Book One – Chapter 12

Faroah had been at his sweeping for four days straight, but he had not yet made it to the entrance. This place was simply a lot of work for one old wizard. Resting his broom against the wall where he had just cleared, he acknowledged Samasira’s presence with a nod. As she bowed and introduced herself as Samasira, he welcomed her with a gesture to follow him deeper into the dim interior. The singular, floating orb trailing Faroah illuminated their path and cast warm hues of orange onto the feet of the columns and statues surrounding them, lending a mesmerizing glow to the ancient stone carvings.

The air within the temple hung heavy with the lingering scent of dragon fire and the faint echoes of ancient ceremonies. Faroah liked to listen, and every once in a while, when something sounded particularly interesting, he stopped his sweeping and looked back to see what the fuss was all about.

Few wizards shared his fascination with dwarven history and culture. Especially those born after the Mountainfell Heritage Wars, who were now the vast majority, had rather opposing views. They grew up with nothing good to remember and that left little motivation for listening to anything that lay beyond the confines of these tainted memories.

Faroah did not blame them. After all, introspection was the province and privilege of age, was it not? In your youth, you are consumed by the present; coming to know the world as you live it, navigating the truth as it unfolds. As years pass, you begin to look into the future. You build on your present and plan your path ahead. With maturity comes reflection, the consideration of your actions. You consider how these actions will shape you, and how you will shape the world for the generations to come. And then, with old age, you start to look back, acknowledging the vast changes wrought over a singular lifetime, and marvelling at just how much change had already been there, long before you. There will always be a Before after us.

Faroah and Samasira arrived at a secluded alcove nestled within the heart of the expansive entrance hall. Here, the juncture between the free stone architecture and the mountain itself was unmistakable. The walls and floor were hewn from natural rock, every column and statue sculpted by chiselling away from the mountain itself.