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sonofkhaz · 7 years ago

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The Cave - A Dwarf’s Story

[Note: This is a story I wrote back in April 2015. It was the first ‘long’ story I wrote. While I have changed the wording in some parts, most of it has remained the same for the sake of comparing and contrasting how I wrote things back then as to how I write them now.]

Nulric Ironcrag gazed into a small hand mirror as he continued to scratch his face. Over the past few months, his facial hair had grown exponentially, culminating into a short beard that covered his jaw and lips. His beard was mere peach fuzz in comparison to his father's, of course, but it was growing rapidly. By Khaz'goroth, it itched! How could dwarves grow such long beards and not go crazy from the itching?

“Nulric, lad!” a woman's voice cried out in another room. “Are you done preening yet? Your father is waiting!”

Nulric grunted and put back the hand mirror back on his dresser. Straightening himself, he looked around his bedroom briefly – it was a small, ascetic space, only used for sleeping and changing clothes. The Ironcrags were not impoverished, but they could not afford extravagant items. Grabbing his tool belt from his bed, he fastened it around his waist and left.

The young dwarf started climbing down the stairs. Towards the last few steps, he nearly tripped on a wooden object left on the stairs. Nulric picked it up; it was one of many toys owned by his toddler sister, Brilathel. Nulric rotated the object in his hand for several seconds; it was a wooden horse, with little wooden wheels attached to the legs and a small rope tied around the horse's muzzle. Brilathel's father had purchased the toy from a wandering peddler who claimed the toy was made in the distant human lands of Lordaeron.

Wishing his sister wouldn't leave her toys in spots where he could be easily hurt, Nulric continued on. In order to exit the Ironcrag homestead, he had to pass through the forge room, where his mother worked. Entering the room, he noticed his mother, Misirlyl, hard at work at the anvil, hammering away at a large piece of metal – likely a new shield for a Mountaineer, Nulric guessed. Picking up his pick-axe which rested against the door's frame, he started to open the door.

“And just where do you think you're going?” said a voice behind him.

Nulric turned around and saw his mother staring at him, her hands on her hips.

“You know where I'm going, ma,” Nulric started, “Father and I gotta go south-east, and--”

“And you're just going to walk out there,” Misirlyl interrupted, “dressed like that?”

Nulric looked down at his apparel. He wore a white miner's shirt with brown overalls and black work boots. “What's wrong with my clothes?”

“You expect to ride out into the wilderness without a cloak?”

Nulric pouted and threw his arms up in frustration, his pick-axe still clutched in his hands. “The hard winter months are over, ma! You don't have to treat me like a kid anymore!”

Misirlyl moved a string of dark hair from her forehead and pointed her hammer at Nulric. “You may not be a child anymore, but you still act like one at times!” she gestured towards the nearby cloak rack. “Do it. I don't need my oldest son dying from the cold, of all things.”

Nulric grumbled as he began to put on extra layers of clothing. While the temperatures did change in Dun Morogh, it was always winter in the ancestral home of the dwarven folk. Misirlyl walked around her forge and stood in front of Nulric as he bundled up, a smile on her face.

“There,” sighed Nulric. “Happy now?”

“Absolutely,” said Misirlyl, pointing towards the door. “Your father is waiting on the other side of the village with the rams. Make me proud, boy.”

“I'll try my best, ma.” said Nulric, rolling his eyes.

Misirlyl put her arms around Nulric and gave him a great big hug. Despite the fact that Nulric was larger than his mother, Misirlyl's daily work at the anvil gave her impressive muscles. Nulric couldn't help but wince as the life was squeezed out of him.

After saying his farewells to his mother, Nulric went outside, the frigid winds of Dun Morogh hitting his face as soon as he shut the door. While the beard was irritable as hell, Nulric secretly admitted it kept his face warm. The young man made his way through Brewnall village, greeting his neighbors as he passed by. There was Bodric, the brewer. Kindly Old Greta, who knew the recipe for the greatest boar pie ever tasted. Padragard, a village Mountaineer that offered lessons on how to fire a blunderbuss.

Nulric stopped in his tracks when he saw a woman in her early twenties walking towards him. She was beautiful, her long blond hair braided into tails that reached her chest. She had a twinkle in her eye, and a bright look to her face, which was a contrast to many of the stoic, weathered denizens of the village. Nulric continued to walk down the street, nervously trying to avoid eye contact.

“Hi, Nulric.” greeted the woman as they approached one another.

“Oh,” said Nulric as he stopped in his tracks. He felt his heart skip a beat. “I...how's it going, Brytiva?”

Brytiva smiled and showed Nulric the bundle of furs she was carrying. “Just taking these back home for father to inspect.” she tilted her head at Nulric's pick-axe and tool belt. “Where are you headed off to?”

“South-east of Kharanos.” replied Nulric. “My father and I are helping a mining operation at some cave. This is my first time I've been so far away from home.”

“Well, I'm sure you'll do great. You've been trained well,” said Brytiva, adjusting the weight of the furs beneath her arm. “I better get going. We can talk more once you come back to the village.”

Brytiva gave Nulric a warm smile and returned to her task. Nulric offered her a sheepish wave, butterflies in his stomach. After a long pause, he turned around and returned to his task as well, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. When did it get so hot all of a sudden?

NOT BEFORE LONG, Nulric found himself at the edge of the village. He saw his father, Olkam, arguing with a gnome, who was likely traveling from Gnomeregan. The gnome had a runty looking ram with him; the poor beast was cursed with the responsibility of hauling a wagon full of the gnome's baubles, knick-knacks, and “inventions”.

“I already told you, gnome,” sighed Olkam, “I am simply not interested! Not even for a lower price.”

“But master dwarf!” interjected the Gnome as he twirled a finger around his long, curly mustache. “With my patented invention, your family will have feasts that would make the King of Ironforge jealous!”

“Dammit, gnome,” said Olkam. “My family doesn't need a gun that causes chickens to grow three times their original size!”

“But sir, my inventions have a warranty that will last for--”

“The last time I bought one of your peoples' gizmos,” interrupted Olkam, “I was cleaning the ash out of my beard for a week. We are not interested! Now go!”

“Very well, sir,” said the gnome with a sweeping bow, a stupid grin plastered on his face, “I bid you and yours farewell.” Olkam watched the gnome leave before turning around to face Nulric.

“Well, my boy I see you've arrived.” Olkam said to Nulric.

Olkam was a large dwarf, often towering over his peers. He had a long, black beard with streaks of gray that reached all the way down to his belt buckle. His head was shaven, and lines were visible on his aging face. Despite this, his face was ruddy and suited for jovial, boisterous laughter. On his belt hung a double-edged axe – the weapon that had been passed down through several generations of Ironcrags. Olkam possessed the natural stance of a warrior – in his earlier years, he was a trained soldier in King Madoran's army. He fought against the Dark Irons in the War of the Three Hammers – at the defense of Ironforge, and when the Bronzebeards pursued the Dark Irons to Blackrock Mountain.

Olkam would often regale his stories of war to Nulric and other young dwarves. However, he had seen Ragnaros, the terrible Elemental Lord of Fire the Dark Iron dwarves had summoned by accident. He refused to speak about him at all, no matter how many times he was asked.

Nulric was about to speak and give an excuse for his tardiness, but he began scratching his beard again out of instinct. Olkam let out a hearty chuckle and gave his son a friendly shake of the shoulder, moving the young dwarf around with ease as if he were made of feathers.

“Don't worry about the itching lad. Once you get a glorious beard like this,” said Olkam, stroking the long length of his facial hair, “the itchiness will be a distant memory.”

NULRIC AND OLKAM saddled their riding rams and began their journey towards their destination. Nulric had heard from a few Mountaineers that ice trolls had begun settling in the hills, preying on any unsuspecting travelers. Many centuries ago, the ice trolls of the Frostmane Clan held control over Dun Morogh until the dwarves of Uldaman left the ancient Titan-city and built Ironforge. The trolls were no match for the armies of Ironforge, and were driven to the corners of the wilderness.

Thankfully, for the sake of the two dwarves, the journey was completely uneventful. They arrived near a large cave just south-east of the town of Kharanos, just as Nulric told Brytiva. Several other dwarves from Brewnall Village and Kharanos milled about the mouth of the cave, setting up equipment and preparing for the expedition. Olkam dismounted and approached his associates, while Nulric began unpacking the saddles of their riding rams.

About a half-hour later, the dwarves were ready to begin. Their objective was to delve deeper into the cave in order to find veins of iron. The ore would prove useful to the Mountaineers, providing them with equipment needed for the defense of Khaz Modan against Dark Iron insurgents and raiding parties.

Olkam approached Nulric, all of his equipment at the ready. He wore a yellow mining hat with the image of two crossed pick-axes etched on the back – the symbol of the Miners' League. A small, peculiar, dark-red candle rested on the brim, firmly held in place a by metal coil.

“When do I get a hat like that, father?”

Olkam smirked. “When you've earned it – you've got a long way to go.” Olkam paused. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Aye, father.”

“Do you have Aunt Nalienlel's Fishing Pole?”

Nulric patted the blunderbuss strapped to his back. All of the Dwarves present had a weapon on hand. Dangerous things lurked in the dark, and the dwarves knew this without exception.

Olkam rubbed his chan. “How about --”

“Father,” Nulric interrupted. “I know I remembered everything! You don't have to remind me each time.”

Olkam folded his arms. “Don't get snappy with me, boy. I'm only trying to assist. I won't be around forever to help you out.” Olkam gestured to the cave. “Let's get a move on.”

THE DWARVEN MINING PARTY entered the cave, Olkam taking the lead and Nulric taking the rear. The entrance of the cave soon narrowed into a small tunnel, and the Dwarves were forced to walk in two-by-two. A few moments later, the tunnel opened up into a large, dome-like cavern. Days prior to Olkam and Nulric's arrival, the other dwarves had already stripped the area clean. Lanterns covered the floor and cave walls, illuminating the area, while wooden beam supports covered the cave walls. The party continued past the main area, leaving into another tunnel. The path was rougher here, and the steps were uneven. As the area grew darker, the dwarves lit their lanterns. Despite having eyes suitable for underground exploration, the dwarves would take no chances – this entire cave was a perfect spot for ambushes.

The tunnel opened up into another small cavern. This time, however, the path cut off into several directions. After deliberating, the dwarves opted to split up into groups and explore each tunnel before doubling back and deciding what their next decisions would be.

“Well, father,” said Nulric as he approached his father. “Looks like we'll be working together. Again.”

Olkam ran his fingers through his longer beard as he regarded Nulric’s comment. “Actually, son, I have a better idea. You're young, and eager to prove yourself, so I think you should explore one of these tunnels on your own.” He gestured to two of the tunnels. “You take the one on the right, I'll take the one on the left. The rest of the lads will handle the other tunnels.”

Nulric raised both of his eyebrows in surprise. He had to admit, he was a bit pleased – he was tired of people following him around, doting on him, telling him what to do and what not to.

“All right, father.” Nulric replied. “I'll do my best.”

“I know you will, lad.”

NULRIC ENTERED THE TUNNEL his father delegated to him, his lantern held in front of his face. He began his work at a slow pace, inspecting the walls of the tunnel. As he walked along the trail, he noticed the gradual decline, his legs taking him further down the way.

The young dwarf gagged and pinched his nose in disgust as a rancid stench wafted towards his nostrils. The smell of what seemed to be rotting meat was almost unbearable for the dwarf. Nulric wondered if something had died down here, the putrid stink of its decaying flesh permeating the cave's air.

Mustering on, Nulric continued on his way for a few minutes until the tunnel's path opened up into yet another cavern. This area was much larger than the one near the cave's mouth, and an underground lake covered a large portion of the cavern.

Entering, Nulric stayed close to the wall, running his hand against it. He stopped at a dozen paces later; his eyes widened with amazement as he spotted dark-yellow streaks running through the rock.

Gold! He had discovered veins of gold! Any civilized race in Azeroth knew the value of gold, truly, but dwarves had an uncanny fascination with the stuff. With this discovery, Nulric thought to himself, his family could leave Brewnall village. They could find a new home in Ironforge, perhaps even earn himself a position in the Miners' League!

Nulric turned around to relay the good news to his father, but stopped a moment later when his boot bumped into something. Looking down to see what it was, he pulled on every fiber of his being to not scream out in shock.

It was a skull. A dwarven skull.

Instinctively, Nulric unsheathed the dagger from his belt. Olkam had given him a few lessons in combat, and Padragard the Mountaineer had instructed him on how to properly fire a blunderbuss on a few occasions. However, Nulric had never been in a fight before; his arm shook like a leaf as his head swiveled from side to side, looking for any danger.

After what seemed like an eternity, Nulric let out a huge sigh and sheathed his weapon. He slowly swept his lantern across the floor around him. Bones littered the area; they appeared to have been forcibly cracked open to get to the marrow inside. Nulric slowly progressed towards the other side of the chamber, his legs moving mechanically while his mind screamed for him to run. Tattered clothing, old shields, rust-splotched axes and flanged maces mingled with the remains of the fallen, a gruesome testament to their fates.

Eventually, Nulric worked up the nerve to finally look up from the ground. On the other side of the chamber, he saw a simple, dim-lit campfire. Squinting, he could make out a small, hunched creature huddled near the fire, its long arms thrown over its legs.

Nulric swallowed a lump in his throat. He was in a trogg's lair.

Many years ago, Ironforge sent a team of foremen and archaeologists to explore Uldaman, nestled between the borders of Loch Modan and the savage, sun-baked Badlands. The team came upon a large vault and, upon opening it, were overrun by a seething mass of troggs. No one had dared to enter the ancient Titan-city since then, its secrets remaining a mystery to the dwarves. Since that day, Khaz Modan had been plagued with the trogg threat, the stupid creatures killing anything in their way and stealing anything in their grasp. One archaeologist theorized that troggs were a distant cousin to the dwarves, but he was promptly laughed at and eventually run out of Ironforge.

Nulric was about to turn and run, before a realization dawned on him: not only could he tell everyone that he discovered gold, but he could also bag his first trogg kill in the same day. His father would be so proud. His friends would be amazed. Even Brytiva would be impressed!

Making up his mind, Nulric set his lantern on the cave floor and unslung his aunt's blunderbuss from his back. The weapon was clearly of older make, but it packed a hell of a punch. He remembered Padragard's words of advice as he prepared a shot: “Don't put too much gunpowder down the barrel, or else it will rupture. Hold the gun at shoulder length and, for Khaz'goroth's sake, make sure you remove the bloody ramrod before firing!”

Nulric looked down the sight of his weapon and, with a deep breath, pulled back the percussion lock and squeezed the trigger.

OLKAM CONTINUED TO traverse down the tunnel he chose, the little candle on his mining hat providing a surprisingly large amount of light. The candles used for Miners' League headgear were made from a special wax, only found in the eastern forests of Loch Modan.

The senior miner grumbled and muttered to himself about his lack of findings. So far, he had found nothing – not one vein of ore; just some rocks, cobwebs, and a few bats. By the Titans, he hated bats. He wondered why those flying rats had not been killed to extinction by the races of Azeroth. Olkam's thoughts of bat-killing were rudely interrupted by a loud gunshot, followed by the shrill screech of some beast.

Olkam knew that noise all too well. It was the sound of troggs.

The Dwarf felt his blood turn to ice. That was the blunderbuss Nulric carried with him. In all their mining trips, Olkam always reminded the boy to fire the blunderbuss only in extreme circumstances. That way, the noise would alert their colleagues to their location and the threat of danger.

Olkam turned on his heel and sprinted back up his tunnel. His heart thundered in his chest; he feared for the safety of his child.

He was not going to let his boy die to those monsters.

THE LEAD SHOTS of the blunderbuss whistled through the air. The trogg threw its long, spindly arms in the air as the shots hit home in its back. The creature collapsed to the ground like a sack of bricks. Nulric picked himself up off the ground; the recoil of the weapon was a lot stronger than he anticipated.

With a strong feeling of relief washing over him, he walked over to the trogg's location. Coming closer, he could see the features of the brutish thing. It looked like an ugly caricature of a dwarf woman. She had a large, misshapen head, and her beady, pupil-less eyes the color of jet. Her mouth was filled with flat, jagged teeth – troggs were known to consume and digest granite, which contributed to their strength and hardy resilience. Her face was twisted into a perpetual scream, her lifeless eyes staring back at Nulric. The shots from the blunderbuss had completely ripped through the trogg's chest, as well as the back of her head. The gore and visible organs made the monster look even more horrifying.

Nulric suppressed a shudder, his face hard. This was his first kill, and he felt himself reveling in the thrill of it all. He thought about the bones of his fallen people; these fiends preyed on the unsuspecting. They all deserved to be put down like rabid beasts.

“DWARF!” a deep voice roared, “DWARF! KILL!”

Nulric felt a chill down his spine. He slowly looked up, and all the color from his face drained away.

Another trogg lurched from the shadows of the cavern, as if appearing from thin air. This one appeared to be a male - he must have appeared from another tunnel entrance Nulric couldn't see. He was three times larger than the one Nulric killed; most troggs are slightly shorter than dwarves, but this one towered over Nulric. His thick skin was the color of obsidian, and bristly, fire colored hairs covered its sloping forehead and muscle-bound arms.

His red, hate-filled eyes glanced at his dead mate and back at Nulric before letting loose a murderous scream.

“KILL DWARF! KILL!”

Nulric began backing away as the trogg started to slowly advance towards him. Fear gripped every movement; he had no time to reload his firearm, so he had to resort to his dagger. Nulric worried that if he even took a second to turn around and run, the trogg would pounce on him.

The young dwarf continued backing away until he almost tripped and fell into the underground lake. Nulric held his dagger in front of him, his arm shaking in fear. He was too scared to do anything else. He wondered if he should just jump into the lake and drown himself – it was likely preferable to being torn limb from limb and eaten.

The trogg continued to follow him, waiting to strike, like a serpent toying with a mouse.

OLKAM SPRINTED DOWN Nulric's tunnel, his muscular legs pumping with every step. Despite only a few minutes passing, the tension made the run feel like an hour to Nulric's father. At last, he found the end of the tunnel and entered the chamber.

Olkam's eyes widened as he saw the massive trogg towering over his son, about to strike. Nulric was no match for a trogg that size – Olkam had to think of something, and quickly!

Olkam picked up a small hatchet from a skeleton, ripping the thing from its bony fingers. Throwing the weapon with all his might, the hatchet whistled towards the air, spinning towards the trogg. It lodged itself into the creature's back, but the trogg merely grunted and shrugged it off.

However, that was all that Olkam needed. The trogg turned around and faced the older dwarf, his primitive rage finding a new target. Olkam grabbed a battered shield from the cave floor and unsheathed his double-edged axe from his belt.

“Stay back, Nulric!” Olkam yelled, “Let me handle this ugly bastard!”

The trogg roared and charged towards Olkam. Rather than charging forward, the senior Ironcrag stood his ground; his experience in battle against the Wildhammer and Dark Iron Dwarves during the War of the Three Hammers made him a veteran infantryman.

The trogg surged towards Olkam, bringing one of its lanky arms down in a strike. Olkam pivoted around the attack, bringing his axe down on the trogg's left leg in an overhead chop. The dwarven steel penetrated the flesh, orange blood spurting from the wound. The trogg bellowed in pain and backhanded its opponent. Olkam was rocked backwards, but maintained his stance – it was not easy to knock a dwarven warrior down.

Olkam barked a mocking laugh at the trogg. “Come on, ugly. A baby gnome hits harder than you!”

“KILL YOU!” he responded back.

The trogg sprung forward, barraging Olkam with a flurry blows. Olkam ducked, dodged, and pivoted around the attacks, and managed to score several small hits on the Trogg. However, the neanderthal did not slow down, and Olkam continued to stay on the defensive.

NULRIC WATCHED THE BATTLE with a mixture of fear and awe. He had heard stories about his father's combat prowess, but had never seen him before. A lesser warrior would have been crushed by the behemoth brute right from the beginning.

Olkam and the trogg were in a stalemate. The older Dwarf could not move to the attack, and the trogg's clumsy attacks couldn't break through Olkam's defense. However, Olkam was not as young as he used to be. He would become exhausted, eventually, and then the trogg would slay his father before killing him.

Nulric had to do something. He gripped his dagger in his hand, his knuckles becoming white from the tightness. Mustering as much courage as he could, Nulric let out a cry, charging towards the trogg; he plunged his dagger into its side.

The trogg screamed out in pain as the dagger dug deep into its flesh. Looking down, he saw the Dwarf that had killed his mate. He picked up Nulric by the leg with one of his massive, ape-like hands. Swinging him over his head, the trogg tossed Nulric into the underground lake, who began to sink to the bottom.

Olkam gasped at what happened. While he had the opening he needed, his son was in grave peril.

“You ugly shit!” Olkam bellowed, “You'll pay for that!”

As the trogg turned back to face him, Olkam took his axe and brought it into full swing, lodging it in the monster's chest. The trogg squealed in pain as the weapon was buried into his vital organs.

Olkam did not let up for a single moment. He dislodged his axe, only to start slashing furiously at the lower part of the trogg's legs. The savage toppled over, unable to balance himself on his legs. With a roar, Olkam took his weapon and chopped into the trogg's forehead repeatedly until the creature finally stopped moving.

The trogg was finally dead. Orange-colored blood pooling around its multiple wounds. Olkam did not spend a single moment to revel in his victory. Sheathing his axe, he threw his battered shield to the ground and sprinted towards the lake.

NULRIC FOUND HIMSELF sinking to the bottom of the underground lake. He tried to swim to the surface, but found himself unable to; his tools were weighing him down. He fumbled with his buckle as his lungs burned. Finally, he managed to get the blasted thing off. He began to swim back to the top of his lake, his lungs feeling like they were about to burst.

Alas, Nulric could hold on no longer. He had gotten so close to the surface, but everything was going dark so quickly. He couldn't make it in time.

The last thing he felt was something – a hand, maybe – roping around one of his overall straps and pulling him with great strength.

OLKAM PLUNGED HIS ARM INTO THE LAKE and grabbed Nulric. Summoning all the strength he had, he pulled the young dwarf out of the water and onto the cave floor. Olkam cursed under his breath and began performing compressions on his son's chest.

“Ironcrag!” a dwarven voice called out, “What the hell is going on?”

The other four dwarves of the mining party had entered the chamber after hearing the gunshot and trogg screeches.

“There's no time!” said Olkam, “Secure the rest of this damned cavern! Now!”

The dwarves acted without question, deferring to Olkam's experience. Two of them had blunderbusses, while the other two carried heavy maces. They fanned out in a crest, facing the campfire where Nulric had killed the first trogg. Their heads moved on a swivel, waiting for any trogg to rear its ugly head.

Moments passed, and, finally, Nulric let out a hacking cough as he slowly opened his eyes and saw his father's face.

“Father,” Nulric wheezed, “What...”

“Later, boy.” Olkam responded. “We have to get you out of here.”

As Olkam helped Nulric to his feet, a myriad of trogg screams rang throughout the chamber. Suddenly, a multitude of troggs erupted from the shadows, all dead-set on killing the dwarves.

The dwarves wielding the massive blunderbusses fired without hesitation. The lead shots whistled through the air, striking down a half-dozen of the Troggs. The other two dwarves worked in tandem, crushing Trogg skulls with their maces as soon as the creatures got into close enough range.

However, the screams did not stop. More troggs were on their way.

“There's too many of them!” Olkam yelled to his colleagues. “Pull back! Get back to the surface, lads!”

THE DWARVES raced back up the tunnel, fleeing towards the mouth of the cave, a swarm of troggs trailing behind them. Nulric attempted to keep up with the others, but he began to lag behind as exhaustion and pain took their tolls on him. Olkam turned as Nulric tripped and fell to the ground.

“Father,” Nulric wheezed, “Just leave me behind...save yourselves...”

Olkam furrowed his brow, picked up his son and propped him over his shoulder. “Like hell I will! I'm getting you out of here if it's the last thing I do!”

The dwarves escaped through the mouth of the cave. The sun was setting, dipping into the horizon. Olkam set his son down on the snow-covered ground, and turned to his fellow miners.

“What’s next, Ironcrag?” one of them asked.

Olkam turned to face one of the dwarves. “Barko, take my rams and get my son out of here. Get him to Kharanos!”

The dwarf, Barko, nodded and helped Nulric to his feet, who was barely conscious. “What about the rest of you?” he inquired.

Olkam pointed to two other dwarves, and then gestured to the tent that was set up earlier before he and Nulric arrived. “Immak, Varel – get the dynamite ready. We knew this could have happened, and we came prepared.”

Lastly, Olkam approached the final dwarf and patted him on the shoulder. “Klob, let's hold these bastards off until we can blow this place to bits.

Klob grinned behind his braided red beard and raised his mace. “It'll be just like old times, my friend.”

The dwarves got to work. Barko handed his mace to Olkam, and he left with Nulric. Immak and Varel began rigging explosives around the mouth of the cave. There was no more time to strategize; the troggs were already making their way towards them, shrieking their barbaric war cries.

With axe and mace in both hands, Olkam braced himself for battle, Klob by his side. “The sons of Khaz'goroth refuse to go quietly!” he bellowed in challenge.

The first trogg came for Olkam, a crude stone club in its hand. Olkam crossed his weapons in a guarded stance and caught the club in mid-swing. He kicked the trogg in the stomach and then brought his axe and mace down upon the fiend in a flurry as it doubled over in pain. Klob ducked under another trogg's attack and brought his mace down upon his opponent's head, killing it instantly.

The troggs screeched and screamed as they tried to get to the dwarves. Thankfully for the defenders, the troggs were badly bottle-necked due to the narrow entrance tunnel of the cave. They pushed and shoved, bowling over any whelp trogg unfortunate enough to be in the front. The battle continued on for several minutes and, before long, at least two dozen trogg corpses were strewn around the veteran soldiers.

Olkam was allowed a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “How much longer until the dynamite is ready? Sometime today would be preferable!”

“Almost finished!” said Varel, “Just need to get the plunger ready, and--”

Varel's voice was drowned out by a roar of pain. A trogg hard surged forward and bit down on Klob's arm. The dwarf fell to the ground, and the trogg seized the opportunity to pounce on him, buffeting him with its fists. Olkam charged forward, bringing his axe down on the trogg's spine. The creature collapsed and nearly fell on top of Klob, but the dwarf rolled away in time.

“Klob! Are you alright?”

Klob sat up and shook his head while clutching his arm. The bite mark was imprinted on his arm, and blood was seeping from the wound. Several prominent bruises dotted his face as a result of the trogg's assault.

“I've been bitten!” Klob exclaimed, “I'm gonna turn into a trogg!”

Olkam shook his head, “That's just an old wives' tale! Now stay back – I'll hold them off.”

Olkam turned on his heel, about to be swarmed by several trogg runts. A gunshot rang out, and the group collapsed to the ground. Some of the lead shot whizzed by Olkam, nearly hitting him. He scowled and turned to find the source.

Immak stood a few feet away from Olkam, a smoking blunderbuss in his hands.

“We're ready!” Immak told Olkam. “Let's get the hell out of here!”

Olkam nodded and ran alongside Immak, making a mental note to chew him out later about his marksmanship. They got to a safe distance, where Varel was treating Klob's bite wound. Immak grabbed the handles of the plunger, a gleeful look in his eyes.

“Cover your ears, lads!” he exclaimed with excitement. Bringing the plunger down, the dynamite planted around the cave detonated as a large mass of troggs tried to make their way through. The Dwarves plugged their ears and screwed their eyes shut as the light of the explosion illuminated their vision. A thunderous crash brought the cave down upon the heads of the unsuspecting troggs, their shrieks of terror drowned out by the roar of the explosion.

The battle was over. The silence was deafening as a plume of dust and smoke billowed from the remnants of the cave.

NULRIC'S thoughts swam as he lay still. Abstract images appeared and faded in his mind as he slept – hugging his mother the previous morning, riding through the countryside with his father, discovering gold in the cave.

The terrible, snarled face of the trogg as the brute stared down at him with malice. Darkness filling his vision as he began to drown.

Nulric's eyes shot open as he woke up. Breathing heavy, he looked around in dazed confusion as his blurred vision slowly regained focus. He found himself in a warm bed; had the whole thing been a lucid dream?

No, it had all been very real. As he began to sit up, Nulric winced; the soreness and pain in his body were still there. He found himself in a well-maintained room in the Thunderbrew Distillery, the iconic tavern-inn of Kharanos. Nulric saw his clothing on a clothesline, drying over a hot fireplace. Looking down, he saw that he was wearing a comfortable, brown robe.

Near the fireplace, he saw Olkam sitting in one of the armchairs, a massive tankard of Dwarven beer in one of his tough fists. His father thoughtfully puffed on a large wooden pipe as he gazed into the fire. Misirlyl hated Olkam's smoking habits, so he was cold turkey whenever he was in Brewnall Village. However, when he was away from home, he treated himself every now and then; Nulric promised to keep quiet about it.

Olkam had several cuts across his massive, muscular arms, and a bandage was wrapped around his head. As Nulric looked at his father's injuries, memories began to flood back into his mind; he recalled his father saving him from that massive Trogg. He remembered Barko helping him to his ram, escorting him to Kharanos. Nulric nearly fell from the saddle, so the other dwarf dismounted and led both rams by their reins on foot.

Olkam heard Nulric's movement and turned his head to face him. Nulric threw the bed sheets back over his body and pretended to be asleep. He couldn't bear to see his father eye-to-eye right now. He remembered how rude he had been with his Olkam before they entered the cave, and felt twinges of guilt. Olkam and the others risked their lives to save his. Everything that had gone wrong was because of his own blundering.

Klob entered the room, a tray of hot tea and boar stew in one of his hands. The dwarf looked worse for wear – the arm where he was bitten was in a sling, and it looked like someone used his face as a speed bag. Like Olkam, cuts and bruises adorned his body as well, made by the crude flint weapons the Troggs employed.

“Well, Ironcrag,” said Klob as he carefully set the tray on a small table placed between the armchairs, “You're looking worse for wear.”

Olkam snorted and removed the pipe from his mouth. “Speaking of appearances, I'd say that trogg made your face a whole lot prettier.”

Klob grinned, revealing that several of his teeth had been knocked out. “I'm thinking of getting some gold teeth, now.” he paused. “How's the boy doing?”

“He's doing well. He was thrashing in his sleep a few hours ago, but he's alright now.”

Klob nodded, and turned to leave the room. “I'll leave you to your thoughts, old friend. I'm heading back upstairs – I think one of those serving girls has taken a liking to me.”

Olkam chuckled as Klob turned to leave. “There's no way one of those bar girls would be interested in a crusty old sod like you.” Waiting for a few moments, he turned his head towards Nulric.

“He's gone now, Nulric. You can get out of bed – I know you're awake.”

Nulric mouthed a silent curse. His father was a lot more perceptive than he thought. Letting out a sigh, he threw the bed sheets away from his body and limped towards the empty armchair near his father. Nulric began to drink the tea and eat the stew, not realizing how ravenous he felt.

Olkam finally broke the silence between the two of them. “So,” he said, “How are you feeling?”

Nulric swallowed a spoonful of stew and gave a slight nod. “A lot better than last night.” He paused, “How about you? I heard you face down a hundred troggs and somehow lived.”

Olkam chuckled, returning his gaze to the fire. “It was more like two dozen, at best. And I wasn't fighting them alone, of course.”

“You took on the giant one as well...”

Olkam gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Aye, well, I'm pretty sure that one was the chieftain. I think you pissed him off when you killed his mate.” Nulric's eyes widened.

“Still,” he continued. “I'm a bit surprised, to say the least. Troggs with red hair and pitch-black skin are extremely rare outside the Searing Gorge. That cave must’ve run deeper than we thought.”

Nulric couldn't help himself as his face became downcast. His father picked up on it.

“What's wrong?” said Olkam, turning his head to face his son.

“Father,” said Nulric, “This is all my fault. Everything that could have gone wrong went wrong because of me...”

Olkam raised an eyebrow at his son's sudden outburst. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut short.

“I killed that trogg when I should have gone back to warn the rest of you. I lost Aunt Nalienlel's blunderbuss.”

“Nulric, it's-”

“Everyone almost died because of me,” Nulric continued, “because I can't seem to do anything right.”

“Nulric.”

“And there was gold in the cave as well! We could have become rich! We'd be able to move out of the village, and had a better life if not for --”

“NULRIC IRONCRAG!” Olkam yelled as he slammed his tankard onto the table for emphasis. Nulric immediately stopped babbling.

“Boy,” said Olkam, “That wasn't gold.”

“Er,” he replied, “It wasn't?”

Olkam laughed in response. “Of course not! That was Pyrite, lad – fool's gold. If we tried to pass it off as actual gold, ol' King Bronzebeard would have us exiled from Khaz Modan.” He stopped to think, rubbing his ruddy face. “So you think you're to blame for all this?”

“Of course I do.” replied Nulric, “Why wouldn't I be?”

“Because troggs are pests, Nulric. They can practically be unearthed from anywhere at any time. The fact that you riled them up only meant we discovered them before they could completely ambush us. In a strange way, you actually helped us out.”

“But it's still my fault.” the younger dwarf retorted. “We had to collapse the mouth of the cave and,”

“If we choose to return to the cave,” said Olkam, holding his hand up to cut Nulric off, “we will excavate a new entrance. We brought dynamite with us in the event that something like this would happen. The decision to cause a cave-in was mine, and mine alone. I will write a letter to the Miners' League, and they will understand. This is not my first time dealing with this.”

Nulric nodded, and Olkam returned to puffing on his pipe. They began to sit in silence again as watched the dancing flames of the fire.

Nulric finally spoke. “Thank you for saving my life."

“It was no problem, lad.”

“But you could have left me behind.” said Nulric.

“I would never even think of doing something like that.” replied Olkam. “You are my son. I would protect your life, even if it meant I lost mine - because that's what a man does for his family.”

Nulric remained silent, keeping his gaze on the fire. Olkam turned his head and put his hand on his son's shoulder.

“You're my eldest child. Someday, it will be up to you to look after your mother and little sister. I know you're sometimes scared of the responsibility – adulthood can be hard. But I'll be there every step of the way, to help out in any way I can. All I want for you is the best.”

Nulric looked at his father, a smile spreading on his face. “I will remember that, father. Thank you.”

#Moon Guard #dwarves #World of Warcraft #nulric ironcrag #nulric #My writing #writing

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