A Earthen Brown Leather Tome with Dwarven Runes and an Open-Palm Hand

[CrimsonMedicine]

Maribeh 20th, IY 77899

And there came a day when you could no longer sing, for your voices were buried beneath the fall of stone, and only echoes answered you.

As of late, I have had little passion for writing. I've been walking the Well, wallowing in self-pity and sadness. All I can think about is how few Dwarves remain, or how many of my brothers died in war. I feel alone, lonely, and empty. Like a black hole is inside me, trying to swallow up all the happiness people try to bring to me. But, for now, in this moment, I feel inspired to write once more. Is it fleeting? Yes, probably, but for now, my quill moves easily across paper.

For so long, I tell people I am good. That nothing is wrong. I am fine. Most short-lived races merely use these questions as a greeting. Some form of pleasantry. To ask how one is doing. Do they really care, do they want to hear the truth? Or is it just some form of greeting?

So, slowly, I've been testing the waters. Sharing my plights with others. I think people begin to view one as a title. Hakem. Speaker. Rathgan. Veteran. Survivor. The more titles that are added to it, people forget that I am just 'Korin' underneath it all. I've done some things that will hopefully help.

I found counsel with Zol Nur this morning. Speaking to him of our shared plights. He has experienced loss, too, and knows that we must keep living for the dead. To carry their memories for no one else will. That we must push on, otherwise the dead died for nothing. I don't want to go on dreary and mope around the Well. My brothers are dead. My love is dead. Even still, I have duties that must be done, and I am still alive.

For too long have I been looking down at my feet, taking step after step. Not really looking where I was going as my mind looked to the past. I realize now I must lift my head, to gaze up at the stars. To see distant friends lights reflected back at me. To find joy and laughter in the present.

I've since thought of this future and hired people to help me. Help me find the Heir of Got Valdhazr. Coin comes and goes, and the Dwarves of Kulkund have too long coveted dinar when there are people who need it. It's among the acts that saw the High and Deep kin at arms against one another. Maybe a fresh set of eyes will bring success where I have failed countless times over and over.

Who knows, if they bring me nothing? Then I will have the same amount of info I started with, but if they bring me something, anything. Then I would spend all the gold I need to fulfill the promise I made to Ulfgrim. It will be worth it.

"If we have a dark mind, clouded by sorrow then even the light others shed, is dimmer for it." - Zol Nur, Starlight.

[Korinthus Dûngir's Painting Check Skills are Above Average.]



- Mount Kulkund during the colder months, painting from memory.

How long have I been clouded by sorrow? The war took everything from me, but it doesn't mean that I can't get pieces back. I live. I remember. I move forward.

Wisdom, light my way.

[CrimsonMedicine]

Maribeh 22nd, IY 7789

And I kept your song in the hollows of the earth, where silence is long and memory deeper still.

Whilst my mind is not fully healed, and I still occasionally cast my gaze downward. I can say with full honesty, that today was a good day. I kept my head up, I smiled, and I was able to cast away some of the gloom that has been following me ever since the War ended. Sure, I may be alone at night, and the Hall of the Rathgan is quiet. But, when I step outside, I take a breath of the Ash filled air, and remember something.

I'm alive.

I sit on the bench in the Plaza and just watch people go to and fro. Wondering, and fantasizing about their daily tasks. Getting bundles of freshly baked bread, or going to the Souk to check on new wares. Maybe even getting some supplies to build. There have been a lot of builders and artisans walking around as of late. The Stonefolk outside the Hall have been speaking more frequently of visiting the inside of the Well. Perhaps the new district is being worked on.

---

In other good news, I was able to hang out with friends. It's been hard to find people who understand the depths of my pain, my loss, my sorrow. But Rynn and Jamileh get it. They've lost people too, they've wept, and they've seen the horrors of Bet Neppahi. They understand that I lost there too, all of the Rathgan of Tammuz were taken. 'In which lovers shed their tears.' How frighteningly apt.

Even Vellyn and Evarielle are witty and funny to be around at times.

Managed to find a Royal Favour flower that Ulfgrim would always give me too...

[Korinthus Dûngir's Painting Check Skills are Above Average.]



- Tea and Royal Favour flower still life.

I've requisitioned them for a dinner date, not that kind of date, but one where friends sit and chat. It's been ages since Jamileh's seen the Hall. Likely back in the days of the Duunthall, which should be interesting to hear about. I don't think Rynn's ever seen it either. I do worry, though, that conversations will drift towards that of the Rathgan. Even I know how quiet the Halls have gotten. Still, I must make preparations. We will drink tea, enjoy some Flamebringer meatloaf and salad. Separate, of course, and enjoy each other's company, make jokes, talk of history, and maybe our dreams.

Laughter will soon again fill the Halls of the Last Dwarves; the Rathgan.

For now, my own cup of soothing tea awaits me, resting beside this very journal as I pen thoughts to paper. Tonight, it is my guardian against the horrible nightmares that would await me otherwise. Until then, I keep living.

Wisdom, light my way.

[CrimsonMedicine]

Maribeh 24th, IY 7789

Today I spoke at length with Jamileh and Rynn. We draw closer with each conversation. It is good, no, it is necessary, to have companions who can share in the great weight of thought and the warmth of shared inquiry. I'm grateful that I have some still. We spoke of history, of empires long ground to sand, and of the Colossi whose names scrape against the memory of the stars. Time passed unnoticed. That's the blessing of such company: to lose oneself in the vastness of wonder and let it eclipse the echoes of grief.

I confess, it is a balm. A small one. But a balm nonetheless. Much needed.

Because when night comes, I do not rest. Not truly.

The jungle of Bet Neppahi clings to me still, its colors too vivid, its air too thick with heat and blood. I see its canopies in my sleep, swaying like the hands of a grieving god, each leaf whispering names of those we lost. Burning, heat, hatred. Sometimes I wake drenched in sweat, convinced I hear the cries of my kin, echoing through that overgrown graveyard.

And then Ulfgrim comes.

In the deepest reaches of sleep, I see him. Not as he was, but changed, always changed, wreathed in shadow, his eyes like burning coals beneath a helm of black iron. He reaches for me, murmuring in Ancient Dwarven, "You left us. Why?" His hands are cold and strong, pulling me downward, into the roots, into the rot.

Izzakhar preserve me. I do not always remember waking.

---

I attended the gathering at the Union of Kardesler. Many representatives stood present, and truth be told, I had no idea what it was to be about initially. I didn't even know where the Union meetings were held. The politics of this land still elude me, but when Princess Faziima rose to speak, there was no mistaking her clarity. She spoke not of power nor possession, but of honor. Of veterans. Of those who bled and broke themselves for the sake of peace and for the Well.

We were each invited to speak our name to the stones so they might remember. So the Princess may know those who bled for victory.

And I spoke mine: Korinthus Dûngir; of the Last legion of Dwarves; the Rathgan.

The moment caught me. It was supposed to be ceremonial, symbolic, and yet I mourned. Perhaps too long. Perhaps not long enough. I thought of the oaths we took in the Halls of the Rathgan, how those of Got Valdhazr once walked this place, full of ambition, hope, and belief that the Well would aid them, and how few of us remain to see those oaths fulfilled.

Yet, why did she ask me about Vorazol? The previous Hakem, 'Do I light candles for him.' Why would I? The man spoke little to me, and we dwarves despised him. Ulfgrim swore that he was responsible for the death of the Flamebringer. No, there are no tears shed for that man. Yet, tonight, even still, I will light a candle in honour of a priest of the Wheel.

We dwarves owe much to the Princesses, Faziima, who freed Durgin from exile and made it possible for a scholar like me to stand among such figures. But as I reached for the medal they gave us, all I could think of were the hands that can no longer reach. The ones buried beneath jungle roots or sealed in collapsed vaults or taken before their time by Orc'ah, who fell victim to vampiric spore plagues, who were hauled away by hungry vines.

So many names mar the stone of those lost.

They should have been there. Standing beside me. Laughing. Complaining. Living.

We Rathgan are so few now. But we endure. That is our way. The Dwarven way.

---

Later came the procession of the Four Wheels Rounding. I was bone tired, but Jedediah, that Speaker of Warad, has a gift for words that carries even the weary. Even me. He spoke of journeys in the old way, in wheels and stages. The first step: intention. The second: marvel. The third: shelter and responsibility. The fourth: action without certainty.

It stirred something in me.

Because we must take that next step, even when the ground beneath is uncertain and the past still clings to our boots like mud. We walk not because the road is easy, but because the alternative is to sink.

And I will not sink.

Not yet.

Wisdom, light my way.