Scholars and sages agree that the beginnings of the events I have come to call "The Demon Wars" can trace their origins to the invasion of Groznia, one of the sprawling mountain cities of the dwarves. Though now one of the most dangerous places in Migdalia, the city was once a bastion of Dwarven culture and learning.I had the fortune, or misfortune, depending upon your point of view, to be present when the demons first attacked. Did any of us truly realize how much our world was about to change? Perhaps the diviners of lost Walacia, though I would not be surprised if they were distracted by their own problems.
Were it not for the heroics of few brave souls, I shudder to think at what might have happened, and how much worse things may have been. If nothing else, they saved my life, and for that I shall be eternally greatful.
The first sign of that something was amiss was a deep rumbling that seemed to come from the walls and floor and even the air itself. It was as if reality itself was being torn asunder...
What I saw next was like something out of a nightmare. The air rippled and shimmered as if from a great heat, and impossibly large clawed arms materialized right in front of me. Another arm, clawed like the first, shimmered into view, followed by twisted horns that topped an enormous, demonic head and a gigantic, corpulent body that ended in clawed feet and a muscular tail. The creature stood perhaps sixty feet tall and was wrapped in a corona of dark fire that could have had no natural source.
For a moment, I thought I had gone mad. But then the screams and shouts of the dwarves around me pulled me back from my gaping at the beast, and before I knew it we were all rushing towards the exit like frightened cattle. Much of what followed is still hazy in my mind, through I recall the monster's tail thrashing out towards the crowd, and then I was on the ground and on fire.
I imagine my life would have ended there, were it not for the intervention of fate. For it was only a moment before there was another beside me, helping me to my feet and pulling me forward, away from the demon. I caught but a glimpse of the stranger's face, and was surprised to see not the rugged features of a dwarf, as I expected, but the chiseled and breathtaking beauty of a high elf.
This was my first encounter with the warlock known as Elwood. Many of my readers will no doubt seek to place blame for the presence of the demons upon the shoulders of this noble elf, and truthfully, I cannot fault them. For have we all not been taught that warlocks are the foulest of sorcerers, those who make bargains with dark entities in exchange for their mortal souls?
This was my belief before Elwood corrected me. In the elven lands of Nareskadel, certain elves would make such deals with higher powers, resembling the foul oaths of their demonic brethren. These hallowed souls pledged their loyalty to angels, however, and not to the treacherous beings of the Abyss. The harsh lecture I received upon suggesting that warlocks dealt only with demons left me with no doubt as to Elwood's hatred of demonic forces.
However, this all came later. At the time, his race was little more than an oddity, a curious footnote in my mind's racing thoughts. Sortec, lord of fate and destinies, then saw fit to weave our futures with two more souls seeking to escape the chaos, a rugged half-elf calling himself Thorail, and the dwarven crusader Aragul Trueforge.
Thorail later confided to me that he believed the attack upon the city to be the work of a foul demon that he had tracked to Groznia, the same demon who had murdered his infant sister decades earlier. Thorail was, I later learned, much to my surprise, a priest of Naiaral, the elven deity of hunting and song. I saw surprised, of course, because of the differences in elven and human religion; he bore few of the trappings I would normally associate with a human priest, and (in all honesty, dear reader) resembled a road-worn traveler more than any holy man I had ever encountered.
I should take a moment to mention that one should never assume the religion and practices of wood elves are similar to those of high elves. More than one quiet night was reduced to argument and near violence as Elwood and Thorail 'discussed' their respective elven heritages.
Aragul, in contrast to the flighty Thorail or the conceited Elwood, was calm and simple, yet filled with an inner fire that burned brightest during conflict. He was as the stories of dwarves claim; solid as a rock in both stature and spirit, yet possessed of a goodness that was almost palpable. He later showed me his charge, a thin and long metal box that had been wrapped in chains and warded with holy glyphs. Araful had been tasked with taking the package to Althea, though he did not at the time tell me why.
It was he that took charge as we fled from the battle, directing us upwards along the sides of the cavern. Those that have never beheld the simple yet functional architecture of Groznia would do well with a brief description of the city, for the events I am about to relate rely upon such knowledge to fully comprehend.
Groznia is best described as a dozen large caverns, each eighty to one hundred feet tall and nearly six times as wide. Each cavern is 'owned' by one dwarven clan, which are best described as incredibly large extended families. In the center of these caverns are the businesses and public structures that keep dwarven society alive, while the walls are studded with doorways leading into the stone itself, where individual families of six to one dozen dwarves live in relative simplicity. Stone alkways wrap around the sides of the caverns, splitting it into five to six levels; in this way, the dwarves make the most of the space alloted to them by the mountains.
These caverns are connected to each other via a number of smaller tunnels, some ten to twenty feet tall and wide, which are gated and guarded at all times. In this way, Groznia (and indeed, most dwarven cities) can be seen more as a collection of autonomous clan-cities than a single city.
Aragul's plan, we later learned, was to lead us up the walkways to the third level of the cavern, where a tunnel led to the adjacent cavern. From there, we could climb another two stories to the upper levels of that cavern, where another tunnel led outwards to the surface.
When we reached the second level of the first chamber and the view it offered, I realized exactly how dire the situation had become. Behind the towering demon were two more creatures of the same type, each writhed in a corona of flame. The dwarven warrions had quickly arrived and moved into battle formations, though their efforts were hampered by the demonic reinforcements that seemed to shimmer into place around them.
Entire legions of creatures resembling man-sized iguanas were shimmering into existance at their flanks and rears, hampering their efforts to engage the larger demons. Each lizard-soldier was clad in black spiked armor that resembled the shells of beetles and each bore wicked glaives and halberds of unusual greenish metal. The rousing warcries of the dwarves as they turned to face their enemies brought misty tears to my old eyes. Let no man say that dwarves do not meet their death with honor.
The moment was short-lived, however, as the gigantic demon we had fled from moments earlier turned towards us; though the ledge placed us even with its scaly, bulging gut, it somehow had caught sight of us, or heard us scrambling up the steps. Whatever the cause, the demon turned and brought its claws down upon the center of the loose group.
I recall a wave of warmth washing over me, and then Aragul and I were surrounded by falling stone as we tumbled back to the cavern's floor. The unfaltering dwarf was back on his feet almost the moment we had reached the bottom, dragging me through the closest door and into the abandoned home of one of his fellow dwarves. The walls and ceilings shook once more as the building began to groan and cave inwards. Thinking quickly, Aragul continued to drag me into the next room, where he hurriedly shoved me beneath a thick dwarven bed. There was a terrible rumble and crash from the room behind us as the dwarf joined me beneath the bed, fitting as much of his thick body beneath it as he could manage.
Once the rumblings had stopped, we cautiously climbed out from beneath the bed and made our way to the adjacent room, which had collapsed into a still-shifting pile of rubble. Seeking to return to the second floor, we began to climb up the rough slope, only to find our progress hampered as the unstable stones shifted beneath our feet. It was then that I heard a nearby dwarven battle cry and glanced behind us, past the collapsed wall of the ruined room. The demon had turned away from us and towards a group of dwarven warriors, who were shouting bravely as they charged towards the towering demon.
Though there were clouds of dust and smoke in the air, we could see the thin forms of Elwood and Thorail some forty feet further along the wall of the cavern. Both elf and half-elf were attempting to scramble up a steep slope of rubble which poured out from a deep gash in the side of the cavern. Almost instantly, I saw their plan; if we could reach the top of the rubble, we would be on the second set of ledges, the third floor, and could escape along Aragul's planned rout.
We made a break for our companions amidst the chaos, prayers to the gods upon my lips with each panicked, rushed step. Our route brought us behind the demon's back, and even at a distance I could feel the heat rolling off its flaming body. My stomach turned at the scent; it reminded me of a funeral pyre.
We reached the slope just as the demon unleashed its power upon the doomed dwarves. The very air seemed to rumble overhead, and I glanced back over my shoulder just in time to see dozens of fiery, glowing meteors appear above the dwarves. They streaked downwards and exploded with such force and intensity that I felt the shockwaves travel through my body. The feeling was umpleasant, but helped me look away from the terrible scene and focus upon my own survival.
Thorail and I were the first to the ledge, and we quickly lowered a rope to the other two. I saw the sneer of disdain on Elwood's face as he refused to take the rope, instead forcing his way to the ledge without our assistance. Aragul, however, had no such qualms about accepting help when offered, and soon the four of us were on our way once more. Only one more level awaited us, Aragul explained, before we could cross into the next chamber.
We raced along the ledge as the demon summoned explosions of hellfire to immolate the few dwarves that yet stood against it. In the distance I saw the hopelessness of the battle reflected in the actions of the remaining two demons. My heart sank even further as the infernal beast chanted words of darkness in its deep, booming voice. The fallen dwarves, their blackened armor melted to their bones and charred bodies, rose in a most unnatural manner. They turned upon their still-living brothers and sisters in a scene so grisly I was forced to look away.
Leaving the terrible scene behind us, we hurried into the next cavern, hoping that this was just an isolated incident, that only a single cavern was under attack.
As I beheld the two flame-wreathed demons rampaging through the second cavern, I knew Groznia had fallen. I needed no magic or enchanted scrying mirror to know that the scene was repeating itself through the rest of the city. How foolish I was then, to think that it was about a single city.
Swarms of pinkish, half-melted creatures swarmed over the defenders below as the demons smashed and demolished entire buildings with their every move. The battle was hopeless; we hurried forward in silence, our excitement at having escaped the demon dampened by the sheer magnitude of destruction and death.
When we reached the surface, we paused for only a minute to regain our breath and discuss our plans. Though I wish to write that the day was gloomy and dark, I cannot commit such a thing to paper, despite how appropriate it would feel. Truth be told, it was one of the most beautiful days I could remember; the sun was warm and golden, and a cool breeze only added to the scene. Were it not for the thin plumes of smoke rising from cracks in the stone beneath us, or the faint, almost imperceptible tremor of the mountain beneath us, I would have believed that the nightmare we had just escaped existed had existed only within my head.
After a set of brief introductions, we agreed to circle around to the main road and follow it south towards Althea; the others were hesitant to proceed deeper into dwarven lands, but Aragul was determined to carry out the mysterious mission placed upon him by his church. After a brief discussion, the others decided that such a thing was necessary. The path would take us through the small hub town of Limerock, where we could obtain supplies, and then through the capital of the dwarven nation, Haagenbaum.
Though none of us voiced our concerns, I knew that everyone was thinking the same thought; had the other dwarven cities fallen as Groznia did? And if so, were we walking from the frying pan and into the proverbial oven? Being a lowly scribe, however, I remained quiet and agreed to the plan.
To this day, I wish I had spoken out when I had the chance.
