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[b]U[/b]nderdeep- that is, the original mass of hulking stone and dirt that stretched into the skies of Amaroth, in the World Before, would have displayed a certain architectural character if one could have ignored the stout and rude denizens that dwell within it. In these days, however, much of the populace of those who live under the mountains are the circumfusion of statues and monuments that line the inner hallway of it's entrance, which stretches upward with a rocky jaw of stalactites, the yawning mouth of the mountain. In the World Before, this massive entrance would have been filled with those wishing to experience one of the fastest growing kingdoms in all of Amaroth- the kingdom of the Dwarves. The great entrance hall now lies empty, save for the occasional messenger or miner brave enough to venture from the protection of Dain's men. It is abnormally still and dark, save for the red-orange glow of the great forges within. 

The great entrance leads into a small and quiet city. A moat of lava surrounds the Dark Tower and the city around it- from this tower all matters of business, diplomacy, and war are settled. It is in this Dark Tower- jutting like a finger up from the knuckled adobes that surround it- that Dain Lionbeard, the honored speaker for the remnants of a once great Dwarven Kingdom, watches over his people. He stands proud on one of four balconies (One on each facet), one hand rested on his leather-vested belly, the other gripping his deadly longaxe, Feldrung. Even in the dim light of the moat-forge below, it shines beautifully. Even after over 150 years of fighting the terrors of Underdeep it remains as sharp as ever. 

Dain strokes his silver beard and brushes his matted hair to one side- the evil beneath Underdeep needed tending to, but the speaker for the Dwarves had a more urgent problem. His old eyes watch the great entrance for those coming to answer his plea; so far, only a few have come, but Dain feels in his old bones that there are more. They must be close. Even in the Weeping World, Underdeep remains one of the more highly developed cities, though it is far from the metropolis it once was. Mainly attracting miners from the lands around it, one had to be prepared to work to live in Underdeep; to simply sit idly by would be to subject oneself to the slums of the mines, the Deep Pits, where criminals, bums, muggers, and the like are put into forced labor. Not only are they watched by the Kirgare Caste, but the Deep Pits are the deepest mine shafts in Underdeep- meaning they're the first to be attacked when the evil below rises. 

"The others that have arrived await you in the Mustering Hall, speaker." Came a voice from behind Dain. It was Surtus, his youngest son. Only 100 years of age, he is currently serving his first tour of duty in the Krigare Caste. Dain plans on him accompanying whatever party arrives in his aid.

Giving only a simple nod, Dain brushes past the smooth-skinned and beardless dwarf. The Mustering Hall was the lowest floor of the Dark Tower- a small and circular stone room with a few tables in the middle- often when the Mustering Hall was used, it was intended to be a brief meeting, and as such finer adornments were spared. The room was taller than it was wide, however, and torches dotted the walls above the tables.