One hour, they had one hour before they were going to head inside of the dungeon to put an end to this threat once and for all. During the rest of the war planning, the dwarves learned that the gnolls had been expanding the portal with some type of spell caster. When the Humans first arrived, the portal was a swirling mass of green and black but with the gnoll spellcaster's assistance the portal had grown, expanding chaotically outward. With Bauru's sighting of the gnoll wizard, they believed the next portal expansion would occur in no more than 2 hours. With the plans formed, Stronric nodded to Bauru and Rugiel and the three went their separate ways. Stronric went to find Gromli, he was easy enough to find with all the clamoring and shouting for food. Stronric made his way to the activity passing by tents and piles of supplies.

A large group of humans were circled around Gromli. Stronric could see the humans had eagerly helped set up the fire pits and unloaded Gromli's cooking gear from Indomitable. With their help, Gromli was able to have two extra stone encircled firepits. A pot hung from chain over one fire, another fire held a flat top grill, and a metal grate was over the third. Even though the fires were already hot enough to cook, Gromli waved a hand, and the fires burned brighter, releasing more scents Stronric could see many of the human standbys were rushing to bring Gromli more wood.

Stronric watched as the chef worked his magic. Gromli dipped a spoon into one pot, taste it, then adjust his seasonings before moving onto the grilled food. Rice, beans, meat, spices, Gromli was a whirlwind as food was chopped, sliced and prepped for fires. The gathered soldier's bellies could be heard as the smell billowed out from the fires. With his free foot, Gromli kicked a mini keg over, spun it then kicked a tap into the barrel. Beer began pouring out into the waiting tankards below. Another kick and the beer stopped and not a single drop of the precious beer was wasted.

Gromli looked up smiling and saw Stronric standing there. Gromli winked at him and shouted, "Can I get anything for you Thane?"

"No, came by just to let ye know we are getting ready to head inside of the dungeon. I wanted you to know I want ye to stay here." Stronric replied.

Picking up a bowl and whisking the content, Gromli made his way over to Stronric. "You sure? I don't mind coming along to help."

Stronric shook his head, "Nah the men need ye here. We are gonna send in a strike team to cut the head off this monster. Ye need to keep the men fighting but Armand believes once we go inside the flow of enemies should stop. The men need to rest, recover and heal. It happens you're the chef."

Gromli looked like he was going to protest but nodded, "Promise me you will eat before you go. After all of these days with clan I have leveled quite a bit and I have a new recipe I think you will like."

Stronric agreed he'd come back and eat before heading out but told Gromli he first must meet Rugiel at the smithy. He strode through the bustling camp, passing militia members sharpening their blades, patching their armor, and offering silent prayers to gods they might not have believed in until this moment. The sound of hammers striking anvils drew him toward the makeshift forge, where sparks flew like tiny fireworks against the dimming sky.

Rugiel stood tall and imposing, her warhammer slung across her back. Stronric could see she was mid-argument with a burly human blacksmith. The man's soot-streaked face was twisted in frustration, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he gestured to a pile of warped weapons.

"I tell you, milady, there's no saving these scraps." he grumbled. "The iron's too brittle. It'll shatter the moment it meets gnoll teeth."

"And I assure you," Rugiel countered, her tone measured and regal, "with the touch of Morgal's flame and the skill of a true artisan, these blades shall cleave through gnolls with ease. Surely, a craftsman of your standing would not lack confidence in his own forge?"

Stronric cleared his throat and stepped into the heated exchange. "What's this about scraps, lass?"

The blacksmith turned and looked relieved to see another dwarf. "Thane, tell her it's madness to work with metal this poor."

Stronric chuckled, his sharp gaze flicking between the pile of bent swords and Rugiel. "Madness, aye. But sometimes it takes a mad dwarf to turn madness into somethin' worth wieldin'." He nodded to Rugiel. "If she says she can do it, she can."

The blacksmith grumbled but stepped aside, muttering about the stubbornness of dwarves and their impossible standards. Rugiel turned to Stronric, brushing soot from her gloves with a satisfied smirk.

Stronric turned back to Rugiel and unslung his own axe. The weapon gleamed even in the low light; its edge worn from countless battles. He held it out to her with a nod. "While ye're at it, see to this as well. It's served me well enough, but I'd rather not test my luck on a dull blade."

Rugiel took the axe with both hands and stared at Stronric. Her mouth dropped open before she quickly closed it and regained her composure. "Are you sure you want me to sharpen it?"

Stronric chuckled, folding his arms. "Aye, and ye've the wit of a courtier to match yer forge skills. Just don't take too long, I'll be needin' it soon enough. I am gonna go see Bauru and send him over here to get ye to look at his weapons as well. But first I am gonna speak with Mintra and try to get us some supplies"

Rugiel nodded but didn't say anything as she stared at the axe in her hands.

Stronric approached the wagon, where Mintra and Calmin were busy unpacking supplies. The two gnomes worked with practiced efficiency, despite their contrasting styles. Mintra darted back and forth, his hands never idle as he directed the flow of crates and sacks. Calmin, ever the quieter of the pair, carefully checked each item against a neatly written inventory, murmuring numbers under his breath.

"Careful with that!" Mintra called, waving his arms at a militia soldier who struggled to carry a heavy crate. "Do you want to drop the flour? Because if you do, I guarantee Gromli will have your head on a platter, possibly baked into a pie!"

Stronric chuckled as he drew closer. "Still barkin' orders like ye own the camp, Mintra?"

The gnome spun around with a grin that could have rivaled the midday sun. "Thane Stronric! About time you came by. I was starting to think you'd forgotten about little ol' me."

Stronric raised an eyebrow. "Hard to forget ye, lad, with all the noise ye make."

Calmin glanced up from his ledger, offering Stronric a shy nod before returning to his notes. "E-everything's accounted for," he said softly, tapping the page with his pen. "Even the emergency rations."

Mintra clapped his cousin on the shoulder. "See? Smooth as clockwork. Between my charisma and his brains, we're a well-oiled machine."

Stronric smirked. "Charisma, is it? More like chatter. But I'll not argue with the results." He surveyed the neatly stacked crates and barrels. "Ye've done good work. What do we have ready for the dungeon?"

"Plenty," Mintra replied, ticking off items on his fingers. "Bandages, potions, dried food, rope, never go anywhere without rope! And, of course, sharpening tools. Speaking of which, your axe could use a little touch up, don't you think?"

Stronric patted the weapon strapped to his back. "Already handed it off to Rugiel. She'll see to it."

Mintra grinned. "Ah, excellent. She'll do it justice, I'm sure. What about Bauru? Has he had his gear looked over yet?"

"Not yet," Stronric replied. "I'll send him your way once I track him down. Have Rugiel take a look at his crossbow and blades."

Calmin, still focused on his ledger, piped up, "We... also packed extra bolts for Bauru. Just in case."

"Good thinkin', lad," Stronric said with an approving nod. "Gnolls won't give us time to run back for more."

Mintra leaned against the wagon, wiping his brow with a kerchief. "You know, Thane, it's moments like these that I truly appreciate the art of preparation. A well-stocked wagon can mean the difference between victory and disaster."

"Spoken like a true merchant," Stronric teased. "Now finish up here and keep the supplies ready. We'll need every ounce of yer organization before this is done."

Mintra saluted with a flourish. "Consider it done. And Stronric? Try not to get yourself killed in there. I'd hate to lose my best customer."

Stronric snorted. "Best customer, eh? Ye've not sold me a thing since we left Hearth Fire."

"Exactly!" Mintra said, beaming. "You're overdue!"

Stronric chuckled but leaned in slightly, his tone turning serious. "Before I go, gather a few things for me. We'll need a stack of potions, healin' first and foremost. Anything ye've got for stamina or something like that, bring that too. And make sure Rugiel and the others have what they need to patch us up if it gets messy."

Mintra nodded, suddenly all business. "Consider it done, Thane. I'll have the best we've got ready before you leave."

Calmin scribbled notes quickly, muttering under his breath. "Healing... stamina...."

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Stronric gave them both a firm nod. "Good lads. Ye've saved our skins more times than I can count. Let's make sure we've got one more win in us."

As Stronric turned to leave, Mintra called after him, his tone lightening again. "And if you find any rare treasures in there, don't forget who helped you get inside!"

Stronric waved a hand over his shoulder. "We'll see, Mintra. We'll see."

Stronric made his way toward the front lines, where the faint hum of the portal vibrated in the air like a living heartbeat. The camp's noise receded behind him, replaced by the tense murmurs of soldiers stationed near the portal's edge. The air here was heavier, charged with a strange energy that made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

Bauru stood atop a rocky outcrop, his crossbow slung across his back, and a spyglass in hand. The dwarf's straw-colored hair and beard caught the faint light emanating from the portal, giving him an almost spectral appearance. He didn't turn as Stronric approached, his focus locked on the swirling mass of energy in the distance.

"What do ye see, Bauru?" Stronric asked, his voice low but steady.

Without lowering the spyglass, Bauru replied, "They're massin', Thane. Gnolls, dozens of 'em, and they're not just wanderin' about. They're organized. Looks like the damned wizard's got 'em whipped into a proper frenzy."

Stronric frowned, stepping up beside him. "How many?"

Bauru finally lowered the spyglass and turned to his brother. "Too many to count. But the good news is they aren't ready to push out. The humans are holdin' their own, but barely. We can't afford to wait too long."

Stronric nodded, his gaze fixed on the portal. The swirling vortex of green and black energy was an open wound in the landscape, its chaotic edges pulling at the air like a predator waiting to pounce. "Aye, we'll be headin' in soon enough. But before we do, I need ye to get yer gear seen to. Rugiel's at the forge. Have her look at that crossbow and sharpen yer blades."

Bauru gave him a sidelong glance, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Ye worried about me, Stronric? I can promise ye, Predator here's sharp enough to take down a gnoll or two."

Stronric huffed. "It's not about one or two, lad. We're goin' into a fight where every edge counts. Ye've been usin' that crossbow long enough to know better than to go in with anything less than perfect."

Bauru shrugged, unslinging the heavy crossbow from his back and inspecting it. "Fair enough. I'll head to Rugiel after this, but only if ye promise to not hog all the glory once we're inside."

Stronric let out a low chuckle. "Glory, is it? I'll leave the songs and tales to the likes of Mintra. Let's just focus on makin' sure we all come back in one piece."

Bauru nodded, his expression growing more serious. "Aye. I'll not let ye down, Thane."

Stronric clapped him on the shoulder. "I know ye won't, lad. Now, get movin'. We'll regroup at the portal in less than an hour."

Bauru re-slung his crossbow and gave Stronric a quick nod before heading off toward the forge. Stronric lingered for a moment, his eyes locked on the portal and the shadowy forms moving within its shimmering edges. The battle ahead would be unlike any they'd faced before, but his kinsmen were prepared. They had to be.

The midday sun hung high overhead, casting long shadows across the camp as Stronric returned to the central fire. Despite the urgency of their mission, the air hummed with a strange sense of calm. The quiet before the storm, Stronric thought. Soldiers bustled about, preparing their gear, while others rested in the shade of tents, murmuring quiet prayers or sat nearby polishing their weapons.

Near the fire, Gromli stood at the heart of a makeshift kitchen, surrounded by a flurry of activity. The smell of searing meat and fresh herbs wafted through the air, drawing curious onlookers as the stout dwarf worked his magic. Three flat stone grills were balanced over roaring flames, each sizzling with an array of colorful ingredients.

Gromli wiped his hands on his apron, calling out instructions to the eager militia members helping him. "Flip the flatbreads aye, gently now! And don't forget the butter! We're makin' warriors' fare, not scorched offerings!"

Rugiel emerged from the forge, her own warhammer glinting faintly in the sunlight. She carried Stronric's axe in her hands, its edge gleaming like polished silver.

"You're just in time," she said, her voice even as she extended the axe toward him. "Your blade is ready, Thane. Sharpened, balanced, and tempered with Morgal's fire. It will serve you well."

Stronric took the axe, testing its weight with a satisfied nod. "Good work, lass. It feels like it could cleave the world in two."

Rugiel's lips quirked into a small smile. "Let us hope you needn't test that theory."

Bauru waved them over from a shaded table where he was already seated, his crossbow Predator propped against the edge. "C'mon, ye two! Gromli's cookin' somethin' worth sittin' for."

Stronric and Rugiel joined him as Gromli emerged from the fires with a platter balanced on one hand, his other wielding a massive spatula. The dish was a spread of flatbreads topped with spiced minced meat, roasted vegetables, and a dollop of yogurt sprinkled with fresh herbs.

"Warrior's Feast!" Gromli announced, setting the platter down with a flourish. "Quick to eat, light on the stomach, and packed with enough energy to keep ye swingin' those fancy weapons o' yours."

Bauru grabbed a piece, biting into it with enthusiasm. "Mmm, not bad! Ye might just survive the day after all, Gromli."

The chef smirked, serving Rugiel and Stronric next. "I'll take that as the highest o' compliments, comin' from you. Eat up, Thane. Ye'll need yer strength."

Mintra and Calmin appeared moments later, their backpacks bulging with supplies. Mintra's energy was undimmed, despite the heat of the day. "Ah, what a sight, good food and better company! I almost wish I were going with you."

"Almost," Calmin muttered, setting the packs down carefully before wiping his brow. "Everything's packed. P-potions, bandages, rations, rope... and a few surprises."

Mintra clapped his cousin on the back. "Aye, surprises! Always good to keep a trick or two up your sleeve, eh?"

Stronric finished his flatbread in a few bites, washing it down with a swig of water. But before he could speak, Gromli held up a hand, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Now hold yer horses, Thane. I've got somethin' special for the occasion."

He disappeared behind the cooking station and returned with a small wooden keg. Its surface was etched with intricate dwarven runes and that stood bold against the trials of times that weathered wood around them. "This here's Firebeard's Pride, a rare ale brewed in the old dwarven hold. Saved it for a day worthy o' toasts, and I reckon this is one."

Bauru's eyes widened. "Firebeard's Pride? Ye've been holdin' out on us, Gromli!"

Rugiel tilted her head, intrigued. "And here I thought your culinary talents were your only secret."

As Gromli pulled out a wooden tap and expertly set it into the keg, the sound of armored footsteps approached. Armand stepped into the circle, his expression curious as he glanced at the etched runes on the keg. "What's this? A moment of celebration before the storm?"

"Exactly that," Stronric replied with a nod. "Firebeard's Pride. Gromli's been savin' it for a worthy day."

Gromli grinned as he poured the golden-brown ale into mugs, the rich aroma of roasted barley and honey filled the air. "Thought ye might show up, Sir Knight. Let me pour ye a mug,you deserve a taste of proper dwarven brew."

Armand accepted the offered mug with a small bow of thanks. "Ah would be 'onored." He replied, as he raised the mug in appreciation. "It would be a dis'onor to refuse such a gift."

The group gathered their mugs, the amber liquid glinting in the sunlight. Gromli raised his high. "To victory," he declared. "And to comin' back in one piece!"

Stronric followed, his voice steady and strong. "To the clan, and to the fight ahead. May we stand strong and strike true."

The others echoed the toast, but Armand added his own, raising his mug solemnly. "And to honor, for those who fight with courage and conviction, no matter their race or creed."

The group clinked their mugs together, a moment of unity bridging the differences between dwarf, gnome, and man. Mintra held his high, adding with a grin, "And to the gnomes who keep you dwarves standing upright!"

They all laughed, even Calmin managed a small chuckle. Armand smiled faintly as he took a sip of the ale. When the knight tasted the first drop, his eye lit in appreciation. "Zis is remarkable. Far better zan ze swill zey serve at ze baron's court."

Bauru smirked. "That's because humans don't know how to brew proper ale. This is dwarven work."

The ale was smooth and rich, its warmth spreading through each of them. For a brief moment, the worries of the portal and the battle ahead seemed distant. It was camaraderie, pure and simple—a shared bond forged in the face of danger.

Stronric set his mug down first, his expression turning serious once more. "All right. Finish eating and drinkin'. We've a job to do."

Armand nodded, setting his mug aside and checking the straps on his sword belt. "I'll be ready."

The group gathered their packs, double-checked their weapons, and made their way to the portal's edge. The adventuring party stood waiting, their faces a mix of confidence and unease. At the forefront, Giles stood with his arms crossed, his pristine armor gleaming obnoxiously in the midday sun. His smirk widened as the dwarves approached, and his eyes scanned them with thinly veiled contempt. His group of friends and adventures stood behind him. Stronric saw the brothers he encountered on the road during his first trip to Millstone, trying hard not to be noticed.

"Well, well, if it isn't the mighty Thane and his merry band of misfits," Giles called out, his voice carrying just enough mockery to turn heads. Giles strolled forward with exaggerated casualness. He had a smug grin plastered across his face. "What kept you? Let me guess, the little cook burned your breakfast? Or were you too busy arguing over whose beard is longest?"

The brothers Stronric had met on the road exchanged uneasy glances before subtly distancing themselves from Giles' group. Bauru's hand drifted instinctively toward Predator, his knuckles whitening, but Stronric rested a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him steady. Stronric didn't speak, his gaze fixed on Giles with the weight of quiet authority.

The knight captain stepped in, his discomfort written plainly across his face. "Giles, enough," he said firmly. "Let's keep this about the mission."

But Giles wasn't about to let it go. He began a slow circle around the group, his polished boots crunching against the dirt as he measured his words with cruel precision. "Tell me," he said, tilting his head mockingly, "Do dwarves actually fight? Or is it just swinging your little hammers around and hoping something breaks?"

Rugiel's eyes narrowed, her expression sharp enough to draw blood, but her voice remained steady and poised. "You would do well to curb your tongue, child." she said, her words slicing through the tension like a blade. "Sharp tongues often lead to dull minds, and dull minds rarely survive long in a fight."

For a moment, Giles froze, the smug confidence in his grin faltering as faint color rose to his cheeks. He forced out a laugh, the sound brittle. "Just a jest, Lady Rugiel. No offense meant."

He turned to Stronric, his grin returning with forced bravado, though his eyes flickered uneasily toward Armand, who stood beside the dwarves. "And you, Sir Knight," Giles said, his voice dripping with faux disappointment, "How far you've fallen to associate with miners. Tell me, does their… scent not offend your knightly sensibilities?"

Armand stepped forward before Stronric could react, his movements deliberate, his voice low and measured. "I fight wiz 'onor, Giles," he said, the words delivered like a steel gauntlet thrown at Giles' feet. "Some'zing you clearly 'ave yet to learn."

Giles blinked, his smug expression faltering further. "Ah… a jest, Sir Armand. Merely a jest," he stammered, his voice suddenly lighter, as though trying to dispel the weight of Armand's words. "No need to take it personally."

Stronric stepped forward then, his calm, steady gaze locking onto Giles. He didn't speak, he didn't have to. The silence hung heavy, pressing down like an unseen hand. Giles' grin wilted completely under the weight of Stronric's stare, a nervous chuckle escaping him. "Yes, well," he muttered, waving his hand dismissively, "no offense meant. Let's just… get on with it."

The knight captain gave Stronric a brief, apologetic nod, turning his attention to the portal ahead. "We'll hold the line," he said quickly. "But don't waste time. The portal's unstable."

Stronric turned back to his group, addressing them with quiet authority. "Let's move."

Without a backward glance at Giles, the group stepped toward the swirling portal, its crackling energy swallowing the midday light as they crossed the threshold into the unknown.

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