Things happened so quickly. Suddenly the elf was standing just a few feet away from him. The elf carried a sword, dripping of venom and acid. Within the next few seconds the elf had chopped off the closest Hammerguards head. The head was now rolling towards him while he stood there watching it all happen, helplessly.
The elf raised the sword in the air and shouted “FOR THE WOODS!” as two guards charged him. Murin raised his hammer and charged the elf, his heart boiling with anger and hatred. Murin closed the distance. The elf understood that this fight could not be won. He reached for a potion and disappeared in the blink of an eye. When the Steward finally reached the skirmish, it was all over. All that was left was a bloody note and a shard from a tree.
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A few days later Ashan continued his work, making sure all visible tracks were those of an elf. Three or four dwarves disappeared in a matter of minutes, leaving only faint bloodstains behind them; their corpses, or what remained of them, were nowhere to be found. He even planted the first seeds of unrest himself.
Gharos was looking over the wooden shard that elf dropped just a few days ago. And now he confirmed what Murin had suspected, the shard was without doubt taken from Poisonwood. Hells, like Hammersong didn’t have enough problems to worry about already. Gharos advised Murin to do something about it quickly to make the elves realize that the dwarves would not let themselves be pushed around. It was risky, it could lead to a war, but it could also intimidate the elves to stay in their beloved forest. As there was no better alternative, Murin decided to go with Gharos’ suggestion.
Gharos too had experienced trouble with the Poisonwood lately. He explained how he and Galberk had fought off three human and a dragoncreature. As Gharos’ distaste of the woods seemed as great as Murins, he invited Gharos to come along. The expedition would find place within a few days. The elves would regret setting their foot in dwarven territory.
Murin watched as Gharos lifted a ankh and aimed it at the large tree. A flash of bright light appeared as the mighty spell hit the tree. Murin nodded once as Gharos explained what the spell did. With some luck, the old tree might die within short time.
Murin took a knee next to the recently fallen elves. He held his Seal of Hammersong over his burning hammer, waiting for it to become glowingly hot. Once the Seal was hot enough he pressed it against the dead elves faces. Three elves were branded. A few minutes later the Wizard and the Steward left the forest quietly.
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The sight the woods was in after he returned from the forgotten halls made him never want to leave again, many were wounded and even more wore killed and their faces marred by the symbol of Hammersong. These "stewards" would pay dearly, their pet wizard as well, he knew the wizard had a problem with the woods. He made his way around the settlement offering what aid he could before heading back to the temple to talk with a high cleric about the situation.
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He left as quietly as he entered and returned to his patrol, he called to the wolves of the southern pack and sent each with a brief scrawled message to each of his friends who called the woods their home. Something would be done each life taken would be avenged.
Murin was sitting in the corner at the Kings Beard, listening to the angry dwarves speaking of their lost relatives. He stuffed his pipe with weed and swung his legs onto a chair nearby, resting his feet. Dwarves didn’t usually just disappear like this… there was no bodies to be found. Perhaps the grey duergars were the guilty ones? Murin lit his pipe with a nearby candle, puffing the pipe while he considered this. On the other hand; what had been found in the areas the dwarves had gone missing were not trails of duergars… but of elves. This was rather strange… how could elves get into the mines? Gloin had not been seen for a while either, could this be one of his tricks? The dwarves’ argument was now so loud that Murin could not make out what they said. Suddenly they all turned their heads and glared at him. He stared right back at the angry dwarves as they approached him.
A dwarf with a big black beard was the first to speak “Bloodeh ‘ell… so this is what ye Stewards do these days, eh?”
Murin replied with a calm voice “Wha’ can Oi do fer ye?”
“Ye can do yer bloodeh job! Find our missing family members! Furin Greystone ‘as alreadeh los’ two brothers an’ one cousin!” said the dwarf with the black beard “Wha’ are ye goin’ ter do abou’ et, -Steward-?”
Murin sighed and got to his feet. “Oi well see wha’ Oi can do lads. The Stewards does nay ‘ave the manpower we had en tha old days. We are –not- weakend.” Murin held up a hand to stop the dwarves around him to speak. “We are as ‘ave always been, bu’… bu’ we canna’ be more than once place at once.”
With those words Murin left the angry crowd of dwarves, walking determined towards the Halls of the Stewards.
Gharos had not yet come to the point of walking the halls of Hammersong unescorted, so it took him some time to hear of the continued harassment of the cave dwellers. The idea of another, more severe raid in retaliation against Poisonwood was logical, yet it lacked his usual insight. He considered the chain of events leading up to the assassinations. One single dwarf killed in combat, followed by a raid that left two dozen Poisonwood elves dead, even disfigured. The tyrants of the woods would either have ceased their activity or escalated the conflict in response, and yet lone dwarves continued to dissapear.
Everything indicated that a specialist was involved. Someone experienced in stealth and magic, while being swordsman enough to kill a dwarven warrior. Such a man may not be inclined to stop at the death of a few grunts. A more narrowly focused method of defense was required, and Gharos had an equally specific and intricate spell in mind for the task. He did not find it in his best interest to inform anyone about his plan. Sometimes it is better to solve problems than make friends.
He trailed the mines under Hammersong, covered by the noise of the miners at work and concealing magic. He found the perfect specimen deep in the mines, close enough to the Duergar to make the recovery of precious minerals dangerous. Few miners went as far as this one, and he kept no company. Uggrug Stoneiron was a solitary dwarven worksman, his racial features exaggerated to the absurd. His eyes were beadier, his nose more crooked, his beard messier and his eyebrows more bushy than any dwarf Gharos had seen. Uggrug mined away at a steady pace, corded muscles driving the pickaxe into the veins of ore. He took no notice of the gust of wind and the sole ember that sparked in the air but for a moment as Gharos cast his enchantment. The wizard reached the surface without incident, and Uggrug mined on below, unwittingly becoming the bane of the Poisonwood assassin.
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Uggrug Stoneiron was the perfect target. Not only was he isolated enough that his death would not alert anyone else, but he represented everything his kinsmen were proud of: the strong and stout dwarf working no matter how adverse the circumstances, willing to shrug off the dangers of his task because it meant helping his people. Because of men like him was Hammersong what it was; because of men like him had the dwarven citadel resisted the push of the grey cousins for decades, even centuries.
That day Ashan had ascended from the Underdark; taking alternate routes was part of his style, not only for the job he had told himself to complete this time, but in every instance of his life. His constant paranoia had him traversing the most unusual locations, where a single misplaced step meant death, only to lose those imaginary pursuers of his. This time he spent the better part of his day evading drow patrols and duergar scouts until he reached the mines of Hammersong and Uggrug Stoneiron. Every kill had been easy enough. The element of surprise was enough to give him the upper hand on every assault. It took him several more minutes to make the body disappear than to land the killing blow; depositing the corpse in his hideout usually involved an hour or two. However, in the fraction of a second in which he pulled back his arm and the small blade touched Uggrug's spinal chord he felt something was simply wrong. If his intuition had not been enough, the ball of fire emerging from inside his victim made it obvious that this was not going to be a simple affair.
The explosion propelled him against the tunnel's wall. Uggrug's fate had been slightly more adverse, but at least his problems were over that evening. Ashan, on the other hand, still had to sort out the rather urgent matter of getting out of there before the dwarven hoplites and the duergar warriors arrived at the scene, or his whole plan would fall down to pieces. He stood up as soon as he could and instantly felt the surging pain in his hands, arms and torso, which he dared not look at in detail. He picked up his blade with great effort and returned it to the sheathe in his boot. Going up into the city was futile, knowing the dwarves would be expecting whatever it was that was killing their men, so he made himself invisible and painfully limped back into the Underdark, leaving behind him a trail of fresh blood.
Explosions!? In the mines?! What the hell was going on? Must be them ruddy greys! DAMN THEM! Murin had been given the command of a squad of hammerguards. Now they where storming through the mines with great speed. Miners who had taken a break from work watched them run past and whispered amongst themselves.
The sight that met them was not pleasant. Blood and gore could be seen everywhere. A broken pickaxe lay in front of their feet. But what had caused the explosion? Murin looked around for clues. It made no sense blowing up one dwarf. After a quick search Murin found the trail of blood leading into the dark below. The quickened their pace and followed the trail.
[ The Island of Thain ]
Disturbing the Balance
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