The Hall of Karak Azul was silent. King Kazador sat brooding as always on his throne. His crown slightly asque, but no one interrupting his thoughts to tell him so. The torches that lit the room gave flickering light that dance upon the old but shiny weapons and armour that stood about the hall, attached to walls or sitting on pedistals. King Kazador sat and waited. It had been weeks since the hardy band of adventures had ventured into Gorfang�s lair and, like all dwarves Kazador had the patience to wait for the very stone around him to fall down.

One of Kazador's closest advisers finally spoke up as the oppressive silence grew. "My liege, it hath been more than a score of days, and yet thy heroes do not return. The orc warlord has taken even their lives, and though this failure is mourned by all we must move to affairs of state. I would take this time to remind you of the goblin movements."

"I CARE NOT FOR GOBLIN MOVEMENTS! WE WILL WAIT ANOTHER SCORE OF DAYS IF I DEEM IT SO AND FURTHERMORE..."

Something broke the King off mid roar. A small thing. It would have been inaudible to any human but to the battle trained sensors of an aged Dwarven King it was a mighty shriek to be heard even above his own bellowing roar.

It was the sound of leather on stone.

In a Dwarven fortress, always on the brink of war or incursion, no one wore leather boots. Every courtier had a weapon at his belt and wearing a coat of mail. The hall stood silent, and all hands but Kazador's had gone to their respective hilts or handles. Slowly, ever so slowly the doors of the great hall swung open on soundless hinges.

From the gloom outside came a mismatched part of adventures in the lead, in splendid furs came the mighty Barbarian Gunthar Lionmane, leader of the mercenary band Iron Gauntlet. Striding only slightly behind him came the pompous face that only a Human Wizard�s face can assume was Docas Spellweave, the only female in the party much too arrogant for her own sake. Kazador hated women who were taller than he, which included almost all human women. He also thought she�d look much better with a beard. In his opinion she was an inferior member of this group as she was firstly a human, secondly a woman and thirdly a wizard, which made her a clumsy, stupid, charlatan. And it was Kazador�s opinion that she was only there at Gunthar�s wishes since she would surely be of no use in a fight.

Next almost in a dream came Gilgumli, who as usual seemed to be in a dream. Short even for a dwarf, he had left his home in search of �easy money� that was to be made adventuring. It was in Kazador's view that leaving the Dwarven Halls to sleep in the cold with a bunch of humans was worth no amount of wealth or any number of good fights. But then Gilgumli had been strange for a dwarf, always looking for a happy outcome to everything and trying to unify warring families. Kazador found himself wondering if there was any halfling blood in the young Dwarf. Still he was more Dwarven that these oversized louts. Kazador was amazed they had come back at all.

But for all his musing what Kazador was really interested in was the tall armoured figure who fowled the other three. Covered head to toe with blood red armour came Kerrig. No other name was given, and his huge glowing axe saw that no one ever asked. Dimly from deep within the war helm it seemed that two green points of light shone, but Kazador thought it some trick of the light.

However this next human, though at least one not to be trifled with was holding steel chain in his fist and the chain lead back into the darkness.

Before Kazador could ask what the final human was bringing him, Gunthar said in ringing tones.

"Behold all mighty King Kazador, we have return from the pits of hell itself, and have the answer to your most burning question. We have been to the slave pens of Gorfang and have seen that your kindred are not among them. Whether they have been moved or killed we could not assertion, but upon our leaving found something in that hold that we think you may want"

Gunthar�s sly smile was getting on Kazador�s nerves and he was getting really fed up with this upstart human who had failed in his quest to deliver his missing kinsfolk, dead or alive. What bauble could they possibly have found that could interest a dwarf with Kazador�s riches.

"Aye you have returned, but empty handed, but I will not pay you until you�ve done what I have asked, you can give the trinket to one of my functionaries, I have no time for worldly goods that I have lost almost all interest in."

"Not so my good king" Gunthar quickly interjected. "I bring you something I know you�ll be interested in." Kazador noticed for the first time Gilgumli�s eyes light up and then noticed a stir on the end of the chain, Kerrig had been dragging on that chain as he entered but now it moved. Then Kazador caught a scent, a reek he had not smelt in centuries. It had the common orcy smell, but Kazador could distinguish one Orc from another just by their smell, and unlike others he had smelt before, this one had NOT died at the receiving end of his hammer. "Good King I bring before you the chance to vent your revenge", continued the blonde braggart, "I bring you Gorfang himself."

The light that had sprung into Kazador's eyes overshadowed Gilgimli�s tenfold and would have rivaled Kerrig�s as to which glowed more brightly in the dark. As Kerrig yanked the chain and brought the creature into the torch light, Kazador rose from his throne in what seemed like the first time in years. Gorfang shambled into the room and let out a guttural laugh. Kazador�s face visibly tightened and that just sent the brute into harsher gales of ruckus laughter.

When Gorfang finally stopped he lifted he face and in pigeon version of the language of men said.

"Me bought az prize fo� dis stunty? he huh I knows oo. Yous is da fafur of da stunty we shav�d hehe, now me zends oo to meet �im"

And in a whisper almost beyond the hearing of those in the room Kazador purred "give it a sword".

One of the dwarves in the room went to the wall and brought down a beautifully rendered broad sword, perfectly balanced, with scroll work and runes crafted lovingly along its length. The dwarf placed it at the feet of the chained Orc and backed away so that those in the room made a circle around the two adversaries. It had probably seeped into the mind of the towering Orc that even should he survive and kill this Dwarven King he would be killed by the others in the room. However the Orc did not care. He had faced death before and it did not thrill him. He would show these stunties what for and kill their king before their eyes.

A rasping of steel against leather could be heard from the back of the room then a metallic clang as a huge sabre landed on the floor before the Orc so lie along side the excised Dwarven blade. Crudely made its notched and battered blade faintly glowed from the enchantments laid upon it by Orc shamans many season ago. It was a pale shadow next to the powerful Dwarven blade it lied next to, which would have been the pride of any Orc who wielded it. The two mismatched blades lay before the humanoid but its hands were still tied. It stared across at Kazador as if it was in its own hall about to slaughter a hapless prisoner. The mage uttered some strange words and the shackles fell from Gorfang�s wrists. Kazador felt that the moment was cheapened by this display of what must have been comic fakery. But the wizard was beyond being able to raise his hackles. He was on the edge like he hadn�t been for years. For the first time in so many years he was going do something really worthwhile. He raised his warhammer from behind his throne and stepped down from the dais to meet his foe.

Gorfang looked down at the two swords in front of him. His own battered and knicked blade, and the shining beauty they lay beside it, one forged by an reluctant blacksmith as one of many just to fill a quota so his back would not feel the lash of an Orcish whip. The other made of many years, lovingly by a Dwarven artisan who added each touch slowly and carefully to what would have been his life�s summation. One had been taken by crude shamans who by using heathen rites and had placed upon it enchantments of sharpening and wounding while whipping a crowd into a frenzy to their foul gods. The other was carefully carried, like a new born babe to a runesmith to be inscribed with runes that would endure through the ages and perfectly balance the inscriptions the forger had made. Gorfang looked down at the two swords and spat on the Dwarven craftsmanship, kicked it across the room to clang against a wall a picked up his own sabre.

As one they stepped forward to engage their despised rival. The orc stood 3 feet taller than the stocky Dwarf. Muscles rippling down his huge forearms he gave his sabre a few swings before taking a fighting stance, unlike most Orcs, Gorfang knew how to control his lust for blood, beneath his jutting brows and through his thick scull his feeble brain began to work on a cunning plan.

Kazador was not over awed by the physical size of his adversary. He had fought and killed ogres and giants before and knew that you must out smart your opponent and brute strength will only carry you so far. Kazador was no weakling though, in his earlier days it was said he had lifted a fully laden ore pony that had stumbled and become trapped in a crevasse. He would also cheerfully repeat the feat when challenged. Kazador was massive by Dwarven standards, but then so was Gorfang. Now he would kill his tormentor and avenge the loss of his kinsfolk.

Kazador lift his hammer to his face and saluted that who would soon be dead and snarling leapt at the huge Orc who waited before him