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| Artwork © Zeppin |
Knowing this tale, you are certain something has gone wrong. Throughout much of your life you have heard travellers' tales of the spreading of chaos, the growing boldness of those that worship the chaos gods, and the increasing effectiveness of their spells. Less than a year ago, Salamonis was threatened itself by a group of chaos cultists hoping to bring pestilence down upon the city itself.
You reason that the Pillar of Stability must be losing power. None of the elders or your tutors want to investigate, indeed they just scoff at your reasoning. So you resolve to make the trek to Grimwoden, the halls of your ancestors, and find out first hand about the pillars.
You are going alone. The only other dwarf that you feel would have aided you is one of your old tutors, Diuron. Sadly he was taken prisoner by a band of goblin mutants many years ago, and is almost certainly dead.
You packed everything that you could afford, given your limited funds, and lack of aid by your people. Then you set off north through the dwarven town of Stonebridge, and then the human town of Fang. Although the trip was not without danger, it pales in comparison to the problem you face now. You're well past the Icefinger Mountains, far from any habitation. Poor weather has slowed you considerably and you have only enough food for two more days. You know you are getting close to Grimwoden, but it could take you weeks yet to locate, and your path back to civilisation is even longer still. As the wind howls through the night outside your tent, you reflect grimly that you are almost certainly doomed. Morning is coming, and with morning, the end stages of your epic trek.