Eitralf looks down at his son, Eitril. The old Dvergr jeweler is at least one and a half times bigger, and they almost appear to be from different species.

“You are young, son, don’t mistake speed with efficiency. She won’t get married anytime soon, and if she really loves you as you say, she’ll wait.”

Over the millennia, children have become increasingly rarer, and even compared to when he married his wife eight hundred years ago, the situation has grown worse. There’s barely one young for ten adults now, and only one out of four is a girl.

“Another opportunity like that will never come! I can quadruple my investment in a single trip.”

“At least, hire some helpers, humans don’t make for good escort.”

Even if he hired one of his fellow youths on the cheap, the loss would delay his marriage for months, maybe years. Oril would wait, he was sure of it, but what of her parents?

The girl is not of age yet, and out of sight for most of the eligible bachelors, but it won’t stay that way for long. Not so long ago, when his own father young, bridewealth was but a tradition, but now it has become the prime factor to win over the bride’s family. The girl still has the last say, but it only means she can say no to an arrangement, not choose her husband herself.

“I can’t, if I hire another, he’ll bring own wares with him, and depreciate my own.”

What he said made sense, even if he hired other Dvergrs as guards, they would never let pass the opportunity to make more money out of the trip, and to make things worse, Oril was popular among his friends.

Eitralf strongly desires to accompany his son, but he’s received a commission from the Elf Queen herself, and she’s not known for her patience, her forgiveness, or any good trait of character. Usually, it doesn’t bother the old jeweler because he takes great pride in his work; he often boasts about how the demon king of eight hundred years ago destroyed a human city to recover some of his earlier work.

This time though, he’d love nothing much that to leave his work behind and follow his precious child, “Be wary son, neighboring countries learned what comes from antagonizing Dvergrs with their blood, but individuals are quick to forget the risks when faced with profit.”

“I know, Dad! I chose a merchant who has a long history of dealing with us.”

‘My father did the same thing to me.’ thinks the old dwarf. ‘Although in my case, my father was right, taking an apprenticeship under an ancient goblin craftsman was a terrible idea. Compared to that, a trip to a human city is like going on a vacation.’

“Sorry child, I can be overbearing at times. Make sure to have a small chat with your mother before you go, she complained that you barely ever show your face anymore.”

“Only because she’s even worse than you, Dad.”

<><><>

Missing schedule and contraband are the two best ways for a caravan master to lose his trade license, so to say being late rarely ever happen would be an understatement. The first day, Eiltraf didn’t worry, the road goes through a forest after all. The second day, he kept on polishing his old equipment just in case.

Now is the third day, and he’s going around his old acquaintances to mount a rescue mission. For those who long sold their equipment, he’s buying enchanted weapons, armor, and everything the small scouting party of thirty can need.

His old friend Durn chastises him, but not over the apparent waste, “You should talk to the king first, if there really was an attack against one of ours then it concerns the kingdom!”

“My wife will it taking care of that, but I can wait for the scouting parties; my boy needs me now!”

There’s no way to argue with that; the only thing more important than family, is the species itself, and most Dvergr would argue they are the same thing. What if he ends up wasting his wealth and everyone’s time? Who cares, they’ll laugh it off and make fun for him for a few decades.

“Where are we going?”

“All we can do is follow the southern highway until we find traces of the caravan and see where it leads us.”

“I used to be a good tracker, but that was hundreds of years ago; I can’t promise anything, old friend.”

“Don’t worry, I have enlisted the help of a Kobold.”

Kobolds are friendly earth spirits; they love mining, smelting, the shaping of metal and hate the Giants with as much fervor as the Dvergr. If the myths are to be believed, both species share a common ancestry, but as pure spirits, the little sprites can make themselves intangible and even travel through the earth.

<><><>

Eitralf, is really thankful to the little Fae, it’s not their way to leave the mountain, and yet it’s here to help him, and what help; by themselves, reaching the site of the attack and following the tracks would have taken well over a week, but the sprite did it in a matter of hours. Two days of walking without sleep, and here they are, looking at a raiding party of around two hundred, and their hundreds of hostages.

“Should we take prisoners?”, asks Durn.

“I’m not sure it’s an option… With all those hostages, we’ll need to strike hard and fast, if we want to avoid needless casualties.”

Thirty members talking about overwhelming six times their numbers can seem odd until you take into account the difference in training and equipment of both groups. The old companions may have retired from adventurous life hundreds of years ago, but clad in their enchanted armors, they’re a force to be reckoned with, and it’s even truer when faced against naked primitives.

The Dvergr aren’t interested, but Beastmen are badly armed because their species revere individual strength above all and hold the belief that eating a living prey grants them its power. As a result, apart from plundered items and a few primitive weapons crafted by slaves, they go with what nature gave them.

“Let’s not take useless risks, we’ll hit them tonight from afar. No need to take prisoners either; there are hundreds of hostages to give us the information we need.”

<><><>

Night comes, and the Beastmen gather to witness the torture of one of their own.

“Fucking beasts,” spits one of the Dvergs, " they’re beyond insane!”

“Don’t complain; they've gathered into a nice tight group and are even providing lighting for us. We are going to have a field day.”

“I thought they were merely animals, but they’re far worse than that.”

“Look at this one’s equipment, he has to be their leader, get ready!”

Eitralf cast a silence spell, and give the signal to prepare. A few seconds later, the message has been relayed, and the sentinels fall one by one. To make every bolt count and avoid crossfire, they only shoot targets in their assigned perimeter.

Despite the bolt piercing his chest, the beasts' leader screams orders, but the silence spell prevents them from knowing what those are. None of that it matters though since the battle is already won. The mighty band put down their repeating crossbows and charge into the disorganized mob; without a leader, the beasts seem incapable of coordination.

To the Dvergr surprise and worry, none among the prisoners rise in rebellion after the death of their captors; a sure sign that Eitril is either not among or in too bad a shape to do anything. Enraged by the thought, the old friends redouble in violence, slaughtering every Beastman in sight including the prostrating Rabbitmen begging for mercy.

“Fight me, cowards.” screams the injured leader in the common language.

“Their leader is still alive.”

“Make him stand still; we may need to him some questions later.”

<><><>

A quick search of the camp produced his son isn’t among the hostages, and his armament is nowhere to be seen. Some human prisoners claim to have seen a Dwarf being taken away with their fellows two days ago, but none of them have returned since.

Eitralf heals the defeated wolfman, he is the only one to have enough control over his magic to ensure he won’t die, but won’t be able to move either.

He throws water on the Beastman face and asks, “Where’s my son, beast.”

“Fools, my troops were but a scouting party, you will never escape lord Hippo’s wrath, now.”

“What’s a hippo?”, asks a concerned Durn.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” answers his friend.

“Another type of beast, nothing to be worried about.” says another.

“Don’t dismiss it as unimportant, there might be an army at large.” in the common language, he asks, “What’s a Hippo?”

“A mighty warrior you can’t ever hope to beat! He and his troops will soon be upon you to exact our revenge!”

Eitril kicks the wolfman’s broken arm, “I don’t give a damn about your hippo, beast. Where is my son?!”

“The dwarf is no more, lord Hippo stomped him dead, and will all join him soon!”

“Sorry for your loss.” mutters his friend.

“I’m the one who is sorry, in my grief I almost lost sight of what’s important; now is a time of war, mourning will come later.”

“They will pay in blood, they always do!”

“What about the humans?”

“Leave them be, we don’t have time to babysit them; there’s a real army at large, the kingdom must be warned.”

The sorrowful father’s sight falls on the Kobold patting his leg in an attempt to soothe him; spirits can’t communicate well with people like him, but at home, there are plenty who can understand it.

“Sorry guys, but informing the kingdom comes first… Durn, you’re on scouting on the way back.” he then addresses the Kobold, “Please, go home and warn everyone, war is upon us, a Beastman’s army of unknown number is invading.”