A Tombkeeper's Diary | "Our Source Of Ire"

[Reece Nolan 636]

A Tombkeeper's Diary

~ o . O . o ~

"Our Source Of Ire"

[Music]

 

       Beneath Urguan lies a massive cavern, an expanse of winding abyss that forms the underbelly of the mountain home of the dwarves. It is down here that a plethora of predators and hostile creatures dominate the local ecosystem, monsters that would give voidal horrors a run for their money. In the inky shadows of the underground sat a lone Ireheart, scribbling away at his journal as he is illuminated only by a nearby campfire, and the crumbling gate of the Doomforged hall in the distance. Beside him, a hot bowl of stew with lumps of cooked purple colored meat and beets swimming in beef broth, served freshly from a boiling pot sat over the fire.

 

       "Since my residency in the chasm, I have had plenty of time to wonder to myself, or at least among my various. My days run into the next, my weeks are starting to feel like days. I continue to persevere towards the end goal, bringing peace to the souls trapped behind these collapsed walls. I can only hope that they understand the slow pace given the amount of work ahead of me, it's exhausting digging around the clock."

 

       Angr put down his quil for a moment, spooning a mouthful of stew from the bowl. Sighing, the Ireheart would look around himself and gaze into the darkness as he chews the tough and gamey meat for a while. In the void before him, Angr noticed a figure of short stature shuffling towards him which stopped when it was only just barely visible. The dwed took a seat on a rock at the edge of the light's reach and remained silent. "Can ah 'elp yeh?" Angr asked, unsure as to what they wanted. "Nei, jus com'en tae check on me famileh." The figure grumbled, his voice almost mournful. "Yer an Ire'eart?" Angr probed, intrigued by the sudden arrival of a relative, and in here of all places too. "Aye." He commented, not sharing another word. "Ahm gonnae contenue meh journal fer ah momen', ef ye don' mind." Angr commented, picking up his quil once more.

 

       "Though my body tires and my bones ache, I can feel an anger inside me that propels me onwards. It isn't a hatred towards any one individual or thing, it's a general sense of displeasure or dissatisfaction with something currently lurking in my mind. I've heard countless tales and remarks from the dwed telling of an unbridled rage that defines the Irehearts, but what if they're wrong? What if what sets us apart isn't an uncontained fury, but rather an unending determination to see things through?"

 

       Angr paused at the sound of shuffling, as his mysterious relative was getting ready to leave. "Oi, wut's yer name brothehr, maybeh weh can grab ah pint later?" He chuckles. "Tha's alrigh, ah've spent enouf toime aht tae tavehrn alreadeh..." His brother comments as a stone hand reaches down to grab a mangled hunk of metal with the stamp of a Starbreaker smith from next to where he had sat. As the figure began to leave, Angr squinted his eyes as he tried to narrow his focus on this unknown dwed, deadset on seeing any discerning features. He could make out what looked to be a white pelt singed at the edges, clinging on to charred skin as the rest of the dwed disappeared into the darkness. "Hmph." He muttered, taking up his quil again.

 

       "Perhaps this is what guided us sons of Yavok to mercilessly fight in any battle, not out of rage but out of a sheer desire to see the conflict through to its end. This very well may be the same force that beckons me to heft my spade and free these forgotten tombs, though my body is weak my spirit remains strong. Though the thought might be heresy, if we are truly to be driven by the same blood as our paragons, then even the grip of Dungrimm may not be enough to keep fallen Irehearts from returning to our mortal coil for their own purposes. To this end one could argue our tenacity, our ferocity, our Ire..."

 

       Angr was again interrupted by distant sounds, this time the sound of metal and boots against stone coming from the abyssal plains ahead of him. It was at that moment that Angr believed he had found the conclusion to his entry, as he could see the quickly fading image of several unfamiliar Irehearts sat around an illusory fire with smiles on their faces, the darkness quickly spilling in to replace where they once were. He nodded after a moment of deliberate silence, walking over to the large purple cave monster he had slain earlier and retrieving his war axe from its flesh. As Angr tidied up his belongings, he wrote one last line in his journal entry.

 

       "Our Ire, is proof of our worth to the gods. Our Ire is us."