Grundi’s face took on a foul complexion as he stood over the corpse of the beardling . The blood had already run cold upon the cavern floor, but the terror in the young dwarf’s eyes were still fresh.
“How long.” he grumbled to the dwarf beside him.
“We found him shortly before you arrived,” they replied tersely, “The scent is still upon him.”
Grundi knelt before the lad. Flaring his nostrils, he inhaled through the bristles of his beard the scent upon his slain kin. With a scowl, he rose, his eyes rough as coal.
“Greenskins.” He spat upon the cavern floor before turning to the other dwarfs. They clung to pickaxes, their helms holding small candles. Illuminated in the small flickering lights their anger shone on their face as a red-hot sword upon the anvil. Grundi still looked to them with a tinge of disappointment. They were not afraid, but he could see behind the anger in their eyes the twinge of apprehension. The caution of the unknown that could easily lead to fear should it grow. Grundi knew to cut those feelings off before they take hold.
“Dawi, you know our ways. The foul creatures have hidden away, and this proves they are weak,” he growled. “By me own hands, I have strangled and crushed more goblins then bristles in your beards. In my day, they would stand before us to test our metal. But those days are gone, and good riddance! You beardling’s would cower at the sight of Orc’s past, yet its clear that our ancestral foes have grown weak, forced to cower in the dark in the hopes of killing a single Dawi.”
Grundi looked upon his kin with growing pride. The beardlings were steeling themselves for a fight, their apprehension fading away. Grundi turned and looked into the dark caverns ahead. The darkness could not diminish the fire in his eyes.
“Dawi, we march to right this Grudge. May we slay them all.”
With those words, Grundi and the other dwarfs marched, and into the darkness, they disappeared.
Writing in C Major 