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Although small, the town of Skelt was doing its best to throw a celebration. For now, after months of discussions, and weeks of travel, there was to be a trade caravan arriving from the duergar settlement of Kraggodan. This would be the first time that this settlement of duergar set foot outside of the underdark in more than thirty years. Some of the traders who were coming had never set foot outside of their kingdom before.
Every one of the townspeople had worked hard in preparation - as did many of the visitors. There was a feeling that swept through everyone, that something special was about to happen. They were on the precipice of change. The new dawn was to bring endless possibilities, and a new friendship with a people almost forgotten.
Visitors, mostly humans and dwarves, had come from far and wide, all with their own reasons. Some had come hoping to acquire old relics. Others simply wanted to see if the stories of the dwarves were true. And there were still more with other agendas entirely. Dietrich had arrived days ago, spending his days quietly observing to make sure things would go smoothly, while spending many of his nights over an open fire, telling tales of dwarven strength and heroics. The only other elf who had made the journey was Ariael, who had arrived that morning. He had hopes that the duergar travelers would be able to give him information pertaining to the movements of the subterranean drow.
Many of the dwarves who came had lost their heritages, and were indistinguishable from the humans in every way except for their sizes. Those that were trying to keep their culture alive banded together nearly instantly, and spent days working to sculpt a large statue of Rogar Tarnhammer, one of the most beloved dwarven kings. Ancian had been drawn to them almost immediately, longing to learn more about his people, and agreed to help them, for while he had no knowledge of stone, he knew more than many of them about steel. Thanks to him, the statue that they would unveil had a massive metal hammer that stood out from the stone statue.
Finally, at last, the day had come, and many had rose early in the morning to wait, crowding around the bridge that lead towards the Mindspin Mountains, each wanting to be the first to see the arrival. As the hours dragged on, the town itself seemed to hold its breath. Banners swayed in the wind, and the world was silent. The town elders watched the horizon with anxiety, knowing that without this trade agreement, it was likely that they could not hold out against both Cheliax and Molthune.
The fear of their preparations, their hope, having been for nothing only served to make the excitement that much more palpable when the caravan arrived. The group had not had an easy trip, having lost 3 duergar of their original party of 12 in the weeks of travel. If any of the duergar had been asked, as they stepped into the sun (some of whom had never seen it before), and saw the excitement just for them, whether it had been worth it, they would be hard pressed to say no. Many on both sides wept openly, overwhelmed by the bittersweet emotions of mutual loss and now, hopefully, salvation.
While the duergar were intending to spend some time in town trading before venturing back to their dark citadel, there were two among them that had different destinations in mind. Gumar had fulfilled his obligation to help the caravan get to its destination, and was now free to go on his way. During the trip he had been shown the road that lead to Fasturvalt. Though he had never been there, its was the largest settlement of his people for quite some distance, and it was the closest thing he might have to a home. Skygge on the other hand was determined to finally leave his home. His ambitions of reaching Dammerhall and discovering what had happened to it were largely ignored by his peers, but he had hopes that on the surface he might have more luck finding individuals interested in adventure.
Walking through the townspeople of Skelt left Dietrich Storyteller hopeful for the first time in a long time. The humans were looking to this day as the possiblity of independence from their much larger neighbors. Some of the Dwarves saw it in that light as well, no doubt; but there were a few, a few who understood that this was an action of a race desperate for something more than the isolation they had and the slow disappearance of what little they had left.
"And what about me, what does this day mean for me?" He said to no one in particular. At the age of 355, old even for an elf, no one bothered when the old storyteller talked to himself. In fact, they probably would have worried if he hadn't. "Do I really hope that this is the day where things change, after 350 years, I am not that naive am I? Maybe I am just excited to see my Kraggodan friends in the light of day for once, though..." looking up to the son before he finishes his thought to himself, "Even for my eyes, the sun seems bright, I hope they all brought their goggles."
When the shouts and cheers came that were inevitable, the ones from those in front that signaled that the caravan had been spotted, Dietrich smiled, and moved to a place in the crowd where he could greet the Duegar, and congratulate them on such a momentous occasion. He claimed a spot near the newly created statue of Rogar Tarnhammer. He spoke, this time not to himself, but to the crowd, and he said, "It hasn't been since Tarnhammer's nephew, Durklecog, stopped a warband of cave trolls, driven by the monster two-headed troll Blopur, on the hillside outside of Skelt, that the citizens of this city have been so excited to see a group of dwarves roll in to town. Rejoice, for this is a monumental day!" Smiling at those around him, he sits and waits for the caravan.
Skygge is impressed. Through his smoked googles he cannot see the expressions on the faces of the hundreds of people gathered today, but the reason for the commotion is clearly as the freaking overbright sun!
When they are approaching he speaks to Gumar, since they chatted a little during the trip, which by the way was troublesome. "You see that Gumar? That's the result of hope! People need greater things as an example to follow!"
His hearth was now more hopeful than ever, and he was certain to find here the people he needed for his absolutely-not-crazy quest. Maybe he would join a really strong group, who knows?
But if they were having problems this close to the surface, what is to say of the real darklands? The quest seemed darker and darker the more he knew about it, but as he said some days ago, as long as the reason for the quest remains, the price is meaningless, so cheer up!
"Greetings good folk! I hope you weren't expecting us to bring Ale, cause we drunk all we had!"
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Gumar blinked and shaded his eyes. The light was too bright, hurting them, and there were people screaming all around. Also, he had heard the stories about top-side, and they didn't do justice to the strangeness of it all. He tried telling himself that the ceiling that the topsiders called 'sky' was just like a giant Sapphire, with a bright light streaming through it, but it still didn't work. Screwing up his eyes to help against the glare of the bright light, he wished for the hundredth time that they would be finished and could make their way to Fasturvalt. Through the glare, he could see some dwarf statue, with a strange creature nearby, like a drow but with fair skin instead of black, wittering about some forgotten hero. He could hear many of his duergar compatriots crying, as were the topside dwarves. Proof that they were all crazy. Perhaps the Bright light had fried all their brains; certainly the duergar he had talked to seemed to have mush for brains. He spat to one side,
"dangfool topsiders. All topsiders are crazy," He muttered. "So is that dangfool quester." he added for good measure, wondering if such madness was contagious. He hoped that they listened to him and never set foot in the darklands. He suspected they won't. He could see the gleam of a fanatic in their eyes. "Perhaps they'll have it knocked out of them. perhaps they'll realise the folly of wandering the darklands and leave well alone. And perhaps the drow will all surrender and we'll all live in peace again." he scowled at the passing crowd, and spat again. the thoughts had given him bad humours. He could feel the beginnings of a headache forming, probably that great light. At least there was no sign of the cold or lightning of a dragon's breath. Why do people wander around if there is such a possibility? surely it would be safer to be in a bulding. He would feel much better under a roof. then he wouldn't have to think about the strange ceiling and the feeling of always falling up that it engendered.
A middle aged Elven man, with silver hair(though not due to age) and golden eyes walks amongst the people, bow strapped to his back, along with a rather large sword. His eyes are a touch grim, but there is a smile on his face as he wanders, listening to all the chatter.
As he overhears one of the dark gnomes mention the Darklands he walks over to him "Had some trouble underground, eh?"
As the caravan rumbles to a stop in the center of the city, Deitrich eyes the dwarves who are there. A few he recognizes from his time in Kraggodan, but there are some who are new to his old elven eyes. When he sees a well-armed elf move to talk to a svirfneblin who a dour expression on his face, he is surprised. "Now where did you come from, when did you get here, and how did I miss seeing you during the preparations?" He ponders to himself. "There will be time to find out, but now, I have a caravan to welcome."
He extends his hand and grabs the forearm of the lead driver. "Drogic, my friend, I am glad to see you made it, I hope the trip was pleasant enough." He greets the leader of the caravan with a smile, and then nods toward the dwarf screaming about ale, "Young lad, if you were wise, you would step down from there and quite screaming about empty kegs, you might cause a riot."
"You got it! Now that the trade route is reopened we shall have prosperity, once more, but that's not enough!" He climbs down and passes beside Gumar, without being bothered by the sun (but hardly seeing much), and approaches the Elf who's speaking with them. "So you know the caravan owner?"
The Elf chuckles "Well, I happen to be the latter, so yes, I have. Tell me, how far out from Skelt were you attacked?"
Turning to the svirfneblin, he says, "I must disagree with your disagreement, the vast majority of my trips in the darklands have been pleasant. Just ask Drogic about the summer trip through the back highway we took, absolutely enjoyable." He turns to the dwarf who he had greeted first, and asks, "When was that, 40 years ago? Before your beard got gray, that much I know for sure." He says with a bit of a wry smile. Turning his attention to the dwarf he addressed earlier, he says, "Known him for years, sense he was a wee little lad in fact, knew his father before him as well. Drogic Alebender is a good dwarf, that is for sure."
Ancian stood just outside the crowd of those watching the caravan arrive. He understood that this was a major achievement for the dwarves of this region, and yet, he stayed unmoved. He watched as other cried or cheered or both, but still his emotions did not sway.
As the crowd continues to grow in the center of town, he approaches the statue of the great king Tarnhammer. He had learned a lot about Dwarven history while helping with the statue, but it all seemed like a fairy tale. "Stoneforge, oh the irony.", he scoffed to himself as he looked up to the glorious steel war hammer he had forged for the King.
As he made his way back through the crowd toward the caravan, he spotted two elves standing out among the mostly shorter crowd. He couldn't make them out well, but one was definitely older... The Bard! He made his way through the mass, much quicker now. He finally broke his way to the front where his new friends, the Duergar and the elves had gathered and were talking.
His heart is racing and his palms are sweaty as he emerges from the crowd. "I found you!"he tells through staggered breathes. Much quieter now, almost a self-affirmation,"I finally found you."
The Elf chuckles "Well, I happen to be the latter, so yes, I have. Tell me, how far out from Skelt were you attacked?"
"Not far, actually. I lost a friend in the last one, the one who would be coming with me to Fasturvault. He looked a lot like that guy over there" - pointing to Ancian - "But the trouble is proportional as how deeper you are. The deeper the more dangerous."
Dietrich, at 355, was past the point of pride and stoicisim. Most elves living in his homeland at his age strove to be the model of stoic, putting forth a visage that never changed, was never surprised or taken aback. Dietrich, however, was not like the elves of his homeland, he had made that decision long ago. So, while standing in the midst of the caravan, speaking to friend and stranger alike, Dietrich could not contain his surprise to be approached by a dwarf whose exuberance could not be contained at having found him. He turned to the newcomer and after overcoming his surprise, he said, "Indeed, you have finally found me, but the real question young dwarf, is are you sure you were really searching for me?"
Drogric looks overjoyed to see his old friend Dietrich after so many years and returns his arm grab with a great belly laugh. "You old dog, I should've known you'd be here. Getting into more trouble, sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?" His rib is completely good natured, as they both know how much Dietrich had done for the dwarven people.
He lets out another laugh at Dietrich's recollections of the past. "Closer to 50, I think. We were really something back then." His eyes take on the glassy look of someone focusing on the past. "Ah, so much possibility in those days."
As young Ancian comes up, seeming almost overwhelmed, the old dwarf looks up at Dietrich. "Is it so hard to believe, old friend, that a young dwarf might seek you out? After all the tales? We have our own name for you, you know. Khazâd Nai-Khazâd: The only elf to ever care for the plight of our people." He looks at Ancian, his expression a combination of embarrassment and sorrow, having forgotten the chasm that separated the duergar and the dwarves, and feeling an emptiness where they were once united.
When you begin speaking about the recent attack, one of the other dwarves chips in about it. "It's the damn drow." he glowered, eyeing Ariael with a degree of suspicion. "They're pushing further and further out, forcing everyone else to do the same. Skis'Raal never used to be near the Gnome King's Highway before. Not never."
Dietrich turns from the young dwarf and looks back on the face of Drogic and says simply, "You honor me my friend, and you know I would have it no other way." He then smirks and adds, "Drogic, how emotional you have gotten in your old age, I think I see tears in those eyes." Then he laughs and turns back to the young dwarf. "Now that you have found me, do you mind if I ask who you are, and why you were looking for m-?" But before he finishes his question he hears one of the other dwarves mention the Skis'Raal attacking near the Gnome King's Highway and he is taken aback. He turns quickly back to Drogic and says, "Time is running short then is it?"
Skygge knows nothing specific about what they are talking, but he certainly understands why time is running short, and he agrees with it. "Indeed it is. Time for insane measures has arrived. I assume all this people are here because of this, right? To take arms?" He show a victorious smile.
Dietrich, trained as an ambassador for more than half a century, who carried out his task for his country for more than a century on top of his training, was used to being pulled in different directions. But the strands of communication, the multitude of threads of conversation and the voices pulling at him, it didn't not agree with his old mind as it once did. He ignores the frustration that is growing in his belly, and he cocks his head to the side, looking at the doom prophet of lost ale and says, "These people here," he gestures to the crowds around him, "you want to take up arms? And do what master dwarf? Clear the highway? Start a rebellion? I think you are have mistaken their purpose here, they are celebrating because this trade agreement with Kraggodan will keep Skelt free and self-sufficient enough to avoid being dragged under the thumb of nations larger than they." He pauses, and then asks with curiosity in his eyes, "Why did you think they were here, and what would you have them take up arms for?"
"Oh really?" He scratches his left ear, thinking for a bit. "Well, I thought it was clear enough, but maybe the surfacers do not understand it, yet. Something is growing in the underground, and it won't take long to destroy everything there. Then they will have nothing else to destroy but the surface." His features harden a bit, although he is very young. "We need to do something about it! And I know where should we start from."
"Go on, I am listening, what should we do about it, or better stated, where do you advise us to start?"
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Gumar listens in dismay as the dangfool dwarf finds friends who sound likely to go with him. His ears perk up a bit at the mention of drow, and he nods along with the sentiment about the drow, but his head was beginning to hurt and the talk of drow had left a bad tastwe in his mouth. He contented himself with muttering about dangfool dwarves and drow-kin.
Ariael looks to the over-excited Duergar "Tell me master dwarf, are you an experienced war captain or seasoned general able to turn a small, mostly peaceful town into the type of fighting force needed to combat the Drow, the Skis'Raal, and whatever other threats might lurk below the surface? or do you expect to tackle them head on with just a few warriors?"
He understands Dietrich want a schedule, but avoids the question with a clever answer. "We should start through Recruitment!" Skygge smiles.
To the ninja, he stops joking and gives a real answer. "I'm none of those. Statistically, all of the previous seekers have failed, and they were all war captains or seasoned combatants, so if you think about it, an unknown chance is better than a zero percent chance, since they all failed. I do understand taking everyone to war is impossible. It would be better to take 5 warriors than to take 100 common folk. So yeah, just a few warriors should suffice, since we're looking for knowledge through infiltration, and not through sheer force. Knowledge is the most important thing to garner in a journey such as this, and we need to pass it the surface, thus in case the worst happens our legacy remains."
"Seekers of what? You seem to a bit addle brained, talking about things that nobody seems to know about. Why don't you come to the tavern, have a drink, perhaps non alcoholic, and start from the beginning. Right now, you seem all worked up, and aren't making much sense."
"Alright, you keep your secrets dwarf, as for me, I have an old friend to drink too, as well as a new one that apparently has been seeking me for some time." Turning to surface dwarf who had sought him out he says, "Excuse the interruption, but back to where we were, why were you searching for me I am still curious?"
"Aye'll accept the suggestion!"
But before he finishes his question he hears one of the other dwarves mention the Skis'Raal attacking near the Gnome King's Highway and he is taken aback. He turns quickly back to Drogic and says, "Time is running short then is it?"
Drogic shook his head with a shrug. "To the young, everything seems like the end of the world. We've survived worse than this." He paused for a second, and then leaned in closer. "You know better than most that the largest enemy of the dwarves has for decades been ourselves. Things are changing at home. Fear of the outside is becoming deeply rooted."
Ancian is too overcome with emotion to be able to form coherent sentences, but gladly accepts an offer from Dietrich to go to the tavern. While the old elf also invites his dwarven friend, Drogic declines with a smile. "It has been a long and difficult journey, and I'm not the young man I once was. I have a few things yet that I must tend to before I rest. We will talk more tomorrow."
As the others enter the tavern, they're able to easily find a table as well as food and drink. One of the traveling dwarves brought an ancient cask of ale for the celebration. A simple request from the group gets the lights significantly lowered - as the middle-aged barman who runs the place simply wouldn't have known how the light may bother the outsiders, and always does his best to be accommodating.
Finally comfortable, the group drinks deeply of the aged brew, while attempting to get to know each other better.
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Gumar settles into a corner - alone - and nurses his ale. He asks the barkeeper about brewing techniques and finds the strange brew pleasnat enough - none of the nutty flavours of the mushroom beer he used to have as a young man, though a pleasantly strange flavour nevertheless. Her is disappointed to learn that Ale doesn't travel well, though the grain from which it is brewed does, as does a concoction with another substance called hops that makes the ale taste bitter. he makes a note to persuade drogic to pick up some of this grain; though having tried the bitter he is not sure that it would catch on.
Coincidentally, he is close enough to the other table to hear what they say; no doubt it is more dangfool stuff about that dammerhall quest, so he does his best to ignore it, though his ears perk up at the mention of drow again.
Dietrich nods his head to his friends statement, and speaks outloud, again, more to himself than anyone, "Indeed, the fear of the outside has burrowed deep into the very soul of the dwarven people, but it is something that like all worms can be dug out, if one is willing to endure the pain." Shaking his head from his reverie, and claps his hands on Drogic's shoulders. "Fair enough, I would stay and help, but you know better than I that I wouldn't be much help, my body was old when you were born, and now, it cries out to sit and rest. I will see you tomorrow."
He walks toward the nearby inn, gently directly the surface dwarf who was still unable to put his words together in the same direction. The loud doom prophet of ale joins them, as does the grumpy dark-gnome. The other elf heads in that direction as well as a few others from the caravan. Dietrich nods to the elf and as they enter the tavern he says, "I am interested to know what might have brought another elf to a celebration like this on a day like this."
After Ancian's outburst, his interruption is thusly interrupted by his most recent friend, Skygge. He tries to speak up over the Dwarf, but with the other dwarf, Gumar and this other elf chiming in as well, he couldn't get a word in edgewise. He is finally able to garner the attention of the old bard, but again he stammers over his words.
The dwarf from the caravan invites him to the tavern, and in the darkened and quiet room, Ancian can much more easily articulate himself, "Master Elf, I once heard you tell your tales of Dammerhall in a small village south of Tamran. I was drunk, but I remember them so clearly; they were the same stories my grandmother would tell." He pauses slightly and sips his ale. "I want to take it back!" He raises his voice and slams his fist to the table.
A civil voice returns, with some unconscious sadness, "And you're the only person who I thought would even care to help."
The storyteller sat down at a table in the inn with a few from the caravan gathered around. As he leans back in his chair, visibly stretching his aging back, he is surprised by the passion that comes from the surface dwarf who approached him earlier. "Tamran you say? I have been through that area a number of times, but I admit that I do not remember you young one, I am sorry."
He looks at the dwarf closely for a moment before he continues, "I tell many tales, some about the wonder and beauty that was Dammerhall, but I also can tell you just as many, if not more stories, of dwarves who set out to take back Dammerhall and never returned. Why would you want to risk such a fate, why would you want to try and take it back as you say?"
The other Elf was going to speak to his brethren, but there was this rather energetic young dwarf who sought the bard's attention more. So, Ari took off his bow, propped it against the wall next to his large sword, and took a seat, listening. It would appear his old friend's eyes were failing him, having not recognized Ariael. Of course, they hadn't seen in each other in seventy five years or so, but clearly it was due to old age.
Ancian, now filled with a confidence that surprised even him, began his story, "The night I heard your tales, I was sitting at the bar... I remember it as clear as this day. I was with some of my customers, all humans of course, drinking the water they called beer, and I heard you speaking in dwarven. At first I thought I was hallucinating, hearing thing, you know? But my friends responded, too. Though thy couldn't understand your words, they knew the tongue and started discussing the plight of the dwarves. I expected them to ask my 'expert' opinion, though I don't know what I would've said, but they didn't. That's when I realized they didn't even know I was a Dwarf." He inhales deeply, pausing for an instant, there was shame on his face, but it faded quickly. "My nonna always said that one day the dwarves would take back their home, but that day I realized, if things continued down the path they were going, they would be no Dwarves to take on the task." he lowers his voice a bit, "I may not be the greatest warrior, but if no one does it, no one will do it. Dammerhall is a distant memory to my generation and some think we are simply becoming human." The shame returns again for an instant, but he continues, "I'm fighting for the honor of all the dwarves, and I believe Torag will guide my hammer. If we plan our attack, are resolute in purpose, he will aid us." He has now stood up, his voice louder, but waivering with nervousness, "If I am strong and my steel is strong, he will help, I know he will." Ancian realizes how long he's rambled and how loud he'd gotten. He stops awkwardly and sits down slowly.
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Gumar can't help overhearing the dwarf at the next table, and splutters into his drink when the dwarf said that the humans didn't recognise he was a dwarf. Must be the bright light, makes them blind. he thought. Fortunately, noone seemed to notice him spluttering, as they continued their conversation. The whole monologue left a bad taste in his mouth, and he felt like spitting, but wasn't sure of the topside etiquette, so he held his water. Dangfools planning to attack an ancient ruin with likely nothing there. All in search of a lost glory, when there is glory enough for any dangfool already.
Dietrich listened in silence to the young surface dwarf's impassioned speech. What had surprised him that night in the bar, that the humans he lived around didn't even realize he was Dwarven, was not something that surprised him anymore. He had lost count of how many times in his travels he had to remind humans what dwarves were or that they were very different. Yet sadder still, was how many times he had to have those same conversations with dwarves themselves who didn't even realized who or what they were.
"Young lad, I sympathize with you. I tell stories that have long been forgotten by the dwarven people themselves, to remind them who they once were, and hope that they might find for themselves their identity once more. But that doesn't mean I encourage young dwarves filled with ideals to head off on foolhardy quests." He says quietly, looking at the dwarves sitting around the table. He takes a breath and continues, looking as if he is choosing his words carefully, but in reality, this is a conversation he has had many times. "Why does saving the dwarves require the restoration of Dammerhall? Why not choose one of the other thousand different possibilities or solutions that could accomplish the same task?" His tone is cold, almost accusatory, designed to attack not the thinker, but the thought itself. It is a conversation he has had before, and his response is part of the routine, a part of the test that Dietrich gave to any who came with the same thought, the same purpose in their minds.
Examining the young dwarf while awaiting his answer, Dietrich can't help but think, "What will you say? Will you be any different?"
Ancian is blindsided by Dietrich's response. This was the man who was supposed to help. If he won't help, who will? I guess i have Skygge...and maybe that other elf, and maybe...His mind starts to race but he reenters the moment, thinking hard on the question at hand. He takes long to answer, and the silence is heavy. While he thinks, his face is withdrawn, the rough Dwarf's eyes staying closed for minutes at a time. As he begins to speak, his face brightens, and his voice is forceful and confident, "Dietrich, you say you understand our plight, and I truly believe you. You have seen much in your day, and are revered by my cousins. He isn't sure if he should say that about the Duergar, but he doesn't care. "but when this is all said and done, whether we go or not, or live or die, you will run back into the woods." His gaze fixes to Dietrich's, "We have no place to run." There is a slight indignation in his voice, perhaps in response to Dietrich's seeming apathy. "You say there are thousands of possible ways to rally the Dwarven people, and yet you say we are dwindling now faster then ever. And worse, the ones who are around are assimilating into humanity anyway." For an instant, the shame returns to his face, but his passion returns to smother it. "Where are these possibilities? Dwarfs are spread out across countries and continents, and what? You wish them to give up everything, unite and settle in a human city? Or perhaps the elves will take us in? That's crazy, and tantamount to an invasion. Or perhaps the stalwart and steadfast dwarves should find a mountain and rebuild? There isn't a chance in the nine you get a Dwarf out of his door without the promise of somewhere to go. Especially of homes as cozy as most have found." His voice has settled, and he realizes he has left his home, his family and his whole life for an invariably impossible quest. He smiles, and chuckles to himself, placing his fist to his chest, "Maybe there is a shimmer of humanity in here, but I'm a Dwarf to my core. The Dwarves need a home, and Dammerhall is our home.
Dietrich studies the young dwarf as he responds. "He is thoughtful, that is good, at least he is smart enough to know that the first thing in one's head must be studied and examined before spoken aloud. But could he, could they... it is too soon too tell." He can't help inwardly taking stock of the dwarf who was speaking, but he also can't help but hear the accusation in his voice. "Not as if I haven't heard a hundred different dwarves accuse me of the same thing, in fact that was mild compared to some." His mind snapped to an image of another young dwarf, with red hair the color of apples in the springtime, a golden kilt and a golden shield to match on his arm, and a warhammer two sizes too large for a dwarf at his side, calling him a cloud-walking, girdle-wearing, pointy-eared, empty-headed, betrayer of the dwarves. "Boramma walked this path and never returned..." He couldn't help but think looking at this dwarf, "will you?"
As the young lad chuckles and sits down, Dietrich can no help but fill in the blanks. Ignoring the insults and the assumptions made about him, he says, "There isn't a chance in the nine that a Dwarf would leave his home and journey on a quest into the unknown is there? I can count two who seem to have already done exactly that, seeking something that that don't quite understand, something they believe in but can't prove or touch or grasp. No, the dwarves aren't as entrenched in their cozy lives as you think. But that isn't because they don't have a home." He says quietly, shifting the conversation back on topic without missing a beat.
"If you want other options, ask that dark gnome there, he has some ideas for you, many of them will be rational and good. You say the dwarves need a home, why not just expand one of the current Dwarven city-states? Why not find a new mountain to burrow into? There are options, thousands of options, if we wanted to make a list, but all of them will have problems. No solution is ideal, because all the solutions pose problems, and present obstacles to overcome. If you pick one Dwarven city-state, the others will be offended and will begin to ask why not us? What gives you the right to choose? If you go and try and find a new home, they are going to simply ask why is it better than mine now?"
He sighs and says, "Young lad, I don't even know your name, but I know enough to say this, you are seeking the wrong answer. The answer to the dwarves problem is not a new home, Dwarves already have homes and they have gotten them nothing. Dwarves don't need a home, they don't need another forge to call their own, or some other place to mine and delve, but what they need is something they have been missing, for far too long, they need their souls back."
He looks at the eyes on him now, more attention than he wanted with this conversation, but none the less, he had gone too far to stop now, "They need that which made them unique once more. They need to take their place in the created order again. They need a purpose and an identity that is uniquely theirs, something they can take pride in and place their confidence in. What the dwarves lost when Dammerhall was destroyed, was their soul, their identity, their purpose, all of which was what they prided themselves on and all of which was where their confidence, unshakable and annoying as it might have been, was founded. The dwarves don't need a home young lad, they need their souls back. Until you understand that, Dammerhall will continue to remain lost." He sighs, as he leans back in his chair, his face suddenly looking more aged than it had a few moments prior.
Looking over at the Duegar, he simply asks, "Is this the recruitment you were hoping for?"
"Yes!" He says it aloud and strong, answering with all he have although your question could have been felt as sarcastic. "We don't intend to gather a marching army. That has been done before, and failed. A strong dwarf with convictions is the best option to start with a recruitment, so, I'll tell you this, Ancian. Even if it's just the two of us, we will go for a dangfool crazy quest after our lost city.
But beware, master Elf, cause you got exactly to the point and then lost yourself. You first said we are doing something we don't understand."
He raises an eyebrow and smiles, checking your reaction when he agrees with you. "You are obviously right, and that's exactly the problem. Lost souls, lost glory, lost homes, lost individuality. All that is lost can be taken back. What is broken can be fixed. The wicked can be redeemed. The problem is, we don't know what we lost. We think we lost a city, but some like me say we lost out glory, and others like you say we lost our souls, while some dangfool others say we lost our mind. In any case, the quest we need to start is not one to simply take a place back, but much different." He pounces a finger twice in his head. "We are searching knowledge. There is a need to understand what happened. It doesn't matter what other thousand things we try, and believe me when I say we have been trying those along the last two centuries, cause none of them will be effective to heal our pathology."
He lifts fingers as he numbers the main options. "Build a new mighty city? The tragedy that befell Dammerhall will happen again. Expand one of the existent cities? When it get mighty enough the tragedy that befell Dammerhall will happen again. Live is small burrows, hidden as the Svirfneblin live and hope they are not attacked? An unknown force in the darklands will soon come to finish us. Try to take Dammerhall by force? We don't even know what we will be fighting against! We didn't lost our soul, Elf, we are still the same in the core, not mattering how much time one has lived among the humans. Anyway, the discussion of what we lost will take weeks and countless arguments, so we need to be direct, and there's one thing no argument can oppose: Since Dammerhall's fall there's a shadow hanging over us. This shadow, which prevents we from seeing far away, is called doubt. We've tried running from it, or illuminating the path to drive it away, but it is unreachable. We may think we've got rid of it, but take two more steps and there it is again. It reaches all dwarves, wherever they are, but it is spreading slowly, and the other races that live underground are already feeling its grasp, like the Svirfneblin. They are just too stubborn to realize it, but eventually they will, although probably it will be too late."
"Have you ever heard of the law of inertia? It says something will maintain its movement as long as external forces are not applied against it. And the shadow is indeed spreading at a slow but constant rate, and none of us is strong enough to stop it at its borders. So what do we do? As a could of smoke that threatens to suffocate you, find its source, and extinguish it. The source of this shadow, of our doubt, is Dammerhall. What happened? Why? Will it happen again? Who did this? What do they want? What will befall next? These questions have no answer, and as long as we do not seek them deeply, we will never get rid of the shadow that hangs over us. And as long as the goal is worthy, although probably unreachable, the cost is meaningless." His face is just the opposite of the elf's. He looks young, although no dwarf look young with their beards, and there's some twisted muscles on his face giving him a proudly mad appearance.