The Doors of Kimril Deep
For what seemed an age the adventurer’s mounts limped along a natural rock passage, cut by a gurgling stream. Finally, they entered into a broad natural cavern, blinking at the expanse, barely lit by snowy skylights. Extending like a mirror before them a placid underground lake served as headwaters for the stream. Set like black gems upon the silvery lake were a handful of coracles, carrying dwarven fisherfolk busily casting their nets.
Dawn of Snow inclined her sword to a cleft in the cavern wall, close by the lakeshore. “Be of good cheer everyone, for our underground trial is nearly over. If I remember aright, yonder passage leads to the realm of Kyng Darwulf and his bountiful halls.”
The adventurers straightened in their saddles, some attempting to the brush soot from their fire-blackened armour. “Good, we’re overdue some luck” Trollspear croaked. “I hear dwarf ale’s as strong as spirits. I’ll stand for the second round – doubt you’ll be able to keep up,” to chuckles and harrumphs from the party. Dawn smiled through a gaunt expression, “I suppose that makes e responsible for the first, I can almost taste those horns of sweet mead. Klk-klk” spurring her horse along the sandy shore. With attention fixed on the cavern exit, they didn’t notice a small dwarf maid huddled behind a heap of netting, until almost upon her. The girl’s clothes were ragged and incredibly dirty, even for a child. Mouth agog, the tiny dwarf’s eyes widened, then
unceremoniously she dived under the pile of nets.
Immediately Dawn reined-in Tempest, and looked sharply around. With no one else in the vicinity, she slid off her mount. Kneeling by the trembling mound, Dawn spotted a small dwarf’s eye spying at her through the mesh.
Dawn confided in the dwarven tongue using the softest tones: “Young one, you need not fear Tempest for he has the mildest temperament possible for a warhorse.” The girl only wriggled deeper under the odorous mound. Dawn frowned and continued to no one in particular: Pity, I had hoped to find our way to Kyng Darwulf’s halls by now. When last we met, he laid a great feast of welcome that was open to all, commoner and noble alike. Smoked pork, sweetmeats dripping with honey, I’d hate for it all to go cold…” The girl’s head emerged, wearing the net
like a shawl, “Are you friends with the kyng? I heard he met a noble woman from the lowlands when I was young. There was a big scandal – are you her?”
