Thump!
The dwarves ran faster as they heard the pounding of trolls’ feet running behind them. Few of the dwarves were left untouched from their previous encounters with the trolls. Running around a curve in the seemingly endless tunnels, the dwarves called a great battle cry to their god, Vicet.
The trolls weren’t far behind. As the green behemoths ran around the turn, they came upon a dead end, no dwarf in sight. The lead troll walked forward, salivating as it smelled dwarf-flesh. Standing a good seven feet tall, the beast’s head scratched the top of the tunnel. His clawed hand flexed as he looked around the tunnel, his hot, ragged breath leaving droplets of spittle on the rocks as he searched. The other trolls started forward as the troll looked back at them perplexed.
“They no here,” the lead troll said to his comrades. As the trolled turned completely towards his fellows, a glowing sword erupted from his chest. All around the corridor, dwarves walked seemingly out of the walls. The trolls howled in outrage as they were cut down and then burned by the dwarven priest, chanting to Vicet for the ability to cast fire.
A few more moments of fighting and it was done. The dwarves walked to the end of the tunnel with more notches in their weapons and a few with more injuries. Walking to the wall, the dwarven priest muttered to Vicet and walked through the wall. His companions followed suit as they picked up their severely injured.
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As the last of the dwarves walked through the wall, one of the troll bodies, near the back of the dead, twitched. The troll had been struck with a mighty blow of a dwarven hammer, tearing his head and left shoulder completely off. As the twitching increased, the bloody left shoulder started healing. From the bloody area grew an upper arm which then lent itself to a lower arm and the clawed arm of a troll.
         After its arm had been regenerated, the bloody trunk of a neck started twitching and bubbling. From the stump grew the unmistakable head of a troll with a long mane of green hair. As the mouth reformed, a low howl left it. The rejuvenated troll slowly stood and looked at its kin. Growling in outrage, it hurried down the tunnel from which they had come. It would tell its kin what the tasty dwarves had done to them he would bring back an army to avenge his brothers.
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The dwarves gave the priest a hearty slap on the back as they walked through the wall. The priest couldn’t return the gesture except with a grin through his long beard because his hand was still in the stone. As the last walked through, he pulled his hand from the wall and the fortitude returned.
“You really saved our axes there, Reve,” called many dwarves as he went to the wounded and eased their pains and wounds. Standing five feet tall, muscled just as much as the warriors, Reve Nucro was as much a fighter as a magician. His beard swept the ground as he walked, the pure gray contrasting with his black plate armor. Few questioned him and even fewer didn’t respect him.
Walking to the most injured of the group, Reve was more worried about hurting himself on the dwarf’s armor than hurting the dwarf. The dwarf’s armor was plate mail, like his own, except it was covered in spikes and raised edges, sharp as razors. Several of the pieces of the armor had been crushed inwards, severely hurting the dwarf. Among these injuries was the chest of his armor, making it almost impossible to speak or breathe.
“Chroen, I need ye to try and pull you plate out enough to unfasten it,” Reve said to the stubborn old dwarf. Chroen looked like he was going to beat Reve over the head with his war hammer if he hadn’t been in the position. Pulling with all the strength he had, Chroen pulled the plate forward, budging it enough to unhook the pieces. Breathing a sigh of relief, Reve looked at the many wounds. None were too serious, taking little magic to heal.
“Thank ye much, Son of Nucro,” Chroen said as he pulled his war helmet off. His blond hair was cut into a flat-top, making him look as if he had come too close to an axe in battle. His beard was tied into one long pony tail, trailing all the way down to his knees. As Reve stood over him, Chroen began to take off his armor and pulled out his hammer to fix what damage he could. Reve left the stubborn dwarf, walking towards the center of the chamber.
“Rest for half an hour,” he called out, loud enough for all to hear. “In half an hour, we head into the Dark Tunnels.”
As he stepped down, a dwarf near the back entrance to the cavern motioned to him. Seeing a small gleam in the dwarf’s beard, he knew that it wasn’t a dwarf from this realm at all. Moving next to the dwarf, Reve realized that no one else paid the dwarf any attention.
“What is it, Methrex?” Reve asked as he looked past the dwarf, into the Dark Tunnels.
“Cave-in about a mile down,” Methrex Admield stated as he wiped some dirt from his shoulder. His whole body was covered in a chain-link suit that protected him from any weapon. “I found a passage to Fellin about a mile after that. If we don’t have any seriously wounded, we can make it there easy without attracting the dark elves.”
“Thanks my friend. Get some rest,” Reve said as he clapped his friend on the shoulder.
He moved off to a corner and pulled forth some parchment, making the correct changes in his mind to get his clan to Fellin. He had started this trip with more than 15 score clan members. Less than three score were left in the cavern with him. Every passage the dwarf had taken, the trolls had been right behind, killing off his brethren.
“Vicet, help us,” Reve said as he put the map away and laid back to regain his strength.
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At the cave-in found by Methrex, a few medium size boulders blocked a small chamber right off the main tunnel. The chamber was ancient and had been a shrine to the dark elf gods for as long as there had been dark elves under the land. A sarcophagus of stone sat in the very middle of the chamber with dark elf writing covering the entire surface. In the very middle of the sarcophagus’ top sat a blood red stone that shone continually. When the dwarf made his way past the cave-in the second time, the stone shone brighter and the writing started lighting up.
While the dwarves were resting, the sarcophagus started opening up, revealing a beautiful dark elf woman. Her features seemed to have been cut from stone by the gods themselves. Her hair was of the lightest red with skin of the darkest ebony. When she opened her eyes, the stone shone in the pure white ovals. As she leaned up, the sheet covering her body fell away, revealing her naked form.
When the woman finally regained her senses, she stood up next to the sarcophagus and stretched. It had been nearly a millennium since she had woken and her muscles felt every year. Looking inside the sarcophagus, she pulled a piece of rope near the head. As she pulled on it, the bottom came up revealing her leather armor and her weapons. An ivory bow with a beautiful quarrel sat atop a pure silver sword. The quiver, filled with arrows of the purest silver, was blessed by the god Vicet to never run out of arrows and make those arrows always hit the target.
The dark elf put her weapons aside and began the process of putting her armor on. Being made for dark elves, the armor seemed thin and flimsy but could turn almost any blade. As she fastened the cloak, it took the look of the stone on the wall in front of her. Grinning to her self, she strapped on the sword and quiver while putting the bow over her shoulder. She had awakened for some reason unknown and she meant to find out why.