“Here they come!” yelled Theodoruk, running down a stone corridor. His heavy metal armour was making more noise than a Dwarven battalion on the march as he pumped his legs furiously. Holding onto Pelor’s Fist, his heavy hammer, Theodoruk jumped around a corner where the rest of the group waited. Two crossbow bolts slammed into the wall behind him. He doubled over, breathing heavily. His layered plate armour saved his life many times, but it was not made for sprinting.
“Got… their… attention. Get… ready”, he stammered out, bent over, trying to catch his breath. Sweat dripped down his bald head.
“Next time you get the bright idea to go scouting, better let me go instead.” Miramar, the Halfling Rogue said dismissively. He pulled out a short sword and looked down its razor like blade with a trained eye. Once again, he’d have to clean up the mess these clumsy oafs made.
“Wasn’t scouting… The plan was… to draw them out.” Theodoruk was speaking more freely now. He straightened out and hefted his massive hammer into a ready position. “If only your memory wasn’t as short as you are.”
Miramar shot him an angry glance. His memory was not short. He was just busy rummaging through the Zackar’s personal possessions while the group was prattling on about tactics, plans or some other such nonsense. The conversation was boring enough to put down a rampaging boar and the Wizard always had the most interesting things in his packs. No matter, that self-righteous bald oaf would pay with good coin for his insults. “Never insult a thief,” Miramar’s aunt Morena always said. “That’s rule number 3,” or was it rule number 4?
“Enough. Get ready” Valaris, the elven fighter said evenly. He settled into a low stance, with his shield in front of him and his slender long sword raised. Theodoruk glanced at the elf. To his human eyes, the elf fighter was fluid like water when he moved and still like a stone when he stood still. Valaris was the only person Theodoruk knew who could form a one man shield-wall. Nothing would get by him. And if anything tried, Theodoruk would be there to deliver Pelor’s retribution.
Zackar lazily extinguished the arcane flame that has been crawling around his hands. Nothing was quite as beautiful and interesting as flames he thought, but now there was work to do. He smiled. The good news was that his work also involved flames. A fire burst right at the passage corner would be perfect for the job. Zackar estimated that Valaris stood far back enough to avoid the blast, but then again he has been wrong before. Practice makes perfect.
“Alright lads, Pelor’s watchin’ so no slackin’,” said Durin. Then the Dwarven cleric started a low rumbling prayer to Pelor. His deep chant continued as he readied an immense Dwarven maul that stood as tall as he was. “Come on ye dogs. Come get some Pelor” he murmured quietly.
Dark arcane energy cascaded down Gaav’s scaly arms as he pulled out his wand and held it above his draconic head. Jaws slightly parted, he looked like he could taste the air. The Warlock never looked more like a dragon than right before a battle, appearing reptilian, with a cold dark glint in his eye.
The thundering footsteps down the hall grew louder. They could now make out individual voices. Any second now it would start.
“Here they come,” thought Theodoruk.
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