Legend of the Runeforger: A Dwarven Progression Fantasy

Our journey through the underground wilds of Runeking Talamak's realms proves long and arduous. We walk through tunnels wide and narrow, tall and low. We trek through the winding remains of dry rivers, kicking up dry stones, and through spear-straight corridors long abandoned, their walls carved with unknown runes and reliefs of heroes long forgotten. We cross high silver bridges across black chasms and pass under high stalactites that shiver in time with our steps.

The color and character of the stone changes as we journey. At first it is dark gray, then it lightens, then we come into caverns of smooth white marble which have neither stalactites nor stalagmites, just gentle ripples in the ceiling and along the floor. After these we pass into a realm of green slate and dark lines of coal. The air smells of danger, like at any moment a blast and firestorm could engulf us.

Vanerak leads us quickly out of these caves. I grow worried that he doesn't know where he's going, then hopeful that he doesn't. The further lost we grow, the greater my chances, I start to think, that I can escape.

But my guards are no fools. There is not a single moment when less than three of them are looking upon me. I can hardly blame them for their vigilance—if I were to escape, those responsible for watching me at that moment would suffer painful deaths indeed.

The cavern beasts leave us alone for the most part. When one does attack—salamander, dwarf-eating boar, monstrous bat—Vanerak dispatches it with ease, and on the next rest we feast on meat, a welcome break from fungus and vile crunchy wall-insects.

We come into a series of long halls of black stone. The walls are rent with jags and splinters, and the air becomes very warm. I recognize this kind of stone: we must be above the magma seas.

My mind wanders to my journey down to the fort. I saw the magma seas then, didn't I? And in them a boat of metal. What was it, exactly? Truly a Runegod? Will I see it again? Where, exactly, does Vanerak's realm lie? He said deep, but how deep, exactly?

A couple weeks of exhausted, sweaty travel through the black tunnels, we begin to move up again. The stone turns yellowish from deposits of sulfur. When we come to a defensible position, a small dead-end, Vanerak speaks to us:

“So far we have been able to avoid meeting any other dwarves. But we now approach the border, Yalast's Gap and its Hundred-two Bridges. It is heavily guarded. Though Runeking Talamat is neutral to us, his dwarves will not take kindly to our unpermitted presence in his realm.”

Nazak is nodding and patting the handle of his axe.

“Any confrontation, however, risks inflaming tensions. Especially considering my presence, the presence of a runethane. We will not be able to move through the main gap.”

In that case there is only one way we are going. Fear takes hold of me.

“Instead we must make our way through the underburrow.”

Nazak stops patting his axe. Halax's eyes widen slightly.

“It is a dangerous place indeed. Yet it should not prove an insurmountable barrier.”

The underburrow. I have read of this place, and it is no place for any dwarf, no matter how well-armored.

Runeking Talamat's kingdom is somewhat smaller than both the kingdoms of Ulrike and Uthrarzak, however it has resisted conquest, and indeed kept its boundaries more or less the same for over a thousand years, due to its favorable location. Between it and its neighboring kingdoms are masses of nigh-unmineable stone, and where caverns do link them, they are caverns overrun with beasts from nightmare.

Black and oily slinkers live there. So do salamanders of every description and some undescribed, and hordes of trolls and troglodytes. There are even rumors of clans of deep elves.

The underburrow is one of these caverns, and while it is not the most dangerous, it is also by no means the least.

“We will not be in it for very long,” Vanerak assures us. “And the part we will pass through is well-mapped. The only real threat to us will be river trolls, which I have heard strange rumors about. They are spreading fast through the wetter parts of the underworld. Slinkers may also cause trouble, but they are rare.”

I sleep uneasily this rest. Slinkers... I'd hoped never to meet one. It would be an ignoble end to face after victory against the black dragon. And I hope we don't meet any river trolls either. I still consider them my allies—though maybe these down here are unaffiliated with Dwatrall—nonetheless I do not wish to see Vanerak slay any.

I wake from the point of Helzar's boot jabbing me hard under the ribs between two broken armor plates.

“Get up, traitor!” she snarls, her voice a rasp. “We have a long fight ahead of us today.”

I hurry to stand.

“Not that you'll be fighting, traitor. That'll be done by us, to protect you. I hope you're grateful.”

“I am most grateful.”

“You don't sound it, traitor. Hurry and get forward!”

Out of all Vanerak's runeknights, she is the one that hates me the most. The way she enunciates traitor makes me fear for my life.

The march starts as any other. We exit the chamber and traverse another long, yellow-streaked tunnel. It grows thin until we are forced to edge along sideways. Then the roof becomes low and we are forced to duck. The smell is that of rotten things, and as we progress the walls grow damper, until they become covered in stinking slime. White insects scatter at our approach. I wonder how many centuries it has been since they last saw light, shining out from two dim lamps. Halax, scouting slightly ahead of us, holds one, while Nazak, the rearguard, takes the other.

Our footsteps start to sound hollow. I trace a finger along the wall. My titanium scratches the stone easily through the slime. It's covered in small pits and hollows. A translucent centipede crawls out one of these suddenly, making me jump.

Mudstone. Without me realizing it, we're suddenly in mudstone—stone that can barely be called such, compressed detritus. My unease, which I thought was at its nadir already, grows even deeper. Caves like these are very prone to collapse.

I walk past a patch of darkness, a hollow. For the briefest second the urge to flee down it comes over me, but who knows where it leads? To a dead-end, or worse. And if I was recaptured I would likely see one of the hostages killed in front of me.

“Halt,” Vanerak says quietly.

We do so. I peer past the runeknights before me and see that we've come to a fork. One way is wide, and leads upward. The other is narrower. It's jagged and cracked, and stones scattered across the floor toward us suggest that someone, or something, once forced their way through from the caves beyond. Predator, or prey? Whatever it was, the stones are a bad omen.

Vanerak thinks for quite a while. Maybe this part wasn't on whatever map he's memorized. Eventually he says:

“We go down. Weapons ready.”

His runeknights raise their swords, axes, pollaxes, shields. I raise Gutspiercer. No one has tried to take it off me yet—I am that little a threat to them. Likely I'm little threat to whatever beasts we're about to face below too.

“Forward,” Vanerak orders.

Down we go. The tunnel is coated with slime, and I can hear the rushing of water somewhere nearby. The smell is no longer that of sulfur, but of decayed things, and the moist air is hot. I feel something in my beard and tear out a winged thing with too many legs, dash it against the wall.

Something crunches underfoot. I look down and immediately wish I hadn't. It's a bone, and unmistakably dwarf. Maybe the friend of whoever broke their way out this passage.

“You all right?” I say to Guthah behind me.

“Fine,” he whispers.

“You sure?”

“Yes. Just keep your pickaxe up.”

“I will. Don't you worry.”

The passage levels out, then opens into a cavern. It's flattish and looks to be huge, but we cannot see far past the vines hanging from the ceiling. The rushing sound is coming from past them. There must be a river to the side of us, channeling the cave deeper with its constant frothing passage.

The ground is very soft, and more vines lay coiled upon it.

“We will journey downriver until we find a crossing-point,” says Vanerak. “We are in luck—this should be a shortcut. Keep your eyes all around you, however. There are bound to be slinkers here. This is their favored terrain.”

It is not my favored terrain. My boots keep on sinking into the earth, and every fifteen minutes or so a vine will coil around my ankle like a snake. They tighten almost as if they are snakes, and I have to work hard to free myself each time.

Runeknights with slashing weapons move to the front to chop through the vines hanging from the ceiling. The sap smells slightly bloody, and sometimes I think I can hear a peculiar keening sound when one is cut.

I also get the feeling I am being watched. An eye through the vines to the left meets with mine. It looks slightly trollish. But it vanishes as soon as it appears.

For a long while we march in this fashion, yet I do not think we march far. Our pace must be less than half of what it was through more solid tunnels and, after only a few hours Vanerak has no choice but to call a halt. Everyone is plainly exhausted. We move up to the cavern wall and dig out rations.

But as soon as I sit down and bring my waterskin to my algae-smeared mouth, Halax cries out:

“Slinker!”