Grungron Irongut looked at Bardel as he used the lift, tears falling from his aged and broken face, he looked down at his runic staff the glowing runes beginning to fade. His hands shaking as thunder struck near Hiebenhall. Rain hit the ground, the clear sky had faded and was overcome by the darkness of a storm. All too well did he know what had transpired within the tower. He looked down to his left hand, his palm opened toward him and shaking as the golden light that was glowing brightly off of his hand faded. He looked down at his palm, the old Dwarf wiping the tears from his face.
He shook his head as he looked at his palm another tear striking the ground as he walked towards the entrance of the Hiebenhall's castle, plopping himself down in a seat within the meeting room. Clutching his staff he would lose his grip upon it and drop it near the chair, stumbling as he moved towards the chair to sit down. He would take one of the ale mugs sitting near the open fire on the warm stone table. Drinking from the mug, as the fire would roar near him. He slammed the mug onto the table as the last of the tears from his face would sizzle near the fire as they hit the stone. He would then take a book out from the pack on his back. He would begin to mutter something to himself, his last statement in a language not spoken for an age. "Ye saved me da trouble kin. I will never forget ye 'n may Urguan 'n Drako smile un ye. Neamh gef ye tamh braithean " Dipping his quill in the ink that sat upon the table near his chair. Taking the book he would begin to write, his hand shaking as the Ancient Dwarven was scribed upon the pages. He would carry the book with him standing from the seat, he would take his staff from the floor and stumbling up the stairs near the room, he would walk towards the library.