Grimdahl frowns at the mention of the fey: he has never really understood them, but a murder spree in the city of all places sounds out of character. "Ah well, what can you expect from a race that makes elves look steadfast?" Grimdahl had a series of unfortunate encounters with drow in his youthful explorations underground and carries a grudge. He tries not to let it spill over into his dealings with surface elves.
"But tell me more of yourself, I hear you wield magic these days...?"
Nurin could feel the eyes on him. Coward. Oathbreaker. Pretender. Dishonerable. He knew the words running through their heads even if they did not speak them. And some would speak them.
He returns the old dwarf's gaze as he is chided. "I will serve. But I won't forget."
"Don't get me started on Elves. I mean, sure, there is the occasional good one but, well, lets not worry about that too much." He sighs.
The remark on magic made him veer up again, "I do, yes. Apparently it runs in the family, at least our branch. They think it was great-grandmother who brought it in somehow, her family was always thought to have a stronger connection to the earth." By that time the floating piece of meat reached his hand and he plucked it from the air, "My dad, uncle and brothers all have some limited ability but for me it just comes natural. I feel the stones calling out to me so to say."
He doesn't hang his head or divert his gaze in guilt. There may be hope yet.
See that you don't, and your families storied past may prove a boon one day.
Hail and be welcome Nurin son of Runil. Our family is honored to have one of your clan in attendance. Thorin greets the dwarf with a warm hardy welcome and forces him into a hug. None took the loss of Darnhammer harder than the Jarnthane clan, but Dwarves are far to stubborn to forget his clans centuries of faithful service and none could prevent the fall of that great city.
Hair stands up on the back of Pravic's neck to hear the words so openly spoken, by a Tharnhammer no less.
Thorin, ye of all people should know, it wasn’t about the fall of Dammerhall that lead to Runil’s disgrace, but the cowardice he showed that lead to Grunwald’s death. Nurin’s father didn’t just run, he took Grunwald’s blade and shield. He didn’t just leave him to die, he left him like a staked goat prepared for slaughter. He is cursed by Grunwald, and Torag will not bless him. It is as Master T’jener says, Honor is not given, it is earned, and his line has disgraced themselves, pariahs to their own kin. How can a dwarf e’er trust a Jarnthane again?
Pravic speaks calmly, a marked difference from his impassioned speech earlier in the evening. He turns to Nurin,
Just as we all enjoy the blessings of a family heritage; of ancestors before us who bring honor by doing glorious deeds in the name of brothers and dwarvenkind, so to do we pay for the sins of our fathers. We know that it was not ye that turned tail and fled, but the blood of a coward still runs in yer veins. I’d not trust my life in yer hands, Pravic pauses briefly, taking a slow breath and glancing at both Thorin and Reginald, But I’d not be so stupid as to not give ye a chance at redemption. Torag blesses those who bless him. Yer words are heard, do not doubt. It won’t be yer words that redeem yer family name. Wisdom from holy texts say ”Behold, I have refined thee, but not with silver. I have tested thee in the furnace of affliction.
I hope those were the words ye would have me say my liege…
"Aye, I know his past, and I still welcome him. His life will be redeeming for his fathers disgrace; but we are Dwarves not humans. We judge a man from his lineage not just his father alone. Centuries of faithful service are not so easily marred by one action. Would you also toss away a blade that has carried you through a thousand battles because it has gained a single chip? Nay, you would find the finest smith in the lands and have it pressed to the flame and reworked back to perfection. I myself know no greater smith than Torag and will let him do his work Jarnthane clan. How can any of us hope to reclaim our lost heritage if we treat our own kind like pariah's?"
Thorin' swords are spoken calmly intending to lovingly rebuke his kin not start needless hostility.
And the fire of that forge that Torag uses to re-form a clan's honor is experienced my that family in the shame of Dishonor. May Jarnthane yet regain their honor, yes. Should they be embraced heartily as brothers? Not yet. Their trials for redemption are lessened due to their former prestige. Their honor and place is reserved against their re-ascension. That is the reward for centuries served.
This was a surprisingly civil discussion. Reginald hoped it remained that way.
"Master T'jener, with all due respect, I cannot accept that. How many Jarnthane lost their lives in the fall of Darnhammer. All those lives lost in glorious battle can not equal one act of dishonor. I shall concede my opinion is the minority and acquiesce my protest as I am in no station to help this man redeem his line." Thorin's eyes meet Nurin's. "If I can ever be of aid to you, do not hesitate to ask."
Nurin is stunned at Thorin's words. For so long the disgrace had followed him wherever he went. He nods at Thorin. "Your words humble me, sir. And from a Tharnhammer no less. You of all have cause to hold a blood debt against my family."
"But as much as I tired of the dishonor, their words are not so wrong. I had to travel to the human lands to study the curse and magic and I barely understand it. If Jarnthanes are to ever become more than innkeepers or chambermaids or ditchdiggers again, we will need others to give us a chance, but we must also take those chances and show our worth. My father was a coward...but worse, he was content with it! I am not. I may never see the restoration of my house, but I hope to at least be the first link in a chain to lift us out of dishonor. My grandfather and his grandfather deserve that much."
260 OE - Quartzoath Manor, Summermount
Doled Quartzoath's study is richly appointed, as befits a high-ranking member of Abadar's faith. A wide oak table is surrounded by seven sumptuous leather armchairs. A flagon of wine sat on the table, accompanied by a wheel of hard cheese and a loaf of bread. When you enter, Doled gestures for you to sit from behind a desk that appeared to be carved from solid stone. Bookshelves line the wall behind him, polished wood glinting from the hearthfire.
The wizened dwarf sits before you dressed in a simple black and silver robe, white-gloved hands folded as if in prayer. His eyes move from the parchment laid on his desk to the seven dwarves in front of him. When he speaks, his voice is solemn.
"Welcome, friends. Pray help yourselves to my bread and wine. We have much and more to discuss. And I fear the hour grows late."
Doled takes a deep breath.
"Do you know the story of the fall of Dammerhall?"
Reginald enters at a slow, dignified pace. His perfectly braided beard falls nearly to the floor over his robes that mark him as head of House T'Jener. An ornate staff is in his hand and a large book is under the other arm.
He greets his old friend Doled warmly and slowly lowers himself into his seat as the other children assemble. It is a select group. The best and brightest. Or, at least, the best suited for this mission.
Following centuries of habit, Reginald perfectly slices the bread and pours the wine with a rock steady hand while Doled starts to do what he liked to do best, Talk.
"Do you know the story of the fall of Dammerhall?"
Reginald chuckles. My friend, you of all people know I practically lived through the Fall. But these children may need some reminding. He says children in a completely non-offensive tone and clearly means nothing by it other than the simple fact that each of you is at least half to one quarter of his 261 years or even less.
Bali looks at Reginald, and regards him with sincere reverance, then smiles. The stories, yes. But I imagine you mean to ask about the full story. Reginald, Bali says, presenting her mug, what details of the fall are left out of the stories we youth have come to know?
Gracefully, she pours herself only half a mug of the wine. Then, spotting the cheese, slices some off and crumbles it. One of her favorites, she plays with the bits in her fingers before savoring its flavor.
Pravic walks in, doing his best to bridle his youthful enthusiasm. He is again dressed in ceremonial, albeit simple, robes with a smithy apron on. While not all that proficient, he had been practicing at the forge, as is custom for prayer to their god of the forge. His braided beard was tucked behind the smithy apron and into his belt, so as to keep the sparks from lighting his most important facial feature.
I am honored to be invited to this meeting m'lord, Pravic says, bowing reverently to the elder.
He rubs his calloused hands together at the mention of food and drink, carefully cutting a respectful portion for himself and takes a seat, trying not to fidget too much.
I've only heard some o' the stories, and likely not all the details. This is a topic close to me heart, so I'd love to hear more.
Grimdahl gladly accepts a glass of wine. He considers the question, puffing thoughtfully on a cigar while he does so. The blue smoke forms wisps around him as he thinks.
His suspicion is that Dammerhall fell because of dwarven pride and folly, a refusal to make allies or draw on all available sources of help and wisdom. He worries however that, even here in the home of a fellow fugitive from the dwarven pantheon, it would be unwise to voice this sentiment; especially since he does not know the facts for sure.
Instead, he keeps his own counsel. "Like my cousin Bali here, I've heard a number of stories, but I suspect that I'm about to hear another one," is his only cautiously offered remark.
Ingrid, the widow of Edrukk Tharnhammer, enters the room somewhat stiffly, clad in the raiment of her faith. Her scale coat is polished to a dell gleam, and her tarnished axe hangs at her hip. Her remaining hair is swept back - no longer braided and adorned, but allowed to grow wild, covering only a few of the burn scars that cover her crown.
She takes a place in the room away from the fire, ignoring the deep chill that entails. At Doled's question, she shakes her head slightly, but otherwise remains silent. She takes some of the bread, but leaves the wine and cheese.
What am I doing here? I recognize these others from Magnar's funeral, but what do we have in common?
Kalderin nods and gives a smile as he takes a small amount of cheese and bread. He's not especially hungry, but he doesn't want to appear ungrateful.
With a good-natured chuckle he responds, I've heard many tales of Dammerhall. But I am always happy to hear more. Especially from such a Dwarf as yourself. Most of my stories come from rogues and scoundrels. They can spin a fine tale, very entertaining, but not enlightening.
He takes a bit out of his crust of bread and swallows, Though I suppose that depends on what sort of enlightenment you're looking for.
"Aye, old friend," Doled responds to Reginald. "You remember, as I do, after all these long years. We remember because we were there. We watched as the legacy of our race went up in flames."
Doled turns to the younger dwarves assembled before him. "As you may know, Dammerhall was once the jewel of the known world. All roads converged upon our mighty kingdom and the lords of men and elves paid tribute to the Mithral Throne. The skill of our smiths, the creativity of our artists, and the prowess of our warriors were the stuff of legends."
"Then came the Doom. The greatest city in the world detonated without warning. For three straight days, dwarves lucky enough to be beyond the walls of Dammerhall watched with horror as it burned with black flames. All six of the great bridges that connected the mountain stronghold to the outside collapsed. The great gates were shut. No one escaped. Not a single survivor emerged from the ruins."
"Ever since that fateful day, our kin have tried to retake Dammerhall time and time again with no success. Most expeditions failed to find entry. A few perhaps managed and have never been seen again. The reason for the doom, who or what caused it remains a mystery to this day. Dammerhall was thought to be forever lost to us, until now."
"As I said, there were six entrances to Dammerhall. During the Doom, they were each destroyed. Any attempt to forge a new path as resulted in tragedy. Magnar Tharnhammer knew of a seventh. Before he passed, he told me of the existence of a map, left behind in the flight from Dammerhall. With this map, an expedition could be mounted to reclaim our lost home."
"Unfortunately, Magnar was too sick to lead the journey himself, but he bid me select a group worthy of the expedition. This is why I called you here. Before me sit some of the finest that remain to our race. You have the skill, the tenacity, and the wisdom to succeed where all others have failed. Do you accept this quest?"
Stunned by the news Doled has presented, Bali can hardly speak. The exact details did not matter at this point. Only that hope had been restored. A year ago, at Magnar's funeral, she made light of taking Dammerhall, though she knew the desire to go there to be very real.
She realized right away that her face bore the expression of dumbfoundedness that only a child could posses, and quickly readjusted herself in her seat. Gathering her composure, she began calmly, Of course, Doled. Any Dwarf that wouldn't willingly take up the quest given such information would as likely be nothing more than a bearded Gnome. She didn't have to ask for details, she knew they would be forthcoming. More pressing, was whether her hopefully soon to be companions would take up the mantle.
Before prudence and good manners could over rule his exuberance, Pravic leapt from his seat, fist clenched in unbridled excitement.
By Torag's righteous beard! Aye ye can count on me!
Suddenly realizing he may have spoken out of place, or at least with poor decorum, he gathers himself and bows reverently to the elder dwarf. There isn't a dwarf in these halls who hasn't heard me preach on the need fer our kin to mount a true expedition to retake our rightful home. I couldn't imagine a greater honor bestowed by ye to allow me to take part, and I'd gladly give me life to see Torag's chosen people restored in their rightful place. he sits back down, though it is quickly obvious his excitement is boiling at the surface.
Reginald, though he suspected this was coming, is nearly overwhelmed with joy. Hundreds of years of life, rewarded by this. It made the struggle and starvation of the first years after the Doom, the sorrow of the anniversary, and everything else all worth it.
A tear traces a wet line down his check as be says,
In my life, I have done every job under the earth and most jobs above it. If there was one wish that I have yet to see done in my life, it is this. Of course I go.
Grimdahl nods, slowly, too stunned to say much. A map? A new way in? A way of fulfilling the oath he swore, of bringing the dwarven race back underground, where they belong?
"Yes. I accept. Forge and Fire, I accept!"
Nurin sits in his chair uncomfortably. Some of the finest that represent the race? Did Doled know of the dishonor? Of course he must. It wasn't a secret. Still, perhaps this was his chance to end the curse. Or die trying.
The ruddy dwarf look sat Doled. "What is this new way in? Some secret passage?" He looks up at the others, realizing he hadn't yet answered the question. "Oh, I accept, of course."
Ingrid remains silent for some time, thinking over her words. She finally speaks, keeping her eyes on Doled, laying her axe across her lap. "I have dreamed of being part of something greeater. When I married, I attained that dream, but it was taken from me. Whether this expedition succeeds or fails, I will be part of it."
There are many stories of secret entrances into Dammerhall, each one more fanciful than the last. But Magnar Tharnhammer didn't strike me as a Dwarf that would fall for such tall stories. If he said there was an entrance, it must be true.
The dwarf stands and looks at the others around the room.
I'd be honored.
Doled frowns at Nurin's question. "Unfortunately, I do not know exactly where this seventh entrance is. Magnar's note mentioned the great mithral mine of Dammerhall, Zaraketh, but beyond that, there is no specific information."
"The road to Zaraketh is long and fraught with peril. What is worse, its precise location has been lost to time. Your best option might be to seek out the deep gnomish enclave of Fasturvault and obtain a guide. The svirfneblin are a suspicious and clannish lot, but the lord of Fasturvault, Geiri, son of Geidne, is known to be a friend of dwarves. That is where your quest should begin."
The greybeard cleric trails off, allowing the assembled dwarves to ask any questions they might have.
I've had dealings with the Svirfneblin before. Their attitude towards Dwarves seems to have changed in recent past, based on information I read in my younger years. They certainly would make good allies.
What provision may we be provided with?
I've never met a Svirfneblin, though if they're anything like their cousins, I'm sure we'll be in fine company. Are there any that know the way to this...Fasturvault?
I know of no stories of this Zaraketh either. Perhaps this is a good sign. He ends with a chuckle.
"Unfortunately, you will have to finance this journey on your own. I fear this must be a clandestine undertaking, as there are many that sit on the Council that believe this seventh entrance to be folly. They say that our numbers dwindle, that we have lost too many dwarves already to attempts to reclaim Dammerhall. If they knew what you were preparing for, they would try to stop you. Especially with who has chosen to go." Doled gestures at Kalderin. "The heir to the Tharnhammer line would not be allowed to so readily throw his life away."
"The way to Fasturvault is known. There is a chasm only a weeks journey from Summermount that descends into the Underdark region of Azathyr. Follow the cavern down and north until you reach the Deep Road called the "Gnome King's Highway." Follow that east and you will reach Fasturvault."
"It's come to something when we cannot even find our own way back home!" The druid observes lightly. "Still, it gives us a chance to learn humility, and make allies. Maybe we can avoid the mistakes of the past..." He does not elaborate.
"I can take us to the chasm, and to Fasturvault. Are there any recent maps?"
Grimdahl is not sorry about the lack of support, or funding. Maybe starting from a position of weakness will teach them how to be strong again.
Pravic grumbles at the mention of the council and their fears.
Me heart hurts to see our leadership so cowed by fear of failure, but it is warmed to know that ye honor Magnar like ye do, organizing this quest. Ye do not have to worry about the purpose of our mission being known outside these walls.
He reaches over and grabs another helping of cheese, refilling his goblet before sitting down and continuing.
I've never dealt with the svirfneblin before. Is there anything we should know so we don't insult them unintentionally? Also, what news from the highway? Are there enemy movements through that area that we haven't heard of yet?
We best make sure we pack fer a couple week's travel, just to be safe in case our journey meets trouble 'afore it truely begins... I've got some packing to do...
At least the Drow will not make their presence known, and even if we had any information on where troops of various enemies may be, there are always the wandering monsters to deal with. Maybe we can draw up some battle plans for certain creatures we are likely to face, so each of us knows what to do before hand. I believe this is what Dwarves of old would do without even having to talk about it. But, we youngsters have not the experience to just "know" what to do against something as horrifying as a Hook Horror. Reginald, perhaps after we adjourn here we could discuss this in more detail and prepare a briefing for all in attendance?
The name Zaraketh sends Reginald back into the earliest parts of his memory. His people hadnt talked of the great mines in a long, long time.
The River of Silver, Zaraketh in the old dialects, was one of the greatest sources of wealth in all Dammerhall. It's vein system was miles long and miles deep and stocked to bursting with high purity Mithral ore. The greedy forges of Dammerhall gorged themslves for ages on that mine and they had barely begun to scratch the surface.
It was from this mine that the legendary smiths of our fathers created Gunzarak. The one true metal, or "True Mithral". It is lighter than aluminum; stronger than steel. The few samples that survived the Doom are the most prized heirlooms of the great houses. The Mithral Throne itself is made of the stuff.
Sadly, the secret of its creation was lost in the Doom, but, perhaps, we will recover it.
He remains deep in thought for a moment after the trip into his memories. He silently agrees with Pravic about the state of the dwarven leadership, but will not criticize his fellow council members in front of the children.
Bali's question draws Reginald out of his reverie. Of course, my dear, of course. That would be most wise.
Doled considers Grimdahl's and Pravic's questions. "I have no maps of the area. Perhaps the deep gnomes might have such a thing."
"As I said, the deep gnomes are a suspicious people. How could they not be when surrounded by such foul enemies as the drow and our own dark cousins, the duergar? However, they are hard-working, practical, and loyal. See that you do not act or behave too rashly, as they can be somewhat prickly when it comes to honor. We have not heard much news from Fasturvault in some time. This is nothing new, however. Their kind does little trade with the surface world and Fasturvault lies some distance from Summermount."
"As for enemies... as I recall, Lord Geiri made a pact with the drow to leave the region around Fasturvault alone, and supplied them with marble in return. Fasturvault has been largely peaceful for over a century. Still... you would do well to remain cautious. Although I doubt any of you are like to trust a dark elf."
Do not blame the Council for being fearful. In two hundred years no dwarf has succeeded. They are wise to not waste more lives. It is the Dwarven way. Pragmatic. Solid. Patient.
He looks around the room slowly, Luckily for us, we're not quite so wise as they. We're young, he pauses and smiles slightly at Reginald, mostly.
And we're bold. What else is there but to build a better future for our people? They will do their part and wisely protect the hardworking dwarves that carry on. And we will do ours, and brave the deep places that have been lost to us for centuries.
He nods slightly at Bali's recommendation. We shouldn't take too long to leave. Even if none of us talk, this gathering alone will have drawn attention. We could discuss it along the way once we gather our gear. In my experience, plans never survive running into trouble, but a good plan never hurt a Dwarf.
"Perhaps we should bring a gift for the gnomes? To help appease their prickly natures and buy us some goodwill. Down in the deep, allies even such as them could prove pivotal. And I doubt we're going to find too many more as we venture deeper."
I will procure such a gift. Reginald says. His mind was coming alive with ideas, memories, and items he might need. He hasn't been this excited in ages!
Pravic's eyes sparkle at the mention of true mithral.
oh to see one of those pieces... What I'd give to see a mighty set of armor crafted from such a metal...
I have seen one specimen in all my years. Reginald replies to Pravic, It was a truly magnificent shield belonging to House Stonecleft. I almost didn't stop staring.
In any case, Bali and I have a meeting. Is there any other business for us as a whole?
The leather-clad druid shakes his head at Reginald's question. "We're done here. I agree with Kalderin, we should keep this quiet and leave soon, either later today or first light tomorrow. Will everyone be ready by then?"
Dropping the stub of his cigar in a nearby ashtray, Grimdahl re-fills his wine glass and reviews his inventory. "I can create water, but we'll need food: foraging in the Underdark may be tricky."
Leave that to me. I can be ready by dusk.
Kalderin nods at the old dwarf.
I'll go with you. I don't know this town, and I expect you know everything there is to know about it. And everything I have is here with me already, so I won't need to pack.
He frowns slightly as he shoulders his gear, Unfortunately I didn't bring a whole lot of gold. But I'd be happy to put what I have towards these gifts you have in mind.
I too can be ready by dusk. I will gather me gear as discreetly as I can. Should we meet together before we leave, or meet up a few miles down the tunnels?
Pravic asks as he gets up to move out of the room.
Thank ye again m'lord Doled, I am honored to be chosen for this expedition. We'll not disappoint ye!
What can we expect to need to do once we find the place? Establish passage for more Dwarves and supplies at first, sure, but what then? Even if we take the tunnels and clear them, we'd be open to attack right from the very beginning. We would need an army at our backs as soon as we get word back to you telling of our success.
Grimdahl gives some thought to the thought of a wagon, noting the difficulties in providing fodder and leading animals that can't see. He tries to remember what he can of the Underdark - presumably the need for beasts of burden to pull wagons is met somehow; is there a dark-seeing below-ground equivalent of oxen?
He chuckles at Bali's enthusiasm: "One thing at a time, dear cousin - right now we don't even know that we can get there. Let's focus on befriending the svirfneblin. That's the way humans would do it. Glad they can't see in the dark, to be honest, or they'd have colonised below ground already!"
He drinks the last of his wine. "Right, best go and pack. See you all at dusk. I suggest we leave together, we're not so many that it will be remarked on and I'd rather not have to come back and find any of you that have gotten lost..." Grimdahl doesn't say anything, but he's not sure some of his companions would find a hole in the ground until they'd fallen into it. Still, that's why he swore the oath to Magnar... I will NOT let you down, Lord; he vows silently. He will guide them all to their destination, or die in the attempt.