This is my first piece of work, and is also coincidentally the prologue and first chapter in the first story of a series I am thinking of doing. Please critique and don’t be put off by the length!
Prologue: Seclusion
The Dwarves were not known for being an aggressive race; they just pursued their love for wealth, immense wealth and gold. The most skilled craftsmen belong to their race, whether it be smithing, mining or sculpting, none surpass the Dwarves in craft, and some may argue in battle. War raged across Heiligtum but the Dwarves, in their mountainous halls, had little contact with the outside world. In their homeland Khaz’ar-Tal the Dwarves lived in peace, their leader a strong and fair man kept happiness in the hearts of all. The ale was strong, the gold was plentiful and all Dwarves found themselves content.
Fall of Khaz’Mort
On the eighteenth of Mar the twenty third mining division of Kal-Rok clan went missing. Fifteen strong the group marched out of Khaz’ar-Tal at Moonrise. The usual routine went as follows, Moonrise the division leaves Khaz’ar-Tal, and taking the mine-carts they precede to the town of Khaz’Mort where they continue the cultivation and mining of the power stone.
***
This huge stone is located in the centre of Khaz’Moram, a great crater around which Khaz’Mort is situated. The stone has been speculated and praised by the Dwarves for centuries, and even before the populace divided into clans. Its sleek blue surface set a sharp contrast with the red surroundings of the hot crater. When the power stone was first discovered its seemingly moving density struck fear into the hearts of Dwarves, but upon striking the stone with a pick it was found that the stone was extremely light, so light in fact that it floated when not securely anchored. The stone its self was thought to travel acres below the Dwarves’ tunnelling system, providing enough anchorage for it to remain. Another feature the rock possessed was the power to repair. When the Dwarves mined the sacred stone it would heal and re-grow, providing an endless supply, however the Dwarves did not discover its healing abilities until after the division of the populace.
The division of the populace was seen as a great milestone in Dwarf history; it showed that they not only had desire for gold, but desire for peace. When the populace began to fall into civil war, the Dwarf council gathered at the heart of Khaz’ar-Tal and proposed the idea of division. At first there was uproar, but in time the populace began to see it as the best option in order to keep the peace.
***
Thar, the leader of the mining division led the group down the connecting passage from Khaz’ar-Tal to the underground network. The network spread an unimaginable distance under the Khaz mountain range. Dwarves trundled past on carts acknowledging the group.
“You know the drill lads, let’s get moving.” Came the gruff voice of Thar, years of dust from living underground had made his voice low and rumbling. One by one the Dwarves piled into the large travel cart. The cart was about ten foot wide and twenty long, a thick rope ran through a hole at each end, the wheels were large, finely crafted and rusting. Grunts and pants echoed around the tunnel as each Dwarf tugged on the rope. The comforting sound of metal on metal shimmered in each Dwarf’s head as the cart began to move.
“So Thar, how much stone must we mine today? It is said in the city that power usage is increasing, is it true?” Wheezed Bhar, one of the younger Dwarves.
Thar contemplated the question as he continued to pull the rope, his strong tanned arms glistening with sweat like dew on a spider’s web.
“I have heard similar Bhar and it seems true, our demand has been increased.” Was his reply.
“Gah, how much this week, it must be that blasted Gajh-Rok clan, I was always suspicious about them…” Retorted the oldest Dwarf.
“Now we’ll have none of that,” Stated Thar, “But I was told we must return to the depot with four carts worth. For that I am deeply sorry”
Moans and grumbles erupted from the group as a speck of moonlight in the distance began to grow; each Dwarf’s pupils began to dilate, adjusting from the extremely dim light from which they emerged.
“We approach Khaz’Mort,” said Thar after a while, “And,” He continued, “I must tell you all, I plan to resign…”
Not one of the Dwarves was shocked, as they had all planned to do the same.
“This will be my final mining voyage; it is no job for a blacksmith I wish to return to the forge, for that is where I am most efficient.”
“Aye! Ale all round on return to Khaz’ar-Tal!” Cheered the elderly Dwarf.
“Aye!”
The cart shuddered to a halt and fifteen relieved Dwarves stepped off, grabbed the picks and other gear from the storage underneath the cart, and marched towards Khaz’Mort. The usual hearty welcome at the exit of the great network was not received, but went unnoticed by the group. Great and white the moon hung amongst the stars, a great crescent in the sky illuminating the path towards the town. An eerie silence hung over the place. Usually filled with laughter, merriment and ale the town was the furthest southerly outpost from Khaz’ar-Tal. A great blue radiance could be seen from the tip of the power stone, however red light could be seen at the furthest end of the town.
“Maybe we should go and check that everyone is okay?” Suggested Bhar.
“Hmm, I received no news of an evacuation, and the mountains surround this settlement, the only landmark is the crater.” Replied Thar.
“Aye, the only way to leave here is back into the network.” Added the elderly Dwarf.
“We didn’t pass anyone…” Bhar mumbled.
“Thar I don’t like this.” Added another Dwarf.
“Keep your guard up and your eyes open boys…” Warned Thar as he proceeded up the rise into the town.
As the group proceeded further into the town the noise of a cracking fire could be heard, and upon reaching the town square the source of the red light was found. The inn. The only building positioned away from the others was ablaze, and with only mining gear there was no means of extinguishing it. Thar dropped his gear and ran forwards, the full intensity of the heat meeting him.
“Is anyone in there!?” He cried, his voice quivering. No reply came.
“There is nothing we can do, Thar…” Bhar stated bluntly.
“Correct, however the mystery still stands, where is everyone? It is clear that there are no survivors in the inn and it would be impossible to fit the entire population of Khaz’Mort inside it.”
“True, it is-,” Bhar started, before being cut off by a tremendous screeching noise. Fourteen of the Dwarves stood pale with fear, shivering at the noise, one remained totally calm.
“I have heard that sound before…” Came the voice of the elderly Dwarf. “We are in danger of the worst kind; we must leave this place, although I fear it is already too late.”
The screeching sounded again, closer this time. Twelve Dwarves hastened back through the town, towards the cart. Only Bhar, Thar and the elderly Dwarf remained.
The elderly Dwarf began to yell warnings. A third screech sounded, and a horrific beast grounded in front of the fleeing Dwarves.
“May the Gods help them.” Mumbled the elderly Dwarf.
The beast wielded the most beauty the Dwarves had ever set eyes on. A giant relative to the Dwarves, this female, slim and beautiful, beckoned the fleeing group with a fine hand. Fine, but deadly. Talons emerged in the place of nails, though the radiance her beauty shone through the weapons. Dead in their tracks the twelve stared in astonishment. Two foul black wings protruded from the shoulder blades of the woman. One of the twelve stepped forward, followed by the other eleven. Swiftly and smoothly, the tall beast swooped forward grabbing the twelve with grubby talons and flew away in a chorus of wails.
(the first star I have given). Keep writing this please I want to know who the winged woman is and where the heck are the dwarves eek! I also want to know if Thar sruvives 
