They descended the hallway, venturing deeper under the Wall Mountains. Ferret gazed up at the massive, cyclopean architecture surrounding them. He wondered what drove the dwarves to build on such a grand scale. He had heard tales of their fortress cities, which were said to be colossal.

The air grew colder and heavier as Ferret and Fizzit descended deeper into the labyrinthine corridors. The candle he held emitted a feeble flicker, barely illuminating their path. It was as if the walls held ancient secrets, whispering in hushed tones to those who dared to venture further.

Each step brought them closer to the heart of darkness, and Ferret's excitement mingled with trepidation. He wondered what mysteries awaited them in the depths of this forsaken place. The thought of uncovering forgotten magic and powerful artefacts ignited a spark within him that burned brighter with every passing moment.

But Fizzit's eyes darted nervously from shadow to shadow, his wings flapping anxiously. "I don't like this," he muttered under his breath.

As they made their way through the passage, the great bronze doors loomed ahead, beckoning them closer. The doors were slightly ajar, revealing glimpses of what lay beyond. Green vertiginous stains marred the corners of the doors, hinting at age and neglect. They stood tall and imposing, seeming to guard a secret within their metallic sheen.

Ferret didn't like to think how deep they were inside the mountains. "You know this is as close as I've ever been to the Broken Lands," he said, fearful of passing through the doors.

"Why are you talking?" Fizzit hissed. "Get on with it so we can leave."

The goblin shook his head, pulling himself back together.

"Hang on." Ferret cast his sense magic spell, quickly altering his perception. Instantly, he saw the door covered in a kaleidoscope of colors and lines. The intersection of these lines created intricate symbols beyond his understanding.

"What can you see?" Fizzit peered at the doors.

"Dunno, but it's enchanted," Ferret said. "I'd guess the doors need to be closed for whatever it does to take effect."

"It's probably an imprisonment spell." the homunculus looked back over Ferret's shoulder towards the complex's exit. His lips moved as he silently counted the hours to sunrise.

Ferret dismissed his spell. "Enough stalling." he sighed

The great doors were only slightly ajar, but there was enough of them to squeeze through.

Beyond the other side of the great bronze doors was a chamber equally massive, its ceiling lost in darkness. The air was thick with old power as if it pulsed with dormant magic; in the chamber's interest, a stone box embellished with complex carvings and symbols.

"Can anyone say coffin?" Fizzit said.

"Don't be dramatic," Ferret said. "It's a sarcophagus."

They gingerly approached the stone coffin; they saw the excellent stone lid lying to one side as if discarded. The sense magic spell wasn't required to inform them of the myriad of layered spells and enchantments.

"Those dwarves didn't want the elf princess getting out," Fizzit said admiringly. "Although it didn't do them much good."

The inside was empty, but long rows of parallel lines drew Ferret's gaze. He shuddered at the thought of the trapped elf. Her nails scraped raw from years of clawing at the unyielding stone in a desperate attempt for freedom. How many decades, even centuries, had she suffered in this oppressive darkness, consumed by an urge for escape?

"No wonder she was pissed," he said. He double-checked the inside. "Nope, nothing here."

"This looks interesting." Fizzit took wing and sailed over to a nearby dwarven corpse. The body, now faded with age, lay motionless. He brushed aside the thick layer of dust, revealing gleaming plate and chain armor. The heavy gold chain around the corpse's neck hinted at its former rank as garrison commander. A sense of mystery and intrigue filled the air as Fizzit examined the scene before him before yanking at the gold chain, trying to get it off.

"How did he communicate with the banshee?" Ferret asked, looking at the stone lid.

"What?" Fizzit paused in his tug-of-war with the dead dwarf.

"There is no hole in the lid," Ferret pointed out. "The letter said he was supposed to record everything she said, so how did they speak?"

"Perhaps he let it out for a chat?" Fizzit turned to rummaging through the dead body, looking for any smaller items to take with him.

Ferret's eyes darted around the dimly lit room, taking in the gruesome scene. Bodies covered the floor, some clad in armor like their leader, while others wore tattered robes. Most of them were clutching at their ears to block out the bone-chilling screams of the Banshee, but Ferret noticed some had deep gashes and tears in their flesh. Something had attacked them physically.

Ferret hurried over, hoping one of the robed bodies might be a wizard or sorcerer. One of these must have some magic he could use. But all they had were symbols of stylized hammers or foaming cups of ale; they were clerics, priests of dwarven gods.

His ears drooped in disappointment. He had gotten his hopes up when he stumbled upon a withered corpse, the gray of its beard showing the advanced age of its previous owner. Scrolls scattered on the floor surrounded the body and slipped out of a suitcase. Ferret grabbed one from the hand of the corpse, assuming it must be of great importance. He held up his candle, excitedly reading the words as his newfound reading ability instantly translated them.

"It's a prayer," he called out to Fizzit. "This is how they communicated to the Banshee; it's a spell called Speak with Dead. He must have been trying to reason with the elf."

"Fat lot of good it did them then." Fizzit took advantage of the size of the room to swoop in.

"Could I cast it? It looks simple enough?" Ferret flipped the page, looking for more complicated instructions.

"A prayer doesn't work like wizardry." Fizzit landed on an attractive corpse. "The priest prays to his god, who then performs the miracle for him. It's insulting even comparing it to real magic."

Ferret looked at the priests lying in rows behind their leader. Had they been attempting some mass prayer to hold back the Banshee? How did that work?

"Get a look at this."

Ferret saw the homunculus had retrieved a massive axe, likely wielded by a dwarf using both hands. He quickly envisioned this weapon in the hands of a mighty dwarven hero, slicing through hordes of orcs. Fizzit struggled to lift the axe and dragged it along the floor, leaving deep scratches in the stone.

Even from a distance, Ferret saw runes inscribed on the haft and blade, each glowing a baneful red in the dark room.

"A magic axe." Fizzit chirped. "This'll please your chief; gods bless his grotty little heart."

Ferret's hand reached out, his fingertips brushing against the metal. Suddenly, a loud crack echoes through the air, and a blinding spark of power shoots out, striking his hand with searing force. He recoiled back, stumbling into a wall, clutching his hand to his chest as the pungent smell of ozone and smoldering flesh filled his nostrils.

"Ooh, that looks like it hurt." Fizzit dropped the axe to the floor with a clang.

"It bloody well did!" Ferret forced his hand open, but instead of ruined flesh, his hand was unmarked save for a black scratch mark. "They trapped the thing," he said as he rubbed feeling back into it.

"I doubt it. I guess one of those runes is some bane against your people. Dwarves are nasty that way." Seeing the goblin was unhurt, Fizzit took off, looking for more loot.

Ferret gingerly examined his hand, still tingling from the surge of power. Fizzit's theory made sense; They had probably enchanted the axe to injure orcs. Zapping him was a bonus side effect. He felt a mix of excitement and caution. If one of these dwarf bodies had been equipped with such a powerful enchanted weapon, surely there must be other hidden treasures in this forsaken chamber.

With renewed determination, Ferret resumed his search. He examined each dwarf body, hoping to find another clue or perhaps stumble upon another discovery as extraordinary as the magic axe. As he moved closer to a particularly well-armored dwarf lying on the ground, Ferret noticed something peculiar tucked beneath the figure's arm.

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Curiosity piqued, Ferret gently prized the item from the dwarf's grasp. It was a weathered leather-bound book adorned with complex runic designs etched into its cover. Elaborate diagrams and detailed descriptions filled the pages.

They were instructions, clear instructions. Ferret turned page after page, his excitement growing. "This is it," he mumbled. The stiff at his feet must have been a Rune Smith. To his delight, the meticulous dwarf had scrawled handwritten notes in the margins, providing deep insights into the arcane theories behind each spell. Ferret knew he held a priceless treasure, and his greed for power intensified.

Clutching his treasure, he returned it to the carven axe, making sure not to touch it. The goblin swiftly read the first page of the book. Some sections must have been encoded, but he only had to look at them briefly before the letters rearranged themselves correctly.

Perhaps the demon knew what he was doing. Fizzit thought he might sacrifice to him, like a rabbit or rat. Or perhaps not. Screw him. If he wanted thanks, he should have provided better instructions.

Rechecking the book to understand it correctly, he turned to the axe and performed his Sense Magic.

Immediately, the various runes on the axe glowed. He focused his vision deeper, examining the runes on multiple levels, seeing how they interacted with the wooden halt and the steel blade and how they worked with each other.

"Look at this," Ferret called out to Fizzit. "The carvings are just to hold the rune in place." The runes revealed themselves to be a complicated pattern of magic, of which the carved rune was just a two-dimensional representation.

His mind exploded with the possibilities. He saw the procedure he had to follow. You carved the anchor rune, and then the rune Smith created the pattern in his mind, carefully feeding it magic. Then, when the pattern was ready, it was overlaid on the carving. If you did everything correctly, the pattern would bond with the carving, and the rune would be complete.

"Bloody hell." Ferret's fingers itched for a tool to carve with. "It's all so simple." He needed clarification about the odd connections between the different runes, but he assumed they were insignificant and didn't serve any real purpose.

Ferret noticed he was talking to himself. "Fizzit," he calls out. Moments like these need an audience.

In the shadows, a blur of movement catches his attention. Fizzit, his tiny wings beating furiously, rushed towards him with desperate urgency. "

Ferret!" he screamed, panting heavily. "The banshee's returned!"

Ferret's heart missed a beat. It can't be dawn yet! Yet there it was. It's returned early. The ghostly form drifted in a phantom wind only it could feel. He had gambled on having more time, and he had lost.

Fizzit crashed into the goblin. "What are we going to do!" the tiny figure clutched at him, his claws leaving minor cuts. "That thing is going to consume our souls."

The air still seemed to thicken around them as Ferret tried to think. His heart hammered as he watched, transfixed, as the ethereal Banshee slowly drifted towards them. Its wispy form seemed to dance on the wind, ghostly tendrils reaching out and beckoning with a chilling allure. A cold sweat broke out on his skin as he realized the actual danger of this otherworldly being. He stood there, frozen in fear, unable to tear his gaze away from the haunting sight before him.

The faint sound of wailing grew louder with every passing moment as it built up to the killing shriek.

Fizzit's eyes widened with fear, and his wings fluttered anxiously. "What do we do?" he stammered, clutching onto Ferret's arm. But the goblin was frozen. With each loud wail, Ferret's resolve weakened. Panic gripped his chest, making it hard to breathe. He glanced at Fizzit, who looked just as terrified, his eyes wide with fear. This is it; we're going to die.

The Banshee took a final deep breath and screamed—a terrible scream which filled the air like a physical force. Ferret clutched at his ears, trying to keep it out, but the piercing noise sunk into his bones until his teeth shook. But the cursed elf's voice did not stop. The tone dropped slightly as if gathering strength before rising to an impossible volume. Blood ran from Ferret's gums and eyes as the sound had turned the air into knives of broken glass and was driving them deep inside him. Was this how the dwarves had met their end? Ferret didn't need to imagine the agony they must have endured in their last moments; the scream was clawing at his soul.

But then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the Banshee's shriek abruptly ceased. Ferret opened one eye cautiously, half-expecting to see his demise. Instead, he met with a scene of utter stillness.

The ghostly Banshee remained suspended in mid-air. I'm alive! But how? The Banshee seemed to think the same thing as its almond eyes narrowed in confusion.

"You are quite beautiful," Ferret said. "Although I could do without the eerie green glow."

In response, the Banshee's fingers lengthened into rending claws. It smiled in the cruel way of elves and cats before it flew towards him. Its cry filled the chamber but lacked the power of its killing shriek.

Ferret dove to one side as the claws swooshed past. "Split up," he called to Fizzit. "It can't get us both." Then he saw the homunculus was already healthy, wing flapping as fast as he could. Sonofabitch!

The goblin's heart raced as he desperately dodged and weaved, narrowly avoiding the Banshee's razor-sharp claws that swiped at him from all sides. He cursed for not having a rune of Binding or a spell of blasting to defend himself with. He scrambled to his feet with trembling hands, determined to make a run for it, but the Banshee moved to cut him off, hovering in front of him with evil intent.

Ferret longed to use his power dart spell but knew it would be a fatal mistake. The undead elf would gut him from neck to belly in the time it took him to cast it.

Seeing the Banshee hovering over the remains of the dwarf commander gave Ferret an idea.

He took a few steps back, attempting to create space between himself and the Banshee. Unable to take his eyes off her, he awkwardly stumbled back until he nearly fell over the enchanted axe. He quickly hooked his toe under its handle and kicked it towards the menacing figure.

The enormous axe slid to a stop after only a few feet. Ferret sighed; he had hoped it would have sailed through the air and struck the Banshee. Instead, Disappointed, he watched as the cursed princess's ghostly figure smiled at his failed attempt. She continued to advance towards him, her ethereal form gliding effortlessly.

Ferret backed away, his hands raised. "Can we talk about this?"

The evil elf only shook its head, following him, its long claws raised to strike.

As the Banshee drifted over the axe, its pale form shimmered. With a resounding crack, blue energy arced from the weapon's runes to envelop her. Her mouth opened to issue a shrill scream, her delicate features twisted in pain. The hairs on Ferret's arms stood on end as the magical energy coursed through the air.

Ferret took advantage of the momentary distraction to gather his wits. As much as he wanted to watch it suffer, he knew he had only moments before the Banshee broke free. If it could be trounced, the dwarves would have done it years before.

With heart pounding, he sprinted towards the exit of the vast chamber, leaping over the coffin in a single bound, his fear giving him wings. His blood ran cold as the Banshee's cry of pain stopped. The deafening silence meant it would be after him. He drove himself harder, knowing if he didn't make it out in time, he would be elf food.

"Uff." He grunted as he slammed into the bronze doors. Without hesitation, he squeezed himself through the narrow gap. A glance showed the eerie Banshee drifting across the chamber. The cursed elf wasn't particularly fast for all its terrible power, and he had a moment to regain his heaving breath.

"Fizzit," he cried at the small creature fluttering through the chamber, his wings furiously beating. "What are you doing? Run!" With the banshee closing in, they only had a little time.

Fizzit struggled to keep himself airborne while carrying a book almost as large as himself. His wings flapped furiously to maintain his balance under the added weight.

It was the rune book. Ferret must have dropped it while he was running away. It was now a race between the overburdened homunculus and the homicidal elf princess. Part of him wanted to shout at Fizzit to drop the book and save himself, but another couldn't bear to leave behind something so valuable and powerful.

"Come on!" Ferret's voice echoed through the chamber, and he prepared to dart back inside. He would distract the Banshee long enough for Fizzit to escape with the book and then loop around to join him. He knew it wouldn't work, but he ran out of options.

Then Fizzit folded his wings, diving with incredible speed. At the last moment, he rolled, twisting to pass between the great doors. Unable to pull out of his dive, he bounced across the floor until he reached a stone wall. Safe!

Ferret's turn had come. He hurled himself at the great bronze doors. They barely moved under the impact, but he pushed and strained with every ounce of strength. His feet, slick with sweat and fear, slid against the floor as he desperately tried to gain traction.

Seeing her prey escaping, the Banshee unleashed a bone-chilling howl and slashed the air with razor-sharp claws, determined to prevent her prey from slipping away.

With a last surge, Ferret felt the heavy doors move. He was going to do it! But before the doors closed, a ghostly claw reached through the narrowing gap, caressing him. His flesh parted under the touch, pain and blood spurting. The goblin screamed with pain, which the Banshee echoed with an enraged shriek.

The dull thud of the doors slamming shut silenced her cries of anguish. Ferret saw the doors glow as the runes, wards, and enchantments activated, trapping the tormented creature inside. The bronze doors reverberated from the force of the Banshee's soul-killing scream.

Ferret stumbled backwards, his hand clutching his shoulder. Gods, that hurts. The cries of his attacker faded into the distance as he fought to catch his breath. His fingers came away sticky, the metallic scent filling his nostrils as he sucked in ragged breaths, trying to shake off the sudden shock and assess his injuries. He judged the wound wasn't severe, but each step sent a jolt of pain.

Fizzit lay sprawled on the floor, dazed from his crash landing. Ferret staggered to his side, helping and checking him for injuries. Apart from a few scratches and a twisted wing, the homunculus seemed unharmed.

"Are you alright?" Ferret asked concern etched across his face.

"I... I'm fine." Fizzit nodded, his voice hardly audible. "Just a bit shaken. I managed to stop the wall with my head."

Relief washed over Ferret as he embraced the tiny creature, feeling alive and victorious after they escaped from the Banshee. They both allowed the relief to flow through them before they brusquely pushed apart.

"I've saved your book." Fizzit turned away, face flushing at the display of emotion. "Now you owe me."

"I nearly shat myself when I saw you still in there." Ferret grinned, grateful they were not elves or humans who always seemed to need to discuss their feelings.

Fizzit sniffed. "I think you may have."

Ferret looked down, remembering the warmth of when the Banshee had come for him. "I was trying to throw him off."

"Well, it's throwing me off." Fizzit took to the air, abet unsteadily. "Let's see if these dwarves left you an outfit."

"Then we can leave." Ferret collected the valuable book, securing it with his spell book in his suitcase. "What puzzles me is how we are alive."

"Too stupid to die?"

Ferret grinned before his injury made him wince. "I mean, why did the Princess's scream not do us in like it did the dwarves?"

"I've got an idea," Fizzit said. "It is about the idea the banshees cry consumes your soul. I'm a construct, so I don't have a soul."

Ferret raised an eyebrow at the argument. "What about me?"

"You sold your soul to the demon," Fizzit said. "Maybe it has a reserve sign on it or something."

"That doesn't sound right," Ferret said. "Every goblin knows dwarves don't have souls, and the banshee killed them all."

"That's an interesting bit of theology," Fizzit said as they walked back up the grand hallway towards the outside and freedom.