The Spikes of Guarding continued their journey, but this time they headed North.
They were walking in a long line, Lord Ignon at the front. Suddenly, Ignon began to sing, his deep voice resonating in the caverns. It wasn't long before all the dwarves joined in.
The song was old, it dated back to the 2nd Age of Twilight, and it was about great heroes who fought of hordes off vile creatures in the last mountain home. Since then many ages have passed and many kingdoms rose and fell, but that song became a great symbol among all dwarven-kind.
This way they trekked for many hours until up ahead they saw a shimmering light, it looked like a torch with white flames.
All song ceased and the dwarves took up defensive positions.
They then lay in ambush, waiting for what ever is walking in the darkness to come their way.
***
Out of the gloom stepped an old man in a weathered gray cloak, he had a long gray beard and his hair was no much different. He wore a tall gray hat which ended in a tip and held a staff which glowed with a dim white light.
"Hail, master dwarves!" , the old man called.
Ignon hesitated for a few seconds then stepped out and greeted the man.
"Greetings traveler, what, if I may ask, are you doing in a place like this?"
"I have errands which concern only me."
Oddly enough, the old man did not ask the dwarves about their own errands, what he did ask for was a barrel of food and permission to stay with the dwarves while they camped.
Ignon agreed, trusting the odd man.
The camp was held and meals were served, after which The old man sat down with Ignon and took out his pipe, inviting Ignon to smoke with him.
Ignon refused and move slightly away from the man, for in his younger years, when he was but a child, Ignon had a bad experience involving fire and adventurers with silly ideas.
After a few draws from his pipe the old man began to sing, his voice was pleasant and soothing.
"Black as crows that pick at the dead,
Cold is the heart that beats within,
Trapped are souls on which he has fed,
Held beneath his evil skin.
In the blackest cavern he reigns,
Blood and death his minions bring,
Cursed be thou who utter his name,
Damned is he the Drow Elf King!
Upon his throne with scepter in hand,
A crimson glaze across his lips,
'Tis the blood of many a man,
That fills the mug from which he sips.
In the blackest cavern he reigns,
Blood and death his minions bring,
Cursed be thou who utter his name,
Damned is he the Drow Elf King!"
The camp was silent by the time he finished.
The old man drew from his pipe some more and blew smoke which seemed to be shaped like a Drow warrior.
He seemed in deep thought before declaring. "You will find him in his fortified city of Olper'dengad, it lay in the North-east, sadly your company is far from being enough to deal with his armies, as valiant as you and your lot are, there are just not enough of you, my lord."
"But no worries, Lord Ignon, your kin have done their roles well, all the exits are truly sealed, the King isn't going anywhere."
"How are we to defeat him if my army isn't great enough?" Ignon inquired.
"With the united might of the clans, my lord." The man declared as he put on his hat and stood.
"You aren't staying?"
"Nay, I thank you for the hospitality, but I have duties elsewhere."He then tucked a barrel under his arm and began marching off into the tunnels.
He stopped at the edge of the torch light, as if remembering something.
"That drow will not be the chief of your concerns for too long." He then added. "The Prison pent yearn for the swing of a pick."
With a final bow he marched off into the gloom.
49 dwarves.
803 units of food left.
Author
Topic: Dwarven Adventures : Hunt for the Drow King. (Read 4770 times)