The mountain rose before them a shield against the light of the moon as they left the forest. The goblins marched in front of their Dark Lord, an army of shadows in the night, a rather loud army of shadows. Leather sacks heaved up and down the goblins backs as their insides shimmered and clanked in the night, each of the goblins boasting of their greater hoard of clackity goods. Zalrodal himself walked with the Stenjin, he held the stone, the Heart of the Mountain, in his right hand and looked intently under the light of Migaal’s magical flames. The flames disappeared and reappeared in the air above his hand as they flickered against the wind, similarly to a candle not being blown out completely only for its flame to jump right back up. The Stenjin looked upon that outstretched hand with great longing and wonder, they walked not speaking a word only emitting a quiet humming noise.

There was something strange about these creatures made of solid stone. They were not quite alive, they didn’t breathe or eat anything apart from rocks and stone, they required no sleep. It was as if they were magically created, but created for what purpose, it seemed strange that they were not made for war, an army of stone would be a formidable fighting force but they wandered around in endless tunnels without much purpose. Except, for now, something had returned to them, their yellow glowing orbs encrusted in the stone that acted as eyes possible shone at the mere mention of their lost artifact. The stone danced precariously between the Dark lord’s fingers. Yellow eyes followed intently with every twist and turn the stone made in his pale hands. The Dark Lord turned towards the Stenjin to his right.

“What is this stone anyways?” Zalrodal asked, “I understand that you find it valuable but does it do anything?”

“It is the Heart of the Mountain, the heart of our people,” the Stenjin to his right hummed, his voice the deep sound of stone grinding upon stone, “the stone is life and we are its keepers, although we failed in this task. There has not been a true Stonewarden among us in many cycles.”

The Stenjin raised its hand towards the stone, pieces of its arm fragmenting and falling on the ground in a shower of pebbles, Zalrodal lowered the stone towards the creature. The rock fingers touched the stone’s surface and nearly in an instant, its arm regained the pieces of missing rock. Cracks in its body were filled with new stone, its legs that were previously bent under the weight of its stone body rose and stood straight. The Stenjin removed its fingers from the rock, its legs crumbled slightly without being infused with energy but the remaining changes to the creature’s body did not subside.

“I think I’m starting to see why this stone is valuable to you,” the Dark Lord said.

Migaal slithered onto Zalrodal’s other shoulder to look at the Stenjin, “you mentioned something called a Stonewarden. I must admit I do not know of this, although the name is familiar to me.”

“A Stonewarden is the guardian of our people. They protect and uphold the power of the Heart of the Mountain, they guide us to a greater purpose,” the Stenjin said, “A new Stonewarden hasn’t been made in our memory, we have dug from the deepest depth into the light of day to find someone or something capable of helping us to create one anew.”

The Stenjin continued speaking of their journey from the depths. They had been moved underground centuries ago, the reason why gone from living memory, generation to generation of Stenjin with the single goal of creating new Stonewardens, protectors and keepers. They dug upwards ever upwards, stone hands scraping against the mountain’s insides until they emerged a couple of decades ago, a short time in the life of a Stenjin. New Stenjin had been created with the Heart of the Mountain as their source but they weren’t as elaborate as the first, not as stable.

“Perhaps you require some external power, magic outside of the Stone?” the Dark Lord said, “We will need more Visapis to fuel the stone unless you can do anything with it?” the Dark Lord looked at the ferret on his shoulder.

“I think it will require pure magic, nothing from my realm of expertise. Unless these golem creatures have had dealings with demons in the past.”

The Stenjin shook its entire frame, “I am not aware of any demon being part in our lore. We have stories of a magician raising us from the ground but those times have long passed.”

The Dark Lord did not have a magician in his employ, even if he did it would have to be a powerful one and a magician specialised in this sort of magic. There was one thing that could be done to power the stone, Visapis. Pure magical energy stored in shiny silvery pieces of metal. All the Visapis they had, had been spent on summoning the demon ferret currently residing on his shoulder, so more of it would have to be found. Regardless of Visapis or not, the return of the stone seemed to invigorate the stone creatures, and with it, they would join him as agreed.

The Stenjin soon moved into the castle and dungeon leaving behind their ancient tunnels. They desired closeness to the Heart of the Mountain and the Dark Lord kept it in the dungeon’s throne room. All the Stenjin had been revitalised, their bodies no longer flaking stone as they moved. The eldest of the Stenjin told stories of the Stonewarden of old and their creator.

The Lady Eternal they called her, not much was remembered about her apart from the fact that she created them out of the bodies of mountains. She created many creatures and tribes according to their legends. She wore a great crown, and upon it, the treasures of all her creations were encrusted. The smooth stone that was the Heart of the Mountain one of them. She ruled the lands from the western seas to the eastern mountains and beyond but that was long ago, so long ago that it was considered legend in their minds of stone. The other creatures created seemed to posses some treasure as well similar to the stone. Zalrodal was determined to find them, no Dark Lord before him had tried to do such a thing. Always relying on dark magic and hordes of goblins had led to great victories in the past. However, there was yet to be a single Dark Lord in history who was not defeated at one point or another. Zalrodal would change things up a little. There was no need to be like all other Dark Lords brooding at the top of towers of black stone and hurling purple lightning at their foes and burning everything that was in their path. Zalrodal would attempt a new idea, an idea that seemed part of most kingdoms he knew of. He would not enslave and slaughter all in his past like the long line of Dark Lords in the past, instead, he would subjugate, why kill all the humans in his wake when they could work his fields and attack his enemies.

Zalrodal was determined, he would gather the artifacts of this Lady Eternal, he would grow his armies and take over new lands and rule his subjects instead of leaving a trail of fire in his wake. With the power of myths and legends, he could be different from his counterparts, with ideas of a government he would be different, perhaps even successful. Migaal his demon companion agreed that senselessly charging and attacking enemy kingdoms would do them no good. Zalrodal wasn’t as strong as many Dark Lords in the past, nor was he as magically adept, he wasn’t even a great genius but he was one thing that they were not. He was weak, and one that is weak can see the strength in allies better than one strong without them. Of course, these allies, would be under his control and follow his commands, he was still determined to be a Dark Lord, not some nice little fairy gathering friends. A Dark Lord should not be nice, or particularly benevolent but perhaps one would also not need to kill everything as fun as that would seem. Perhaps senseless killing could come after his great conquest but for now, he would have to gather power for himself.

Zalrodal sat down on his throne, great pillars lined up at his sides and his goblins and Stenjin filling the space before him, the great hall not nearly starting to fill with all his subjects inside. He looked into the great fire in the middle of the room that Migaal had created, the ferret was now sitting on one of the throne’s armrests. Soon he would start his plans for conquest.