Ear-splitting, the shriek tore through the mine's oppressive silence. It resonated, a raw, desperate sound that twisted Baernar's gut. Not the shriek of a monster, but of something terrified and in pain.
Stryker whined low, a rumble deep in his massive chest. The sabertooth's ears flattened, hackles rising along his spine. He pressed closer to Baernar's leg, a silent question in his golden eyes.
"Aye, boy," Baernar muttered, his voice a gravelly whisper. "That sound… it is not right. Tyr guide us."
He gripped his war hammer, *Justice*, tighter. The heavy steel felt familiar, a comforting weight against his calloused palm. Every step deeper into the mine was a step into his past, a past he fought so desperately to escape.
Odors of damp earth, stagnant water, and something acrid, metallic – blood – intensified. The air grew thick, heavy with an almost palpable malevolence. This was no simple abandoned shaft. This was a lair.
Stryker moved ahead, a silent, predatory ghost in the near-total darkness. His enhanced vision, far superior to Baernar's darkvision, was an invaluable scout. The paladin followed, his plate armor clanking softly, muffled by his practiced stride.
Ahead, a faint, flickering light pulsed. It wasn't the steady glow of a miner's lantern. This light pulsed with an unnatural, sickly green hue, casting dancing, distorted shadows on the rough-hewn walls.
Silence fell, broken only by the drip of water and their own controlled breathing. They moved closer, each step deliberate. A low, guttural chant began, rising and falling in an unsettling rhythm. It was a language Baernar knew, hated, and recognized instantly.
Duergar. His own kind.
He slowed, signaling Stryker to stop. Peeking around a jagged rock outcropping, Baernar saw them. Two duergar, their grey skin almost blending with the stone, their eyes burning with fanaticism. They wore crude, spiked leather armor, stained with grime and something darker.
Between them, bound and gagged, knelt a surface dwarf. His red beard was matted with sweat and dirt, his face pale with terror. A small, crude altar lay before them, carved with blasphemous symbols. On it, a pulsating, amorphous mass of shadow and raw energy writhed, a nascent demonic entity barely contained.
The chant grew louder, more urgent. The duergar raised crude, obsidian knives, jagged edges glinting in the sickly green light. They were preparing the sacrifice. Rage, cold and burning, ignited in Baernar's chest. It was a familiar fire, one he usually fought to suppress, but now, it surged, potent and righteous.
These were his kin, yes. But they were Tyr's enemies. And Tyr demanded justice. Baernar’s past self, the brutal duergar warrior, roared for blood. His present self, the paladin of Tyr, demanded vengeance for the innocent.
"Enough!" Baernar's voice, amplified by his divine resolve, boomed through the chamber. The sound echoed, shattering the chanting, rattling the very stone.
The duergar startled, their heads snapping up. Their eyes, wide with surprise, quickly narrowed into furious slits. They saw the hulking duergar, clad in shining steel, a war hammer clutched in his immense hand, and confusion warred with anger.
Stryker, sensing his master's intent, launched himself forward with a silent snarl, a streak of striped fur and muscle. He bowled over one duergar, jaws snapping, pinning him to the ground before he could even raise his knife.
Baernar charged the second duergar. His massive frame, already formidable, seemed to swell, a primal surge of power coursing through him. He brought *Justice* down in a thunderous arc. The duergar, quick but not quick enough, barely managed to bring his obsidian knife up to parry.
Steel met obsidian with a sickening *CRACK*. The knife shattered, sending shards flying. Baernar followed through, a divine smite blazing around his hammer. Golden light erupted, searing the duergar's arm where *Justice* connected.
The duergar shrieked, a sound of agony and surprise. His arm, engulfed in holy fire, instantly blackened and twisted. Baernar didn't pause. He grabbed the duergar by the throat, lifting him clear off the ground. His fingers, iron bands, squeezed tight.
"You defile this earth," Baernar snarled, his voice a low growl, "and Tyr's name. You will answer for it."
He slammed the duergar against the cavern wall, a sickening crunch echoing. The life drained from the duergar's eyes. He dropped the lifeless form, turning his attention to the bound dwarf.
The first duergar, disarmed by Stryker, thrashed wildly, trying to escape the sabertooth's powerful jaws. Stryker kept him pinned, a low growl rumbling, waiting for Baernar's command.
Baernar strode to the altar, his eyes fixed on the pulsating, shadowy entity. It quivered, its malevolent aura weakening without the ritual's focus. He raised *Justice*, the hammer glowing with a pure, white light. He brought it down with all his might, a holy fury behind the blow.
The altar shattered. The nascent demon shrieked, a piercing sound of pure agony, and dissolved into wisps of shadow and foul-smelling smoke. The sickly green light vanished, plunging the chamber into near-darkness, illuminated only by Baernar's darkvision and the faint gleam of his armor.
He moved to the captive dwarf, pulling out a dagger to cut his bonds. The dwarf flinched, eyes wide with fear as Baernar’s grim face, scarred and severe, loomed over him. But Baernar ignored the fear, focusing on the task.
He cut through the ropes, freeing the dwarf. The smaller male stumbled to his feet, rubbing his wrists. A strange, unfamiliar warmth bloomed in Baernar's chest. It was a flicker of something soft, unexpected, a quiet satisfaction that settled deep within him. This was what he sought. This was Tyr's purpose.
"Are you harmed?" Baernar asked, his voice rough but softer now. He offered a hand, a massive, gauntleted fist.
His words, meant to reassure, seemed to only heighten the dwarf's terror. The dwarf's eyes, wide with relief a moment before, suddenly fixated on Baernar's grey skin, his crimson eyes, the sheer, monstrous size of him. Pupils shrinking to pinpricks, a sharp gasp tore from his lips. He scrambled backward, hands raised defensively, stumbling over his own feet.
"Stay back!" the dwarf croaked, his voice trembling. "Don't… don't touch me, monster!"
The warmth in Baernar's chest vanished, replaced by the familiar ache of cold, crushing loneliness. *Monster*. The word echoed, a bitter truth. His core wound, never truly healed, twisted. It didn't matter what he did; his appearance was his curse. He was still the duergar, the monster.
Stryker, having finished with his quarry, padded silently back to Baernar's side. The second duergar lay still, his neck at an unnatural angle. Stryker nudged Baernar's hand, a comforting pressure.
Baernar knelt beside the now unconscious duergar Stryker had pinned. He still breathed, barely. Baernar's hand, gloved in steel, went to his throat. He could end it quickly, but Tyr's justice was not always swift death.
"Who sent you?" Baernar demanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Who seeks to summon this filth?"
His fingers tightened, pressing against the duergar's windpipe. The duergar's eyes fluttered open, dark and desperate, glazed with pain. A ragged cough escaped his lips, a weak, gurgling sound.
"The Iron… Heart…" the duergar rasped, a final, defiant flicker in his dying gaze. "It remembers… and waits."
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