For those that find us-
As Grungni foretold, Chaos has come.
As He commanded, we have sealed this place.
The East Lands are lost.
Lead our dead to Valaya.
Slay the monsters that remain.
May the Ancestors deliver us.
The High Rune Lord Dveringar seated his chisel in the loop of his belt, the hammer he had beaten it with clenched in the other hand. As he looked up at this new message in the cavern wall, the leather of the hammer’s handle whined in his tightening grip.
Not a record of events, he realized as he groomed his graying beard—more a eulogy. He was so tired now. The cold of this place had seeped into everything, not least of which his knees which ached with age.
He took note of the various protection runes and wards he and his apprentices beat into the nearby gate. Their glow, while still mighty, had lost some of their luster in the seasons since they were etched.
He cursed and spat, barely able to see where it landed. As he stood by that same gate, the darkness pressed in with a heavy weight. The love of Valaya, the glow of the runes—those were the only sources of light left, since the last of the lantern oil had been hauled to the deeper halls of this, the last Dwarfen hold in the East.
Why had the Ancestor Gods still not come? The East Lands had been the first to face the tide of daemons, which now manifested endlessly. Every gibbering beast that fell would split into two more, or be replaced by another maddening form just as quickly. Even now, he could hear them—endless baying of mutants, the wailing of damned souls, and the wet slither of unholy abominations probing for weaknesses in their defenses. Each sound grated against his spirit, reminding him of the isolation that surrounded them, the ever-hungry beasts beyond. It gnawed at his patience, his faith.
We sent for them so many, many times. Still no army to save us. No scattered throngs. Not even a reply from the nearest holds..
Were the Eastern Clans to be lost with the few survivors that fled to Uzkulak? Did this tide of beasts rise elsewhere? Yes. That must be it. Dwarfen honor would not allow our kin in the Mountain Realms to abandon us. Never!
One winter more. He needed only to be strong one winter more. Then the might of the High King would charge down and scour the East of monsters, crazed Umgi, and the Great Book of Grudges of every wrong done to Dveringar’s kin.
Thoughts of wrongs made right and triumphant rescue by his kin soothed Dveringar and he and his hammer sighed in relief.