Should anyone muster the courage to carry a torch deep into these caves, which reeked of acrid sulfur and rot, and if they could stomach the nauseating stench, they would behold a sight guaranteed to give any sane person nightmares—
Deep within the caves slumbered countless members of the Filth Race, a dense mass of bodies covered in oily black feathers!
They were huddled together like black maggots, and the sight of their wings, gently rising and falling with each breath in the dim light, was enough to make one's skin crawl.
The wind and snow howled without cease. Hammerbone irritably shook his head, dislodging the snow from his helmet. Enduring the strange odor, he and the Ogre Mage, Gromg, stood like two silent sentinels beside a simple altar built of black stone.
But his gaze kept stealing glances toward the center of the altar, toward the figure seated casually upon a stone throne—the Filth Demon Aias.
