Editing Kulmorost Divided (section)

====Hunted====
He had seen them, no doubt of it. They were still on his tracks.

Months ago the group left home with all the honors the Kingdom could give. A ceremony was held to receive the Overking's blessings, even. The last thing they saw was a cheering crowd of their family, friends and fellow countrymen, waving them goodbye into uncertainty. They knew it was going to be dangerous, and fear slowly turned to excitement at the prospect of going so far beyond any civilized lands. Without heavy support from a certain Senator the ordeal would have been inconceivable, fame and greatness wouldn't be theirs, and many lives would have been spared.

Still in the planning phase, through the many connections he'd built over the years, word came to Rut of GRON about the plans to explore the Northern Wastelands. After so many years of idleness and yearning for his days of adventuring, the sudden call to action seemed like a well-deserved rest from crowded urban life. He was gladly taken in. It was set: 40 brave dwarves would challenge the Northern Wastelands, land of the Haumics, to find their fortunes and glory for their land.

He kept running. They weren't far. He could practically smell the stench and see the horrid crude animal skins, taste the bitter metal with awful vividness. The only thing he couldn't perceive was their sound. The land was on their favor. The snow muffled their steps and the chilly wind whipped the little vigor out of the dwarf's body.

There was a higher aim for the expedition, as the Senator eagerly told them. If the information in the map was accurate and the soil in that frozen hell really hid that many mineral riches, then the Kingdom would have to put a foothold in the Wastelands. The land could be healed, he said, purged from the oblivious devils that had so far been its only inhabitants. By taming one more bit of wilderness, the world would creep towards perfection, and Dwarfkind a bit closer to fulfilling their holy task.

That was the thought of the naive Senator, who was deeply religious and idealistic to a fault. He went as far as trusting the Traders of the Mist and their strange treasures with the lives of 40 good dwarves, sent into a suicide mission for the slim chance of success in the name of a distant greater good. So deep were his faith and anxiety to see the world shaped by dwarven hands.

Rut took a moment to remember how very far away he was from home. His body screamed for rest, and his mind was already giving up. It had been stupid to go.

This had been a 3-day chase. His arm was wounded. It was frozen and lifeless, but at least no longer bled. Equally, he missed seeing blood. He yearned for color.

Their silent march continued; snowflakes fluttered and danced all around him, cold as iron, white as death, as they pricked his face and sucked the warmth off his body. The indistinguishable landscape after him went on and on - could it be endless?

Deep down, he knew it was a pointless struggle, one last attempt to preserve his pride, feigned bravery before his legs inevitably lost their strength and the snow swallowed him alive. Realistically, he could not flee. He didn't even know if there was any place to flee to. If nothing else, it could be worthwhile to keep it up to spite the bloodthirsty bastards. Or so he told himself, as his muscles threatened to snap and his face twisted into a grimace of pain.

If he was not so tired, he would weep for his companions. Nobody deserves that end. These particular humans had a terrifying hunger for magical flesh, and Rut guessed at least 39 of the 40 brave dwarves would be used to sate it. Not long ago they had caught the only other survivor who'd kept up with him nearly this far. Rut heard him screaming and bawling like a baby, until it suddenly stopped.

Sooner or later, the tall wights of the North, the dreadful iron revenants, they would find him. Then the ugly iron masks would come off, and he would have no rest.