A stern glare from the stone elf washed over the exhausted party members. She grabbed her large wooden trunk and set it beside her in the driver’s seat. The short gait of two figures emanated from outside the wagon’s canvas covering; they spoke in a gruff dwarvish voice to the driver before walking to the back.

Surprised by the five bloodied adventurers, they put a hand on their belt where an axe adorned. In the same gruff voice, although harsher, the steel-plated dwarf said “Krahv ser vokra!?”

None of them understood what the dwarf spoke of, but knew well enough to present their dog tags and to not be near the weapons. The guardsman looked at the four tags and peered at Bell, the only one not presenting one. The dwarf repeated the same question. In a scramble, everyone started gesturing that they were all together, Ryder presented the quest note.

The dwarf snatched it out of his hands, seemingly reading it even though it was inked in common. The other guardsman that stood behind him wore a steel helmet with dark hollow eyes. His steel face-covering was embossed with the image of an elderly dwarf with a curly beard.

After looking over the parchment, and at the great axe on Durge’s lap, the guard nodded and handed back the quest note to Ryder. He stood posted next to the cliff and watched as the stone elf whipped the horse, lurching the wagon forward.

Dalon glared at the fur-beast and shook his head, mouthing that he was lucky to not have been caught.

14 horizons came and went in the covered wagon. The sun hid beyond the valley, enshrouding it in a dark blue hue. A distant horn blew and rows of braziers and torches sparked warm orange flames above the cliff faces.

However uncomfortable it may have been, the party decided to sleep in the wagon. Their sore legs convinced their minds to not take one step out onto the dirt until they saw Thrahnar. Annoyed, the stone elf pitched a small tent and rested quickly, her chest of belongings in arm’s reach.

Morning twilight had shades similar to the dusk, although the orange of dawn became more prevalent as Bell stared out from the wagon. She watched the dwarven guardsmen extinguish their lights, and wave toward their relief. What she did not expect to see was the fur-beast leaping into the wagon, he was out of breath but smiled joyously with that familiar fang-toothed grin she knew all too well.

“What’d you do, Scoun?” she asked sternly.

He scoffed, “You always think so highly of me, Isabelle.” He wrapped himself in a ball with his tail, avoiding further questioning, as well as the light of the rising sun.

The stone elf awoke soon after, and the cart began to move. Dalon and Ryder soon rose, while Durge and Scoundrel continued to rest. Durge’s drool soaked into the canvas that he leaned against.

“Your friend must be worn out,” Dalon said.

“Yours as well,” Ryder responded.

Now that Ryder’s body was rested, his thoughts began to plague his mind. He relived the entire dungeon in his head and a wave of emotions fell before him. He didn’t know whether to be angry with Dalon, or happy that he survived such peril. Tears welled in his eyes that he quickly swept away, excusing them as forming after a great yawn. But his thoughts still plagued him. One question for Dalon kept bubbling until, Why did you threaten me? Why did you threaten me? Why did— it erupted from his mouth. “Why did you threaten me? Do I look like a party-killer to you?” He bluntly spewed.

Dalon gave a wry nervous laugh and looked around, Bell seemed just as eager for him to answer the question. “Do we have to get into it now? They’re resting.”

“They’ll sleep through anything, Dal,” Bell said, crumbling his defense.

He stuttered at first, unable to find the right words to justify his actions. “What do you want me to say, Ryder? That I was scared for the safety of my sister and friend? That everyone suspects you as a murderer or betrayer for turning in your first quest without your Brass-Ranked guides?”

“Come on, Dalon!” Bell said.

“It’s okay, Bell. I initiated the discourse,” Ryder said. “If you want to know what happened, I’ll tell you. But I trust you to spread the true rumors to any who make false claims again.”

Dalon folded his arms and leaned back, gesturing to hear the story.

The tale of a sorceress, a hunk, husks, and the collapse of it all, was told once again. As well as the dealings with the Guild Manager and Catwood.

“Potion-Giver is a good nickname, Rye. Don’t let my brother here use it on you as an insult. It shows you have compassion and help your party members.” Bell glared at Dalon, “You even used one on my idiotic brother, but he seems to have forgotten.”

“I can see the burn scars well enough on my hands to imagine it would’ve been worse without the aid of both of you," he said.

She shook her head.

Scoundrel yawned, “You would’ve been wishing for death without a vial.”

“I’m wishing for the death of you all if you don’t shut up,” Durge groaned, snuggling against the axe.

As they exited from the rocky valley, a great clear green landscape of villages, rivers, and the magnificent stone fortress of Thrahnar came into view. All five party members stuck their head out of the wagon to gaze upon the dwarven civilization.

Hundreds of ornate carriages, wagons, and people lined the roads. All manner of species were present, even two giants that rose 10 steps into the sky. The adventurer’s were amazed at the spectacle.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Shouldn’t we be at war with them?” Durge asked.

“Not these ones!” Bell exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. The giants she stared at wore vibrant attire, ruffled collars, feathered hats, and walked clumsily.

The driver grew irritated spending all day maneuvering through the crowds, but once nearer to the fortress, she disembarked. She hitched her horse to the wooden barricade and turned to the party members still in the back of her wagon.

“Give it back, mutt,” the stone elf said.

The party grew wide-eyed. “Oh, so now she decides to speak the common tongue. Have it back, statue!” Scoundrel said, tossing a wand to her.

“Thank you, ma’am!” the party exclaimed, swiftly exiting the cart and walking away.

The stone elf shook her head as they disappeared into the fortress.

Dalon grabbed the back of Scoundrel’s shirt collar as he walked briskly ahead of them, briefly choking him. “You stole from her!? What’s your issue!?”

“I knew you did something! She gave us passage and yet you still rob her!?”

“The jewels we gave her were more than enough to—” Dalon tightened his grip on the shirt collar. “Okay, okay! Won’t happen again… or at least while we’re in this city.”

Dalon shoved the ferret away. “Find Tomblight Hall.”

Walking up the stone steps and into the gates of the city made the party feel like the dwarves that surrounded them. The ceilings tall, the halls spacious, and the cool air of the underground pressed against their skin with every step. It was hard to navigate the busy city, runic script carved everywhere, dwarves hauling materials, steel-cladded guards getting too close, and the harking of vendors around every corner.

“These picks will shatter any stone you wish! Tried and true in the mines of Kraglor!”

“Irid mentioned that place, didn’t he?” Durge asked.

“He did. He said something about his nephews that went as well,” Ryder said.

Scoundrel blindly led the way through Thrahnar while the rest followed. They ended up near jewelers who chiseled shimmering stones as small as a nail with magnified spectacles. The vendor showed off finished and polished gems to every passerby. “Where’s your gems for such an occasion!?” Ryder looked over and it only made the vendor callout more, “I can assure these are better than those false stones upon your neck!” Ryder clenched his fist in the middle of the path, ready to force his knuckles into the teeth of the dwarf.

Durge noticed and nudged his friend forward, “Come on, Rye, you know as well as I, that those stones could purchase his entire stall.”

Ryder smoothly exhaled, unclenched his fist, and followed the rest of his companions.

Past inns, taverns, temples, and more, the adventurers found their way to Tomblight Hall. A decadent glowing building that was filled to the brim with well-dressed dwarves talking and frantically writing on parchment.

“This doesn’t seem like a Guild Hall,” Bell said.

“No, something more official and clerical,” Dalon said.

Ryder and Scoundrel took in the hall, both with varying reasons. The human gazed at the murals carved into the stone walls. Brightened by torchlight, hundreds of figures were facing away from a crumbled fortress and were looking to a mountain gilded in gold. One figure stood atop the peak, with minor details and a rune carved next to them. Their name… I wonder who, he thought.

Scoundrel peered at the enticing shadows of the corners or the ones behind staircases, but alas, he was morally chained to Dalon, the party leader. But that didn’t stop the fur-beast from observing the gem-imbued rings, earrings, bracelets, necklaces, and piercings that adorned every decorated dwarf.

“Ryder, any details on who the steward is?” Dalon asked.

His imagination shattered and he was dragged back to the mortal realm, “No, just whoever is the steward of the hall.”

Durge groaned and raised the axe in the middle of the room before shouting, “Who created a quest for the Runic Axe of Morthath!?” The entire hall went silent and turned to the stained adventurers.

“Morathira!” Ryder corrected with a wry laugh. “We’re looking for the steward.”

“I’m here,” a feminine voice said from the second story. Her red braids appeared over the railing before she did, “You have the axe?”

Durge raised it toward her.

The steward nodded and walked down the steps; quick chatters and the scribbles of ink on parchment began once again. She appeared before the party and investigated the axe thoroughly, looking for tampering, illusions, or damage.

“Aye, I’m certain the Morathira family will be pleased to have this heirloom back in their halls once again.”

The steward wielded the axe with one hand while she scribbled on a note with the other. After sealing the note with her signet ring, she gave a hardy handshake to Durge, almost pulverizing his palm with her calloused hands.

“You all should wash up for the festivities now that your quest is complete,” she said.

The party looked confused, “What festivities?” Dalon asked.

“By my beard! Have you lost track of stars!? It’s near the Mid-Year!”

The adventurers all knew it was approaching sometime in the summer, but it being two days away was a shock to them all. She gave them directions to her favored inns and washhouses and wished them farewell on the days to come.

“Keep secure of this, Rye, I’d rather not be responsible,” Durge said, giving the letter to him.

Ryder stuffed it into his satchel as they walked to the nearby inn. It was hard to keep track of time in the city built into the mountain, few skylights were present, and the ones that were there only showed darkness of the night sky.

As the party entered an inn they couldn’t read the name of, an elderly gentleman of a dwarf gave them each separate rooms in exchange for a handful of gems from Scoundrel’s pouch; the beast looked somber as his bag became lighter.

Lavish rooms of dark oak and stone were presented to them. Each table and chair was ornately carved and designed with the finest care of dwarven craftsmanship. Rustic metalworks for the chandelier matched the candleholders on the bedside tables.

“Beats any room we’ve slept in, by far,” Ryder said.

“We should tell that orc, Skel, to learn from the dwarves,” Durge said.

Dalon met with them in the halls, “I already told the others, but we’ll be meeting here by midday tomorrow and work on some transportation back to Maria. Rest up, wash, aught else you wish to do.”

The duo agreed and watched as he entered his separate room and closed the door behind him. “We must fetch some food for the night and the travel back,” Durge pleaded.

“Agreed, but only after a wash. I’m tired of the grime under my nails.”

Each room had a stone bath, a hollowed boulder no longer than five steps, and washing supplies next to it: buckets of herbs, clean rags, and brushes.

Ryder noticed the tub but saw no pots of water to fill it with. He looked around the room and saw an abnormal handle connected to a metal chain on the ceiling. Ryder pulled on the chain lightly, felt resistance, but nothing happened. He yanked on the chain the faintest sound of a bell ringing echoed through the metal cylinder above the tub. He stuck his head in front of the hole to see the mechanism, and in doing so, he heard the sound of rushing water too late as it splashed onto his face.

After jumping back and wiping the warm water out of his eyes, he saw it flow out of the pipe, and leak from a hole in the stone tub, leading to the drainage system below.

Durge had already figured out the bath, due to his urge of yanking chains and pulling levers. His knees were to his chest while he soaked in the pool of lavender. After a quick scrub, the duo’s bodies were free of sweat, oil, dirt, and the ichor from their wounds and the goblins that fell before them.

Once washed, they met in the entranceway of the inn and walked the crowded halls of the dwarven fortress.

“Been a while since it was just the two of us,” Ryder said.

Durge nodded, “I’m sure you have a plan prepared after we arrive back in Maria.”

Ryder chuckled, “You would think so, but as of late, I’ve been flying the skies like a sweep.”

“Oh, come on, Sir Scholar, you have plans. What are they? Another quest? Buying a steed?”

Ryder didn’t oppose the idea of purchasing a horse, but he was living day by day without stressing or planning, and at that moment, he was starving for fresh veggies, and a tender pork roast with drizzled gravy.