Riloth the 19th the 201st

The door opened to reveal a small private room, furnished with a bed—also cut into the wall—a desk, chair, and chest. The bed was made, and the desk was tidily arranged with the chair pushed in. An armor rack, of the same design as those from the armory, sat empty along one wall. If not for the dust that covered everything, it appeared that its owner had only stepped out for a moment.

“What’s this?” I asked Dagmar as she stepped in.

“This is the quarters of the commanding Hardune officer for the region,” she said, looking over the desk.

She moved on, ignoring the papers that sat upon it, and looked through the chest. Inside she found some more papers that looked to be letters of a personal nature, a coin purse—the first item of pure wealth we’d found in either outpost—and other sundry personal items.

I looked through the papers on the desk that Dagmar had ignored, and very carefully attempted to separate the stack. To my horror, the entire thing had become fused into a large block of paper.

Dagmar noticed my expression and said, “Aye, our ink was kind of slag until a few hundred years back. Over time it became sticky. We’d sprinkle powders over it when it happened to preserve it, but older unattended works had the habit of binding together.”

Gently, I tried peeling off the first sheet—something I’d never be so bold as to try if I didn’t know I could just try again tomorrow. The corner lifted easily until it reached the text on the sheet below it, where it began to tear.

Hmm. I wonder...

I placed my palm on top of the stack and enabled my Wilsight. Slowly, I imbued the top sheet, keeping all my attention on the single piece of paper. Lifting the corner once more, I saw that only the top sheet had the blue tinge of my Will. Focusing on it, I placed my palm out before me, just above the stack, and Conjured it to my hand.

With a slight flutter, the sheet appeared above my hand and gently fell into my grip, revealing the next page. The second piece of paper in the stack was pristine, the ink still tacky to the touch.

“Hmm, that's a handy trick. If we get out of here I’ll have to introduce you to some archivists. You would be very popular,” Dagmar said.

“I will certainly take you up on that offer if we ever get out of this. I’d love to explore a dwarven library.”

Slowly, we separated the stack, one sheet at a time, and laid them out on the desk and bed. We read through it all, a mix of correspondence, maps, and meeting notes, and we began to get a clear—if terrifying—view of the mysteries at play.

The documents themselves all used the dwarven calendar, which tracked time not since the flood, but from the departure of the gods. The documents were dated from 1447 to 1552. I knew 1552 coincided with 74 AF, but the date was not significant to me until I read further. Dagmar on the other hand was very familiar with the year. It was the year the Avatar was captured.

I think it best I summarize the documents filled in with some context from Dagmar in place of rewriting their contents here. It's likely I will transcribe it all in full someday, but I am not in the mood to do so now. Actually, I could probably recover the pages and pay a scribe to copy them into removed pages from you. That’d save me the hand cramp at least.

The outpost in question was one of two the Hardune had in the region. The other dwarven ruins in the area predated the construction of these two, back to the Age of Wonders, and had been long abandoned when the Hardune had rediscovered the site. Having seen those ruins in person, I can say that dwarven stonework truly is magical, even when no magic is used. They date back to 5000 BF and are still largely intact and identifiable as structures. I don’t imagine any human building around would be distinguishable in a third of that, should we leave them to rot.

The reason for the ruins' abandonment was detailed in the papers. Dagmar had once explained to me that the Hardune took it upon themselves to protect the world from the threats that rose up in the absence of the gods, but that raised the question as to how the gods had dealt with such threats prior to their departure. She didn't know at the time I inquired, but we learned together.

The gods protected the world exactly the same way the Hardune did so. When other-Realmly entities appeared, they destroyed them when possible, and banished them when not. When hazardous Primordials appeared, they trapped them with runes. Runes you see were not a dwarven invention, but a discovery. In the dwarven expansion after the departure of the gods, these prisons were slowly discovered and examined. The dwarves and gnomes—but mostly the gnomes—began to examine the strange carvings that accompanied each captured Primordial, and through trial and error recreated the art of rune crafting. That isn’t to say that they have not since advanced the art greatly. While the gods left the first clues to the practice, the people of Torc have spent millennia refining it.

Torc’s children began to seek out these sites to glean more runes, casually at first, but faster after the first escape. Sometime in the Age of Kings, the Primordial of Decay broke free of its prison and slowly made its way across Kaltis, turning all organic material into dry lifeless dirt. Unfortunately for those in its path, the destruction it left was miles wide, but it made the tracking of the monster a simple—if grim—affair. The dwarves that would form the Hardune sought out its original prison, so they could learn the runes to recapture it. The wards of the first cell had been foiled by a simple leak. High above the chamber that held the Primordial, a stalactite dripped, growing a stalagmite on the ground which one day extended over the runes, causing the ward to fail. They copied the runes, and prepared a new location, luring the Primordial there with a great concentration of decay. An entire forest was poisoned and seeded with spores, vermin and insects. The rotting field of decay drew the Primordial to it. When it entered the ward, its own magics gave the runes power, and it was once more trapped.

The dwarves dared not risk another fluke setting the monster free, so they built a fortress near the prison. They kept the area clear of all life that could damage the ward, and eventually encapsulated it in stone with the aid of Stoneweavers and Torc’s Blessed. The Hardune was formed, and its first duty was to find the prisons left unguarded by the gods.

This outpost was created in proximity to one such prison. Somewhere in our vicinity, though we knew not where, sat the prison for the Primordial of Time.

I’d been right.

The dwarves had found this prison late in the Age of Kings as they were in conflict with the local surface orc tribe. They discovered the prison and quickly built two outposts amidst the ruins of the long forgotten dwarven structures, structures that were a mystery even back then. Eventually peace was made with orcs, and the outpost fell into obscurity as the Hardune continued their patient vigil.

Unfortunately, nowhere could we find a hint towards its location.

Some seven-hundred-odd years ago, Ken Dorath Rishen —Captain Rishen—took over command of this outpost and began working to further secure his charge.

Having learned much over their years of toil, the dwarves began to layer redundancies upon the wards that bound the Primordials left caged by the gods. Rishen led the improvements for the Primordial of Time. Though these redundancies were not detailed, it is likely that they are the cause of our current predicament.

Part of me hates this Rishen, but his foresight may have saved the world—or will, if we ever figure this out. But, Rishen was not all wise. He overreached in his ambitions of security, or so we suspect.

Some time after the Avatar broke free of the volcano that birthed it, the dragons became aware of the tainted Primordial's corrupting effect. In response to the breach, the gods birthed Bild to plug the gap in Faust's prison, and join the Wardens in their task. A god born of the gods and demigods, they each gave a part of themselves to him. They gave him their love for Kaltis and its people, and their desire to protect them. Bild traveled Kaltis, the only god to walk its surface in millennia, plugging the gaps in Faust's prison, and helping those he could along the way. When he encountered the plight of the dragons, he offered them a deal. He would give of himself to protect them from Faust's corruption, but it would not be a gift.

For Bild to protect the dragons, it would rob from the power he needed to seal Faust for good. He offered a deal. For any who agreed to protect the races of men against Faust and those who served him, he would extend his protection. This became known as the Pact of Bild.

Many dragons were already lost to the taint when the offer was made, but many more accepted, for they too had a heart for the races of Kaltis, and longed to school the Faust fueled hunger of their hearts they'd long battled. The dragons spread over the world, battling their corrupted kin and the servants of Faust. Many fell, and now few remain.

Not all were thrilled with Bild's offer, and of those that declined, at least one remained free of the taint.

Tilavondro, one of the oldest of his kind, not born of wyrm but created by Illunia and Assuine themselves, did not take kindly to being controlled. His scales were an iridescent white and he had traveled the world collecting the tales of mortals. He'd mastered the influence of Faust on his own, back when the dragons had departed from civilization, and he believed he could do so again.

He declined Bild's offer and fled to the far reaches of Kaltis, staying far from the Avatar and its corrupting presence. But over time the corruption spread, and soon he could no longer flee. It is here that Rishen comes into the picture. While no dragons had joined the Hardune prior to the Pact of Bild, they were no strangers to the dwarves or their mission. Though not the longest lived of races, the dwarven society had a stability that was appealing to the near ageless wyrms. Through their regular interactions, many dragons had assisted in the work of the Hardune on a... freelance basis.

When the corruption of Faust had infested nearly the whole world and Tilavo was trapped as it closed in on him, he went to the Hardune and found Rishen nearby. Quickly a deal was struck, as time was of the essence. The dwarves would at first ward a small area against Faust's corruption, and then expand it, undertaking a ward miles wide.

The dwarves worked quickly, and Tilavo found himself the occupant of a bleak hole, deep in the Torack. By the time he'd found Rishen, only the tunnels in Torc's earth were free of the taint, and only just barely. It took nearly a year for the great wards to be built, even with the aid of Stoneweavers. When it was done, Tilavo stepped out of his cell, and soared through the small section of sky that would be his domain.

For over a hundred years the dwarves and dragon lived in harmony. When the races of Kaltis found Basin and displaced the orcs from their homes, driving them to war, Tilavo destroyed their armies with his breath of light so pure it sapped the color from whatever it did not destroy.

The last missive in the pile was from 74AF. It was a written record of a ward transmitted message, and spoke of the Avatar's capture and the outcome of the great battle fought by orcs and dwarves united against the servants of Faust and his vile dragons. They had planned a party and called in all the surrounding Hardune to celebrate. They'd even invited the dragon.

"From the white stone streaks in this outpost, I'd say it's pretty clear Tilavo did all this. But why?" I mused after we'd read the last document.

Dagmar, who'd been reading a schematic of the great wards, looked up and said, "I might have an idea."

"A theory?" I teased.

"No," she said firmly, "This ward has elements I recognize as protective runes that draw on the Font of Barriers, but they are oriented inward and outward. They are etched to keep something out—Faust's corruption—but they are also etched to keep something in. Something powerful and magical."

"Like a dragon?"

"Like a dragon," she confirmed.

"From our last interaction, I would hazard a guess that he is not one who takes kindly to discovering that he is trapped. Do you think he found out at the party and slew the garrison in retaliation?"

"I told you I had an idea, not a theory. But," she paused, "that seems likely."

"Do you think he's still trapped?" I asked.

"I don't see why that matters to us."

"Aren't you curious as to what an ancient dragon has been up to over the last seven-hundred years?"

"No. Let's get back to the Dahn"

We left the new outpost, my own mind running through theories about Tilavo, while Dagmar's mind was probably... ranking types of stone for comfort? It's probably just blank most of the time. Before I met her, I just assumed everyone always thought over things at all times. I'm starting to think that maybe that wasn't true.

At the Dahn we chipped away at our stony foes, and once again I escaped with my life. I'd gotten in the habit of bringing food in case of this eventuality, but of course the day the rhythm broke would be a day I survived without bringing any.