Expansion - Chapter 25

 

Brammir – Slate Clan Hall

As he eats with the engineers, Brammir spots Brottan scanning the hall for a place to sit. He waves him over. “Brenna, this is one of the miners I worked with — Brottan.”

The dwarves make room for him at the table.

Brikel grins. “Let’s see… Brammir, Brenna, Brottan, and Brikel. All we need is one more ‘B’ name and we’d have a full set.”

Brenna laughs and looks around. “I don’t see Broddik or Branik. So, I guess we’re one short.”

A dwarf with his beard braided in the lone‑wolf style pauses, staring at Brammir.

“Excuse me… did you say you’re Brammir? Brammir Thuldrenson?”

Brammir blinks, confused. “I am. But I don’t remember meeting you.”

The dwarf shifts his plate to one hand and extends the other. “I’m Brokkan Durvakson. I worked with your brother — Helmir.”

Before Brammir can respond, the engineers cheer. “Brokkan! The fifth ‘B’ — a complete set! Sit!”

Brokkan looks baffled for a moment, clearly having missed the joke. The engineers quickly introduce themselves, and he relaxes as they explain it.

Brammir wants to ask Brokkan questions — so many questions — but now isn’t the right time. He focuses on his meal instead.

As they eat, stories and gossip flow around the table. Brokkan mentions he was supposed to be part of a second shift of miners going to Bimadizi‑Kor, but that assignment was cancelled.

Brottan says, “We just came from Bimadizi‑Kor, isn’t that right, Brammir?” He nods.

Brenna pauses mid‑bite. “There would have been enough work for two shifts. There was plenty of ore.”

“We were told that was the plan,” Brokkan says, “until the Legion showed up.”

“None of it really makes sense,” Brikel mutters.

Yivra softly adds, “Should’ve closed down before we lost Mardek.”

The joy drains from Brikel’s face.

The rest of the engineers fall quiet.

Brammir turns to Brenna. “Was that your friend you lost?”

She nods.

After a few minutes of subdued eating, Brikel says, “We really need to make sure Mardek’s things get to the Slate Clan.”

Brottan looks over. “I’m Slate. Slate‑Jaw. Who was Mardek?”

Yivra answers, “Slate‑Runner. We did his smidasaga and sagnasteinn. When we arrived, we deposited them with the Guild.”

Brottan nods in understanding. “When we finish, I’ll get them and bring them to the Clan Hall. I found it earlier when I walked around.”

Brikel asks, “Can I accompany you? I was part of the rituals.” Yivra corrects him gently. “We were all part of them. We’d be honored to help you.” The engineers at the table all nod. Brammir places a hand on Brottan’s shoulder. “I’d like to help too.”

“We never did a sagnasteinn for Helmir,” Brokkan says softly.  He pauses and looks at all of them. “Yes. Please accompany me. We’ll give Mardek full honors.”

 

They walk through the busy streets, Brottan carrying the wrapped slates as the others follow close behind. Brikel has Mardek’s rods and ropes; Yivra carries his pack with personal items.

Brokkan says, “I’d heard gobblers don’t own anything — just share it all. Wonder if they’ve anything like this for their dead.”

Brammir shrugs. “My brother always said they just dump them into pits and let them break down into soil.”

Brenna shakes her head. “That’s probably just more rumors and tales.”

Brikel turns, lifting Mardek’s rod to show the depth. “Could’ve been. The pits in the waste room were deep enough.” He gestures. “I wish I could’ve read those goblin marks. Maybe they said ‘Here lies Ol’ Gobbler.’”

No one laughs as the joke lands flat.

They approach a recently built stone‑block building with the Slate Clan emblem carved above the door. Gas lamps burn on either side of the gate.

Brottan knocks. The gate opens.

“I’m Brottan Slate‑Jaw.”

An old dwarf with clan emblems woven into his beard looks over the group of miners and engineers. “Are all these Slate Clan?”

“No, just me,” Brottan says. “But they’re here to finalize the ritual.” He hands one wrapped package to Brenna and unwraps the other. He reads the carved title aloud. “This is the sagnasteinn for Mardek Slate‑Runner.”

The miners and engineers bow their heads as it is presented.

The elder at the gate raises a hand. “Stop. Wait. Come into the courtyard. Let’s do this properly.”

He opens the doors wider and motions them inside.

The courtyard is quiet, centered around a stone fountain. Small block buildings ring the space. “Wait here,” the elder says, and disappears through an elaborately carved door.

A few minutes later, a dwarf wearing both clan and Guild emblems steps out, carrying an ornamental hammer. “I’m Tharvik Slate‑Ward, head of Slate Clan here. I’m told you’ve brought a sagnasteinn.”

“And a smidasaga,” Brikel says politely.

Brottan nods. “I am Brottan Slate‑Jaw, and this is the sagnasteinn for Mardek Slate‑Runner.”

Tharvik takes it and reads the runes. “He looks to have been a fine lad.”

Brottan unwraps the second slate. “And here is the smidasaga, showing that though he died, his task was completed.”

Tharvik reads it, nodding reverently.

Brikel steps forward and places the tools on the ground. “These were the tools of Mardek. He used them well.” Yivra sets down his pack. “These were his things. He carried them with pride.”

Tharvik looks around the group. “Are there any others?”

They all shake their heads.

He continues, voice solemn. “You honor the Slate Clan greatly — not only by completing the ritual, but by returning his tools.”

He turns and nods to the elder at the gate.

The old dwarf steps forward and hands each of them a small metal badge. “Friend of Slate Clan,” he says. “If you are ever in need of help, you will find it here.”

They bow their heads, accept the badges, and quietly leave.

Expansion - Chapter 24

 

Helvar – Grand Chapel of DurnBim Hold

Taking his few items from the cart, Helvar walks past the main hall of the Grand Chapel and looks for the rooms for the acolytes and priests. Finding an empty room with a bed, he lays his pack down, lights the lamp, and then lies on the cot for a moment, stretching out on the blankets overtop a rope lattice held by a carved stone frame.

An acolyte knocks at the door frame, “Helvar Durn-Karr, you are to follow me.”

He sits up, runs his fingers through his beard and then follows the acolyte, who is holding up a small lantern with a candle.

They go down a set of carved stairs and enter a set of lower chambers, all of which have hinged doors. Halfway down the hallway, the acolyte motions for Helvar to enter the room which is lit by a single lamp suspended from the ceiling. There is a small table with two chairs.

“Please take a seat.” The acolyte says and then closes the door.

The room is designed as a ‘confessional’, where dwarves who feel guilty about a transgression against their community and the church, can come, confess, and, with the help of a priest, come up with a plan for restitution. This is used when an infraction doesn’t raise to the level of being a ‘crime’ requiring a magistrate or a judge, but more of a spiritually based item that affects a clan.

The walls are covered in woven tapestries, depicting the Laws of Durn.

“Cloth to prevent echoes. As well designed as anything at Khar-Durnath.” He says softly to himself.

The door opens and dwarf wearing a dark cloth hood, covering his face, enters.

He has slates and barkskins in his hands as he sits across from Helvar.

The door is closed from the outside, and the dwarf clears his throat. “Helvar Durn-Karr, also known as Acolyte Helvar Quiet-Stone, do you know why you are here?”

Helvar leans forward and steeples his hands. “I assume that the Silent Masters are not pleased with my work.” Helvar says in Mishikwe.

The masked dwarf replies in Durask, “You use the language of ‘shadow walkers’. Do you consider me your adversary?”

Still continuing in Mishikwe “I simply wish to keep thing from ears who don’t need to hear what we are saying.”

The masked dwarf switches to Mishikwe, “Very well, we can speak like this to confuse ‘stone ears’ who shouldn’t hear.”

Helvar sighs, “To expand on my answer, I guess that our masters are not happy with the answers I have provided.”

The masked dwarf looks at the slates, “No, on the contrary, these reports are well assembled and look very professional.” He then takes flips through the barkskins. “These on the other hand, show a disturbing trend. More than once, you comment that Bimkor or Goblins would be more useful than Silent Hammers in uncovering the truth.”

Helvar exhales slowly and leans forward. “That is because in recent incidents, there were no traps. Where the Legion of Stone thought there were spiders pushed to madness by zhul‑durak, you have beasts gone feral from hunger and lack of care. As for the death of the surveyor, you had an untrained boy who missed the warning signs because he couldn’t read Goblin and had no knowledge of how their waste caverns worked.”

“What of the smoke trap?”

“That was Legion arrogance and ignorance. There was snow that blocked part of the air channels. The oily compound they used to burn the webs made noxious smoke that had nowhere to go so it filled the adjoining chambers until it made it to the main cavern and fresh air. By that time, the engineers pulled back and the Legion had casualties.”

“But you hadn’t arrived when it happened. So how do you know?”

Helvar leans back and lets out an irritated sigh. “Because the people who understood, the Mining Guild Engineers, talked among themselves. And I did my job and listened.”

The masked dwarf looks through the barkskins and pauses. “So, none of this has to do with you developing sympathies for the Goblins?”

Helver pauses and fidgets with a braid in his beard. “I don’t like people being killed for no reason. If I had been ordered to kill the border scout, quietly in the dark, I would have. The same is true for any of the Protectors we identified. If it had instilled fear and caused rumors, that I would have understood and done it. But publicly hanging all of them and then herding the rest of their people into a snow-covered pass, to freeze, is a waste.”

“Why a waste?”

“Did any of the engineers or Legion talk with the Spider herders, waste workers, or any of the people who could have prevented the tragedies you mentioned? No. And if I had been allowed to continue my work at Bimadizi‑Kor, I would have had official reports that would have answered questions about what lay directly outside of the border communities. But I was stopped and the Iron Legion took over. That made it a waste of my time too.”

The masked dwarf stands, gathering the slates and barkskins with deliberate care. “We will hold on to all of these.” Then, switching to Durask — clipped and formal: “Rest. Tomorrow, you leave for Khar‑Durnath. You will rest and study at the monastery.”

The door opens. He leaves without another word.

The acolyte who brought Helvar down the stairs appears in the doorway, lantern in hand. “If you’re hungry, it’s almost Stone‑Rest. The dining hall is open.”

Helvar exhales through his nose. “Last meal for a condemned man.”

The acolyte blinks, confused.

“Condemned? Who’s condemned? I was told you needed the confessional after a difficult time in the caverns. Aren’t you hungry?”

Helvar studies him for a heartbeat — realizing the acolyte heard nothing of what was said inside.

He forces a weak smile.  “A bad joke. You’re right — it was a difficult time. Food sounds good. Lead the way.”

Expansion - Chapter 23

 

Brikel – The Mining Guild

Brikel takes in the energy and excitement of Durnbim Hold as they exit the tunnel from Root‑Stone Hearth. The cavern is alive with movement — miners, Legionnaires, Guild workers, and traders all flowing through the wide stone avenues.

 “There it is!” Thavrin calls, pointing to the polished stone emblem of the Mining Guild above a broad archway. A group of miners spill out from the entrance, laughing and talking.

 “Brikel!” a voice calls.

He turns. It’s Helvar — the acolyte — pushing Elder Bromvek’s cart.

“Wait a moment.”

Brikel watches as Helvar rummages through one of the cart’s drawers and pulls out two carefully wrapped slates.

He hands them over. “This is Mardek’s smidasaga and sagnasteinn. I hadn’t had time to send them.”

Brikel nods, feeling the weight of both slates settle into his hands. “The Guild will ensure they reach his clan.”

Helvar nods once, then pushes the cart toward the large Chapel marked with Durn’s symbol carved deep into the stone.

 

Thavrin steps up to the clerk at the Guild doorway, who begins reading off the names of the engineering team. When Mardek’s name is read, Brikel steps forward.

“This is the Sagnasteinn and Smidasaga for Mardek Slate‑Runner,” he says. “His tasks were completed.”

The clerk’s expression tightens — nervously he accepts the wrapped slates. “Are there any members of his clan among you?”

They all shake their heads slowly.

Brikel speaks again, voice steady. “As one of the participants in his smidasaga, I formally request the Mining Guild present these to his clan, as is his right.”

Thavrin and Yivra step beside him and repeat, in unison, “As is his right.”

The clerk swallows, holding the slates as though they might shatter. “Please stay here.” He disappears through the doorway.

Voices carry faintly from inside:

“Yes, this is the engineer team that lost a man. These need to go to his clan.”

A pause.

“I don’t care. Get me a runner. These are your responsibility now.”

 

A moment later, the clerk returns, composed again, and resumes handing out badges, reciting the standard reminders about Guild privileges and lodging.

Thavrin turns to the group. “Let’s get inside. Find a bed or a cubby, secure your gear, then explore the Hold.”

The engineers nod, the weight of the day settling over them as they step into the Guild Hall.

 

Walking through Durnbim Hold, Brikel is struck by how many people crowd the stone avenues and how much activity churns around him. Lamps and glow‑stones hang from carved brackets, casting shifting layers of light and shadow across the bustling cavern.

 

Near the Grand Chapel, rows of stalls have been set up, each one selling religiously themed items. Painted copies of Durn’s Laws hang beside carved scenes of Durn forging iron, smelting ore, or digging the First Tunnel — each stall emphasizing a different teaching.

Voices call out as he passes.

“You look like one of the faithful.”

“See the quality of the carving!”

“Gain Durn’s blessing by owning—”

“Made from the finest of Durn’s gifts!”

Brikel shakes his head and moves on.

He searches for a market district, but instead finds stalls clustered outside the Clan Halls, each selling the wares of that clan. The Smithing Guild has claimed an entire building, its front lined with polished tools and weapons stamped with the Guild’s certification rune.

It all feels… wrong.

He remembers the few times he visited when this was still a Bimkor community — the old trader’s market, the smell of roasting roots, the sound of haggling. He walks to where the market used to be.

But everything has changed.

The cluster of stalls and booths is gone, replaced by a carved stone block building bearing the emblem of the Traders' Guild. A few booths line the walls, but the space feels colder, more controlled, busy but less vibrant.

He also notices how many dwarves wear Guild emblems denoting their trade.

Pairs of Legion of Stone patrol the avenues, walking with the same steady rhythm the Peacekeepers once had. The biggest difference is the brown leather instead of the old blue wool — and the iron‑headed hammers hanging beside their clubs.

Brikel exhales and turns back toward the Mining Guild Hall, where he can clean up before Hearth-Meal.

 

The dining hall is a much larger, more polished version of the one at Root‑Stone Hearth. One entire wall is lined with cooks and servers; the long tables and benches run in straight, disciplined rows. At the far end, a stone basin waits for dirty plates and utensils. Brikel nods at the orderly structure — very Guild, very efficient.

He joins the line and waits for the Hearth‑Meal bell. He doesn’t recognize most of the dwarves around him; he spends more time with engineers than miners, after all.

The bell rings. The line surges forward. Plates clatter, ladles dip, and food is placed on plates.

Brikel grabs the center of an empty table. He glances around, wondering if the Guild will have someone give a blessing. No one steps forward. So he dips his bread into the gravy and takes a bite.

“I see you’re sitting with all of your friends,” Helka says as she sits diagonal from him, followed by Brenna, Yivra, and Olmra.

“Just saving seats for lovely ladies like you,” he replies with a grin.

“Oh, now that we aren’t in a remote border site, now he compliments us,” Yivra teases.

Brenna sips her root‑tea. “You look better now that you’ve had a good shower and clean clothes too.” She glances past Brikel and brightens. “Brammir! Come sit with us.”

Brikel nods as the miner approaches and settles onto the bench.

“I’m glad to see you made it back safely, Brenna,” Brammir says.

“You too. Did your whole team get recalled?”

“Yes. We all made it back safely.” He takes a bite of gravy‑soaked meat. “It was strange. Bimadizi‑Kor was cleared out. We were the only ones there until the Iron Legion moved in and escorted us out. Everyone was gone except for the gobbler bodies we saw.”

Brikel pauses mid‑bite. “Bodies? What bodies?”

“About half a dozen. Looked like they’d been hung.” Brammir shrugs. “We didn’t check ’em. Just saw ’em before the Legion arrived.”

“I wonder if they’re related to the ones Korrin saw,” Yivra muses.

Moving My Stories

 Dear Reader, 

I have been writing two types of stories for a while now. Having them in the same location doesn't work for me. If you are a fan of my 'smutty', erotic stories, they will stay here. I started them here and they will stay here. 

For the fans of my Fantasy stories, Goblin Tales, the stories that will make up my book series "The Children of Durn and the Children of Bruna", I am relocating them.  

Here is the link to the new location:  https://goblin-tales.blogspot.com/

I am moving all of my fantasy and children's stories there. If you are enjoying them, please read and enjoy what I publish. 

If you enjoy the sex and the smut, stay here. I won't be adding to them but there are over two hundred posts for you to enjoy. Leave me comments it you want me to continue any of the storylines you find here. 

AAA Detective stories came from reader's comments, so I do pay attention to requests. 

I hope you enjoy what you find on both sites. 

Expansion - Chapter 22

 

Brammir – Durnbim Hold

As the miners emerge from the tunnel connecting Bimadizi‑Kor to Durnbim Hold, the world opens around them. What had been a sleepy border settlement a year ago is now a roaring hive of activity. The cavern‑city thrums with movement: Iron Legion soldiers marching eastward in tight formations, Legion of Stone detachments returning from the newly occupied territories, Guild caravans unloading crates, and workers from half a dozen Holds being reassigned to new posts.

 Brammir stops just inside the threshold, taking it all in. The air is thick with voices, bootsteps, the clatter of carts, and the distant ringing of forges. It feels like stepping into the heart of a storm.

The Legionnaire leading their escort halts, turns to Jorvik, and offers a firm handshake.

“We escorted you here safely. You’re free to report to the Mining Guild. We did as ordered. Good luck.”

Jorvik nods, but his eyes are already scanning the cavern—measuring, assessing, wary.

Around them, the group begins to loosen, shifting uneasily as the scale of the Hold sinks in. The miners who had stood shoulder‑to‑shoulder in the tunnels now look small and scattered in the vast stone expanse.

 Jorvik points to the polished stone emblem of the Mining Guild. “Alright, let’s keep together.” He leads the way.

Brammir notices that alongside the trade‑guild emblems, many of the newly built buildings bear Clan seals as well. “I’m curious if my clan expanded out to here,” he wonders aloud.

Miri hears him. “It’s possible,” she says, “but there’s no way mine is here.”

Keldra taps Miri’s shoulder and points to a broad‑fronted building marked Hill Clans Combined Hall, its stone facade carved with the seals of half a dozen Hill clans. “We might get a bath and a meal there.”

“If we aren’t still labeled as ‘frontier Guilders’,” Miri mutters.

“You aren’t in my mind,” Brammir says, giving both women an encouraging smile. “You’ve proved the color of your ore to me.”

Jorvik turns. “Of course you have. Anyone who says different’ll answer to me.”

“Agreed,” the rest of the miners chime in.

 

At the doorway to the Guild Hall, a scribe sits behind a low stone desk with multiple slates arranged in neat stacks.

“Where are you arriving from?” he asks Jorvik.

“Bimadizi‑Kor worksite,” Jorvik replies proudly. “All ten returned safe and sound. No losses or injuries.”

The clerk pulls the slate for that site and begins reading off names. As each dwarf answers, he hands them a metal badge stamped with the Mining Guild seal.

 

When he finishes, he says, “This will allow you to use Mining Guild facilities without cost or charge. If you prefer your local Clan Hall, you are welcome to do so. Either way, Guild Brothers—” he glances at Miri and Keldra, “—and Guild Sisters, we are pleased to see you. If you will be staying with your Clan, please inform your team leader”—he nods at Jorvik—“so he knows where to find you when new assignments are issued.”

Jorvik clears his throat. “Any idea when that will be?”

The clerk shakes his head. “We have many miners returning from the new territories. Once assignments are set, you’ll be informed.”

Each dwarf pins their badge to a beard braid. Jorvik says, “I recommend you walk around and see if your clan has a Hall here. Regardless, return here for Hearth‑Meal so I know you’re all right.”

Everyone nods, shifting their packs before heading out into the bustling Hold.

Expansion - Chapter 21

 

Helvar – Changes

“There are bodies everywhere!” a voice calls down from the upper tunnels, breathless and excited.

Helvar steps out of the Chapel, tucking his barkskin notes into a pocket of his robe. Yivra, Thavrin, Elder Bromvek, and a Senior Legionnaire all converge toward the sound.

A dwarf—Korrin, Helvar recalls—stands at the bottom of the ramp, still wearing his climbing harness, chest heaving.

“What’s that?” Yivra asks.

“Whose bodies, and where?” Thavrin adds.

Elder Bromvek and the Legionnaire remain silent, waiting.

Helvar moves closer, concern tightening his brow.

Korrin straightens. “I was climbing the air vents like we discussed. Yes, the snowfall blocked some of them. They’ll melt in time, but when the Legion used smoke… there wasn’t anywhere for it to go.”

Thavrin and Yivra nod grimly. “But you said bodies?” Yivra presses.

Korrin swallows. “Down in the Traders’ Pass. They look frozen.”

Elder Bromvek frowns. “No one uses the pass in winter. Both ends are too easy to block with snow and ice.” 

He turns to the Legionnaire. “Hadrun, do you know anything about this?”

Hadrun shakes his head. “No. We’ve limited all activity to inside the mountain for the season. We don’t patrol the passes until spring.”

“I don’t think they were dwarves,” Korrin says quietly. “I think they were all goblins.”

“Goblins in the snow?” Thavrin mutters. “Unheard of. River and Swamp Goblins shouldn’t be anywhere near the high passes.”

Korrin looks to Hadrun. “Can the Legion send a rescue team? There might be survivors.”

Hadrun hesitates. “I’ll write an observation report and send it to headquarters in Durnbim Hold. How many bodies did you see?”

“Dozens,” Korrin says. “I didn’t get a good count.”

Thavrin nods. “Help him make an official report. Then give your notes to Yivra. If you need to map more vents and the bell for Stone‑Rest hasn’t sounded, return to where you left off.”

 

Helvar quietly slips back into the Chapel office. He opens his barkskins and writes quickly:

‘Goblins abandoned in the pass’

‘No Protectors or Scouts’

‘Winter—pass closed’

He closes the barkskin and steps into the main part of the Chapel.

“Durn, we follow your path,” he begins, voice low but edged with anger. “But purity of spirit does not mean corrupting it with hate. Show me what I must do. Our own people are straying from the path. Guide me.”

Elder Bromvek enters softly, approaching with gentle steps. “Acolyte Helvar, if you need guidance, I’m here.”

Helvar looks at him—an Elder he barely knows. “I’m having doubts,” he admits. “I know the Path of Durn. I’ve studied the laws. But I see our own people breaking them in Durn’s name.”

Bromvek gestures to a bench. “Sit. Speak freely.”

Helvar sits, but only for a moment. As Bromvek leans in, Helvar’s training snaps back into place. This is not a Silent Hammer debriefing. This Elder is not cleared.

This is wrong.

Helvar rises, smoothing his robe. “Elder, I’m alright. I had a moment of weakness, but speaking with you reminded me of Durn’s Laws and the True Path. My doubts are gone. Thank you.”

Bromvek studies him with concern. “Are you certain?”

“I am,” Helvar says. “I should return to my duties. The end of Midday approaches.”

The Elder stands. “Very well. If you have further concerns, my door is open.”

“Of course, Elder.”

Helvar bows and steps away—his face calm, but quietly seething underneath.

 

Helvar stands at the bell, ready to sound Work‑Resumption. Engineers and miners have more bells than the Legion, but the purpose is the same: mark the times that matter.

From the western tunnel, the sound of marching boots echoes into the hall.

Helvar turns — expecting the brown leather and stone‑grey uniforms of the Legion of Stone — but instead sees black iron plate, polished and cold.

“This isn’t good,” he whispers.

He strikes the bell hard, sounding the alarm instead of the hour.

 

Leaders of Root‑Stone Hearth emerge at once — Thavrin, Yivra, Elder Bromvek, Slate‑Leader Hadrun — all staring as a full company of Iron Legion soldiers march into the hall.

At their head walks a dwarf whose beard is braided with battle awards, rank‑runes carved directly into his armor.

“I am Forge‑Commander Vargan Iron‑Reeve,” he announces, voice carrying like a hammer blow. “This operation is now under the jurisdiction of the Iron Legion.”

Hadrun steps forward. “I am Slate‑Leader Hadrun Slate‑Ward of the Legion of Stone. I have received no orders relieving me of my duties here.”

Vargan hands him a sealed scroll. “These are your orders.”

Helvar watches Hadrun read them — the tightening jaw, the resigned nod.

“My men and I will pack up and return to Durnbim Hold.”

“Make sure you take the engineers with you,” Vargan adds.

Thavrin approaches, bristling. “What’s this?”

“This operation is now under Iron Legion control,” Vargan repeats. “Military engineers will continue your work. Pack your equipment and leave with the Legion of Stone.”

 

Two dwarves step from the ranks — armored, but bearing the symbols of Durn rather than weapons.

“I am Chaplain Morgran Stone‑Cantor,” the elder says, “and this is my acolyte, Rulik Grey‑Mantle. We will see to the spiritual needs of the Legion. Please depart with the others.”

Elder Bromvek stiffens. “I have tended the spiritual needs of this settlement since its occupation.”

Chaplain Morgran smiles — warm, but immovable. “A task you have done well. Return to the Grand Chapel at Durnbim Hold. If you are needed elsewhere, you will be told there.”

Bromvek exhales sharply, his frustration plain and visible, but the black armor before him leaves no room for argument. “Of course. Helvar, help me pack.”

“Of course, Elder.”

Before he can move, an iron‑gloved hand settles heavily on Helvar’s shoulder.

A voice speaks in soft Mishikwe, low enough that only Helvar hears:

“Leave your notes. Go with your Elder. At Durnbim Hold, you will be sent on a spiritual retreat. Do as you are told. We are still needed.”

Then, louder, in Durask: “Travel safely on Durn’s path, fellow acolyte.”

  

Elder Bromvek has a push‑cart that holds all his belongings, and Helvar takes the handles, pushing it down the tunnel. Members of the Legion of Stone march ahead, the engineers follow in a tight cluster, and two legionnaires trail behind as rear guard.

“I would help you push, Helvar,” Bromvek says between breaths, “but keeping this pace is difficult enough.”

“I understand, Elder. I don’t mind. I put my few belongings on top.”

“Such a clever lad,” the Elder says warmly.

 

Helvar tries to listen to the gossip ahead of him, but the tunnel twists the sound—boots, wheels, echoes, and fragments of conversation blending together.

“…related to the dead bodies…”

“…military engineers aren’t surveyors…”

“…should’ve been Legion of Stone, not Iron Legion…”

“…what now…”

“…Guild will have further word…”

Helvar shakes his head, irritated. If he could hear more clearly, he might piece together the truth. But Rulik’s whispered warning returns to him: “You will be sent on a spiritual retreat.”

There is only one place that means. Khar‑Durnath. The Monastery of the Deep Quiet.

He hasn’t been there since completing his training—since being added to the pool of acolytes who “walk unseen.” If he is to remain one of Durn’s Silent Hammers, he will obey. That is what he was shaped to do.

And yet… as he pushes the cart, a cold thought settles in his chest.

So many leaders are missing the bigger picture. 

Maybe ending the ‘Days of Peace’ was wrong. 

Maybe…

He pauses without meaning to.

“Maybe I have lost my way,” he mutters.

“No, Helvar,” Elder Bromvek says gently. “This tunnel leads straight to Durnbim Hold. You can’t lose your way.”

Helvar forces a smile. “Of course, Elder. I was just lost in thought. You’ll keep me on the path.”

But inside, the path feels so twisted.

Expansion - Chapter 20

 

Brammir – Anger

“Where’s the gold?” Dorgun snaps, voice echoing off the cavern walls.

“Who said anything about gold?” Jorvik replies, trying to keep his tone steady.

“When the Guild brought us in, they said we’d find gold and get a cut of it,” Dorgun growls.

“Yeah!” Varnik adds. “Only seen pyrite and copper.”

“Wrong kind of mine,” Haldrek says, stepping up beside Jorvik. “These tunnels show malachite, copper, hematite. I’ve not seen a single sign of gold.”

“Maybe that’s why the Legion pulled out,” Fenrik mutters. “Maybe that’s why the smelters were gone.”

“They tricked us. They lied!” Dorgun shouts, fists clenched.

“No, they didn’t,” Jorvik says firmly. “That’s the way of mining with the Guild. You go where they say and dig what they need.”

Thrain hefts his pick and moves to stand with Jorvik and Haldrek. “The Guild’s good to us.”

“Maybe to you,” Dorgun spits. “Maybe you like being lied to and used. Where are the profits? Where’s our cut?”

Brammir watches the argument unfold, a cold knot forming in his stomach. ‘Is this what my brother felt, when he refused to work for the Guild?’ he wonders.

“I think we all need to calm down,” Jorvik says. “When the Guild sends surveyors, they’ll tell us where to mine next. Until then, we’ve got a copper seam to extract.”

“I didn’t sign up for copper,” Dorgun snarls. “I didn’t sign up for iron. I came for gold — and gems. And according to Fenrik, your precious Guild pulled out with the Legion. So where’s your support now?”

Brammir watches as the cavern slowly divides. Jorvik, Haldrek, and Thrain stand together on one side; Dorgun, Varnik, and Fenrik on the other. Miri, Keldra, Brottan, and Brammir drift toward each other and take a cautious step back.

Dorgun notices. He jabs a finger toward them.

“No. Don’t pull back. Join us. They lied and you know it. Miri. Keldra. Didn’t they promise you riches if you came into the mountains?”

Miri hesitates, taking a single step toward him. Keldra’s hand lands on her shoulder, steady and firm.

“No,” Keldra says. “Haldrek’s right. These tunnels are copper with a little iron. No gold. No gems. The Guild said there was work — and there is.”

“Yeah, work like a dog,” Dorgun snaps. “Dig where your master tells you. Take the scraps when he’s done.” His voice rises, raw and bitter. “I’m tired of it. I’m going back up the tunnels and finding another way. Who’s with me?”

Jorvik steps forward until he’s nose‑to‑nose with Dorgun.

“You signed on with the Guild. You’ll do what they say, when they say it.”

Thrain shifts his grip on his pick and moves to Jorvik’s side.

Before the tension can snap, Brammir steps between them.

“Wait. Before this turns ugly — why don’t we all go up? If the Guild office is open, we can see what’s going on.” He turns to Jorvik. “You said if the smelter’s cold, we don’t have work. So let’s see for ourselves.”

Jorvik and Dorgun exchange a long, hard look — and both give a curt nod.

“Alright,” Jorvik says. “Everyone, leave your gear. We’ll go up and get answers.”

The miners form a loose, uneasy line and begin the climb toward Bimadizi‑Kor, the air thick with resentment and the sharp scent of stone dust.

 

On the main level, the cavern is eerily quiet. Too quiet. The roped‑off pens where the goblins had been kept stand empty, ropes slack and dangling. The block‑stone building the Legion used as their barracks sits dark, doors open, abandoned.

Along the far wall, seven goblin bodies lie in a heap. They’d been hung — the rope nooses still around their necks — then cut down and left where they fell.

No one speaks. Even Dorgun’s anger falters.

They move slowly toward the portable smelter. The crew camp around it is gone — tents struck, crates stacked, fire pits cold. The smelter itself remains, but its bellows hang limp, its vents dark.

“Weird,” Jorvik mutters, barely above a breath.

Fenrik leans closer to Brammir, whispering, “See? It’s just like I said. Like they left and forgot us.”

Jorvik turns toward the block building where the Guild offices had been. But the rooms are as empty as everything else.

“What now?” Dorgun asks, voice low.

Before Jorvik can answer, a sound rolls through the cavern — deep, rhythmic, unmistakable.  From the western tunnels comes the echo of heavy marching boots.