<!-seofon->
It was a cold, dark day in the depths of winter when a young dwarven female and a young dwarven male of different clans found themselves trapped in the far reaches of the Steamfont Mountains. There were several flying beasts of many descriptions that had forced them to hide deep within the cave systems. They lay huddled together for warmth and for comfort, both terrified of the beasts that had cornered them into the darkness of the caves. They had heard the stories around the campfires back home. Those stories told by majestic adventurers of old, yet, they and their friends had considered much of these tales to have been embellished by the oldtimers. The ideas of dragons and flying bird like creatures with arms and legs were the things of fairy tales. Never in their wildest imagination did they believe that such beasts were a thing of the real world. Sure, around the Butcherblock Mountains there were Goblins a plenty and the occasional Troll or Orc Runner, but these were enemies of flesh and blood. The products of age old enemies and certainly the gnomish necromancers had raised some skeletal remains around the neighbourhood that required many a brave young fighter or cleric to clear.
However, the beasts that had chased them into the caves were of a much more frightening variety than even the giant skeletons of the chess board. Flying creatures made of the very elements themselves, harpies and mechanical beasts that had escaped even the watchful eyes of their gnomish creators. The rest of their friends had perished under the talons of the creatures and only Dungeree and Burma remained of the twelve that had set off on their several day adventure.
Thinking themselves safe from both the elements and the beasts outside, the two friends, and now something more than just that, lay in each other's arms. The dim light of the caves making it difficult to distinguish any details around them. They settled in to try and wait out the storm, in hopes of making a return to Kaladim when the weather had passed. Dungeree wrapped his shawl around Burma's shoulders to help her stay warm. They were both too tired and too terrified to speak, so they comforted each by touch, and held tight to each other. Safe in the contact of dwarven flesh they passed the night, drifting in and out of sleep.
As morning broke, Dungeree reached to wake Burma. Together they groggily arose and broke the small camp that they had made. As they began to make their way out of the caves they heard a loud grunt. There in the dimness stood a hulking beast it had the legs and hooves of a ox, with the body of a man, and yet the head was oxen as well, complete with huge horns. It snorted as it sniffed the air, sensing the unfamiliar dwarven scent that was now in its lair. Burma steadily drew her sword while Dungeree reached for his mace. Neither of the two were particularily adept at combat but they knew their very survival depended on felling the beast that was in front of them. The Beast snorted again, loudly this time and suddenly srung forward, its head lowered and horns in front as it ran. The horns caught first on Dungeree, wrenching him off his feet as the tip of the horn crashed though his face. Searing hot pain went coursing through his body and he lost conscioussness breifly as he was flung against the rough hewn wall of the cave. Burma fared far worse, her heart pierced by the giagantic horn of the foul beast. The life failing from her body, she took a last, desperate swing at the giant form of the minotaur, her sword sliding true throught he thick hide and tearing open a fatal wound in the chest of the creature. The beast stumbled and fell, and Burma fell with him, collapsing lifeless, still pierced by the horn on top of the now dead manbeast.
When Dungeree awoke, he tried to open his eyes, and the pain wracked through his body once more. slowly he pried oen one blood-caked eye, realizing that this was all he now possessed. Dazed with pain, he dragged himself over to Burma to see if he could help her in anyway. When he reached her still body, a howl of anguish issued from his lips and he began to sob for the loss of his friend and love.
Ripping her body from the heap of the minotaur, Dungeree struggled to carry her lifeless form with him as he fled the caves. Working his way slowly along the mountain walls he managed to find his way back to the enchanted woods of Lesser Faydark and then into the realm of the elves, carrying Burma's corpse the whole way. He collapsed eventually in front of the great Elven city, where the guards rushed to his aid. With the help of a freindly Druid, they were returned to the Dwarven city of Kaladim. There, Dungeree's wounds were tended to by the High Priest of Brell, but it was too late for Dungeree's beloved Burma. Nothing could be done to restore the life taken from her. It was a failure that Dungeree would carry with him for the rest of his days. Burma's loss became the sole deciding factor in Dungeree's future path. He became a disciple of Brell, longing to help those who needed.