In the grand hall of King Gazel Dwargo, the air was heavy with the smell of polished stone, steel, and incense. Torches lined the massive pillars that supported the roof of the fortress-like castle. Golden emblems of the Dwarven Kingdom gleamed in the firelight, and the stern faces of legendary dwarven warriors were etched into the high walls—silent observers to every council held within these sacred grounds.
At the far end of the room, on a raised stone platform, King Gazel Dwargo, the Iron Fist of the Forge, sat upon his throne—an intricately carved seat of obsidian and gold. Flanking him on either side were his trusted generals, each a veteran of countless battles, their armor dented and scarred, badges of honor earned through fire and blood.
A sudden magical pulse shimmered in the middle of the hall. Blue light sparked in a circle and with a muted whoosh, the spy appeared, kneeling low on one knee, his head bowed.
The room grew silent. All eyes were on him.
Gazel narrowed his eyes, resting his armored chin on one gauntleted fist. "Speak," he said in his deep, commanding voice. His tone brooked no delay.
The spy, still kneeling, began his report.
Spy: "My lord… I was patrolling near the main entrance as ordered. The line was long—many from different races: beastkin, humans, even a few giants. Among them were three… unusual individuals. Their energy was carefully hidden, but…" he glanced up for a moment, then quickly lowered his eyes again "…it was clear. They were powerful."
The generals began to murmur amongst themselves. One of them, General Doldren, a grizzled dwarf with a grey-streaked beard and a scar running from his brow to his cheek, leaned toward another.
General Doldren (whispering): "Powerful enough to suppress their aura to that degree? Hmph. Not many can do that…"
General Korrim, a broader dwarf known for his paranoia and mastery of rune-magic, scoffed quietly.
Korrim: "Or they're trying to hide something. Maybe agents of Falmouth again…"
Gazel raised a hand slightly, and silence returned instantly.
Spy: "I followed them through the city. They visited the blacksmith quarters, a few guild halls… even spoke to merchants and stopped by the Elven-run bar in the Silverwing District."
Gazel's eyes glinted. "Did they cause any disturbance?"
Spy: "None, Your Majesty. Quite the opposite. The tall one—white-haired, with regal posture—seemed to blend in well, but… I could tell he noticed me. He said nothing at first, just kept smiling… almost like he was enjoying the chase."
Doldren: "He knew he was being tailed and didn't react? That's not common… That's deliberate."
The spy nodded slowly. "Yes, sire. Later, while they strolled near the artisan alley… he disappeared. Vanished. I couldn't sense a thing. Next thing I knew… I felt a touch on my shoulder."
He shuddered. Even now, recalling the moment unnerved him.
Spy: "He was behind me. I didn't hear a sound. No shift in space, no ripple of magic. Nothing. He chuckled… and said:
'After all this time you've been following us… I believe it's time you introduced yourself.'"
The generals muttered again. Korrim's fingers flexed anxiously.
Korrim: "Not even a spatial trace? Are you sure?"
Spy: "Yes. And… I tried to teleport away—standard escape protocol. But I couldn't move. He'd already cast something. I never saw him do it."
Gazel leaned forward slightly, his eyes now gleaming with focus. "And then?"
Spy: "He asked who I was, and who sent me. I… I told him the truth. That I was acting under your command. He seemed to consider that for a moment. Then he said… 'Fair enough. Go tell your king I would like an audience with him.'"
The spy lifted his gaze to Gazel fully now.
Spy: "Sire… I could feel it. He let me go. Whatever magic he used… he just snapped his fingers and released it. I don't know who that man is—but he's not ordinary."
Gazel was silent for a long moment.
Gazel: "Describe him."
Spy: "Dark robes. Red trim. Calm eyes, but deep. Ancient. His hair was white, slightly tousled. He carried no visible weapon. His companions… one of them from what I have sensed was a dragonkin, tall and loud. The other was a goblin. A strong one."
Doldren: "Dragonkin? Don't tell me… could it be Veldora?"
Korrim: "The Veldora?!"
A wave of realization swept the room. Eyes widened. Some generals stood from their chairs.
General Orgrun, a quiet but tactical mind, spoke for the first time.
Orgrun: "If that is truly Veldora… and the one who appeared behind our spy is with him… then we may be dealing with one of the Demon Lords… or worse."
Gazel remained calm. He stroked his beard in thought, then rose slowly from his throne.
Gazel: "Then I shall meet him."
The room quieted again.
Gazel: "Send word to the palace guard. Prepare the inner sanctum. Make no threats, but keep alert. If this man seeks an audience, then he shall have it."
The generals nodded and began issuing orders to nearby aides.
Gazel, now walking toward the hallway behind his throne, muttered under his breath as the doors opened:
"…Let us see what sort of man he truly is."
Meanwhile, in the forest outskirts of Dwargon… Ranga and the Direfangs waited patiently beneath the trees, unaware that a meeting of monumental importance was about to unfold within the heart of the dwarven kingdom.
The golden rays of dawn spilled across the dwarven capital, casting warm hues over its majestic stone towers and bustling streets. The city had begun to stir—the clang of hammers rang in the distance, merchants opened shopfronts, and the aroma of fresh bread and ale drifted on the breeze.
Inside a modest but well-kept inn nestled in the merchant quarter, a faint knock echoed from the front entrance.
The receptionist, a middle-aged dwarf woman with sharp eyes and a memory like steel, greeted a squad of King's soldiers, clad in gleaming armor etched with the crest of Dwargon. The leader stepped forward, voice stern.
Squad Leader: "We're looking for two men and a goblin. Lodged here last night. Have you seen them?"
The receptionist nodded without hesitation.
Receptionist: "Aye. Took the room on the second floor, last door on the right. Strange trio, but they paid well… no trouble from them."
The soldiers nodded, thanked her, and ascended the creaking staircase.
Inside, Varvatos stood near the window, already dressed in dark robes trimmed in crimson. His eyes were calm, calculating. Veldora, dressed in casual dwarven garb that barely fit his muscular frame, was snoring loudly, sprawled across a wooden bench. Gobta, wrapped in the blanket like a cocoon, groaned as the knocking began.
Soldier (knocking loudly): "By order of King Gazel, open the door!"
Varvatos turned his head slightly, smiling.
Varvatos: "It's time."
With a snap of his fingers, a pulse of soft light wrapped around Veldora and Gobta, waking them instantly.
Veldora: "Huh? Time for breakfast already?"
Varvatos: "No, old friend. It's time to meet the King."
Gobta shot up, trying to look more presentable. "Do I bow? Do I salute? What do I do?!"
Veldora: "Just don't embarrass us."
They opened the door, where the soldiers stood waiting. Without a word, the trio followed the silent procession through the winding stone corridors of the capital, heading toward the royal castle.
The grandeur of the castle loomed ahead, towers piercing the sky and adorned with golden banners bearing the sigil of Dwargon—a flaming hammer crossed over an anvil. The drawbridge lowered before them, and they stepped into the citadel.
They were led through polished marble halls, past intricate tapestries telling the ancient stories of dwarven triumphs, until finally… they arrived at the Throne Room.
It was massive—domed and circular, with gleaming obsidian pillars and stained glass windows that bathed the room in amber and crimson light. The throne itself sat atop a raised dais, empty for now. Lining the walls were elite soldiers, stoic and battle-hardened. To the left and right of the throne platform stood King Gazel's generals, their expressions tight with discipline and curiosity.
Suddenly, one of the soldiers near the entrance raised his voice.
Royal Announcer: "HIS MAJESTY, KING GAZEL DWARGO, MAKES HIS ENTRANCE!"
The heavy doors at the side of the room opened with a deep groan, and Gazel strode in.
Adorned in regal battle armor, his crimson cape billowed behind him. His presence was commanding, his stride purposeful. All at once, every dwarf in the room—including the generals—knelt, heads bowed in reverence.
All except Varvatos, Veldora, and Gobta.
An audible gasp followed. The air shifted. Murmurs erupted.
General Korrim: "They dare remain standing?!"
General Doldren: "Such disrespect…!"
Soldier (clutching his spear tighter): "Blasphemous…"
The tension became thick enough to cut. A few of the soldiers reached instinctively for their weapons, but then—
Gazel raised one hand.
Silence blanketed the room.
He stepped forward, slowly ascending the steps to his throne before turning to face the trio.
Gazel: "You have requested an audience. State your business."
Varvatos, calm and composed, took one step forward.
Varvatos: "Your Majesty, I am grateful for your time. I have heard tales of Dwargon's master craftsmen—blacksmiths without equal—and I wish to recruit some of them. Not to steal your talent, but to request aid in building something… greater."
Gazel arched an eyebrow, intrigued.
Gazel: "Aid? For what exactly?"
Varvatos: "I am building a nation. A kingdom, to be precise. A place where monsters and beings of all races may live in unity. A beacon of strength… in the Jura Forest."
A wave of murmurs exploded through the chamber.
General Orgrun: "The Jura Forest…?"
Korrim: "That's Veldora's domain!"
Gazel's voice thundered again to silence the room.
Gazel: "You speak of building a kingdom… in the territory of the Storm Dragon himself? I doubt he would allow that."
Varvatos smirked slightly and turned, gesturing toward the man beside him.
Varvatos: "Worry not. In fact, Veldora and I are… old friends."
Veldora chuckled, placing his hand on his hip with a confident smirk. "Sup."
The temperature in the room plummeted.
Doldren: "That's absurd…!"
Orgrun: "Veldora has been sealed for centuries!"
Korrim: "If that's truly Veldora, why can't I feel anything from him?"
Gazel, watching carefully, narrowed his eyes. "Indeed. Storm Dragon Veldora is not known for suppressing his aura. I sense little from this one…"
Varvatos smiled knowingly and gave a sidelong glance to Veldora.
Varvatos: "Would you kindly…?"
Veldora: "Oh? You sure?"
Varvatos: "Just a little. We don't want to bring down the ceiling."
Veldora grinned. Then, with a deep breath, he released a fraction of his true aura.
It was like a detonation of pressure and power. The walls groaned. The stained glass windows trembled. Soldiers near the edge of the room staggered back; a few collapsed, gasping for breath. Some even fell to one knee, eyes wide with terror. The entire castle shuddered.
And then—just as quickly—Veldora retracted it.
Silence. Pure, stunned silence.
Gazel leaned forward, eyes sharper than ever.
Gazel: "...That is Veldora."
He turned his gaze to Varvatos. "And you…? Who are you to stand beside such a force?"
Varvatos lowered his head briefly in a courteous nod, then spoke firmly.
Varvatos: "I am Varvatos. And I will be the Emperor of the Kingdom I am building in the Jura Forest. A nation that will unify all monsters."
The murmurs didn't return this time. The silence was too deep. Too heavy.
Gazel remained seated, but his mind raced. A man who could not only stand beside Veldora, but command such a beast's respect and friendship… was no ordinary man. In fact, he might be far more dangerous than Veldora himself.
Varvatos sensed that.
Varvatos: "Do not mistake our intentions, King Gazel. We are not here to bring ruin to your kingdom. Quite the opposite. I have seen Dwargon's strength with my own eyes—your people are proud, and your leadership is just. I offer cooperation, not conquest."
Gazel's fingers tapped his throne armrest slowly. The tension finally began to ease.
Gazel: "You speak with certainty, Varvatos. I admire that. But strength alone does not make an emperor. Nor do good intentions make a nation."
Varvatos: "Agreed. That is why I seek the best. I seek allies, not subjects. And I believe Dwargon and my kingdom… could achieve great things together."
Gazel stared long at him. At Veldora. Even at Gobta, who was now trying to discreetly wipe sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.
Finally, the King of Dwarves stood tall.
Gazel: "Very well. I will consider your request. But know this, Emperor of the Jura Forest—if you bring harm to my people, no dragon's friendship will shield you from my wrath."
Varvatos smirked, bowing ever so slightly.
Varvatos: "That is fair, King Gazel. That is… very fair."