Chapter One

        A stranger walked the trail quietly, one who had not known what home was since the day he was exiled from his people, continued to walk a path of hatred as he proved his worth to those who cast him out. He heard of the champions of each race, and in an attempt to prove his worth, began to search. Hiding his identity, his face, skin, hair, all that would betray his heritage to curious eyes. Only his own eyes burned fiercely as they stared ahead, seeing a destiny no others could predict. Only one other kept him company on this journey, a man of sorts, with sharp teeth which shone in the light with the same oddity that the silver scales around his jade eyes did. Met with only a year before, he referred to himself as a dragonborn, one who possessed what dragons did, yet contained within human flesh and blood. Unlike the stranger, this man kept his face open to the world, smoothing his long silver hair back, revealing red roots at the front giving hints to his where he came from.

        When he spoke, his voice was a cacophony of sounds, each a different tone, fighting for dominance over the body they all inhabited. Yet always, it seemed the voices gave into one that rang with power, but only if one were to listen hard enough, else, they were tricked by the light manner in which the man spoke. “What troubles you Drow? You have not spoken since we left the village a day ago. Could it be what that woman said somehow got to you?”

        It was not a name that was spoken. Drow was a title. A statement that his heritage no longer mattered to the eyes of others and so with his name was ignored. It did not bother him all that much, his birth name literally meant ‘dark one’, so the meaning was different with this new name, it mattered little. When he spoke, there was a hardness to it which spoke of pain never forgotten, but holding a light undercurrent that could have hinted at some kind of inner peace. “I see no reason why being called a ‘dark skinned elf abomination’ should have not bothered me. Tell me Zinnath, how should I have acted, for I saw no other path.” Zinnath kept up the smile as he though mocking some part of Drow, but remained silent to concede the point.

        Shaking his head, Drow cast his gaze back ahead as he tried to ignore his partner. “How much longer until we arrive?”

        Zinnath moved forward ahead of him as he gestured ahead, waving his hand to encompass a very large gate, which had been carved into the side of the mountain. “There my dark skinned friend, here lies the gate to Garrak; Dwarven City of Ore.” To Drow it was strange to look upon such large gates with the knowledge he knew about their inhabitants.

        The dwarves were a superstitious lot, living underground mostly all their lives, refusing to surface. Rumor was that they use to send out runners to test to open world, but those were put to death soon after their return as they were nothing more than raving mad. The gate itself was not too hard to miss; large than a human fort, it was located in a gorge with only one path leading in or out. Two large statues stood at either side, facing those who dared request entry. These statues were depictions of the first and second king.

        Drawing near Zinnath reach from beneath his cloak, using a hand that was clawed and scaled similarly to a dragon’s. The sight was always a marvel to look upon, though Drow had to continue reminding himself to not show it. Even beneath his hood and mask, his eyes studied the arm. He had not even noticed the smaller set of doors carved into one of the larger ones. It was only when Zinnath began to knock on it that Drow came back from his thoughts and took note.

        Bowing graciously to the door, Zinnath looked back at Drow and smiled, before speaking. “We are but two weary travelers, wishing to only gaze in amazement at your wondrous city, and discover if the tales of your ale is true.” The mention of ale appeared to draw whoever’s attention on the other side, as the door slowly slide open, Standing in their way now was a short muscular figure, three feet tall. He was decorated in dark metal armor, with hints of gold inlaid at the shoulders and over the heart. Carrying a mace in one hand, the thing which caught both their attention the most, was the anvil strapped to his back.

        Both travelers had little idea how to act, though Zinnath could not suppress a snicker as the drow eyed him skeptically.

        Seeing the two react as they did, and the fact one was completely covered, save for two silver eyes which seemed to be judging him, the dwarf gruffly snapped at the two. “What ye be wantin’?” Tired from the journey, how he had been treated in the last town, and not this, the Drow had enough and so, stepped in front of Zinnath to speak for himself.

        “I have come from a great distance, to test myself against your strongest champion!”

        The dwarf roared in laughter at the proclamation. “Ye be havin a death wish boy? Coming to this city and demandin a fight, when ye not even be showin yer face?”

        Silver eyes that once regarded the dwarf skeptically, grew hard and cold as they seem to be daring the dwarf to stop him. This unnerved the dwarf for but an instance, the comfort of a mace, and knowledge of allies hidden, seemed to calm him down some.

        “If you wish to see my face, then bring forth your warriors and you will get that and steel!”

        Moments passed between the three, before the dwarf smiled broadly. “Boy, ye got spirit. Come then, I be bringin ye warriors. Out from this open sky.”

        Satisfied, the two followed the dwarf inside, Zinnath moving in step beside the drow, regarded him with a smirk. “That was a nice way to deal with the doorman, great touch with the threat.”

        “I half expected the door to be slammed in my face.”

        Inside the city was no less marvelous than what stories had told; in fact it was almost like the stories barely did this place justice. The entry hall was large, reach the same height as the door and then some, pillars shot up in columns as dwarven heroes from the past were depicted in ancient battles upon the surface. As they entered the man part of the city, it seem no ceiling was in sight as all rose into darkness, only glittering jewels – like stars – blinked back down at the new arrivals. Zinnath shook his head in wonder, glancing around.

        “For a race frightened of the open sky, you would expect to see less open space above our heads.”

        Marching through another set of large doors, they arrived in a large circular market area; each branching off into tunnels of their own, and before them was a large bridge leading to what appeared to be a coliseum. Dwarves hustled everyway, trying to reach their destination as quickly as possible, while other argued over prices of products. There were humans amongst the group to, and Drow figured they were merchants from outside, coming to trade for what was not available outside.

        Being led along one path for some time, they finally reach a large staircase, leading up to a palace of smoothed stone. No dwarves were seen running up and down these stairs in a hurry, any that were spotted, appeared to be soldiers or royals. Continuing their walk inside, the half of kings – as Zinnath mentioned as they passed some busts, displayed weapons, and artwork – were to honor the past four kings who served the city in their time.

        Outside of a pair of golden doors, the dwarven guard explained for the two to stay here while he went inside and introduced them to the king, hoping that he was not doing something important, and could be admitted guests.

        Their wait was not very long; the doors swung open, revealing fairly well furnished room. A large red carpet was spread out right to the foot of the throne. A throne made of black stone, and stood as tall as three men. Those in attendance whispered in hushed tones as Zinnath and Drow walked forward.

        An old dwarf sat on the throne, wearing simple brown robes with gold trimmings, a crown of golden mithral sat upon his head with a large ruby set in the center. Much like most dwarves, he too, was stout, with a full black beard; grey had seeped into the blackness, yet had not taken enough hold to hide what the beard once looked like just yet. Listening to the guard who led the two in, his eyes never left Zinnath or Drow as he nodded, motioning the dwarf away with a mithril scepter, set with a large stone on top.

        No sooner did the two go to one knee in a sign of respect, did the king wave his scepter and speak with a booming voice. “Rise! You are guests of my city, I do not ask my guests to bow! Though I do require my guests to introduce themselves and explain why they have arrived?”

        As they got to their feet, Zinnath bowed again, before started their explanation. “Great King Dorrak; son of Sigmar, Fifth King of Garrak. My companion here has traveled long and far to stand before your greatness and ask if he be honored in testing himself against your champions. If you could, in your well-known generosity, bestow this honor, we shall forever be in your debt.”

        Leaning forward on his throne, Dorrak studied the cloaked figure for a time, glancing at the strange human in his company with equal confusion. Finally smiling, he leaned back. “I have seen a dragon or two in my time, but never have I come to see one standing in the form of a human. Tell me, is your cloaked friend the same as you, or is his race something to be ashamed of? I am flattered by these pretty words you use, but pretty words don’t explain to me why you want me to send good dwarfs against a hidden foe.” He motioned with his hand as guards stepped from the side, bearing halberds and axes. “You mock my house with such requests, I ask that you leave!”

        Bowing low, but stepping back, Zinnath looked to the drow in order to try and get his attention that it was time to leave, but that was for nothing, as he stepped forward, those eyes burning brightly.

        “We have heard much about how you treat guests, yet all I see is small king, afraid of what he does not understand! I have seen goblins with more authority than you!”

        This obviously did not please the king. Jumping to his feet, he swung his scepter as his booming voice echoes in the chamber. “You dare speak to a king like that! You who hide behind a mask, who dares make such remarks! I shall have you thrown into the forges magma for such a thing!”

        Reaching up, Drow took hold of his cowl and tore it back, revealing to all his face. “You demand of me to show you my face, here it is! Have I pleased your curiosity?”

        Skin the shade of ebony was a dark contrast to his silver hair. His features were handsome to be sure, but the look in his eyes drew everyone’s attention, that, and the pointed ears that all elves were known for. All was silent, and Zinnath cursed himself in that moment for not foreseeing this turn of events. It was one thing to insult a dwarf, but to go and show and entire room of dwarves - especially the king – that you were of elven heritage, was the right way to losing your head. Literally.

        This silence did not last long, an uproar started as all demanded for the dark elf’s head, saying his arrival marked a war. There were those who saw the dark skin as a curse, knowing full well that – even in their underground kingdom – that elves were not born with dark skin.

        One voice roared louder than the rest and that was Gorrak; who pounding his scepter on the arm of his throne, was heard clearly amongst the rest. “SILENCE! By Dao’s hammer, silence in my house!” When silence finally fell, the old king was able to continue without interruptions. “You should already know this well, dark skin or not, we dwarves do not like Point Ears in our land.”

        Drow shrugged at this remark, as if it did not matter. “Lucky for me than, I am not considered an elf by my own people’s standards. They long ago cast me out and took from me everything.” There was a bitterness in his voice, making a few of the dwarves look on in sympathy, though most just shook their head. To a dwarf, family was law.

        He continued. “Because of the color of my skin, and my hair, those who were once family saw fit to give me the title of Drow, or ‘dark elf’ as others say. It is something I detest, but use it as my name. Whatever hatred you hold towards the elves, know I care little for it, I am here in my own right and not by their blessing.”

        Sitting back down, Dorrak rubbed his face as he seemed to calm down some. Around them, murmurs were heard, and it was not hard to tell what they thought about this.

        “You will have to accept my apologies Drow. I know how elves are, but never did I think they would turn on their own in such a way.” He cleared his throat, regaining his posture. “We will honor your request. Please, allow one of my men to escort you to the arena. There you will be tested and given your rights.” With that, the king excused himself, as did many other dwarves.

        Zinnath moved over to the Drow, laying a comforting hand – his left human hand – on his shoulder. When the servant came over to escort them to the arena, the Drow pulled his cowl back down, hiding his features as he followed silently. He pretended to look at murals on their way out, and Zinnath saw this as a way to start their conversation.

        “These murals depict the history of their people, of great deeds done, and battles won.”

        “I do not wish to speak of a races history, I have no history to look back upon. Not anymore, my ‘kin’ saw to that.”

        “Then make your own.”

        Drow look at him from beneath his cowl.

        “You have been given the chance to be your own race; you are not tied down by the deeds of another. Make those who cast you out, regret that decision with your own great deeds.”

        “I understand that, and have planned to do so from the beginning. It will be difficult, but the word drow, will make all shiver at the thought of such power, that even the elves will know not to cross.”

        “Good, now let us start with those deeds by beating the dwarven champion.”

        Up close, the arena was just as awe inspiring as it was from a distance. Braziers lit the bridge all the way to the large gates. Banners of house insignias from past champions, hung from the walls as cheering were heard from the inside. Golden sculptures littered the back as both Zinnath and Drow were ushered inside, and brought to waiting room. It felt more like being in a theater than a place where people were brought to watch death.

        Bowing low, the servant looked at the two before preparing to leave. “Your first bout will be soon. Prepare yerself.” He then turned and hurried off, leaving them alone.

        Moving off to the center of the room, Drow knelt on the floor, bawling his hands up into fist and setting them to the opposite shoulder, he slowly spoke to himself.

        “I pray to the mother of life, who guides and protects me, steady my blade as I swing, slow my heartbeat so all will be clear, and allow me the chance for redemption if I fail. Watch over me in my trials to come, and strengthen my soul so it will not falter. In your name, and the name I have been given, lead me to peace in both this life and the next.” Kissing his right hand, he brought it to the ground, before finally standing. “I will see you soon…”

        Looking at a smiling Zinnath, he moved over to wait in silence, but knew the dragonborn would not let it be.

        “You still hold the prayers of your old kin. You know that will not always be?”

        With a nod, he looked to the side as the servant returned to report his first match was about to begin.

        Inside the arena, the drow saw this was less extravagant than outside. A large circular arena, the floor was simply dirt – though blood was visible here and there. In the stands were hundreds, if not thousands, of cheering dwarves, waiting for the next match to begin. Sweeping his gaze over all he saw, finally it fell on the stand where King Dorrak sat. Next to him, was Zinnath.

        Rising to his feet, Dorrak tapped his scepter against the stone before speaking in a clear, booming voice. “My people! Here we have before us, is a warrior who wishes to prove himself to you by challenging our best warriors!” The crowd cheered wildly, but soon calmed down when their king started to speak once again. “Not only, does he intend to fight them, but also beat them!” Many laughed at this remark, and Drow found himself flushing in anger.

        “Let us see if he holds up. Bring out the first champion!”

        Amidst the cheering and clapping, banging, and oaths the battle to be seen, Drow watched a dwarf step into the arena. Wearing full steel armor, well-kept, though obviously battle-worn, his beard was barely visible beneath the full helm as he stalked forward with a great axe in hand. To the center he marched, and once there, raised his hands into the air – which did not seem like much in Drow’s eyes – and cheered to the crowd.

        Taking hold of his cloak, Drow flung it aside, revealing himself to all in attendance. Many threw mocking insults at the sight of an elf, while others cheered at the thought of one of their heroes dealing with a Point Ear after so long. Paying them no mind, the drow drew forth a slender blade, placing his free hand behind him on the hilt of a shortsword, strapped at an angle behind him, adjusting it for a better draw.

        The challenger dwarf appeared to be taken aback by the revealing of his opponent. Shaking his head, he looked up towards his king and pointed a stubby, steel-covered finger at the drow. “Ye expect me to rough it up with a Point Ear? Why should I stain me great weapon with the blood of a filthy elf? Don’t even look like an elf with his dark skin!” He then let out a mocking laugh at the drow’s expense, yet this did not seem the visibly bother him.

        “Two.”

        This ceased the laughter, as the dwarf regarded his opponent.

        “What?

        “Did you not hear me? I said two.”

        “Aye, I hear ye. What that supposed to mean?”

        “How many strikes it will take to take you down.”

        “Ye expect to be beating me with two hits of yer tiny swords? HAH, more like knifes!”

        Drow regarded the slender blade in his right hand, before shrugging. “Three then.”

        Growling in anger, the dwarf charged forward, bringing his axe back with the intent to finish this off in one move. He carried himself well enough, and considering the weight of his armor and of that weapon, Drow figured he was not simply some new recruit they decided to mock him with.

        Bring the weapon down with the force of one who had years of tending a forge, the dwarf smashed the axe deep into the dirt, bits flying up and spraying his helmet. For those who blinked, the match was over, but not to the results they had all though was possible.

        As the axe was brought down, Drow quickly sidestepped to the right, bringing the slender blade straight down to stab behind the left knee of the dwarf, where there was no plating. Still spinning, he drew forth the shortsword from behind him and drove it into his hip, staggering the dwarf as he cried out. Finishing the turn, the drow drove the point of his right blade directly into both wrists of the dwarf, stamping on the axe handle with his foot and pinning both arms to the ground as he brought to shortsword to sit delicately pointed under his helm, at his neck.

        Leaning down, he spoke plainly. “Is three enough, or should I go for four?”

        Gritting his teeth against the pain, the dwarf nodded slowly. “Aye, three be enough.”

        Stepping back, and allowing the dwarf to painfully fall to his knees – until some attendants cam to retrieve him – Drow flicked hid blades and sheathed them as he looked about defiantly, daring them to say something else about him.

        None spoke to begin with, simply due to the fact many had to have the battle retold to them a few times, before the results registered with them fully. Once it had though, many rose in an uproar, accusing the drow of cheating somehow, that he used magic to do something, which allowed him to win, or prevented the honorable dwarf from fighting. As much as it pained the king, he could not deny what his eyes saw, looking beside him at Zinnath – who was thoroughly enjoying what was happening – he rose up and roared for silence.

        “Enough! We see the victor before us, do not insult him! Drow, are you able to go on, or do you perhaps need rest?”

        Bowing low, Drow smiled. “I am well enough to continue. Bring out the next champion, please.”

        The next three bouts were more or less the same; most first viewed him as an insult to their own skills. Even with a varying type of fighting ability between the next fighters, they were all defeated with having their pride taken advantage of to give him openings. Openings, which hurt more than pride as each one was helped from the arena by their fellows. The more Drow won, the more the crowd seemed to cheer in his favor.

        When it was starting to appear that he was done, Drow turned to retrieve his cloak, but stopped as one lost dwarf stepped into the arena. This one wore a suit of finely crafted gold armor. Finely cut jewels, were laid in intricate patterns along his gauntlets, boots, pauldrons, and chestplate. It shown with a multitude of colors as the torchlight was reflected from the gems. Resting casually on his shoulder, he held a large mallet, one which look to have the power to smash boulders and used by the god Dao himself. The head of the hammer – one end tilted forward, the other flat, with pieces of mithril wrapped around the entire head - bore symbols of old, ancient writing which may hint at what it was meant to do.

        Looking at the golden dwarf, Drow was partially aware of Dorrak speaking. “Drow, standing before you is the greatest of my warriors. He is named Kilo!” This brought up a loud roar of applause from the crowd. “Never has he been defeated in combat, the only one who may have ever stood to match him, has long been lost to us! You may continue, or walk away, none will judge you here.”

        Studying the dwarf for great moments, as the dwarf seemed to do in return, stroking his coal black beard as he did so. Drow shook his head and drew forth his blade. “I have vowed to prove myself amongst your people. I plan to do just that!”

        This seemed to please Kilo as he brought the hammer down before him, hitting it on the ground, sending tremors around as he smiled. “Go home dark skin, yer not in the woods anymore. Ye fight Kilo and ye will die!”

        Beating his kin with ease, Drow did not think much of this Kilo, knowing he could out maneuver him in his light armor, though if he were to get hit, it would prove useless against such a weapon. As a precaution, he drew the shortsword as well and took a steadied run at the dwarf.

        As he came closer, Kilo reached back to take a swing at the drow, for which he smiled at, knowing full well he could dodge it. When the swing came – with great speed in its own right – Drow leaped into the air, preparing to stab out at the dwarf’s exposed face and end this quickly. But he saw the feint for what it was too late. Kilo brought the mallet back around and swatted at Drow’s sword, sending him spiraling to the side.

        Rolling to a kneeling position, his entire arm ringing from the blow to his sword, Drow had enough time to raise his swords in a cross-guard as Kilo came running at him, swinging for his head. The blow sent him flying back, hard on his back, using the momentum, Drow rolled backwards onto his feet and looked down in horror at his broken shortsword. Tossing the useless blade aside, he prepared himself with his remaining weapon as Kilo came on.

        The main problem was not hitting the dwarf; it was having time to return a blow, when each attack seemed to lift him off his feet. All the while the dwarf laughed at him, swinging the huge weapon as if it were a toy.

        “What be the matter elf, where be yer skill now?”

        Kilo laughed again as he swung, hitting Drow’s sword out wide, and following the swing through with a spin of his own to catch him unguarded. If it was not for the Drow using his free hand as a shield, the battle would have ended there, though that stunt cost him every bone in his arm as he was flung back. He felt the bones broken, the bracer itself was of no use, and now his arm was hanging useless at his side.

        Charging forward, he tried one last desperate swing on the dwarf, but like before, proved useless. Kilo met the swing with one of his own, but this one shattered the drow’s sword, swinging his arm out wide and leaving him defenseless. Coming around, Kilo drove the mallet directly into Drow’s chest, sending him spiraling backwards to the ground.

        All was quiet to the drow’s words. There was no cheering as he felt his ribcage collapse, felt no pain as his leather cuirass did nothing to lessen the blow. Though since he did not instantly die, he had to give some credit.

        All the while, he was aware of his failure, the pain was nothing to that realization. He was unaware of the blood flowing from his mouth, the fact he could not breathe. Even with his vision fading he was well aware of the fact he had failed in what he set out to do so long ago. And in those final moments of consciousness, he looked up into the face of Kilo, standing over his body, and dimly registered what he said.

        “Ye can’t beat a god.”

        Than nothing.

        It was some time before he came to. The world was bright, and his body was sore all over, the fact he was not dead made Drow believe it to have all been a dream. Almost believing it, Drow looked around at where he was it was a small ornate room. Nothing too noteworthy, but at the other end of the room, laid out on a cloth, were the remains of all of Drow’s equipment. Pain racked his body at the memories of what had happened, still he managed to bull himself out of bed and slowly hobble to his things.

        Kneeling down – tears threatening to blind him – he looked over the items that were his only possessions left. Now they too, were nothing. The sound of a door opening was heard, but he ignored it, too wrapped up in his own failure.

        “It would appear you prayers for victory had gone unheard.” Zinnath came in to stand by the drow. “As did your prayers for death, since here you kneel. Of course, what did you expect to be the outcome when you charged in the way you did?”

        There was no reply, just silence.

        “Do you not understand what has happened? You lost!”

        “I am forsaken...”

        Zinnath was taken aback. “What did you say?”

        “A goddess I was told would always be with me… left in my time of need… she would not even allow me the ability to be with her as I die.”

        “Your goddess has better things to do than watch over one soul. It was your desire to prove your race greater than even what your goddess created, why would she help you? Not come on and get dressed, there is someone who wants to talk to you.”

        “Who would want to speak with a disappointment?”

        “Who else, another disappointment.”

        With Zinnath’s help, they managed to get Drow dressed in his clothes, and wrapped up in his cloak. Though his body was healed by some miracle – Zinnath said it was magic – he still felt weak and sore all over from his defeat as they left the arena, and out into the market area.

        “Where are you taking me?”

        Zinnath pointed down the row of shops, to a turn. “We will find some taverns down that way, there we can find you someone who can make you some new armor.”

        Drow scowled. “I will not wear the bulky armor of a dwarf…”

        “Good, because from what I learned, this dwarf doesn’t like their bulky armor either. You too should fit together nicely. He’s an accomplished blacksmith and has waited for a chance to show his skills.”

        This caught him off guard, from what Drow knew, elves and dwarves had always been at odds. The exact reason for it was up for debate, dwarves thought it was because elves were jealous of their beards and made the sky to mock them, while elves try to explain it was because dwarves claimed to be able to make the most beautiful equipment and were proven wrong by elves. Whatever the cause was, none really wanted anything to do with the other for many years.

        Having much time to think over such things, as their movement was slow due to Drow’s mending body, it gave him time to remember what he knew about the dwarves. The history of the city was that it was founded by a dwarven hero named Garrak, who found the magma within the volcano to be at such a heat it ate through almost any ore they tossed into it. The ore that was able to survive the heat, was mined and refined into the tough weapons, armor, and tools the city became known for. Smiling at the thought that his armor would go through something similar, Drow slipped in and out of consciousness as they made their way to their destination.

        Passing vendors who were selling their wares – tools, weapons, armor, whatever was needed – stood out in the open, with those shops holding renown taking residence in the buildings, doing business from there, having a place to store their goods though it was unheard of for a dwarf to steal from kin, course it was not impossible. Passing by these shops, they finally came to the area where a row of taverns were set up. Each one had its own little sign over the door, welcoming guests, and it was towards one of these locations Zinnath was taking them.

        “Why are we looking for a skilled smith in a bar?”

        Zinnath chuckled. “Have you ever heard of a dwarven smith that did not drink?”

        Inside was no better than outside. It felt stuffy, there was a musk in the air that made the drow question being here, and the amount drunken dwarves made had him wishing for the open sky.

        Zinnath pointed towards one of the tables, where a hairy – naked – dwarf, was cheerfully singing as he danced about on the table. “There would be our smith.”

        “Burn the ore, burn the wood! Burn the ale and burn the food! Drink up lads for yer should fear! If yer wives find ye here then it’s the beard they will burn!” Though it was not a very good song, the dwarf was getting an audience, who applauded their kin’s song. Just when it seemed he was about to start off into the second verse of his song, he turned and looked around with a happy look on his face, before falling off the table with a loud thud.

        Both approached where the dwarf had fallen, his fellows going off on their own, and sat down at the table as they waited for the dwarf to regain himself. Zinnath cleared his throat to get the dwarf’s attention.

        “Excuse me sir, might we have a word with you?”

        Looking at the two for the first time, the dwarf held up the empty mug and grinned widely. “It be fine fella’s, no ale be spillin here.” He then paused. “But just to be sure… BARTENDER, ye better be bringin me another!”

        Zinnath gave a friendly smile as his voice broke apart. “It is good to see you are unharmed, but we wish to know if you are the blacksmith Klum?”

        The dwarf jumped at the sound of Zinnath’s voices, but grinned widely as he looked back and forth. “Aye. Klum be me name. Like Kling Klum… or be that klunk? Bah!” He waved his hand before tugging at his brown – though fairly grey - beard, pieces of dirt falling from it at the motion. Taking the drink from the bartender when they were near, he downed most of it and spilled the rest on himself.

        Ever polite in such situations, Zinnath continued. “I am glad to see you enjoying yourself Klum, but could you perhaps clothe yourself so that we may talk with a more serious atmosphere?” Giving himself a once over, Klum’s grin only grew more, almost taking in his ears as he wavered in his seat.

        “Oh aye, I hear ya boyo. Just let me go get me serious face.” Then stumbling from the table, he climbed up onto the bar, before relieving himself, much to the protests of others.

        The drow looked away as Zinnath rubbed his face.

        “He is supposed to make me my ne armor? Zinnath, I would not trust this dwarf with a fork let alone a hammer and anvil.”

        Zinnath’s jade eyes shown, even as he shook his head. “It may be hard to believe this, Drow. But that dwarf was once renowned as the greatest champion of this kingdom, and is currently one of the best blacksmiths.”

        Thinking maybe he was wrong, Drow looked over at the renowned blacksmith, to find him in an extensive argument with a plant. “I feel I would be better off with the plant… I think that smell is coming from him.”

        Enough time passed until Klum knew what pants were, and how to put them on. He sobered quickly enough when Zinnath had the owners throw him out of the bar – fearing to deal with the odd human – and started his way back to the smithy section of the city.

        “Now, why didn’t ye say in the first place ye be wanting some nice armor? I be waitin a long time to show ye point ear elves how to really make some pieces.”

        Even though Drow wanted to curse this dwarf with all his soul, he knew Zinnath was right in needing him and his skills. There was no way he could continue his quest with pieces of a sword and cuirass.

        “I am not an elf. I have been cast out from those kin and have since then taken up the tittle of Drow.”

        Klum shrugged that off. “A point ear be a point ear, no matter what others be sayin. Makes no difference to me what ye used ta be.”

        It was strange how this dwarf regarded elves, it was not with hatred or jealousy over any sort of argument. He just sort went along with his life. It was something to be envious of, but the drow did not want to ignore what had happened with his people.

        As they walked, Zinnath explained their situation to Klum, he thoughtfully tugged at his beard as he digested the news. “Alright, let me see. Ye want me to make some nice armor like none before, so ye can beat Kilo. And also tell ye his secret to his power?”

        Drow nodded, rubbing his chest when he remembered how badly he was beaten. “With all that fancy armor, and that large weapon he was wielding, there should have been no way he could have moved that fast.”

        Klum glanced at the drow for a moment. “Saying a fella can’t move like ye with so much armor?” He then nodded. “Aye, ye be right. Kily boy has magic lining his armor which allows him to do what others cannot.”

        Zinnath nodded in understanding as he looked around. “Why were we not told about his magic armor beforehand? I thought in battles such as that, magic enhancements were seen as tricks?”

        “Simple, King don’t know. Though we dwarves don’t be mindin magic enchantments, in combat like yer’s it be seen as treacherous. War is one thing. Honor is another. But Kily boy got himself some magic friends who did that to his armor. Though, I be the one who was makin the suit…be a gift. I was sworn by the boy not to say a word to me king or kin… then he bested me with it and took me mallet… and me place.” Rubbing his face, Zinnath caught sight of moisture around the dwarf’s eyes, though Drow did not seem to worry as he was still going over how he was beaten.

        His equipment was not enchanted, of course there would have been no way for him to win without forewarning about his opponent. He would need something similar, to combat Kilo’s magic.

        “Can you make me something that can beat him?”

        Klum look over at Drow with a grin. “Oh aye, but ye need to get the things yerself.”

        The request was simple enough; Klum would make the basic set-up for the new armor set. All Drow had to do was go and gather the key items from within the mines and bring them back, so Klum could enchant the new pieces. Afterwards, Klum would explain how to beat Kilo’s armor. Looking over the list of items though, there were doubts.

        “How am I supposed to gather these? And where?”

        Klum waved the notion away. “Don’t be worrin ‘bout that, one of me babies will go with ye.” Sticking his fingers into his mouth, Klum whistles as they approached what appeared to be his shop.

        Out of the window sprang a little creature, that scurrying closer, jumped up onto Klum’s head with a squeal.

        Zinnath moving closer to study the creature, tried to place it. “What is this creature?”

        “This? This be my baby. Had her since she was just a pup, call her Kli.”

        Kli – as Klum called her – was slightly large than a rat, with smooth grey fur almost like skin, smoothed back along its body. Brown markings dotted its body, though there was no clear indication what it was. It also possessed a long smooth face, with beady eyes darting back and forth. No clear sign of how it heard anything, though the snout moving back and forth could have been something close to a sensor.

        “Right, Kli will lead ye down the tunnels to where ye can find everything. Now get, I be havin work to do fore’ ye be gettin back.”

        Zinnath packed supplies for Drow journey. Bedroll, food, water, a pick, herbs for his wounds, an a torch. With a smile, he handed the pack over and patted the drow on the shoulder. “Make sure to make it back safely my friend. Would be a shame if the great Drow race died in a tunnel.” Turning, he then headed inside the shop, leaving Drow alone.

        Taking one look at the shop, then down at Kli, Drow turned and followed the creature down one of the nearby tunnels, which he hoped, would take him to where he had to go.

        The walk was tiring, and though he must have had plenty of time to rest while unconscious, it was no more pleasant walking down the darkening tunnel. Even with his superior sight, Drow would eventually have troubles seeing in complete blackness, though it appeared there were torches lining the walls far enough that a torch of his own would be unnecessary for some time. Kli sat comfortable on Drow’s shoulder, squeaking now and again whenever he was going down a tunnel she did not like.

        “Do you do something else instead of using me for a pack mule?” He waved her away as she began nibbling on his ear for the third time. “If you want to be helpful, take the lead.”

        Jumping from his shoulder, Kli ran forward down the tunnel until coming to a hole to the side. Sitting down, she began to squeak until Drow came over to investigate. It was a wonder that no dwarf ever got lost within the network of tunnels. Of course if one were to live underground all their lives, they would learn.

        Looking down the hole, Drow noted how dark it grew, and wondered how far down it would go. Glancing at Kli – who waited expectantly – he set down his pack and began sorting through it for a rope. Once he got what he needed, he tied it securely to a stalagmite, then tossing the other end down the hole. Shouldering his pack, the drow moved over cautiously lowering himself into the hole as Kli climbed onto him.

        The further down he went, the darker it became and soon he had to rely on instinct alone to avoid any unnecessary falls. Thinking what may happen if he ran out of rope first, Drow did not have to wonder for long, when suddenly he reached the end and fell about ten feet, landing almost hard on the ground below. If it had not been for Kli sending him off balance, and his own injuries, he may have been fine.

        Rolling onto his back, breathing heavily from the wind being once again knocked out of him – having old wounds reawaken – Drow groaned aloud as he removed his pack. Producing a torch, he took time to find flint, yet came up with nothing. Deciding Zinnath must have left that piece of valuable supply out, he tossed the torch aside and laid in the darkness. Just then a brilliant light flared to life.

        Cursing, Drow rolled over to see the lit torch where he tossed it, and Kli sitting beside it, looking at him expectantly.

        All he could do was lay there and stare at the odd creature. When it became apparent nothing else was going to happen, he slowly rose to his feet and retrieved the torch. “Well then, lead on…” Limping after Kli, he wondered how he was going to get back up after he was done.

        The first item on the list was referred to as night crystals. Sure he heard of them somewhere before, being lovely pieces of jewelry, Drow had little idea how they would be used for combat, but had to trust in Klum’s skill. Kli led him straight to a crystal formation, the crystals were as the name intended; dark, yet seemed to sparkle when the torchlight his off of them. They drew his attention for a few moments, before he was able to rip his gaze away and move closer to attempt to remove a few.

        Deciding to build a fire, to make his work easier, Drow gathered bit of twigs up and down the tunnel, even finding an old cart with wood he was easily able to break apart and bring back. With a fire giving him extra light he went back to his examination of the crystals.

        They were securely stuck. A simple pull would not remove these crystals and Drow was well aware of that fact. This was why he had a pickaxe. Hefting the pick – noting it weight – he looked for a spot that would give the less resistance to his blows. In order to make this less strenuous on his body, Drow took a few minutes to study the formation before coming to the conclusion it would matter little, and started to swing.

        Each swing became more difficult than the other, even with whatever healing was done on his body, Drow could feel pain started to build up, and at one point had to stop his work as his vision blurred. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, shards flew from the formation and soon there were enough there to satisfy Drow.

        Dropping the pick, he moved over to the fire and rolled out his bed, collapsing beside the fire. Eating a bit of the food, he undid his bandages and applied the medicine before dressing them back up. No longer feeling like he would bleed out in that moment, he laid his head down on his pack and drifted off to sleep, a prayer on his lips.

        Minutes seemed like hours and hours turned into years in his mind while sleeping. His sleep was not restful, full of happy memories, or peaceful times. For him, it was pain and suffering, what he was always faced with since the moment he was born.

        The dream was split into two sequences. The first followed an elven maiden, around the same amount of years as the drow. She walked with an older human woman, towards a large white tower, and their words were related to a love long lost. The scene faded, replaced by another elven woman, this one wore a flowing robe with a breastplate. She seemed to float in mid-air around a table with others of varying races. Standing next to the elven woman was one with dark skin, she spoke something to those in attendance, then turned to face the drow directly. “Soon you shall know why you were born.”

        Sitting up straight, Drow breathed heavily as he looked around in the darkness. The fire had died down to nothing but embers, and took time to nurture back to a roaring fire. Tossing a few more pieces of wood onto the fire, he looked around, deciding it was past time to move onto the next item. Unfortunately, when he went to retrieve the shards, those that he dislodged were gone. Instead, Kli sat comfortable in there spot, waiting to leave as she looked at the drow. She was also bigger now. When before she was about the size of a rat, not she was half-way between the size of a dog and a cat.

        There was no way to explain what was happening to this creature, but he figured it Klum sent it along, then it was doing something with the things he collected. Yet, that did not make him feel better. “I am not carrying you anymore.” Kli squealed, then rising to its feet, headed off.

        Lighting a few more pieces of wood, Drow tossed them around the chamber as he tried to determine where to go. They could not go back up the way they had come, and the path he took to find the cart led to a dead end. Lowering his head, Drow prayed for guidance.

        When none were jumping out for him, he simply went over to retrieve his pick-axe, knowing something would happen if they just looked.

        Before he passed out, Drow remembered simply dropping the pick on the floor, yet now it was lodged into the formation. Heaving a sigh, he took hold of the handle and began to pull. No sooner did he start, did the entire formation come crumbling down, opening up another path. At a loss for words, he simply stood there as a path was presented. Kli did not wait and ran off down the tunnel, forcing Drow to follow her if he did not want to be left behind.

        Further down the tunnel ended at a boulder. It seemed to have been placed there some time ago, and was not caused by any cave-ins. With a bit of effort, Drow was able to push it aside, peering into what seemed like another cavern. This one was not dark though, there was a fire already set up with a bunch of dwarves sitting around enjoying a meal of their own. Not knowing if it would be wise to just head down there and present himself as a target, or wait here and see if they were trustworthy, he looked down to see Kli was none too ready to go charging out into the open either, so he waited.

        The cavern began to shake, nearly knocking Drow from his feet, and causing the dwarves to stumble about for weapons, shouting in anger at what was happening. Following another thunderous crash, a large creature came rampaging into the room. This creature was far larger than the drow, and was four dwarves wide at its large muscular chest. It wielded a large mace, which it swung back and forth as it swatted the dwarves from their feet.

        The dwarves seemed caught off guard by the appearance of the giant. Even with their military training, they were able to form into groups to fight, but just made hitting them together easier. In the end, the resistant they put up made little difference, and the giant sat down to enjoy its new meal.

        Hoping to get by the creature without fighting it, though knowing that was marching around unimpeded did little to improve his hopes, Drow began to examine to cavern more carefully in order to get the best advantage. A flow of lava was at the side, giving off the only other source of light. Looking up, he saw many stalactites and figured he could maybe get the giant to make enough noise to knock a few of those down. If all else failed he could run through the one of the two paths; the one the giant created, or the one the dwarves came from.

        Taking up the pick-axe – having no swords anymore – and setting down his pack, the drow stalked forward as he prayed. “May my steps be swiftly guided to victory…”

        His movements were slow going to begin with, but the giant never heard him coming. Charging forward the last few steps, Drow drove the pick as hard as he could directly into the things spine. Roaring in pain, the giant turned and swatted with its hand at the drow, yet was too slow to keep up with the agile elf. Unfortunately for Drow, he had lost the pick in that first strike and had to improvise with whatever he could pick up from the dead bodies.

        Moving quickly, he swiped up two hand axes, as well as noting a few more pick axes he could get to if need be. Turning about, he saw the giant slowly rise to its feet, soon after it stomped towards the drow. Swinging widely, it was unprepared for the nimble elf, as he rolled beneath the blow and came up under the creature, swinging with axes. Making solid hits with the blades, but making no headway against the creature’s thick hide, he knew only the pick-axe would make any clear penetration.

        Rolling out in time to avoid being stepped on, Drow turned about mid-roll and flung one of the axes at the giant’s face. This did a little bit more than the ankles, but overall was not enough to down the creature. Scampering away just in time to avoid another rage filled swing from the giant, the drow made a race for one of the dwarven pick-axes.

        Never stopping in his dash, Drow scooped the pick, up and continued on towards the far end of the chamber, the giant in tow. Looking behind him, he could clearly see some of the stalactites were not as stable as the others, and if the giant cause enough mayhem, may cause them to begin falling. Using the creatures rage against it, the drow threw the other hand-axe towards the creatures face. This again brought another roar of anger, as it blindly started swatting at Drow in order to kill the pesky creature.

        Always being just ahead of the hits, he was able to trick the creature into striking the wall full force on a few occasions. Some of the stalactites were already started to fall off and cause damage of their own against the giant. Still it seemed intent on its target and continued swinging wildly.

        Retrieving one of the fallen hand-axes, Drow threw this to once again enrage the giant and lure it towards him. Now he had gotten closer to the other side where the river of lava was. Waiting for the right moment, as he had done before with the charging dwarf in the arena, Drow allowed the giant to rush in with an overhead strike, thinking it had tired its prey. At the last moment, the drow charged forward and dived under the blow. Rolling to the other side, he did not wait to see what he had done, but just kept running.

        The downward strike was powerful, and like the axe strike, brought up bits of what it hit. This was lava though, and the bits that flew up into the giant’s face, blinded the creature and caused it great pain. The damage was done, that last strike caused more stalactites to come crashing down, almost bring down the entire cavern if someone had not been watching. Those pieces that came crashing down came everywhere, but only a few crashed into the giant as it stumbled about, knocking it over directly into the river of lava.

        How it howled in those moments. Thrashing about, more than ever, as it tried to get the pain off. No relief would come to it as it fell to the ground, shrieking, swatting at wounds that only appeared to make it worse. Soon it was beyond pain and laid there quickly in those last moment of life. Not taking the chance, Drow walk over with his pick-axe and using whatever strength he could muster, brought it down directly into the beast’s skull.

        My wounds will never fully heal at this rate, the drow thought to himself, as he stumbled towards the dwarven exit. Unaware, he had fallen to his knees, but no longer caring, passed out.

        Once again the elven woman from before appeared. She knelt before an elven male, seated upon a throne with a crown of his own. She was pleading with him, and from what was understood, it was so she could go and search for her love. Again the scenes changed to the armored elven woman and the dark-skinned elf with her. The walked with one another as they conversed.

        “He has lost faith in you sister.”

        “Yes, but I still hold faith that he will do the right thing.”

        “I find it strange how you have allowed me to give birth to one of my own after so long. It is unlike you.”

        “I hold faith in him sister, he will do what is right for both his people.”

        The then both stopped and looked back at the drow. Both smiled.

        “Do not fail us child, we have great hopes for you. The first of a great people.”

        He woke in a fright, readying the pick as he glanced about nervously. Kli was beside him again, but had grown bigger since last time. She was larger than a dog, what he though was fur was in fact skin and had turned scarlet red. She had sprouted an extra set of legs and bore tentacle like limps coming off her back. The brownish markings were black.

        Not even surprised anymore, he rose to his feet and collected what was left of his belongings. Rubble was all over the room now from the giant’s fit, thankfully the dwarven pathway was not blocked. Taking that path, he looked over the list and wondered how he was getting the next thing.

        The pathway did not slant up. From what he could tell, it did the exact opposite and headed downwards. With uneven terrain, the drow had to keep one hand on the wall at all time in order to stay steadied. Adding to his poor luck, his health seemed to have gotten worse. Fatigued to the point where resting may mean death, lugging the pack alone was an ordeal, at one point he thought about leaving the pick axe behind. Remembering what he just went through, that decision was made quickly.

        Kli continued to bump into him, urging him to go faster. In the end, it was not enough to use the wall as a crutch, and the drow lost his footing. Stumbling forward, he lost hold of the torch, rolling over it in his fall, as well as the pick axe which stabbed him painfully in the side. That along with the uneven terrain, left him with an unpleasant fall until he finally hit the bottom.

        His entire body cried out in agony as he laid in total darkness. The torch had gone out in the tumble, and he cared little for where Kli had gone off to. All he wanted to do at that point was die. Pain was the only reminder he was alive, laying there in the dark, it was not a comforting reminder. Than a weight pressed down on his chest. Thinking it was Kli, he swung furiously at the form, but had his hand swatted away.

        “My dear, striking at someone you owe your life to can give off the wrong image. You owe me your soul.”

        Squinting up at the form, he was nearly blinded as light formed around the figure. Outlining the beautiful figure of an elven woman, whose dark skin and white hair were the same contrast as the drow’s, though her eyes glowed red with passion as she smiled at him. She was extraordinarily beautiful. With a white gown cut in a way to reveal much, he noted she wore to footwear, or any weapons. When she stepped back, he became aware of who she was.

        “Y-you’re the one from my dreams!”

        She nodded, playing with her hair absentmindedly. “Yes I am. Your prayers have reached me and so here I am.” Reaching down, she took hold of the front of the drow’s shirt and dragged him to his feet as if he were nothing. As she did, he felt his pains vanish as if they never existed.

        “You are the first of a powerful kind. Already its name is in use, do not forget. You serve me not, and I shall not have my prize being killed so easily. Fight in my name, and know with it follows a great power.

        Falling back down to his knees, stunned at what was before him, Drow lowered his head in reverence. “Tell me your name Goddess.”

        Bending over, he felt her near, as she whispered her very name into his ear.

        When all was over he was left alone. A lit torch was at the side, but he was dimly aware of it. He had just been visited by a deity; something few of each race was honored with, it was a symbol of being that deity’s champion. She was like him, though of a beauty none would ever know. Using new found strength, he rose to his feet, gathered his things and headed off down the path.

        All the while Kli sat by patiently as she waited for the dark man to rise to his feet. She heard him talking to himself, yet paid it no mind. Only when she noted him ready to leave, did she let out a delightful squeal, and trotted off after.