Arcadia's Ignoble Knight: Dark Elf Arc

Prologue

Zanaf grunted as he worked his pickax deep into the ground of the Avrondale Mines over and over again. His arms shook from the strain, his back ached from constantly bending over, and his face twisted as he struggled to continue working.

"Quit working so slowly!"

He grunted as a whip struck his back. Pain lanced up his back and sides, causing him to nearly drop his pickaxe. He didn't. But that was only because he knew that dropping it would get him into even more trouble. Gritting his teeth, he continued working as the human who'd whipped him grumbled and walked away.

I'll only have to endure this a little while longer.

The Avrondale Mines were located deep beneath the earth's surface inside of a mountain, which had been carved out using dwarven hands. The circular shaft he and the other dwarf slaves were mining was located several dozen meters below the walkway. Several guards patrolled the walkway and even more walked around the dwarves. They wore crude iron armor and carried whips in their hands, which they cracked against a dwarf whenever they thought one of them was working too slowly.

Zanaf hated these humans.

"What are you doing?! Get up! Keep working!"

Crack! Crack!

Zanaf glanced out of the corner of his eye at another dwarve who was taking a beating from a whip. This one was older, with a face that was lined with wrinkles and gray hair on his head. He was too old to work quickly. That didn't matter to the guard, who continued smacking him with a whip. Seeing this made Zanaf grit his teeth and work harder.

Damn, filthy humans! Think they can do whatever they want! We'll show them. It will all end tonight...

Even the nobles who owned this mine couldn't keep them working forever. Dwarves needed to sleep like any other race.

As he continued to work, Zanaf glanced up at the walkway, where he could see a noble man dressed in a red doublet, black pants, and with shoulder-length blond hair speaking with the owner of the Avrondale Mines. Morrison Heathecliff was rubbing his hands together eagerly as he spoke with the man. His son was trailing beside him.

Just then, the man turned his head, looked at Zanaf, and smirked. Zanaf nodded back.

It was almost time.

Zanaf tripped over his own two feet as he was prepared to swing his pickax down again, causing him to stumble backward, into one the guard who happened to be coincidentally walking behind him. The guard grunted in shock as they fell and never noticed his keys being stolen.

"You damn dwarf!" The guard scrambled to his feet and lashed out with his whip. The loud crack! that issued forth as whip struck flesh sounded incredibly loud. "How dare you! Do this! To me! You frickin! Clumsy ass! Dwarf!"

Zanaf bore with the whipping and pain until the guard had exhausted himself and moved off. He'd become used to the feel of the whip. It no longer even bothered him beyond causing a dull sting.

Work continued until, at long last, a guard blew on a whistle. That was the signal for them to head to bed. All the guards shouted at them to get moving, directing them out of the vertical mine shaft and into a side shaft. Zanaf climbed up the ladder with the others and slowly trundled into one of several side passages.

Their sleeping quarters were located close to the mines, inside of another mine shaft that their homes.

Living underground like this didn't bother Zanaf or the other dwarves. Indeed, they had long since lived underground, as was their nature. That said, barren walls, threadbare beds, and traveled in a straight line for a couple kilometers. Doors on either side marked the entrance to barely livable conditions caused him to see red. Dwarves should be living in opulence. He had heard the stories of the great halls that his forefathers had built, of the numerous riches they had horded before they made contact with the sorceresses. Zanaf longed to return his people to those days of glory.