Gurgling bubbles.
They boiled up from the bottom of the Sulfur River.
Blasts of hot air swirled around the dry castle.
The wind, laden with sand and the smell of sulfur, carved streaks into the heavy stone.
To the thick-skinned Dwarves, it merely tickled them.
However, instead of drunkenly boasting and enjoying their ale, the Dwarves were now irritably staring into the distance at the darkness.
Stout Jackalman Warriors burst forth from the shadows, howling as they launched their attack.
"Crossbolts, ready!"
"Arquebusiers, ready!"
The Dwarven Defense Officer promptly issued commands, his attention not on the hundreds of Jackalweres before him but rather grumbling irritably at the depths of the corridor:
"These damned black monkeys, why have they been coming so frequently lately?"
As the Jackalweres charged into firing range, the Dwarven Defense Officer shouted loudly:
"Fire!"
The sporadic attacks were precise and lethal.
