A note for the reader: In 1024 of the Current Era, a previously unknown volume in exceptional condition was discovered beneath the rubble of a previously unknown settlement in the Prairie of Ashes. This settlement was named Logemmeng, home at its peak to some 700 dwarves, and seems to have been settled in the earliest days of the Common Era, directly following what scholars have come to call the Discontinuity. The text given below is a tentative translation from a correspondingly early form of Ancient Dwarfish,previously known only in extant remnants of the liturgy of the Blood God; the language of the text bears little resemblance to our modern language. Internal attribution notes this text is to be the work of the god Odur Anedshetbeth, a goddess(?) of wide-ranging interests, since she(?) is shown in engravings throughout the fort in scenes featuring rain, nature, the sun, fire, volcanos, and the earth. While it strains credulity to modern scholardwarfs that any deity would scribe a written work, dwarves of the early era generated a wide variety of eponymous works purporting to be by deities, demonic figures, and well-known necromancers. Such works ranged from novels to supposed manuals of sorcerous technique to (as in the current work) speculative cosmology. Works of this nature were particularly common in the Age of Myth. It is hoped that the presentation of this work will provide valuable insight into the minds, hopes and fears of our earliest forefathers, the first of their kind.To those who come after, who read these words, be told; I hight Odur Anedshebeth, second born of the Chosen. Mine the hands that work the earth; mine the will that forms the wealth of the world.
Terrible are the works that we have wrought. Regret is a river in which we drown but never die. Hear the tale of the gods, and fear.
Great the council of the Chosen, gold-ringed brows aflame in light, when first we came to parley, each to speak with other. Rurast, eldest, star-lord, sky-master. Thoughts he had, in cold sky dwelling, plans he made, and we were told: where we dwell, we are alone. Each Chosen, self-master; each Chosen, walking alone. Each among us (so spoke Rurast) came to thought alone, self-begot, finding only others once we woken were, save I alone, who alone was woke ... (lacuna in document) and so came to be the Mystery of Birth, that none should come again self-begot, and we should be the last of the self-born upon this world. And this was the first terrible act.
Great the council of the Chosen, gold-ringed brows aflame in light, when again we came to parley, each to speak with other. Burdened hard with birth, some among us swollen-bellied with the curse self-wrought in our first meet inflicted. Anan, troublemaker, mischief-lord, spoke a challenge strong and true: Each Chosen has his realm, and has control and strength therein. Who among us, said he, shall be Lord of Forms? Who among us hath the skill every form to take upon the earth? Troublemaker trouble made, and each began their neighbor to dispute, one with another, among the Chosen. Rurast took the form of a star in the dark night; Anan became a vulture, others followed suit. Shapes were taken, animal and plant and stone, cloud and rain and mist, but all grew crazed. Strange and fell the shapes became, each seeking others to outdo, monstrous forms made and mingled. None could triumph, though mightily we strove, until some Chosen their true forms forgot; in the fullness of time, the trick was revealed. When the children came to us, monstrous were the shapes they in turn bore. None alike, all commingled, stone and flesh, scales and feathers and fur, water and flame and ash. And Anan laughed in joy to see such confusion sowed among his kin, child-Chosen born as such a monstrous brood. And this was the second terrible act.
Great the council of the Chosen, gold-ringed brows aflame in light, when again we came to parley, each to speak with other. Years had passed since last we spoke, and all our children grown troublesome. Our wisdom had they not, but some touch of our power; many fought for joy and sport, since fighting before their birth was the very shaping of their forms. Wayward children fought each other, fought their parents, fought the earth and air themselves, until fierce fighting made the heavens themselves tremble. Zagod, war's lord, spoke, saying, Who shall defend the Chosen? A day shall come we all are undone, when children overbold crack the vault of heaven itself purely to see it fall. Rurast the Eldest spoke, saying, You, War-god, fiercest of fighters? Might you defend us? Zagod asked each among us to lend him strength, and straight we set our wills to the task. Long he wrought, spinning and devising, forging fierceness from fire, until there stood before the council great forms made of jointed bronze, and all were amazed. These forms took life, and asked for direction, saying, Why were we made?Before Zagod could utter words, Anan Mischief-Maker spoke, sly serpent, saying All living things who are not among the Chosen, strike you down and destroy. And they heard, and obeyed. Tremendous was the slaughter at the hands of the bronze men among all living things, children and animals, fish and birds. And this was the third terrible act.
Great the council of the Chosen, gold-ringed brows aflame in light, when again we came to parley, each to speak with other. Worse, and yet worse, grew the war with our misbegotten children. The bronze men destroyed some, and some of the bronze men were in turn destroyed. Metal hath no fear, nor joy, nor anger, save only the knowledge of what is done or not; our children of the Chosen who fought the bronze men rejoiced only in destruction, their own as much as their enemies, goaded on by cruel will and whim. Some among the children found other joy than fighting, but many made of combat their meat and drink. Among the council, seats were empty for the Chosen who were pulled down, some by children of others and some by the children of their own bodies; sad the day to see a friend cast low by their own child! And Rurast Skyfather spoke, saying, this madness must stop. Taking up his aspect, gathering the strands of power from all who were present, he cast the fractious children, drunk with fighting, into a tomb beneath the world. Some few he left to wander, those who he hoped could come to wisdom, but many hundreds he sealed beneath the earthblood itself, and wove blue gems to hold the prison fast. And this fight taxed us more than ought done before, since some Chosen were dead and passed, and our power grew dim as a guttering candle before the last blue metal stitch was set in the deep places of the world. And all the Chosen began to grow weak, and pale, and the most of our strength passed from us. And this was the fourth terrible act, more terrible than all before it.
No more the council of the Chosen, gold-ringed brows aflame in light, and never again we came to parley, each to speak with other. Few we were, and scattered, weak and witless. The bronze men would obey us not, though they remembered us of old and slew us not. The children who remained went each their own way, many passing beneath the earth in search of unknown things, others wandering the woods and wetlands. The time of gods was past.
Editors note: the remainder of the volume deals with the foundation of Logemmeng, and swiftly transitions to a functional ledger, tracking population and expenses, noting assets created or traded, punishments dealt or avoided, and similar matters. Curiously, no mention is made of the author's opinion as to the origin of the five"speaking races", dwarves, elves, goblins, humans and kobolds, nor of the source of the tribal animal men who are so prevalent in the wilds.
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Topic: In The Deeps (Read 2955 times)