After the aboveground, more pompous ceremony,[b]Buri Bizidurum[/b] descended silently the staircase dug into the bowel of the earth, leaving well above the noise of the mourning bells that had rung since the pyrrhicly victorious company reached the Water Mill tower of Muin's keep. His mind, frozen at the memory of the view of the boats slowly crossing Kalerodom lake, blowing their horns as they rowed towards the castle had been struck with a meancholic mood. He had been waking between reality and the images of the robust and stoic looks of Master Muin, to wohom he was aways indebted, and the many high and lesser lords that were taken away in the Western Pass. Drawn into day-dreamingness until the same day that the hosts of Muin sons arrived to the castle, now his presence was required to direct the burial. Only him, as the High Runesmith and few others could lead the woeful sons into the hidden crypt.

They stopped by a cliff, and the roaring sound of an underground river woke him up from his reverie. Silently, he leaded the crossing of a narrow bridgeleading into the darkmost chamber. He knew well this room, as he had devoutedly carved the lore of the humble House of Muin since his Lord felt the death chill menace calling him to order his burial place. The room would have been barely been big enough to host the former court of the Valley, but in it dismished state, all the rich works of engravement and the scripted walls were as if the painful feeling of void that grew in the hearts of the Valley was incarnated in the very meaningless ostentation. Ah, Buri, who had dedicated his life to the craft of words, runes and tradition, always with an eye on the past and other on the future, felt the very stab of the emptiness of death, the fear of disintegration, the utter unknown, as a proof of the vanity of all the work of the dwarven kind.

Even the screaming river shouted when the room was closed after the coffin was laid in the burial hole. Not a coffin of gold or silver, no colorful gems or priceless crafts, only a living-rock, carved out as the serene and clear-seeing face of Master Muin. The clasp of the axes, swords, rings, chainmai and clothes he wore being laid below the sarcophagus accompanied the sacred choirs that were sung. In singing toghether, a brief peace and fraternity had settled in everyones souls. At the light of the richly worked weapons, greed and the major passions and ambitions were lit again in the hearts of his young sons. Muri could read that, in the rune oracles, and in the  faces of the sons, that the fate of the Valley was doomed. But Master Muin was ever-wise and had prepared for this ocasion. Cutting the cold silence, Buri stepped into the center and drew a tablet:

- [i]Long we mourn you now Master Muin. Here, in the heart of stone from which you came you may rest now. I will now read your last will to your alliegates, Lord and Master of this Valley[/i] - he cleared his voice and resumed thunderousy- 

	[i]For the hour I will be gone,
	shall my advice weight on my Sons
	and shall these mountains be my final home
	For a Dwarf does work the decaying wood,
	yet his flowers and fruits feed us in this world
	and we do not sharp the metal axe
	as for hunger it is blunted the sword.
	When the dwarf dies and the mountain rest
	what good was it to greed beyond?
	When with envy rumours are sown,
	is not the folly of a kin against his own?
	For many are the Sons of Dwarf,
	And mine are those who understand,
	that the jewell is precious after being worked.
	What wisdom is to split ahalf?
	The broken shards will not stand,
	unless from them the mighty hammer is forged.
	Flee quarrel and seek the Brother,
	Fear the Gods and build further.
	The Key of the Keep for only one,
	so for all the Valley will...[/i]

A bitter weep interrumpted the recitation: [b]Yulna[/b], wife to Muin, fell to her knees and growled:
[i]- Not the key will my firstborn receive. Where was him at the fall of his Master? Mother of a pack, they will call me, for I did not raise dwarves of high birth but the lowest wolves of evil thirst. Seven times you be cursed, and I will not give away the Key of the Home of the Valley, no one here is worth to step through the godly gates of Muin.[/i]

Swifly, she left the room and her steps were muffled amidst the discomposure and disputes...