[IC] Hope's Harbinger [Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy]

[Panquake]

Underdeep- 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.

[Max]

Underdeep Slums

---

"Remember, Mason. We are a simple half-giant. Nothing more, nothing less. No sudden movements. No surprises. No-"

"I think he knows what he's doing, Garth."

In the stone-paved streets, beneath the dim red glow of the city's lights, something walked freely among the dwarves of Underdeep. A cloaked giant, standing many heads above the dwarves passing by. Some looked at the hooded figure, gawking. Most everyone else paid it no mind, for either stranger things they'd seen before trumped the sight...

Or they were just too busy to care.

"We've never been in such a crowded place before. I just want to be extra cautious."

"Then be quiet and let him find out where we're going!"

"Fine, fine... Mason, where to?"

The giant reared its head back and looked upward past the ramshackle buildings and jutting rock formations. It looked past its mask hewn from pale bone plates and laid its eyes on the most present and forward sight - the very large, very dark tower looming in the distance, in the center of Underdeep.

"There." Mason said, raising his very large arm and pointing one of his meaty fingers at the tower. His cloak was lifted a little, revealing the white porcelain mask fastened to his abdomen, if only for a brief moment.

"Down, down!" Garth said in a hush but urgent voice, "Arm down!"

Mason quickly did as told and turned his head, looking to see if anyone noticed his... "lower third". A few glances, but they didn't seem at all alarmed. The one behind the porcelain mask, the brother Garth, peered between the tears in the cloak, towards their new destination - the tower. That's where they were meant to go, as it seemed.

"Oh, this will be fun!" The third brother, Ferdinand, quietly announced whilst buried under the rags of the cloak. He was hunched over a bit so as to give Mason a more centered appearance, therefore muffling his own voice some.

"Yes, but if something nasty happens... just remember who's idea this was."

"Hmm..." Mason said in place of any excuse or reason. Garth and Ferdinand both knew very well why he wanted them to come here.

He wanted to help.

---

Two days prior...

...

"Sounds like they could really use the help, though." Said one of the men by the fire.

"I guess..." Said the other, "But if they're so down on their luck that they need to ask for our help, then it's nothing good. And I don't want any part of it."

"So you're not gonna answer the summons?"

"Nah." The man said, crumpling the paper. "Dwarves ain't worth our time." He raised the crumpled paper in his hand, ready to toss it into the fire.

"Stop!"

The man dropped the paper as a voice rang out from the darkness surrounding them. As the paper rolled onto the dirt, the two men rose from their seated positions and drew their weapons. They scanned the area around them for any signs of hostile life, peering into the night air past the small ledges they'd been using for shelter. An audible thud sounded away from their campsite, and they turned to face its source. One of the men grabbed an unlit torch near their pile of belongings and set it with the fire, raising it towards the darkness.

"Who's there?" He called out. And in response, out of the darkness their visitor emerged.

It stood heads above them, like an orc, or a half-giant. The glow of the torch revealed first a simple porcelain mask, with two open eyes and seemingly nothing hidden behind them. Above that musk were two more - one of bone that seemed oddly curious, and one of gold that seemed decadently cheerful.

All three of those masks, and the heads that bore them, were attached to the same gray-skinned, grotesque, scar-ridden body.

The man with the torch raised his arms and announced, "Get back, monster!"

The "monster" did not listen. It simply stepped forward and, with one lumbering arm wielded by the one with the bone mask, reached for the crumpled paper lying on the ground.

"I said get back!" The man said again, waving the torch forward and causing the hand to rear back.

"I just want the paper." A deep but soft-spoken voice said behind the bone mask. He reached for the paper again, but the man swiped at the creature's enormous arm with his short sword. It left a scratch, but no visible wound. Like the arm itself was just a big callous. The man noticed the string of red beads fastened around the wrist. He didn't bother to wonder what they were for.

The creature quickly pinched the paper between two of his thick fingers and grabbed it. The man let out a yell and charged forth, sword and torch both raised, but he was quickly subdued. The full blunt force of the creature's arm smacked the man's face and sent him into the dirt with a twirl. It certainly wasn't fatal, and it wasn't meant to be. But one thing was for sure - he was out for the rest of the night.

"We'll need that torch to read it." A weak yet gravely voice said behind the porcelain mask.

The other man watched in blatant fear as the creature knelt down and, with its other, smaller arm, picked up the still-lit torch. He raised it up to his golden, smiling mask, and with his other arm - he appeared to have two of the same orientation - pointed at the unconscious man.

"When he wakes up..." The golden-masked head of the creature said with a kind, professional voice, "Please tell him we're very sorry."

And with that, the three-headed creature turned away and walked back into the darkness. The glow of their newly acquired torch slowly faded as the man tended to his unconscious companion, though thankfully, he had nothing but a bruise on his face from the creature's wrist beads.

...

"So you really want to go there?" Garth asked.

"Yes." Mason replied, "I want to help them."

"Fine."

---

That was all Mason ever wanted. To help people.

The way he saw it, maybe if the brothers helped enough people, they wouldn't think so badly of the three of them at first glance, and they wouldn't have to wear that ragged cloak in public anymore. Maybe they'd start to make some friends. But that was what Mason wanted, not so much Garth and Ferdinand.

They arrived at the entrance to the tower after many, many straights and turns in the city slums. They stood before the open gates, still disguised (as applicable as the word could be to them) as a cloaked, hooded half-giant.

"If anyone's in there, we don't talk to them." Garth whispered, slowly taking the trio inside. "If they talk to us... Mason, just do your best to get them to go away. Give them the usual story."

"Burns?" Mason asked.

"Exactly."

They entered the Mustering Hall, as the note with the map to Underdeep described. They looked around at the high walls and scattered tables. For the most part, it was vacant, save for a few dwarves sitting in relative silence, waiting for something. They eyed the new arrivals... well, one arrival from their perspective, and seemingly paid them no mind, much to the brothers' fortune.

Garth carried the trio over to the wall farthest from the seated dwarves and, between two torches hung along the gray stone beside them, seated himself against it.

"And now..." Garth whispered one more time.

"We wait."

[Gojiking]

Ulgahk
Amaroth Mountainside

In the dead of night, a shadow moved against the trees. It bounded past the rocks, past the softly cascading streams, and was only stopped by the harsh snap of metal. The bear had been caught. It cried out in agony and frustration as it could not escape, as desperately as it wanted to. Yet, the bear grew quiet, as another shadow began to move amongst the trees. It cracked the rocks underfoot, and let the streams babble by as it advanced, its footsteps echoing with the sound of steel. The shadow clutched a large mace in one of its arms, readying it for the kill. Yet, as the shadow’s eyes met the bear’s, it hesitated. The look in its eyes was something marvelous. Something unafraid of what lay before it. Unafraid, and unquestioning of its own fate. It was something the shadow envied, and something the shadow took with a brutal fight, and a snap of the neck.

- - -

Ulgahk rose from his morning meditation, glancing at his old shield, Maw, as he rose. As the sunlight began to poison the day once more, the mountain felt himself pulled forward, even further from his home than he’d traveled thusfar. Was this truly Regna’s will at work? What was He trying to tell Ulgahk? And what lay ahead of him? It tugged at Ulgahk that he was so far from his home. After all, the further he was from home, the closer he was to… people. Ulgahk despised interaction with others. Its why he took to the mountains in the first place. People were Children of the Sun, their minds just as blank and burning as the thing that now hung in the sky like a tumor. Still, he pressed on, and began to come down off of the mountain, and began to see what Regna was leading him to: the Underdeep.

“Dwarves…” Ulgahk growled, “… it had to be dwarves.” he spat as he made his way toward the high, jagged entrance, passing by a dwarf just outside.

“Oh! Hello there stranger! I presume you’re here for…Dain…Lionbeard?” the dwarf asked, with only the clatter of Ulgahk’s armor responding to the little one as he went inside. Propelled by Regna’s will, Ulgahk trudged his way into a large, sparsely populated room, filled with about six dwarves… and some hulking beast. Ulgahk looked to the West, but Regna gave no answer. Wherever he was, Ulgahk had arrived. He snorted in annoyance, and took a seat on the stone floor without another word.

[breathing_towers_to_hell]

Puafria Aupa
Half a day on foot from Underdeep

“By Norbr and Deidros, by Elethil and Icthus, by the shining of Ridya’s light on the sea
By Aspid and Faebold, by Cynid and Ranthe, by Thorbr’s metal forges in Underdeep.” the woman finished, kindly golden eyes sparkling.

-”What about Ionicus?” wondered Aupa.

“Pretend he’s in there somewhere.” laughed her mother, reading the rest of the poem with verve-- though the remainder of the verse was littered with names Aupa had never heard before, the stuff of cult worshipping and obsession. She didn’t bother to remember these, as most of her family, her mother exempt, had told her time and again that these were evil beliefs, the religions themselves as well as its followers were to be avoided.

* * *

For the last few days or so, Aupa’s eye (the metal one, not the real one) had been acting like a guide, although she hadn’t an inkling where she was supposed to end up under its leadership. Snippets of interactions with her family and others in the small village continually came back to haunt her.

‘A demon’, they’d said. ‘Thing of evil’. The farmer’s wife, arguably the kindliest woman in Kïy Hölkı, had spat at her to “go and crawl with your fellow vermin in Underdeep”. The last word was spoken bitterly, like a curse, while Aupa’s mother had always said it with such fascination.

rrrrRRrrrrrRRRrrRRrrrRrrrrrrr…

The rumbling of Aupa’s stomach had, of late, left little time to dwell on these unpleasant memories, and more on her own stupidity in not bringing some food. She was not a hunter, and though she could bring down an animal with a glare from the silver eye, it would be rotten, wasted as if it had lain there for weeks. This was simply how the Chasm of decay operated.

It seemed, however, that Aupa was in luck. Just as the emptiness in her stomach was beginning to incur sharp, hungry pangs in her side, her goal loomed over her-- a stately gateway hewn out of the side of the mountain, a rather inviting, molten glow emanating from inside. She stepped up her pace, the hunger pushed to the side, replaced by curiosity and excitement for a new world to be explored.

Another night passed and at high noon of the next day, she’d made it to the entrance-- the jagged rock in the entrance close enough to touch, the sunny glow from inside hot enough to feel. She took a deep breath. This was the place, Aupa knew, her eye was almost responding to the heat inside, becoming warm, but not scalding hot, and it was rolling to and fro wildly. Aupa was grateful for the veil of chestnut hair covering her Focus. If the residents of Kïy Hölkı could see the unholy eye now, they surely would do no less than stone her. She figured it would be the same for the inhabitants of Underdeep.

Aupa took a few steps inside, the hulking network of streets and walkways intimidating her. Her nerves were soothed, thankfully, by the fact that her silver eye had stopped rolling around and was looking straight ahead, ready to lead the way again. Though, to be able to see out of the replacement eye, she needed to move her hair, exposing the Focus to whoever- or whatever- resided in Underdeep. Aupa smoothed back her hair with a quivering hand and paced forward confidently, the silver eye giving her a reddened vision of her goal-- apparently, the base floor of a tower. She was there within thirty minutes, ignoring the disdainful looks of Underdeep’s rather short denizens.

The stone room currently was populated by maybe half a dozen more short Underdeep-ers (the thought of dwarves entered Aupa’s mind for the first time), an orc clad in clunky armor, and a--

It seemed to be posing as a giant, a porcelain mask and cloak concealing anything that would tell otherwise, but Aupa’s eye was throbbing in its socket, growing painfully hot. This was no giant, it was a creature of death-- more than one, at that. She sighed deeply and let her hair fall over her face again, not wanting to worry about this at present. Her voice died in her throat before it could get past her lips in a hesitant “Well met”, or even just “Hello”, and so she slumped against the stone wall and waited for something-- anything, really-- to happen.

[Hebaboh]

Underdeep Marketplace

"Like I would ever go there. The west has nothing of interest for me. Firstly you'd have to get through the fields and avoid bandits and beasts alike. I'm not like you, elf." Dwarf shout out. It was a small stand for different accessories and jewels. Masterful bands, bracelets, rings and necklaces were put on hold. Edwald's Expectional Jewelry lacked the jewels, but made up with enhanced equipment... Or so the Red-bearded dwarf with braided long red hair said. He had dressed himself with light-looking red linen vest, black trousers and woolen cloak that was dark. Deliv assumed he used different clothes for crafting, possibly an apron. A fitting cloth for a working Dwarf.

"The dangers are overestimated. And I have marked the safe routes. I'm sure a dwarf like you would appreciate a village untouched by other jewelry artisans." Deliv tried to negotiate with the dwarf. His long face with sharp cheeks and chin and hawk-like yellow eyes said those words with certainty. Though Deliv knew that the terrors were more underestimated than the opposite; At days the bandits roamed the fields, at evenings the beasts were out there. He preferred to travel at twilight, or if it was a forest he could walk all day. He had traded map information at villages and made notes of his own on them, so he could plan most of his travels beforehand. The Forest of the Young Red Branches was far in the southeast now, he had traveled for a month now. Though he had wandered twenty days on north and east of the forest to find villages and hunting and it would be ten days to walk back straight.

"I am not interested! The dwarves here are enough of customers to supply me! Other Arbetare trade with me well! At times Krigare or even at rare Vakt might buy stuff from me! Keep your maps, they're not good for me."Edwald said back. Looking at the desk, Deliv did see some hooks and spaces empty. Who knew how quickly a chain or a bracelet or a ring would be done. Perhaps he traded artifacts for minerals to smelt and work with, or he traded the accessories straight to the metal bars to work immediately. Deliv rolled the three maps back into rolls and put them in his backpack, then he took out a roll and unfolded it. A quadrangle striped leather, yard and two yards on sides. It was beautifully brown with Black stripes on it.

"Perhaps this interests you. One of them Forest Greatjaws, those bears with long tusks and paws full of knives." He told to Edwald, who took a closer look from the pelt. His face was stone hard, but his fingers were itching and he could imagine what was going inside his mind. Dwarves, heh. They have a keen eye for fine material to work with. Give some fine commodity and you're able to get something truly valuable. He had expected this Dwarf to be greedy like most of his race, but that wasn't the case. Map hadn't interested him as much as he had hoped for. Perhaps it was the dangers outside, comfort inside a safe mountain or no-risk income inside the Deepholm. While the marketplace wasn't buzzing like in the stories about the Old World Amaroth, there were few stands and handful of customers on the whole marketplace.

He had gotten lucky with the pelt. He had seen fresh tracks of a great Forest Greatjaws around in the fields, and then he had seen a deer in a distance. He had moved closer to the deer and shot it down, and then waited underneath a bush until the beast had gotten the scent. So big and so proud and dangerous, Deliv had watched it in amazement while slowly drawing his longbow. He had prepared three arrows, but the prey was hundred yards away, and he had hit the heart with his first arrow. He had skinned both of his prays, worried about more Greatjaws to come. But there had came none, so he grabbed the pelts and took chunks of meat from the deer before moving on. At the dusk he had made it to the next small town and prepared the pelts in safety.

It was there he had heard about Underdeep. Safe mountain full of dwarves, and their speaker calling for help. The humans and halflings joked about the dwarven problems in the city ("They found too big of a boulder to carry" or "Someone painted the roof red and they're afraid of another Night of the Red") but Deliv had smelled an opportunity. Perhaps they needed to go outside of their safe haven. Perhaps they needed maps. So he had made another five pounds of dried meat, traded his deer pelt for satchel of berries and used scraps to make a poem to the Faebold to thank for the pray he had captured and wishing for another one. Next day he had gotten directions and more maps to get himself to Underdeep, so Deliv took his equipment and wandered away at dusk. He had left the Poem half way on the way in wilderness for Faebold to read.

"Aaah... This Pelt is is fine... But I doubt it's one of them Greatjaws. Surely you caught the Field Deer? A child can do that. I might give a ring of Thorbr" Dwarf had started to haggle. Deliv would take none of that.
"I have the teeth, if you want to have a look. But it will cost far more than a petty gold god's ring." He told back. Dwarf snorted as his favorite god was trashed and rubbed his nose, clearly thinking something of worth.
"Well, Two rings. A set, for Elethil and Aspid. Sun and Protection for your travels. Or what about a Bracelet of Faebold or Cynid? Look at them, so well crafted. Surely you would find some more Prays brought by Faebold and risen by Cynid..."

The Haggle had continued for a while, and in the end Deliv had left with two bracelets, Cynid engraved in one and Faebold in other, and a necklace with Thorbr. For moment he considered if he'd keep the Bracelet of Faebold himself, but decided to sell it or give it to his people when he made it back to the Red Branches. He didn't think too much about jewelry, not as much as them Dwarves. He ventured away from the marketplace and searched for the Tower. He found it after some wandering within the mountain city as he came by a moat of Lava. He disliked the place and hoped to get out of the place as soon as possible. There was no sun, nor breeze of wind nor stars. Safety seemed to have it's cost, and here it was the wilderness replaced with lava and rock.

The tower was in front of him, looming high and mighty. Deliv looked one last time at the path he had came from and the moat of lava he had crossed, and then went inside. Mustering Hall, it was called. It seemed there were people already willing to help whatever Dain, Speaker of Dwarves needed. Dwarves to help their own kin, of course A Half Giant in his hood and cloaks, brutal force and a good man for carrying stuff around. An... Orc, one of those war lunatics? He hadn't expected one to meet civilization, but seemed world was still full of surprises, even after two hundred years. And lastly, a woman, with a nasty scar in her face. Like a smile continuing to unnatural extend.

Deliv left his backpack upon one of the tables, sat on a chair, and took out a parchment, quill and bottle of ink. He started to write on his parchment.
Dark Mountain and it's dwarves. Black city and fiery forge. People look up and see no skies...

[Ampharos]

Atalee Vayshalum
Underdeep

---

Finally, Atalee arrived.

Upon entering the Mustering Hall, the young woman’s attention turned to what looked like a Half-Giant in the far corner of the room and then to the armored Orc on the opposite end, the latter resigning itself to the floor for whatever reason. Among others, she noted a female human with a deep scar across her face, as well as a Wood Elf, busy writing something. An interesting bunch, fewer than she expected but also a bigger variety, Atalee figured she would enter a hall full of many more people, mostly Men, Dwarves, maybe some Elves, but certainly not Orcs or Half-Giants. In fact, she started to wonder if Merfolk would be walking in behind her, though she probably wouldn't mind, mostly because she had never met one before and was curious to know what they were like. She hadn't met any Orcs or Half-Giants during her travels either, so she was tempted to introduce herself to one of them, though, in the interest of self-preservation, she figured it best not to bother somebody who looked like they'd much rather keep to themselves. The Wood Elf, maybe, but Atalee figured it would have been rude to interrupt somebody while they were writing, so she decided against that too.

---

The Matrons described Underdeep as the heart of the Dwarven Kingdom, one of the largest and greatest Dwarven settlements in all of Amaroth. They told of the labyrinth of mineshafts, the underground network of tunnels from which the Dwarves extracted rare ores for processing, as well as the Great Forges of Underdeep, which it was rumored that between ten and twenty percent of all metal in Amaroth went through. When the Worldbane struck Amaroth, Underdeep and the Dwarven Kingdom persevered. Though most of its inhabitants perished, it nevertheless survived, becoming one of the only settlements in the world to have weathered the proverbial storm.

At least that's what she had been told.

Her knowledge came from the Matrons. The Matrons taught the Maiden everything they knew about Amaroth, which was taught to them when they were Maidens by the Matrons that came before them, all the way back to the Worldbane when the Church of Vexa fled into Mount Solitude in wake of the coming apocalypse. Over the years, Maidens turned Matron contributed new information about the world. When they returned to Mount Solitude as Matrons, they shared with the Church anything and everything they had learned, mostly information concerning the state of civilization. Thus, everything Atalee knew about the Weeping World consisted of information passed on by the Matrons, as well as hearsay and other rumors heard by the Maidens turned Matrons who ventured out into the Weeping World. Only a small percentage of what she knew was acquired firsthand. After all, she’d only been journeying for about six months, most of the time traveling between any two destinations, not really spending much time in one place…

When Atalee first heard of this quest, she jumped at the chance to journey to Underdeep and see what had become of it. She bought many maps and prepared for her journey, learning anything and everything she could about Underdeep and the Dwarven Kingdom. Then, she learned that Underdeep wasn’t quite what she had expected. Some people, mostly adventurers and other seasoned travelers, described Underdeep as the Dead Heart of the Dwarven Kingdom. They told her that although it survived the Worldbane, it never rose from the ashes and returned to its former glory. Instead, it staggered along, beaten and bloodied, and barely fending off a threat from deep underground, something first discovered during the Night of Red many years ago. Indeed, many thought that Dain Lionbeard’s call to arms was one of desperation, some last ditch effort to save Underdeep from something dark and sinister, lurking deep within the mineshafts…

Then she arrived at Underdeep. She set her eyes upon a sea of lava surrounding a high wall of stone, and then, beyond that, a vast cityscape. Every class and profession of Dwarf could be seen. Some miners, some smithies, some bureaucrats, others merchants, even vagrants, they all went about business as usual. They went in and out of buildings of all kind, some tall, some short, others wide, and still others narrow. Regardless of what Underdeep once was, no matter what others had to say, Atalee couldn’t help but look on in awe. So many people doing so many things, all within a cityscape that spanned from one end of the horizon to the next, going on for what looked like an eternity. She had never seen anything like it. The town she had ever seen only had a thousand people, at most, and her own home only had a population in the hundreds. To imagine tens of thousands, maybe even a hundred thousand people all in one place, she simply couldn’t do it, but to actually see it for herself...

She knew Underdeep was big, but it never quite registered until the sister gazed upon it with her own eyes. To think that Underdeep was actually a shadow of its former self, that Underdeep from the World Before was actually larger?

Atalee just couldn't wrap her head around it.

“By the Goddess…” Was all she could say.

[Brivta]

Davanteaux, Underdeep

As Davanteaux daintily picked at his third hearty Dwarven meal, he elaborated on his impressions of the city to several intent listeners, “I've met many men in this city thus far, and not once have I met a person too weak or childish to manage their own destinies. I was struck by one such man earlier: a merchant. His eyes were hard but wise, and his stock was at once carefully chosen yet highly diverse. Clearly a man of tact, honor, and discipline. Though his life experience had taught him to never trust those of my kind; even today a dastardly elven thief attempted to wriggle from him more than he was owed, he welcomed me with the hospitality reserved by Dwarven kind to all visitors. I was inspired to leave him with a song for his progeny to carry his legacy for the coming generations. While Lords and Kings who inherit their titles and use them to take from you, the true backbone of this city, this man who like yourselves is what has preserved Underdeep is such numbers for this long. I now wear these rings and bangles bestowed onto me by this magnanimous representative with pride.”

Beaming, one listener demanded “Tell me Davanteaux, what is the name of he who is surely the finest merchant in Underdeep?”

Davanteaux lifted his hand to deflect the question while he finished what was left of his ale, then responded “I needn't name him, for I expect that any of you would have had such presence and mercy. I named him representative not because I believe he was the best of you, but because I believe that any man who lives and works in this city is his equal!”

His words were met with a cheer from his immediate listeners that picked up through the rest of the pub. He stood suddenly, pulling the horn from his pack in a deft motion, “A song! A song for every dwarf in this city that through the sweat of his brow brings ever more value to the lives of all: to the miners, the merchants, the barmen, the cleaners, the washers, the engineers, and the builders!” Another cheer was soon met with powerful chords that resonated with their hearts. Slow and strong, it was a folk song that they recognized and began to sing along to, slamming their steins and fists into the tables with the beat. Taking on a new significance, they sang of a man who single-handedly built a tower. To them, he was no longer a fantastical figure that deserved to lead them, but evocative of their own capabilities. He had truly captured their hearts, altered their minds, and changed their destinies. Each of them would go on and spread their new attitudes further. Maybe the new trend in the population would inspire some new philosophy, but he knew he couldn't hope for that. The next few steps on that path would have to be taken with the full knowledge that they were necessary.

After he finished the song and sat down to finish his meal, one dwarf spoke to him in confidence, “You said the time before Worldbane was dominated by the oppressors of all races, but what of our own Dain Lionbeard?”

Davanteaux reflected that this step of the process had come a bit early. He leaned over and whispered back, “It is for the Dwarves to determine whether their leaders are oppressors. By their nature, oppressors are weak and alone, using their will to undermine the strong such as yourself. It is only an illusion. If it is found that you are led by an oppressor, there is little that one weak and deranged man can do against thousands of the strong and pure-hearted. Once the veil has been pulled from all eyes, all may judge Lionbeard as the man he truly is, fair or false, then the people may take the action they feel is justified.”

With that, Davanteaux finished his meal and got up to leave, shouting positive words to the patrons upon his exit. One off-handedly inquired as to his business in Underdeep, to which he responded “ Next I shall meet with Dain Lionbeard.” His claim was met with a variety of responses ranging from shock to grins from those that heard it.
That had been the most receptive pub, as in the other two he had met with only mild success. The merchant he had met first was easily the most enthusiastic, showering him with gifts for his travels. For the last century, this was by far the most ambitious project he had taken on. He wondered as to how long he might have carried on like this before an order was sent for his execution, publicly or privately. The dwarves that he spoke to would no longer be nearly as subservient. The ideas would have their time to stew while he was sent away on a quest which, regardless of outcome, would greatly increase his credibility in the city.

As he approached the castle Davanteaux was put slightly on guard as he was stopped by one of the castle guards, “We are certainly hurting for recruits, but there's no way a bard is going to live two days out there with what we're planning on.”

Davanteaux smiled and introduced himself, “I thank you for your concerns, but I am no ordinary bard. I am Davanteaux.”

The guard stared at him for a moment incredulously, “You? I suppose next you'll tell me you're a thousand years old and personally killed the old King of Men?”

Davanteaux let out a short disarming chuckle, “Something like that. If you please.” he gave a short bow and walked past them into the entrance hall.

Entering Mustering Hall, he noticed several of the inhabitants' look of surprise and amusement at a tiny well-dressed Elven bard enter the hall among a group that was equipped for war. An orc, a half-giant, a few humans, and a fellow elf of the wood variety. Noting the quiet, he stood in a central position and spoke boldly to the group, “Any apprehension I may have had before has dissipated, as a truer band of adventurers has surely never been. I will be pleased to make each of your acquaintances. First, allow me to commemorate this occasion.” With that, he pulled his lyre and started to play. The song was slow enough to relax its listeners while they waited, but contained a few progressions of encouragement.

[Gojiking]

Ulgahk
Mustering Hall

Slowly but surely, more people shuffled in. A human female, wood elf and another female joined the group in the Mustering Hall. Yet, no one spoke to one another. The only conversation going on was between the occasional drips and drops of water from the cavern ceiling. And then, another came in, an elf. He was a rather jolly looking fellow. The kind of jolly that made Ulgahk itchy. As in, “reach for his mace” itchy. What made matters worse was that this one was the first to talk. He got in the center of the room, making sure everyone could see him. Presumptuous, self-important little elf. Well, such was to be expected of their kind. Ulgahk snorted as the elf addressed the people.

“Any apprehension I may have had before has dissipated, as a truer band of adventurers has surely never been. I will be pleased to make each of your acquaintances. First, allow me to commemorate this occasion.” Then the elf took out a lyre, and began to strum it. A Bard? Hah! And just like an elf to demand others names without revealing its own. But what really caught Ulgahk by surprise was what the Bard had said. “A truer band of adventurers…” The phrase etched a smile in his pale, scar-ridden face. This band of humans, elves and abominations. Adventurers! After only a few moments of the Bard’s music, Ulgahk ciouldn’t restrain himself, and let the hilarity of the Elf’s words consume him in laughter. Ulgahk rarely had anything worth laughing over these days, and he’d forgotten how otherworldly the sensation was. The sound he made was less like traditional laughter, and more like short, uneven growls. Like a dull blade sawing away at a thick cut of raw meat. The Orc felt like he might pass out just from the feeling, so he soon stopped and got to his feet.

“Oh ho… adventurers are we? Well, it appears He works in strange ways. I did not expect to come upon a band of ‘adventurers’ when I was brought here! This should be VERY interesting!” Ulgahk chortled, regaining his composure and introducing himself.

“I am called Ulgahk. Though you may know me by another name… ‘The Lonely Blade’.”

[Ampharos]

Atalee Vayshalum
Mustering Hall

---

An Elf made his entrance. He wore a tunic with silk pants and wore a backpack with the most random assortment of items, everything from cooking supplies to musical instruments. Atalee paused and stared at him with a bewildered look, wondering who or what he might be, and most importantly, what exactly he was doing here. She thought that he looked like some interesting combination of a chef and a musician. He brought with him all the necessary supplies to fill both roles, and he dressed like he belonged in a court. After several moments of deep contemplation, she finally realized. In many cultures, it was customary to host feasts in honor of great heroes. Perhaps Dain Lionbeard sought to commemorate their arrival with a feast! Thus, this must have been the man who served them, cooking both their food and providing them with entertainment for the night! Of course! The entertainment had arrived! Atalee had no idea why he didn't bring any food with him, though, she figured that maybe he planned to prepare it in front of them, like part of some elaborate dinnertime show.

Atalee had never attended a feast before, never mind one thrown in her honor! Her perplexed stare changed to one of excitement, the same delightful glow that one might see on a little girl’s face when she found out that her parents actually were getting her a pony.

It didn't help that he didn't actually say he was a fellow adventurer, instead deciding to compliment them.

The Templar sought to engage the Elf in conversation, possibly asking him what he was planning on making or what he would be playing for them this night, but then the Orc burst into laughter, chuckling loudly and disrupting her train of thought. Her attention turned to him, and, at that moment, she realized something she hadn’t before. His pale complexion, his enormous size, compounded with his almost hoggish laugh, that was no Orc! That was a pig! A pig that walked on two likes like a man and wore the coat of a bear! Atalee knew that he wasn't actually a pig, or at least, she found it reasonable to assume that it wasn't. Nevertheless, she thought the comparison to be humorous and couldn't help but chuckle quietly to herself. She would have said it aloud, but she thought that such a comparison might offend him. In and of itself, that wasn't something she wanted to do, but she also recalled that Orcs were rather tribal, many of them violent warmongers, and inciting one was the last thing she'd want to do, especially since the entertainment had finally arrived…

He didn’t seem all that bad, though. At least he introduced himself.

“Ulgahk?” She spoke for the first time, her accent thick and distinct. “The Lonely Blade, you mean, The Lonely Blade?”

Not just in the presence of a master bard-chef hybrid but also a famous adventurer!

“I have never heard of you.” Atalee confessed.

[Max]

The Mortugal Brothers
Underdeep Mustering Hall

---

"Well then." Garth whispered, "Looks like they're too busy talking to each other to notice us. Perfect."

"Oh, hush! They look like they're having fun over there!" Ferdinand whispered back.

While the two peered through the gaps in the rags, Mason watched the event before him unfold in full view. Behind his mask, a soft smile etched itself across his unseen face. Although, if any of them were able to see it, they probably wouldn't call it much of a smile than more of a crooked, toothy grin. That was, after all, what the brothers' masks were for. Mason never liked wearing his, but Garth always told him if he wanted any chance of ever warming up to people, then the three of them would have to start subtle. What Mason wanted more than anything right now was to walk over there and say hello. But Garth was the one who had control over the legs, so he slowly pushed the idea out of his head.

"I like the elf." Ferdinand said quietly, "He catches peoples' eyes and gives them a show. We should be more like that!"

"Yes, let's just rip this cloak off and announce ourselves, that sounds like an amazing idea." Garth retorted, "What do you think this is, a talent contest?"

"We're talented!" Ferdinand replied, "We just need to think of a way to show them without, you know, scaring them."

"Or angering them." Garth said, "That girl in the armor looks like a paladin, so she automatically wouldn't like us. And that orc, well... he's an orc."

"You are so judgmental, it makes me cringe."

"Shut your mouth!"

"Can we at least say hello?" Mason asked.

The other two stopped their bickering at the sound of Mason's request. Garth paused for a moment, and then...

"Not now, Mason. When we figure out what we're actually supposed to be doing here... then you can sidle on up to them."

"Okay." Mason said, going back to watching the group talk to each other.

Just... watching.

[breathing_towers_to_hell]

Aupa sighed and reclined her head so that her eyes were focused on the stone ceiling of the room, heard footsteps as others

entered. She would make time for niceties, introduce herself if the eye made her, otherwise she wanted little to do with the sheepish team. She couldn’t smile, anyway. The scar just made her mouth pull to the side in an ugly leer. It wasn’t really clear to her exactly who had made their entrance or when, not until an elf took the stage-- a limber, overconfident fellow, grandly trying to reconcile the group, disbanded before it had functioned.

“Any apprehension I may have had before has dissipated, as a truer band of adventurers has surely never been. I will be pleased to make each of your acquaintances. First, allow me to commemorate this occasion.”

He took out a stringed instrument in a U shape. His playing was skilful but he was big–headed and insincere.

Aupa decided to be wary of him, for there must be a good reason for this annoying façade. The Orc seemed to like it though, laughing genuinely and heartily, a sound not pleasant to the ears— like the collision of rusty blades—but he seemed happy, so Aupa enjoyed the sentiment.

“Oh ho… adventurers, are we? Well, it appears He works in strange ways. I did not expect to come upon a band of ‘adventurers’ when I was brought here! This should be VERY interesting!” he followed this up with the first introduction of the day, excluding that of the irritating bard, who had not so much as stated his name. “I am called Ulgahk. Though you may know me by another name… ‘The Lonely Blade’.”

“Ulgahk?” This was a woman, blonde and a shade younger than Aupa. “The Lonely Blade, you mean, The Lonely Blade?” There was silence for a moment. “I have never heard of you.” she said almost bashfully.

Strange, Aupa thought. Am I in the company of famous travellers and fighters…
Well. She grinned, lopsidedly, to herself. At least I will never fall short in the department of killing things.

Aupa breathed out and back in sharply. For just a moment, the space in her head behind the silver eye—the same place one might get a stress headache, in her temple—seemed to be on fire. The pain quickly decrescendoed, however, to a mild buzzing, an angry, erratic sort of static, as if there were voices arguing in her mind. She couldn't help but notice the giant–like figure (figures, rather) skulking in the far edge of the room, to the extent that a circular room could have edges. It seemed the biting voices could be sourced back to them.
Trying to ignore this, Aupa figured this was the eye´s cue to introduce herself, and she spoke in a voice that was more confident than she felt towards these pseudo–celebrities.

“It´s hardly a suitable time to be elaborating on who we do or don´t know, I think. We might as well become familiar with one another while we´re here…“ she paused for a moment to think. “I´m called by Puafria Aupa, and just so there´s no bad blood later, I am indeed attuned to the Chasm of decay.“

No. No, no, no, that was a mistake. There are creatures of death present. The blonde one in the armor looks very self–righteous, and stronger than I am. She fixed her eyes on the stone floor and silenced herself, leaving an eerie quiet, almost like negative sound, floating in the hall.

[Hebaboh]

Underdeep, Mustering Hall.
Deliv of Bold Red Petal

Dark Mountain and it's dwarves. Black city and fiery forge. People look up and see no skies.
It's not sun that brings the heat. It's not water that fills the stream. Always night, no sunrise.
The tower is big, moat is fire. Hall is tall and ahead a road. Folk around, men or mice?
Dwarves fill the wall and chair. Humans here wait for Dain. A giant is wider than me by thrice.
An elf comes inside for sings. Lonely blade here laughs and grins. Woman does not recognize.
Giant whispers to himself. Introduction by orc and elf. Lady with grin does likewise.

*Snap*
It came as a surprise to Deliv, the reaction. He had been writing the poem about things happening around him until his pen had snapped as he put pressure on his quill. The hall had slowly gotten more and more people, but the silence had been broken by a High Elf. One of those thinking himself noble and all, even though he played well his lyre. Still... He was a High Elf. And seemingly no fighter, though he could be like those Dawn Boars. From afar they look fine, but annoy one and you're in a peril.. But it wasn't him that had made him react.

Other adventurers seemed bit more trustworthy. The Orc called "Lonely blade", a half giant and the woman in armor clearly had the strength needed to face at least bandits and bear. Orc and Woman both had weapons: Woman had a sword with a long hilt, but the "Lonely Blade" had chosen a mace to accompany his fierce shield. Deliv would be safe behind them, shooting arrows one at the time. The bard too would be safe behind them and few dwarves present. None of them either had made him break his quill early, thought.

It had been the woman with a scar to make a grin. Puafria Aupa, attuned to the chasm of decay.

Two hundred years ago in the Forest of Old Green Trunks they had had two druids, attuned to the chasm of Growth and Wild. Other told about Faebold the Huntress, other taught about benefits and dangers brought by Cynid of Life and Death. Both had done marvelous things within the forest, to bring something to hunt or to help trees and fields rise. They both were long gone, but their powers had left an impression. What few were left in the Forest of Young Red Branches still talked about their deeds and praised the gods they had praised. Faebold naturally was more easily praised, as her gifts were many. But those who had been growing the forests said it grew faster than it was supposed to, so the praise for Cynid either wasn't forgotten.

This woman with a wide grin praised the darker side of Cynid the other had warned. "Death embraces us all. You will bring death with your arrows, and in time the arrow of Time pierces you. Respect Death. Never toy with it. Cynid has given, and She has taken". This woman was the one to take, not give. She did look fragile, and judging her face she had once been. But now? Though she hanged her head and looked down to the floor, she was more danger than something to pity.

But in a group like this, and depending on an adventure, an Attuned One would be a welcome addition. So Deliv looked at the quill's broken tip, then left it on the table and looked around, bit apologizing. "Ah... Deliv... Of Bold Red Petal." He spoke before he reached for a small pocket in his backpack. It had Arrowheads and feathers for fletching, but feathers served their purpose with writing too. He took a long black feather gotten by one of the Wretch Eaters, enormous black ravens, that had taken a flight, and continued to write his poem.

Death and decay walks with us. In the front so many to push. From behind the arrow flies.
Dwarves, elves and humans for task. A Lonely Blade and Giant with mask. People whom a caller ties.

[Panquake]

the Goldmar and Brashiron Brothers- Underdeep Mustering Hall

"I'm tellin' ye, lad, 'twas damn near 10 foot tall. Taller'n me, anyways."

"Eh? We're dwarves, almost everythin' is taller'n us."

The response garnered a few chuckles in an otherwise quiet room. A few stragglers had trickled in- a half giant and an orc- but they had mostly kept to themselves. Not like the two pairs of brothers- numbering six in total, three for either family- wanted to converse with the likes of either of those two, anyway. Between dwarves, half giants, and orcs, there weren't many stories to be told. Especially from the golden-haired brothers- Goldmar was their family name, and they were of the Vakt caste, the society of dwarves dedicated to filling the population. While many were unemployed- most jobs put an individual into the Arbetare caste- there were those that worked the occasional odd job if it meant good pay, and the chance to work for Dain Lionbeard himself had been enough to attract these three. They were practically triplets, save for minor variations in their faces and hairstyles: long, greasy and generally dirty blonde hair with the typical braided beards. The three wore serviceable clothing for the job, though in terms of armor it probably wasn't very protective. Just a few leather scraps here and there. Probably homemade.

Sat across from them on the other side of the rectangular table were the Brashiron brothers of the Krigare Caste- the society of dwarves dedicated to guarding Underdeep and serving as its militant arm. These three showed much more variety- the middle brother was significantly larger than the two that flanked him, though all three wore squat metal helmets, so specific features were difficult to discern. Each of these three held shortswords at their sides, and the middle brother also had a buckler loosely slung around his back. In addition to their helmets, they wore the standard Krigare uniform of chain and leather garbs with a blue tabard draped over the configuration. Interestingly enough, however, the Brashiron brothers' tabards lacked the normal Sigil of Underdeep.

"Whassat giant-kin doin' allaway up 'ere? He should be luggin' stones! I've got a couple'a big ol' stones he could carry." Said one of the Goldmar brothers, his face a shade of pink, and he gestured towards his pelvis.

"Drunk as usual, are ye'?" replied one of the Brashirons with a giggle. "Better pipe down, bet that fella' could rip you in half."

"Well I'd-"

The Goldmar was interrupted by the door opening once more, though this time an interesting patron walked in. A young woman in simple clothing- one of the Brashirons noticed she had a scar on her mouth.

"She don't stand a chance."

"Could be one'a those mage types, for all you know, lad. She's clearly been through..something and lived."

The brothers sat in silence once more, sipping their ale and occasionally whispering to one another. They were beginning to grow antsy, anxious to see Dain.

Two more would enter before a brother spoke once more- the new arrivals were an elf and a much more formidable looking human.

"Talkative lot." The bigger Brashiron brother said, to no response.

It was another elf entering that broke the silence. Neither of the pair of brothers made much sense of his praise. The Brashiron brothers queried if it would be better if they didn't intermingle with the odd assortment of "adventurers", as the second elf had called them, and stuck together as a smaller group of six. The Goldmars agreed.

breathing_towers_to_hell said
“It´s hardly a suitable time to be elaborating on who we do or don´t know, I think. We might as well become familiar with one another while we´re here…“ she paused for a moment to think. “I´m called by Puafria Aupa, and just so there´s no bad blood later, I am indeed attuned to the Chasm of decay.“

Both pairs of brothers perked up when they heard that. As if on cue, the wood elf's quill had also snapped. The six jabbered away among themselves as the wood elf said something and introduced himself as Deliv; the six had only caught the latter half.

"I'll not be workin' with somethin' like that." a Brashiron had said. The other two grunted in approval. The Goldmars remained speechless, though the stern looks on their faces told a tale all their own.

"The Brashirons do nothin' but defend our home from your kind, we'll not see that changed today. You'll find little welcome in Underdeep, witch." The three of the Krigare caste left the mustering hall, not giving the young woman another glance. They were soon followed by the drunk Goldmars, who each gave the scarred woman one last hateful look before exiting.

--

the Deep Pits-

*clink*

*clink*

The sounds of hundreds of pickaxes hitting rock consecutively resonated in the large cavern. Occasionally one could hear a sharp pang as a miner "accidentally" hit at their shackles; just today almost a dozen had to be sent back to the small living area (comprised of cramped depressions in the rocks where beds could be laid) to be treated for crippling their own legs with the things. The Krigare Caste guards didn't know why they bothered doing such, the shackles would still remain, and in most cases they would be back on the line within the hour, chipping away at the great rocky chasm. These guards were placed at various sections within the chasm itself- their number totaled about fifty, but there were barracks stationed along the route to the Deep Pits that carried reinforcements, if need be.

"What in the name of Thorbr is that?"

Hundreds of sets of eyes turned towards where the commotion had come from. No sooner had a miner struck a rock than it started to ooze a black, gelatinous liquid. It slowly poured from the hole onto the dwarfs feet. Guards gathered around and pulled the miner back behind them as the gelatinous mass grew larger- something in the middle of the ooze glowed purple. The mass continued to grow until it suddenly burst with a loud pop sound, and black worm-like larvae spurt forth into the surrounding troop. There were four of them- one for each guard that had placed himself near the ooze- and compared to a dwarf, they were almost the size of one of their legs.

The four all yelped in unison as the larvae gnawed at the weak points in their armor- at the neck, under their arms, and at the face. Catching them by surprise, the four worms made quick work chewing through their first victims, who now lay in a crumpled and bloodied heap.

Around the Deep Pits more and more of this black ooze started to permeate the very rock- pouring out of every small crevice and crack and onto the floor. The guards quickly ushered the miners away and sent them back into the shaft that acted as the entrance and exit to the chasm. Krigare Sergeants barked orders and soon a shield-wall was formed as more worm-like larvae burst from the ooze-eggs. One Sergeant called out,

"Someone send a message back to Dain! The evil rises once more!"

(Additional info: Since Aupa is attuned to the Chasm of death and decay, she can feel these creatures' presence, though at such a distance away it would be incredibly slight, such as her scar having the slightest tingling sensation or something. Nothing that would really scream "Something is wrong". The Mortugals, being just as much a product of the Chasm as these creatures are, would also have a slight sense of them, though since they lack the control of the Chasm that Aupa pertains, it would be an even lesser sensation. They probably wouldn't feel anything, at this distance.)

[Brivta]

Davanteaux remained silent as each member of the group gave their introduction, his eyes closed while he swayed with the melody. He stopped playing moments after the other elf spoke. Looking upon the others in the brief silence he created, Davanteaux sprang into action. He would make an address to each.

First, he addressed the Orc. He was confident, and with a reputation to match it, “Ay, adventurers we are. And pleased to be joined by the legendary Lonely Blade. Indeed, people sing praises of your prowess throughout the land. A survivalist and warrior, peerless on each front. I am pleased to see you.”

Next, he addressed the holy woman. She seemed a bit lost in every way. An interesting case, to say the least, “A young woman engaged in the religious servitude, her faith leading her into practice. There are no nobler and purer souls than those whose full faith in a God. Truly, no more powerful. May you be served in kind for your kindness.”

He bounded to the half-giant. Although obviously hiding something, they were doing it in one of the best ways possible. It was better to be suspected than to compromise oneself, “Ah, a grand sight. The best of men, you are. So large, and with such wisdom to remain silent. Though your size speaks a'plenty, your restraint says yet more.”

Spinning around to face the mage, a bold smile illuminated Davanteaux's face. This one was incredulous, and rightly so. Clearly very intelligent, but who did she serve? “My, my, my. The perfect martyr, making a sacrifice of yourself to serve the common good. Give to give, what charity and benevolence! May none speak ill of your contribution, as all that is worth preserving may benefit from your loss.”

Looking to his fellow elf, he held out his hand in a universal Elven salute. The Wood Elves had reasons to fear and suspect High Elves, making this one a particularly valuable potential ally. “Ah, my brother in exile. I too know the pain of being forced from one's homeland. Through my own experiences abroad, I am sure that you are strong and fair. Truly those of us who are less than us would hardly last a day in this world.”

Finally, he spun back into his original place facing the crowd centrally. It was likely that true fools were absent from the group. It was surprising, considering the work they were here to take. In his surprise, he found pleasure and comfort. Though he had thought it an unreachable ideal, there were indeed small emergent moments like this that had been entirely impossible in the world before. His faith was slowly and surely being fulfilled. Before he introduced himself, he had a short meditative silence. After a pithy moment, he spread out his arms in a sweeping motion, “I am Davanteaux, servant of Icthus in this grandest of ages! Only in this time would such a party be possible. A new age is dawning before us, and we are its harbingers!” With that, he gave a deep bow. Though he suspected the warier among them would think him insincere, in those last words he was absolutely truthful.

[breathing_towers_to_hell]

“--decay.” The final word in the simple phrase had left Aupa’s mouth. She second-guessed herself and stressed for precisely three seconds, before the sound of a quill snapping cut through the heavy air. A distorted kind of relief washed over her when the Elf who’d previously been writing something with the same quill introduced himself simply and courteously. Sort of.

"Ah... Deliv... Of Bold Red Petal." What a title, Aupa thought, but for a moment there was a spark of hope that the members of this quote-unquote “band of adventurers” would be civil to her.

Her chest tightened and stole her breath along with any of this hope when the shorter dwellers of the room spoke up.

"I'll not be workin' with somethin' like that." the tallest, with matted hair, his face concealed beneath a basic-looking helmet.

Oh. He hadn’t even afforded her the luxury of being called human.

"The Brashirons do nothin' but defend our home from your kind, we'll not see that changed today. You'll find little welcome in Underdeep, witch." He and his pink-faced kin then left the room, each glaring at her once, like some quaint little exit ritual.

Witch. A stooped figure with bad teeth and a raging bloodlust.

“Would you call me a witch?” Her mother’s voice. Assenting laughter. “How rude! I’m not a witch, I’m a housewife!” it concludes with mock indignation. “The difference being?” a cynical twang from the crowd. More laughter.

Aupa would have sworn on her natural eye that her silver one was beginning to buzz again.

She became vaguely aware that the second Elf, the self-important one, had still been playing that beautiful tune on his lyre, just up until the first words of the dwarves. He'd halted the piece with grace, let them leave, eyes shut, then opened them again and addressed the group one by one. Make them feel important. Get them to do what he wants.

First, he spoke to the Orc who’d laughed so sincerely. “Aye, adventurers we are. And pleased to be joined by the legendary Lonely Blade. Indeed, people sing praises of your prowess throughout the land. A survivalist and warrior, peerless on each front. I am pleased to see you.”

Next, the one with the blonde braid and the longsword. “A young woman engaged in the religious servitude, her faith leading her into practice. There are no nobler and purer souls than those whose full faith in a God. Truly, no more powerful. May you be served in kind for your kindness.”

God. Aupa, realistically, did not count herself among the wariest and most jaded of travelers, but this sounded so fake it was difficult not to dislike the Elf by now. What did he have in store for her?

He strode over to the half-giant creature(s), moving like water would flow. “Ah, a grand sight. The best of men, you are. So large, and with such wisdom to remain silent. Though your size speaks a'plenty, your restraint says yet more.”

Oh, damn it. He was now walking towards Aupa, indulgent-- or pitying-- smiles chasing one another over his lips. “My, my, my. The perfect martyr, making a sacrifice of yourself to serve the common good. Give to give, what charity and benevolence! May none speak ill of your contribution, as all that is worth preserving may benefit from your loss.”

Gods deliver me, what uninformed filth is this Elf spewing with my name on his tongue?

Finally, the other Elf, the writer. Deliv, was it? “Ah, my brother in exile. I too know the pain of being forced from one's homeland. Through my own experiences abroad, I am sure that you are strong and fair. Truly those of us who are less than us would hardly last a day in this world.”

The bard spread his arms wide, to complete the very theatrical circle. Aupa had to respect the degree to which he was invested in his own charade. “I am Davanteaux, servant of Icthus in this grandest of ages! Only in this time would such a party be possible. A new age is dawning before us, and we are its harbingers!”

She wanted to laugh, imagining the room’s occupants all clapping for him and throwing roses. ‘Simply marrrrvelous performance tonight, Davanteax, my darling!’

It was ridiculous, the whole thing. Aupa cursed the stupid silver eye inwardly, and wondered for a moment if she would come across that hateful little band of dwarves again, maybe get an apology out of them…

Aupa relapsed into a stress-release habit, something developed within the past week when she was forced to leave Kïy Hölkı: she picked up loose pebbles and stones from the floor of the room, and stared at them intently. It was pretty neat to watch the moss crawl over the rocks with unnatural speed, cracking them and tearing them apart with all the finesse of an amputee.

[Gojiking]

Ulgahk
The Mustering Room

The child was the first one to truly address Ulgahk.

“Ulgahk?” She spoke in some, thick, otherworldly accent. “The Lonely Blade, you mean, The Lonely Blade?”

There was a look of bewilderment on the girls face as Ulgahk raised an eyebrow. Even this young one had heard of him?

“I have never heard of you.” Atalee mumbled, to a snort of annoyance from the Orc. Of course the young one wouldn’t know who he was. From the looks of things, this girl was still wet behind the ears. Hell, there may as well have been an ocean behind them for all the wonder she displayed at that fool minstrel’s appearance. This woman would learn the ways of this world soon enough, so Ulgahk left his own tale untold for now. Best not to frighten the little one. Now is not the time for fear. For her, that will come later.
While Ulgahk had been lost in thought, it seemed he had started a trend, as the strangers began introducing themselves, the scarred woman speaking next.

“It´s hardly a suitable time to be elaborating on who we do or don´t know, I think. We might as well become familiar with one another while we´re here…“ she paused for a moment to think. “I´m called by Puafria Aupa, and just so there´s no bad blood later, I am indeed attuned to the Chasm of decay.“

Ulgahk rolled his eyes under cover of his helmet. Another soul worshipping a false God. How sad. However, what Ulgahk didn’t expect was the response given by the Dwarves, who’d remained silent until now.

"I'll not be workin' with somethin' like that." a Brashiron had said. The other two grunted in approval. The Goldmars remained speechless, though the stern looks on their faces told a tale all their own. It made Ulgahk sick to his stomach.

"The Brashirons do nothin' but defend our home from your kind, we'll not see that changed today. You'll find little welcome in Underdeep, witch." The three of the Krigare caste left the mustering hall, not giving the young woman another glance. They were soon followed by the drunk Goldmars, who each gave the scarred woman one last hateful look before exiting. Or at least they would have, if they’re attention had not been diverted by Ulgahk’s mace hitting the stone floor. The woman may be foolish in her choice to worship a false God, but anyone hated by Dwarves was someone to defend.

“Just like Dwarves to run and hide.” the Orc growled, standing at his full height, “If you want aid, do not insult the ones who come freely. If Regna had not willed me here himself you lot would be little more than a stain against my blade. Now get. OUT.” Ulgahk hissed, and the Dwarves did as he said. With the weak gone, Ulgahk sat on the floor once again, and said nothing more. The Bard, having heard everyone, save for the half-giant speak, addressed Ulgahk.

“Ay, adventurers we are. And pleased to be joined by the legendary Lonely Blade. Indeed, people sing praises of your prowess throughout the land. A survivalist and warrior, peerless on each front. I am pleased to see you.”

A small grumble of acknowledgement was all the response the Orc could think to muster, festering in his own hate as the elf spoke to the others.

[Ampharos]

Atalee Vayshalum
Mustering Hall

---

The Chasm of Decay, Atalee recalled her teachings. In the World Before, the intelligent races worshipped a pantheon of gods and goddesses. Each one of these gods and goddesses derived from images on the windows of the Chasm of Light. Thus, only mages could “communicate” with them, ultimately leading to the foundation of number of churches centered on these mages “communicating” with these gods and goddesses. Admittedly, Atalee knew almost nothing about the Chasm of Decay, though she inferred it was associated with either Icthus, the God of Shadows, or Cynid, the Goddess of Life and Death. The latter, she figured, was more likely than the former, and given the supposed powers of Cynid, Goddess of Life and Death, a mage attuned to her chasm, perhaps the Chasm of Decay, could wield power over life itself, creating and destroying it on a whim.

Heathen.

“The Gods and Goddesses of Amaroth are False Gods.” She heard the words of her Matron. “They are the first to have opened the Chasm of Light and absorb its powers, the greatest and most powerful mages to ever exist. They are not Gods or Goddesses. They are men and women, mere mortals with dreams of grandeur. Remember! There is only one true Goddess, the Mother Goddess, and she does not draw her power from the Chasm of Light. She is infinite, she is eternal, the creator and destroyer of all that was, all that is, and all that there will ever be. It is important to remember, however, that the worshippers of the False Gods, they are not our enemies. They are heathens, ignorant to the truth, but they are not to be condemned for their ignorance. Remember! The Mother Goddess teaches empathy and trust without prejudice or resentment, unselfish love and kindness without bias or spite. It is compassion – benevolence – that one should show, regardless of who or what they are or what they may believe…”

The initial reaction to the other woman came as a surprise to Atalee. The Wood Elf snapped his quill, and the Dwarves immediately turned their attention to her upon hearing that she was attuned to the Chasm of Decay. On their way out, they spoke with disgust, stating that she would find little welcome in Underdeep, calling her a witch. The Orc quickly defended her, which she found equally surprising. He stood for the first time, several heads taller than anyone else in the room, bar maybe the Half-Giant, and then swung his mace, slamming it into the stone floor. He growled angrily at them, reminding them that this woman came to help them and then demanded that they leave before he turned them into a blood stain on his blade.

Not exactly the most diplomatic way to handle the situation, but this was an Orc…

---

The bard-chef spoke to her. “A young woman engaged in the religious servitude, her faith leading her into practice. There are no nobler and purer souls than those whose full faith in a God. Truly, no more powerful. May you be served in kind for your kindness.”

The entertainment was also paid to compliment them? She recalled that inns and taverns across the land would sometimes provide entertainment, usually somebody playing an instrument or singing a tune. Maybe afterwards, the entertainer would enjoy a drink with the guests, converse with them, get to know them, hear their stories, so on, and so on. They rarely, if ever, showed such unrelenting kindness. It seemed like Dain Lionbeard paid this man to compliment them, maybe boost their morale. Though, Atalee reasoned, it was also possible that entertainment in Underdeep was always like this. Instead of just being entertainers, these people were expected to be unconditionally friendly, rolling out compliments like some kind of conveyer belt of kindness.

The Templar gave this some thought.

…but she didn't quite know how to respond to the Elf and his kind words.

“My name is Atalee Vayshalum, a Templar of the Order of Vexa.” She finally decided, introducing herself with a friendly smile. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Atalee recalled a story told by a Matron. Long ago, a Maiden turning Matron stopped at a tiny little inn on the outskirts of a great wood. She brought with her little food, and thus, had to ration, dividing already small portions into even smaller ones. When she happened upon this tiny little inn, the first thing she was sit down for a bite to eat. However, her hunger got the best of her, and she threatened the chef, demanding that he hurry, for she was growing tired of waiting, having not eaten a proper meal in days. The chef simply nodded and went off to prepare her meal. He returned with cooked meat, potatoes, and vegetables, the proper meal that she had been hoping for. However, the chef hadn’t taken kindly to her harsh words, and when nighttime came, she found herself to be the unfortunate friend of the outhouse where she spent the duration of her stay at that tiny little inn.

Always be kind to the people who prepare your food, something Atalee hoped she'd never have to learn firsthand.

The Templar spoke more generally, “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you all. I took forward to working with you.”

[Max]

The Mortugal Brothers
Underdeep Mustering Hall

---

Mason watched the group talk and talk and talk, greeting each other and getting to know who they’d be working with. The bard walked up to them at one point and, whilst Garth silently panicked, simply paid them a compliment. None of the brothers could tell if it were genuine or not, but still, it was better than being chased off by the points of blades. Would the bard, Davanteaux, have said all that had he known what lied underneath the brothers’ cloak? They wished they knew. And the magi girl, Aupa… Mason wanted to talk to her more than the rest. Maybe it was because she openly admitted to being attuned to the same Chasm the brothers crawled out of over a century and a half ago.

But, as always… Garth was against it.

That wasn’t going to stop Mason from asking, however.

“Garth?” Mason asked quietly, keeping his eyes on the group. Garth, a little lost in thought, raised his head slightly so as to not rustle the cloak much, and replied with a simple, “Yes?” Mason hesitated, but he announced his request clearly enough.

“I want to say hello.”

“Mason.” Garth said, “What did I say before? What do I always say? More important than anything is keeping a low profile. We go over there, we say hello, next thing they’ll start asking who we are, what’s under the cloak, and-“

“Will you stop being such an overbearing wallflower and just let him say hello?” Ferdinand cut in with, perhaps a little too loudly.

Garth paused for a moment, gauging his brother’s interruption. “You’re taking his side?” He whispered afterwards.

“Yes.”

More silence. After a few moments, Garth uncrossed his legs and, with Mason’s arm pushing the brothers upward, got up onto his two meaty feat. “If this doesn’t go well…” He said in a hush tone, “You two have yourselves to blame.” He slowly began lumbering towards the group, eyeing them through the smallest gap in the cloak. The five of them, the two human girls, the wood elf, the high elf, and the orc, didn’t pay much attention to the hulking, wrapped-up figure approaching them until he was only a few feet away. Even when hunched over slightly, the undead trio stood half a head taller than the orc. Not much, but sticking three bodies together doesn’t sound the least bit effective in forming a perfect posture. The three of them remained silent and waited for the group to finish whatever words they had to say, before Mason, still tucked under his ragged hood, silently said to them…

“Hello.”

[Hebaboh]

Underdeep Mustering Hall
Deliv of Bold Red Petal

Deliv of the Bold Red Petal wrote last words in his poem, and then wrapped it into a roll. He closed the ink bottle and then put it and the quill away into one of the backpack's pockets. He had finished his poem just as the Half Giant was lumbering to the lot. Not for everyone else, but to his own amusement. In the new world and the old one he had liked to read poetry the town's wisest ones created, and when he had learned to write and read properly, he had started to create his own. He was proud of his poems, but unfortunately others didn't think them too special. It hadn't been many years before only people he wrote the poems for were he himself and Faebold.

The Dwarves had taken the attuned one with far more uncertainty and loath than was necessary, even if Puafria Aupa( or Puafaria of Wide Wicked Grin as it echoed in Deliv's mind) had attuned to decay. Problem was that the Dwarven warriors were needed in front lines too; as it stood now, they were without a group of local warriors. The Orc with Lonely Blade had been right to roar at them lot. Though in his mind "Now get. OUT." could have been changed to "Now get. BACK".

But after that the High Elf with a lute had started to acknowledge them lot, praising each one of them that had stayed behind to meet Dain's call. Deliv had been writing in peace another verse in his little poem, when he was called. "Brother in Exile" He had started. "Truly those of us who are less than us would hardly last a day in this world" He had finished. Deliv had sat straight and turned his left side to the High Elf, and nodded as the small praise had ended. He had turned back to continue with his poem. The Elves were right to think themselves lasting better in this world than anyone else; They lived long and had experience. Humans spread their fingers everywhere to try out everything, Dwarves shut themselves in mines and forges and crafted weapons and armor and jewelry. Half Giants were excellent workers and fighters but their wits weren't up there. And Mermaids... They had been cowards. Thanks to that cowardice they had kept their kingdoms. They were right to remain hidden. Orcs were barbaric, but at least they protected themselves and fought evil.

No... Only elves were noble. But among elves, only Wood Elves had what it took to survive in the new world. Tenacity and knowledge about nature. Experience with wilderness. They were good people, hard working and in harmony with Faebold (and Cynid, as some did remind), and thus they did deserve whatever Deliv could do for them. He hoped Dain's call was worth the travel...

The Bard had acknowledged them all, save by the cloaked half giant. The Templar had introduced herself as Atalee Vayshalum from Order of Vexa. Deliv had heard very little about it. They had only women in their ranks. Some said male were killed, others that they were all heartbroken women and would never take a mate. Druid in his village had once said "They worship Cynid by different name. Life is their calling". This had confused Deliv more and more back then. It still did, but he didn't put much emphasis on the matter. Woman herself seemed trustworthy both by her nature and by her sword and armor.

And finally, the Elf introduced himself as Davanteaux, servant of Icthus "in this grandest of ages". Deliv doubt the grandest of age he spoke so much about and the skills to stay alive. However, the name Davanteaux had rang a bell. He had heard about him once, but he couldn't say when and what he had heard. Probably some High Elf long time ago in the Old World Amaroth, when their culture had been at it's finest.

Half-Giant, who looked oddly... Asymmetric, approached the lot, and told them shyly a simple "Hello". Deliv fingered his roll of parchment that had the poem written inside. He knew they were strong, hardworking and trustworthy but not too bright, them half giants. This one had cloaked himself, as to hide his body. Probably he had been a malformed as a child and still hadn't gotten past it. And now he would be here to prove it. Though if Deliv was to guess something, he was shy and first time going to an adventure. Looking to prove himself so his malformed body wouldn't be a mark of shame but a mark of pride. Deliv nodded to the Half-Giant and greeted back.

"Greetings, Half giant. " He said as he put the rolled poem inside his leather jerking. "What are you called?"

---

Dark Mountain and it's dwarves. Black city and fiery forge. People look up and see no skies.
It's not sun that brings the heat. It's not water that fills the stream. Always night, no sunrise.
The tower is big, moat is fire. Hall is tall and ahead a road. Folk around, men or mice?
Dwarves fill the wall and chair. Humans here wait for Dain. A giant is wider than me by thrice.
An elf comes inside for sings. Lonely blade here laughs and grins. Woman does not recognize.
Giant whispers to himself. Introduction by orc and elf. Lady with grin does likewise.
Death and decay walks with us. In the front so many to push. From behind the arrow flies.
Dwarves, elves and humans for task. A Lonely Blade and Giant with mask. People whom a caller ties.
The cowards are gone, heroes stay. In front of us waits the pray. In the evening we celebrate twice.
They were called, one by one. Praised like the morning sun. The elven praise, truth or lies?

Let there be a one last praise. For one who melt my heart like ice. Let me meet the lovely eyes
of Fabiola, a hunter raised.
Deliv, Of Bold Red Petal, in Underdeep where the sun doesn't raise

[Panquake]

Dain Lionbeard & Surtus Powdermane

Underdeep

The general hubbub of conversation faltered slightly as the heavy door to the Dark Tower swung open once again to reveal two short and burly figures. Their faces hidden by hooded cloaks, they quickly make their way to the center of the room before revealing themselves- the first wore simple garments adorned with leather straps and pauldrons. Folding back the dark hood of the black cloak showed the face of Surtus, Dain's youngest but strongest son. His stubble has grown in some, giving the illusion of powder on his face, a testament to Dain's old surname. His stubby nose turns up at first sight of the motley crew of individuals before him. His gaze sweeps the room before turning to the other cloaked figure.

Even with his face hidden, it is easy to tell Dain apart from other Dwarves. His gold-flecked white beard hangs in a dozen or so braids, all of which nearly touch the floor. Smoothing the hood back down to his shoulders, his initial reaction is very different from Surtus'. Quickly scanning the room, he smiles, and the look in his pale-blue eyes almost suggests he hadn't expected anyone. He leans to whisper something in Surtus' ear before studying everyone in the room individually. After what feels like several minutes, he brushes his spiderweb-like hair to the side and whispers to Surtus once more, who then turns to address those in the room.

"Firstly," Surtus' voice is rough and deep, as if he's inhaled too much smoke from the great forges, "my father wishes to offer a thousand thanks for the gathering that has accumulated here. You are certainly an odd lot, but he likes the look of you."

Surtus pauses for a moment as Dain leans over yet again to whisper into his ear. Surtus nods, and Dain retreats back to the door, leaning on a wall next to it.

"My name is Surtus Powdermane, youngest son of Dain and a proud warrior of the Krigare Caste. I'm sure you're all familiar with my father, so no introduction is needed." He glances back towards the wrinkled Dwarf, who still has a slight smile on his lips.

"I'm sure you're all as eager as we are to get things underway, so I'll break it down for us."

"A century and a half ago, when us Dwarves retreated back into this mountain, we were surprised when we learned that we were not the only beings to be found living here. The first assault from the abominations below was totally and wholly unprepared for, and is forever written in the annals of Dwarven history as the Night of Red. Many good men and women died on that night- but in the end, it was Dain who received credit for a close victory, to say the least. This event gave birth to the Dwarven Castes, and whatever dwells in the belly of this mountain has been the longest and bloodiest war we Dwarves have fought. Underdeep is far from the haven it once was, but Dain is proud to claim it as a place of safety in this world, and has gone to great lengths to keep it this way. However, there are those that would work against him to prevent that from happening."

Surtus pauses for a moment to clear his throat.

"My father has been studying any reports and any evidence retrieved about the evil that lives beneath our feet, and on the eve of an expedition to oust our foe, the unthinkable happened. Dain Lionbeard, Speaker for the Dwarves of Underdeep, lost his tongue."

Dain opened his mouth to prove the claim- sure enough, no tongue could be seen. However, it was clear that it wasn't cut out- it was almost as if a tongue had never been there in the first place.

"The witch that cursed my father to never speak again has fled into the Deep Pits, and the expedition has since been put on hold since the Speaker cannot speak. He cannot lead."

Dain pushes himself away from the wall with a grunt and joins his son in the middle of the room.

"Your task, should you all still hold interest, will be to hunt down the witch that cursed my father and figure out a way to reverse the curse- how that happens isn't rightly known, but hopefully, it involves slaying her. It would also be helpful to learn if this woman is linked in any way to what lurks beneath Underdeep. That-"

Dain interrupts his son to whisper in his ear once more.

"There's another thing, minor to the more important task but still worth looking into if you want more pay. Our Brewmaster, Kreggin, makes occasional trips to the Deep Pits to deliver the stale and badly made ale to the prisoners there- it isn't much, but it helps them work better, if only slightly. He hasn't been seen since, and most of Underdeep isn't aware of his absence entirely. We haven't heard from him and we'd like to- if you see him, tell him to send word to Dain that he's okay."

"One more thing- the witch, she's a dwarf. Long black hair that touches the ground- pale and freckled skin. Should be pretty easy to pick out in a crowd."

Surtus laid a hand on Dain's shoulder.

"Now, if there's any questions, nows the time for them to be asked. Otherwise, give us the okay and we'll show you your path."

"What about the reward from dealing with the witch, or shall we discuss that afterwards?" Asked one of the two elves in the room, at least from Surtus' observations. He always had trouble telling the differences between elves and humans in the lowlight of Underdeep.

"My father is overseeing that aspect personally, though since he can't speak, you'll find out." Dain nodded in approval. The room was quiet for several minutes, though Surtus was once again the one to break the silence.

"If that's all for questions, we'll head off immediately."

--

Underdeep Slums- Deep Pits Entrance

When compared to the likenesses of the great maw that is the entrance to Underdeep, the entrance to the dreaded Deep Pits is similar in several aspects. It stretches upwards, though isn't as tall as the main entrance, and also pertains the rocky jaws, as if the Dwarves had taken a liking to the shape when crafting the great tunnel within. However, in contrast to the front entrance, no lights can be seen from within, only an inky darkness that extends down the tall but jagged shaft. When looked upon from the entrance, it is not hard to understand why some Dwarves refer to the Deep Pits Entrance as the "Throat of the Mountain". As of now, it seems the tunnel is uninhabited, though since it stretches for miles it's difficult to tell just who or what dwells within.

"Here we are, the hellish entrance to the Deep Pits, the Throat of the Mountain, the place where the damned go to rot their lives away." Said Surtus as he stepped up to where the shadows ended and the dim torchlights from the slums only started to fade.

"One way in, one way out. All traffic to and from the Deep Pits is funneled through here, though there's much more of the former. It's a relatively straight shot into the Pits themselves from here, only a few twists or turns, and even those are mostly just outposts where you can get your bearings. I wish I could tell you more, but all I can tell you is that the Witch is somewhere between here and the Pits, if she hasn't tried to disguise herself and hide within the Pits. It's a simple get in, find the witch, get out with what info you can. If you have to kill her, so be it. And don't forget about Kreggin, last we heard he was somewhere down here, as well. Best of luck, adventurers. Dain's countin' on ya'."

Surtus stepped forward, slinging from a shoulder a leather pack. Had he always had that on? Inside were torches of varying sizes, though all seemed to be covered with the same amount of flammable material regardless. He passed a few to each member of the party.

"These'll light on just about anything, so watch where you swing them. If it goes out, just swipe it against the wall, should light right back up."

Surtus withdrew from the group and gave a small bow, placing the leather pouch back on his shoulder. He turned and started back towards the Dark Tower, "Thorbr save us." he muttered under his breath.

And so the party was left at the threshold of the dark Throat of the Mountain, which beckoned them to come in.