The hidden chamber revealed itself as Atlas approached, its entrance concealed behind a masterfully crafted stone wall. Carved into the walls from perfectly fitted tiles to the ceiling above, were intricate designs depicting scenes from the life of the dwarf laid to rest within.
Each image told a story of triumph and toil, of battles fought and won, of towering structures forged from the depths of the earth. Here, the dwarf stood as a mighty warrior, wielding a hammer and shield against hordes of enemies. There, he laboured tirelessly in the depths of the mountain, extracting precious metals and gemstones from the unforgiving rock.
The stone itself bore the marks of expert craftsmanship, its surface polished to a smooth sheen that reflected the flickering torchlight. Runes of power were etched into the walls, their ancient symbols pulsating with a faint, otherworldly glow that kept this chamber safe for uncounted years.
At the centre of the chamber stood the ornate sarcophagus, a testament to the dwarf's stature and renown. Hewn from the finest marble, its surface was adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes of grandeur and majesty.
Here, the dwarf was shown in his prime, overseeing the construction of magnificent halls and fortifications, his beard long as he imparted wisdom to his kin. There, he stood as a beacon of strength and resilience, a symbol of the indomitable spirit of his people.
The sense of reverence for the dwarf whose legacy lay entombed within permeated the atmosphere of the room even making Atlas feel awed. This was more than just a resting place for the fallen; it was a monument to a life lived with purpose and conviction, a testament to the enduring spirit of the dwarven race.
However, Atlas saw greater potential.
"AI Chip. Begin design of spell to raise the dwarf as higher undead."
*Beep!*
*Probability of successful spell cast – 0.4%*
*Searching for solutions…*
*Filtering by highest success rate…*
*Recommended path – Rune Matrix*
Atlas paced the room through the thick layers of dust as he considered the AI Chip's suggestion. Runes were a common way to enchant objects with magical abilities or support the casting of spells. However, to cast a complex spell like rising higher undead solely through runes was unprecedented. Despite the usual method, if he could succeed, it would mean he'd have a means of creating powerful generals capable of wielding magic.
"AI Chip, create an optimised runic matrix of the spell – Raise Higher Undead."
*Task Established.*
*Estimated time to completion – 34 hours*
While the AI chip worked, Atlas returned to the makeshift camp his party had made in the entrance hall of hold. Food sizzled on open fires as the humans in the group made meals and relaxed in the safety of the hold. Undead meanwhile stood as motionless sentinels, guarding entrances to the surface but also stairs that led down into the unknown deep.
Strickler approached Atlas with a sense of urgency, his expression tense with anticipation. Beside him stood Ronald, the grizzled captain of the mercenaries, his weathered face etched with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.
"My lord, we've made some significant findings," Strickler began, his voice carrying a note of excitement. "The undead have been gathering valuable materials, including scraps of Gromril."
Atlas's interest was piqued at the mention of Gromril, the legendary metal coveted by dwarves for its unmatched strength and durability. It was said that weapons forged from Gromril could cleave through even the toughest armour with ease, and armour fashioned from it was nigh indestructible.
"Where did they find it?" Atlas inquired, his mind already racing with possibilities. Gromril was a rare and precious commodity, and the discovery of even small scraps could prove invaluable.
Ronald stepped forward, his gruff voice cutting through the air. "They found it scattered throughout the hold, hidden away in forgotten chambers or crudely fashioned by the greenskins into weapons. It seems the dwarves had hoarded it away, perhaps intending to use it for some great purpose."
Atlas nodded thoughtfully, his mind already formulating plans for the use of the precious metal. With Gromril at his disposal, he could forge weapons and armour of unmatched quality, equipping his followers with the tools that could hold runes better than other metals.
"Continue to gather the Gromril," Atlas instructed, his voice firm. "We will put it to good use."
They both nodded but before departing Strickler gave Atlas the bad news.
"What goblins managed to escape went deep into the tunnels and mines that rune throughout this mountain. I've used some of the skeletons I raised to scout them, however the deeper I go, the more resistance I face."
"From who?" questioned Atlas, half curious and half concerned. It wasn't some measly band of orcs and goblins that could take a Dwarf hold such as this. Whatever did was a danger he wasn't prepared to combat – not yet at least.
"Golbin ambushes, giant spiders and even a troll nest." Seeing his master get excited about adding to his undead horde with these new enemies, Strickelr raised his greatest concern. "There is something else down there. Some shadow deep in the dark that makes my skin crawl."
"Danger…" Atlas had felt the same, some unknown monstrosity made its home somewhere below them however he couldn't let that stop them. "We have no intention of provoking such as calamity, however a scourge of the upper layers may prove profitable."
"As you command my lord."
As Strickler and Ronald departed to carry out his orders, Atlas remained deep in thought, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the campfire. With each passing moment, his vision of a mighty empire grew clearer, fuelled by the promise of Gromril and other treasures left behind by the dwarfs.
Descending into the labyrinthine tunnels carved by dwarfs in ages past, Atlas led his undead horde deeper into the earth, their bony footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls. With each step, the air grew heavier, thick with the scent of damp earth and ancient decay.
Flooded with skeletons, the tunnels became a maze of bone and shadow, a relentless tide of death sweeping through the darkness. Atlas's senses, sharpened by unlife, strained to detect any sign of movement, any hint of life lurking in the depths.
Hour by hour, they pressed on, the march slow and methodical. For every greenskin or beast foolish enough to challenge them, there were risen up to join their ranks. The tunnels became a graveyard of their own making, littered with the fallen and the damned.
But amidst the carnage, there were treasures to be found. Scraps of gold glinted in the dim torchlight, gems sparkled amidst the rubble, and the precious gleam of Gromril caught Atlas's eye. Each discovery added to their plunder, each piece of wealth a testament to their conquest.
With each passing moment, Atlas's determination grew, fueled by the promise of riches and the thrill of the hunt. He would not rest until every corner of the tunnels had been explored, every last scrap of treasure claimed for his own. And woe betide any who dared to stand in his way.
The further Atlas delved into the depths of the tunnels, the more the meticulously carved stonework of the dwarfs gave way to the raw, untamed rock of the earth itself. In the dim light, his eyes, accustomed to the darkness, caught the glimmer of metal ores embedded in the walls, their valuable veins winding through the solid stone.
Atlas's keen mind immediately grasped the significance of what he saw. This had once been a thriving mine, a rich source of precious metals and gems for the dwarfs who had toiled here in ages past. And now, with his newfound power, he could envision a future where this mine once again yielded its treasures, its depths echoing with the sound of his undead minions at work.
But his thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a foul stench that assaulted his senses, the unmistakable odour of rotting flesh. With a grimace, Atlas realized that they had stumbled upon the troll nest described by Strickler.
Steeling himself against the nauseating scent, Atlas pressed forward, his undead horde at his back. He knew that within the darkness of the tunnels, unseen horrors awaited them, but he was undeterred.
With the confidence of a conqueror who had claimed victory after victory, Atlas led his undead horde charging towards the troll nest, his mind filled with visions of triumph. But as they drew closer, he realized his grave mistake.
These were no ordinary trolls, but Stone Trolls, creatures forged by the harsh environment of mountainous and rocky regions. Their bodies bore the scars of their rugged habitat, their hides toughened to a near-stone-like texture. Even worse, their exposure to the earth's minerals had granted them a resistance to magic, rendering Atlas's arcane abilities and the spectral blades of his wights largely ineffective against them.
As the Stone Trolls raised their massive clubs, Atlas's heart sank with dread. He tried to dodge their blows, but one troll's swing caught him off guard, sending him hurtling through the air to crash into the unforgiving stone wall.
Pain lanced through Atlas's body as he struggled to rise, his mind racing as he knew this would not be an easy fight.
Perhaps he was a fool for underestimating the danger of this world. He had to walk a fine line to avoid catching the attention of divine beings who could smite him down while gaining enough strength to survive the end times.
With a steely determination, he rose to his feet, ready to face the Stone Trolls head-on and emerge victorious, no matter the cost.