To stand before a Sin-bearer, is to stand before the Forgefather himself. Heed him well, for he hears his whispers, and speaks his words.

- Handbook of the Keepers

Mogrim groaned as he sat down, tightly grasping the female Foun- dwarven hand on his shoulder before letting it go. “Thanks for the chair, love,” he said. She seemed to ask him a question. “No, I’m fine. I just need a minute, that’s all.” She rummaged into the backpack she had brought, taking out an expensive looking pipe. He graciously accepted the object, stuffing and lighting it in a few fluid motions. He drew deeply, before exhaling a long, thick, cloud of smoke; the weariness, created by our long conversation, disappearing from the lines on his face. What remained was the weird, angular tattoo under his eyebrow. Something that turned out to be a Mark on closer inspection.

We were still sitting in the middle of the outpost, though the mood was completely different. Where once fear and suspicion ruled, there remained only a sense of awe. And hope. Hope that was apparent in all their faces, even the grumpy looking Mogrim in front of me.

The blond dwarf leaned back into his stone chair, talking as he gazed up at the ceiling. “So you couldn’t get out?”

“Magic, tools, nothing worked,” I replied. “Once we found ourselves in the tunnel, we were stuck there. Nothing we did damaged the earth in the slightest.”

“So the barrier is still up…” He shook his head. “No matter, if half of what you say was true, that will be more than we could possibly hope for.” He looked at my other party members, all of them still slightly damp from the earlier drenching. Dirk and Dagger were now back in their human forms, my explanations about our powers had raised more than a few eyebrows. “Choosing to ally yourselves with demons, what is going on up there?”

“Humanity has had to make some… difficult choices over the years,” I said. “We weren’t exactly blessed with many options.”

“I’m not judging you on your choices, human. Father knows, we’re hardly one to criticize.” Mogrim stared into the distance, before snapping back, ruffling his blond hair in the process. “Its just… aaagghhh, this was supposed to be an easy day. Mine some crystals, drink some ale. And then you people show up telling me you just stumbled in here.”

“We didn’t stum-”

“I know. But you did manage to get in. Nothing has gotten in. Not for a thousand years.” A warm smile began to fill his face. “But if there is a way in, that means there is a way out.” All the other dwarves eyes glazed over with that single remark. How long have they been here? How high can you count?

I was a bit weary breaking their new-found happiness. But I knew Sly, and she would undoubtedly have considered us dead or lost after this two hour long absence. It wouldn’t surprise me if the whole group came barreling down the passage in a desperate attempt to break through. We were running dangerously low on water. “So… you’ll agree to help us?”

“We’ll do more than help you. But first a final test.” Mogrim snapped his finger, at which the female dwarf carefully searched for something in the bag. At some point she stopped rummaging, pulling out a long, thin necklace. One that bore the unmistakable symbol of the Forgefather. She held it out in front of her, careful to not let the small anvil touch any part of her armor. The armor-clad dwarf stopped in front of me, eyes glued on my face. More precisely, the Mark marring the whole left side of it.

“Open your hand,” Mogrim said. My slow and hesitant reaction did not seem to please the dwarf, for I found his iron grip forcing my arm forward, peeling my fingers open one by one beneath the dangling necklace. “Truth be told.” Mogrim’s breaths were beginning to get short and heavy, hands wet with new sweat. “I had given up hope a long time ago, but this… this could change everything.” I don’t like this. Mogrim’s eyes were getting bloodshot. I really don’t like this. I tried to pull back, my arm barely budging from Mogrim’s grasp. I could only struggle in vain as the necklace was slowly lowered, every other dwarf drifting closer to see the result.

Then the metal touched my skin, and I could do nothing but grit my teeth. Smoke rose from the palm of my hand, body switching into panic mode at the familiar pain of burning. I could barely gasp for breath before Mogrim’s grip was released, and I was left clutching my hand on the ground in anguish. I hissed and cursed, watching the smoke settle, revealing an anvil shaped scar on my skin.

“What the fuck… did you do to me?” I panted. No one replied. “I said, what the fuck did you do to me!?” There was only more silence. I glanced up, only to see every dwarf prostrating before me—face firmly planted on the floor. What is happening?

A dwarf spoke up. “My deepest apologies, Sin-bearer.” It was Mogrim. “It just… we…” He raised his head, looking at me in a new light. “The dwarves need to know for sure. We needed to know for sure.” He stood, pulling up the non-bearded warrior beside him before slowly shuffling closer; faces cast downwards, avoiding all eye contact. Once the pair was in front of me, he dropped to his knees, hefting his ax high as he remained fixated on the ground.

“Sin-bearer, h-hear my plea.” Mogrim’s voice was beginning to shake. “Striking us down for our transgressions is well within your rights. But please...” Something dripped from the man’s face; it became apparent when he looked up. “Please… I beg of you.” The man was a wreck, tears and snot streaming down his face in equal measure. “Bear my wife’s Sins before you do.”

The female dwarf besides him began to wail beneath her helmet, screaming insults as she pummeled Mogrim with abandon. The man dropped the ax, catching both her arms before holding her tight in his embrace. Easily suppressing what weak resistance she put up, whispering softly as she sobbed into his breastplate, “Ssshhh, my love, sssshhh.” He kissed the top of her helmet. “It’s okay now, ssshhh…” His eyes were puffy as he bit his lips, softly cradling the armored woman. “It’s just another century for me, nothing I couldn’t bear.” He had sounded soft and reassuring, but his wide open eyes conveyed something different—pure terror. He closed them tightly, hugging her even closer than before. “I’m not going to let him take you a second time. Consequences be damned.” He grasped her helmet, angling it up till she met his gaze. “I will endure. I will return. And when I do, I will cleanse my Sins at last.” He kissed her helmet on more time. “We will dine, together, in the Father’s halls for eternity. You have my Oath.”

The woman was briefly silent before replying. Magic buzzed in the air, causing them to both glow briefly in a faint blue light. As it settled, Mogrim wiped away his snot and tears. “And so it is sworn.” He looked at me, then the woman. She briefly nodded as she peeled herself from his grasp, removing her helmet in the process. Beneath it was a dwarf with blond hair, fair skin, and a puffy cheeks. The polar opposite to the rough, and weathered exterior that was Mogrim. The only similarity, besides the hair, was the possession of a Mark. Its pattern burned into her skin, starting somewhere near her ear before snaking upwards and hooking itself into her eyebrow.

She watched me, brown eyes red, but steps slow and resolute as she and Mogrim knelt in front of me. Only Mogrim’s voice managed to draw me from that iron conviction. For his voice contained a even stronger determination, “I may have broken with dwarven traditions, but that doesn’t mean I have forsworn the Forgefather.” He pulled the fallen ax from the ground, offering it to me once more. “We knew our lives were forfeit the moment we hurt you. But please…” He lowered his head. “Grant this dwarf his final request.”

My mind panicked, unsure what to do. Or more importantly, how to do it. My body, however, jumped at the opportunity, snatching the priceless ax from the dwarf’s grip. Yoink. No refunds. A very familiar voice echoed in my head. Eeehhh, I mean *cough* *cough* this is your long deceased grandpa speaking. The voice sounded like it had squeezed its nose shut. I am merely reclaiming a… ehm… priceless heirloom of our family. Stolen long ago by… uh… less than human hands. But, alas, I can’t speak much longer. The underworld’s pull is getting stronger by the minute. I must go now, but remember that I always loved you.

…

Gob.

…

I know you’re in there, Gob.

…

No I’m not.

…

Gob. I don’t care how you got there, but get out.

I’m not Gob, I’m… Bob. Wait, I mea-

Gob.

…

Yeeeess?

OUT.

There was a deep sigh, followed by a series of grumpy mumbling, and the sound of a door opening. A few seconds later, it slammed shut, bringing with it total mental silence. Wispy smoke began to flood out of my nostrils, forming into that ever irritating form of his.

I crossed my arms, tapping my foot in irritation as Gob leaned lazily on Mogrim’s head. The man was beginning to sweat profusely for some reason, but he gave no indication of noticing Gob. Not even when he began to sit on his shoulders, eyes droopy, and voice annoyed. “I’m out. Happy, Boss?”

It took everything not to swipe off his stupid head. But I knew it wouldn’t connect. It never did. So I just rubbed the bridge of my nose in annoyance. “I’m mad, let alone happy. Where were you? And why did you do all those things in the tunnel?”

“Well…” Gob stuck a pinky in his ear, wringing it around for good measure. “I saw you eyeing that Sly girl. All lovey dovey, marriage in the air.” He pulled it out, inspecting the yellow goo. “So I thought, why not give you a taste of the married life. Someone has to prepare you for the rigors of spouse hood.”

“You mean that whole thing was training?” I could barely keep my mouth stop from hanging open. “Even those whispers at the end?”

“Marriage is where hope goes to die.” Gob smeared the earwax onto Mogrim’s pristine armor, leaving a nasty stain on the shoulder. “I’m an expert on this, trust me.”

“I’ve been done trusting you a long time ago. Now I ju-”

The dwarven woman pleaded something to me, clasping her hands profusely. “Silence, love,” Mogrim said. “He’s clearly communicating with the Forgefather. Mercy is his decision, not yours.” The man was now sweating buckets, prostrating himself as low as he could. “I beg your forgiveness, Sin-bearer. Her love had clouded her judgment. It will not happen again.”

The woman bit her lip before mimicking Mogrim. The other dwarves just watched in amazement from a distance, silently whispering and pointing at me in wonder. My party had quite the different reaction, ranging from confused stares to slowly inching away.

“Not bad.” I turned to Gob’s voice, only to find him sitting on Mogrim’s back, feet resting on the woman before him. “A bit too solid, Boss, but nothing a few cushions can’t fix. I think we should keep them.”

I raised the ax high, much to the dismay of the dwarves around me, only to stop at some shouting from the tunnel. A dwarf burst into the outpost, holding a scroll high as he shouted some words followed by Mogrim’s name, over and over. He was exhausted, and panting, but still froze mid-stride when he saw the situation.

Mogrim sat straight up, causing Gob to tumble on the floor face first. I chuckled at the sight. “Fate is indeed funny, Sin-bearer,” Mogrim said. “It seems I have one last task to perform in the Forgefather’s name. If you permit me, that is.” I happily nodded, enjoying the way that Gob was rubbing his reddening nose.

Mogrim beckoned the man closer, reading the scroll in deep concentration as Gob screamed in the background, “I demand an execution, Boss! This aggression cannot, and will not stand! Off with his head, and burn the beard! I want hi...”

I began to block out his mindless raving, finding it easier than expected. So all that nagging was good for something after all. Instead, I turned towards Mogrim, waiting for him to finish the scroll. His brow was deeply furrowed as he handed it back to the messenger. “So…” Even I was getting curious. “What did it say?”

“For some reason the Despoiler’s armies have switched their targets five days ago. Whatever their aim, they’ve been charging through the north-eastern front, closing in on this position whilst ignoring outposts and defenses at staggering losses. My guess would be that they are looking for something.”

He met my gaze.

“Or someone.”