Through the last couple of months and weeks, the dwarfs had grown to learn a lot in their shared world. From Stronric's old world knowledge to learning of this new and different world, only one thing remained the same: humans walk fast. Too fast, if you asked Rugiel, who grumbled under her breath about the ridiculousness of human legs moving as if they were on fire.

At the start of the journey, both the dwarves and humans set off at the same pace. For a brief, fleeting moment, harmony reigned, with boots striking the ground in unison. But, as was the way of things, it didn't take long for the differences in stride to emerge.

"Humans," Gromli muttered as he lagged further behind. "Always walking like they've got somewhere urgent to be. What's the rush? The portal's not runnin' away."

"They slowed down fer us," Bauru said brightly, practically skipping up ahead. "Kind of 'em, really. Even if it means they've got to shuffle their legs like they're stuck in molasses. Reminds me of me first hike through the mountains."

Rugiel raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure they're thrilled to be compared to children."

Bauru shrugged with an easy grin. "Call it like I see it, sis."

Meanwhile, the human militia, clearly fighting the urge to stride ahead, looked increasingly awkward as they adjusted their natural gait to match the dwarves' shorter legs. A few grumbled under their breath, while others exchanged resigned looks.

One of them, wiping sweat from his brow, muttered, "I didn't join this militia to walk slower than my grandmother."

Gromli, huffing and puffing several paces behind, barked a laugh that quickly turned into a wheeze. "Ye could slow down a bit more, aye? I'll even bake ye a cake for it later, if I survive."

Stronric, his pace measured and unwavering, cut in sharply. "Ye will survive, Gromli, and ye'll march with dignity while doin' it. No dwarf worth their beard should be bested by a road."

Gromli shot him a glare. "Dignity's not marchin', Stronric. It's sittin' in a wagon eatin' pie, which is where I ought to be."

Mintra, who had been listening with a sly grin from his perch atop his caravan, chimed in. "But then you'd miss out on all this quality bonding time, Gromli."

Gromli narrowed his eyes. "Ye mean sufferin'."

"Perspective, my stout friend," Mintra replied with a chuckle, giving the reins a light flick. Maple and chestnut, his ponies, plodded along without a care, clearly the most content member of the group.

"Speaking of bonding," Bauru called from up ahead, his enthusiasm undampened by the grumbling behind him, "this is a fine day fer a hike, aye? Fresh air, a bit o' sunshine, and just enough incline to get the blood movin'! Reminds me of the old trails through the North Ridge."

Armand, riding his steed Roi just behind Bauru, smiled faintly. "You dwarfs 'ave a most peculiar definition of a fine day," Armand remarked, adjusting his reins with a small sigh. "This trail, mon dieu, it feels more like a punishment than an adventure."

Bauru gave him a broad grin. "That's the spirit! If yer legs aren't screamin' by the end, yer doin' it wrong."

Armand chuckled, glancing at Gromli. "Perhaps we should carry him."

"Carry me?" Gromli sputtered. "If anyone's gettin' carried, it should be the man with the boundless energy!" He pointed a finger at Bauru, who was now climbing a nearby rock for no discernible reason. "What's he even doin' up there?"

"Scoutin'," Bauru said cheerfully. "An' enjoyin' the view!"

As the day wore on, the group learned the true difference between dwarf and man. Walking at the slower pace set by the dwarfs had been easy enough for the humans at first, even laughable. A few militia members had whispered jokes about being able to walk backwards to keep from getting bored. But as the hours stretched and the sun hung heavy overhead, the reality of their burden set in.

The humans' boots dragged through the dirt, shoulders slumped under the weight of weapons, gear, and armor. The once-bright jokes turned to grumbling complaints. Meanwhile, the dwarfs, short legs and all, pressed onward with a dogged determination that seemed almost unnatural.

"Ach, keep up, manlings!" Bauru called cheerfully from the front of the line, not even slightly winded. He spun his crossbow lazily on one hand like it weighed no more than a feather. "This is nothin' but a wee stroll! Ye can't be tired already?"

One of the younger militiamen groaned, nearly stumbling over a rock. "A wee stroll? This feels like we're dragging a wagon uphill. On fire."

"Sounds like a strength trainin' opportunity to me," Bauru replied, grinning as he leapt onto another rock. "Come now, lads, think o' yer calves!"

Rugiel, striding gracefully just behind him, rolled her eyes. "Bauru, do try not to kill the humans with your enthusiasm. We still need them at the portal."

"Need us?" huffed a militia captain, struggling to adjust the strap of his makeshift leather chest piece. "If we don't collapse first."

"Ye call that armor?" Gromli snorted from somewhere in the middle of the pack, his ladle clinking against his belt as he puffed along. Despite the sweat gleaming on his brow, even Gromli had found his stride. He cracked a rare smile. "Ye lot need proper dwarven forgin'. That thing can yer wearin' wouldn't last a minute in a real fight."

"That's rich, comin' from the cook," Mintra quipped from atop his wagon. "Though I suppose if they did collapse, you'd get to experiment with a whole new type of stew."

Calmin, seated beside him, gave an awkward laugh. "D-dwarfs and their endurance... I'm glad we're sitting."

"Sit all ye like," Gromli shot back, smirking as he passed the caravan. "When we're done, I'll be waitin' at the portal with a pint while yer scrawny arms try to unpack that wagon."

Armand, riding steadily at the rear with a straight-backed posture that only years of knighthood could maintain, observed the scene with a faint smile. His horse, Roi, stepped lightly, seemingly unbothered by the load it bore.

"You dwarves, cheat," Armand said with a smirk, gesturing to the enormous ram, Indomitable, plodding along with Gromli's entire kitchen strapped to its back. "We carry our own weight, yet you 'ave zat."

Stronric glanced over his shoulder at Indomitable, who let out a low snort and stomped a hoof for emphasis. "Indomitable's more reliable than any horse, knight. He carries what matters most."

Armand chuckled, patting Roi's neck. "Ah, but Roi is noble, strong, and brave. He does not need to intimidate with size."

"Size is strength, manling," Stronric retorted. "And if Indomitable wanted to, he could carry yer horse too."

At that, Indomitable turned his massive head toward Armand and let out a loud, rumbling bleat that made the humans jump. Mintra, watching from his seat, laughed. "I think that's ram for 'try me.'"

Even Gromli grinned as he puffed along behind the giant ram. "Aye, an' if Indomitable's carryin' me gear, ye'd best be glad I'm not addin' me own weight to him, or there'd be no room fer yer egos."

The group stopped just before twilight, finding a defensible spot nestled against a rocky outcrop with sparse trees for cover. Stronric, as always, took the lead in directing the camp setup. Rugiel organized the militia into teams, barking orders with the authority of a seasoned commander.

Bauru, ever eager, scouted the perimeter. "Clear enough fer now," he reported, leaning on his crossbow as the last of the tents went up. "But we're close enough to trouble that we'll need a sharp eye on watch."

Gromli muttered something about sleeping on the ground not being a proper rest, but he still managed to whip up a hearty stew that put strength back into the tired humans. Even Mintra complimented the cook, though Gromli waved him off, pretending it wasn't a big deal.

As the stew simmered, Stronric called the group together to discuss their plans. The flickering light of the fire cast long shadows, making his already commanding figure seem larger than life.

"We'll reach the portal by midday tomorrow," Stronric began. "Once we're there, we'll assess the situation. But expect a fight. Gnolls are no strangers to dirty tactics."

Rugiel nodded. "We'll need to hold the line while ensuring we don't lose ground. Their strategy is likely one of attrition. If they've been pressing the humans hard, morale will be low."

Bauru tapped the shaft of his crossbow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Low morale or not, they'll have help soon enough."

"Keep yer optimism to yerself," Gromli grunted. "I'll be optimistic when I'm not sleeping with rocks pokin' me ribs."

The Next Day

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As the group approached the portal's location, the once, distant sounds of battle grew deafening. The clanging of steel, the guttural roars of gnolls, and the desperate cries of humans filled the air. The scent of smoke and blood was overwhelming, a grim prelude to what lay ahead.

Stronric raised a hand, signaling the group to halt. "Bauru," he said, his voice low but firm. "Scout ahead. Don't engage and be quick about it."

"Aye," Bauru replied, his usual cheer replaced by a focused intensity. He unslung his crossbow and disappeared into the underbrush like a shadow, his movements swift and silent.

The group waited, tension thick in the air. Rugiel adjusted the grip on her warhammer, her eyes scanning the horizon. Mintra, for once, remained quiet, his fingers nervously drumming on the side of the wagon. Indomitable seemed to sense the unease, pawing the ground and snorting softly.

After what felt like an eternity, Bauru emerged from the trees, his face grim. "It's bad," he said, crouching near the group. "The humans are holdin'—barely. Gnolls are pressin' hard, tryin' to overwhelm 'em. The humans are no just fightin' tho, it seems like they are fighting towards the portal. It's like they are desperate to break through the portal entrance and get inside.

"What of the portal itself?" Stronric asked, his voice steady despite the news.

Bauru's expression shifted, a mix of awe and wariness. "It's massive, like a giant doorway carved straight into the side of a cliff. A swirling, churning mass o' green and black energy, like a storm caught in a whirlpool. Tendrils o' light keep shootin' out, almost like it's alive. The gnolls are pourin' out of it, but... it doesn't look stable. It's cracklin', sparkin', like it's ready to tear itself apart."

Rugiel frowned, her gaze distant as she processed the information. "An unstable portal could mean trouble for both sides. If it collapses while gnolls are still crossing, it might cut them off or unleash something worse."

Stronric's jaw tightened. "Then we have no time to waste. We secure the area and stop that breakout attempt. Bauru, guide us in."

The group crested the final hill, and the battlefield came into full view. Below the portal dominated the face of a flat mountain side. The unnatural vortex of energy pulsated with an eerie glow sending out jagged bursts of light, casting long, flickering shadows over the ground. At the portal entrance, the remnants of the human forces were locked in a desperate struggle. Their formation was a ragged line forming a half circle, bent but not yet broken, as gnolls pressed against them with savage ferocity. The gnoll forces were a motley horde, their fur matted with blood and their weapons crude but deadly. As each gnoll fell a new one came through the portal to replace them.

"They're tryin' to break out!" one of the militiamen shouted, pointing toward a group of gnolls charging at a weak point in the human defenses.

Stronric took in the rest of the human encampment. Behind the human troops were ancillary men and women, running equipment and orders too and from. Small tents were set up to accept the wounded and for the officers in charge to meet. Smoke billowed from numerous small campfires, were the wounded or tired rested. A safer distance away a small outpost was erected, the tents were larger and more permanent. A large canvas tent rested in the center, the flag of Millstone blew limply from the post on top. Stronric Turned to Rugiel, "Move your men into place and ensure our captains meet with those in charge."

Rugiel nodded, lifting her Warhammer and meeting with Duncan and the other militia captains, "Duncan, you will meet with the officer in charge down on the grounds, see where we are needed, and send the message out to the captains. Captains, you will keep our men together, we are stronger together and we know how they fight. Be smart till I return." Rugiel then turned to the small militia before her, "Men, it is time to meet the beasts. Militia! Forward! Reinforce the line!"

With her order the humans surged ahead with weapons raised and shouts rang out. Their sudden charge caught the gnolls off guard, and the line held—if only just. Stronric turned next to Gromli and the gnomes, "Ye will set up camp on the back side of the fighting camp, we want our men close enough to respond but able to sleep tonight. Keep the stew brewing and the fires burning."

With their orders, Gromli led indomitable and the gnomes in their cart down to the outpost below. Rugiel and Bauru watched Stronric, waiting for their own orders when the portal's light began to dance ominously, its energy flaring brighter with each passing moment. Stronric's sharp eyes caught movement near the entrance to the portal. Just inside the portal a gnoll shaman was gesturing wildly as it seemed to be chanting. The gnoll's staff, crowned with a crude crystal, glowed faintly in time with the portal's bursts.

"There trying to do something to the portal!" Bauru shouted, following Stronric's gaze.

"Then we will have to stop 'em," Stronric growled. "But before those gnoll's learn the taste of my axe we have business to attend to. We need to meet with the Guard Captain of Milstone, as promised days ago."

Rugiel gave their fighting militia one last tense glance before walking after Stronric, Bauru and Armand. Stronric led his group toward the knight captain's tent, determination etched into every step.

The tent was large but sparsely furnished, with a wooden table in the center piled with maps, reports, and a single lantern casting flickering light across the space. Seated at the head of the table was Giles, his pristine armor gleaming as if polished moments before. His golden hair was perfectly groomed, and he lounged in his chair with an air of entitlement, one hand resting lazily on the hilt of his sword.

Behind him, his adventuring crew loitered, their spotless equipment and casual stances marked them as untouched by the brutal battle raging outside. They exchanged smirks as if they were above it all, their attitudes mirroring their leader's disdain.

The knight captain, in stark contrast, stood by the table. His dented and bloodied armor bore the marks of countless skirmishes, and his face was drawn with exhaustion. Relief flickered in his eyes as Stronric and the others entered.

"By the gods, you're here!" The captain said, his voice hoarse but grateful. "We've been barely holding the line. What took you so long? We expected you days ago!"

Stronric stepped forward, his broad shoulders filling the tent, but before he could reply, Giles let out a dramatic sigh. "Days ago, indeed. But what else could you expect from dwarves? Stubborn creatures, slow as stone, and only fit for labor, if you ask me."

Armand, standing to the side with his helm tucked under his arm, stiffened. His dark eyes darted toward Giles, and his jaw tightened. "Sir Giles," he said sharply, his tone edged with disapproval, "mind your tongue. You speak in ze presence of warriors who 'ave done far more for zis battle zan you 'ave."

"Ah, vraiment, Armand, let us not play pretend, eh? Everyone knows ze dwarfs are better suited for digging ze trenches zan for leading ze armies."

The air in the tent grew tense. Bauru's hand tightened around his crossbow, his good eye narrowing dangerously. "If ye ask me," he growled, stepping forward, "ye're the one who should be diggin' trenches, boy. Might teach ye some humility."

Rugiel, her posture regal and composed, placed a hand on Bauru's shoulder. "Brother," she said softly but firmly, "do not lower yourself to his level." She turned her gaze to Giles, her expression calm but steely. "Sir Giles, I suggest you choose your words more carefully. A leader should inspire respect, not disdain."

Giles smirked, his disdain evident. "Et what would a dwarf know of leadership, eh?"

Before Bauru could explode, Stronric stepped forward, his voice rumbling like a distant avalanche. "Enough. Ye sit here, polished an' untouched, while men fight an' die outside. Ye call yerself a leader? Tell me, what use are ye?"

Giles leaned back in his chair, utterly unbothered. "Ah, but a leader does not need to sully 'imself with ze dirt and blood of battle, non? My place is 'ere, commanding and ensuring ze men follow zeir orders."

"Commandin'?" Bauru barked a bitter laugh. "The only thing ye're commandin' is yer seat. Ye've done nothin' but take up space!"

The Knight Captain Eric, stepped in, clearly uncomfortable but determined to steer the conversation back on track. "Stronric, I agree that this... debate is unproductive. The portal is expanding, and the gnolls are pressing harder than ever. If it opens fully, we're finished. We need a plan."

Stronric turned to the captain, his scowl still fixed on Giles. "Aye. Then let's talk strategy. Leave the posturin' to the pups."

Behind him, Armand's frown deepened as he glanced between Giles and the dwarves. His recent adventures with Stronric, Rugiel, and Bauru had reshaped his understanding of what true leadership and honor looked like. Giles' arrogance, once merely frustrating, now struck him as shameful.

"Sir Giles," Armand said quietly but firmly, "zese dwarves 'ave more zan earned zeir place at zis table. Per'aps you should show some respect."

Giles' smirk faltered, and he sat up slightly. "Armand, you forget yourself, eh? I am your charge, not ze ozer way around."

"Non," Armand said, his voice cold, "you are my shame."

For a moment, the tent fell silent. Even Giles' adventurers shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to meet Armand's gaze.

Eric cleared his throat, gesturing to the maps and redirecting the attention of the room. "We'll fortify what we can and focus on keeping the portal contained. Stronric, your group's arrival has given us hope. We'll need it."

Rugiel stepped forward, her voice calm and measured. "Captain, how many of your men are still fit to fight, and what defenses remain?"

As ze captain began laying out ze grim details, Giles muttered under 'is breath, "Typical dwarfs, always thinking zey are important, when zey are only meant to serve."

Bauru's fists clenched, but Rugiel's steady hand on his shoulder held him back. "Sir Giles," she said, her tone as cold as ice, "you may sit at this table, but you are not leading this charge. Let us proceed without further... distractions."

Giles opened his mouth to retort but faltered under Rugiel's withering gaze. The room shifted back to the maps and plans, but the tension remained, crackling just beneath the surface like a brewing storm.

The knight captain finished laying out the map, pointing to the glowing portal's location. "We've managed to keep the gnolls from completely overwhelming us, but it's a losing battle. If that portal stays open much longer, it'll bring in more reinforcements than we can handle."

Stronric nodded, his eyes narrowing as he studied the layout. "We'll take a team inside the dungeon. If we can disrupt whatever's stabilizin' that portal, it should slow the flow o' reinforcements."

"Aye," Bauru added, his voice grim. "If the gnolls inside are anything like the ones out here, they'll throw everythin' they've got at us to keep that portal runnin'."

The knight captain nodded. "We'll hold the line out here to keep the pressure off you. Just make sure you don't take too long."

Before Stronric could reply, Giles cleared 'is throat, stepping forward with an expression zat was almost convincing. "Ah, une noble plan," he said, 'is tone suddenly humble. "And one zat I cannot, in good conscience, let you face alone."

Stronric's head snapped toward him, his brows furrowing in suspicion.

Giles continued, 'is voice dripping with feigned sincerity. "Ah, I realize I may 'ave... misspoken earlier. My frustration wiz ze situation clouded my judgment, oui. But zis is no time for divisions. I offer my sword and my men to aid you in zis mission. Togezzer, we can ensure ze portal is closed, and zis battle is won."

Behind him, his adventurers exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unprepared for their leader's sudden offer.

Bauru snorted, crossing his arms. "Ye want to help now, do ye? Funny how that comes after sittin' on yer backside all day."

"Bauru," Rugiel said softly, her tone measured. She met Giles' gaze with a calm but piercing stare. "Your offer is... unexpected, Sir Giles. I only hope your actions match your words."

Stronric stepped closer, his presence looming as he fixed Giles with an icy glare. "If ye're comin' with us, lad, ye'll pull yer weight. No hidin' behind yer men. Ye fight, or ye leave."

"Mais bien sûr," Giles replied smoothly, his smile just a bit too perfect. "I would expect nozzing less."

Armand, standing to the side, frowned deeply. He knew Giles well enough to see through the act, and the disapproval in his voice was palpable. "Sir Giles," he said quietly, his voice sharp with warning, "zis is not a game. If you enter zat portal, you must be prepared to risk everyzing. Do you understand?"

Giles turned to his mentor with a look of exaggerated earnestness. "Armand, I assure you, I am fully committed to zis cause. You will see, oui."

Stronric exchanged a glance with Rugiel, who gave a small nod. He turned back to Giles, his tone gruff. "Fine. But remember, lad: this isn't fer glory or titles. It's life an' death. Act like it."

Giles smiled faintly. "Ah, I understand perfectly, oui."

Bauru muttered under his breath as they turned back to the map, "Aye, an' pigs might fly before he's any help."

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