For once, the ancestors agreed; life was good. News mines had been discovered south of Timoric, the iron was of prime quality and the asking price of Dwarven crafts was rising. Merchants closed their establishments early, and the pubs packed with roaring Dwarfs, jostling waitresses, and the quaffing of ale. Living on the top of the world, the mountain Dwarfs felt invulnerable. Only the foolish would attack the Mountain Clans in their forbidding mountain keeps, and fools die young...
The Mountain Clans were not numerous, but they were fierce. Although not unintelligent, they relied on brawn rather than brain. Few were the problems that could not be solved with a strong arm and a sharp Battle-Axe. Cunning merchants, they had allied with the creatures of their realm. In exchange for their good, the creatures agreed to assist the Dwarves in time of need. Things were going well indeed for the Mountain Clans.
Then came Memnor's dream.
He stood on a snow-capped mountain, where wind whistled through tall, green pines, slapping his robes against his legs. It was there Wotan sent his messenger, Brunhild the Valkyrie. Brunhild read a passage from the sacred Eddic poem Vision of the Seeress. The excerpt prophesized :
"The beginning of The Ragnarok : The Great Destruction".
The passage told of a world in chaos, of Mountain Clans swept aside like dried leaves before a storm. Their only hopes lay in their ancient rune knowledge long dormant. So it was that the quest for the lost rune lore began. The journey would shed much Dwarven blood, a quest that would take the Clans to the very gates of death itself.
"Ten years later... The threat is more real than ever... The battle of the gods continues... The dark prophecy is still haunting your dreams..."
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