Muin Dourhorn, first son of Muin, and heir to Muin's Valley, followed Buri Bizidurum with a bowed head. His face solemn beneath his brown beard, Dourhorn wouldn't even let himself wince as pain from the long walk began to shoot up his right leg, leaving his features still as stone. His cane left within the keep among his attendants, Dourhorn had vowed to make this walk upon his own legs. The pain that drove up from his ankle and cut like a knife into his thigh was little when compared to the crushing loss of losing his father.

Limping into the burial chamber, Dourhorn took up position across from Buri the Runemaster, his head lowered in prayer as his father's incantation began. His eyes closed, Dourhorn could hear his father's voice in his head, as if he himself spoke the words from beyond the mortal world. Each verse stirred deep within him, resonating out some transcendent power. The pain in his leg ebbed and the Dwarf had the sensation of being outside himself. As the final verse was being spoken, a shriek silenced Buri and Dourhorn opened his eyes to see his mother stricken mad with grief.

[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]

Dourhorn brought his left hand to his chest as if he was struck. Yulna had broke the incantation, defiled it with a curse. The mourning, pitiful Dwarf slunk from the light of the braziers and disappeared into the shadows. 

The chamber was silent for what seemed an eternity, their grief replaced by shock. It was Hornfel that broke the silence. To Dourhorn's surprise, his younger brother rushed to his side, proclaiming his support. Leth, Dourhorn's nephew and son of fallen Ragnar, was quick to object.

Dourhorn met the young Dwarf's gaze as he stepped before him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of shrinking away. The young Dwarf was strong, he didn't doubt it, and he was acutely aware of how easily the lad could snap his neck if caught in his grasp. Petulance flew from Leth's mouth as he openly mocked Dourhorn. Once he fished for the support of Agrim, proclaiming beyond doubt that his clan would bow to no one save himself or Agrim, Dourhorn seized the momentary silence to speak his case.

Taking a step forward with his good foot, Dourhorn spoke in his usual low tone, a deep and powerful voice that belied the broken Dwarf from which it uttered. [i]"Impudent welp," He said flatly with measured disdain. "Our dear mother, mad with grief has broken the incantation. I can forgive her for her scornful words, but what excuse can you give, Leth, for furthering this blasphemy other then to sate your own ambitions!"[/i]

Turning to face his brothers, Dourhorn's deep voice echoed across the walls of the chamber. [i]"Is this to be the future of our father's valley? To be led by reckless arrogance? Ever and anon I advised constraint. Urged our lord-father to exercise caution when faced with the threats against the valley. If only he had heeded my advice, and not gone chasing the fancies of our youth, clinging to the notions of victories worthy of song!

"Nay, brothers, this ill fate was sewn long ago. Never again will the Dwarves of Muin Valley charge heedless into the fray! We have lost too much to walk this perilous course. We must have our wits about us, for it is our wits that make us Dwarves! Abandon that and you are left with but an axe to swing blindly.

"Our father's word is clear. Divide and be cursed. Only together can we ensure the safety and prosperity of the valley. Rule is mine by right. Swear to me, brothers, and together we will brave the darkness, and by the light of knowledge and the Gods, we will prevail."  [/i]