"Where are?" Jocasta asked, climbing reluctantly out of Beren's lap and checking her own limbs to make sure nothing was broken. She peered around a vast cavern, lit only by the body of the wyrm. There was a tunnel that lead upwards, though it was much too steep for man or dwarf to climb. They had rode the avalance of debris down the tunnel that the dragon had used to reach the surface, it was a miracle that none of them had been killed in the fall and there was no likelyhood they could climb back up. Jocasta stood and walked over to the crumpled form of Martinus Morelocke lay burned and broken upon the ground. His right arm was burned to a withered stump and a smile was on his lips. Jocasta quirked a smile to realise the old man had died a dragon slayer. She walked across to the dragon and rummaged in her satchel, tossing away pieces of debris that had accumulated from the fall.

"What are you doing?" Beren asked as Jocasta produced a short knife and plunged it into the dragons body.

"Stop that!" Varin hissed, but Jocasta ignored him.

"Waste not," she replied, tongue peaking from the corner of her mouth. "Want not," she concluded as she pulled free a dragon scale and stuffed it into her pouch. She took a phial from her pouch and felt along the palid flesh below, then made another quick stroke of her knife. Brackish blood began to flow and she began collecting it in the flask.

"This would be worth a fortune back at the university," she explained, plucking away several more scales in a similar fashion.

"Look here!" Radsvir shouted, lifting a dwarven cave lantern to one of the cavern walls. It was no wall at all, but masonry fashioned in the strange fashion of the dwarves. A vast door of some dull metal was sat into it, carved with runes that reflected the lantern light.

"It's a hold door," Otar breathed in amazment, "The beast was trapped between a dwarven door and a humans curse."

"What does it say?" Jocasta called over her shoulder, still engaged in her grizzly salvage. Otar moved to the door and peered up at the runes in reverence.

"Speak friend and enter," Otar reported.

"What does that mean?" Beren asked.

"It's a riddle," Buri declared. "We just say the dwarvish word for friend and the door will open."

"Yalshi," Otar called out in a commanding voice. Nothing happened.

"Well that was a stuipd idea," Jocasta observed tartly.

As Otar divined what to do in his prayers, the dwarves searched the cavern for any other ways out. Beren and Varin stood beside the dragon's bulk, under the gloom of the soft light above. Beren with his arms crossed, and Varin standing there with his hands on his hips, both looking up, far above at the broken crack of the catacombs.

Jocasta meandered over, hands behind her back. "What are you two doing?"

"I'm worried about the dog." Beren remarked, not looking away.

"Aye, poor wee thing." The dwarf agreed. "No food, no way out."

Jocasta peered up with them, before giving Beren a pat on the back. "Hey, don't worry. The pup has a doggy door, I think. Can't imagine Martinus fed him much himself, but he seemed healthy. I bet he'll find a way to take care of himself." She did a good job of seeming cheery, though Beren heard under her breath: "Us, on the other hand..."

"Oi!" Gurin called, his arm now snug in a makeshift sling. He had his free hand up, finger pointed to above the door. Beren, Varin, Jo, and the rest turned and followed the soldier's finger to above the dwarf-gate. Up there, amongst the rocks was a circular shape at the square center of the door. The gate itself was carved perfectly, but the outer rock around it was natural, filled with a dwarvish beauty, one might say. There was untold years of dust on whatever it was above the door.

"Hrmmm, could be a key." Otar grumbled, stroking his beard.

"Or a lock?" Radsvir wondered.

"Something valuable!" Buri exclaimed, gold lust in his eyes.

"One of us outta climb up there." Gunir offered. "Check it out."

"Beren, that's your cue." Jocasta said, crossing her arms. The dwarves all turned around, wondering what she meant. The stout folk were avid rock climbers, and so they assumed the two humans would be sitting this out. But they saw Beren back up a number of steps, set himself in a stance to help him pick up speed, and at once he was off and running at the wall before he bounded upwards. His booted feet touched the wall thrice, adding to his height and lifting him just high enough to grab the top of the gate by his fingers. Considering the gate was perhaps six meters high, it was no small feat.

The dwarves gave grunts of acknowledgement and even a few whistles and cheers. Jocasta just shrugged. "He's useful to have around." She said, smiling.

Beren pulled himself up, grabbing a handhold in the rock, swinging his feet round and planting them precariously on the lip of the gate. There was quite literally four inches he could plant himself on, but he did so with careful balance, crouched and nearly face to face with the strange object. He breathed in deeply, and blew the dust off the evidently clear, crystalline object. As the particles brushed off, the light from the dragon scales illuminated it, and a small beacon lit the ground near Otar's feet. Shadows that formed a runic script touched the ground, Otar reading it hurriedly.

"What's it say?" Beren asked from high up.

"It's a prayer I can recite lad," Otar said, then called up. "Get yerself down from there so we can open this thing!"

Jocasta took a live and let live attitude towards the God's. She had made her annual tithe to Aulor in exchange for residence in the university and made the occasional offering to Zjarina under the dark moon when she was trying something particularly risky or unwise. Zealots and priests of all kinds made her a little uncomfortable. No one could doubt the existance of the gods, but only a fool would attract their attention.

The dwarves gathered around the rune door, kneeling in the dust around Otar who was busily scratching runes into the dirt. Beren joined them apparently familiar with dwarven rites. Jocasta stood awkwardly, arms slick to the elbow with dragon blood. She considered wether their might be time to cut out one of the beasts venom sacks, but she gave it up as a bad bargin. It might disrespectful if she spilled a hundred pounds of dragon entrails onto the cavern floor while they were praying.

Otar stood and began to chant, calling out to his god or gods. Jocasta felt her hackles raise as something began to happen. It wasn't magic as she understood it and it was subliminally irksome that she couldn't sense what was happening. The runes began to glow as the priest prayed, his hand raised in supplication. Jocasta felt a sharp sting in the shape of the mark the demon had left on her. She gritted her teeth and stepped a little further back. Otar's voice swelled, becoming deeper and more resonanant until it seemed less like a voice and more like the grinding of stones, or the fall of water from a great height. With a booming command and a sharp guesture the dwarf sent red gold light surging up into the door, lighting the runes like lava through shallow channels. For a moment nothing happened, then there was a concussive boom that started a shower of rocks and grit down from above. A series of smaller booms began to echo and reverberate as the great door began to sink into the floor on some ancient counterweight system concealed in the wall. A sepulcral blast of dusty air errupted out into the cavern, glowing like a muzzle flash with the light of the runes.

"Behold!" Otar boomed, a touch of the gravitas of moments before lingering in his voice.

The cavern didn't shake, but still the rumbling and grating of stone on stone reverberated through the chamber. Beren smelled dust and stale air, and something unpleasant along with it. He placed the collar of his jacket over his nose, and Jocasta stepped behind him, holding her mouth so the free-flying particles would settle. The Dwarfs cheered, and there was something in their laughs and grunts that was very home-ey to Beren. Their deep, baritone voices were somehow wholesome, to him.

Unfortunately it was short lived.

Beren, Jocasta, and the cohort of dwarves peered into the darkness of the cavern. Gunir, his arm snug in the sling and his nose up, sniffed suspiciously. One of the dwarves gave a small wail of anguish, and Beren's eyes caught sight of what their dark-vision could make out.

The tunnel was immaculately carved, at least for a dozen meters. The low ways were well known for being the cleanest, most safe roads in all the world at one point, due to the dwarf's minute attention to detail. One could still see the gold filigree along the outset of the halls, like veins in the mountain. Past that, however, was a gaping, jagged hole in the corridor that marred its ancient beauty. And along the floor and walls before it were skeletons and battle armor, rusted weapons in crusted, bony hands.

Beren winced as the dwarves groaned, but he leaned in all the same. Osteoporosis and untold centuries without flesh had made the bones brittle and almost unbearably weak or cracked. Even the thick bones of dwarves. Beren had the misfortune of seeing dwarf skeletons in the past, and he could tell this was a fair number of the dead. However, unlike the stout, very human-like bodies of the dwarves with barbed arrows in their eye sockets or breasts, there were also lankier skeletons with a very alien look to them. He had seen these before too.

"Gundarogs," he told the dwarves.

A few of them cursed in their native tongue, Muragrim spitting on the ground. None of them seemed too surprised, but they were grim and sullen all the same. Radsvir and Muragrim gripped the handles of their weapons more tightly, and even Varin's hand moved closer to his broad short sword. Otar walked up and knelt by a fallen dwarf body, reaching down and brushing away the dust from a pendant the dead warrior had around his neck.

"Clan Balgrund," Otar said. Beren did not recognize the name, but he decided he would ask of it later.

"Gundarogs? They really do exist?" Jocasta asked. Beren glanced at her, nodding. Rogs were a known race of barbaric humanoids in the world, a bit smaller than orcs but even nastier, with serrated weapons and misshapen, ugly faces. In Andred and the wider north, Gundarogs were thought of as an old myth with only some credible evidence. They were a subspecies of rog, even more numerous and adapted to the dark. Unlike rogs, they were keen craftsmen of cruel and malicious weapons and armor, and though individually not the most fell warriors, they had a savagery and insect-like ruthlessness. The dwarves knew they were all too real. Sometimes rogs followed exiled dark elf sorcerers, vampires, or some other powerful being of the dark, but they also had their own chieftans and kings.

Luckily the bones of these gundarogs were long since decayed. But it was a small hope. The tunnel continued into darkness, and there was little telling what awaited them in the dark.

"Any chance they are still around?" Jocasta asked, sticking her head into the tunnel that marred the wall. She pulled a lens of ground green crystal down from her sun hat and peered into the darkness. It curved away out of sight into the distance. There were odd discolourations on the wall which she took to be gundarog script. She wasn't entirely sure what the writings might signify, perhaps no more than crude grafitti.

"Every chance," Otar growled, his voice simmering with ancient racial anger. The other dwarves were simillarly exercised, knuckles white on weapons, shoulders set.

"No chance we can get back up?" Jocasta asked, swinging her lens covered eye up to the hole above them and the broken dragon at the bottom like a busted kite.

"Aye, we can probably climb..." The world lurched violently sideways. There was a rumbling crack and dust exploded from the walls of the cavern. Rocks tumbled down in an ever increasing torrent. Boulders the size of wagons crashed down, pulping the body of the dragon like great cannonballs from the sky. The dwarves moved with the same mechanical motion they had displayed in the crypt, pressing themselves into the walls. Dust billowed in great waves, washing over Jocasta a moment before Beren grabbed her around the waist and hurled her back into the dwarven tunnels. A moment before she was yanked away she got a brief glance of a familiar demonic figure in the billowing dust, a braod smile on its face.

The light of the wyrm's tomb faded into nothingness, and save for the small ball of light Jocasta had conjured, the darkness was complete. It crept behind them and gave way before their feet just enough to cause a feeling of claustrophobia. The air was stale and old, and the small connection to the outside world from the chamber behind them was small comfort and too minuscule for any sort of change in the air. It was hard to gauge if any air was moving at all, actually. Beren knew that was a good indication of direction in the underworld, at least in the shallows.

Muragrim had checked the fissure in the path and had given it the all-clear, but they decided not to take that as a trail of yet. Otar trusted the 'Lowways' the dwarves had dug out millennia ago, even though their integrity had been breached. Otar was not only the elder, but a priest. He knew, even with the collapse of the system, that the dwarven pantheon watched over it from both above and below. Beren had never been further than a mile below the surface, but he knew of the pilgrimages dwarves still took into the heart of the world.

The group passed by numerous other rends and tears in the walls, and at one point the well crafted floor had grown grooved as water ran from the right to the left across their path. Every now and then they would find a fallen dwarf, but more common were the skeletons of gundarogs from skirmishes amongst themselves, and occasionally they would stumble upon human-like corpses belonging to dorcha. Once, we heard something living amongst rubble. The light never caught it, but it gave a disturbing 'hreeeeeeor' sound as it scrambled into a hole in the wall, what Beren imagined as a tail being the only part they could see slipping into the shadows.

Jocasta stuck close to Beren, who stood protectively beside her. The dwarves marched in a rough formation, shields always in the direction of the walls and eyes always open to the dangers. Eventually, the groups march was halted by an unfortunate but inevitable dead end. Rock and broken pillars had fallen and blocked the way as sure as any iron gate, but whatever had caused it, it seemed natural. They discovered no bodies at the scene.

"We might need to double back," Beren suggested, hands on his hips. The dwarves muttered to themselves, Gurin making the suggestion they could potentially dig out. Beren was glad no other humans were here, lest someone might suggest it was easy for Gunir to say when he wouldn't help with his shattered arm, but everyone present knew they would have to tie him down to keep him from helping. All dwarves were purpose built for labor, but a dwarf soldier had a sense of duty that put the andredian kingsguard to shame.

"Look here," Jocasta said, and as all of the males turned around, they noticed she was gone. Her head popped out of a small fissure, beaming brightly and waving them to follow. For some reason, the sudden appearance of her face was a memory Beren would never forget. He truly did admire this girl. The warrior monk followed suit, and the dwarves filed in behind them. Beren slipped into the small crevasse, and once through he found himself in a large, elongated chamber. The breathe was taken from him as he realized Jocasta no longer held her magical light. The walls were tinged with blue lights, giving the tunnel a look of serenity. Upon closer inspection, the lights moved gently amongst the rockface.

"They're worms." Beren said, scratching his chin.

"Good find, lass." Radsvir said.

"Haven't seen lightgrubs in years." Buri marveled.

Jocasta stared at the glowing walls in wonderment. The grubs were small, no larger than her pinky finger, but there were thousands off them. They wriggled and crawled over each other, feeding on something, perhaps minerals in the rock. The smelled faintly of something like old parchment which Jocasta found unexpectedly pleasant. She reached out a finger and laughed delightedly as one of the the grubs curled around it and began to crawl up her arm, vanishing beneath her sleeve. A moment later she was giggling for a different reason as the animal slithered up underneath her blouse, its progress faintly visible through the bluish glow beneath her garments. A second grub joined the first, then a third.

"They like ya, a good omen," Buri put in, to the accompanying nod of the rest of the dwarves. Jocasta thought they probably needed good omens and were finding them where they could but she didn't dislodge the glowing grubs as they curled up on her shoulder and wrist.

"Well, we came to find a dwarf stronghold, lets go see it," Jocasta said with a smile.

That feat was harder than she thought, they passed through several tunnels, many of which were festooned with blind bunkers and blockhouses cut into the stone. Signs of ancient combat were everywhere, and clearly the dwarves of this hold had sold their lives dearly. Ancient skeletons of dwarves and gundarogs lay scattered in profusion. In places they waded through the bones of the abhuman monsters, ancient cairns marking particularly cunning or tenacious dwarven defenses. Both Beren and the dwarves greeted this with sullen stoicism. This front melted away when they stepped through another of the interminable series of low arches and a cavern opened out before them. It fell away in breathtaking defile, a vast space well over a mile long. Great stalactites fell from the ceiling far above, but they had been improved wth intricate brickwork so that spiraling stair cases wide enough for ten horsemen climbed them and bridges ran between the pillars like spreading spiders webs. Palaces and homes dotted the cavern, though they largely seemed built into the walls with vast open areas given over to fungal forests which might once have been something like cropland. Canals crisscrossed the space, many dry but some glutted with dark water and clogged with detritus. There was not a living soul to be seen.

"Wow..." Jocasta breathed in honest awe.

"Is this?..." Jocasta asked, her voice hushed with wonder.

"I don't know." Beren whispered back.

Thw dwarves, for their part, gasped and whispered amongst themselves, but they did not say if this was the ancient stronghold they had originally gone in search of. It had not been a short trek, but it was not nearly as long of a journey as any of them had originally thought, if it was so. Beren placed his hands on his hips and peered out over the chasm to the settlement beyond, illuminated by some form of refracted light from above. Perhaps there were shafts that reached the surface, as that was how many dwarven settlements only a hundred meters below the surface kept alight so they might not expend so many torches. Jocasta giggled, and she planted a bright grub on the tip of Beren's nose.

He crossed his eyes trying to see the little grub, but the small thing merely inched upwards until it lost itself in Beren's thick head of hair. Beren couldn't hide his smile, Jocasta's laughter infectious.

"Got the best seat in the house," She said, knocking the side of Beren's head as if it were a door.

"Yeah, til I bump into something." Beren joked, though truthfully there was little chance of that. Despite how short dwarves were, they tended to make walkways and buildings quite tall and spacious.

"There," Otar said, pointing from their vantage at a structure overlooking the vast chasm. Unlike the other buildings, this one looked disconnected with the others, nor was it attached to any of the natural walls of the cavern. It almost seemed built for overlooking the settlement itself, save for the runes emblazoned along the archway that led into its inner sanctum, and the built-in pool of water at its front.

It took the troupe around fifteen minutes to trek to it, Otar determinedly at the fore while the others followed. Beren took the rear, not trusting keeping Jocasta out of his sight. But they arrived in short order, as small blessing as it was. Gunir was in the middle, protected with his broken arm, though he was loathe to be coddled.

The Temple was large, overbearing and filled with grim splendor. The walls were adorned with mosaics of ancient battles and the pillars were carven with crimson and gold symbols of sharp, crossing angles. Unlit lanterns hung from the ceiling, however Beren, Jocasta, and even a few of the dwarves were surprised to find a lit brazier at the center of the temple, crackling as if someone had tended it not minutes ago. The flames danced along the stained glass windows, each wrought in the shape of a dwarven paragon of ages past. Between each window was a weapon, stout spears, battle axes, and the like. Below them were rows of stout, stone benches to sit upon which were made more pleasant by thin cushions one could use when kneeling or sitting. Beyond the brazier were three statues, each with space at the base of their feet for offerings.

The statue on the left was a fiercesome, barrel chested warrior dwarf covered in runes, his mohawk and twin battle-axes making him seem even larger than his ten foot height might appear, the intricate detail of his visage so realistic, one might think he would leap out and slaughter the one prostrated beneath him at any moment. At the center was a solemn, wise dwarf adorned in fine mail and a tabard with the sigil of the hammer & anvil upon his breast. He wore a great helm, and though in his left hand he bore a hammer and on his back was a round shield, his huge right hand reached out as if to aid whomever called upon him. The last image on the right was a beautiful, albeit matronly dwarf woman. If one looked closely, she wore mail under her skirts and apron, but she bore a simple, albeit elaborately designed, staff. Her hair was tied in braids that cascaded down her rounded shoulders. With her free hand, she looked to be hearkening to the heavens.

It would have all seemed perfect, if the stench of decay were not in the air. The water in the pool outside was blackened by some unknown filth, and within the temple, the central walkway was covered in a thick coating of some sort of greasy, slimy material. It was growing hard even as they stepped along it, sucking at their boots and threatening to overwhelm them with an unpleasant odor that seemed almost a mixture between entrails, grime, and spoiled chicken.

"What filth desecrates this sacred place!?" The old priest cried, rushing up to the head of the wide temple. The pillars stood framing the left and right, almost separating the wide space with what seemed various corridors. At the end of each were smaller busts of lesser gods and ancestors, but many had been cracked or defiled with blood or excrement. At the feet of each great statue, dwarven bones and shreded garments were left as if in mockery of tribute. It was clear this temple had been ransacked, but whatever huge thing had left that trail of mucus... it had been quiet recent.

"Take a guess," Buri said with a smile, looking at the bones with distaste. Radsvir and Varin had taken it upon themselves to warm their hands by the ever-burning flame, kept alit for thousands of years by the old spells.

"Over here!" Beren called. The others turned to see him at a smaller door at the back right of the temple, where the remains of something that been vomited up right at the door, as if the stench alone would ward any any tresspassers. Jocasta grabbed her nose and wretched. "What was it?"

"Not that," Beren remarked, pointing out the door. "That."

The archaeologist blinked and squinted, at first noticing nothing. However, as the moments passed, something immense moved through the streets below. Beren had a good vantage point, seeing the serpent-like body slithering against the once immaculate stone street, and the scaly form rearing up into the upper body of a horrid, enormous batlike monstrosity. Its two curled, wicked arms were held close like a tyrannosaur, and its mutated bat-like head opened its mouth and let out a soft, gasping hiss as it hunted.

Beren silently pushed Jocasta and the dwarves back, closing the door. "We can't camp here tonight."

"I will not leave this place to that abomination," Otar growled. Gunir and Muragrim nodded, hefting their weapons. Beren would normally not have a complaint, but he almost felt like he had two lives here tugging at him. One with his dwarven companions and the other with Jocasta, not that she necessarily needed much protecting. He just doubted she was so keen to battle every horror there was that lurked in the deeps.

"Any ideas?" He asked them aloud.

"We will slay the beast!" Gunir declared, his knuckles tightening on the haft of his axe till his knuckles cracked like the popper of a bullwhip. The other dwarves nodded with similar bellicosity. Jocasta glanced between the dwarves and made an exasperated sound.

"You can't be serious!?" she exploded. "We just barely escaped one dragon and now you want to fight another?" Otar's expression grew lofty.

"Aye lass, we wouldn't expect a human to understand the demands of ancestral honor..."

"Ancestral honor?! Even if you kill that thing... IF you kill it, something just as bad is going to move in the moment we leave," Jocasta snapped.

"Isn't there more honor in actually reclaiming this place by, oh I don't know, living to tell your people where it is?" she demanded. The dwarves were all stony faced and rigid now, their backs well and truly up. She hadn't counted on the Elder race's stubborn streak which her words had inadvertently roused.

"We fight, to the last dwarf if necessary."

_______

"It might work," Beren cajoled the sulking Jocasta as she clandestinley copied down what she could of the dwarven spells and wards into one of her many notebooks. The dwarves were going over a battleplan they had already discussed a dozen times, sketching it out in the dust of the ancient temple's relatively unspoiled vestibule. It was plain to see that Beren was in something of a quandary, he was as obviously wiling to help the dwarves as he was to help anyone else, more so, for he had a kinship with them, but that still didn't quite make him a member of their clannish insular race.

"And it might get us all killed, and before I've even translated any new spells!"

"Can you even read the runes?" Beren asked her, curiously. The two humans in one of the adjacent rooms, using it with the excuse they had a good vantage to overlook the undercity from the open window to their left. It felt more like an indoor porch made of stone, had that not been underground and without the usual elements of the surface world.

"No..." She remarked, a tad defensively. "But it's dwarven runes, you get credit for trying. I'm certain someone knows-..." She stopped her walk of appraisal, eyes popping open wide. "Wait, you know how to read these!"

She rushed over to him and leaned close, and Beren leaned back, one part holding his ground and one part trying to change the subject. "I do, but that's because I earned their trust. And because of that, I have to stay and fight with them." He said, and Jocasta sighed, shaking her head. Beren threw his arms out wide. "I can't just leave them to this alone!"

"I get it, and I won't leave you here alone!" She said suddenly, but after a moment she looked away from him and seemed to realize what she had declared. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms. "Besides, it's not like I would survive long in the underworld alone anyway."

Beren grinned, suddenly standing very close to her. She tried to hide behind her hair, but he had leaned in close enough to where she couldn't avoid him. "That the only reason?" He asked her teasingly.

A guttural clearing of the throat drew their attention, and the two turned to see Gurin standing in the doorway, almost filling it with his squat and armored frame. He raised an eyebrow, and Beren made a show of looking past Jocasta's shoulder to peer over the edge of the windowless gap. "Coast looks clear," He remarked absently.

"That's because the beast approaches." Gunir said, and his mouth quirked in a half smile, though his eyes remained hard. "The lass knows a few tricks, aye? We were hoping ye would use them for a small distraction if the beast ever seems to have too much time on his hands. And as for ye, lad, it's time to get yer axe. We've slaying to do."

"Fine," Jocasta responded testily, "but ill need some chalk."

__

The creature appeared to make long circuits of the city. Its path was evident from the tumbled masonry where it had squeezed past structures as well as a sheen where some kind of slime had been ground into the cavern floor. The primary path, a result of hunting or territoriality, was glossy with long use but lesser swaths of destruction demonstrated that the beast wasn't limited to its circuit. Jocasta had wondered allowed if the thing ever slept, but apparently its functions were basic enough to keep running even in what passed for rest.

"Everyone in position?" Jocasta asked as she peered over the ruin of what must have once been a smithy. This area seemed to have been industrial, though it seemed even normal dwarven homes were likely to have a small forge inside. Judging by the number of metal debris scattered around that wasn't just a religious consideration. Beren gave her a thumbs up from his position across the street, indicating the dwarves were ready. Jocasta unfastened her earrings and held them in her cupped hands. She closed her eyes and whispered a spell then breathed outwards onto the little metal dragonflies. Her breath came out as golden mist which whirled around the earrings like water flowing down a drain. Both earrings twitched and began to move, beating little wings that were suddenly more than wire and glass. The fingernail sized insects fluttered up into the air and began to buzz around Jocasta's face, darting in and out to pluck at stray hairs.

"Stop that," she whispered and then told them what she wanted. They buzzed skeptically, but then took off down the road at the speed of panicked sparrows. They spread out to either side of the street, buzzing low as though something so small could possibly be interesting to something so vast. As they approached the lifted suddenly and spread apart. Arcs of electricity jumped from one to the other as they rose until they were buzzing around the monsters enormous head. It roared as the miniature storm crackled around its head, snapping its enormous jaws this way and that. Its very size worked against it, the air it disturbed buffeting the little dragonflies out of its path as teeth the length of Jocasta's forearms clashed impotently. The beast thrash, smashing several buildings that had stood for thousands of years to piles of rubble as it twisted, spewing massive amounts of dust that light the little stabs of magic like mariners flares. It was so big that it appeared to move slowly, like a distant landslide as it turned and snapped at its tiny attackers, already fleeing back down the street whence they had come. It shook dust from every building in the city as its belly hit the ground and it began to slither after the two dragonflies, gaining speed slowly but inexorably as its vast stomach muscles contracted in kinetic zig-zags that made Jocasta queasy to watch. Less queasy if it hadn't been headed right for her.

"If this thing kills me I swear I will haunt every last dwarf," Jocasta muttered as she gathered her arcane energies. The beast was coming on a tremendous rate of speed now, kicking up a bow wave of broken masonry as it closed on the fleeing dragonflies. It opened its mouth and roared, blasting Jocasta with a cloacal stench she could have done without ever having experienced. The noise was literally stunning drowning out even the hammer of rock on rock for a few seconds. Beren was shouting something over the ringing in her ears but all she could do was lift her hand and stare at the chalk mark she had placed on the street. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her guts felt like acid as she spoke the arcane phrase. At first nothing seemed to happen and she panicked, thinking that she had botched the spell, then the creature began to flail erratically as it began to slide out of control. A hundred foot section of road was suddenly coated with an inch thick layer of bacon grease. The beast was massive, but is very bulk and momentum worked against it as it suddenly couldn't get any traction. It skidded past Jocasta's hiding spot, thrashing about desperately for purchase before smashing into one of the stalagmite towers a second after a bow wave of greasy white fat. The sound was like the world ending. Masonry exploded as the ancient stairway was crushed to powder. Hundred pound pieces of stairway began to rain down, ripping free one after the other and tumbling onto the beast as the dwarven construction came down in an incredible vista of destruction.

The beast went into spastic convulsions as it was pummeled from above by the rain of stone. Incredibly it was still alive, though when it pulled its head free of the wreck, three of its five compound eyes had been smashed to jelly. It screamed in rage and confusion as it pulled free, throwing rock in all directions. Jocasta coughed and belatedly pulled her scarf up over her face.

"Well," she gasped in a tiny voice, "I cant to all the work for you."

Beren blinked dust out of his vision, gripping his axe hard as the leviathan came back into view. Jocasta's tricks had harmed it, but unless they moved quickly while it was down, it was still immensely dangerous, and now enraged. It brushed aside debris and shoved away stones larger than Beren with its colossal sinews, raising its grotesque head high to bellow. Beren and the dwarves clamped their hands over their ears to keep their ear drums from shattering. Even shielded, Beren heard something deep in its throat burr, giving the monk the image of a shoddy tank engine sputtering to retain life. Unfortunately, that seemed to be a unique aspect of its mutated anatomy rather than any sign of ill-health.

Beren picked his axe back up again, taking a deep breath before he played his part. Just as he was about to step out into the open, a strong hand clamped on his forearm. It was Otar, eyes closed and his beard shifting as he whispered, laying a blessing on the tanned younger warrior. Beren felt a thrum of something indescribable pass between the two of them, and the pendant under his shirt lit up like a flaring torch.

"May Runar go with you," He remarked solemnly.

"Fucking run, long legs!" Radsvir hooted. Beren gave the two dwarves a thumbs-up, a small sign of assurance or agreement the dwarves had developed millennia ago. Then he turned and sprung out of the archway, skidding into the street right before the thrashing behemoth. The spined fins framing its ugly head fluttered, sensing movement, and it turned to gaze its two remaining eyes at Beren. They looked lifeless, like a fish's, and yet he could somehow see a malign web of cruel thought behind the uncaring orbs.

Beren glanced at Jocasta's hiding spot, knowing she likely saw him. He gave a wink, before turning tail and running up the central street. It took less than the time to blink before a reverberating growl erupted behind him, followed by the sound of crashing stones as the gargantuan serpent gave chase, it's immense shape moving side to side like molasses to the untrained eye, and yet even damaged, it was gaining on Beren in a straight run. The nimble warrior made it to the turn, spinning into a leap and planting his foot against the opposite wall, redirecting his momentum and landing in full sprint, now heading down the left street. Moments later, the immense beast crashed into the building Beren had used to spring board his run, breaking its foundations, causing it to fall into itself, crumbling and sending up further waves of dust. The beast was not deterred, its scales blocking most of the debris as it continued its pursuit.

Feet pumping, Beren leaped over ancient rubble from a previously felled structure, and then slid beneath a long, three foot thick arch of stone set above the street, a picture of the daily life of the ancient dwarves, sculpted along its length in a mosiac, likely built by ancient dwarf artisans to give the street more grandeur. Beren looked back over his shoulder, watching the leviathan slam into the arch he had just passed under like a flood, shattering the stone. It bellowed again, this time in rage, but rather than continue his forward pace, Beren saw a light ahead, and skidded to a halt, leaping to the right down a small space between two massive structures and landing on his side. He had leaped, and just before he had thrown himself out of the street, he had seen a terrific flash.

There was a crack and a resounding boom that rivaled the beast's horrific screams, and blacksmoke rose out of the din as Beren collected himself. For a moment there was a deafening silence, and the warrior monk, now on his feet, crept to the edge of the alley, peering down. To his right, Gurin with his broken arm, and fat Buri, stood atop a broad flight of steps at the edge of the street, just under the grand pillars of one of the outer citadels. Before them, a huge cannon engraved with imperial dwarven regalia in brass smoked from a fresh shot. Beren looked left, and he saw the beast down, the vast bulk of its serpentine center opened by a huge gash. It looked small, but Beren felt it was equivalent to being shot with a blunderbuss in his abdomen.

"Wishful thinking," he breathed as he watched in growing alarm.

The monstrous mutant began to writhe, and gave a hiss that was louder than a steam train's whistle. Fangs as large as Beren's legs glinted in the sallow light, and for a moment he was frozen, wondering if the thing was simply in its death throes. The dwarves held no such fascination or curiosity, however. Out of the buildings they came, axes and mattocks in their brawny hands. Radsvir and Varin came from the opposite street, huge picks with armor piercing heads made for wartime held aloft as they charged. Muragrim came out of the building next to Beren like a vengeful ghost, double-headed axe reared back as the black bearded mercenary went straight for the thing's head. Electrocuted, crushed by rocks, and shot dead center by a large cannon, and it was still ready to fight. Beren had to admit the monster was tenacious, and though he was usually loathe to kill beasts, he had looked into its eyes and had seen wickedness. Grimly, he strapped his axe onto his back, turned to the intricate designs carved on the wall on the massive apartment next to him, using them as handholds to climb.

Varin and Radsvir, the latter who must have followed immediately and made it to position with his long legs, found what could pass for the thing's 'neck' and impaled it with their mattocks, piercing scale and sinking into the softer flesh beneath. Muragrim reached its bat-like face, rolling under a sudden snap of its jaws and planting his axe into the fish-like vestige on the side of its great head. It shrieked and wriggled with unyielding strength, knocking Radsvir back while Varin clung to his weapon desperately. The beast flung its head, ripping Muragrim's axe out of his hand. The burly dwarf tore out a thick knife from his boot and followed, leaping as the head swung back and, grabbing onto the spines along its head, stabbing into any weak spot he could find. Beyond them all, a voice rang in the air. An sonorous voice, brimming with wisdom and speaking in the ancient tongue of their forefathers. The voice found itself in every door, ever corner, and could be heard across the city as it intoned a dirge. Suddenly, the weapons of the dwarves burst into flame, their steel heads turning dark from the immense heat. Even Muragrim's axe, embedded in the thing's skull, began to sear the skin around it.

Radsvir, having hit the wall and fallen on his rump, managed to dust himself off and take out his short sword. The blade symmetrical with hard edges like most dwarven weapons, wrought in the mountains of Gradlock in the far off east. The steel bled with flame, and he smiled wickedly as he ran forward back into the fray. He leaped over flung rubble, and on the downswing, took off one of the small vestigial fins on the side of the massive mutant's body. He landed, and his first act now he was on his two feet was to shove the blade into the huge body up to its hilt. Thanks to Otar's incantation, the blade slid in easier than the mattocks. At this point, the entirety of the colossal thing's body frozen up and bristled, before slowly but surely, it began to roll. The beast had changed tactics. Radsvir yelped and leaped to the left, scrambling free of the path of its bulk. Muragrim was flung from the head, hitting the ground in a roll. Of Varin there was no sign, having last been seen hanging on to the mattock. Inexorably, the roll brought the vast serpent's form to slam into the buildings opposite. Pottery and loose stones fell from above, crashing and clattering into the stone of the street. At that, finally free of the dwarves and their wicked weapons, it used what strength it had left to rear its head high, maw open to cry out in defiance.

"Woegrim's arse!" Gurin cried when he saw what happened next, pointing in the air. Buri gasped.

A muscled, lean form almost seemed to glide from the rooftops of the left apartments. In its hands was a large handaxe, flame waving madly in the rushing air as it was lifted above its head. Beren let out a warcry that echoed across the street, and with the arc of his axe carried by the momentum of his leap and his powerful arms, the enchanted head sliced through bone and muscle into the beast's brain, ending its life without the monstrous behemoth even realizing it. Its maw gave a strangled, almost pitiful gasp as its still form held for a breif moment, a great pillar of muscle and bone, before it slowly started to sway. Beren held onto his axe, shaking from the adrenaline. He grabbed whatever he could, his free right hand gripping one of its massive fangs. Everyone watching saw the monumental head inexorably topple, falling like one might see a huge tree be felled, or a large keep hit by a warwolf trebuchet. Both Beren and the head fell headlong, and the next moment, crashed into a stone building, disappearing behind a veritable explosion of debris as tons of stone crumbling upon the both of them.

The silence that followed sounded much like that of the grave.

“Beren!” Jocasta screamed as she stumbled through the cloud of stinging dust towards where he beast and monk had impacted the ground. It was impossible to think that anyone could have survived such an impact but her mind refused to countenance the possibility. The whole place stank of bacon grease, ancient dust, and the vile admixture of fluids and burned flesh of the creature had given off in its last few seconds of life. Jocasta reached the head of the beast and began to furiously tug at the tumbled wreckage of masonry. Still animated by her spell, the dragonflies also began to work, picking up tiny pebbles and tossing them aside in a whir of wings.

“Lass…” Otar said gently, “he fought bravely but…” Jocasta whirled on the dwarf, eyes blazing. She thrust a fingertip into his chest like he point of a spear.

“No!” she snapped, “you morons wanted this fight for your honor or whatever.” Jocasta made an expansive gesture to encompass the devastation all around them.

“When we could have just left and been fine. I helped you as a favor so now…you will help me dig,” she snapped punctuating each word with a thrust of her finger to Otar’s chest that sent the stocky dwarf stumbling backwards in retreat. The priest dropped his weapon and grabbed a stone, pulling it free. The other dwarves took his example and within moments an orderly excavation was underway. The dwarves were clearly naturals at the work, picking stones in a way that prevented a cave in. Jocasta wracked her brain for a spell that could help, but found nothing. Instead the dragonflies crawled into he interstices of the stone seeking pockets beneath. After a few moments one of the little constructs emerged, carrying a few grains of a fine white sand. Jocasta scowled at the little golem but Otar’s sucked in breath prevented it. He shouted something in Dwarven and the party redoubled its efforts, pulling stones free in a virtual frenzy until they exposed a strangely rectangular face of compact white sand. It was apparently moist enough to stay together although that didn’t explain how it was withstanding the tons of weight atop it.

“What in the name of the …” Jocasta began.

“A Casting,” Otar pronounced as though this made everything clear. With a muttered prayer he reached out and the sand retreated from his hand as though blow by he wind. It opened to reveal a cavity in which Beren lay, unconscious but whole. There were several inches of space to spare in all directions but it was obvious the monk lay in a larger than life hollow that mirrored the dimensions of his own body. Jocasta, her antiquarian interest returning with the sight of an apparently alive Beren thrust her head into the space, trying to map it with her mind. It looked ‘like’ Beren’s body but it wasn’t, it was proportionally shorter and thicker and the negative space that would have been a space had a definite beard. Otar and Radsvir reached in and seized Beren by the ankles, dragging him out of the space.

“Why doesn’t it collapse?” Jocasta asked aloud, reaching out to touch the sand. It was yielding beneath her fingertips but flowed back into position the moment she withdrew the digits.

“It wont collapse until the statue is cast,” Otar supplied with monumental unhelpfulness.

“I never thought I’d live to see such a thing, and for a human,” Varin said in a voice intermingled with pain and awe. Jocasta turned to look at him and noticed blood bubbling at his lips, one pupil blown in a bloodshot eye. The dwarf sat heavily and began to cough, spraying blood onto he arm he used to shield his face.

Beren had dreamed, but what he had dreamed he couldn't remember. There was something elusive in his thoughts, something he couldn't quite grasp, and as he opened his eyes, it faded away into nothingness. He was suddenly aware he was covered up by rough blankets, his shirt having been stripped off and his axe and staff were lain beside him. His head was propped on the soft end of his pack, and the ceiling above was so tall, he almost could not see it from the dim lighting. A fire crackled noisily, and he turned his head slightly to watch small embers leaping onto the cold, stone floor as Jocasta placed another piece of kindling in the fire. The dwarves had brought a few wooden logs for just such an occasion, and they were known the world over for making a fire in even the worst conditions. Across the fire, the fat merchant Buri slept, snoring loudly.

"I thought I was dead," Beren chuckled. Jocasta sprang up and turned, lips parted as she scampered to him. Immediately her hand moved his hair and felt his forehead, and the other pulled the blankets up further.

"You call me crazy? Don't ever do something like that again." She lectured.

"Waking up a draugr king for research purposes is kind of crazy," He pointed out, raising his brows.

"I did not know that was going to happen!" She responded, a bit sulkily. "Anyway, the dwarves went deeper into the city. I thought it was for some honor thing, but Otar thinks he can heal Varin by finding some shrine. He was pretty injured..."

"I should help," Beren said, duty immediately coming into his mind. He started to rise, the blanket falling off his muscled shoulders. Jocasta protested, trying to push him down with her hands before giving an exasperated sigh and dropping atop his chest, rump first. Beren immediately fell back to the floor, Jocasta now sitting on him, arms crossed. "Your butt hits harder than the building." He said, and she burst out laughing. He groaned and still tried to lift himself. "At least let me sit up!"

She acquiesced and scooted over, which meant she was now on his lap again. He braced himself with his hands and sat up fully. His pendant hanging from his bare chest glinted in the firelight. He might have been a warrior monk, from a secret order originating high in the mountains across the sea, but with his tanned skin with wan scars and his unruly mane of dark hair, he looked more like a barbarian from the fringes of civilization. Except for his lopsided smile.

"You did good with the beast." He complimented her. "Those earrings are badass. Who got those for you, by the way?"

“These old things?” Jocasta asked tapping one ear ring with a fingernail. It twisted slightly on the brass swivel and Beren swore he saw the insect blink at him. Jocasta’s lips turned up in a mischievous grin made all the more exaggerated by the fact that one of the glow worms chose that moment to peak from beneath her tunic and illuminate her from below.

“Oh just some muscle bound fool,” she replied with deliberate offhandedness. She tapped her lip as though considering.

“Handsome too now that I think of it,” she admitted with a further twitch of her lip.

“A bit on the stubborn side though,” she teased, “kind of like a dwarf in that respect.”

“Reminds me a bit of a golem I once made,” Jocasta snickered, remembering the false Beren she had conjured to lead the mercenary wizards away.

“Sounds like quite the guy,” Beren replied lifting both eyebrows with a grin.

“So long as he doesn’t get himself killed getting into damn fool battles on behalf of his companions,” Jocasta stuck in, unable to quite let it go.

“That was…”

“That was a matter of honor,” Jocasta said in a credible imitation of Beren’s voice, though necessarily higher in pitch and timbre. She thrust a finger into his still sore chest.

“If your sense of honor gets you killed, I swear I will kill you myself,” she promised, only half joking.

Beren watched her spectacle, thoroughly enjoying Jo just being herself. It was difficult to describe how he was feeling. He had just been through one of the most horrific experiences in most people's lives, and then had a building fall on him. But he wakes up and Jocasta pops over, and he was enjoying every word, every movement, every idiosyncrasy. If he had a mirror he would have advised himself not to be so obvious about it.

"I don't sound like that..." He said though he was grinning, but she cut him off and poked his chest, talking to him about honor. His grin disappeared, and he looked at her with pure honesty.

"I'm not gonna die." He replied, shaking his head. He meant it. "You tell me to jump I jump, you tell me to stay alive I will. We're a team. We have been since I pegged that Orc with a wooden chest."

"And I opened that hole in the ground that sent us to the draugr caves," She said, remembering it fondly. The memory of magic bringing sparkles to her eyes.

"And it looked like a tiger and swallowed us..." He said, the glow worm now having popped back down her shirt, and glanced at. Beren shook his head.

"What are you looking at?" She asked.

"I'm just jealous of that little guy." He said, resignedly. "It's your best quality."

Beren held it together for a good two seconds as she realized what he said, but his face twisted into a laugh and she burst out laughing too, acting like she was going to hit him. Instead she just tapped his chest, trying to push her smile away. "I guess we have that in common..."

Their laughter died away as they looked at one another, their lips parting and their faces drawing together to finally share a kiss they had been waiting on for months...

The ground started undulating violently. Jocasta nearly flew off of Beren, and it was lucky they hadn't banged their faces into one another. A thunderous roar rolled all around them, and a cacophony of cracks sounded around the immense cavern overlooking the city. Beren kept her from launching into the rocks, but despite the immediate danger, Beren looked for all the world like he had just lost an important card game rather than being thrust into an earthquake underground.

"Why!? Why can't I kiss her? Is it me? Is it something I did!?" He exclaimed, and gave a guttural curse in dwarfish. Jocasta unsteadily got to her feet, the rumbling slightly subsiding enough to allow movement, and across the fire Buri bounced twice before the rock his body fell on opened him up, halting his snorting. With a small word, Jocasta's earrings hopped off her ears, zipping around to go and locate the other dwarves.

She thrust his shirt into his arms and whispered. "Soon!"

"We need to find the others," He said, swiftly pulling his shirt down over himself. "I'll go and-"

This time she did give him a punch in the stomach. Not hard, but enough to make his sore form feel it. "What did we just talk about!?" She cried.

He paused, and then nodded. "Alright, we'll get out of here. But we can't go far. Buri!"

"What in the blazes!?" The dwarf barked, running a fat hand over his eyes and grimacing. Across the endless chasm, buildings collapsed in cascading showers of rocks. "The whole city's going down!"

Jocasta had the momentary impression that trying to kiss Beren had caused the earthquake. In fact, perhaps kissing Beren inevitably summoned disasters. The whole cavern was shaking itself apart before in a cacophony of screaming rock and shattering masonry. A great crevasse ripped across the middle of the Dwarf city tumbling houses and great monumental buildings like waves crashing on sandcastles. Great gouts of sulfurous gas gouted from below, filling the air with the reek of volcanism. There was a titanic cracking noise as one of the massive stalactites came away from the cavern roof. It seemed to fall in slow motion, gracefully sliding down into what must have been a palace. Dust exploded outwards in a billowing cloud as thousands of pounds of stone crashed to earth.

“We have to get out of here,” Jocasta declared in what might have been the most self evident statement she had ever made.

“But the others…” Buri began before obviously realizing there was nothing they could do to shelter the rest of the party from a disaster on this scale.

“We can regroup later!” Jocasta snapped, “Assuming we aren’t pancakes!” Buri nodded and took off at a run. Jocasta didn’t bother to ask, merely sprinting after him at best speed. Behind them the roar of breaking rocks grew worse as the ceiling, perhaps weakened when the stalactite had fallen began to crumble inwards, raining down in a shower of rocks and boulders. Buri ran straight for the nearest cavern wall, hurdling over a low fungus garden wall before emerging onto a long boulevard that terminated in a gate of sorts that had been hewed into the rock of the cavern. A pair of blindfolded dwarf statues held hands up in bar. The rock fall was very close behind them know, the smaller pebbles of the leading edge raining down on them as they ran. Larger boulders fell among them as the dust and grit closed in front of them like an enveloping rain storm. Jocasta threw herself into the shelter of the tunnel only a few heartbeats before a boulder the size of a wagon crashed upon the place she had been standing a moment before. She hit Buri and tripped, throwing out her arms to cart wheel awkwardly before hitting a wall and slumping to the ground.

Rocks and gravel continued to pour through the opening for several seconds before the rumbling and the stones subsided. Jocasta sat against the wall, panting hard. Beren, his axe slung across his back was doubled over, breathing hard with his hands on his thighs. Buri lay senseless on the floor, his head bleeding from a gash where a rock had struck him. The tunnel around them was regular, clearly dug or improved by the dwarves of the city, and it’s walls were covered by an impressive mosaic which stretched off into the darkness. Time had not spared the mosaic, broken tiles had flecked away from the wall over the years and lay like dandruff by the tunnel walls but the overall images were still distinguishable. The small colored tiles depicted dwarves of all ages and trades, marching down into the earth, weapons and tools held aloft.

“What is this?” Jocasta asked, peering closer as the glow worms re-emerged from their hiding places.

“It’s a Funerary Road,” Beren said.

“Families would bear their dead down into the tunnels below the city. Each family would have a particular place, sometimes secret places to lay their dead to rest,” Beren replied, picking pebbles out of his hair.

“Actually Jocasta, it’s the road to the tavern where they kept all the booze and food and fun magical items,” Jocasta said in her Beren impersonation. “Plus there is a bath and a magical portal to the surface.”

“What the hell are you talking about girl?” Buri demanded somewhat groggily.

“It seems if I want good news I need to get it from myself,” Jocasta replied.

"Do I really sound like that?" Beren asked Buri as the dwarf was unsteadily rising. Beren had a relatively deep, noticeably smooth voice. But of course it was always hard to hear how others heard one's timbre. For his part, Buri almost fell flat on his face again. Unfortunately, Buri was most definitely the least fit of all the dwarves, with a well groomed beard and attire more suited for a day merchant than any sort of dangerous travel. His small merchant's cap had fallen off, the dwarf grabbing it groggily.

"She makes a good effort," He said by way of an answer. The dwarf groaned, blinking away the spots in his eyes. It said something about the dwarven race, that even the most coddled were tough enough to get up after a head wound that would have left a man on death's door. "Better than I could, least ways."

The darkness, even with the glow worms, was still all-encompassing to the senses. Beren reached into his pack, grabbing the second to last torch. Buri grunted, taking out a small flint and tinder from his belt.

"I could just make some light, you know." Jocasta reasoned, her hands opening up as if emulating a small burst.

"I don't know much about magic, but a torch should be ok for now. I have a spare, and you should conserve what energy you have." The warrior monk said, unstrapping his axe as Buri set the torch alight. The sparks caught, and the flame whooshed to life. Buri handed it to Beren. The handsome warrior took it gingerly. "Buri, stay at the back. Jo, stay between us, and I'll take the lead."

"Alright, boy. But if we have to run, just remember my legs aren't that long." He complained. Beren grinned as Buri started muttering about the mead and salted pork he missed from back home. His voice echoed gently through the chasm. "Only reason I came was fer the wealth. Aye, the legends had me as enthralled as the next dwarf, but I was promised funds! Not traipsing around in the darkness..." His accent and the rolling r's caused his voice to doubly reverberate along the stone.

As they crept along, the mosaic grew noticeably cracked, bits of stone flaking off of the walls. Beren had expected it, and it nearly made him as forlorn as a proper dwarf. He decided to change the subject. "You know, speaking of funerary rights, there's probably some good research opportunities up ahead." He chimed in to Jocasta.

"That's true..." She said, mulling it over. Her earrings had zipped back onto her ears obediently, a glow worm propped up on her shoulder, like a miniature lamp.

"And there's probably an outpost up ahead too, with beer and running water." He continued conversationally. It was just a hunch, but as long as there were tunnels that led out into the underworld, there was always a guard station.

"Really?" She said, hope in her voice.

"Really?" He echoed, his voice as high pitched as he could manage. Jocasta stuck her tongue out at Beren and he responded by giggling like a boy.

"I'll turn you into a frog," She threatened, wiggling her fingers. A glow worm was just at the brink of her heavy bosom now, casting a light above and giving her cheekbones and eyes a shadowed, eerie look like a mad witch. He doubted she could do that, even if she wasn't playing around, but still it made him shake his head.

"Oh, so you can make fun of me, but when I do it-"

"When I do it it's tasteful-" She asserted, tossing her hair back.

They bickered for a few more moments, both failing to suppress smiles as they continued until Buri cleared his throat. "Oi, are the both of ye gonna flirt or can we keep going?"

"He/She started it," the remarked in unison.

Buri mumbled something in dwarvish that was clearly derogatory. Jocasta placed her hands on Beren's left shoulder and got on her tip toes. "What did he say?" She whispered.

"You don't wanna know," He whispered back.

The chasm soon blossomed into a hollow cavity in the endless stone. Initially it was a natural widening, but it sharpely turned with hard right angles. They stood just outside of the main structure, and from where they had entered, they saw there were three levels of the 'graveyard,' every dwarf body either interred within the well-carved walls, or in stone tombs inlaid with runes along each level. The stairways were easily accessible and wide.

Stout, protuberant pillars stretched from ground floor to tiled ceiling, drawing the eye upwards to see an incredible piece of artistry. Every tile was hexagonal, and every hexagonal shape was filled with sparkling gilded veins that had been formed into runes that spoke the name of every dwarf interred within. At its center, one large hexagon held an immaculate canvas of Mahal, the fortress guarding the dwarven afterlife.

"Muradin's beard..." Beren muttered, and Jocasta grabbed his hand as she looked skyward with him.

"Aye..." Buri agreed, taking his hat off in respect. A few moments later, he added: "The most wealth I've seen here, and I would be damned for eternity if I touched any of it. The gods have a way of testing you."

"Did your little bugs see any signs of the others?" Buri demanded. Jocasta was studying funerary inscriptions, making notes in her notebook. Beren, who had been travelling with her for some time now, noticed that the book never seemed to fill up, no matter how many scrawled notes and hasty diagrams were drawn on its pages. He shook his head, dismissing it as yet another of Jocasta's seemingly endless quirks.

"They didn't see them no," Jocasta explained as she copied down what appeared to be a warding spell of some kind. There was enough similiarity in dwarven surnames that she thought maybe she could begin to create a key to deiciphering the writting language, if she lived long enough and had the lesuire.

"But from what I did see it didn't look like the collapse was that far across the city. Assuming there is anything of the city left at all, I'd say they have a pretty good chance." She paused to trace a rune stone with a fingertip.

"Of course, they are as stuck down here as we are and we might all starve to death before we find the surface," she added cheerfully.

"The dwarf roads might be a way out. Assuming they aren't collapsed and the Gundarogs haven't completely overrun them," Buri replied, sounding stoic if not exactly confident.

"Little chance of the latter, but if we can get through, we might make it to some dwarfhold or a minehead," Beren replied seizing on the idea at once. Buri looked skeptical.

"It's near a thousand miles to the nearest hold I know of, not much shy of that to any shafts," he cautioned.

"Its not as though we have any better ideas," Beren countered. Jocasta lifted her head to interject when Buri cocked his head curiously to the side. A moment later Beren's eyes narrowed.

"What?!" Jocasta demanded.

"Gundarogs," the pair answered at once in identically grim tones.

"The earthquake must have stired up the hornets nest," Beren concluded grimly.

"Inside?" Jocasta asked, finishing up her scibbling with a flourish of her pen. Well, she seemed about to finish, before she saw something else that had her furiously writing again. It was at that point Beren picked her up and draped her over his shoulder as he and Buri ran to the stairs that led into the grand mausoleum. Jocasta got the last bit of a rune inscripted onto the page before she dropped the book back in her pack and smoothed her hair out of her eyes. She saw Buri huffing and puffing behind them, the fat dwarf making it up the stairs in good time for one who's legs were so short.

"Jo, get your helpers to see if there are any other exits around this place." Beren told her, gently setting her on her feet.

"You heard 'em, get going." She said as she clapped twice, the two little drones hopping off her ears with energetic buzzing and zoomed off in two different directions.

The floor they were on looked incredibly ancient from the dust and the indecipherable inscriptions, yet the magnificent craftsmanship of the dwarves made it seem as if it were made only a day prior to its discovery. Dozens of sarcophagi, topped with immaculate and gilded stone effigies of every dwarf interred, lined the chasmal hall. Every few tombs, there were smaller mausoleums; arched sepulcher tombs for what looked to be resting places of even higher status dwarves. To Buri and Beren's lament, a few of the stones had been undone and some of the doors had been smashed in, but it was only light damage for a room that must have existed for over four thousand years.

"There looks like there's only two exits, one up and one down." Beren said.

"Aye, there wasn't much ceremony here like in the great masoleums in the center of the city." Buri remarked, which gave Beren a tight-lipped smile. Not much ceremony to a dwarf meant they only made perfect sculputes of every deceased and the family would still visit and recite their name and deeds and would hum dirges for hours to give proper respect. Still, he took Buri's meaning.

The drones careened back to Jocasta in unison, buzzing intermittently in what Beren could only guess was either in code or soft voices only she could hear. Either way, she understood them.

"There's smaller openings upstairs, but nothing but an arrow could fit in them. Other than the broken wall behind us and the stairway, that's all that anyone can use to get in." She said quickly. "I think we should go upstairs where there's only one way at us."

"And leave this floor for the wretches!?" Buri huffed, but as he looked around, he realized the strategy of it.

"One entrance also means one exit. So we'll have nowhere to run, either." Beren remarked. "But I guess it's better than being flanked. Jo, head upstairs. Buri, help me get a few of these slabs up there."

Jocasta nodded. "I'll set up what wards I can. Maybe give them a few surprises?" She said before bounding up the stairs. Buri and Beren grabbed a large slab and began carrying it, the stone even more weighty than it appeared.

"Have you ever fought Gundarogs before?" Beren asked the dwarf.

The merchant nodded. "Aye," but added uneasily. "Er, when I was a beardling. Managed to kill one too."

The two of them took the stairs, Beren walking backwards as Buri pushed. That news didn't bode well. Beren knew the fat dwarf was less combat experienced than all his fellows, save potentially for Varin the youngest, but he wasn't expecting to have killed more Gundarogs than him, considering the disparity of their lifespans.