“Kotia, you must look. Something is wrong.” Perthran said quietly. He thrust the looking glass into her hands and glanced at Veryyn. They exchanged a nervous look. Stretched before them, on the far side of the foothills, was the remnants of a bloody battle. Hauntingly quiet before them, there was a broken field of shiny steel and blue trimmings. A ferocious battle had been fought recently. Hundreds of men and almost that many horses laid out in the spring sun. The long grasses were beaten flat in a wide swath that extended to the horizon and beyond in the north and east.
“What happened?” Kotia said. She was fixed upon the scene. “We are nearly to the entrance, we must continue!” Perthran said loudly. When he spoke, his arms flew up in exclamation. Veryyn found himself in agreement. “Let’s carry on, I don’t intend on getting much closer to the battle.” Veryyn said. “Let the tribes of men kill each other.” He continued. They quickly set out again for the dwarven hold. The evening breeze had picked up substantially, and gusted harshly from the west.
Descending into the foothills, they wound their way through the fertile grazing hills. The sun dipped low in the western horizon when they first laid eyes on it. A shear rock face emerged, chiseled deeply into the rolling hills. Surrounded on three sides and carved in such a way as to slope deep below ground level, the rock face was marked with dwarven text, simple and inornate. The blocky letters stood proudly over an open passageway. It was large enough that two carts could comfortably pass side by side. The entrance had the appearance of ongoing work, and several hammers and heavy handled chisels laid strewn to one side.
Approaching the entrance, the scene grew dim. A battered pathway led out from the freshly carved entrance. The clean lines of the entryway were deeply gouged along each side, as if too many beasts were shoved through its grand walls all at once. The beaten path widened outside of the mouth of the entrance and wound down out of the foothills northward. A peculiar stench hung in the air, rotten and sulphuric. Veryyn looked down into the blind valley and dread set over them all. “Daemor.” He said quietly. “I’d recognize the stench anywhere.” “Daemor? That explains a lot. I have heard the stories.” Kotia, nodding.
“What does that explain to you, Kotia? I’m afraid I’ve lost you.” Perthran said, tense. The group had taken a pause, but now slowly made their way down towards the scarred entryway. “If that is true, that the Daemor have crawled up out of some nasty hole here…” Kotia trailed off, hesitating. “The dwarves barred the doors.” She finished slowly. Veryyn was struck dead in his tracks. Barron whined and nuzzled up under Veryyn’s arm roughly. Veryyn hung his head, and for a moment, the party was still and quiet.
The silence was broken by rhythmic rumbling. The ground trembled in a heavy, building cadence. A guttural howl pierced the failing light, and seemed to ring from deep within. “Quickly, we must find shelter!” Perthran said, frantic and low. Veryyn seemed to snap from a trance, and together, the party ran upwards, and away from the dwarven hold. The rhythmic pounding grew louder and faster. “We are too late.” Veryyn said. “It may have already smelled us.” Kotia and Perthran looked at Veryyn in disbelief. “If it has, we will not escape. Quiet now.” He continued softly. The group retreated a quickly out and above the blind valley and layer prone, just able to see into the entryway.
Barreling out from the stone came a beast of appalling, tremendous proportions. Vaguely man-shaped and nearly house-sized, the enormous Daemor giant was a disgusting sight. The skin was a dark red and mottled black. It galloped on all four with it’s long sinewy arms extended over-long and down to the ground. It’s large, wide head seemed even wider for the enormous fan-like ears that hung over its shoulders, translucent with a network of veins. It ran with mouth opened, jagged and irregular blackened teeth set extending from ear to ear. The face was punctuated with two large nostrils set flat against its face. Most unsettling was the absence of any eyes.
Sliding to a halt just outside of the dwarven halls, the creature rose up onto two feet and sniffed the air deeply. Veryyn was reminded in some strange way of the dogs that had tracked him and Evie, and for a brief moment, he was filled with longing. The wind howled in the face of the huddled companions as they watched with dread. Veryyn silently raised a finger to his lips, calling for silence. The beast raised its head high into the air, seeming to taste upon the wind. Its head cocked this way and that before it came down upon all fours again. Turning down the beaten path, it thundered away into the growing darkness.
Scooting away from the hill across the ground, the party slowly and silently stood. They walked back the way they had come, out of sight and earshot of the dwarven doorway. Kotia broke the silence first as they took their first rest. “I have heard tales of the Daemor, but I never realized they would be so massive.” She said. “That was one of the giants, their generals. The Daemorthor.” Veryyn replied. “You speak as if you have seen them before!” Perthran exclaimed. His loud voice made everyone wince and look around. “I have. I remember the destruction and I have lived to see them return again. These are dark times indeed.”
Taking a short rest, the party had much to discuss. Pethran and Kotia were keen to learn about the old times, long ago. The first sightings of the Daemor, the old alliances, and the old battles, Veryyn gave his recount as if it were the month prior. They talked long about plans and what to do next. Veryyn struggled to remain hopeful that he may see his dwarven maiden again. The wide trodden path, and the bloody field of battle littered with shiny silver and blue armor spoke to the strength of this first wave of Daemor. There would be more. Many more. Most curiously of all, his companions did what they could to console the pain of his loss. They seemed unafraid to plunge headlong into the infested tunnels. They would make camp for the night, and in the morning make again for the dwarven underworld.
Ricky Hurlich Shorts 