Guardians of Enthia I - Prologue
And on the judgement of Fall and Spring,
was when the world began.
Two brothers cast in conflict,
Two outcomes, creation and destruction,
And this truth was being born,
the world was born with it.
The Adamkhuni, 9:43-48
FIVE DWARVES huddled together, their bulky forms casting eerie shadows onto the rose-colored sands of the Nathari Wastes. The constant howl of the wind and the relentless torrent of dust threatened to swallow them whole. Each dwarf wore goggles and clothing to protect them from the elements, their faces hidden beneath layers of Yule cotton.
"By Moradin's beard..." muttered Gromrik, the group's senior researcher, his voice muffled by the scarf covering his mouth. He was the oldest amongst them, his grey beard a testament to his years of experience.
"Stay close," warned Allegra, her voice barely audible over the raging storm. She was the team leader, and her fierce and stubborn attitude let it show. "We mustn't lose sight of one another in this blasted place."
As they trudged through the demon sands, the dwarves had stumbled upon a series of strange black obelisks. The towering stones were covered in runes etched with an ancient language, worn away by the passage of time.
"Look at this!" exclaimed Falgrim, the most enthusiastic of the researchers. "These runes... they must predate to the Great Divide!" His excitement was contagious; even the ever-cautious Durin, a rookie scout, couldn't help but feel a thrill at the unknown.
"Be cautious, brothers," warned Thogar, the most vigilant of the group, and the only one with a military background. He eyed the mysterious structures with suspicion. "There is a reason why this land is called the Dread Wastes. We must tread carefully."
As they ventured deeper into the desert, the obelisks seemed to grow more in number, and yet their large looming shadows began to set uneasiness within the group.
"Perhaps it is wise to just camp here for the night," the rookie Durin mentioned. "We can etch off a few of the obelisks and take them back to the lab for analysis."
The team agreed with Durin, setting up camp around one of the obelisks. As they began to prepare for the night, however, a strange sound emanated from the darkness. A low, guttural growl that echoed through the Wastes.
Thogar's grip on his axe tightened as he scanned their surroundings. "We are not alone," he announced, his voice gruff with concern.
Allegra, looking back at the camp, surveyed the group. Her eyes widened when she realized something was off.
"Falgrim?" Allegra called out, her voice cracking with fear. "Where is Falgrim?"
"H-he went to go take a leak, r-right over there," Gromrik said softly, with stuttered alarm in his voice. "Come to think of it, he should have come back by now..."
"Moradin protect us," Thogar whispered, clutching the symbol of his god tightly.
"Stay together," Allegra ordered, her voice wavering slightly. "We cannot afford to lose anyone else."
The crew of now four dwarves decided to rest for the night, with Thogar elected to stand watch. But the guttural noises continued. Durin held his wool blanket tightly, covering it over his head as if he were still a child, hoping that it would protect him from whatever lay outside. At some point, he finally fell asleep.
The younger dwarf awoke the next morning. For a moment, everything seemed fine. As if the night before were just a bad dream. He got up, yawned, and began to walk over to the campfire's cooking pot before he finally realized what was off.
All the other dwarves were missing.
Durin's heart began to race as he looked around him, his eyes darting furiously in every direction. The obelisk that they had been camped around was now pulsating with a sickly green light, illuminating the immediate surroundings in an eerie glow.
"Falgrim? Gromrik? Thogar? Allegra?" Durin called out, his voice trembling with fear. There was no answer. The only sound he could hear was the distant howl of the wind, and the eerie pulsing of the obelisk.
He took a few tentative steps forward, readying his axe in his hand. As he approached the obelisk, he saw something move in the corner of his eye. He turned around, his heart racing as he saw a shadowy figure lurking in the distance.
"Who goes there?" Durin called out, his voice shaking with fear. The figure didn't respond, but Durin could make out that the figure was far from human.
Durin, terrified, suddenly dropped his axe to the ground. "Please, not me!" he pleaded to the figure, falling to his knees. "I don't want to die out here!"
As the figure came closer, the monstrous figure emerged from the dust storm – a Siima demon, a hulking mass of muscle and fur. Its ears are long and pointed, while its tail is long and whip like. Its eyes glow with a sickly yellow fire, while teeth and claws are as sharp as any sword.
The Siima demon loomed over Durin, its body enveloped in a cloak of shadows, its skin the color of dead flesh, its eyes a burning red, its long claws glistening in the night sky, its teeth bared in a feral grin.
Durin was frozen, not a muscle in his body stirring. But it did not matter, because within seconds the demon lunged for Durin, snuffing out the last flicker of life in the Nathari Wastes.