[Center][i][b]Autumn. One year and a half after Master Muin death.[/b][/i][/Center]

Heavy rain broke against the incomplete fortifications of Muin's keep. That very week many of the scaffolds, unatended for too long, fell into the mud of the streets below. Few people remained in Muin's Keep, but those engaged in offial tasks as keeping the archives, the treasure and the prayers and offerings, and few lost souls who did not understand that decadence had closed upon the castle. And among those who stayed, some deep pain, foolishness or melancholy had sprouted in their before rock hard hearts. 

In the Watermill Tower, peeking above Kalerodom lake, Yulna, the Wolf-Lady as some both mockingly and seriously started to call her, had secluded herself in the high Watermill Tower and let the city be ruled by the carrion-like nobles that had stayed. In her mind, she waited her sons, whom she had cast away, to apologize, to love her back, to surrender to her insane impositions, and to be tangled in never ending disputes to torment them. And so, she watched everyday, expecting to see a boat, across the misty lake, bringing back home her Muin and his gorious expedition. Alone, in her tower, watter was slowly dripping. Maybe the repetitive dripping kept her awake and wore off the sadness and despair that assailed her. 

In her pain, she had called for the adivines, who read the old runes, the bones and their marrow, the guts and the odd gems. She could not bear the parting of her Master, and she had let in the underground halls, before filled with nobility and joy, all kind of sorcerers and charlatans, who managed to slip out the treasures and rich works of Muin before the madly blinded eyes of the Lady. Meanwhile, the unlaborious dwellers of the keep, thrown into orgy and indulgence kept consuming the ale, wines, and stored foods until nothing was left. And after nothign was left, the charitable and unnoticed help of the now distanced Clans of the Sons of Muin, provided, even just for charity, to feed this folly.

And so, the castle run unstopably into ruin and degeneration. And so into corruption was driven the mind of Yulna, by the sweet-words of those beguiling dwarves who promised her to see Muin again in life. Into the sacred burial vault she drove these dwarves of witchcraft all impure rituals were conducted, also in the tombs of the other dwarves fallen in the West Pass. Soon, the underground halls, for a while silent since the departure of their Lord, were filled with sounds again. But not the noise of noble craft or the art of arms, not the heart-lifting drums and the long-remembered songs of glory, but whispers of dark spectres and consumed sanity.

Buri Bizidurum, as old as he was,now looked perpetuosly fatigated since the recent events. His beard had become sparse, his teeth weakly falling, his ears barely being able to listen to his apprentices. He wished he could sweep out all the scum and parasytes that had took home in these halls, but he had not anymore the strenght to do it. Oh, how much he missed his Lord, and his youth times when he could have spoke into reason the most fool drunkard. But, ah, he was done, and he had settled to remain loyal to his Lord and his Castle, to sink with it if it was necessary.
Important news had arrived, and he knew that Lady Yulna may not listen to any other than him, if anyone. Decided but hopeless, he slowly climbed up the stair steps, and knocked the door. No answer came from Lady Yulna, as he expected. He went on:

- [i]My Lady, there are important errands - he paused, maybe to listen an answer - My Lady, please. Your Son Orin has not sent us manutenance since last spring. Remember, I told My lady that he had rallied all the brothers and villages of the Valley no to provide us either. He has secluded himself in his Mountain[/i] - more agitated, he knocked the door - [i]Mylady open the eyes! Please see that this mistrust will contagiate to the Sons. Send a letter to Karolus... he has proved a friend of the House now and always. I have written one, and with your consent My Lady... the is no need to let Valley fall - he heard steps from below the tower and agitation took control of elder Buri - With tears My Lady, I oathed to protect these Halls. Heed my advise, we will not survive the winter like this. Please My Lady...[/i]

- [i]Master Bizidurum, your head always in the fairy tales of old, as old as you are [/i]- a creaking voice answered-  Y[i]ou want me to open my eyes into reason, or rather give the Keep, to one of the rats that call themselves Sons of Muin. Well, if betrayal is what you seeked, now openly go to your new Master. Go and shame further the House you always greeded to rule. Have not I seen that in your eyes, that has been seen by the Loremasters? They have clearly unveiled your lies and those of the priests, of my Sons. Be gone Master Bizidurum, and do not return to this halls ever.[/i]

The steps were louder and louder. Where should this old man go now? As he waited to be taken away by the ravenous bullies of Yulna, he undressed himself from every symbol of his status, ready to be humbled and without a home, as he came to the world. He knew he would not make it past the winter, as the the Keep, as the Sons. His time was gone, he accepted deep in his heart, without complaints, without remorse,but he could not give up for the Valley.When would the srping of this Valley come again?


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[center][b]Rumours and news:[/b][/center]

- Clan Orin has withdrawn into their Mountain and closed from every contact with the outside world since last spring. The Mountain lies as silent as Lord Orin, son of Muin, about the future King of the Valley. Out of curiosity, mercy, friendship or politics, contact should be retaken.
- In the woods laying below the peaks in the northern shore of the lake, northwest of the lands of Clan Brightshield, several hunters and dwarfs have gone missing.
- The road surrounding the southern contour of Kalerodom lake is intransitable: aside from several fallen trees and landslided ways,  some unloyal dwarves, fleeing from Muin's keep with stolen weapons have been assaulting the traders and travelers in the way. 
- A caravan has arrived to the southern pass, and it is rumoured that the famous skald Zigild Seventeeth comes along a most extravagant company of Dwarves from far Kingdoms.