An Old Doomforged Chronicle

[chaotikal 2392]

You find a journal upon your travels, a chronicle of sorts, you cannot make if it's a factual journal, or a fictional novel, it would be brief, and be written in thick letters.

 

The Entrance To Knowledge

 

Dormin rattled, his steps became slower as he reached the now revealed stone cap, he had commanded some of his men to start digging out a small statue found northwest of his castle, in the outskirts of Urguan. His voice rumbled as the statue now revealed itself as an entrance point, and the statue of the dwarf, an ornate to the gates towards the unknown.

He sent his men away, and grasped upon his hammer, long he had seen halls taken apart by different creatures, and they all ended the same, hives upon hives of creatures zealously sleeping over the relics of dwarves, happy as a thief can be. Dormin was ready to unleash his “Justicar” rage upon whoever, or whatever made front to him in the hall, which had been slightly caved in, but remained in shape for the most part. “Dwed-rom.” Dormin qualified the structure as he noticed the rather clean entrance hallway; decorated walls to the sides with different carvings depicting several rites and ceremonies, he associated them with how similar those were to some of the Clan’s initiation rituals, though these were totally radical; Pictures of rather large Dwarves smithing away until nothing but muscle on their arms remained, carrying incredibly large weights throughout the entire hall, which he looked at the drawing must of been larger than Karaad... A few times. All these quite shocked Dormin, as he felt quite connected to these rather harsh and un-dwarvish trials, more related to what he had seen in Kal’Asgol, the ancient Dwarven traditions... These were darker, and perhaps much more demanding than even Asgolian trials. On the other side, and written in a strange language, that had a syntax that could have predated Dwarvish, roughly depicted that most Dwarves did not make it through the trials, and they were used for a process that Dormin could not understand. Dormin kept walking.

 

Stop, hear that rattle? Dormin turned his head to his back, and somehow, he has advanced so much into the darkness of the hall that the light on the entrance is only a slit... Or did his way out just crumble? The fingers of the Doomforged shriveled up to a fist. “Dwedki-rom agnuk!” He cursed his companions for doing such a poor job. He was now trapped. Luckily his armor made such glow that he could see in front of him clearly... That and his years inside a place with no light. Oh the old times, Dormin rewinded in his head. The Dwarf kept walking. He now reached a cross road, but as he stepped into it, a crack. Danger! A plate suddenly was pressed and our armored fellow had to roll forth, to his dismay, as he found that the plate he had pressed was simply a door open mechanic for the hallway just a few feet in front of him. He stood up, looked around to see if anyone had seen his dumb and fat roll, and walked forth with his chubby legs. There was light in the hallway. Natural light? Artificial Light? Life. Dormin had to know. The Dwarf suddenly found himself sprinting forth, dashing the uneven floor tiles instinctively as the light became closer and closer. He went by the archway and he found himself in a long narrow room. The light came from a small lava drop lantern in the middle, shallowly protected by a pillar-nail, which trimmed the fiery material neatly. The smell of the magma filled the nostrils of the Doomforged as he smiled, reminding him of the anvil and somewhat a more homely feeling. The walls were once again decorated with the daily life of the Dwarves that inhabited the lands... These had become much darker themed now. They depicted several torturing rites and the stealing of children from the poorer families. Mass kidnappings, and a lord, on top of these triad of misdeeds. Mor’a’thor appeared to be the name of this Lord, depicted wearing a crown and a scepter of a whitish metal.

 

The hall enclosed to a much more narrow and shallow door, tall, but so narrow Dormin had to squeeze into it, his belly making  a grumble as he came through. Before him laid a larger hall, this one with stone pillars that had veins of lava running across, and different statues laid leaning on said pillars, as if carved from them. He noticed that he had went through what seemed to be a Dowathra⁴ as he scratched his beard, noticing the main door to the room, which seemed have been mauled and caved in by dirt on the other hallway. He went through the room as he came to a halt near one of the sculptures. This one had a description in what seemed to be a more modern Dwarvish, saying “Kathadun-edos da Az-rom Kor.” and had an empty mount above it. Dwarven greed, what a wondrous thing it is, clicking in wherever and whenever it wants, such a joyous curse. Dormin’s eyes were flaming with it as he imagined a sky-tearing axe, or a dimension-creating axe, he suddenly strolled forth, looking into the recondites of the room, but found nothing but other sculptures and the dust of the ancient halls. However, the sturdiness of his mind did not allow his now new-aimed quest to drift. He was going to find the “Sky axe”.

 

The eyes of the Doomforge are usually said to see sharper in the dark due to it’s larger sclera and smaller iris, yet blurred out due to the very same reasons in the light of day. Dormin’s eyes were never sharp enough to focus on more than one item, and at this very moment, he was cursing his sight more than he had cursed his own enemies in the fray of battle. His steps became heavier as he had to stop every time he saw something slither in the dark hallway, only lit by his own armor and the pillars, ornated with lava strings. “gailukian-rom Khazmar...”. Suddenly, his eyes became fixed with a single thing, something was lurking beyond his line of sight, and stirred up still as both noticed each other. “Eh... Voz yol’Dwed’rom? Tha’edos Dormin yol’Dorkadrelrum.” He expected no answer, and surely none was given. The figure moved towards the little plated Dwarf before stopping still. Dormin waved his hammer as he began preparing to activate the kathin within his body, running along his skin itself. The shadow figure proceeded to run as a response to the Dwarf preparing to battle, it ran in four legs, Dormin assured to himself. His eyes with greed and now a suspicious, dubious feeling that this creature wouldn’t be the first. And that from now he was going to be watched... Hunted. He was no longer alone.

 

The stride of Dormin was so quiet now. His eyes blazed side to side, distraught from the incredibly obscure sculptures, explaining the recycling of the dead bodies, primitive autopsies, and the killing of the weaker children... It was explained within the walls that this was called Davo’zal’tar or Zaltar. Dormin only glanced at these walls with a quick grin, but he noticed the pattern. The deeper he came down, the more obscure and morbid the scribings became... Was he in a cave? Or was he entering somewhere so dark, so obscene, so deep of an abyss that it would brand the resting place of this Dwarf?... The silence overwhelmed Dormin, the rattle of the steps of the being  that was in front of him was no longer there. Only the heavy breathing drifting, scratching the moustache of Dormin. The lonely drumming in his ears, the rattling of his armor against the uneven hallways. They seemed to stretch so deep... Until they stopped. The steps of the Doomforged came to a halt as he saw a giant statue, the room had increasingly become larger and larger, up to a point where Kal’Karaad’s main housing wings were shorter than this hall. The statue depicted a dwarf, his beard made of a material that looked like Silver, but had a slightly glow to it. It seemed to belong to a noble dwarf. He held a sword in his hands, which were leaning the sword on the floor. He heard a whisper as he finished inspecting the statue. And his eyes lead themselves to the archway that decorated the coming hall, as large as the one he was in. “Aür ner’oth-rom khaz-eron Mor’a’nul, Ka’Dowa yol’Mor’a’dal, Ka’az yol’Mor’a’thor.

 

The Deep Halls Of Mor’a’nul

 

Mumbles. Whispers. They filled Dormin’s ears as he continued down the entranceway of the halls of Mor’a’nul. His grip on the hammer had never been so tight. The mumblings weren’t inside his head. He heard the echoes of the words... But stop, there was now another voice, a mumble much closer to him. “Beka, beka... Kozrol yol’voz?” The voice was in tears, dried out voice, a rotten tone, but so highly pitched and so sweet Dormin was now sure that he wasn’t hearing his own insanity... The voice of a child. So close, yet so distant to Dormin. It was just ahead of him, he swung his hammer forth to light it up, and as he did... A boy was in front of him. A dwarf child. But not any child... He had pieces of rotten flesh hanging from his decaying little frame. “Beka?” The child perked up. His eyes had long lost the spark of life... A lifeless machine, kept alive by some dark wish of a maniac, Dormin thought. Even within him, pity and compassion took over the frame of the mad Doomforged. “Rumol kov’edos anek oz othok?”. There was no clear answer, as the child, both aware and yet, not aware of Dormin’s presence, continued mumbling; “Beka?”. Dormin shook his face, now only lit up by the armor he had forged himself. “Fhare.” The child let his decaying face tilt to the side, closing it’s grey eyes. Dormin started inspecting him from his place, he had small stubble hairs growing from his chin, but these appeared to be as old as the dead boy, his cheeks were emaciated until they had worn skull-thin. On his neck there were large gaping wounds, filled with some type of maggot, squirming in and out of the old injury.  He broke his gaze, slightly disgusted, and instead moved forward, the child followed Dormin’s movements and as he came close, pounced over Dormin. There was no struggle, Dormin simply shook his hammer and the Child was completely destructed. Dormin nodded at the now destroyed corpse of the child, and kept walking... But the mumbling soon began growing louder... Until Dormin reached a large room, it had a hallway to the right, which lead to two dorm rooms. As he stepped over the hallway...

 

Silence. When did it appear? Perhaps it was much worse than the mumbling and whispers all around Dormin. He knew those whispers were still there, those voices were still there, but now they watched. Maybe they were just like the child, dead, lifeless voices... And they had all witnessed as Dormin destructed one of them. They were still there, and Dormin increasingly became much more alert. He swung his hammer around but he noticed no movement. As he reached the door to one of the bedrooms, his eyes went blank. There were three skeletons on the three beds. The beds were completely torn apart, and were stained with the remnants of ancient dried blood. They had all been killed, probably in their sleep, but not now, nor recently. This looked like it was done thousands of years ago... The skeletons seemed to be smaller, thinner than skeletons Dormin was accustomed to... Women. Female Dwarves assassinated in their sleep. They were still wearing their torn clothing, which were adorned in golden trimming and silver linen. They all had a single ring in their index finger, which Dormin took for inspecting, but upon touching the skeleton, one of them suddenly made a small croak, and Dormin turned back... Behind Dormin, the room had slowingly become filled with beings alike the child, but these were mature Dwarves, all with falling flesh, baldened, large portions of their beards gone... Their beards were colored silver, though the remnants of their head hair were a brittle jet black. The worn out dwarves looked at Dormin with an expression so cold, so sad, detached... Dormin didn’t yell, he knew they wouldn’t reply. They all began mumbling as Dormin put the ring of the skeleton on his small back bag. He couldn’t make all of their whispers out, but one of them was clearly speaking louder. “Tha’rom ekonum... Tha’edos vroth’ok thas anart...”

 

As Dormin looked at them, they suddenly all pounced above Dormin, opening their torn mouths to jaw at the Doomforged. The battle enraged lasted only about twenty seconds, as Dormin easily bested the remnants of once Dwarves, who crumbled to dust, their bones to ash. Their garments were all the same, to which Dormin concluded they were once Dwarven Guards. Dormin continued searching the room, when he found a small journal, written by a woman called Bell’anne Kazrun Thauran-rum. The journal was written in a dialect of Dwarvish, mixed between Great Ancient Dwarvish and a more modern age Dwarvish. The Journal spoke of--

 

The page is torn, and all the pages after that seem to have been torn off as well.

 

((Atheran journal of mine when I visited Clan Silverbeard's Clan Hall, near Urguan's Hall I never got to finish it so here.))

 

 

 

[Wendigo 786]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.