Somewhere Far Beyond

by StarKnight2.0

Ainz wasn't the only one to have logged into Yggdrasil in its final moments. Two brothers from America decided to visit their favorite game one last time but end up in a new world. As the Overlord of Nazarick rises, the brothers try to find their place in this new world, make friends, fight new enemies and soon wonder: Are they truly alone in the New World? (Volume 2 up now!)

10. Steambreather

(a/n: Here you go, a super long chapter to cap off this "arc." Enjoy! Big thanks to Lucius Walker for all his help!)

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Ch. 10: Steambreather

(Somewhere underground, underneath the Azerlisia mountains)

For the first time in many years, Commander Balmund Stonefist was unsettled. The veteran dwarven fort commander had weathered many daunting battles with his countless dwarven brethren, and had endured many sleepless nights as a leader in the Dwarven Army. However, there was something about this night that left him uneasy. Standing on the wall overlooking the gates and the precarious bridge that stretched across the bottomless expanse of the Great Rift, the seasoned commander with chestnut hair gazed off into the distance, towards the dark and silence.

For centuries this fortress had stood as the shield for the dwarven city of Feo Jera. Like a solid pillar of rock, the fortress stood at the edge of the gaping chasm and at the beginning of the bridge. Rising high into the ceiling of rock and earth that canopied the vast underground world, the fortress's smooth walls occasionally were broken up by dozens of arrow slits, parapets, and crenellated battlements. The upper most floors of the towering edifice resided on the surface, making it seem like a nearly identical but more diminutive version of the fortress below. This portion of the fort guarded against any enemy who hoped to attack from above. It also granted access to the surface for merchants, both human and dwarf.

Despite being in his armor, having ordered the fortress on full alert and the opposite side of the Great Rift being as silent as a grave, Balmund's worry only grew. For weeks, their scouts have been reporting of a build up in the Quagoa's forces close to the Great Rift, indicating the possibility of an attack. For weeks, the underground has seen many tremors, putting everyone on edge as they feared that the damned moles were coming to get them, and given their craftiness and eagerness for battle, the possibility for a sudden ambush from even above them was very possible.

In all his years of active service, Balmund has grown to fear and despise the Quagoa the most. The Frost Dragons usually kept to the surface and waged constant war with the Frost Giants. Kobolds ordinarily kept to themselves, while Goblins and other potential threats rarely ventured this deeply into the mountains or into their tunnels. The Quagoa, on the other hand, had always been a dire threat. They were aggressive, bloodthirsty and would love nothing more than to see every last dwarf slaughtered. In the wake of the Demon Gods and their rampage on Feo Berkana, the dwarves had struggled to maintain control over their lands and fend off the various predators that sought to take advantage of their weakened state. Unfortunately, the Quagoa were having the most success.

Most of the northern territories beyond the Great Rift were lost, with the people there enslaved and forced to labor for their barbarous captors and forced to reveal whatever secrets they had. Meanwhile, the Dwarven Army struggled to hold the line and deal with those who slipped through their defenses, like with Feo Raizo, where the inhabitants were forced to abandon the city due to a surprise appearance by the Quagoa in the area. What was once a kingdom composed of dozens of prosperous cities and countless towns and outposts, had been quickly reduced to a scattered alliance of a handful of outposts, fortresses, and three remaining cities. Hope was looking very slim for the dwarves, but that didn't mean that they were entirely without options. One of the Regency Council's members had sent a trusted advisor to gather whatever aid he could from their trading partner, the Baharuth Empire, specifically from a close friend to the leader of the dwarves, General Zirdam Ginostus.

Balmund smiled a little at the thought of the general. The two of them met when the general was a little younger and more energetic. He was accompanying his Emperor on a diplomatic mission. The general had saved both Balmund and the Emperor from a surprise attack and fought alongside the dwarves in the ensuing battle. Because of his valor, Balmund, along with the Regency Council, had named Zirdam a true friend to all dwarves, a rare honor bestowed on a human. The two corresponded over the years, but their respective posts have kept them quite busy. Now, the fort commander prayed that Grolir and the general would make it on time.

"Commander!" A voice spoke up from behind him.

Balmund turned and saw a blond dwarf with a well kept beard approach.

"What is it, Umren?" the commander asked.

"The last of our scouts has returned," the younger dwarf replied. "They report no change across the bridge. All is quiet."

"Hmm."

Balmund's brows furrowed and he nodded. When word of a possible Quagoa attack was coming, the commander had recalled all of his scouts and all those patrolling the opposite side of the Rift. When the attack came, they needed every dwarf to help throw the enemy back. They also didn't want to leave any of their soldiers out there in enemy territory. If they were discovered or captured…

The fort commander shivered, and turned his gaze out beyond the walls of the fortress once more. The bridge that connected the two sides of the Rift and the northern and southern half of the Azerlisia Mountain range, was narrow and ancient. It was nothing more than a solid length of stonework with metal guard rails with some faded relief's and carvings. Built long ago, it was once the main artery that allowed trade and travel to flow freely between the two halves of the dwarven kingdom. Now, this bridge was the only point from which the Quagoa could possibly hope to move into the south in force. The fortress that guarded the crossing was heavily fortified with masterful stonework and powerful runecraft enhancements carved into its foundations long ago. It had survived countless attempts and may continue to do so, though Balmund and other like minded dwarves were growing less confident in that belief with each year and each assault.

The bridge was the only way the Quagoa could use to reach the south. Should the fortress fall, then the remaining dwarf cities like Feo Jera would be exposed. The smart thing would be to destroy the bridge and spend their time and resources bolstering their defenses and coming up with a new way of dealing with the enemy as the Quagoa frantically sought a new way to travel south. Unfortunately, not everyone saw things his way. The majority of dwarves put a lot of faith in the fortress, likely due to its past successes, and have grown complacent. They also had faith that the Great Rift was impassable. It was far too long and wide to go around and no living creature, Dwarf or Quagoa, had ever reached the bottom of the chasm when they tried scaling down to cross over. There have been whispers as to what may lie at the bottom of the deep, dark abyss, but few dared to venture into the unknown, not after the mysterious disappearances of at least two survey expeditions sent down there centuries ago. It was because of these things that many in Feo Jera, even in the fortress itself, had grown too relaxed. Belmund worried that this attitude was going to get them killed one day. He hoped that he was never proven right.

The fortress was currently an island of illumination lit by dozens bonfires and hundreds of torches scattered about the fortress, allowing the dwarves some measure of sight in the dark and to, hopefully, disrupt the creatures' keen eyesight. The Quagoa dwelt in the eternal darkness of the underground for countless centuries, meaning that they could see clearly in the darkness and hated bright lights. From what he could see and hear, everything was as still as a summer's day. Then why did Balmund feel so uneasy?

"Sir?" Umren said.

"Hmm?"

"D-do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That."

Balmund frowned and listened in silence. For a few moments he heard nothing, but after waiting a bit longer and after straining his old ears, the fort commander could hear a distant rumbling sound echoing through the dark. The dwarf commander blinked in surprise and gazed out onto the bridge as it reached out into the dark expanse. He focused on the bridge as the sound grew closer and louder. The dwarf commander felt sweat beading up on his brow. He couldn't see anything. The bridge was empty. Unless…?

Did the Quagoa learn to use magic somehow? Balmund thought, feeling a pit in his stomach. That was a frightening thought. Their foe was formidable in terms of martial strength. Should they suddenly gain access to magic, Balmund wasn't sure if they could stand up to such a thing. However, after a few agonizing moments of staring at the bridge, the fort commander realized that the sound wasn't coming from the bridge, or the other side of the Rift. It was coming from behind them, from their own side. Balmund and Umren walked to the other side of the fort, and watched with amazement as a large, drill-like object burst from the ground like a fish through water, a short distance from the fortress. The drill hummed loudly and whirred about, throwing up dust and rocks as the bulky, metal machine attached to it rumbled out of the freshly formed hole in the ground. The dwarven commander gazed in awe at the sight of the drill. The device reminded him of the type of drills that the miners in Feo Jera used as they mined for heatstones. Only, this device was enormous and looked like it was operating on its own, with no visible dwarf or human element to crank or direct it.

Before he could really process what he was witnessing, a shape emerged from the dark depths of the fresh hole created by the drill.

Balmund squinted, and saw the shape move toward the fort in the darkness. As it moved toward them, more shapes and silhouettes emerged and followed.

"C-Commander," Umren sputtered. "W-what is that?"

The seasoned dwarf wasn't certain at first, but as the first shape was close enough to the light produced by bonfires and torchlight of the fortress, Balmund couldn't help but grin.

"A friend," the commander answered simply. Ignoring Umren's confused expression, the commander of the fort bellowed for his men to open the rear gate, and stomped off to meet his old friend. A pair of guards followed him to the gate.

Once the heavy iron gates were unbarricaded and opened, there stood an elderly looking human with long grey hair. The old man wore a single eyepatch over one eye, and was dressed in a tunic of fine black, trimmed with gold. A flowing crimson cloak hung from his shoulders. In the flickering light of the torches near the gates, General Zirdam looked old, for a human. When the human's single eye landed on Balmund, a smile formed on the human's craggy face.

"Balmund!" the general greeted cheerfully. "Long time no see!"

"Zirdam, you look like death." Blamund chuckled. The two old friends embraced.

"It's good to see you," Zirdam said.

"And you as well," the commander replied. When they pulled away from their embrace, Balmund fixed the tall, skinny human with a serious look.

"What happened to Grolir? Is he hurt?"

"No, no, he's fine" Zirdam assured him. "He's on his way with the others."

"Others?" Balmund frowned. When realization hit the fort commander, the veteran dwarf's eyebrows shot up. "You brought help?"

"Yes… and then some," Zirdam answered cryptically as he scratched the back of his head.

Noting the confusion on the dwarf's face, the human general turned and gestured behind him. Balmund followed his gesture, and saw more humans arriving. At first glance, the dwarf knew at once that these humans weren't soldiers. The varying styles and quality of clothing and equipment made it clear that they were more likely Adventurers.

A rather ragged bunch, Balmund thought to himself.

While there were some individuals of quality, or at least gave the appearance of such, there were others who looked like they'd collapse from hunger long before the Quagoa could show up. However, the seasoned commander knew not to judge based on appearances. If Zirdam brought them along, then these individuals might be strong enough to survive this ordeal.

"Is this all?" Balmund asked.

"Not exactly," Zirdam said slowly, "There's more, but…"

"But what?"

"It's the damnedest thing really," the human general smiled. "Along the way here, we ran into some trouble and gained some new allies."

The dwarf crossed his arms. "I see...and who are these allies?"

"Hello there!" a new chipper voice piped up.

Balmund looked and saw a thin, raven haired human emerge from the arriving crowd of adventurers. The human was oddly dressed, sporting a long brown coat, trousers and boots. The most curious part of his attire were his spectacles, which had a dozen other lenses attached to the main lenses by thin, bronze colored wire. The strange man extended a hand.

"I'm Damien!" He greeted the dwarf with a smile. "I'm here to help you solve your...mole problem."

The fort commander cocked an eyebrow. Damien didn't look like the type of person Balmund would expect to join Zirdam on a dangerous job like this, but the dwarf decided to hold his judgement.

"I am Commander Balmund Stonefist," the seasoned dwarf replied gruffly. "I am the leader of this garrison, and it is my responsibility to ensure that no Quagoa makes it across. My people have held this crossing for many centuries. What can you possibly offer us? Are you a mage perhaps?"

Damien's cheerful smile spread wider. Balmund noticed a glint in the human's eyes that made it seem like he was ecstatic about something.

"Even better," the raven haired man replied cryptically.

He looked at the general, who waved a hand at the stranger and Damien marched back into the darkness, rubbing his hands.

"You might want to prepare yourself," Zirdam warned his friend.

Balmund gave the general a funny look. Before he could ask his friend what he meant, a shrill whistle echoed through the dark beyond the fortress's range of illumination. The whistle echoed throughout the dark and cavernous underground, before it quickly faded away. A few moments passed until a faint rumbling sound could be heard. The rumbling gradually grew louder and closer. The ground beneath the fort commander's feet began to vibrate and rattle. The Adventurers and Workers scattered as a large, heavy shape rolled into the light.

The dwarf commander's eyes widened and he instinctively took a step back, reaching for his axe. His guards did likewise, but Balmund stopped them when he saw Zirdam and the other humans remaining still.

Leading the way was a group of large, metal vehicles that reminded the dwarf commander of a turtle. Heavily armored and slow moving, the machine came to a rumbling halt. A pair of long, cylindrical metal tubes turned and aimed up at the dark, distant ceiling of rock above. Looking beyond the large, heavily armored machines, Balmund's jaw dropped.

An army of bright, white orbs shone in the darkness, like fireflies in the night. Heavy, thunderous footsteps marched in unison towards them, their steps echoing in the underground world. His eyes widened as these "men" finally stepped out of the shadows.

He expected an army of humans, maybe even elves, to step out of the darkness, but instead, they were...golems? Yes, an army of metal men, with their mechanical innards twisting and turning like the innards of a clock. The white orbs revealed to be on their heads, and he suspected that they were their eyes. He looked at their porcelain smiles, frozen in place, to never change no matter the situation. One of them seemed to look at him, and he shivered.

Once he managed to stop looking at their blank, glowing eyes, he then noticed their weapons. He noticed how in their four, spindly arms, they either held razor sharp swords, or another type of weapon that he had never quite seen before.

Long and black, these new weapons were quite thin, and the only thing sharp about it was the small dagger that protruded underneath the small tube at the very beginning (which, when he thought about it, looked very similar to the ones attached to the metal, horseless carriages). Scratching his head, he wondered if they were merely spears, albeit very bizarre looking ones.

Behind them, in the bobbing orbs of light, Balmund made out the shapes of at least a dozen additional heavy armored machines.

A loud metallic click, followed by a thunk shook the dwarf commander from his thoughts. A hatch had opened at the top of the machine, near the large tubes, and out poked Damien's head. A cheerful, almost smug, smile etched on the man's pale features.

"Ta da~!" Damien pronounced loudly.

Balmund's mouth opened and closed wordlessly. He struggled to find words to express what he was feeling and thinking but nothing came.

"Don't mind him," a new voice spoke.

The dwarf commander looked and saw a tall, slender blond man poking his head from behind the machine. The man smiled warmly at Balmund, his blue eyes twinkling. "He likes to show off his toys, especially if it's to someone who hasn't seen them before."

Balmund gaped at the machine and the army of clockwork soldiers. He looked to Zirdam for help but the general smiled good naturedly and shrugged.

"Now then," another new voice grumbled.

An incredibly tall and pale human in all black emerged from among the crowd of Adventurers and Workers, looking on from the side as the soldiers and machinery emerged from the darkness. The man looked like a ghost to the dwarf, and something in his gut told him to stay away from him. The man brushed away his long, night black hair, and demanded, "Where are these mole people going to show up?"

Balmund looked to Zirdam, who just sighed.

"It's a long story" the general told his old friend "But all you need to know now is that we're here to help and our new friend Damien-"

"Hello!"

"Has brought along weapons that can help you."

Balmund looked around at the strange golems and the large machinery with a critical eye. He looked to Damien, who was still sticking out of the top hatch of the large machine. "Just what do you hope to accomplish with these-these things? Quagoa have a natural resistance to metal! Iron, steel, you name it! You try to stab them or use arrows, it'll bounce right off them!"

"So I've heard," Damien replied coolly. "I understand your hesitation, commander, but believe me when I say this: these Quagoa haven't had a run in with one of these." The bespectacled human patted the side of his large contraption, which seemed to be emitting a low, metallic pur.

The dwarven commander hesitated but, with the impending threat of the Quagoa and desperation, Balmund exhaled loudly and looked to Zirdam. "What do we need to do?"

---

In a matter of minutes, Balmund was back on the wall atop the front gate, looking out at the narrow bridge reaching out across the endless darkness. This time, he was accompanied by Zirdam, Grolir, Damien, the blond human, whose name was Gareth, and the long haired man, whose name was Kane. The fortress was now filled with the mechanical golems, who had taken up position at every arrow slit and battlement. The lower levels were occupied by Zirdam's Adventurers, Workers, knights and one of Damien's enormous machines with the long cylindrical barrels. It sat behind the front gates, its barrels aimed directly ahead, as if in anticipation of its fall.

Silence fell on the fortress as the garrison and its allies awaited the imminent Quagoa attack. For a long stretch of time, there was nothing but silence. In the distance, Balmund could hear the light jingle of armor here, a cough there. The dwarven warriors shifted uncomfortably, waiting for their foe to show themselves, as did their human comrades. Meanwhile, Damien's golems remained as still as statues.

After another stretch of nothing, Balmund cast a glance over to Damien. "Well, I suppose we won't be needing a demonstration" the dwarf said with a smile. "It seems that the Quagoa may have been scared off."

"No," Kane said in a low voice "They're out there."

The dwarf's head snapped to the tall man in black. "What?"

"They're out there, scuttling about." Kane was standing there, staring out into the endless dark.

"How many?" Gareth asked, as if this were a normal occurrence.

"A lot," Kane scrunched up his nose. "They smell like shit and rotting meat."

"That's them alright," Balmund murmured grimly.

"Here they come!" Kane hissed.

Everyone quickly went on the alert. Sir Nimble, Zirdam's bodyguard, drew his blade and searched the darkness in vain.

"Where are they?" he demanded. "I don't see them."

"There's a lot coming across the bridge, looks like they're going to rush the gates" Kane reported, his eyes fixed on a point in the dark and then drifting. "The others are crawling under the bridge. They're going to try to use it for cover and to surprise us."

"Clever girls," Damien murmured, stroking his chin. He reached into his coat pocket, and withdrew a small brass cylinder with a button on its side. Balmund watched as the bespectacled human flicked one of the many lenses on his glasses over his main ones and lifted the cylinder, aiming it skyward. He pressed the button. Something solid shot forth from the cylinder and rose higher and higher, bringing behind it a white smoky trail, like a comet. It arced above the bridge and appeared ready to plummet into the bridge.

"Cover your eyes!" the bespectacled human bellowed.

Zirdam and his subordinates obeyed, and Balmund quickly ordered his men to do likewise. The dwarves shielded their eyes, just as a blinding white light burst into existence above the bridge. Through his closed eyes and fingers, Balmund could see light, and he could hear shrill, agonized screams.

In moments the light dimmed and Damien bellowed, "Now!"

The air became filled with loud cracks and pops. More screams followed. Balmund removed his hands from his eyes and blinked through the brilliant white light to see what was going on.

Thanks to the light, the dwarf commander got a good look at the scene, and was left speechless.

The bridge down below was full of Quagoa, who had already crossed the halfway point and nearly reached the front gates. However, the blinding light caused many of them to either freeze, or it caused them to stumble over the edge. The ones that didn't fall down were being felled by the Clockwork Sentinels, who were gunning down the moles with precision.

Even while watching the automatons in action, Balmund still couldn't believe his eyes.

Just before the battle, Damien gave them a brief explanation of what he brought onto the table. He explained to them the concept of his automatons, tanks and guns, and how despite their apparent immunity to metal, this new type of weapon could slow them down, even injure them, via pure firepower and the speed of the projectile weapons. If his people had an army of these machines, Balmund imagined that the war with the Quagoa would've been very different.

Although the Sentinels were able to significantly wound and kill a fair number of Quagoa on the bridge, more rushed into to fill the gaps. Although their comrades fell and suffered painful wounds, the Quagoa continued to struggle forward. Balmund begrudgingly admired the Quagoa for their tenacity and bravery in the face of death. In the light of the flare, the dwarf commander spied a large mole with crimson fur, who stood at the edge of the horde on the far side of the bridge, watching with two dark eyes that gleamed with malevolence and hatred.

Balmund scowled at the creature. He recognized that he was looking at one of the Clan Lord's numerous lieutenants. Flanking the crimson mole were another red furred Quagoa and one with blue fur. Those with uniquely colored fur were said to be stronger and more ferocious than the rest of their kind. Some were said to have leadership roles. The dwarf commander watched the enemy leaders, trying to guess what they were thinking. After a moment of seeming indecision, the red mole snarled and his subordinates nodded.

The blue and the red moles bounded forward on all fours, like hounds. They moved with astonishing speed, quickly reaching their pinned comrades and vaulting over them in a single leap. They landed and raced forward. Inspired by their leaders' progress, the beleaguered Quagoa surged onward.

Though the Sentinels continued raining bullets on the enemy, the beastmen pressed on. Several fell, earning grievous, bloody injuries. Those who fell were trampled or shoved off the edge of the bridge to clear a path for those still able to move. A few more were struck down but the blue Quagoa managed to reach the gate, which made Balmund reach for his axe.

Apparently, his efforts weren't needed.

FWOOM!

The Quagoa shrieked as a wave of fire fell from above and engulfed the creature. Blinded by the light of the Clockwork Firetrooper's flamethrower, it fell onto the ground, where it was consumed by the flames. Its comrades skidded to a halt and watched in astonishment as one of their leaders, one of their strongest warriors, writhe in agony as the flames consume his azure fur and his flesh sizzle.

The automaton responsible released the trigger, stopping the flow of gas from the large tank welded to its back, and watched with cold indifference as the creature shrieked and thrashed about beneath him, trying to put out the fire. The Flametrooper walked over the edge of the wall and landed beside the burning mole. Enraged and hungering for glory, the rest of the Quagoa surged forward to rip the clockwork automaton to pieces but the Flametrooper was quicker. With the squeeze of the trigger, the first wave of beastmen were bathed in bright orange flames, who were sent screaming into the abyss as they stumbled over the sides of the bridge. The other moles stumbled forward, hoping to avoid the flames, but were suddenly met by other Clockwork soldiers, who had poured out of the front gate, armed with wooden clubs and spears.

The air was filled with pained shrieks and brutal stabs and blows as the machines mercilessly attacked the moles. Some of the Clockwork warriors were driven back, but the brutal efficiency and speed of the defenders quickly overcame their foe. The bodies of the fallen moles were shoved over the edge. The damaged automatons retreated inside as fresh ones took their place. The blue Quagoa, who had valiantly braved the bullet storm and was the first to be engulfed in flames by the Flametrooper, had long since stopped shrieking and writhing. Although it stopped moving and screaming, Balmund could see that it was very much still alive. It's eyes looked up to the underground sky, filled with agony and rage. The Clockwork Firetrooper stepped forward. It pulled the trigger again, but instead of shooting flames, a stream of white foam shot forth from the nozzle of the weapon, which stopped the fire. After the flames were extinguished, the Clockwork Firetrooper backed off, allowing its brothers to deliver the final blow with their spears and clubs before carrying away the body, it's final use for the world to end up on Damien's dissection table.

Balmund's eyebrows rose and looked at Damien, who stood by his side.

"Very effective," the commander said.

"Indeed," Damien said with a smile "Though I have to say, these Quagoa and their resistance to metal. It's fascinating. I may have to improve the design of my Sentinels. Make them more effective."

Balmund nodded, agreeing with the bespectacled human's assessment. Although they weren't killing the enemy fast enough, they're certainly proving themselves to be very helpful with the defense of the fort.

Looking out on the battle once more, the Quagoa remained on the bridge, slowly inching forward at the cost of costly wounds and dwindling numbers. However, the effort was slow, and there seemed to be no end to the beastmen's numbers as more rushed forward. Kane spied some trying to crawl across on the underside of the bridge, trying to use it as a shield against the bullets. With a gesture, Damien directed some of his Sentinels to redirect their fire, which allowed the Quagoa to push forward.

"This is taking too long," Kane complained, crossing his arms.

"You're right," Damien said, pulling out a golden pocket watch and studied it. "We need to speed this up. Besides, I really want to try out the big guns."

Balmund gave Damien a questioning look, who in turn looked toward Kane. The pale man waved a hand. "Go on, you don't need my permission. They're your toys, after all."

The bespectacled human bounced giddily and turned to face the courtyard and gave the Clockwork soldiers the order. The automatons jumped into action. They formed up behind the large, rumbling machine as the cannon aimed forward.

"Would you kindly open the gate once more?" Damien asked Balmund.

The dwarf commander nodded, and bellowed to the soldiers stationed at the gate. With some effort, the gates swung open once more, and the large "tank" rumbled forth through the opening. The Sentinels on the walls ceased firing.

"Watch this," the bespectacled human told the dwarf commander. "I think you'll find this...illuminating."

"We'll see," Zirdam murmured.

One of the tanks was on the bridge now. It was a snug fit, with hardly any room for the Quagoa or a human to try and circumvent it.

With the gunfire and flames now gone, the beastmen snarled and roared at the machine that now blocked their path. The blood thirsty moles charged forward, itching to sink their teeth and claws into this new obstacle. The cannons zeroed in on the charging wall of claw and fur - and unleashed hell.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The cannons let out a series of thunderous booms as glowing red rounds rocketed toward the beastmen. When it struck, the hordes of Quagoa were torn to bloody shreds. Limbs, organs, bone fragments went flying as the rounds cut through their line like a knife through hot butter. Balmund jumped in surprise by the force of the explosions and the carnage reaped by the tank's weaponry. The other dwarves and the members of Zirdam's expedition who witnessed what was transpiring were just as awed by the power of Damien's tank.

The tank rumbled forward and the Clockwork Sentinel's followed suit, brandishing their weapons. As Damien's forces moved forward, the Quagoa line began to wither away under the hail of cannon fire from the tank and long ranged shots from those stationed on the walls.

Balmund and the rest of the dwarves watched in awe as the large red Quagoa and the remainder of his forces hesitated. What bravado and ferocity they had seemed to have ebbed away when the tank turned their comrades to pulp. The fort commander wondered if this will be the first time that the enemy will retreat. The beastmen rarely lost a battle and the few times they did lose, they usually went on a suicidal charge, hoping to die with glory rather than surrender or retreat in shame. Would these do as their predecessors did?

After a tense few moments of near silence, the red Quagoa let out a loud, defiant roar, and bounded across the bridge. His subordinates followed suit. The remnants of the beastman army moved quickly and were very nearly upon the tank and the Sentinels, but a Sentinel, who popped out of the tank, silenced them for good with a burst from its machine gun turret. Silence fell on the fort. Everyone, save for the three players, stared in horror and wonder as the last of the Quagoa fell from the bridge and into endless darkness, bloody and horribly mutilated.

A long moment of silence passed before Damien turned to Balmund and smiled.

"Now then," the bespectacled human said. "Before we proceed, I believe we should have a little chat."

"About what?" the commander asked, still dazed by the carnage he witnessed.

"About pushing back against the enemy," Damien answered cryptically.

---

"I don't like this," Hekkeran Termite murmured as he and the rest of his party marched down the long, dark tunnel, with the rest of Zirdam's expedition. Guided by the faint glow of various glowing magical orbs created by the expedition's mages, the members of Foresight kept their eyes peeled for any enemies that may be lurking in the shadows.

"Neither do I," Roberdyck Goltron agreed, his eyes scanning the dark. He kept one hand on his mace and the other on the pendant around his neck. The templar murmured a prayer of protection for him and his comrades as the expedition delved deeper into the dark underground, heading deeper into Quagoa territory.

"Never trusted that bard," Imina said bitterly. The half-elf archer's anger was plain on her face. "I knew there was something about him I didn't like. Him and his creepy friend. They're going to get us all killed."

"What makes you say that?" Arche asked, her eyes diligently scanning the crevices and shadowy areas of the tunnel.

"This stupid plan for starters!" Imina hissed. "Marching us deep into enemy territory, filled with blood thirsty beastmen and 'distract' them until that bastard and the rest of his party return from gods know where."

"I'd be inclined to agree," Roberdyck said, "but it is not right to speak ill of another."

"Seriously?"

"Besides, we're not alone" the templar jerked his head toward the two tanks and a contingent of Damien's golems - er, automatons, trailing behind them.

The half-elf archer shivered. She glanced over her shoulder and eyed one of the "Sentinels", as they were called. Their singular, glowing eyes, their porcelain smiles, and their four, spindly arms unnerved Imina, especially the ones with blades for arms, greatly resembling spiders. She felt as if they were going to attack them when their guard was down, even though they were assured that they were there to protect them.

"Creepy," Imina murmured.

"You said it," Hekkeran agreed.

Arche nodded silently. These automatons were unlike anything she had seen before. She had seen various types of golems, having grown up a member of the former aristocracy. As a student of the Imperial Magic Academy, Arche had learned of their construction and their uses. However, none of them matched the ones that had massacred the Quagoa at the bridge.

Golems were large, and were usually limited by the quality of the materials that they're made of. Damien's creations, however, moved with grace and efficiency that made the Academy's own creations seem slow and primitive by comparison. The power and talent that must have gone into creating just one of those Sentinels made Arche wonder as to who or what this Damien person was.

Sure, these things certainly didn't look that durable, especially when compared to your average golem, which usually loomed over the average person and looked sturdy enough to endure a few battles. But these golems looked much easier and cheaper to make, and when thinking about the sheer number of those things back at Damien's fort, she shivered at the idea of facing an army of these mechanical beings.

Turning her gaze toward the front of the column, Arche spied Damien riding atop one of his "tanks." Beside him was Kane, the man she observed at the beginning of the expedition back at Arven, and next to him was Gareth. She watched the blond bard talk to Kane, a serious expression fixed on his handsome face. The young mage studied him from afar, trying to guess what the bard may be saying and what his connection with Damien was.

Back when they were journeying to see him, guided by the mad woman calling herself "Jinx", Gareth had told her that he encountered him before. Were they enemies? Rivals? Or were they friends? The latter seemed likely, considering that Damien was currently assisting them. However, there was Jinx. She seemed just as likely to kill them than to help them. The more she thought about the bard, the more she wanted to know.

Gareth seemed friendly, maybe naive and foolish, but something told the young mage that there was more to him and his party. It's not every day that a party of new Adventurers bested a Platinum ranked party with relative ease, if the rumors were to be believed.

"Arche?" a voice spoke to her.

The young mage blinked and looked at Hekkeran, who was walking beside her. The leader of their party gave her a concerned look. "You okay?" he asked.

"Y-yes, I'm fine," she replied quickly, looking away.

"Alright," the swordsman said, sounding unconvinced.

The small army marched onward and further into the dark, guided by floating globes of light. Arche didn't know for sure how much time had passed, since there was no sun, moon, or stars to help. The tunnel snaked and turned corners. The path took them over large underground rivers and streams of cold water. Occasionally they stopped and rested but most of what they did was march. After what felt like an eternity of marching through tunnels, the expedition came to a spacious new chamber.

The Adventurers and Workers were surprised by the sheer size of the chamber. It was large enough to house a village. The walls were smooth and rose to meet the high, domed ceiling. There were three other tunnel openings, one forward and one on either side of them, leading to new tunnels that led elsewhere in the sprawling labyrinth of underground tunnels.

Flanking each of the three entrances were enormous dilapidated statues of fierce warriors, wielding fearsome hammers and axes, guarding the way. Despite their sorry state, the statues were still recognizably dwarven, and bespoke the quality of ancient dwarven stonework.

As the humans admired the size of the chamber and the statues, Arche noticed the tanks and the Clockwork Sentinels moving into position. The tanks formed a semi-circle, putting themselves between the adventurers and the three entrances. Their cannons swiveled and faced outward. The Clockwork Sentinels formed ranks behind the tanks and faced outward as well, their weapons at the ready as if they were expecting an attack at any moment.

When, not if, Arche corrected herself. This deep into Quagoa territory, it was likely that an attack was going to happen sooner rather than later.

General Zirdam climbed atop Damien's tank. He was assisted by the bespectacled man and Sir Nimble. The general dusted himself off and cleared his throat.

"Alright everyone, may I have your attention please!" the general said in a loud voice which immediately caught everyone's attention. His voice echoed a little in the vast chamber.

"Although the job I posted stated that we were hunting dragons," Zirdam explained slowly and clearly, "the true nature of this job is to lend assistance to the Dwarf Kingdom."

Nobody said anything, though it was obvious there was some confusion and disappointment. Killing a dragon would've earned each individual and party a reputation, and even some worthwhile spoils. However, nobody was going to complain about helping the Dwarf Kingdom. They were, afterall, allies of the Empire, and provided all manner of trade, like gold and quality weaponry.

"Regardless," the general continued, "the pay remains the same. If you survive, you'll receive the exact same pay. If you kill and save the remains of a Quagoa, you may even earn a little bonus. I hear the Alchemist Guild and the Imperial Menagerie would pay a pretty price for Quagoa hide, maybe even more for a live one."

This perked the Adventurers and Workers up a bit. Though these beastmen seem ferocious and powerful, they did have a number of seasoned Rangers, some of whom were Beast Tamers: a risky job class, but very useful if one were hunting for a specific animal or beast. Judging from the renewed vigor of some and greedy looks in others, Arche knew right away that some were planning to capture a Quagoa alive.

"While I do advise against this, you are entitled to the spoils and bonuses that come if you do happen to slay or capture one yourselves," Zirdam explained. "And now, we come to the next phase of the job."

Silence fell on the assembled expedition, and everyone paid closer attention as the general continued.

"We will draw the Quagoa to us, and hold them here for as long as possible. In the meantime, a small team of volunteers will accompany Grolir on an errand. I will not lie, there is a very good chance that it won't succeed."

That caused some mutterings and head shakes. Although Adventurers and Workers put their lives on the line for money, very few would take those kinds of odds unless the reward was good and that they knew that the odds favored them.

"I will not force anyone to go," Zirdam continued, ignoring the nervous mutterings. "Like I said, this group will be filled with volunteers. As of yet, only Gareth Silvertongue and Lydia of The Good Companions have volunteered."

"Of course," Arche heard Imina murmur.

"Whether you stay or go, it's up to you," Zirdam said with a sigh. "It makes no difference, there will be extreme danger, and possibly even death. But remember this, there is a great reward waiting for us if we survive, maybe even a bigger one for those willing to go with Grolir."

Silence fell once more over the members of the expedition. People looked towards each other and at others to see who would volunteer for such a risky task. The silence continued for a good long moment, and began to feel very awkward, until Arche raised her hand.

"I volunteer!" she said loudly. All eyes were on her, and she instantly began to regret it.

The young mage noticed looks of disbelief and mockery, though nobody said anything, otherwise their words might be misconstrued as indications of volunteering.

"Excellent!" General Zirdam smiled warmly. "Anyone else?"

"Arche…" Hekkeran said softly.

"I have to do this," the young mage whispered to her friend. "For my family…"

"I volunteer as well!" Roberdyck spoke up, raising his hand.

"I'll go!" another voice chimed in.

Arche looked and saw a dark haired man in a white and silver cloak. She recognized him as the leader of the White Clovers, Marcus. He was a skilled swordsman and an effective leader, though some have stated that he was capped at gold. Regardless, the young mage felt a measure of comfort having both Roberdyck and a trustworthy Adventurer like Marcus accompanying her.

After a brief length of silence and no more volunteers, General Zirdam concluded that nobody else wanted to risk their lives for a dangerous, unknown task. With that, the general clapped his hands together.

"Very well then," he said solemnly. "Everyone ready yourselves, we're about to begin."

The general nodded to someone standing next to the tank, and hopped off as Gareth the bard climbed atop the large, metal vehicle.

The Adventurers and Workers checked their weapons and their items as they readied themselves for battle. Meanwhile, the blond bard reached into a pouch that hung on his belt, and pulled out a thin stick made of pale white wood.

Arche frowned. It obviously wasn't a mage's staff. Maybe it was a wand? No, that can't be right. The wands she's seen were more ornate, and were usually a bit larger. This stick just looked like a stick to her. Just what was the bard planning to do with it?

"Nice acoustics…" Gareth murmured to himself.

When everyone was ready, the bard lifted his hands, one empty and the other holding the stick. In the suffocating silence of the cavern, everyone heard soft rhythmic drumming.

Duh-duh-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum, duh-duh-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum.

Using his wrist, Gareth moved the stick back and forth slightly. His free hand moved up and down slightly, keeping with the rhythm of the phantom drumming.

He lifted his hand and began moving his fingers, as if he were plucking a stringed instrument. As he did so, a phantom stringed instrument, a lute maybe, began to play. The instrumentals grew louder and louder. Glowing musical notes appeared in the air and began to circle around the bard like birds of prey circling their dinner.

The Adventurers and Workers all took a step back as the air hummed with music and magic. Suddenly, the bard brought his hands and the stick down, and a deep, powerful boom echoed through the silence like thunder. A cloud of dust was kicked up, and was sent billowing into the three tunnel entrances. The force and abruptness rattled Arche's teeth, and made her heart jump.

The music swelled and grew louder as the floating musical notes changed color and began to zip around Gareth like angry hornets. The bard's eyes were closed, his face was calm and composed. The tone and feel of the song sounded sinister and powerful. Everyone within the vicinity grew uneasy and felt as though they were getting wound up for a fight. The music grew louder, more intense and distorted. Arche felt magic thrum and pulse from the bard. It was powerful, easily third tier magic, but the young mage couldn't fathom what sort of spell was being cast.

Was this the power of a bard? She had heard how they wove magic into their music, but in all her life, she'd never heard of a bard doing something like this.

The music reached its crescendo and then…

It stopped.

The glowing musical notes evaporated instantly with the phantom music, and Gareth lowered his hands. His eyes opened slowly. A serious expression formed on his flawless face.

"That should do it," he said, looking at the general.

"Think they'll come?" General Zirdam asked.

"Without a doubt," the bard replied firmly. "They're not going to be happy, but at least now you'll have a shot."

The general nodded grimly.

From there the expedition scrambled to get ready. The general divided the Adventurers and Workers into groups, each assigned to one of the three tunnel entrances. Zirdam selected one Adventurer/Worker from each group to lead them and to report directly to him. While it was no secret on how powerful Damien's weapons were, (after all, they saw how easily they tore the Quagoa to pieces at the fort), they had a different plan in mind. Each group was tasked with venturing into the tunnels and agitating the enemy in order to lure them back into an ambush, conducted by Damien's tanks and Clockwork Sentinels.

General Zirdam's own men were mixed into the groups going into the tunnels, leaving only Sir Nimble behind to guard him at the rear. As the members of the expedition ventured into the dark tunnels, Damien and his Sentinels remained behind with the tanks to provide long range artillery support. They were also there to prevent any from slipping past, and to act as the last line of offense should they all be killed. Though this drew some grumbles, preferring to stay behind the tanks and the mechanical soldiers, Damien cheerfully informed the disgruntled warriors that his creations were excellent shots. So long as everyone does as they're supposed to, everyone will return to the surface alive and earn their gold.

Hekkeran and Imina were assigned to a group composed of members from the White Clovers, Screaming Whip, The Good Companions, and two other Adventurer groups. Tasked with leading the combined teams into the tunnels was Kane, the dark and gloomy assassin that sometimes got on their nerves. That annoyed Hekkeran and Imina, but neither complained out loud.

As Hekkeran and Imina's group assembled at the mouth of their assigned tunnel, the two bid their goodbyes and good lucks to their two departing comrades.

"Keep a sharp eye out," Hekkeran urged. "You never know what you might run into."

"And watch out for that bard," Imina warned. "He might do something to mess everything up."

"I will," Arche said with a nod, her stomach twisted into nervous knots.

"Keep an eye on her," Hekkeran told Roberdyck. "If something goes wrong, get out of there."

"I will," the blond templar nodded.

"Yoohoo~!" a sing-songy voice called from afar.

The members of Foresight looked and saw Kane, the sinister looking pale man in all black, waving to them.

"Come on!" he yelled at them. "Get your asses over here! It's party time!"

Imina scowled at the man and bit back a nasty curse. She turned to Arche and gave her a hug.

"Good luck," the half elf said.

"Thanks," the young mage replied.

Imina released Arche and, with Hekkeran, went off to join the tall, pale man and the rest of their group. The rest of the expedition began to split up and take positions at their assigned tunnels. Serious and nervous expressions were painted on everyone's faces. The Sentinels marched and tanks rumbled into position. Soon, Arche and Roberdyck found themselves standing alone.

"Ready to go?" a voice said behind the two.

The two Workers turned and saw a dwarf with a bushy white beard and flowing white hair to match. Standing beside him were Marcus, Gareth, and Lydia, all ready and carrying their weapons and supplies.

Arche and Roberdyck nodded.

"Good!" the ancient looking dwarf said with a smile. "Then let us get going. We don't have much time."

With that, Grolir set off at a brisk pace, with the team of volunteers making sure to not fall behind. Their temporary leader moved quickly for a dwarf, especially one of his age. He led them to one of the enormous statues guarding the tunnel entrances. Grolir scrambled up onto the feet of the giant statues and ran his hands along the rough, worn stone, searching for something.

After a few moments, the dwarf exclaimed, "Ah ha!"

He placed his hands on a section of the statue's leg and pressed on it. Arche saw a faded dwarven rune glow bright blue. Seams formed in the rock, and the slab of rock swung inward like a door, revealing a dark, narrow passageway. In the faint light of the orbs Arche summoned, thin, silvery webs shone faintly as they crisscrossed the length of the passage.

"Doesn't look like anyone has been through here in a long, long time" Gareth observed.

"Which is good for us," Grolir said with a grin. "They won't see us coming!"

"Who won't see us coming?" Arche asked with a frown.

"The Quagoa," Gareth answered "and their...friend, Olasird'arc Haylilyal."

"The White Dragon Lord?" Roberdyck gasped.

"Oh, you heard of him?" the bard asked.

"Only stories from paladins and knights that come to the temple for healing and aid. He's a cruel and vicious monster, even amongst dragons. Many have tried to slay him, but none have succeeded. Those who manage to escape his wrath are hardly the same." The blond templar said, stroking his beard. "I see now. That is our mission, is it? We are here to kill the White Dragon Lord?"

"Oh no, no, no," Grolir responded quickly, shaking his head. "Don't be ridiculous. He's far too powerful for the likes of us. Maybe one day that beast will meet his end, but not today. Besides, should the dragon be slain, I fear the mountains will be worse off. His wives and sons would turn their gaze toward your Empire, as would the Quagoa and the Frost Giants. Though Olasird'arc Haylilyal is a monster, he is a necessary evil that keeps worse dangers and evils in check."

Roberdyck nodded slowly, seeing the logic in Grolir's words.

"Come along now, step lightly" the dwarf urged, waving a hand. "We must hurry."

Grolir stepped into the dark passage and kept going. Gareth followed suit, then Lydia and Marcus. Roberdyck allowed Arche to go first, and as soon as the templar stepped across the opening, the stone door slid back into place and sealed itself.

Fortunately, Arche had her light orbs, otherwise they would all be plunged into total darkness. The young mage took a deep breath, and hurried after the other members of the team with Roberdyck following close behind.

---

Gareth was beginning to feel very cramped as they ventured further down the passage. The ground was uneven and undulated like a wave. The ceiling was low in parts and in some instances the walls drew close, forcing the bard and his companions to suck in their guts and slide along for a distance.

Despite the uncomfortable and terrifying setting they were in, Gareth couldn't help but worry about those they left behind.

Neither Gareth nor Grolir knew how long they'll be gone for. While Damien's forces were more than enough to help the general, they couldn't hold out indefinitely, especially if their distraction drew the attention of the White Dragon Lord. The bard hoped that they could get in and get out quickly without any trouble.

Each step kicked up a puff of dust that filled the musty air.

After what seemed like hours, the passage came to a dead end. Grolir inspected the smooth wall of stone, caressing it with his rough old hands, until he uncovered a rune identical to the one he discovered on the statue.

Grolir had explained in depth the nature of runecraft to Gareth, and the bard was still trying to wrap his mind around it. The symbols resembled ancient Norse runes from Earth, and allegedly were imbued with power. It was a dying art, thanks to the disaster that befell the dwarven capital, but there were still some who understood the mechanics and script enough to preserve the knowledge and use it when handling ancient dwarven artifacts.

The plan was to distract the Quagoa, and by extension, the White Dragon Lord, in order to open a path to the royal treasure vault at the palace in Feo Berkana. Using Damien's heavy weaponry, the party of humans would definitely draw a lot of attention to themselves, which was the hopeful outcome. In the meantime, Gareth and the others would raid the vault and steal back the Runesmith King's warhammer and whatever they could get their hands on. It seemed simple, but the further they delved into this forgotten passage, Gareth was beginning to have some doubts.

The bard shook his head and forced himself to focus. They can do this. They had to do this.

"Douse the light," Grolir ordered Arche. "From here on, we need to move like shadows. Cautious and stealthy."

Arche nodded and obeyed.

Although his eyesight wasn't as good as his brother's in the dark, Gareth could see Grolir brush away the dust, revealing the ancient rune that acted as the lock and triggered it. The ancient symbol glowed faintly, and the ancient stone door rumbled open. A faint, blue light poured through the opening, along with a gust of cool and fresh air. For a moment, Gareth thought that they ended up outside somehow, but on second glance, the bard saw that they were still underground. Beyond the doorway, lay a vast, underground chamber far greater than any they had previously encountered, save for the Great Rift.

The passageway ended at a high cliff overlooking a vast valley blanketed by ramshackled buildings lying in the shadow of a once great city of stone. A patch work of farms sprawled outward from the ruined city with a network of canals, carrying shimmering fresh water to the flourishing crops. Gareth stared in amazement at the sheer grandeur of what he was seeing. The ancient ruins of what he assumed was Feo Berkana easily matched the ruins of ancient civilizations from back home, maybe even surpassing them. High, high above the ruined city and patch work of farms and crudely constructed homesteads, there was a sea of luminescent fungi and crystals that bathed the underground valley in a soft pale light, reminiscent of a full moon in a cloudless night sky.

Arche and the other members of the retrieval team were just as awestruck by the view, save for Grolir, who regarded the city down below with melancholy.

"This is amazing," Gareth whispered to Grolir. "This is beyond anything that I have ever seen. This is truly...fantastic."

"Aye, that it is," Grolir sighed. "But look." the dwarf nodded at the patchwork quilt of crops and canals.

The bard followed the dwarf's direction and saw shapes moving in the dimness. It took him a moment to realize that the shapes were a mixture of dwarves and Quagoa. Gareth frowned, remembering Grolir mentioning how captured dwarves were enslaved, forced to work and teach their captors how to farm and other essential skills.

Echoing the distance, Gareth could hear whip cracks and pained cries. His heart went out to them. He could feel misery, despair and anger rising from the valley below him like a heatwave, but they weren't part of the mission. Maybe not yet. If they can get the Runesmith King's hammer, maybe they can strike a blow to the enemy's morale, especially after Damien and the others leave them with a seriously bloodied nose.

Remembering that they were on the clock, Gareth turned to Grolir and asked, "Where to?"

…

It took a considerable amount of time and sneaking, but Grolir and the rest of the retrieval team managed to work their way to the city proper.

The ancient dwarf led them along the cliff, taking them around the outskirts and closer to the city, until they reached a set of crumbling old stone stairs that led into a burnt out quarter of the ruined city. Climbing down was slow, since they didn't want to make a sound or accidentally destroy their only escape route. At the bottom of the stairs, Grolir led them through the burnt out remains of what Gareth supposed was once an affluent neighborhood. Lining the broad desolate streets, the houses stood empty and quiet, as if waiting for their original inhabitants to return.

These once grand stone houses stood, bearing the scars of what looked like a violent war like ruined gravestones. Some were blackened and charred, others were caved in and smashed, as if by angry giants. As the team darted from building to building, cloaking themselves in the shadows and wending their way toward the ancient palace in the distance, Gareth caught a glimpse of a dwarf skeleton through a gaping hole in a wall. Lying slumped in a corner, gripping the blackened remains of a doll in its arms, the dwarf was charred and bore an eternal grin in the dim light.

The bard shivered, realizing what the skeleton was holding wasn't a doll. He could scarcely imagine the horrors that took place here, especially since this was a deliberate annihilation committed by a group of malevolent beings called "Demon Gods" by those who were victimized by their sadistic rampage.

Occasionally, the group stopped and ducked for cover in the shadow dappled ruins, since pairs of Quagoa patrolled the street. These moles moved lazily and uncaringly, not really paying any heed to their surroundings. Gareth had his hand on his lute. Since they had an immunity to metal, maybe he'd hit them another type of metal. The music kind.

Fortunately, he didn't need it. Once the Quagoa moved on, so did the party. Their path took them uphill, passing through what was once a market, and eventually, to the palace itself. From how empty the streets were and how they didn't run into many patrols, it seemed like their plan was working. According to Grolir, the palace was home to the White Dragon Lord and hosted a staggering host of Frost Dragons who obeyed him. Currently, all was quiet and peaceful, with nary a dragon in sight. It would seem that Jinx's distraction on the surface was working. Maybe they could really pull this off.

To say that the palace was big would be an understatement. It was immense. Even compared to the architecture back home, Gareth could hardly find an accurate comparison. The closest approximation he could come up with were some of the major monuments and government buildings in Washington D.C. that he'd seen in old movies and news reports. But even those places looked modest in comparison.

The walls rose high above them, each brick as large as a grown man. Pillars as tall and thick as ancient redwood trees held up an immense, gilded ceiling. Before crossing the vast threshold of the front entrance, Grolir had Arche check for traps with magic. She found none. The ancient dwarf was relieved.

"There was once an army of golems tasked with guarding the palace" he informed the others softly. "I just wanted to be sure that we didn't trigger them. Fortunately, it seems our adversary has already dealt with whatever traps and security measures the royal stonemasons left behind long ago."

Through the front entrance and across the vestibule, Grolir led the team further into the palace. As they sprinted through the grand and spacious halls, Gareth couldn't help but feel like he was shrunken down to the size of a mouse, and was running around a mega mansion. Although the palace was mostly intact, the damage and decay became more apparent the further in they went. Great marble pillars lay shattered like felled trees, gaping holes in walls and the ceiling allowed the faint light of the crystals and fungi inside. Eventually, they descended into the lower levels, toward the armory, the dungeons. and, most important of all, the Royal Treasure Vault.

At the bottom of the grand staircase, the team navigated their way through a dark labyrinth of corridors until they came to their final destination. The corridor ended at a wide chamber filled with pale light filtering in through the broken ceiling and the floors above. Before them sat an enormous metal wall, covered with a series of runes that were arranged in a spiral. At the center of the spiral was a crest of sorts.

"This is it," Grolir informed his companions. "The Royal Treasure Vault. Still intact by the looks of it."

"How do you know that?" Arche asked.

"Look at it! Not a mark on it. It seems the vault withstood the calamity wrought by the Demon Gods," the dwarf explained with a smile. "If that's the case, then it's a safe bet that it would withstand the power of an army of dragons, even a Dragon Lord."

The party approached the wall and looked up at it, admiring the craftsmanship and immensity of the vault. According to their dwarven leader, dragons coveted gold and none coveted it as much as the White Dragon Lord. If he were able to break the vault then they would've seen it. Astonishingly, there wasn't a scratch on the smooth grey metallic surface of the vault's door, let alone any sign of aging. However, it quickly became apparent to the majority of the team that there was a slight issue.

"How do we get in?" Marcus asked, giving voice to the question on the minds of the non-dwarf members of the party. "I don't see a handle or any locks. How does one get into a vault without any way in?"

"That is the brilliance of the Royal Treasure Vault," Grolir told the Adventurer with a grin. "It was designed by the Runesmith King himself! Not only a master of Runecraft, he was also an accomplished Magic Craftsman. He created this vault to withstand the ages. It is impregnable to all, save for the gods themselves or for one bearing the combination."

"And do you have this combination?" Gareth asked, hoping that they didn't come all this way for nothing. The bard still wasn't confident in whether or not he could hold a dragon at bay and ensure his companions' safety.

Grolir's grin wavered. "I...I have most of it."

"Most of it?" Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow.

The dwarf nodded reluctantly. "Aye. With the Royal Family gone, knowledge of the vault's combination has faded. His stewards knew and had passed it down before they too were gone. Unfortunately, through constant war and strife, the knowledge grew fragmented and murky. It took me many years of searching to piece the information together, but I'm confident that I can get it without triggering the failsafe."

"Failsafe?" Arche echoed, her voice thick with worry.

"A nasty spell that kills anyone who inputs the wrong combination too many times," Grolir answered quickly. "But-but it's nothing to worry about. I'm certain that it won't take that many attempts."

Gareth sighed heavily but he nodded "Alright, well lets-" the bard stopped when he heard something.

"Sir Gareth?" Lydia asked, but the bard held up a hand to silence her.

Grolir, Marcus, Arche and Roberdyck fell silent as well. The party stood in silence and waited for a few tense moments before the distant sound Gareth heard grew closer and louder. They all looked up and saw a great shadow cross high over the hole in the ceiling and upper floors. A deep and heavy thud sounded, rattling the stone above, shaking loose some dust and dirt.

In the distance they could hear a deep, thunderous roar echo in the dark, followed by a loud commanding voice calling for someone. Another powerful voice could be heard, and they began to converse about something in low rumbling tones.

"Oh gods…" Grolir breathed, his face grew incredibly pale.

"Th-that's him?" Arche asked, terror appearing on her pale features.

The dwarf nodded.

Gareth silently cursed. The White Dragon Lord was here and it sounded like he wasn't alone. From all the stories he's heard, the bard knew that his party was in serious trouble. He and Lydia might be able to take this guy on, but not the others. They really needed to get out of here.

The bard waved and made to leave, but Grolir and the others stayed put. He waved again, more urgently this time but they remained rooted to the spot.

"We can't leave yet," Grolir whispered frantically. "We-we've come so far."

"It's too dangerous," the bard hissed. "We need to get out of here or at least find somewhere safe to hide."

"We can't go out there, we might get caught," Arche reasoned as she held her staff close.

"We'll get caught if we stay here" Roberdyck murmured.

Before they could deliberate further, the ceiling and upper floors shook, sending more dust cascading down and the sound of powerful wingbeats grew more distant. At first Gareth and the others thought that the White Dragon Lord had left, but from the way the upper floors thumped like distant cannon fire and the way the stones quaked, they realized that he, or some other dragon, was still up there and he was moving towards the wide, gaping hole above them.

Grolir and the others scuttled away, hoping to take shelter in the shadows gathered in one corner of the chamber but it wasn't nearly dark enough nor was it completely hidden from a higher view. Thinking quickly, Gareth came up with a plan. A dangerously stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless.

"Stay here," the bard hissed, "and get to work on the vault. Do it quietly, or we're all screwed. Once you're done, go. Don't wait for me. Take the hammer and run. I'll catch up."

"What? Why?" Grolir asked.

The bard didn't answer as he stepped forth into the light filling the center of the chamber. Taking one last look back, he winked at his friends and, using [Fly], shot straight upward through the opening, soaring past the different levels of the palace until he came to a vast courtyard. He landed gently on the edge of the opening and looked about.

The courtyard looked large enough to host a crowded market and appeared to have once hosted a lush garden. The garden was now nothing more than thistles, weeds and parched earth. Fragments of a once glorious, kingly statue lay scattered about and glittering with what remained of its jeweled and gilded ornamentation.

"There you are," a deep, commanding voice rumbled, which made Gareth's bones rattle. Turning around, the bard instantly locked eyes with Olasird'arc Haylilyal, the White Dragon Lord and the current ruler of Feo Berkana and all who resided within it. "I sensed a little mouse scurrying about in my palace. What brings you here, into my garden? Hoping to escape, or were you throwing yourself at my mercy, realizing the futility of escape?"

For a moment, the bard was speechless. The dragon before him was big - no, - enormous. The White Dragon Lord easily rivaled the monstrous Frost Dragon that came to the aid of the Frost Giant King, but what set him apart from that beast was the power and intelligence that radiated from this dragon.

Covered in glittering light blue scales, Olasird'arc Haylilyal seemed to shine in the faint light that shone down on the courtyard from the earthen ceiling far above them both. Snowy white horns curved backward on his elongated head. His eyes glowed like two supernatural sapphires, filled with a kind of power that would freeze lesser creatures. The temperature around him seemed to drop as he watched the bard. His massive tail moved gradually like a python, his wings folded in onto his back.

"Well?" the Dragon Lord rumbled "Have you nothing to say or has fear taken your wits and your speech?"

"Forgive me!" Gareth chuckled nervously, sounding almost out of breath "I-I was merely admiring your grandeur, o mighty Olasird'arc Haylilyal."

The enormous dragon didn't react. "You know my name" he stated, sounding bored, "but you have yet to answer my question. Why have you come to my palace?"

"To see you," the bard said, removing his cap and bowing low, "for I am Gareth Silvertongue, a humble bard. I have heard many tales of the great and powerful White Dragon Lord of the Azerlisia Mountains!" Gareth began to pour on the charm, socially and magically. He delved deep within, and began pretending to be a fantasy bard. No, not pretend, he had to be a bard. He had to convince this intelligent and dangerous creature that he was who he said he was. It also helped that Gareth was doing his damnedest to use his Bardic Voice to sooth and lull this monster into a sense of ease.

"Have you?" Olasird'arc Haylilyal said, and sent a gust of cold air toward the bard.

Gareth brushed aside the hair that was blown into his face, and adopted an award winning smile.

"Indeed I have. It is the job of a bard to journey far and wide, to every corner of every land they visit and collect stories from the highest and the lowest." Gareth continued.

"And you snuck into my palace, like a thief in the night?" The dragon growled, his glowing eyes flared dangerously.

"I wouldn't really say sneak," Gareth reasoned. "I called out to see if anyone was home and nobody answered. There wasn't really a front door or any guards so I...let myself in." The bard continued smiling "I really am sorry if I have offended you, but I couldn't help myself. This palace is magnificent! Of all the palaces I have seen on my travels, this is by far the most glorious. It is worthy of a being as glorious as yourself."

The dragon stared at Gareth. The bard could sense that he was angry but not toward him. He seemed to be angry toward someone else. This was confirmed when the dragon growled what sounded like a name.

"I-I beg your pardon?" Gareth asked.

"Hejinmal," Olasird'arc Haylilyal growled. "My weakling son. He was supposed to be guarding the palace while we were away. He probably slunk back into the library, the coward."

Gareth nodded slowly, and he saw that the Dragon Lord paused and had a perplexed look on his face, as if he was confused as to why he would tell a simple human something so private and personal. The bard worried that he may be putting on his soothing charms a little too thick, and decided to dial back a bit. The Dragon Lord blinked and continued.

"Well, you wanted a story, little human?" Olasird'arc Haylilyal purred. "Here I am. Ask me whatever questions you may have and, if I'm feeling kind, I will answer them."

"Thank you-" Gareth began, but the dragon continued.

"However, if you ask a question I do not like, I will rip you into tiny pieces and feed you to my children." The dragon snorted, sending out a cloud of cold, frigid air into the bard's face to emphasize the gravity of the situation.

Gareth swallowed hard and nodded.

"Good," the dragon laid down on the ground, it's long and sharp tail wrapped itself around him "Shall we begin?"

The bard nodded again, and silently prayed that Grolir and the others were done and already halfway home by now. He took a deep breath and began asking some questions he was able to put together on the spot.

---

As Gareth distracted the White Dragon Lord, high above them, on the surface, a battle raged. A howling blizzard swirled about the towering peak that stood above the underground city. The shrieking winds were joined by the angry and pained roars of Frost Dragons and Frost Giants as they were locked in pitched combat.

The two armies clashed in the snow. One giant felled a dragon with a powerful club strike to it's skull, sending blood, brain, and bone flying. A pair of dragons savagely tore into a lone giant that tried to hold them both at bay with its powerful hands. There were even small battles raging between Frost Dragons. Those loyal to the White Dragon Lord battled for supremacy against those collaborating with the Frost Giants, who fought to take control of the tunnels that lead into the heart of the Dragon Lord's doman, Feo Berkana. The once pure and pristine snow quickly darkened with blood and bodies as old grudges played out in the blizzard.

The King of the Frost Giant tribes stood amongst the storm of snow and violence, his staff of magic in one hand and a mighty frost coated sword in the other, staring down his foe. Before him was an enormous pale blue dragon, standing in the snow, its head held high and proud. As of yet, neither of the two made a move. Both seized each other up and were contemplating who would strike first and what moves they would make afterward. The giant king's scarred and burnt face was a twisted mask of unfettered rage and hatred. Though in the past, he wouldn't have dared an attack this audacious, but coming so close to death and being horribly burnt by that wretched blue haired woman put things into perspective for him.

After being blown out of the sky and nursing his wounds in his cave, the giant king contemplated his life. For too long he had sat around on his throne and cautiously planned. For too long he had retreated and hid from the arrogant bastard dragon and his wretched offspring. He was a warrior! He shouldn't be hiding like a coward. He has done nothing for too long. After recovering enough, the King of the Frost Giants set out and gathered his forces for a daring surprise attack on the Dragon Lord's stronghold when the arrogant bitch who nearly killed him sauntered into view. She mocked and threatened him until he couldn't take it anymore. The Frost Giant King pursued her, with all his forces, all the way into the heart of the dragon's territory. Though his subordinates were hesitant and worried about being so deep into enemy territory, the king relished it. Eliminate two problems in one strike. Although the blue haired human seemingly vanished, the Frost Dragons presented themselves. They swarmed from the tunnel entrances like a swarm of overgrown, scaly bats. Leading the charge was Arycgos, one of the Dragon Lord's sons. He was accompanied by his mother, one the Dragon Lord's many concubines.

That made the enormous Frost Giant smile. Fortune is smiling on him this day. Killing them would deal a nasty wound to that bastard's overinflated pride.

A loud thunderous crash suddenly filled the air, and the two immobile combatants looked up.

Above them in the clouds, the King Frost Giant's own dragon servant battled with one of the Dragon Lord's numerous concubines. The two collided, snapping their powerful jaws at each other, clawing at one another as they struggled to stay aloft. Both dealt nasty wounds to each other, but neither were willing to give in.

After an eternity of waiting, it was Arycgos who launched the first strike. The blue dragon unfurled his wings and launched himself to him. The giant king raised his staff to block and quickly readied his sword to retaliate. The two quickly became entangled in their own struggle.

…

Meanwhile, sitting on the edge of a cliff overlooking the battle, Jinx cheered for the giants and laughed as the carnage intensified.

"Come on boys! Show 'em who's boss!" the blue haired woman hollered down at the struggling Frost Giants as if she was cheering on her favorite sports team. "Let's see some hustle out there, Harry! Are you really going to take that Maurice?! Rip that asshole's head off! Aw, what? That's cheating! Boo!"

["Jinx,"] a familiar voice spoke in her head.

The blue haired maniac paused and looked about. ["Is that you, God?"]

["Jinx,"] the voice repeated, this time sounding a little annoyed.

["I'm kidding, I know it's you, boss. What's up?"]

["How goes 'Operation Sacrificial Pawns'?"] Damien asked.

"Better than we thought. Honestly, I thought these icy murder hobos would get massacred, but they're really putting up a fight. How are things on your end?"

["Good, though I don't know how much longer we can keep this up,"] Damien said, sounding a little distracted. ["Has Gareth and his team made contact? Do they need an extraction?"]

Jinx shrugged. ["I don't know. It's just me, myself, and I up here. Haven't heard a peep from Pretty Boy and the doof troop. If they were heading up this way instead of the rendezvous point, I'd know. You think they might need a handy?"]

There was a pause as Jinx sensed her creator pondering her words and their current situation.

["Perhaps,"] Damien murmured, ["though it wouldn't surprise me if they've hit a little snag. This vault is supposed to be pretty tough and sitting under the big boss dragon."]

["Want me to go and rescue our fair damsels?"] Jinx asked.

["No, hold your position. We need to keep the dragons occupied."]

["But what if more dragons show up and my guys get overwhelmed?"]

["Then you can deal with them."]

A smile appeared on her face. "Goody" she said aloud as she felt the connection with her creator break. The blue haired maniac sat there, waited and hoped that more showed up. Fortunately for her, they did.

---

Gareth sat cross legged in front of the White Dragon Lord, strumming his lute and listening to the enormous mythical creature recount tales of his exploits.

"...and in the ensuing battle, what remained of that dwarf city, Feo Teiwaz, was destroyed."

The dragon let out a heavy sigh, unleashing a heavy gust of cold wind that reeked of rotten meat. "Although the treasure in that city became lost to me, I had gained a new bride, who will bear my young."

"A happy ending, I see," Gareth asked with a tinge of sarcasm. The dragon didn't react; either he didn't care or noticed. Regardless, Olasird'arc Haylilyal nodded slowly.

"Indeed, though she is headstrong and fiercely questions my commands. Even threatens to destroy my palace if I go too far."

"Such is the life of a married man - er, dragon."

The White Dragon Lord let out a low, hitched rumbling sound, which the bard could've sworn sounded like a laugh. The dragon laughed for a solid minute, before letting out a sigh. An awkward silence fell on the two. The air in the courtyard garden was still enough to hear a pin drop.

Gareth grew nervous and tried coming up with a way to break the awkwardness but the dragon spoke first.

"Tell me a story, bard" the dragon drew out the word, as if testing it out for the first time.

"Pardon?"

"A story," Olasird'arc repeated. "You have said that it is your job to travel far and collect stories. I have told you one and feel no desire to tell you more. I wish to hear stories from other lands."

The bard nodded slowly and smiled. "Of course. I know many stories. What story do you wish to hear?"

The great dragon moved his shoulders a bit, shrugging. "Whatever suits your fancy."

Gareth mentally swore and pondered what he was going to tell the dangerous, ice breathing dragon. As the bard contemplated what he was going to do, a high, gruff voice spoke.

"My lord!"

Olasird'arc and Gareth looked and saw a lanky looking goblin in ill-fitted royal robes stumbling into the courtyard. Around his neck were dozens of gold and jeweled necklaces, which bounced and rang loudly with each step.

The goblin skidded to a halt a few feet away from the two and prostrated himself, pressing his forehead to the stoney path.

"My lord Olasird'arc!" the goblin cried. "Sire, Clan Lord Pe Riyuro has requested an audience with thee!"

"Tell him to wait," the White Dragon Lord sighed. "I am with someone at the moment."

"I-I tried but-but,"

"O Mighty Dragon Lord of Feo Berkana!" a deep, booming voice sounded from behind the goblin.

All eyes turned and fixed on a large Quagoa, who strolled into the courtyard, on his hind legs and wore a leather loincloth. The mole beastman paused beside the goblin and bowed his head low.

Gareth felt a mixture of relief and heightened anxiety.

On the one hand, the bard may have dodged a bullet. Most of his stories were from a dozen major fantasy classics he read back home, most of which involved killing a tyrannical dragon who took something from a dwarf/human kingdom. On the other hand, this Quagoa might be reporting on the distraction that Damien and the others were putting on, and may put two and two together by seeing him there.

Olasird'arc let out a deep, threatening growl that made the hair on the back of Gareth's neck stand.

"It is rude to barge in on a private meeting," the White Dragon Lord growled at the Quagoa.

The golden furred Quagoa nodded, he kept his head low.

"I understand," the Clan Lord said humbly, "but there is a situation."

"If you are referring to the pests attempting to breach the surface tunnels, fret not. Arycgos and Maelys are dealing with them as we speak."

"No, I am referring to the human army that is currently engaging our border guards."

Shit, Gareth swore in his mind.

The dragon's eyes flared, his head rising. "What?"

"Apparently the vanguard we sent to take the fortress guarding the Great Rift had been obliterated," the Clan Lord explained. "The dwarves still hold the crossing and have apparently sent a force of their own, comprised of humans and-and-and-"

"And what?"

"Golems, at least I believe they're golems. They're unlike anything I have ever seen. They even have machines that are able to overcome our immunity to metal. That's not all, I heard reports that strange music was heard and that our sentries were lured away from their posts. When their comrades went to retrieve them, they were ambushed by this force. They're currently battling near the Crossroads outside of the city as we speak."

The bard saw the wheels turning in the Dragon Lord's head and he began to panic. Taking a deep breath, Gareth forced himself to be calm. He needed to not look guilty and not do anything too obvious. He didn't want to give anything away too soon. Using [Message], the bard reached out to Lydia.

["Lydia,"] the bard spoke in his mind.

["My lord?"] the elf responded at once.

["Please tell me that Grolir got the vault door open."]

There was a slight pause, and the elf responded.

["Not yet my lord, though he has assured me that he almost has it."]

Gareth exhaled through his nose and tried his hardest not to scream obscenities right then and there. He swallowed hard and told Lydia, ["Tell him to hurry up. I think our goose is cooked."]

["My lord?"]

["I'll try to distract them. Once the vault is open, get the hammer and get them back to Damien and the others. I'll find my own way out. Understand?"]

After sensing some very strong reluctance, Lydia agreed.

The bard severed the communication link, and just in time it seemed.

"And what would you have me do?" the Dragon Lord demanded.

"Allow us to use the items in your trove," the Quagoa Clan Lord answered. "I rarely ask for your assistance, but I believe that this situation warrants it."

"And let you know where I keep my most valued treasures? Forget it." Olasird'arc sneered. "And what of the Quagoa's oh-so vaunted bravery and tenacity?"

Anger and indignation flashed in the Clan Lord's eyes. It looked like he was on the verge of throwing out his own snappy comeback, but the mole creature held his tongue.

"Our bravery and tenacity is not in question," Pe Riyuro growled, carefully choosing his words. "We have been taken by surprise by these machines. They are unlike any I have seen before. They are powerful, and have claimed the lives of many of my warriors. They may even pose a threat to your life, Dragon Lord."

It was Olasird'arc's turn to be indignant. His sapphire eyes flared and he bared his sword sized teeth, streams of cold air and frost leaked from his mouth threateningly.

"As if an army of pathetic humans and their shoddy weapons could ever pose a threat to me or to my family."

"If we do nothing, my warriors will be forced to retreat, which in turn may embolden the humans and their dwarf allies."

The White Dragon Lord scowled at Pe Riyuro for a long moment, before letting out a grunt.

"Very well. Go to Hejinmal and tell him that you have my permission to use whatever weapons you wish, even the Steel Golems."

Pe Riyuro bowed low. "Thank you for your kindness." He didn't sound very pleased despite being granted permission, but there was a sense of relief.

The mole creature lifted his head and turned to leave, but paused. He turned and looked at Gareth. Confusion filled his expression.

"What is this human doing here?" the Clan Lord asked.

"I was about to ask the very same thing," Olasird'arc said, his sapphire gaze turning toward Gareth "Apparently, he is a bard, a collector of songs and stories. He says that he wished to gaze upon my magnificence."

"Indeed I did," Gareth said "And I must say, the stories pale in comparison to the real thing."

"Hmm, yes," the dragon said, unconvinced. "How strange a coincidence, a human bard appearing in my palace as an army of humans lays siege to our domain."

"Curious, isn't it" the bard chuckled, rising to his feet. "Funny old world, ain't it? What are the chances of it happening?"

"Indeed," Pe Riyuro said, his eyes narrowing to angry slits "Especially when strange, unnatural music had effected my warriors."

A tense, awkward silence fell upon the courtyard. The Dragon Lord and the dangerous Quagoa both glared daggers at the lone bard. The goblin in the loose fitting robes fidgeted nervously, his eyes darting from the dragon to the mole creature.

"Just who are you?" Olasird'arc growled, rising to his full height "And what are you really doing here in my domain?"

"Like I said," Gareth said, his mouth quickly going dry. Judging from the way the two creatures moved and the violent riot of emotions radiating from them, the bard realized that he had officially overstayed his welcome. "I'm a humble bard, collecting songs and stories. Though, in truth, sometimes if a bard can't find a story, he makes his own!"

Just as Pe Riyuro attacked, the bard lifted his hands and cast [Force], sending the mole creature flying backward across the courtyard and crashing through a pillar.

The White Dragon Lord reared back and unleashed a jet of supernaturally cold, blue flames at the bard. Gareth quickly reacted with a powerful barrier spell, [Shield of the Seraphim]. The flames crashed against the gold, glowing shield construct that enveloped the bard and washed over him like an ocean wave. Jagged waves of ice crackled into existence around the bard, slowly flowing outward and crawling all over the walls and dead plants closeby.

The bard searched for a way out and zeroed in on an open doorway to his left, far across the courtyard. It won't be easy but it was doable.

Gareth spied the dead trees and the wild tangle of weeds and thorny vines and got an idea.

"Come out, come out, sweet little morsel!" Olasird'arc roared "Come out and spill your secrets before I tear out your guts!"

"I'll pass, thank you very much" Gareth replied. Invoking another spell, [Entangle], the bard gestured to the trees and plants closest to the enormous dragon and directed them toward his enemy. The bone dry, withered husks creaked into action. Their ancient, prickly branches and roots slithered to the dragon and wrapped themselves around the enormous creature. They quickly raced up his body, poking and prodding at the dragon's scaly armor, probing for a weakness.

Olasird'arc snarled angrily and thrashed about, momentarily breaking free, but the plants didn't let up. Soon thick, thorny roots and vines erupted from the stoney pavement below and enveloped the dragon's legs. Furious, the Dragon Lord unleashed his icy flames on the plants and violently tore himself free from their petrified grip.

Gareth acted. He disengaged his shield and sprinted for the exit. He didn't need to look back to know that the Dragon Lord was now free and extremely pissed off.

Through the doorway, Gareth sprinted through the palace, frantically searching for an exit. Behind him, a thunderous crash of stone and a deafening roar echoed through the palace, causing the very ground to shake beneath the bard's feet.

"There's nowhere to run!" the dragon bellowed.

"Run, run as fast as you can, you can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man!" Gareth countered. It was a nonsensical reference and was the first thing to pop into his head. Although he wished very much he could teleport out of here, the bard still had a job to do. For all he knew, Lydia and the others were still in the palace. He had to stall for a little bit longer.

Glancing over his shoulder, Gareth's eyes widened when he saw the enormous dragon bounding after him, murder and bloody vengeance clear on his face.

The bard swore and pushed himself harder. The game of "keep the dragon away from the vault" was on.

---

Arche tapped her feat, anxiously waiting for the ancient dwarf to puzzle out the combination to the vault door. Marcus of the White Clovers and Lydia, Gareth's companion, waited patiently, sitting on the floor close to the vault door, keeping a patient eye on the hole in the ceiling and on the corridor leading out of there. Roberdyck, meanwhile, maintained a silent vigil in another corner of the chamber, clutching his amulet and wordlessly mouthing a prayer of protection for the group. It had been almost an hour since Gareth left, and so far, there didn't appear to be any progress.

The young mage held the ancient dwarf in high regard, but she was growing more anxious about her comrades - and about Gareth. He was currently somewhere in the upper floors with an immensely powerful dragon as their comrades fought for their lives to keep the Quagoa and dragon hordes at bay, and they have yet to breach the vault's front door.

"This is taking too long," Arche grumbled. "We have to go."

"Patience," Grolir soothed as he ran his hands along the surface of the immense metal door. "Acting in haste will lead to many mistakes. Have patience, I almost have it."

"You said that half an hour ago," the young mage sniffed. "Besides, Gareth may be dead or he might be telling the dragons everything."

"He's not dead," Lydia said, surprising Arche.

The young mage knew that the silver haired elf could talk, but she'd never heard her speak. She kept silent and aloof during the whole expedition, which was probably why Imina was distrustful and bitter toward Gareth. In both of their lives, they'd seen how the wealthy and powerful treated people, especially their elven slaves. They'd beat them, starve them, and trained them to be more "compliant." They follow their masters around, silent and dutiful. Better seen than heard. The two of them assumed Lydia was a slave and that Gareth was some noble making play at being an Adventurer. From what she's seen, however, Arche was beginning to doubt their initial assessment.

"What?" Arche asked.

"I said he's not dead," Lydia said firmly. "I know that he's alive, and I know that he has not given away our secrets."

"How do you know that?"

"Because we'd all be dead by now," Marcus answered bluntly.

The young mage paused. While she was reluctant to believe Lydia, Arche saw the logic in Marcus's words. Had Gareth been killed and if he had given away their position, they would've known it. The fact that they were still there, waiting for the old dwarf to unlock the vault in near perfect silence, spoke volumes.

"I suppose so," Arche said slowly.

"Besides," Lydia said with a confident smile. "There is no possible way that a dragon could kill Gareth."

Both Arche and Marcus gave the silver haired elf curious looks.

"Why's that?" the young mage asked.

Before Lydia could answer, Grolir hissed at them.

"I've done it!" the dwarf exclaimed gleefully, barely restraining his joy and keeping his voice at a low volume.

Lydia, Marcus and Roberdyck, rose and the three gathered with Arche behind Grolir as the ancient dwarf's hands slid about the surface of the vault door, touching the appropriate runes in the proper sequence. Each one he touched glowed blue and a soft click sounded from behind the door. When the final rune was touched, a loud clunk echoed in the air. The chamber began to rumble and shake as the enormous vault door slowly opened.

Grolir and the others watched in amazement as the door slid open, revealing a dark vast chamber. When Arche summoned an orb of light to illuminate the vault's interior, her eyes bulged at the sheer wealth before them. Stretching as far as the eye could see and beyond the meager light the orb provided were rolling mounds of gold coins, jewels, gilded artifacts, and other expensive items. The items glittered and shone, untouched by rust, age, or cobwebs. In the distance and in the darkness, Arche could see gold and valuables stacked high to the ceiling. The wealth accumulated within the vault was staggering. It would've taken countless lifetimes to calculate it. A very small portion of this trove would've been enough to pay off her parent's debt, and there'd be enough left over to live comfortably for the rest of their lives, even with her parent's reckless spending.

After doing a check for hidden traps and failsafes, the adventurers entered the vault and began searching for the warhammer amongst the sea of gold and jewels. The size of the vault and the volume of valuables made the search daunting. Fortunately, Grolir spied the ancient weapon very quickly. It stuck out of the top of a mound of coins and jeweled items like a banner planted on a captured hill. The warhammer glowed faintly, even in the light of the floating orb. Arche could feel great power emanating from the relic, and could see why Grolir was so set on retrieving it.

The warhammer was a head taller than the dwarf, with a large, heavy golden head with a hammer on one side and a curved spike on the back. A golden vine wound its way down the shaft, stopping at the handle. Etched into the hammer and the shaft were six runes, which seemed to glow with latent power.

The retrieval group approached it cautiously, as if they were trying to sneak up on it. Grolir stepped up to the weapon and pulled it free from the mound of treasure. The moment it was free, the Runesmith King's warhammer glowed brighter, and Arche felt a powerful pulse of magic burst from the weapon and washed over her like a wave. The hair on the back of her neck rose. The energy was warm, and oddly put her at ease.

Grolir inspected the weapon in his hands. Tears welled up in his eyes and a sense of awe and hope filled him. To Arche, it looked as though the old dwarf had found an old friend.

The tender moment was disrupted when they heard a mighty roar echo into the vault.

"Time to go," the old dwarf murmured, looking more alert and sober. He looked at each of his companions. "Take what you want, but not too much, you don't want to be weighed down."

Arche and the others nodded. The young mage quickly scooped a few handfuls of coins and jewels into her pack. Though she wished she could take more, the amount she grabbed was more than enough to ease her family's debt.

Another powerful roar shook the palace outside, signaling that their foray in the vault was at an end.

…

Grolir led Arche, Lydia, Roberdyck and Marcus back up to the palace proper. The ancient dwarf had bundled up the warhammer in some old blankets he brought along and slung it across his back. They had resealed the vault and carefully withdrew from the basement, making sure that they left no trace of their presence.

The four worked their way through the vast corridors of the palace, trying to find their way out and keeping out of sight. As they entered the entrance hall, a deafening roar and a thunderous crash sounded from their left.

Quickly, Grolir and his companions ducked behind one of the great pillars in the hall as a series of heavy thuds made their way toward the hall, each one causing the floor to quake.

"Come out, come out you little vermin!" a deep, commanding voice called out. His tone was laced with venom. "There is nowhere you can hide!"

Sweat began to bead up on Arche's brow. With a nudge from Marcus, the young mage quickly invoked the [Invisibility] spell. The quintet of thieves were quickly rendered invisible as the most terrifying looking dragon lumbered past them.

It took everything Arche had to keep from panicking. The dragon was large enough to gobble them all and still have more than enough room for a hundred more. It crawled by them, it's long neck slithered about like a serpent as he tried sniffing out his prey.

"I know you're here," the Dragon Lord hissed. "I know your scent, and I will pursue you to the ends of the earth and rip you to pieces."

The dragon paused and turned his head. His luminous blue eyes bore right into Arche's, right into her soul. The young mage felt a chill fill her body.

"Even if you hid yourself with magic" the dragon growled.

Arche cried out as the enormous blue dragon inhaled deeply and unleashed a frigid blast of glittering blue wind. The young mage felt like she was being pricked by thousands of needles. The invisibility spell melted away, rendering the party visible and vulnerable.

"There you are," the Dragon Lord purred, his eyes glowed brighter.

"Oh gods," Arche whimpered, sweat trickling down her face.

"You're new," the dragon observed, "Now this is a surprise. I knew I smelled human but a dwarf and an elf? Strange, I should've caught that. How did you…?"

The dragon paused as Grolir pulled the Runesmith king's warhammer from his back, pulled it free from its blanket covers and brandished it. A dangerous scowl was fixed on the old dwarf's face.

"Don't come any closer!" Grolir snarled.

"Where did you get that?" the dragon demanded, his words a low, dangerous growl. "Give that to me! It's mine!"

"It doesn't belong to you!" the dwarf snapped, taking a swing at the dragon. "It belongs to the Royal Family and to the Dwarf Kingdom!"

"The Royal Family!?" the dragon let out a barking laugh. "The Runesmith King is dead! His line was exterminated by the Demon Gods! The Dwarf Kingdom? Nothing more than a collection of scared, mewling pups and brittle old men wasting away in their pitiful strongholds, waiting to be slaughtered. Your time is done! Your disgusting little nation shall be no more, and I shall rule these mountains as king!"

The dwarf roared angrily and charged at the dragon, warhammer in hand, and lept. The warhammer shined like a star as Grolir swung the weapon as hard as he could. Unfortunately, the Dragon Lord was quicker. His tail lashed out and swatted the old dwarf out of the air and into one of the pillars. The warhammer fell from his grip.

"Pathetic!" the dragon crowed. Spying the warhammer on the floor, glowing and pulsing with power, the dragon lumbered toward the hammer. Before he could reach it, Lydia raced past him like a silver blur and scooped up the hammer. She twirled it in her hands and leveled it at the dragon.

The White Dragon Lord paused and stared at the silver haired elf curiously.

"You think you can kill me?" he hissed. "Many have tried."

"I will, if you continue to be a nuisance," Lydia replied coolly.

Arche gaped at the elf while the dragon chuckled.

"Such defiance! If only the rest of your pitiful kind had such spirit. Maybe then they wouldn't have been beaten down by the Theocracy's army of zealots. Then again, with your so-called king, it's no wonder that you're losing that war."

"[Martial Art: Thunder Strike!]" Marcus cried, swinging his magically charged longsword in a wide arc on the dragon's leg, as if he were trying to chop down a tree. The blade struck home, but did nothing. His glittering blue scales didn't even look scratched.

The dragon's tail lashed out at the leader of the White Clovers, who managed to raise his sword in time, and invoked another Martial Art to boost his defense. The man was sent sliding backward a considerable distance and nearly toppled over. Blood trickled down from his nose, he huffed and weezed with effort.

"As I said," the dragon snorted. "Pathetic." He looked at Arche, who stood there, frozen in place.

"And what of you, little mage? Want to try your luck with your petty magic?"

The young mage, despite her experience and accomplishments, her talent and skill, it all felt meaningless. Before a dragon of his stature, a Dragon Lord, Arche was nothing more than a bug to a giant. What could she possibly do to stop or harm him?

"Nothing?" the dragon said, turning toward the petrified mage. "Such a pity. I had hoped you'd do something like your comrades. Squirm, squeal, struggle, beg even. It brings zest and entertainment in your final moments. No matter."

The Dragon Lord stomped toward Arche on all fours and snatched her up in his taloned hand. Although she was fully aware of her situation and her mind screamed at her body to move, her limbs refused to respond. At first she had attributed it to fear, but Arche had been in dangerous situations before and had overcome such fears. In the back of her mind, an old familiar voice spoke to her.

The young mage vaguely remembered this voice. It was from her time at the Imperial Magic Academy. Her memories of that time were hazy, but she remembered some useful tidbits on occasion. This voice belonged to one of her professors, a skilled wizard and a renowned Beast Tamer from the Imperial Menagerie. The man sported many scars and wounds and spoke with a rough, guttural voice. The voice in her head recounted his lesson on dragons, pointing out how some species of dragons hunted. He elaborated how some were able to use magic to ensnare and paralyze their victims with an overwhelming aura that instilled great fear, making it easier to capture and kill. The stronger the dragon, the more powerful the effect and since this was one of the fabled Dragon Lords…

I'm going to die, Arche realized, her heart hammered away in her chest.

The great dragon lifted her high and he opened his great maw, giving the young mage a clear view down his throat. Images flashed through her mind, images of Hekkeran, of Imina, of her sisters, even of her parents. Roberdyck and Marcus attempted to rescue her, with the Templar casting spells to lessen the dragon's defenses and strength as Marcus slashed and chopped at the monster's legs. With a sweep of his tail, the dragon sent Arche's comrades flying. Lydia tended to Grolir, who was trying his best to stand but was forced to remain on his knees.

"How disappointing" the dragon snorted "I had hoped to catch myself a bard, but a middling mage will do."

Oh gods! Arche moaned, screwing her eyes shut and prepared herself for the worst.

The young mage's senses filled with the horrid, rancid stench of the dragon's breath and she could hear Roberdyck scream at the dragon in rage, helpless to save his friend. Death was coming for her, and all she could do was hope that it was swift.

Just then, there was a blinding flash of light and a deafening shriek of pain, and Arche felt herself falling. The fall didn't last very long as she felt something, or rather someone, catch her.

"I got you," a familiar voice spoke.

Arche opened her eyes and saw the kind, grinning face of Gareth the Bard.

"Gareth?" the mage exclaimed. "H-How?"

"Sorry about that, but a hero always waits for the right time to make his entrance," the bard informed her coolly. "There's an art to these sorts of things. It makes stories more impactful."

Looking around, Arche saw that the two of them were floating high above the ground. The Dragon Lord thrashed about, screaming and clawing at his face, sizzling steam rising from his eyes. Arche blinked in amazement. Her mind reeled at how close she was to dying and how she was still alive. Part of her was convinced that she was dead or dreaming, but the way she felt warm and safe in the bard's arms said otherwise.

"Time to get going," Gareth stated and the two landed on the floor. He set Arche down. The young mage stood, her knees wobbled a little, but she felt control and strength returning to her limbs.

Lydia appeared beside Gareth, carrying Grolir in her arms. The old dwarf looked dizzy and was nursing a nasty bruise. Marcus and Roberdyck arrived not long after.

"Go out through the way we came in," Gareth told Lydia. "The path is clear, Damien and Jinx are holding their own, but I suspect that the Quagoa will be back very soon. I'll try and slow the blizzard lizard down."

Lydia nodded and hurried toward the exit with Marcus close behind her. Roberdyck followed, but paused when he saw Arche hesitate.

"But what about you?" the young mage asked.

"I'll be right behind you," Gareth promised her. "but someone's got to slow this guy down."

"Let me help you!"

The bard gave Arche a warm smile. "I appreciate the offer but trust me, you don't want to be here when the dragon recovers. Just stick to the plan and everything will be fine."

"But-" Arche began, but stopped when she saw the blue dragon stop thrashing and began sniffing the air. The burning, sizzling wounds that were his eyes were slowly but surely healing.

"Bard…" the dragon hissed. "Finally worked up the courage to face me?"

"Yep," Gareth quipped. "That's right, big boy. I'm here, and I'm not alone."

He winked at Arche and raised his hand. A yellow magic circle appeared above his hand, and all around them dozens of identical copies of Gareth appeared out of thin air.

Although Arche wanted to stay, the young mage knew that she would only get in the way. She turned and hurried after Roberdyck and the two raced after the rest of their party. As they raced down the steps leading up to the palace, Arche silently uttered a prayer for the bard, hoping he survived.

...

Outside the palace, Arche and Roberdyck managed to catch up to Lydia and Marcus, who had taken shelter in one of the numerous ruins that made up the old market district.

Grolir was lying on the ground with the silver haired elf at his side, kneeling and casting a healing spell over him. The old dwarf's body glowed, and Arche was surprised to see how quickly his wounds were remedied. She'd seen some potent healing potions and spells, but none were nearly as effective as Lydia's spell.

"There you go," Lydia said, helping the old dwarf sit up. "All better?"

"Aye, thank you lass," Grolir said, rubbing his head. He stopped and looked around "The hammer…"

"Right here," the elf said, holding it up for him to see.

Relieved, the dwarf asked for it back, and the elf relinquished it to his care. Grolir hugged the glowing, golden weapon close to him, afraid that he might lose it if he didn't.

"What now?" Marcus asked.

"Now, we leave," Lydia said, rising to her feet.

"What about Gareth?" Arche asked. "Shouldn't we wait?"

"No, that will be unwise," the elf girl said in an unusually calm voice. She walked over to the doorway and peered out. "L...Gareth is correct. I sense movement nearby, Quagoa and plenty of them. They must've heard the commotion in the palace. Very soon they'll swarm the area. If we stay, we will be discovered."

"How do you know that?" Roberdyck asked, curious.

"I can sense them," Lydia answered plainly. "The vibrations in the ground, the energy in the air, I can feel them coming. The way out is still clear. We must go."

"But…" Arche began to protest, but stopped.

The logic in Lydia's words was sound, and Arche's experience and instincts agreed. Workers had to know when to cut their losses. There were also times where a Worker has to make sacrifices for the good of the party. Gareth was making a serious gamble that was practically suicide. While she wanted to go back and help, maybe even wait and hope for him to catch up, but deep down, she knew that he wouldn't want that. He stayed behind so they could have a chance to escape.

After a few moments, Arche nodded. The party was on the move once more. Grolir led them through the maze of burnt out buildings and ruins, carefully keeping to the shadows and working their way back toward the passage that led back to the rallying point with the general's expedition.

Every once in a while, Arche threw a hopeful glance back over her shoulder, back toward the palace. The immense structure loomed large in the dark distance, looking like it was still very near, when in reality they were almost halfway to the exit.

She caught a glimpse of a bright yellow flash, which was followed by a roar echoing through the dark. Arche paused and tried to see what might've happened, but silence and darkness was all that was there. Roberdyck placed a hand on her shoulder. He gave her a look of sympathy, but he urged her onward. She continued with heavy reluctance.

They were getting closer to the stairs that led up the cliffs toward the exit, but before they could reach them, two large shadows stepped into view.

"Well, well, well," hissed one of the shadows, the voice nasal and whiny. "What do we have here?"

"Some lost little runts," growled the second, this one sounding scratchy.

Grolir and the others came to a stop. Hearing some scratching sounds and clatter, Arche looked around and saw some movement in the dark. They were surrounded.

The old dwarf gripped the warhammer and it began to glow brighter, revealing that the ones blocking their way were Quagoa. Arche grimaced, as these ones looked hideous. Their elongated, furry faces were covered in hideous scars. Their eyes were wet and red, almost as if they were weeping. The young mage noticed that their fur was a smokey grey color. General Zirdam had mentioned that those with uniquely colored fur were said to be stronger and more clever than the average. She saw ones with red and blue fur, acting as field commanders back at the bridge at the Rift.

What role did these particular creatures play in Quagoa society?

"Could be the ones that the Clan Lord had warned us about," the second mole suggested to the first.

"Could be," the first agreed with a nasty smile.

"Let us pass," Grolir snarled, "or taste my wrath!"

"Oh look, there's even a dwarf," the first Quagoa sneered. "I like dwarves, especially the old ones. I love how their brittle bones snap and crack when they break!"

"Not me," the second shook his head. "Too feeble, too weak. I like them a tad younger. They put up more of a fight. Always good sport in it."

All around them, in the darkness, there were some mutters of agreement and some gleeful giggling. Roberdyck kept Arche close and searched the darkness. He brought forth his mace and began muttering a prayer. Marcus drew his blade and readied for the inevitable. Lydia, meanwhile, looked as serene as ever. She took a deep breath and assumed a fighting stance.

"Clan Lord said to retrieve the hammer," said the first, "and one of the thieves. Didn't seem to care about the rest."

"How about a snack?" the second suggested. "Then we can take the survivor and the hammer back to the Clan Lord and the Dragon Lord?"

"Excellent!" the first giggled.

Arche's heart raced, and as the shadowy figures drew close, a bright and powerful light burst into existence, filling the entire underground valley. Shrill screams and anguished cries filled the air as the darkness was banished.

All around them, Arche saw their would-be attackers. Over a dozen large, grey furred Quagoa, all bearing hideous scars and wounds, were trying to shield their eyes, screaming in pain and writhing at the sudden appearance of this bright light.

Shielding her eyes, the young mage sought out the source and saw that it was coming from the palace. The light filled every window and poured out through every opening like a flood. The light was warm and brilliant, like the sun at noonday. Strangely, in this dark underground world filled with death and misery, it filled her and the rest of her comrades with hope. Before she could ponder who or what may be making that light, Arche heard a loud clang, and a wet, sickening crunch.

Spinning around, she saw Grolir take advantage of their foe's confusion and blindness. He knocked aside the first Quagoa with a single swing of the hammer and crushed the skull of the second with another.

Lydia moved like the wind and brought down two more moles, who tried to block their path, with a series of furious and deadly punches. Bones cracked loudly and teeth were sent flying. One lashed out, blindly swiping with its large, razor sharp claws, only for the slender elf to catch hold of its arm and break it with a single strike.

With the path clear and the brilliant light beginning to fade, Grolir bellowed at the others to run, and everyone did just that. The Adventurers and Workers clambered up the stone steps, no longer caring about being seen or destroying the stairs. Fortunately, everyone made it to the cliff tops, and Grolir destroyed the stairs with a single strike of his warhammer.

As the group raced toward the secret passage and to freedom, Arche threw one last look toward the palace. She wondered what that light was and hoped that Gareth was safe. A strange thought popped into her mind and she instantly dismissed it. For a moment there, she thought that the source of that light was the bard.

Arche scoffed at the idea.

Grolir opened the secret door once more, and the party hurried inside and sealed the door behind them.

---

The last of the tanks and Sentinels fell silent as the remnants of the Quagoa hordes retreated back into the darkness. Though they could still reach their foes, Damien ordered his creations to stand down.

A ragged cheer was raised among the weary and battle-worn expedition, and Hekkeran heaved a heavy sigh of relief.

The fatigued swordsman plopped to the ground, swords still gripped tightly in his hands. Throughout the whole ordeal, the leader of Foresight was worried that they were done for, that he was going to die in these wretched tunnels, torn to pieces by a horde of ravenous beastmen. However, it was thanks largely in part to Damien's creations and his beautiful subordinates, Caitlyn and Vi, that so many of the expedition still lived.

The blond swordsman had to admit that if it weren't for Kane, the pale assassin of the Good Companions, he wouldn't have survived.

The ambush tactic worked as planned, though the Quagoa seemed to have caught on and very quickly pushed the expedition members and the Sentinels back to the crossroads by the giant statues. The tanks formed a protective circle and poured shell after shell and continuous streams of gunfire on the Quagoa.

Damien and General Zirdam directed their forces as they held their ground. Damien's Sentinels fought alongside the mages and rangers in the expedition. Though the Quagoa kept pouring in, the defenders fought on, never letting up.

Some of the beastmen managed to slip past their defenses, tunnelling under the tanks, and caused some havoc behind their lines. Kane's group rushed to aid their comrades.

The beastmen's resistance and defense to metal made them difficult to kill, but they managed. Hekkeran thought about Kane and Randor. The two were death incarnate. The dwarf was a fireball of wrath and rage, while Kane was a whirlwind of shadow and violence.

One of the Quagoa tried sneaking up on Hekkeran from behind while he was distracted by the display of their prowess, but the pale assassin hurled a rock at such a speed and with such force that it ripped through the creature's skull, leaving a large, bloody hole that allowed one to see right through to the other side.

Hekkeran offered a shaky thanks.

Kane shrugged "No problem. Just stay focused and keep your head in the game!"

The blond swordsman nodded and fought on.

Now that the battle was over, he sat on the ground, gasping for breath and allowed his tired, aching limbs to rest. The air reeked of death, sweat, and metal. Damien and the general directed their respective forces in the aftermath of the battle.

General Zirdam had his men help recover whatever remains that were left in the tunnels and provide medical aid. Meanwhile, Damien directed his Clockwork Sentinels in recovering their fallen comrades and, curiously, some of the corpses of the Quagoas.

"Here," Imina said, offering him a healing potion. Her face was covered in sweat and grime.

"Thanks," Hekkeran croaked, accepting it. A few gulps of the blue liquid, and he felt the fatigue slowly fade with the cuts and sores he earned in the fighting. His parched throat also felt cooled and sated.

"Do you think Arche and Roberdyck are okay?" the half-elf archer asked.

"Hope so."

"When do you think-?"

"General!" a voice cried out.

The two looked and saw one of General's knights pointing toward one of the giant statues. Hekkeran stood and saw Grolir, the white haired dwarf, emerge from an opening in the statue. He leaned against a tall, mighty looking warhammer, which glowed with a golden aura. Behind him were Lydia, the elf, Marcus of the Clovers, and, finally, Arche and Roberdyck.

Relief overcame Hekkeran and Imina, who both rushed to their comrades' side.

The young mage looked glum and very pale.

"Arche!" Imina cried, throwing her arms around the young girl.

"What happened? Are you alright?" Hekkeran asked.

"We're fine," Roberdyck said, sighing with relief and wiping away a layer of sweat from his brow. "We have returned from our mission."

"What happened?" Imina asked, releasing Arche from her hug.

"A long tale for another time," the Templar said, fatigue becoming more apparent on his bearded face. "For now, know that we have accomplished what we had set out to do."

"Where's Gareth?" Kane asked.

The members of Foresight looked, and saw the black clad assassin standing there, worry etched on his marble features.

"Where is my brother?" the pale man asked again, his voice grew harsh.

Arche felt her heart drop into her stomach. Gareth was Kane's brother? She didn't realize this connection but it made so much sense now.

"He...he…" Arche began, struggling for words, not meeting the assassin's dark eyes.

"He gave himself up...to buy us time to escape," Grolir answered, smoothing out his bushy white beard.

The pale man's face was an emotionless mask, but Hekkeran saw his hands tightening into fists. After a few moments of silence, the assassin dipped his head.

"Well…" he said finally, his night black eyes slid to Arche then to Roberdyck, "I'm glad that you made it back alive. And it looks like you got your hammer. Nice…" The pale man nodded at Grolir before he walked away.

Hekkeran watched him go, and, in the distance, saw him angrily kick aside the corpse of a bloated Quagoa, sending it sliding through the dirt a little. The swordsman sympathized with the assassin. It wasn't easy to lose people, especially if they were family members. He wished he could say something, do something, to assure and comfort the man, but the leader of Foresight eventually decided to let Kane be.

Lydia bid them farewell all farewell and trotted after the pale assassin.

After a few moments of silence, Imina looked to Arche.

"He...really did that?" she asked.

The young mage nodded.

Imina's lips tightened into a line and a shameful look flickered across her features. The whole time the archer was absolutely certain that Gareth was just some sleazy noble who got lucky or used his influence to pretend to be an adventurer to gain glory and gold for himself. She had seen it before, dozens of times. Spoiled rich boys becoming "adventurers" on their family's coin, prancing about in relative safety, taking difficult jobs and making others do the dirty work while they earned the praise. However, it quickly became apparent that her initial assessment was horrendously wrong.

As the rest of the party were welcomed back by the General and the others of the expedition, Imina and Hekkeran couldn't help but ponder the fate of Gareth Silvertongue, and whether or not he still lived.

---

Gareth burst through the doorless opening and sprinted across the ruined courtyard gardens once more, searching for a new avenue of escape.

Once Lydia and the others had fled the palace, the bard and his [Illusion] copies distracted him by running and hiding all over the palace, occasionally nettling him and spurring him onward. Olasird'arc quickly burned and destroyed the illusions, a little quicker than Gareth had anticipated, and was now pursuing the last three through the cavernous halls of the ancient palace.

While a significant portion of himself screamed to run and hide, oddly enough there was something in the back of the bard's mind urging him to stay and fight. This strange part of his mind was confident that he could crumple this overgrown lizard like it was a paper bag, but the rational part of Gareth wasn't so sure. It was a big freaking dragon! A real, living creature with actual magic. He still wasn't confident enough to chance direct confrontation with it. If it were exactly like the Frost Dragons back in Yggdrasil, there was a chance Gareth would be a popsicle in a manner of minutes. And yet…

That peculiar, confident part of him remained, persistently whispering in his ear to stand his ground, to show that dragon who's the real boss around here, and to make it pay for the suffering he had inflicted on humans, dwarves, and who knows how many others for who knows how long.

Gareth shook his head. He had to focus. He had to escape.

The bard skidded to a halt and looked around and selected one of the four doorways leading back into the palace. Inside, he sprinted through empty galleries, passed empty chambers and rooms. He raced up and down stairs, searching for a tunnel or a way to get out of the palace and slip back into the old market district. From there, Gareth could make his way back to the secret tunnel. Maybe. If not, he could try using [Gate]. Yep, that's it. In fact…

Gareth came to a stop. Why doesn't he try it now?

Feeling foolish, the bard focused on the secret tunnel, how it smelled, how it felt to be there, and he drew upon the power he felt within himself.

"[Gate]" the bard intoned, raising a hand before him.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, Gareth tried again and yielded the same result.

He tried five more times and even tried focusing on other locations. Nothing. No portal opened.

"Come on," the bard whined. "Work, damn it!"

"There you are!" a booming voice declared.

Gareth turned around and was just in time to see the dragon's tail collide into him, knocking him into the dusty, stone wall behind him. Strangely enough, the tail strike didn't hurt nearly as much as he had expected it to. In fact, it felt like someone had just pushed him.

The bard pushed himself up off the ground and saw Olasird'arc, and this time, he wasn't alone.

To Gareth's right there was another light blue dragon. This one was slightly smaller than the Dragon Lord and though it tried to look big and intimidating, the dragon didn't look like it wanted to be there. To his left, there was a considerable force of goblins in rusty old armor and grey furred Quagoa, led by the golden furred Pe Riyuro.

"Enough games," growled the Dragon Lord, his luminous blue eyes were now red and were slowly regaining their natural color and status. Pus and blood dribbled from the corners like tears, giving him a menacing appearance. "You have nowhere to run."

"Okay, you got me!" Gareth smiled, holding his hands up in surrender. "I surrender."

"Allow me the honor of interrogating the intruder!" Pe Riyuro asked Olasird'arc. "I can make him tell us every secret he has. For his crimes of trespassing and for the sake of my fallen warriors, I will make him scream for death!"

"An excellent idea!" Olasird'arc declared.

"But father-" the smaller dragon began.

"Silence, Hejinmal!" Olasird'arc snapped, causing his son to flinch and go silent.

Gareth swallowed hard and forced himself to think hard and fast. His mind raced as his eyes darted about for an escape. The bard finally saw his way out. Behind Hejinmal was a doorway that looked like it led outside. Now, to give the dragons the slip.

"Before you, I don't know, rip me to pieces and torture me," Gareth began, his hand drifting up toward the teardrop of silver hanging around his neck. "I will answer you one question."

Both the Clan Lord and the Dragon Lord stared at the bard in confusion.

"You had asked me who I am? Well, allow me to show you," Gareth said, removing his pendant and putting it in his pocket.

The moment the words left his lips, the bard concentrated, and released the spell that concealed his true form. Immediately, Gareth assumed his true, angelic form and filled the corridor and the rest of the palace with blinding, celestial light. The Quagoa screamed and stumbled backwards, their eyes on fire. Olasird'arc roared and unleashed a blast of icy flames.

Gareth did nothing to stop it. The confident part of him was now in control. Whatever fears he had were now gone, and in its place was power and a feeling of invincibility. He allowed the flames to wash over him. He quickly became encased in ice, but with a gesture, the angel broke free, sending shards of ice flying in every direction. The Dragon Lord snarled, and tried to lunge at the angel in an attempt to rip him to pieces with his teeth and talons.

Raising one of his hands, Gareth forced the dragon to stop and held him in place. No matter how much he struggled, Olasird'arc couldn't move.

"W-who are you?!" the White Dragon Lord demanded. "What are you?"

The angel gave the dragon a divine smile that sent a shock of fear right into his cold, icy heart.

"Someone who isn't afraid of you anymore," the angel said, speaking with three voices. "Someone who will show you mercy one last time."

With a wave of his hand, the angel sent the dragon lord crashing through the wall to his left. Rubble and dust quickly buried the fallen dragon. The goblins and Quagoa squeaked in surprise and began to blindly scatter, bumping into one another and into whatever was in their way. Pe Riyuro trembled in fear. His wide, horrified eyes watered and rolled back as the proud Clan Lord fainted, overwhelmed by what he saw.

The angel felt a smidgen of pity for them and for Hejinmal, who was cowering beneath his wings like a newborn dragon. Somehow, he knew full well that he could do anything to them. Nothing could stand in his way and nothing could stop him. Nothing could hurt him. Although his size hadn't changed significantly, the angel felt like a giant compared to his foes. If he wanted to, Gareth could vaporize these vile beasts and claim ownership of the palace, of the mountains themselves. Hell, if he wanted, he could expand far beyond the mountains. With the power that coursed through his veins, Gareth could make all things bow to him and those who did, he could eliminate with a mere thought. But he couldn't. He shouldn't. That wasn't in his nature. That's not who he was. He just wanted to go home, he wanted to see his brother and friends again.

The angel turned and glided away. He flew past Hejinmal, not giving the dragon a second glance and went to the opening at the end of the corridor. Gareth lowered himself to the floor. The bard's great, feathery wings wrapped themselves around him and, in a final burst of white, celestial light, assumed his human disguise once more. The bard slipped the pendant back around his neck and proceeded through the doorway.

Through the opening, Gareth was in a small, tranquil garden. The plants were long dead and all that remained were the patches of earth that once held flowers, shrubbery, and trees. High, thick walls surrounded the garden, blocking out any sound and sight of what lay beyond, and any hope of escape.

The bard sighed in disappointment. Although he moved to search for a new way out, something kept him from leaving. Something tugged at him, called to him, asking him to stay. Gareth looked about and then cautiously stepped into the garden. Barren and silent, there wasn't really anything in the garden, save for dirt and some old stone benches.

Gareth supposed he could try hopping over the wall or flying out in his true form but knew that that wouldn't work. Still, there was something in this garden that called out to him.

After a brief search, Gareth eventually came to a section of the wall, positioned directly across from the doorway. Underneath a layer of brittle old vines and dust, the bard uncovered a ring of runes etched into the stone. He ran his fingers along the surface of the wall, brushing dust away from the runes. The runes began to glow and hum with magic.

The bard focused on the runes and tried to use his Class's ability to decipher the meanings of the runes but the symbols refused to be translated. Frustrated, Gareth wanted to throw up his hands or punch the wall into powder, but he held himself back and forced himself to puzzle out how these runes worked and why he was drawn to this place. A peculiar thought occurred to the bard. He placed both hands on the circle of runes and they immediately glowed.

A gust of wind filled the garden and the bard immediately felt like he was being sucked down a large drain and the world around him changed in a dark blur. The wind died, and the bard found himself standing in complete darkness.

"Okay…" Gareth said aloud, his voice echoed. "Now what?"

The bard conjured an orb of light, and discovered that he was in a long, dark tunnel of rock. Looking backward and forward, Gareth was unsure which way he should proceed, until he heard something coming from a distance before him. With no other choice, the bard shrugged and walked toward the sound, with only the orb of light to guide him.

Gareth walked for a considerable amount of time until he eventually saw a pinprick of light ahead of him. Hope surged through him and the bard picked up the pace. Finally, he found the exit! Fresh air and freedom!

The bard ran and the light grew closer, brighter and bigger, until eventually he reached it.

To his disappointment, Gareth found that he wasn't outside. Instead, the bard found himself in a spacious underground chamber. The ceiling arched high above and the walls were smooth like concrete. Large clusters of crystals and lichen provided more than enough light to see what occupied the chamber.

Off to one side was a large wooden chest, reminiscent of something Gareth had seen many times in Yggdrasil. Scattered about, littering the floor, were at least a dozen skeletons, all clad in ancient, rusty armor. Some held the handles of swords whose blades long since turned to dust, others had spearheads, maces and arrowheads. To the bard, it looked as if there was a battle of sorts and there was no clear indication as to who won, who lost, and who fought in it.

What drew the bard's gaze was the stone casket on the raised dias directly in front of him, on the other side of the ancient battlefield. The casket was long and made of smooth white stone, which glowed in the ambient light of the chamber.

Feeling curious and seeing as how there really was nowhere else to go, Gareth entered the chamber. He carefully navigated his way through the field of skeletons and approached the casket. A part of Gareth expected the skeletons to jump up and attack, like in Yggdrasil, but much to his relief, the skeletons remained where they were, silent and still.

At the dais, the bard inspected the casket. Carved into the lid were some symbols, some of which looked similar to symbols and icons he saw on the parchment Marcus showed him regarding General Zirdam's job back in Arven.

The symbols flickered and became partially translated, much like Marcus's parchment.

"Here lies the greatest knight in all the land," Gareth read aloud. "A true friend to all dwarfkind, beloved by many, a true hero through and through. Selfless, brave and true..." The remainder of the inscription was garbled, including the name, leaving the person's identity forever a mystery, unless Gareth could bring someone back to translate the rest of this. The last readable part of the inscription lingered in his mind, and caused the bard to reflect. He had heard those words in that order before, long ago. But where? Also, "greatest knight in all the land"? Well that could be anybody.

Gareth shrugged, dismissing those thoughts immediately. He had larger concerns at the moment.

The bard placed a hand on the casket and apologized for intruding, and turned toward the large wooden chest that sat close by.

The tomb was austere and had no other visible entrances and exits. Gareth invoked a few spells to ferret out any hidden exits, traps, or anything that could help him.

The only thing that his spells picked up on was the magical lock placed on the wooden chest. Gareth raised an eyebrow and decided to search the chest, even though he wasn't comfortable with the idea of looting a dead person's chest of possessions.

Disabling the magical lock on the chest, the chest's lid popped open. Opening the lid further, Gareth discovered that there wasn't as much as he had thought. Either the deceased didn't have much, or someone else had already raided this place.

Inside the chest was a folded square of white and blue cloth. Beside it was a leather pouch, some books, and, curiously, an Yggdrasil item.

Gareth reached into the chest and pulled the item out and inspected it in the light. The item was a shabby looking doll made of rough looking cloth. Stitched into its large, lumpy head was a deep, eerie frown. One eye was a black, shiny button and the other was two lines of thread, stitched into "X". A clump of straw poked out of its head, giving the illusion of hair. Overall, it was a lousy looking toy. Despite its ratty appearance, the bard could feel dark, malevolent energy emanating from the doll, which made him feel queasy.

"Now what are you doing here?" the bard asked the doll, staring into its button and thread eyes. He knew exactly what this item was. He didn't need to use the [Item Appraisal] spell to know that the doll in his hand was a Cursed Totem.

Gareth had dealt with his fair share of these little wretched things. Cursed Totems were, going by the name, cursed items. Whoever owned or held it could overpower and disable the magic of those he or she deemed an enemy. Useful for preventing enemies from escaping or dropping in on a private meeting. Even more useful in case of ambushes. Cursed Totems weren't very common. They were rare item drops, usually found in high level dungeons. It was possible to make one, though it took time and high quality materials. Costly, but it was well worth the protection and power the doll brought.

Turning the doll over in his hands. The doll looked well made and the magic felt very potent. The bard frowned and pondered how an Yggdrasil item like this ended up in an underground crypt like this, especially in the tomb of purportedly the "greatest knight in all the land." In a different world, no less. Questions filled Gareth's mind, but he couldn't make head or tails as to what this could mean. Still, he now knew what may have prevented him from using [Gate]. These freaky dolls had quite a range on them.

Not wanting to leave a dangerous item like this alone and wanting to study it further, Gareth lifted the doll and placed it in his Inventory. The doll vanished in a puff of black smoke, transporting it to the pocket dimension that contained his various weapons and tools that he kept in reserve, just in case. He'd keep it in his bag but the bard knew that the doll's magic would still be in effect unless he placed it in his Inventory.

The moment the doll entered his Inventory, the queasiness that Gareth felt vanished and he felt a shift in the air. He couldn't quite explain it, but he could tell that the change was a good one, almost as if he removed something evil and dangerous. The bard delved back into the chest and inspected its contents. The books turned out to be written in a language similar to the one on the casket, and the square of cloth, once unfolded, turned out to be a banner. A strange blue sigil on a field of white, the symbol was foreign to Gareth, but maybe there was someone who could tell him what it meant. He placed the banner and books in his bag and procured the final item.

The small leather pouch. Small and ordinary looking, it gave him a funny feeling just by picking it up. Opening the drawstring and pouring out its contents, a single ring fell into his palm. A cold and uneasy feeling washed over Gareth, and he knew right away that the ring was the source of it.

Holding it up to the light the bard inspected it. The ring was made of a black, shiny metal. Set into the band was an orange gemstone the size of a pea. Within the gemstone was a symbol of sorts. It was an intricate, gothic looking symbol that reminded Gareth of a crown. Or was it a skull? It was very different from the one on the banner, which meant that the ring belonged to someone else. Was it a war trophy of sorts? How old was this thing and what is it?

This time, Gareth used the [Item Appraisal] spell, and what the spell brought only produced more questions. In his mind, these words flickered: Ring of the Infernal Tyrant. Item Type: Dark, Class: ?, Level: ?, Description/Function: ?, Other: Very dangerous. Last resort.

The bard let out a long sigh. This day just keeps getting better and better.

Although the spell failed to shed any further light on the ring in his hand, Gareth couldn't help but feel as though he should know this ring. He'd seen his fair share of rings in Yggdrasil and a few stood out in his memories, but it's been a long time since he was last in the game and his memory has grown rather hazy. Regardless, something in his gut told him that he had seen this ring once. But where?

After wracking his mind for minutes, Gareth eventually gave up. Maybe Damien will know. The bard deposited the item in his inventory. The cold, uneasy feeling vanished as well and the air felt clear once again.

Now, to get out of here.

Since his spells failed to find any hidden entrances and exits, Gareth figured that maybe he should go out the way he came and follow the tunnel in the other direction. Maybe he went further underground and the other way led up to the surface. Well, here goes nothing.

The bard departed the crypt, but not before apologizing to the unknown knight in the casket.

Summoning the orb of light once more, Gareth set off down the tunnel, heading in back where he came from. He walked for an unknown amount of time, following the tunnel, with seemingly no end in sight until eventually he felt a gust of whistling wind hit his face.

This is it, this is the exit. This time for sure!

And it was!

The tunnel brought Gareth outside, where it was bright and sunny. Before him was an endless expanse of greenery and foliage. Behind him, the bard saw that he was in the foothills of a towering snow capped mountain range. The Azerlisia Mountains. Was he back in Baharuth? Was he anywhere close to Arven? One way to find out.

Gareth sighed, and decided to try his luck in the forest. Maybe he could find a road on the other side or maybe something that could help him get his bearings.

The bard adjusted his cloak and made sure that he still had his cap. He took a step forward and paused. A strange feeling came over him, forcing him to glance backwards. To his surprise, Gareth saw that the tunnel was gone. In its place were rocks and shrubbery.

"Of course," Gareth muttered under his breath. "Could this day get any weirder?"

With that he set off into the woods.

…

The sun was high in the sky and the air was warm and humid. Gareth adjusted his cap and smoothed out his hair. Although he was beginning to feel tired and uncomfortably warm, the bard was at least grateful that he was out of the mountains and above ground. The thought of being lost in the labyrinthine maze of tunnels far underground, hunted by vicious mole men made Gareth shudder.

A breeze swept through the forest, causing the trees to sway and sigh. Gareth pushed through the tangled underbrush and came to a stop beside a trickling stream. There wasn't much around save for the stream, some wild flowers that grew along the banks of the stream and a large boulder.

Feeling tired, Gareth decided to take a break and get a drink.

The bard produced an empty flask from his bag and filled it in the stream. He sniffed it and checked it for poisons with magic. Satisfied that the water was just that, Gareth took a drink. The water was cool and refreshing, perfect for a warm and humid day like this.

Gareth refilled and drank from the river two more times and sat down on the boulder. He closed his eyes and allowed the breeze to wash over him and listened to the distant sounds of birds.

He'd been in this new world for a week and a half, and yet, he still can't get over the sights, sounds, and feel of nature.

Back home, it was an endless landscape of cold, bleak grey and neon. Very few, specifically those with cash to burn, could get a taste of something reminiscent of this. However, Gareth doubted that even those special little corners of nature paled in comparison to this. Everything here felt alive. Back home, it felt old and on life support with a very slim, faint hope of ever recovering.

A soft humming floated on the breeze and entered the bard's ears. Gareth opened his eyes and looked about. The humming was sad and mournful and belonged to a woman. The bard listened to the unseen woman's song. It was beautiful and...strangely familiar.

He frowned and looked around until he saw, across the stream and down a little, a dark figure kneeling by the stream. The bard stared and could make out a woman with long, pitch black hair and pale flesh but not much else. She knelt in the shade of one of the trees close to the stream.

"Hello?" Gareth called out. "Excuse me?"

The woman didn't move and seemed to pay him no heed. She continued humming, only this time the song grew sadder and shaky, eventually devolving into weeping.

The bard approached the woman, following the stream toward her.

The woman's song was over and now she was just weeping and muttering. A long, thick curtain of raven hair hid her face from him but the bard could see tears falling into the stream.

"Are you alright?" Gareth asked when he reached the woman. She was kneeling a few feet away from him, across the stream. "Do you need help?"

"Lost…" the woman said, her voice soft and airy, almost a whisper. "All lost…"

"Are you lost?" Gareth asked, feeling a little uneasy. "That's ok, I suppose. I'm lost too."

The woman kept her head low and her face hidden. The bard stood there, a sense of awkwardness growing as the woman seemed to have stopped weeping and was now breathing slowly and heavily.

"What's your name?" Gareth asked, hoping to break the awkward silence and maybe get a conversation going. "My name is Gareth."

"All gone now…" the woman breathed. "They're all gone."

"I'm sorry?"

"They're all gone. Their fall was great and terrible, and yet could've been easily avoided."

Gareth didn't like where this was going. His hand drifted toward Nightbane's pommel and began to inch away from the strange woman.

The woman stirred, Gareth stopped.

Looking up, the woman looked at Gareth, though from the look in her dark, dull eyes, she might as well have been looking right through him.

"Where has he gone?" the woman asked aloud "Where has my love gone?"

"You're looking for your love?" Gareth asked, growing more confused by the second.

The woman, surprisingly, nodded. "So fair and kind was he, yet I was cold and cruel. He had nothing and yet he could've given me everything I needed, I who had everything and yet nothing."

Okayyyy~ the bard said in his mind. This chick is a few sandwiches short of a full picnic.

"Please sir" the woman pleaded, her eyes more alert now. "Do you know where he may have gone? Have you seen him? A man as fair and warm as the sun? A man who possessed the heart of a true hero?"

"Can't say that I have," Gareth chuckled nervously, giving her a smile. "But I'll be sure to tell you if I see him."

The woman frowned at him. A curious look crossed her pale features. "Do I know you, sir?"

"What? No! No, no, I-I just got one of those faces. A common mistake."

"Wait" the woman said, rising to her feet, and Gareth began to take greater strides backward as he noticed a dark violet, almost black, aura appear around the pale woman.

"Wait!" the woman cried. "Don't go!"

Gareth turned to run, but stopped when the bushes in front of him began to tremble and rustle. The air grew very still, with only the sound of the trickling stream behind him could be heard. The bushes rustled and moved again and Gareth's fingers wrapped themselves around the grip of his sword. Sweat began to bead on his brow. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place.

Which would he choose to face? The strange and crazy woman with the aura, or some unknown beast lurking beyond the bushes?

He could try running left or right but either way, the unknown beast and the woman could easily chase him down.

Eventually, Gareth rather gamble on what lay ahead rather than deal with a strange, crying, glowing woman.

"Bring it on," the bard muttered under his breath.

The bushes rustled some more and a shape emerged from the underbrush.

A fluffy brown rabbit hopped into view. It paused, its nose twitching and sniffing the air. An immense sense of relief filled the bard. He began to laugh. That's what he was worried about? It was ridiculous, not to mention cliche.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the strange, pale woman was gone without a trace.

Laughing some more, Gareth figured that maybe his luck had finally turned. Maybe things will get better.

Suddenly, a large, dark shape burst from the bushes, roaring loudly and angrily. It was on Gareth in an instant and the bard suddenly found himself standing perfectly still, staring into the slit of a knight's visored helmet.

The figure was a mountain of a man in full plate armor. The armor was night black and trimmed with gold. A great, crimson cape hung from his shoulders, reaching down to his ankles. A pair of great swords were positioned dangerously close to either side of his bare throat, threatening to behead him if he made a wrong move.

Very quickly, Gareth's laughter turned awkward and became almost blubbering.

"Who are you?" demanded the armored knight.

"G-Gareth S-Silvertongue sir!" the bard squeaked, genuinely surprised and frightened. He didn't see where this guy came from, let alone sensed him. Then again, he was focused on the bunny and the crazy woman. But this guy was huge and completely covered in armor! How the hell did Gareth not see him? "A-and you?"

"I am A-uh-Momon! I am Momon, the Adventurer!"

It seems that Gareth's luck didn't change, and it probably won't.

---

(a/n: well? What do you think? Pretty long but this caps off the adventure in the mountain. We got some new mysteries and now Ainz. Hoped you enjoyed this. Leave a review. Until next time, see ya!)

(List of References)

(Chapter title): song by Mastodon

Game of Thrones: Name used for one of the Dragon Lord's wives/concubines. Name belonged to Maelys the Monstrous, a Blackfyre. Blackfyre's were bastard children of House Targaryen.

The Hobbit: elements of this chapter and previous ones.

Legion: The music used by Gareth at the crossroads, using the white conductor's baton. The track from the TV show is called "Fauxlero."