The dwarven tunnels were a mess. Celeste and Martin were making their way down, and as expected, had found drows. Quite a few of them, in fact. However, the elven-offspring had some kind of instinctual hatred for Celeste. Apparently, her battles against the Ilshers had left them with a bad feeling in their mouths and had trained their people to attack her as soon as they saw her.

  She was more than happy to let her frustrations out on people who attacked her first, and Martin seemed almost giddy by the fact that he could use the gun that he had stolen from a dwarven corpse. Celeste had never seen the massive man so giggly and excited, and every time he fired a shot, he would snort and laugh like a teenager who saw his crush naked. Celeste didn't mind. It was better than him being his usual stoic and quiet.

  "Man, this thing is pulling quite a bit to the right. I can practically feel it trying to tear the barrel apart. I wonder why they haven't adjusted it." He mumbled, though Celeste knew full well, that the barrel had been hit quite hard in the fighting, leaving it misaligned when the former owner had engaged some drow troops in melee combat, using the massive hatchet-like attachment on the underside of the gun.

  Martin was really enjoying his powers to ignore misfires and reloading. He did still reload, though, not because he needed to, but because he enjoyed the feeling of slotting in the small cartridges that simplified the process for the mortals.

  From the shadows behind them dropped a drow clad in thick armor, silent despite being in full plate. Celeste could practically feel the murderous intent, and with a dull fascination, she noted how the armor had blended in with the shadows and was completely silent, something that should have been impossible, though it was likely enchanted in some way. She also noted the dark green tabard the drow was wearing, signifying that he was part of the assassin house for the drows. The drow's face-guard was metal, but shaped like a plague-doctor mask, obscuring the attacker's identity.

  He dashed with unnatural speed towards the pair of gods, his movements so quiet that something had to be suppressing the noise other than ordinary enchantments. The only thing that could be heard was his whispered words as he repeated the dogma of his goddess.

  "Worship me, the one true god, through sacrifices, murder, rituals, and chaos." His voice was barely a hiss, though the words carried, and Celeste realised he was actually casting some kind of divine spell.

  "Always show that you are the strongest, perfect yourself, and spread chaos wherever you go." From his billowing green cape he drew a wicked looking knife, the tip dripping with a dark liquid, and Celeste noted as the blade accidentally touched hit plate armor, the metal quickly started to degrade.

  "Accept only the strongest in your society, for only the strongest blood has the right to worship me." His words did not falter, as divine Energy started to condense around the blade, rapidly turning it luminous.

  "You are the most sovereign race. All other races are beneath you. Oppress the less worthy and show them that you are the dominant ones." His movements grew faster as the magic empowered not just his weapon, but him as well.

  "Bring my name to greatness and suppress all other gods. We are made to rule, so praise my name and make all others bow." The drow jumped, ready to plunge the enchanted and divinely blessed dagger into Martin.

  The massive Ork didn't even say anything. Instead, the small cannon that had been mounted on his shoulder spun around and pointed at the drow, and in that split second of hanging in the air, the drow stared directly into the barrel of a massive gun.

  The booming echo seemed to be cast up and down the tunnel and was accompanied by Martin's "Hurh Snrrrk Hurh hurh".

  He was giddy as he reached up, and a hiss of compressed air, made the cartridge shoot from the build-in compartment and he replaced it. "That was number seven" He said with a wide grin.

  Celeste smiled. "You know, I saw him first. I could have easily killed him even before you got to him" She said, not wanting to go down without a fight.

  Martin shrugged, which made his massive cannon jiggle. "Sure, but you didn't."

  Celeste sighed, she had hoped that challenging Martin to a competition of who could kill the most assassins would have lead him to talking a bit more, but it had only partially worked.

  The assassins were not a common enemy, they seemed to be designed for killing leaders of squats that made it too far into the tunnels. The mixture of heavy armor and impressive speed would make them almost impossible to deal with for any dwarven squad, but Celeste and Martin managed to take them down pretty consistently, though they hadn't allowed any of them to get a hit in yet. It seemed like a bad idea to even try.

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  Their current assassin had a nice hole blasted through his chest, almost comically circular, though his armor had folded into him and been blown out on the other side. He was alive, though primarily due to Celeste not allowing him to die.

  She looked down at him, her eyes cold and calculating. "So, which way to your city?" She asked, her voice calm but stern.

  The spittle of blood bobbling from the assassin's mouth was the only answer she got, and for a moment, she considered helping him, only to hear a voice behind her.

  "If it is directions that you are looking for, I might be able to help you. Just let him die." The voice seemed to echo through the tunnels just like Martin's cannon had.

  Looking at the source, Celeste let the assassin pass on to the afterlife. She seemed slightly surprised by how noble the warrior before them looked. He, too, was wearing a full plate, though this seemed much better crafted. The plates were a polished silver, trimmed with purple. A cape in the same royal purple colour seemed to billow in a nonexistent wind. He didn't wear a helmet but rather a metallic laurel crown, flowers made from some purple gem inlayed along the headpiece. At his side was a long bastard sword that seemed to be carved with every rune imaginable.

  Celeste sighed and nodded. "Marcel, Purple Ilsher, a pleasure." She gave a slight bow of her head, though the normally charming drow didn't seem in the mood for pleasantries.

  "You come to my home and you threaten my people, and you expect me to greet you like an old friend?" He said, voice no longer booming with authority and bravado.

  Celeste considered it for a moment. Marcel was apparently the greatest strategist among all the drows. Appointed to control their armies, and had been the one to negotiate and influence Queen Selma in A'kastin. He apparently had the Loyalty Domain, but Celeste had no idea what that allowed him to do. However, it was clear that his first words had been infused with his divine will in some way.

  The purple Ilsher did not move, even as Martin pointed not only his shoulder cannon towards him, but also the rifle he had picked up.

  "Please, if you believe that I am here to fight, you must be mistaking me for my brother Ira. I believe you had the pleasure of meeting him." Marcel said, standing in the way of the two gods. "I know that I cannot take you in combat, but I can save my people. You may be on your way to try and break my mother's hold of these tunnels, but I am sure you have more important matters to see to."

  Martin took a step forward, his body tensing, ready for whatever trap his foe had placed. "More important than ending the evil schemes you have cooked up?" He asked, short and to the point.

  For a moment, a look of disgust seemed to shadow Marcel's face as an ork spoke to him directly. Even so, he didn't act without thinking, but didn't answer the question. Instead, his eyes seemed to focus on Celeste as if Martin didn't exist at all.

  "At the end of this tunnel, you will find it splitting in two. Go left, and you will start to travel towards our largest city. Ira, myself and my dearest sister Ishtar will be waiting for you, ready to defend ourselves." Marcel said, his voice not holding a trace of excitement or humour. "However, if you go right, you will be taken to the hidden temple of Esselaia, where a follower of Raffael Moordet is currently setting up a ritual along with quite a few dragons. I believe they are attempting to fuse one of the Archdemons with Esselaia herself, creating a new goddess."

  Martin seemed to put two and two together, though something clearly seemed to annoy him. "How do we know that you are not lying?"

  For the first time Celeste saw Marcel genuinely angry. "BECAUSE YOUR BETTERS DO NOT NEED TO LIE, ORK!" Once more, the words seemed infused with divine Energy, though this was probably accidental, and yet, Celeste could feel a certain will try and assert itself. There was no doubt in her mind that what Marcel said was the truth.

  Marcel took a deep breath. "Once my mother determined that Armandos once more had stepped onto Kalish, she deemed it necessary to have a backup plan ready. She made a deal with Raffael Moordet to ensure that one of the demon god's followers would have knowledge and opportunity to set a destructive plan in motion. A plan that would force Armandos, no matter your form, to intervene." Marcel said, calming down from his burst of anger. "Your arrival always hails the destruction of the best laid plans, and as such, a backup needs to be set in motion, something you cannot ignore without damage to the entire world."

  He lifted his sword to rest the blade on his shoulder. "If this were a lie, you would not be occupied for long enough for us to restructure our defences against you. Believe it or not, we Ilshers have plenty more important things to see to."

  As he spoke, he started to fade, and it soon became clear that they had been talking to an illusion of some kind, though Marcel's use of divine powers indicated that he had been here in some form.

  Martin looked at Celeste. "I mean, I really wanna go kick his ass now. Are all the Ilshers this bad?"

  Celeste shook her head. "No... he is actually one of the nice ones." She said with a sigh.

  "Wow... I need to check if we have a douchbag stat and if something is bugged with it when it comes to those guys." Martin said, slowly starting to walk towards where Marcel had been.

  "I think it is a combination of Mommy issues and a rather brutal society. If status is everything, then you kinda get leaders that are obsessed with it, you know?"

  Martin nodded, though didn't say anything further, as per usual.

  "We are going to stop that Archdemon stuff, right?" Celeste asked.

  Martin groaned. "I mean, yea, we could do that... I don't like doing what they expect us to do, but it needs to be stopped." He said. "We could split up." He quickly added.

  Celeste groaned. "I don't think I can take three Ilshers. I don't think I can take a horde of dragons on my own either while trying to stop a ritual."

  The massive ork let his hand hammer into the cave wall, making the world echo around him. "Yea... I know what you mean. Let us go take care of that ritual... I am summoning my steed so it can help us."