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[Galathan]

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*An obviously misplaced report comes blowing across your path, written in excellen penmanship and features several images created through magical inscriptions.*

"Ahh the first day went splendid. Out of the one-hundred tons or ore needed, about four tons was already packed and shipped to the construction site.







No resistance was met by any force or grouping. Some irrate miners expressed their dissatisfaction and were quelled. Forward scouts now scout the town proper for any opposing forces, and have yet encountered noone. I will be sure to send another report in the morrow. Hopefully with continuing good fortunes."
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Galathan
"Survivor of Ormus"

[Dof the Daft]

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The warm Trammel sun fell behind soft tendrils of purple cloud hemmed with golden hues... the facet's moon rose slowly behind Mount Kendell... a lone Dwarf pulled himself up from the roots of the Mountain and found himself in it's cavern... chest heaving as he took in the smell of flora absent in the realms of Felucca, he whistled back down the tunnel from whence he came, and two of his Marksmen wriggled out, falling upon their faces... followed by three llamas who bounded up and out with ease.

Mounting the woolly beasts, the three Dwarfs took a look about... the Baron of the Dwarfs flew into a rage... his deep-set eyes widened in full as he noted the beauty of the cavern had been marred with wantonly deep thrusts, devoid of all the care that such a sacred place deserved... words in the Common Tongue could do no justice.



As the Baron of the Dwarfs spat and mourned, his face fell into his hands... yet a Marksman's eyes beheld that which broke his Baron's greif, and bid him take up his hammer in rage... a dark sash lie in the rubble and debris of the careless work the despised folk had made of the cavern's belly... lying amidst the spilled entrails of precious ore veins like a ribbon... again the Baron cried in a deep booming voice.



Forcing his llama into a trot, the Dwarfin ruler turned away at length... with grave disgust bepainting his stern face, he bid his Marksmen follow him out into the falling sunlight... there he saw the abandoned remnants of the shameless assailants' shipping tools, dropped from their hurried load.



The Baron bid his Dwarfs collect them, and then move out into the streets of Minoc... returning when they had names of all in the township who owned dark clothing that might match the sash... eventually one of them would be he that had dropped it, the Dwarf reasoned to himself... and went north to the tavern to drown his greif in ale.