The mountains of the Dragons' Teeth were true to their namesake, precipices that thrust suddenly upward, almost out of eyesight, tearing into the gray of the northern skies. Without fail, they were blanketed with snow and buffeted by constant icy gales. It was no wonder, Braegor told himself, that he felt a growing sense of disquiet, for the ancient roots of the earth have a nature of disquiet about them. And yet...and yet there was something more; a tingle at the base of his spine, the bristles of his beard stood on end. No, it was more than the mountains, for no true dwarf could fear the mountains, it was something else.
For three days, his expedition had toiled in the snows. They labored hard to reach the lush valleys below, to search out new slaves for the Blood Fires. But it seemed as if the God-King Azraegoth Himself had set the storms against them—it was not behind His fel powers. Braegor had driven his dwarves on, applying the lash liberally, until they had reached the last of the mountain peaks. Now they were tired and quiet. The heavy infantry and the crossbowmen huddled around the last of the Blood Fire, its blue warmth turning the snow to rivers around them. Suddenly, Braegor knew the feeling that had troubled his beard...they were being watched!
For three days, his expedition had toiled in the snows. They labored hard to reach the lush valleys below, to search out new slaves for the Blood Fires. But it seemed as if the God-King Azraegoth Himself had set the storms against them—it was not behind His fel powers. Braegor had driven his dwarves on, applying the lash liberally, until they had reached the last of the mountain peaks. Now they were tired and quiet. The heavy infantry and the crossbowmen huddled around the last of the Blood Fire, its blue warmth turning the snow to rivers around them. Suddenly, Braegor knew the feeling that had troubled his beard...they were being watched!
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