>>5343140>15Ivno and the kobolds dutifully check the door over for any sort of traps. They find evidence of just such a mechanism near the top of the door—a spring, bar, and counterweight system. There is no way for them to easily deactivate it from your side, but that is no matter: you have your fire-lizards at the ready, and between their fire and your own, it is a simple thing to burn away that section of wood, and to superheat the metal and stone to slag. Sadly, this gives away your element of surprise, ruining the shock and awe of your appearance as the door topples down…
>19 for enemies…But you are still trained warriors, well-prepared and with the blessings of the Dark Gods, facing dwarves specifically too small, old, or female for the front lines. It’s shocking that the females and elders—armed with hammers, clubs, and even what appear to be kitchen implements or engineering tools—are even able to mount a fight at all. And they do…
>20 for you, 20 for your allies…But it is simply not enough. You personally fend off the mightiest remaining male—an old, one-eyed, mangy-looking old dwarf with white beard and an aged-but-unblemished antique axe which has an air of magic about it. He charges, bellowing something in the harsh and guttural tongue of his people, but you sidestep the blow, and swing your sword to remove the offending arm. You left him up with your other hand, slamming him down onto one of the simple cots, and while horrified and wailing dwarf-spawn scream in horror.
Your forces restrain and disarm each female, mutilating and killing when they must to end their struggles, until even they can only watch in horror with gritted teeth as this old and enfeebled defender’s blood soaks into the linen and cotton beneath him. Only then do you lift your blade to complete the execution, a show for your audience. Your foe looks at you with stone in his gaze and in his heart as you plunge your plan into him, through him, and into the sot beneath him, you release your grip on the elven moonblade’s pommel, and it stands of its own accord, pinning him in place like one of the Novice’s specimens. His eyes remain open, forevermore, but his soul goes out like a dying fire behind them. You stand up, surveying the remaining dwarves, and see that their will to resist has died with him.
“Gather them,” you command your forces. “Outside, up top, now.”
“Yes, Superior One!” rises the chorus again.
You take a deep breath as the kobolds and Steeltalons lead the broken dwarves away. Only when you are alone with the dead to you exhale, feeling the icy cold which seized your very spirit release its grasp. Only then do you utter a quiet prayer for the souls of your dead allies-especially Paeris, a good and loyal Reptilian to the end—to find peace.
