The air outside Stronric's tent is thick with the cold anticipation of the coming night. Stronric stepped out into the cold night. His presence felt larger and more imposing than ever. In the past day he'd eaten more than enough to restore his strength. His muscles were no longer taut with the lean look of hunger, instead their fullness made him seem carved from stone. The battle scars of the last three days were faint, as if time itself had yielded to his resilience.

Rugiel, Bauru, and Gromli waited for their thane, each expressing a different emotion seeing his newly leveled form. Rugiel's stood straighter and she stiffened slightly. Gromli jolly demeanor faltered and his smile opened to a surprised awe. Bauru's one good eye narrowed and a grin twitched under his straw-colored bread. An aura of power seemed to surround Stronric. It was something almost tangible and projected a warrior's authority mixed with an unyielding strength. Stronric had increased his charisma and that projected this newfound aura. Even the humans in their small militia stood straighter and held their breath to listen more closely.

Armand stood at the edge of the circle leaning against a makeshift crutch. He was able to get around himself, but he was still recovering from his wounds. The old french knight watched Stronric with a mixture of awe and humility. His armor was batered and his body still covered in bandages, yet his eyes are sharp, fixed on Stronric. Stronric's newfound aura was unlike anything Armand had seen before projecting from a dwarf. Its power radiated respect from the core of Stronric's being.

Stronric's gaze meets Armand's, and he raised his chin slightly. "Seems the night hasn't felled ye yet, Armand." Stronric said, his voice resonating with a depth that quieted those around him.

Armand nodded slowly, a faint, respectful smile pulling at his lips. "Mon ami." Armand replied in his accented voice. Although he spoke casually, his voice was laced with awe. "I 'ave seen kings and commanders lead, but never with… such fire. You are, 'ow do you say… forged anew." Armand said, lowering his head in a bow, a gesture of respect not just from a knight to a Thane, but from one warrior to another.

Stronric chuckled, the sound rumbling through the camp. Stronric looked around those in the camp and his eyes softened. "Aye, ye flatter me too much." He replied. Stronric felt the truth in Armand's words. He could feel the undercurrent of strength, power, grace flowing out around him. The aura flowed out but like a wave it drew back towards him, seemingly pulling others with it.

Bauru, always the one to speak plainly, adjusted the strap of his crossbow. His single eye gleamed with admiration that he rarely showed. "Took ye long enough to figure out how to project an aura." Bauru said with a grin, his accent thick as ever. "Been followin' ye not just fer yer fightin' skills but 'cause ye've got somethin' most folk don't. Now it's just a bit easier fer everyone else to see it, too." Bauru crossed his arm, his grin widening as he continued in a light voice. "Suppose even legends have to grow into their own boots, eh?"

The men and women of the encampment were drawn in by the quiet awe of the dwarves and the humbled respect of Armand. They began to gather, whispering amongst themselves as they took in Stronric's presence. One by one, the militia offered small respectful bows. It was not common for a person, dwarf or otherwise, to gain as many levels and titles as Stronric had, especially not as quickly. What Stronric felt to be a subtle change in his charisma exploded out as if the fire of ages flowed withing in. Stronric was more than just an idle king on a throne, he was a leader, warrior and thane that fought for and besides his kin.

Rugiel stepped closer, her gaze still fixed on Stronric as if seeing him for the first time. "This is more than just growth." She said quietly, "You've walked through fire and returned tempered, not just as our Thane but as something greater. It's as though the gods themselves have laid a mantle upon yer shoulders."

Stronric inclined his head. He accepted her words with a humility he rarely showed, because he felt it too. The quiet power that hummed within him, a force that strengthened not only his body, but also his spirit. His new title, The Butcher, had helped shape and form his aura. He had slain more creatures than most villages would encounter in a lifetime within a handful of days. He was already an anomaly amongst the humans, a free dwarf built and powerful, but now he projected his power and strength without having to lift his axe. Stronric glanced around at those gathered, meeting the eyes of each dwarf and human alike, his gaze steady and unwavering.

"Aye, I'm honored to lead ye all, but titles alone don't make a dwarf. The courage ye've shown these past nights, that's the real strength of Hearth Fire," he declared, his voice carrying like rolling thunder. "Together, we've forged this camp into something greater than its pieces, and together, we'll hold it."

The crowd felt the power in his words, and a murmur of agreement rippled amongst them, quiet but fervent. Stronric has always been their leader, but now he was an inspiration. He was a figure they could rally behind as the final night descended upon them. Rugiel observed the gathering crowd, and stepped forward lifting her chin and addressed them with a commanding voice that carried both authority and poise.

"Back to your duties, all of you! Our Thane is indeed a sight to behold, but we have much to prepare for this night. Tonight, we fight alongside him, but only if we are ready." Her voice softened, though her gaze remained unyielding. "Let us not waste this moment admiring—let us honor him with action. To your posts, all of you!"

With a wave of her hand, Rugiel dismissed them, her words sparking a renewed energy in the militia, who scattered with fresh resolve to make ready for the siege ahead.

"How many more gnolls and beasts can there be?" Gromli asked while cutting meat for the stew.

Bauru, cradling his crossbow, leaned over and spat on the ground. "There not many more out here in the woods. When I was scouting earlier, I found their numbers severely reduced. Just an elite core left and that gnoll wizard left. Something is going on though, I have never heard of so many creatures pouring out of a dungeon."

Armand shifted on his crutch, his gaze distant as he spoke, his voice carrying a hint of worry. "Yes, when I was wounded, I 'ad time to think on what is 'appening. I fear for ze rest of ze town. If zis," he gestured to the encampment with a weary hand, "is only an outpost, I cannot imagine ze strength of zeir main force."

The group fell silent thinking. Stronric pulled on his beard. Then suddenly an idea hit him. "It's not an encampment!"

The group looked at Stronric, wearing mirrored questioning expressions. Stronric continued, "Think about it. If the dungeon is naturally defensible then they wouldn't need a large force to hold it? So, they could have moved the majority of their forces out and into the woods, taking over or forming camps like this one here. If an army tries to siege the dungeon itself, they could signal with those flares, calling back their army. That would leave the attackers stuck in the middle, fighting on two sides. They somehow know the village has no real army or scouts and they use that to their advantage.

Rugiel continued off Stronric's thought, "How would they know we don't have a real army? Are you saying we have a traitor in our midst?"

A heavy silence settled in on the group. If there was a traitor in Millstone that would complicate things.

"Wasn't those adventures hired to maintain the dungeon, the one with that brat?" Bauru asked.

Armand straightened, his voice carrying a tone of tempered conviction. "Ze boy might be brash and perhaps a bit spoiled, but 'e would not betray ze realm. And what, pray tell, would 'e gain from such a thing?"

Armand continued without waiting for a reply, shaking his head. "Non, zis does not sit right. 'E may be young and reckless, but betrayal? Zere is no reason for it."

Stronric looked across to Rugiel and when she met his gaze, he inclined his head signaling her to meet. Stronric excused himself and Rugiel followed behind him. Once they were far enough away from the group and Armand, Stronric turned to Rugiel, "Are there rewards for controlling an overflowing dungeon?"

"Well, when a dungeon overflows the rewards for killing the boss inside are increased dramatically. There is no way to truly know what's inside and the reward expect for if there is a regional quest released by the system."

"The System?" Stronric asked puzzled.

"Well yes, remember the system is what runs our classes, stats sheets and more. It will give quest that reward quite well, but outside of class quests, others are not more common."

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"Is there any way that you could make deals with those inside of the dungeon?" Stronric asked Rugiel pulling on his beard.

"Stronric, I was a slave before and this goes beyond what I know. I have never even seen a dungeon entrance." Rugiel said looking flustered she didn't know an answer for once.

Stronric nodded and then reached into his belt, pulling out the gnoll general's bag. The worn hide was etched with symbols and runes that pulse with a faint, eerie light. Stronric glances down at it, his brow furrowing slightly. "This bag... blasted thing won't open," Stronric growled, giving the bag a small shake, though the bag remains stubbornly sealed.

Rugiel stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she studied the runes. "It's no ordinary bag. It's a spectral pouch, able to hold more within than it appears from the outside. It's sealed by blood and energy. You'll need to drop a touch of your own blood onto it then channel energy, letting it unlock for you."

Stronric gave a small grunt, pulling out his dagger. He made a quick cut across his thumb, and let a few drops of his blood fall onto the bag. He then focused his Ruhna, the energy thrumming through him into the bag. The bag responded with a soft hum and a pulsing light rippled along its edges. The symbols on its surface began to glow, and, with a faint whisper, the bag opened. Stronric looked inside and he could see a mound of tiny items.

"How does so much fit inside?" Stronric asked in amazement.

Rugiel shrugged her shoulders, "Focus on an item, and the bag should give you a feeling. I heard some items come with an inherit understanding of how they work. Otherwise you need to get an identifying skill."

"Identifying skill?" Stronric said while focusing on the bag.

"Yes, the forge stone in Millstone is not powerful enough but there are larger stronger stones that allow a person to purchase of limited skills and items. Those skills and stone are usually owned by the lords and are protected and highly private." Rugiel replied.

Stronric focused on the bag and soon he got the feeling his bag was twelve by twelve grid. He reached his hand in, but his hand came back out empty. He just stared at Rugiel, a question in his eyes, who let out a little laugh.

"Focus on what you want, Stronric, I swear sometimes you have the intuition of a genius and other times you are as helpless as a babe."

Stronric grunted in response and walked back over to the fire. Rugiel followed him closely behind him. Armand, Gromli and Bauru sat around the fire and looked at Stronric muttering over the small bag. "Give me a hand will ye?" Stronric said as he focused, turned the bag over and dumped out its contents on the ground.

A small items the size of marbles fell out, and when they were clear of the edges of the bag they expanded to their original size. Blood soaked totems, what look to be ration bars that smelled foul, a set of throwing axes, a trinket or two, gold and silver coins, then the worse, animal and human body parts taken as trophies. The last two things that fell out were two bottles similar to the healing potions Stronric had found earlier in his travels.

As the last bottles toppled out, the onlookers stared at the bag with a look of wonder. As one the group shouted, "Spatial bag!?" Stronric smiled, focusing on the bag he felt that name fit, so he nodded back to them.

"Help me sort through this and find anything of value." Stronric got down on his knees and started to sort the pile out. The rest jumped to help while Armand laughed while sipping a tea Gromli had made for him.

The rations bars, and trophies were quickly thrown into the river. They counted thirty-seven gold coins and forty-eight silver coins. Stronric put coins back inside of his bag. No one expect Stronric wanted the throwing axes, so he tied them onto his belt when Rugiel stopped him.

"Stronric, you have the bag, just put them back inside and when you need them retrieve them, you don't to tie everything to yourself anymore." Rugiel said.

Stronric nodded and put the axes back inside the bag but kept his dagger on his hip. Summoning your weapon into your hand was great but Stronric enjoyed the comforting weight of having his axe on his back and he would keep it there.

A dreadful aura oozed off the totems and the trinkets. Stronric spit, "Foul magic." Before turning around and smashing them items with his axe.

Everyone jumped to their feet to try and stop, shouting for him to stop.

Stronric stared at them while quelled them. "No, we don't need these. What would we do with them, sell them? The items dripped with evil magic. Can't ye sense it in yer bones?"

The group reluctantly nodded. Yes, they could these dark items for their benefit, but Stronric knew what happened when good people had prolonged exposure to dark magic. He had seen the souls corrupted by the foul magic back in his old world. He would not expose his clansmen to such risk. Maybe these relics would help in this battle but instead they would have to fight the dwarven way, with blood and axe.

The last two items left were the unknown bottles, and they had no way to tell what types of potions they were. Stronric hoped the Mintra either knew what they were, or he had the skill to identify items. Stronric placed the two bottles back into the bag.

"Won't the bottle break?" Stronric asked Rugiel as he put them back inside, even though the bottles were in the bag before and were fine.

"No Stronric they are protected you should be able to put anything in there except for living being, creature or plants. You can put in an apple, but you can't put in the tree, not without killing it." Rugiel replied as she washed her hands in the river.

"I guess I have some looting to do." Stronric moved over to where the militia had stacked the weapons and armor, they had scavenged off the battle and with a swipe of his hands the pile disappeared inside of his bag. Stronric gave orders for all metal to be taken from the battle field. The dwarves have not found the ore or metal below the hearth fire and there store houses only had so much left. Stronric had plans of his own and it would require a lot of iron.

Stronric and Armand stood upon the makeshift wooden ramparts, the weight of his own aura surrounding him like a living shield. The encampment, once a slaver river camp, had been transformed into a hardened outpost. With each night's fight, each wound tended, each meal shared, the humans and his own kinsmen had formed a bond forged in struggle. Tonight, however, felt different.

As he watched, the humans below fall into line with precision, a testament to Rugiel's relentless drilling and the fire of purpose that now burned within them. No longer were they mere villagers; their movements were controlled, disciplined, and their eyes carried a focus reserved for seasoned warriors. Even from here, Stronric felt a surge of pride in them. They were ready to face whatever lay ahead.

But then, from the darkening hill, a shadow spread across the field, announcing the presence of the enemy. Stronric narrowed his gaze as the gnoll elite took their formation, marching down the slope with an uncanny unity that sent a chill through the air. These weren't ordinary gnolls. These were their warriors, their finest, clad in battered but reinforced armor, carrying spears that gleamed with a menacing edge. At their center, a figure stood wrapped in faded furs and robes that seemed to shift and breathe, stood their wizard.

The gnoll wizard's presence was like a dark pulse, a rippling force that spread through the air, carrying with it a sense of impending doom. Stronric felt it at once, an unnatural heaviness, a tension that gnawed at the spirit. He could see it ripple through his soldiers below, the humans and dwarves alike hesitating as the gnoll's power seeped toward them like a creeping fog. The air thickened, charged with an oppressive energy.

But Stronric would not let it take hold. His own presence, his newfound strength, flared in response. It wasn't just his physical form that radiated power—it was the aura he now carried, a manifestation of his growing charisma, of the titles and respect earned through blood and fire. His very being exuded a quiet but indomitable will, a light that pushed back against the gnoll wizard's dark energy.

As Stronric's aura spread, it wrapped around his people like an unseen shield. The humans and dwarves who had hesitated felt the heaviness lift, as though a cold bleak night had been broken by the warmth of a fiery hearth. Their breaths steadied, their stances grew firm, and each warrior seemed to stand a bit taller. He could see the fear fading from their eyes, replaced by a steady resolve, a confidence that came from knowing they were not alone.

The gnoll wizard, sensing the resistance, let out a guttural snarl and raised his staff. The bones and trinkets attached to it rattled ominously, pulsing with dark energy as he began to channel his malevolent aura into something more potent. The elite gnolls stomped their spears into the ground in unison, their snarling faces twisted with anticipation as the magic gathered around them.

But Stronric stood his ground, his gaze locked onto the wizard. His aura intensified, responding to the threat with a power as old as the stones beneath his feet. The bond he shared with those under his command was more than mere charisma, it was the strength of kinship, of loyalty, of unyielding courage. His presence grew, and as it did, it fortified his people, encasing them in a spiritual shield that pulsed in rhythm with his own heartbeat.

The humans and dwarves, sensing this unseen protection, tightened their grips on their weapons. Their breaths no longer wavered; they held their shields higher, their blades steadier. The gnoll wizard's aura of dread was countered, diminished by Stronric's unbreakable will. Each soldier, though they did not fully understand the source, felt a warmth in their chest, and a strength they could lean into, knowing that their Thane stood watch.

Stronric's voice boomed across the encampment, clear and resolute. "Hold yer ground! Stand fast! They may have darkness on their side, but we have the strength of Hearth Fire within us. Let no shadow break yer will!"

Armand, leaning heavily on his crutch, offered Stronric a wry smile. "Ah, I see we are becoming quite ze leader, Thane," he said, his accent lending his words a subtle charm. "A presence like yours, well, it 'as a way of making ze impossible seem… achievable."

The knight's eyes held a glimmer of admiration, tempered by the exhaustion of the past days. "You carry more zan armor and weapons tonight. You carry hope, mon ami."

The soldiers responded with a resounding cheer, their spirits lifted as his aura continued to shield them from the gnoll's influence. The wizard, realizing his dark magic could not penetrate Stronric's defense, snarled in frustration, his eyes narrowing as he raised his staff higher, calling upon even more energy. But Stronric merely held his gaze, a silent warning that if the line faltered, he would step down and deal with the wizard himself.

Tonight, his people would have their fight. He would grant them the chance to prove their valor, to rise and claim their own victories. But he remained ready, his hand on his axe, prepared to unleash the full might of his aura and join the fray should they need him.

The battle had yet to begin, but the lines were drawn, and Stronric's presence was an unbreakable bastion against the darkness that loomed on the horizon. The night would test them all, but as long as he stood watch, his people would not fall to fear.

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