe it.

Then again... that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it while it lasted. It was fine if he recognized it was all a vivid hallucination during REM sleep, right? Like a lucid dream. That way, when reality reasserted itself, he wouldn't be completely crushed and crestfallen.

And, if he remembered the dream, when he woke up, he could write it down. Turn it into a story, or something like that. Give someone else a chance to dream as he had done.

Content with his decision, he set of down the road. Roads almost always led somewhere, and since this was a dream, something interesting was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

It was a strange feeling, not unpleasant but certainly odd. His body was slowly being overwhelmed with a warm tingling sensation, like the echo of an electric current beneath his skin.

He stumbled on a half-buried rock, righting himself just before he fell. His vision was beginning to warp and blur, objects losing their definition and texture.

What was happening?

Sebastian stopped walking. He quickly removed his glasses, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose to rid himself of the disorientating blurriness. This wasn't turning out to be a particularly enjoyable dream, after all. All he had done was walk and lose his vision.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, moving to replace his glasses. And for a second, just before they reached his face, the world was crisp and clear. And then it was gone again, replaced by blurriness.

"What the...?"

Okay, that was cool. Something in this world had rectified his vision, fixing a distortion in the lens of his eye that had been there since birth. He slipped his now useless glasses into his pocket, he didn't need them here.

A tear slid down his cheek, impacting the dusty road below. He didn't want to wake up, he didn't want this dream to end.

He bent down, marveling at the clarity of each blade of grass poking tentatively through the ground. It was like his reality had expanded, no longer dependent on two thin sheets of curved glass to recognize the world for what it already was. He could still feel the thrum beneath his skin. It was comforting, a simple statement telling him that he was here. That he was alive.

It felt so real. He just wished it was.

There was something different here. In this dream everything was... more. The sound of the wind raised the hairs on the back of his neck, calling to him in an haunting song of sky and freedom. The air had a simple energy to it, a faint prickle against his skin, a reflection of the gentle hum beneath. Even the grass. The beautiful simple grass was filled with something that, up until now, he hadn't even realized was missing. It was more than their newfound detail and refinement. He could feel their vitality, beating like a heart. Every edge shimmering with a blue that screamed: alive!

This world was not perfect, but even in its imperfection it was real.

Real... until he woke up. Until he had to drag his feet out of bed and shamble his way to school like a reanimated corpse.

Sebastian continued walking down the road. The moment had ended, but the pulse of something more than blood beneath his skin remained.

He kept on walking. Breathing in the air, watching every blade of grass bend and bow in the wind. Day turned to night and he kept on walking, unfamiliar constellations whirling in a celestial waltz above a three-moon sky. His thirst increased, but he ignored the urge to drink from nearby streams. There was so much to see, no time to stare at his own moonlit reflection. This world might be real, but it was still a dream. And every dream must end. He had to make every second count.

—Acherys’ Dread Adventuring Team—

"Wait." Kort held up a fist, "There's a body on the road."

"Is it a trap?" Blue's voice was laced with worry.

"Maybe. An empty plain is a fool's place for an ambush, but that nae means anything if they have someone specializing in the gaseous form of mana, possibly a Cloaker Variant." Kort sounded disturbed by the thought, idly flicking his beard, "Those Cloakers are a nasty bunch, can hide by bending light around themselves, powerful ones can even hide their mana signature. The only honest fighter is one who actually fights, none of that namby pamby crystalline or gaseous shit." Kort gesticulated wildly with his hammer.

Blue gave him a long-suffering look, "I work for the Guild, everyone here knows what a Cloa—"

One of the dwarves, Grimheld, cut her off, "Ya think my mana form's 'namby pamby' do ya? Ya wanna test that out, right here right now? I'll show ya the right of things. All ya sloshers think yer so tough, pretending that ya piss liquid mana."

Kort scratched his bearded chin, "I may have spoken rashly," he amended, "but how do you think you can beat me when you can nae even hammer steel, much less your own wife? I swear t’ Gurn, her beard is longer than yours."

"Oh really? Who burnt half their beard in a campfire last winter?" Grimheld was caressing his crossbow menacingly, fingers twitching.

Kort glowered. "Nae need t’ get personal," he muttered.

Blue put a stop to the argument, "So... possible ambush. Now what?"

"Right you are, lassie,” Blue glared at him but Kort continued on, unabashed, “I'll cycle my superior liquid mana through my eyes to try and detect any Cloakers. The rest of you, follow me slowly, watch every angle and make sure Blue is safe."

The jocular arguing ceased as they hefted their weapons, each team member fulfilling their role without being asked, their expressions serious. They formed a loose circle around Blue, protecting her from any unseen threats.

Kort crept towards the body in the road, his team following from behind.

"Fuck me upside down with an anvil.” Kort broke the tense silence, unable to restrain himself. “That is one damn ugly elf."

"Kort," Grimheld spoke up hesitantly, "I don't think that's an—"

"Shit.” Kort cursed, his voice was urgent, “If the body moves an inch, hit it with all you have."

"What is it," Blue stammered.

"It's a human," Kort replied, bleak as a winter's day. "It's a fucking human."

"An Exile?!" The entire group gaped.

"That's what I said. You know any other kind of human on this side of the Veil?" Kort tried to lift the mood with a lighter tone, but his face was still grim. He circled the body in the road, jumping at every shifting shadow and errant gust of wind, hammer ready to fall at any given moment.

No one took their eyes off the human for a second.

Kort spoke quietly, "It’s alive, and a living breathing Exile means one thing. The Veil is broken. Where there is one there is more. You all know the saying."

It takes one human to change the world, and two to destroy it.

There were far more than two of them. The Guild reports had hinted as much before they went ominously silent. The world had ignored them.

Kort idly pondered how many humans it would take to kill a Goddess.

"The dwarves remember," he whispered. "The dwarves remember."

—Bas—

Sebastian awoke to frantic whispering. He opened his eyes a fraction, trying to gauge his surroundings. He was lying on a sleeping roll inside a thick cloth tent. This was definitely not his bedroom. This dream was so exciting at times, especially when people were talking about him.

"What didn't ya tie it up? It could kill us all." The voice was gruff, earthy and undeniably panicked.

Even hushed as it was, the second person's words were spoken in a bass rumble that rattled his bones, "If he is a powerful Exile, then he could kill us all, tied up or nae."

"Then why did ya let it live." Sebastian was liking this dream less and less.

"Are you so foolish as t’ think this be the only Exile out there. Mark my words, where there's one, there's more. Let us hope that Gnur smiles upon us and grants that this one have nae ill will towards us. Besides, this one could not hurt us if he tried."

"Why are you so sure about that?"

"I checked his aura while he was out, it was as weak as a newborn child's." His aura? What was that? Was it related to the buzzing feeling beneath his skin.

"How do you know he wasn't suppressing?"

"If he were strong enough to suppress his aura, he would be strong enough to nae get in such trouble in the first place."

"If he's so weak, why are you interested in him? Looking to add another useless member to our all-dwarf team, a non-dwarf at that?" Sebastian felt slightly insulted...

"You will bite your tongue when talking about Lady Blue, Grimheld," the bass voice rumbled threateningly, then continued in a softer more gentle tone. "And you will bite your tongue about the human, too. He is weak, yes. But he is human. He has potential. We will help him survive, we will help him grow; and when he surpasses us, Gnur-willing, we will have a friend at our side when Tyl's reckoning comes. Now hush, I will wake him."

Sebastian quickly closed his eyes as heavy footsteps approached him. He could feel hot breath wash against his face, sweat began to form on his palms. Who was this person?

The bass voice boomed in his ear, "Stop pretending t’ be asleep, it is a tiresome trick that I have seen far too often, I heard your breathing change just before you woke and came t’ greet you. I hope you enjoyed that little conversation. It was... unexpected."

Sebastian blinked. Had they planned that conversation? It didn't matter, there were more important things. Such as the fact he was looking at a stout dwarf with dark black hair covering his face. Not a Tyrion Lannister sort of dwarf. An actual dwarf. And he didn't look like the friendly kind of dwarf either. This one looked like he could eat metal and shit bullets. He had initially wanted to ask him if he knew Gimli. The ‘no nonsense’ look convinced him otherwise, what he actually said was.

"Unnghh."

The dwarf chuckled, otherwise ignoring the slip.

"I am Kort, the leader of Acherys' Dread. I assure you, what you just heard was not staged. We have much t’ gain from helping you and if we wished you dead, you would never have even felt my hammer fall."

Sebastian could sense Kort measuring him up, trying to get a sense of who he was. The dwarf was incredibly intense and lifelike for a simple figment of his imagination. Oh well, he was obviously more creative than he thought. He abandoned that train of thought, Kort was waiting for him to say something.

"My name is Seb—," did he really want to go by Sebastian? He had always hated how long his name was. He wanted something short and sweet, but also familiar. He decided upon his go-to moniker when playing online games—albeit without the long string of numbers attached.

"Greetings, Kort, my name is Bas. Thank you for helping me in my time of need," Kort gave a shallow nod in acknowledgement.

"Very well, Bas. I don’t see the need t’ play politics with you, my kind are nae fond of sweet talk and sharpened knives. We will help you and continue to do so, in the hope that one day you will do the same for us. Not out of obligation, but out of friendship. I will nae lie and tell you that it is a fair deal, we stand t’ benefit far more than you, yet it is my hope that you will accept our friendship, all the same."

Sebast— Bas... was caught off guard, though he shouldn't have been, not with all the stereotypes about dwarves. The dwarf was surprisingly straightforward, a thoroughly uncomplicated individual with no concern for the protocols of bargaining and a flagrant disregard for social graces. It was a refreshing change to his normal life. This was a person who would keep his word, even if it cost him everything. Most of his friends had been the opposite, happy to share the good times, but little else.

Bas weighed up his options, feeling Kort's gaze resting on him like a physical weight. Wordlessly, he extended his hand.

The gruff dwarf ignored it, instead drawing him forwards into a lung crushing bear hug, clapping him firmly across his back.

"Welcome t’ Acherys' Dread."

Bas struggled like a fly stuck in dwarf shaped amber, weakly flailing against Kort's armored back.

Kort eventually released him, letting Bas fall, hacking and coughing, to the ground.

"Thanks." He said weakly.

He looked at the tent all around him, it was simple, filled only with a sleeping roll, a large backpack and an oil lamp. After walking for a day and a night, it was the lap of luxury. Yet something was missing.

"Kort?"

The dwarf looked at him.

"Did you, by any chance, find a book near me? It's important."

Kort reached into the backpack, drawing out the book reverently. "You mean this tome? We were wondering what it was, we have never seen such a fine work of craftsmanship and try as we might, we could nae decipher a single word or image. Is it a legendary spell-book from beyond the Veil?"

Bas had to think about that, "Yes, I suppose it is."

"What does it contain? If you do nae mind sharing your secrets, that is."

"The answers to all the mysteries of the universe."

Kort started in shock, scrutinizing Bas, trying to detect some falsehood, and finding none. He looked at the book with newfound reverence and just a hint of greed. The dwarf hesitated for a single second, before gently passing the book to him, as if he were handling a sparrow's egg.

For a second, neither moved.

"I would nae be able t’ read it anyway. And even if I could, I would nae understand it."

Bas took it in both hands, but Kort held it firm, staring deep into his eyes.

"Throughout the history of Era, there have been mages that have wielded unfathomable power. Yet they understood so little of this world. I shudder t’ think what even a child such as yourself could do with knowledge of not just the world, but the universe." Without waiting for a reply, Kort released the book and left the tent, letting the flaps swing shut behind him.

Bas smiled, watching the dark haired dwarf exit. Did wanting to build a magical nuke make him a bad person?

Probably...