[Saurreg]

And they marched.

Through the halls of stone, over treacherous chasms of never ending depth and passed gates of wrought steel.

And they marched.

For they were the Khazâd; the Children of Aulë. Gonnhirrim; “Masters of Stone” and Naugrim, “The Stunted people”

And they marched.

Because for the first time in a long while, a host had entered the depths of their sacred underground kingdom and it was neither foe nor food.

And they marched - for civilization!

Narguzbad XXIII halted to catch his breath and wiped the sweat off his brows with his huge gloved hand. It has been more than sixty-score years since his heavily booted feet trampled across the very trail he was on and despite the dwarves’ reputation as lords of the great underneath (a dwarf never looses his bearings!), the scion of Azaghâl XIII was quite lost. He turned his thick neck this way and that, scratched his ruddy cheek in confusion and quickly reproduced the map #214 of the underground caves and tunnels from underneath his helm and scrutinized the chicken-scratch with great intensity. Vice-Vizar and Arch-Counselor Zinshathûr stooped nearby leaning on the hilt of his great twin-bladed battleaxe and wheezed uncontrollably. The forced breathing irritated the map-reader and he looked across in annoyance at his Pontifex Maximus who could only give a “can’t help it” apologetic shrug in reply. The Holy Khazâd Emperor shot a “I don’t care, now stop that” look back, stuffed the parchment vack under the protective headwear and turned to look upon his great army; the Imperial Guard of Holy Khazad-dûm, the White Guards of Tumunzahar, the Blue Guards of Gabilgathol and the chosen axe-throwers of the Sacred Hammer.

Nineteen equally anciently wizened faces looked up and regarded their liege lord, the Grand Duke of Tumunzahar. One or two smiled cheekily and revealed blackened teeth and gaps between them, the others kept their mouths closed because the wind hurt their bare gums. For the first time in a long while, the great army was fully assembled in full battle order in heavy reinforced helms with sloped neck guards and close fitting cheek guards, tailor-made ring-mails fitted with lamellae plates and studs, thick leather vests and armed with an assortment of weapons ranging from dragon head war-hammers to terrible twin-edged broadswords. Narguzbad XXIII sighed quietly and thought that it could have been better but considering that fact that nineteen was all he got, dwarven logic quickly established that nineteen vertically-challenged bicentennial warriors was better than no vertically-challenged bicentennial warriors and so he’d better make do with what he got.


Chancellor of the Senate Zinshathûr had fallen asleep already, leaning precautious on his heavy weapon. Narguzbad XXIII elbowed his prime minister roughly and without waiting, continued his journey. Twenty-one pairs of heavy steel soled boots broke into a march without any unison.

After consulting his map, the lord of the Blue Mountains was sure that beyond the next stone bridge laid the tunnel where the afterborn from the East would most probably venture through. He also knew through the map that it was also the lair of a giant spider. The Great Elector of All Khazâd never liked spiders and for moment he toyed with the thought of perishing in an epic battle with the arachnid.

There were other worthier enemies of course. Mused the king who was suddenly acutely aware of his old age and the looming darkness that would engulf him in bed. A death without honor.

The great Khazâd contingent was midway across the last stone bridge and Narguzbad XXIII was contemplating whether or not to grant the leader of the Afterborn the favor of kissing his right hand when he thought he had the din of battle ahead. Dismissing it as a wild fragment of his imagination (that was become more frequent nowadays) he continued marching. But the sound did not disappear but became louder and louder. Even old Zinshathûr who was hard of hearing was looking forward intently. Narguzbad XXIII halted suddenly and turned towards his brave warriors with widened eyes that flashed with excitement and glee. Every other Khazâd was grinning from ear to ear also (even those without teeth) and were looking intently at their great leader. The great leader placed his thick and stumpy index digit before his pluckered lips in the universal sign, turned tail and broke into a brisk trot towards the sound of clashing blades and roaring beasts. The other Khazâd followed closely with unsuppressed smiles as the years left them like cumbersome coats unrobed.

And they ran.

For honor, glory and victory.