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Explorer
Great Delve 2
8 Flamerule
I was born in, and raised by, Zhentil Keep. My father was a baatezu—a cornugon I believe, rewarded for some service to the Lord of Murder with the rape of a half-dozen priestesses. My mother alone among them bore fruit, and I was born.
My birth was enough to set her above the others of her rank, but not enough to force her to keep me. I was given to the streets seven months before the Time of Troubles took Bane from the world. Zhentil Keep taught me the meaning of deprivation, and the difference between obedience and loyalty.
I do believe I have outlived my mother.
9 Flamerule
The traps along the great highway are disabled by hidden machinery at least four hundred paces away. What engineer could build such a magnificent device?
The survivors of our fight with the blasphemous dwarves are to the north and east of the entry hall, although their area is different from the other parts of this place in that it shows signs of decay and disrepair.
Once we can agree on a strategy, we will go after them, and avenge our Noble Dead!
9 Flamerule
Enkil is back! Even the hands of Death are like a sieve in this mysterious place! We were dragging our casualties toward the entrance of the place when we spotted him. He almost got shot for his trouble, but fortunately Selise had the presence of mind to call out a “who goes there” before we attacked him.
He claims that the blow that struck him down did not kill him at all, for Moradin snatched his soul from its vessel before the axe struck. Enkil found himself in another room in the Great Delve, although it seemed he had been thrust into the past, during a time when the house of Moradin here fell to the usurper’s knives. He witnessed a score of dwarven clerics, Moradin’s clergy to the last, dead in pools of their own blood—a handful of soldier-types stood over them, picking through their mouths for gold.
Of course, Enkil laid into them fiercely, but they cut him down, and as he lay dying for the second time, he was approached by none other than this Hepis himself, who claimed divinity and offered Enkil life should he turn from Moradin and worship Hepis.
Our boy spit in this Hepis’ eye, of course, and the Usurper King smote him, but again his soul was denied its reward. Enkil found himself in some sort of shadowy purgatory, along with the souls of the other Moradin priests killed there.
The twenty priests told Enkil that it was he that must “go back”, as his body had not yet rotted away to nothing. They could return him to his life, but at a tremendous cost: in so doing, they condemned their own essences to the Void, never to know Moradin’s Paradise.
It strikes me as horribly tragic, and I would never have believed it, save for the living proof of Enkil’s return from the dead.
Enkil says that his soul is now bound to the place, and that he will wither and die if he leaves it for more than a few days. He seems well enough content, but has hinted that his soul, too, will be forfeit to the Void should he be slain a second time. That must be a heavy burden.
Enkil chants the names of the twenty fallen priests like a mantra, and has begged us to memorize them, that their sacrifice never be forgotten.
If his story is true, does that mean that we now do Moradin’s work? Do we oppose this godling Hepis? Fire and Torment, all I ever wanted was to be rich!
9 Flamerule
Some force or effect keeps the halls perfectly clean. The bodies lie where we left them, but the blood is gone. No dust disturbs this place. Does that seem curious to you, Ashnern? It surprises me. I had always imagined adventuring would be a filthy business, but you could accrue more soil on ones’ feet dashing from bed to closet across Lady Tess’ bed chamber than in this place. Not that you are likely to do either anytime soon, but you see my point.
9 Flamerule
In all the excitement, I forgot to tell you how we came by those casualties, Ashnern.
We returned to the place where we had found the fleeing dwarves and gave them a sound fight, although their sorcerer was certainly mad as a hatter. The fellow had managed to animate a dozen everburning torches along with a stone altar! When we laid into him, the very furniture leapt to his aid, and we were beaten back.
But this group does not surrender easily, I tell you, and after another night’s rest, we were upon them again, and this time victory was ours!
We have brought with us Bern, a cleric of Kossuth and road-companion to Fitzbit’s sister. For a fire-priest, he seems to be a stable fellow, and a deadly combatant. He is joined by the swordswoman Vai, and with my wits and Selise’s deadly bow, I think we will show this Great Delve what real adventurers can do!
The Northeastern section of this level must once have housed priests. I think we found the body of a truly ancient dwarven turn-coat. It is preserved most perfectly where it lay, and we all agree that the dwarven cleric was smote with holy flame—no doubt his justly deserved punishment from the Dwarven All-Father!
Carved into the wall above this priest is the phrase “No Peace for the Lost Children of Moradin”. I am hoping that this does not mean that we should expect undead, but I am sure that it means just that. Fortunately, Enkil makes for two priests in our group, assuming he is no undead creature himself, cleverly misleading us to please some Dark God (well, Ashnern, that’s what I would do if I were a Dark God).
Whatever Enkil may be, we’re glad to have him, since we needed his hammer to smash a guardian statue that was stubbornly protecting my treasure! We found a few potions, a wand, a magical dwarven helmet (given to the newly living, of course), and a ritual cup with this phrase etched into it:
“Like a great vein of iron / My roots run deeper than any mountain”.
Enkil says that the cup is a symbol for this very Delve. When questioned, he hemmed and hawed about dwarven lore and ancestor veneration relating to the gods. I was not truly able to understand (in fact I was not listening), but I think the gist of it is that these dwarves worshipped their Delve as the mother-symbol of their creation. Moradin is the father, yes, but the First Home is the mother.
Caverns . . . womb. Womb . . . caverns. It all makes sense, really. Cup, vessel, womb, home, mother, etc. After all, it isn’t the body of the father that sustains the young! (Except for some of the more foul races where the children overwhelm and eat their sire.)
But I digress.
This revelation has really thrown Enkil into a sputtering, beard-wringing frenzy. He can’t decide if it is more blasphemous to continue on in this place or to walk away from it. The dwarves pride themselves on being so constant and unchanging, but now we’ve stumbled upon an ancient dwarven home with artwork unlike anything dwarves produce today, and new gods to boot!
I suppose that when you find out that you’ve had it all wrong for so many years, it can really ruin your day, but frankly, it has always struck me as strange that dwarves, like the elves, have a father-god but no mother. Don’t most bastards have mothers without fathers?
Hepis was a mortal dwarf who set himself up as a “god” in this place through base treachery and murder. He is no longer worshipped, but lives on as an apocryphal symbol for “wretched traitor”. Meanwhile, this ancient Dwarven home is a lost goddess altogether, leaving the entire dwarven race to prance about exclaiming, “We have no mother!”, much like I used to on the streets of Zhentil Keep.
8 Flamerule
I was born in, and raised by, Zhentil Keep. My father was a baatezu—a cornugon I believe, rewarded for some service to the Lord of Murder with the rape of a half-dozen priestesses. My mother alone among them bore fruit, and I was born.
My birth was enough to set her above the others of her rank, but not enough to force her to keep me. I was given to the streets seven months before the Time of Troubles took Bane from the world. Zhentil Keep taught me the meaning of deprivation, and the difference between obedience and loyalty.
I do believe I have outlived my mother.
9 Flamerule
The traps along the great highway are disabled by hidden machinery at least four hundred paces away. What engineer could build such a magnificent device?
The survivors of our fight with the blasphemous dwarves are to the north and east of the entry hall, although their area is different from the other parts of this place in that it shows signs of decay and disrepair.
Once we can agree on a strategy, we will go after them, and avenge our Noble Dead!
9 Flamerule
Enkil is back! Even the hands of Death are like a sieve in this mysterious place! We were dragging our casualties toward the entrance of the place when we spotted him. He almost got shot for his trouble, but fortunately Selise had the presence of mind to call out a “who goes there” before we attacked him.
He claims that the blow that struck him down did not kill him at all, for Moradin snatched his soul from its vessel before the axe struck. Enkil found himself in another room in the Great Delve, although it seemed he had been thrust into the past, during a time when the house of Moradin here fell to the usurper’s knives. He witnessed a score of dwarven clerics, Moradin’s clergy to the last, dead in pools of their own blood—a handful of soldier-types stood over them, picking through their mouths for gold.
Of course, Enkil laid into them fiercely, but they cut him down, and as he lay dying for the second time, he was approached by none other than this Hepis himself, who claimed divinity and offered Enkil life should he turn from Moradin and worship Hepis.
Our boy spit in this Hepis’ eye, of course, and the Usurper King smote him, but again his soul was denied its reward. Enkil found himself in some sort of shadowy purgatory, along with the souls of the other Moradin priests killed there.
The twenty priests told Enkil that it was he that must “go back”, as his body had not yet rotted away to nothing. They could return him to his life, but at a tremendous cost: in so doing, they condemned their own essences to the Void, never to know Moradin’s Paradise.
It strikes me as horribly tragic, and I would never have believed it, save for the living proof of Enkil’s return from the dead.
Enkil says that his soul is now bound to the place, and that he will wither and die if he leaves it for more than a few days. He seems well enough content, but has hinted that his soul, too, will be forfeit to the Void should he be slain a second time. That must be a heavy burden.
Enkil chants the names of the twenty fallen priests like a mantra, and has begged us to memorize them, that their sacrifice never be forgotten.
If his story is true, does that mean that we now do Moradin’s work? Do we oppose this godling Hepis? Fire and Torment, all I ever wanted was to be rich!
9 Flamerule
Some force or effect keeps the halls perfectly clean. The bodies lie where we left them, but the blood is gone. No dust disturbs this place. Does that seem curious to you, Ashnern? It surprises me. I had always imagined adventuring would be a filthy business, but you could accrue more soil on ones’ feet dashing from bed to closet across Lady Tess’ bed chamber than in this place. Not that you are likely to do either anytime soon, but you see my point.
9 Flamerule
In all the excitement, I forgot to tell you how we came by those casualties, Ashnern.
We returned to the place where we had found the fleeing dwarves and gave them a sound fight, although their sorcerer was certainly mad as a hatter. The fellow had managed to animate a dozen everburning torches along with a stone altar! When we laid into him, the very furniture leapt to his aid, and we were beaten back.
But this group does not surrender easily, I tell you, and after another night’s rest, we were upon them again, and this time victory was ours!
We have brought with us Bern, a cleric of Kossuth and road-companion to Fitzbit’s sister. For a fire-priest, he seems to be a stable fellow, and a deadly combatant. He is joined by the swordswoman Vai, and with my wits and Selise’s deadly bow, I think we will show this Great Delve what real adventurers can do!
The Northeastern section of this level must once have housed priests. I think we found the body of a truly ancient dwarven turn-coat. It is preserved most perfectly where it lay, and we all agree that the dwarven cleric was smote with holy flame—no doubt his justly deserved punishment from the Dwarven All-Father!
Carved into the wall above this priest is the phrase “No Peace for the Lost Children of Moradin”. I am hoping that this does not mean that we should expect undead, but I am sure that it means just that. Fortunately, Enkil makes for two priests in our group, assuming he is no undead creature himself, cleverly misleading us to please some Dark God (well, Ashnern, that’s what I would do if I were a Dark God).
Whatever Enkil may be, we’re glad to have him, since we needed his hammer to smash a guardian statue that was stubbornly protecting my treasure! We found a few potions, a wand, a magical dwarven helmet (given to the newly living, of course), and a ritual cup with this phrase etched into it:
“Like a great vein of iron / My roots run deeper than any mountain”.
Enkil says that the cup is a symbol for this very Delve. When questioned, he hemmed and hawed about dwarven lore and ancestor veneration relating to the gods. I was not truly able to understand (in fact I was not listening), but I think the gist of it is that these dwarves worshipped their Delve as the mother-symbol of their creation. Moradin is the father, yes, but the First Home is the mother.
Caverns . . . womb. Womb . . . caverns. It all makes sense, really. Cup, vessel, womb, home, mother, etc. After all, it isn’t the body of the father that sustains the young! (Except for some of the more foul races where the children overwhelm and eat their sire.)
But I digress.
This revelation has really thrown Enkil into a sputtering, beard-wringing frenzy. He can’t decide if it is more blasphemous to continue on in this place or to walk away from it. The dwarves pride themselves on being so constant and unchanging, but now we’ve stumbled upon an ancient dwarven home with artwork unlike anything dwarves produce today, and new gods to boot!
I suppose that when you find out that you’ve had it all wrong for so many years, it can really ruin your day, but frankly, it has always struck me as strange that dwarves, like the elves, have a father-god but no mother. Don’t most bastards have mothers without fathers?
Hepis was a mortal dwarf who set himself up as a “god” in this place through base treachery and murder. He is no longer worshipped, but lives on as an apocryphal symbol for “wretched traitor”. Meanwhile, this ancient Dwarven home is a lost goddess altogether, leaving the entire dwarven race to prance about exclaiming, “We have no mother!”, much like I used to on the streets of Zhentil Keep.
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