The five spent three days within the temple of the Forge Father. The dwarven priests, a few goblins amongst them, left them alone, leaving them to talk, plan and rest before they entered the underground network. Mekior, D'Fir, Sister Egrit and Gyv spent much of the time questioning Jeria to make sure they had every detail that he remembered. They all feared to face the fiends and did not want to leave anything to chance. They sought to make sure they would not be taken by surprise.

The morning of the fourth day found the five readying to leave as the water clocks ticked over to show dawn, hopefully at the same time as the sun rose in the world outside. Kier stood there to see them off, his hands raised in benediction, five backpacks at his feet.

"What is in the packs, D'Kier?" D'Fir addressed the priest of the Forge Father, and his uncle.

"No longer D'Kier, you know that D'Fir. I gave up my claim to the throne when I took my seat amongst the priests of the Forge Father. Your father has always cursed me for leaving him to sit on the throne, neither of us wanted the job, but I was the quicker to find a way to avoid it."

"These backpacks are our gift to you. Filled with food, water skins and gear that anyone venturing into the outside would need." He smiled, "and don't be deceived by their size, they have been made with blessings from the Forge Fathers."

Each of the five picked up a pack, and Jeria almost threw it over his shoulders, as the weight he had expected was not there. He frowned, sat down and started unpacking the pack to see what was inside.

"What you doing, Jeria?" Mekior looked down and watched as Jeria removed each piece of equipment laid it out neatly,: rope, a grappling hook, five days worth of dried foods and black bread, some candles, a tinderbox, flasks of oil for a lantern, a water-skin, a thick, woollen winter blanket, a vial of a thick blue liquid, a vial of red syrup like liquid, and one of an oily green substance, plus a whole lot of odds and ends that made no sense. Mekior looked at the range of items, not believing that they had all come out of the small pack before him, and that the pack was so light.

As he started to repack, Kier came up and rested his hand on his shoulder. "Another useful feature of these packs; when you want something, just think of it as you reach in and it will be lying on top. You never have to search for anything within. As for those vials, use blue if you sustain a mortal injury, the red is if you should ingest something containing taint. It will nullify it if drunk soon after, but no more than a day later. The green one is in case of poison. Good luck to you all, may the Forge Father guide your steps and bring you back home wiser and healthier than when you left. May his road guide you to your destiny."

***

Two days into the journey and the tension was rising in the group. Jeria worried over it; he knew from experience that tension between people journeying together led to problems and danger to all the travellers. Tension between Sister Egrit and D'Fir, the one dedicated to the Void, the other to the Forge Father; tension between Mekior and Gyv, their failed relationship never spoken about but always between them. Inconsequential actions flared up into arguments, the simple lighting of the campfire enough to spark an argument between Sister Egrit and D'Fir, he taking exception to the use of magic on such a small task, her not understanding his want of using mechanical devices that seemed so much more cumbersome.

On that second day the arguments finally led to what was the inevitable consequence, an argument that went just that little bit too loud and just a little bit too long. Perhaps in the open air the noise would have been lost, but in the tight confines of the tunnels, the sound echoed and carried.

The group set-up camp, warmth provided by a small fire, started in mere seconds by Sister Egrit, followed by the inevitable sermonising and disagreement from D'Fir. Food was cooked, eaten, and the group settled down to sleep. D'Fir took the first watch, his back to the group as he watched the tunnel though which any danger would arrive.

The hours of his watch dragged on, shadows flickering against the walls, playing tricks with his eyes. D'Fir stood, axe at the ready and waved towards Jeria who, true to his nature, stayed awake most of the night whether on watch or not. Jeria came slowly forward, straining his eyes against the dark, axe at the ready.

"Spotted something?" Jeria whispered as he neared the dwarf.

"Not sure, that’s why I want your eyes for this. They're better than mine and the others need their rest, especially the witch." D'Fir stopped talking, a rueful look on his face. "Can't help myself, you know. I know you're right, any military commander knows that tension needs to be reduced but I can't help myself; she is just too smug!"

Jeria nodded and motioned for him to be quiet. "Later, right now, let us check what, if anything is out there."

Jeria moved into the shadows, calling on his fiendish blood to bend the light around him, extend the shadows to hide him as he moved. Practice and need had taught him how to do this, an ability he was grateful for though it came from his detested father. He moved around the edges of the tunnel, slowly enough to check the area thoroughly. The blur of a blade as it came towards him a surprise, his avoidance of it on an instinctual level, rolling out of darkness into the light, his axe being drawn in a single smooth motion as he came to his feet facing the shadows from which the blade had come.

"Wake the rest! Something is here, within the shadows." Jeria backed away, his eyes on the shadows, waiting to catch movement, the tell tale signs an enemy might make as it moved in to attack. When the attack did come, it still took him by surprise as a shadow detached itself from the wall, striking with a blade of shadows that he barely avoided, a blast of cold air following in its wake.

The creatures of shadow that attacked had disappeared again, the shadows from the fire providing them with ample opportunity to move undetected around the group. One struck out, its blade biting into Gyv as she moved to find the enemy. Its blade cut across her leg, leaving a line of blood dripping to the floor, the wound rimmed with ice; as she turned to face the direction from which the blade had come. As she moved, the creature struck again, from a different angle, plunging its sword into her side, sending her to the floor. D'Fir swung his axe into shadow where he believed one of the creatures to be, but was sent backwards, almost stunned as his axe blow, his full strength behind it, rebounded off the rock wall. As he sought to recover, D'Fir stumbled backwards; his back pierced by one of the shadow blades, and collapsed, his legs no longer worked, shock and pain sending him into blackness.

Sister Egrit awoke, her companions falling one by one to the shadow creatures. She raised her arms, invoking power form her divine Master to aide her.

"Master of the Void, bring your light down, fill these abominations of darkness with the light of life." Her invocation rang out clearly, heard by all. A deep, echoing laughter followed, cut off soon after as light began to well up, the small fire suddenly giving off the light of a raging bonfire, then that of a thousand torches. Shrieks, high pitched and pain filled rang out, man-shaped shadows dissipated, washed away in the wave of light, unable to survive. The flash of light was for but a moment, but its effects longer lasting. In its aftermath, Mekior stared at the meek, middle-aged, greying woman that he had dismissed as ineffective and with them for merely political reasons. Then he noticed Gyv and moved to her, his eyes tear-filled as he knelt beside her.

I can save Gyv, but at what cost? I did it last time, but she was unconscious when my blood saved her. If I do it this time, there will be no way to avoid the questions, no way to avoid revealing my nature! I can't do it! I love her but I love the life I lead, no one can know! Mekior sat next to Gyv, his face showing grief, his heart feeling disgust at his actions. Fiend or not, I try to be human, but this just proves that we cannot be completely false to our very nature.

Jeria knelt by the side of D'Fir and inspected his wound. "He's still alive! Gravely wounded but alive. How is Gyv doing?"

"The same. She has a wound in her leg, relatively minor, but the gash in her side will kill her soon." Mekior's voice cut off, emotion coming to the fore, his tears dropped onto Gyv's upturned face, a bitter-sweet smile turned to him as she fought her pain.

"I have to die before we get together again?" She stopped, pain closing her mouth as she sought not to scream.

"Are you three always so melodramatic?" Sister Egrit's voice rang out. “Get some of the healing potion from Kier out. I may not agree with them on philosophy but they do know how to brew potions, almost as well as their beer!"

Jeria reached into the pack and pulled out one of the blue vials. He uncorked it, and the smell of mead and curry permeated the air. He lifted the head of the dwarf, wondering how he was going to get the dying, unconscious dwarf to drink. With his left hand he forced D'Firs mouth open, dropped a few drops in, and then more as the first drops were swallowed. Amazed, he watched as the dwarf drank, as the wound closed miraculously and the dwarf opened his eyes and smiled before sinking into a deep sleep. Wonder lighting his eyes he turned, to see Gyv in a similar, deep, healing sleep.

"I wish we had these back when we first met, perhaps Gruzz would still be alive." Jeria's words were directed at Mekior, busy with making Gyv comfortable as she slept and recovered.

Mekior looked up at Jeria.

"I haven't thought of Gruzz in years. There have been so many deaths in my life before his, and so many since. They tend to blur, to become as one, individual faces blurring as time passes."

"That is sad. Life is for living, rejoicing in. True, the Cult of the Dead preaches that we should all just kill ourselves, go to our reward and escape this fiend infested hellhole our world has become. Yet, if we can look at ourselves, at each other, there is beauty that the fiends cannot touch, cannot destroy as long as any of us remain alive, albeit as slaves!"

Mekior and Jeria stared at Sister Egrit after her speech. She stood highlighted by the flame, the scars on her arms dancing in the firelight, casting shadows across her arm; a hypnotic pattern that demanded deciphering, yet one which neither of the watchers possessed the knowledge to understand.

***