A Crimson Brotherhood Story: By Drunken The Master
The night was cold, raw as steel and flesh. The wind driven snow was settling down now that Conman was deep in the woods. He was out of the high mountains winds, the wind had chilled his body to the bones even thought he wore thick fur lined garments.
The moonlight shimmered off the ice-glazed timber.
Conman's half numb fingers burned as he pulled the reigns of Kar his giant furry war-pig, turning him southeast toward a pinpoint of light deep in the woods.
It was a trying ride, even for such a thick skinned dwarf as Conman. He had lived his whole life in these frozen lands.
As hardy and strong as dwarves were knowing how to survive outside of their halls deep in the rock took many years of experience.
Experience he had leading countless rescues finding missing clansmen. At a very young age he had earned a reputation as not only a excellent scout, but also a superb warrior.
Twice a year he made the trip to the Vale of Harhooth, to check the a handful of sealed caves that were the known crypts of the Demon god Harhooth and his minions.
There were always rumors of missing dwarf that had camped too close to a destroyed entrance to the dark ones silent tomb.
It was more then a tomb or catacomb, it was a endless system of passageways that went miles in every direction, deep in the earth.
The Harhoothian caves were known to be rich in gold and ancient relics.
Every so often coin stamped with the dark ones mark would turn up, the coin would slowly madden owner, driving them to cravings of raw flesh and blood.
Conman had never found an entrance breach and this trip was no different.
As always he found undisturbed huge pile enormous stone a hundred feet high covering the ancient cave entrances.
It was time to return home, but first a stop for the night. The light in the woods grew larger as a small settlement came into view . Dundale, lay ahead there would be food and a warm bed for the night.
Note to readers: this is a slight rewrite for the original 20k + word story