My legs felt like they were made of lead, and every step on the rough mountain trail was torture. The biting wind of the Grennfold Mountains howled like a hungry specter, promising to freeze us to the bone if we stopped for too long. The escape from the elves had been disastrous, as always — thanks to an "accidental" arrow from Vespera that hit a barrel of shimmering powder in the Lytheria market, creating a golden smoke screen that, on one hand, saved us, but on the other, glued magical chicken feathers to our clothes for hours. Now, we were covered in mud, a few stubborn feathers, and the despair of those who owe a fortune to Ambassador Kaelen and have half the elven kingdom on their heels.
"I can't take it anymore!" groaned Elara, stumbling over a rock and falling to her knees. Her tunic was torn and filthy, and she was panting as if she'd run a marathon. "My legs are going to fall off. And my mana is so empty I can feel the wind blowing through where it should be."
"Stop complaining, mortal!" huffed Liriel, adjusting her silver dress, which miraculously still shimmered, though now stained with dirt. "A goddess should not be subjected to this indignity of climbing mountains like a goat! I should be on my throne, drinking wine, not running from pompous elves!"
"At least the feathers are gone," muttered Vespera, examining a stubborn one stuck to her bow. She seemed the most cheerful of the group, as if our desperate escape were a fun adventure. "The feather part was fun. And that elf who slipped on the shiny dust and fell into the lake? Hilarious!"
"He was the captain of the guard, Vespera!" I shouted, rubbing my face. My head throbbed, and the backpack on my back felt like it weighed a ton, filled with the cursed fragments that now whispered quietly among themselves like misbehaving children. "And now he's probably going to hunt us down with even more fury!"
"Details," she replied with a carefree smile. "Besides, you liked it when I used my charm to distract the guards at the maze's exit."
"You distracted ONE guard, Vespera. One. And he was old!" I retorted, remembering the gray-bearded elf who became so enchanted he started reciting poetry to a tree. "The other twenty kept chasing us!"
"But it was a very beautiful tree," she insisted, winking.
Liriel rolled her eyes. "If you two are done with your pathetic flirting, maybe we can find that dwarven refuge before we freeze or get captured. Durin, was it? The dwarf we met in the dungeon? The one who almost killed us for damaging his mine?"
"That's the one," I confirmed, feeling my stomach tighten. The last time we'd seen him, we owed him 15 coins for the destroyed mine. Now, here we were, penniless, asking for shelter. What could possibly go wrong?
The entrance to the dwarven fortress of Kharzag was impressive — a massive stone gate carved with runes and flanked by torches. Two dwarves with thick beards and gleaming armor blocked our way with their spears.
"Halt! Who dares approach Kharzag?" growled the shorter one, whose beard was braided with metal rings.
"We're... old friends of Durin," I said, trying to sound confident. "We need to speak with him. It's urgent."
The dwarf looked at us with disdain, his eyes scanning our dirty, disheveled clothes. "Durin has no friends who look like soaked beggars. Out!"
That's when Elara, trying to help, decided to use a light spell to seem more impressive. "Let me show that we are worthy!" she announced, raising her staff.
"Elara, don't—" I tried to warn her, but it was too late.
A faint glow came from the tip of the staff, flickered for a fraction of a second, and then went out. Elara wobbled, her face pale as paper. "Mana... gone..." she groaned, collapsing into my arms, nearly knocking me over with her.
Worse, the magic failed so pathetically that the residual spark hit the dwarf's spear, which, for some reason, discharged a small shock that made his beard stand on end for a moment.
"What was that?" he shouted, touching his now-spiked beard. "Are you the Strippers? The ones who leave everyone naked?"
"Not exactly—" I began, but Vespera interrupted, laughing.
"Oh, yes! And we love it! Want to see?" she teased, pretending to pull off her cloak.
"Vespera, for the love of—" I yelled, but the second dwarf had already heard enough.
"Call Durin!" he ordered the other. "And alert the guards. The Strippers are here!"
Minutes later, we were standing in Durin's great hall — a massive stone chamber filled with sturdy tables and barrels of beer everywhere. Durin, the same dwarf with the braided beard and perpetually annoyed face, stood before us with crossed arms. He didn't look pleased to see us.
"You," he grumbled, his voice echoing like thunder through the hall. "The Strippers of the mine. And now, from what I hear, the Strippers of the elves as well. Impressive. You manage to irritate even the stones."
"Durin, we need help," I said, trying to ignore the insult. "The elves of Lytheria are after us. We just need a place to stay for a few days."
He laughed — a harsh, humorless sound. "And why would I help you? The last time we met, you destroyed my mine and left me with a debt of fifteen coins. Which, by the way, you still haven't paid."
Liriel, always helpful, decided to intervene. "Listen, dwarf, you stand before a goddess! Show some respect!"
Durin looked at her, twisting his mouth. "A goddess who can't even keep her clothes intact, from what I've heard. And who's running from elves. Very impressive."
Before Liriel could respond, the fragments in my backpack began to glow brighter, emitting a low hum. Everyone in the hall turned to look at me.
"What is that?" Durin asked, narrowing his eyes.
"They're... fragments," I admitted reluctantly. "They're connected to the Demon King. The elves want them."
Durin went silent for a moment, drumming his fingers on the table. "Fragments of the Demon King? Here? You brought that curse into my fortress?"
"They're... whispering," Elara murmured weakly. "They're getting stronger."
That's when Vespera, trying to help (or cause more chaos), decided to inspect one of the dwarven crests on the wall. "Cool! Is this gold?" she asked, touching a carving.
"Don't touch that!" Durin shouted, but it was too late.
In her usual clumsy fashion, Vespera slipped on a patch of ice that had come in with us and crashed into the wall, accidentally triggering a hidden mechanism. A stone panel slid open, revealing a secret chamber full of... dwarven underwear, all meticulously folded.
There was a long, awkward silence.
"I... wow," Vespera said, laughing. "You dwarves are so organized!"
Durin's face turned bright red with rage. "That's my wife's ceremonial undergarment storage! How dare you?"
"It was an accident!" I protested, but the guards were already surrounding us.
That's when Liriel, trying to fix the situation, cast a "quick repair" spell. "Leave it to me! Divine magic of restoration!"
The light flared — but, as always, it went wrong. Instead of closing the panel, the magic made all the underwear in the chamber fly out, landing on us and the guards. Worse, the spell made the garments temporarily transparent — again.
For a moment, everything was silent except for the faint rustling of the semi-transparent clothes. Then, a dwarf guard shouted, "The Strippers strike again! They're desecrating the sacred garments!"
Durin stared at us, his beard trembling with fury. "You... you are the worst plague I've seen in centuries!"
"We can explain!" I tried, but he cut me off.
"Silence! You'll work to pay for the damages. And the old debt. And the new one. And the embarrassment!"
"Work?" I asked, hesitantly.
"Yes! In the mine! All of you! And if you refuse, I'll hand you over to the elves myself!"
And so, finding our "refuge" meant we were now forced laborers in a dwarven mine — owing more than ever, and with a reputation that had escalated from "Strippers" to "Desecrators of Dwarven Underwear."
As we were dragged into the mines, I looked up at the stone ceiling, exhausted. The fragments in my backpack glowed softly, as if laughing at us. And somewhere out there, the elves were preparing. My life truly was an endless nightmare. And all I wanted was one day without being called a pervert.