24/01/2023
Kurt Wexler stared at the old face, rubbing his beard in careful thought.
The face stared back with grey, implacable eyes, in a stern, unsympathetic expression. It had a thick grey beard, and a tall, heavy-looking iron helmet inscribed with grey runes.
The only parts that werenât grey, in fact, were the heavy, damp patches of green where moss had taken hold, colonising the inside of the nose and the wrinkled lines of its brow.
It was an old face, made older by time. The tip of the nose had fallen away, and the features were smoothed and made vague by the long ages and the wash of rain and wind.
âYou and me both, old fella,â Kurt murmured, with a self-deprecating chuckle. His own beard wasnât fully grey yet, but it was getting there, and his face had plenty of wrinkles and scars. âYou and me both.â
Kurt often spoke to himself. He had always been solitary, by nature, never much needing crowds or company, but it was still nice to the hear the echo of a voice in the dark and lonely places of the world.
In his time, he had ventured into plenty of those â deep caverns, black woods, the heady peaks of the Worldâs Edge Mountains. But the Drakwald Forest took the crown, and maybe that was why he was examining this face so intently.
Or maybe it was the look of intense judgement and disapproval on the old dwarf statue that was giving him pause.
Three days into the Forest from Auricsburg, and this was the first time he had seen a sign of civilisation. A statue of an armoured dwarf, perhaps twelve feet tall, standing with an axe in one hand. The other gauntleted hand was outstretched, with palm up â stop, no further, it seemed to say. Turn back.
Kurt had glimpsed the statue between the thick trees by pure chance. He had dropped his trusty pick while carelessly readjusting his belt, and watched it tumble down a long slope, and had gingerly made his way down to fetch it. All the while, he had glanced about warily, his ears pricked for the sounds of danger â the growl of a stalking wolf, the whistle of a barbarian arrow, the guttural cry of some axe-swinging, goat-headed beastman.
He had found his pick at the bottom of a deep, dark valley, shrouded with trees that stretched upwards and all but blocked out the sky. Straightening after picking it up and looping it back into his belt, Kurt had spotted the flash of grey, and his curiosity had gotten the better of his caution.
Now he stood before the statue, hesitating. Behind the statue, was a doorway carved into the rock of a rugged cliff. He had seen dwarven craftwork before, but never looking this old or abandoned â or as broken.
It must have been the long passage of time, combined with a rockslide crashing down from above, that had smashed a hole in the carved door of the mountain. More runes were etched into its rock surface, though Kurt had as much chance of being able to read them as speaking Elvish.
âHoleâs small,â Kurt commented to himself, scratching his cheek. âBut youâve never been the biggest fella have you, Wexler? Be a bit tight around the shoulders, but you could make your way in.â
But the statue and the runes on the door had all the hallmarks of a warning. Something that had been sealed up a very long time ago, with a stern message â stay out.
Kurt was no educated man â he had been born the sixth son of a couple of farmers out Stirland way, and schooling hadnât been a strong priority in the Wexler household. But he was no fool either, and had developed a keen nose for danger. You needed it, to go prospecting in the dark and distant places of the Old World.
âBut thatâs also the thing, isnât it?â Kurt reminded himself softly. âThis is a young manâs game, and you need a score. A big one. Less you end up begging on the streets somewhere to earn your bed and board.â
He had never had time to get married, nor have any kids. Didnât own any property, and had no inheritance. The rest of his family had been killed in a Greenskin raid some thirty years ago, so there was nowhere for him to comfortably retire when his creaking limbs finally caught up with him.
That was why he had picked up sticks in the first place, and headed out to Auricsburg when heâd first heard of it. A new town, built in the depths of the Drakwald Forest, where gold had been struck in the nearby hills â it wasnât for the faint-hearted, being so far from the rest of civilisation, but that had never bothered Kurt. He liked that the rest of the residents of the growing village were much like him â tough, uncomplaining, bold types, who cracked on with the job, without any nosy nobles telling them what to do.
But he hadnât had the luck that some of the others had. He hadnât found any gold â at least, not yet â and time was running out. He knew in his bones that he didnât have much more in him, that he would need to score big or go back to Altdorf, and throw himself on the mercy of the Shallyans.
So, the broken door with its stern, dwarven guard of stone was a warning. But it was also an opportunity. What if there were riches inside â gold, jewels?
âJust a quick peek, in and out,â Kurt reasoned with himself. âAny sign of b***y traps or cursed chests, and youâll be straight out again. No harm, no foul.â
He took a deep breath, said a quick prayer to Sigmar and Taal and Ulric for good measure, checked his trusty tools â pick, axe, lantern, rope, flint, powder â and gave a long, apologetic bow to the statue, and approached the hole in the door. A rope throw, a quick climb, and a squeeze through the jagged gap, and he was inside, in the darkness.
He lit his lantern, and glanced around warily, light on his feet and ready to run. But there was nothing amongst the leaping shadows â except the ruins of grandeur that made him gape in wonder and timidity.
Though dark and covered in dust, there was no mistaking the austere beauty and scope of a dwarvish mine. No cheap, ramshackle human construction of shaky wooden struts and sagging ceilings, this â this was a realm of proud stone, immaculately shaped and holding strong, centuries after its apparent abandonment.
He was in a vast antechamber, whose size would dwarf most Sigmarite temples. More statues of gruff dwarves glared down at him from their alcoves. Off the antechamber, tunnels were painstakingly dug into the earth, bare sconces where torches once blazed lining the walls. They stretched away further than his little lantern could possibly illuminate.
Feeling very small, Kurt felt tears pricking his eyes, and wiped them away. âTime enough to gawp later,â he told himself gruffly. âLetâs get on with it.â
There was certainly nothing to frighten him, as far as he could tell. No gnawed bones, no wailing ghosts. It was as if the inhabitants had simply packed up one day, sealed up the entrance, and left, purely on some dwarfish whim.
So he picked one of the tunnels at random, and made his way along it, the lantern throwing up long walls of carved stone and carefully etched runes every few feet.
âMaybe marking distance?â Kurt mused aloud. âOr noting what they found.â
He walked for what he guessed was ten minutes, but which he reasoned could be hours in the deep places of the world, where sun and sky did not touch. The tunnel was so steady and uniform, unchanging. It felt oddly safe and reassuring after the eerie depths of the Drakwald Forest.
And then, up ahead, a glint flashed in the reflected lantern light. Kurtâs heart skipped a beat, and he hurried on, hoping desperately.
âOh, Sigmar bless me,â he breathed, gazing upon what he had longed to find.
Gold. A long, unbroken vein of it, stretching majestically across the grey expanse of stone. Untapped, gleaming softly. Kurtâs eyes were wet again, and he let out a sob of joy, clamping his hand over his mouth.
Gold, gold, gold â he was saved! The village of Auricsburg would pay through the nose for a discovery like this, and he would be right alongside them, pulling the precious metal from the walls of the mine in great handfuls. And where there was gold, there would surely be other valuable metals â silver, iron, copper. A bounty of riches.
His mind racing, he made himself be calm, and to think rationally â he would need to carefully mark his steps back down the tunnel towards the entrance, and then be sure of the route back to Auricsburg. There would be no value in his discovery if he couldnât lead the villagers back with him.
He was so giddy with his thoughts, so eager, that it took him a moment or three to realise he could hear a sound. The first sound â other than the tread of his own feet, the crackle of the little candle in the lantern, and his own breathing â that he had heard since entering the mine.
It was a cry. Quiet, distant, but distinct. He couldnât tell if it was human, animal, or otherwise, but he could tell by the soft, whimpering nature of it that it was a cry of pain, distress, despair.
He cocked his head, listening intently. He reckoned it was coming from somewhere further down the tunnel. It was muffled, as if behind a door.
Kurt hestitated. He knew he should turn back, get back to the entrance, back to the light of day, and make his way back to Auricsburg. He knew there was a good chance it was his mind playing tricks on him, that there couldnât be anything living deeper in.
âBut supposing there is?â Kurt asked himself quietly. âCanât just leave them down here, all alone. Could be hurt.â
So, sighing at himself, and hefting his axe, he slowly advanced, creeping, hunched, his lantern held high. He considered calling out, but he realised he was absurdly afraid of hearing his own voice, loudly echoing back at him.
He inched forward, the golden line in the wall coming with him. Kurtâs palms were slick with sweat, and his mouth was dry.
Every time he stopped, or glanced back where he had come, the cry came again. Each time it was a little louder, a little more pitiful. There was definitely something nearby, and it was desperately sad.
So Kurt steeled himself, and pressed on. Until he came to the door.
It was down a side tunnel, as if the dwarfs had abruptly turned off from their main thrust, and then just as suddenly cut off their progress. The door was carved into the rock, covered with runes like the entrance to the mine. There were no statues here, only insistent markings â but just like the entrance, the doors were broken.
Only it looked like something within, had burst out. The great stone doors were cracked and sat in pieces before the gaping hole. And the crying was coming from within.
Trembling, Kurt raised his lantern high, gripped his axe tight, and stepped forward.
âHello?â he heard himself call out. âIs anyone there? Iâm a friend. I can help.â
The light crept forward, illuminating another long stretch of tunnel. He couldnât see anyone, no frightened creature or man huddled in the dark.
But he could see a glow, glinting in the walls. Not gold, but a strange, shimmering green.
Kurt had never seen a shade like that before.
âWell,â he heard himself say, as he carefully set down his axe, and stepped forward to peer at the strange stone. âThat must be worth something.â
