Session 26: Nov. 6, 2006

Hi everyone, see you on Monday! Someone suggested we might be able to start at 5:30pm and play to 10pm.

Can everyone start at 5:30?

Pictured Above: Citadel Sunderhame

The great seal was broken, the circular arcane runes crumbling into fragments of stone and debris. Dredbrother Saµltair spoke aloud in the vaulted hall, looking back at the rubble, "Who says we don't have a sense of history? Our Lord Bane commands we remember how the realm was forged by his compassion and might. And here, we find child's play—arcane wards that beg to be wiped away, as the memory of Dwarven Magic has been cleared from local memory."

The other wizards, now drained of power, fatigued from their mighty display of magical negation, just glared at the Dredbrother, too tired to speak.

Saµltair stepped forward into the Dwarven Citadel of Sunderhame, marking footsteps where none had been made in over four hundred years. He touched the masterworked stone, noticed the persevearing strength of the ancient vaulted ceiling. Silently, he considered the craftsmanship lacking in all Houses of the Black Lord he had ever been in. As if to become saddened by beauty, as though the sight of dwarven art had somehow reached his heart, he sighed... then quickly regained composure to say, "Follow me. Our work is just begun. The prisonstone lies deep beneath us."

But the others just leaned against the wall, some panting, some breathing laboriously. "Okay, rest then. All of you rest if you must. I will wait."

And Saµltair turned quickly back to view again the reliefs and the statuettes. His eyes moved franticly around as he was, in secrecy, afforded the time he desired to marvel at what must have been the glory of the dwarven kingdom so many aeons ago...