Ashen - Chapter 12: Hulk

Chapter Twelve: Hulk

“There is a chamber at the end of this hall,” the Forged Woman said. “If it has not collapsed, it should provide safety so you can recover from your injuries.”

    “We don’t understand you,” Ceru replied; but Tormund offered to translate. Her Dwarvish was halting, and of a dialect that was difficult for him to understand; but passable in those dark hallways. They made their way to the stone door and entered what appeared to be a stonemason’s workshop. Everywhere there were tools, mostly rotten with age; half-finished etchings and piles of hand-chiseled brick. The warforged lay Tormund on a stone workbench and sat beside him. The others gathered around, and with the door closed, they rested a moment.

    “I am called Hulk,” Tormund translated for the warforged. “I was taught the dwarf tongue by the dwarves who found me and woke me in Avungar - the ruin of a city far to the east.”

    “Would you be able to locate this Avungar,” Adovar asked. He was scribbling furiously in his little journal as he spoke.

    “It is possible. Though, undoubtedly time has buried the city of my creation, I could recount the steps I took to get here.”

    Tormund propped himself up on one tattooed elbow. “And you dwelt here with the dwarves?”

    “I did,” she said, and the dwarf relayed her words. “We lived here for the decades it took to construct the temple. And then we swore a pact to defend it.

    “Unfortunately, the evil that infests Cindre crept into the Temple. I have been in a repair cycle for some time, having nearly lost my life essences battling the twisted husks of my former friends.”

    “Undead…” Tormund whispered in unison with Ceru and one of the genasi. “We should have brought a priest,” the dwarf reiterated.

    “I am a priest,” Hulk replied, showing the intricately carved sun upon her chest. “Haroeris, to the ancients. Vellar Karaad in the religion of Moradin.”

    “I think we’ve rested enough,” Adovar said before casting another spell. This one appeared to enable Hulk to speak and understand the elven tongue.

    With Hulk’s aid, they made their way further into the complex, learning where the buried entrance lay, and receiving a guided tour along the way.

    “This was the armory,” Hulk said at the entrance to a long chamber decorated in the now age-worn armor and weaponry of the ancient dwarves. “Raegar was our Captain. Though I required neither weapon nor armor, he insisted I drilled with the other guardians.” Her voice was hollow. Sad. It sounded as though it were coming from far away, somewhere deep within her metallic frame. “He said it helped promote camaraderie.”

    She closed the door. “Some of these may be salvageable for display,” she said. “But nothing here is useful now.” She pointed at a dark spot on the wall, and a chip in the stone, made by axe or sword. “Raegar always led from the front. There is where he fell to the wights.”

    She hung her heavy head. “I have killed him many times since then.”

    There were many stories like that, at least one for each of the chambers they encountered. She talked of her time living with the dwarves, how she loved them like siblings, how they fell to the undead infesting this cursed world, and how she has had to look into the faces of her family every time they returned.

    Listening to these tales of ancient battles and lost friends, Ceru became certain of two things. The warforged lacked the ability to weep, and this one would be weeping now if she did not. The next chamber was the forge, and the nest of the Forge Beetles.

    Again they were beset by the squealing, chittering swarm, and again - with considerably less difficulty this time - they defeated them, actually managing to disperse the swarm.

    “They will return in time,” Hulk said. “They have always been a nuisance, but with no one to stop them, they feed on the forge fires and grow out of control. I hope one day their numbers become so great they dominate the world and destroy the evil that inhabits it.”

    Adovar smiled at that. He was hunkered over the body of what appeared to be a queen. He was harvesting parts of it and storing them in little glass vials. Hulk’s demeanor was not brightened, however. “We are nearing the Temple,” she said, “where we will find my friends.”

    At the end of a great hallway, reinforced with columns of stone and iron, and decorated with reliefs of the dwarven pantheon and heroes of old, they came upon a pair of mighty stone doors. This was, unmistakably, the Temple of Moradin.

    Tormund remained in awe. Adovar continued to take notes, discussing his observations with Oquee, Ceru. The marines looked things over, but understood little of ancient dwarven religion or architecture. They kept their eyes peeled for returning beetles or the lurking dead.

    Standing in front of the doors, Hulk’s posture and the ache in her voice told them all of the weary sadness that filled her. “Beyond these doors we will find what’s left of my friends,” she said. “We will also find what you came for.”

    “Um,” Adovar looked up from a carving that appeared to show an elf and a dwarf fighting together against some indefinable monstrosity. “What?” He walked closer to Hulk and asked, “what exactly do you think we came for?”

    “The Axe."