The meeting was called.
Never before had the leaders of the mountainhomes all met together, but this was urgent. Dwarvenkind itself was at stake. The great hall at Imushidok was packed. Kings, barons, and experts from all over Ruspzūza had assembled, including representatives from the humans and elves. King Lorbakust presided over the head table, surrounded by the leaders of each of the other mountain homes, each in their finest noble gear, but with one exception who was impossible to overlook. At the king's side was not a noble but a great soldier, looking quite out of place. Decked out in masterwork adamantine armor constructed by his own hand, Morul was no ordinary soldier, but a dwarf legendary in all skills, and presumably the reason why this day had come.
It had been several years since Morul left his home of Lashedwines. He spent decades there, learning all of the dwarven arts, and becoming proficient in all weaponry and combat. But in the last few years there he grew concerned. Lashedwines was besieged by orcs, which Morul singlehandedly dispached each time they came. But over time, the orcs became better equipped, then later they arrived larger and stronger. This was not unexpected that the orcs would send their best and fiercest warriors against a fortress that refused to fall, but in the last few years the orcs became enormous - the size of giants, then later as large, strong, and tough as collosi - sieging 60 at a time. Morul still defeated them - eventually - but these were not just elite orcs, but creatures perverted by some unknown force.
Morul knew he would have to seek out the source of this threat. He could not defend Lashedwines forever, and the orcs would not stop coming. He equipped the fortress with the finest equipment he could, trained up the guards, told them to button up, and bid his wife farewell. Her wounds from the fortress madness had taken their toll and she was nearing her end. Morul would not see her again. Fully outfitted, he set out and followed the scar the orcs had carved across the earth, leading to his home. Tracking the orcs would clearly be easy, and he encountered another siege group along the way, and left no survivors. After several weeks of travel, he spotted a tower from the crest of a hill. Even at a great distance he could smell the presence of the orcs. He prepared himself a meal, and set off. He had killed thousands of orcs. He despised them, and he came here intending to kill thousands more. With anger in his eyes he raced toward the tower and encountered hundreds of orcs doing simple labors - and he slayed each that he found. Circling the tower, everything that his keen eye could see dropped before his axe or in the sights of his crossbow. There was no escape from his martial trance. The huge orcs he had faced at Lashedwines were sent out from the tower to no effect. They fell as readily as the others. After a full day of slaughter, no more orcs could be seen and none more emerged from the ominous structure. The stench of death would never leave this place. As Morul entered the tower, he shuddered. He had faced many vile things, and heard of many more, but dwarves hadn't encountered anything so distinctly evil as this place. As Morul continued inside, from a high ledge a shadowy voice called down to him:
"I see I will have to work harder to defeat you, Morul Cattenmat."
"Indeed you will. Have you no more orcs for me?"
"No, there are no more. You have removed them from this world. But your brutal act will come to haunt the dwarves. The souls you have released will someday return and seek their vengeance by destroying dwarvenkind. And on that day, you will find your axe to be of little use."
"Fortunately, I have more than my axe!" And with this Morul drew his crossbow and fired at the form above, only for the figure to vanish before the bolt could strike. Morul sprinted forward, leaping up the great stairs, and explored the space above, but it was fruitless. The being was gone. But at least the orc threat was eliminated.
Lashedwines and the other mountainhomes enjoyed a period of great prosperity with the threat eliminated. With this, they learned new medical skills, how to tame bees, mastered pottery and other crafts. But troubling news started to come from the traders. They were reporting mountainhomes crumbing in the span of a year. Dwarves have always been tempermental and quick to anger and Lashedwines had nearly fallen to such a fate, but this was different. In some cases, traders found dwarves lying dead in their beds. In other cases, there was no sign of the dwarves anywhere - just random hostile creatures roaming the fortress. But the most troubling news came from a human caravan that reported a hunting expedition nearly being wiped out on their return trip when the animals they had killed days before rose and attacked them. Morul reflected on that conversation in the tower. Perhaps that day had come. It was time to meet the king.
The king called the meeting to order and laid out the problem before them:
"Good dwarves, as you know, evil has come to our land. Three mountainhomes have fallen in the last year. Most of you have encountered this evil first hand in some form. The humans and elves are suffering as well and have allied with us in addressing this threat which we still do not fully understand. We meet today to construct a plan. The elves are our eyes and are tracking the expanse of this threat - and it is expanding. They will bring word to you through their traders. The humans are working to understand how this evil spreads. You've all seen the effects - these evil creatures hide among our immigrants and spread their evil like a disease within our own fortresses. Most of you now refuse to accept immigrants into your fortresses - and those that are fleeing their homes being overrun and being left to die in the wilderness. This cannot stand. This will destroy us. We need a means to protect our civilization until we know how to combat it."
One of the Barons, Aniliden spoke out: "How can we protect against what we cannot see?! What do you suggest we do, hide like a purring maggot? We must fight back immediately!"
This provoked another Baron, Nanirkol: "And why do we leave our fate in the hands of the humans and elves. The humans are untrustworthy and elves are only fit for a wooden coffin!" Eyes glanced toward the humans and elves in the room, who appeared crestfallen at the change in tone.
Baron Urusiton jumped in: "Shut up Nanirkol! We need help, not prejudice! I think it is time we take to the sea and seek out other lands. These creatures travel by land. Let us leave them this one."
The assembled crowd now jumped in on one side or another - some angered by the prospect of fleeing their homes, others by the idea that they shoudl run headlong into what has so far been a certain death. All of the scared in some way of the threat facing them.
"Enough!!" As a gleaming axe crashed through Lorbakust's prize artifact bloodthorn table. A distant cry from a carpenter could be heard. The command silenced the room as echoes reminded everyone. Morul was now clearly in charge. "While you argue dwarves are dying in your homes. We cannot fight this threat now and I fear this is of my doing." Morul recounted the tale from the tower - parts of which he had never revealed before. Murmurs went around the room as missing pieces fell into place. The king spoke up:
"Morul, is there nothing you can do?"
"Not yet. I cannot fight that which remains beyond my reach. But there is hope. You think of me as a great warrior, but my success as a warrior came from first being a scholar - learning the dwarven arts. And we continue to learn - as with these wheeled donkeys. We will learn from the elves and humans and they from us, we will study this evil, and we will defeat it. But we need to survive first, and we cannot prosper while dwarves are being driven from their homes. We need a sanctuary - and we must build it together."
"What do you have in mind?" Urusiton inquired.
"I will lead a small group to start a new mountainhome. I will take 6 others with me - one from each of the mountainhomes that can offer a volunteer. We will avoid attention and establish this sanctuary. When the time is right, I will give word for each of you to start sending migrants. We will populate this place with the bloodlines of all dwarvenkind and I will pass down my knowledge to them, and collectively they will become experts in all fields, studying this threat and helping us combat it. If the other mountainhomes fall, we will remain standing, preserving our cultural knowledge, ready to reclaim our homes when we turn the tide. I will not allow dwarvenkind to fall."
Questions now started coming from all corners: "How will you protect it?"
"By all means necessary. I will train the other 6 as guards, but any who would assail the Sanctuary will need to get through me personally. I will stand with it to the end."
"But we can't trust migrants now! What's to stop one of these evil creatures from sneaking inside?!"
This was a good question and Morul pondered it for a moment. A solution was offered by the king: "One thing we do know is that this disease doesn't spread through objects or else our traders would have brought down our civilization almost immediately." The humans in the room nodded in agreement. "The disease appears to only spread through proximity. The migrants must be quarantined - forever, or until a cure is developed or the source wiped out." Morul acquiesced: "I'm afraid you are correct. We will quarantine the migrants within the fortress. Families that migrate will stay together. New families will be formed. Each of the arts will live in isolation of the others and their offspring will learn the arts as well and carry their traditions along."
"What of those that break quarantine?"
"They will have to eliminated. I will carry that burden myself." Morul turned to the nobles: "Make sure your migrants understand this. On solemn word, I will enforce the quarantine. Choose them carefully, and prepare them well. This is not a proper life for a dwarf, sealed away from the pleasure of a great hall. I will make it as pleasant as possible, but it will be a lonely, if safe place."
"And how will we get word from you? Quarantine means you cannot leave."
"We will maintain trade. The humans and elves will need our craft and we will provide them with all that we have. We will spread word through the traders. Only myself and the six founders will remain in contact with the outside, and we will remain isolated from those inside. Trade will also mask what we are doing - appearing like any other mountainhome. Any other questions?"
The room was quiet. Small discussions began to break out around the room. The plan was set, it was time to make it work. Morul called the dwarven cartographers to the head table and asked them to find a suitable site. It would need all the resources to preserve a mountainhome for all time, and still be reachable by the traders. That would be no small feat. The human and elf representatives approached and they discussed their roles. They would begin trade as soon as they receive word of the fortress location and help them get established. The other nobles would find volunteers for this effort and begin to prepare migrants, waiting for the day. The room was busy with activity. But most importantly, the room was filled with hope.
Morul drank some strawberry wine and contemplated his new home, unlike any constructed before it.