Cavern of the Dolaker

On the western edge of the Dark Mountains, a heroic quest was
underway. Arawn, one of Miraloc's most renowned adventurers, was
following a terrible beast into the depths of its lair. He stood six
feet tall, dressed in leather and furs, and had a determined look set
upon his worn face. Not that anyone was there to see it. Arawn couldn't
even see his hand in front of his face as he stumbled blindly into the
depths of the cold, damp mountain cave. He only had one match left, and
he didn't want to waste it. Perhaps I'll wait until the beast's hot
breath is on my neck, he thought, and then strike the match on the
bristles of its chin. The thought of the Dolaker, lurking unseen in the
darkness, made him clutch his sword more tightly. Arawn was certainly
nervous; never before had he had to face such a fearsome opponent. The
Dolaker was a hellish aberration of the wild pigs that filled the
forests and woodlands of Miraloc. It was so incredibly huge that its
hooves could trample a man to pulp and it ventured from its lair at
night in search of human flesh. Arawn had been told this by the elders
of the village of Holfarth, whose people were the unfortunate victims
of the creature's bloodlust, and who were paying him well for his
services. He had never actually set eyes on the monster himself.

Suddenly, Arawn tripped on a small outcrop of jagged rock and fell flat
on his face with a loud thud and a clatter that echoed up and down the
corridor-like cavern. As the sound slowly died away, he thought he
could hear another sound rising out of the darkness way ahead of him.
It was some kind of shuffling noise, but it was very faint. It could
have been a bat flying further under the mountain, for all he knew,
although he didn't believe it for a moment. Damn! The Dolaker heard me,
he thought, and it's on the move. Arawn heaved himself up off the
ground and picked up his sword. Then he carried on down the passageway,
slowly and cautiously. He imagined the beast's fury at this violation
of its lair. Feeling his way along the walls Arawn came, at length, to
a place where the ground sloped steadily away beneath him and the air
felt even colder on his skin. There was a familiar scent in the air
that made him uncomfortable; the smell of death. Decaying flesh was
undoubtedly nearby, and from what the people of Holfarth had told him
it was probably human.

The shuffling suddenly echoed around the vast cavern once again. This
time it couldn't have come from more than a few metres away. A loud
cross between a grunt and a roar followed. Arawn was shocked and
terrified, but gathered his wits as best he could and steeled his
nerves for battle. In the ominously silent moments that followed, it
occurred to him that the Dolaker had the advantage. He was an
experienced fighter, but the beast surely knew where he was by scent,
while he couldn't see a thing. The time had come to light the match.
Like lightening, Arawn plucked it from his pouch and struck it against
the cavern's coarse wall. But nothing happened; the wall was far too
damp. Silently cursing everything and wondering why the monster was not
yet upon him, Arawn sheathed his sword and searched his pouch
desperately for something with a rough surface. After a few seconds
that seemed to last an eternity, he found a three week old piece of
stale bread-crust and struck the match upon it. The area around him was
suddenly bathed in a dim glow, and after so long in darkness if he had
looked directly at the burning match it would probably have blinded
him. But Arawn was not looking at the match. He was looking several
feet ahead of him, at the Dolaker. The beast stared straight back. It
was even more terrible than the villagers had described it. It was an
incredible twelve feet long, six feet high and was covered in thick,
black bristles. The beast also had vast, blood soaked tusks and the
glowing fire of hatred in its eyes. In surprise and fear, Arawn dropped
the match, but it did not go out. Instead it hit the mangled and
long-dead corpse of one of the monster's victims, and its clothes went
up in flame. The cavern was now well lit. The hero could see the beast
and the beast could see the hero. Arawn drew his sword.

Enraged at the intrusion, and intending evil, the mighty Dolaker lunged
at Arawn. He leapt out of the way, but the beast still succeeded in
goring his right arm with a well-sharpened tusk. A succession of low
grunts issued from its throat, as if it were laughing, as Arawn yelled
out in agony and collapsed to the ground. But he was not the sort to
stay down. As the foe came closer to finish him off, Arawn reached down
to his boot and, quick as the wolf, whipped out a dagger and drove it
deep into the monster's leg. It let out a sickening howl of pain, as
the young adventurer leapt to his feet and, grabbing at its thick hair,
clambered up onto its back. Arawn still had his sword, and he set about
the Dolaker's hide with it - sometimes slicing at it, sometimes ripping
out great chunks of flesh. The creature's nightmarish cries would have
been enough to break a lesser man's soul and its constant bucking
threatened to hurl Arawn onto the rocks once more. Despite his horrific
wound, he summoned up every ounce of stamina in his body, and
relentlessly pursued his gory task. For the first time, the Dolaker was
afraid; it had never encountered a human that fought so bravely, or
with so much passion. It threw itself at the walls, attempting to
dislodge the hero, and the cave shook with violent force. Finally, with
a river of crimson blood pouring down its sides and its back torn to
pieces, the monster could take no more and collapsed to the ground with
a deafening thud that echoed around the cavern for what seemed like an
age. The fire in its eyes died. The Dolaker's life had reached its
end.

Soaked in blood and gasping for breath, Arawn slid down off the
once-great monster's back, made a torch from the clothes of the burning
corpse and began the long trek back to daylight. When he finally
reached Holfarth, the people rejoiced in the news of the monster's
death. He received fame and fortune for other deeds in the months and
years that followed, but neither he, nor anyone else, ever forgot his
triumph against his greatest foe, the murderous Dolaker.