“He is hereby condemned to exile.”

The ocean of contempt withdrew and an empty, silent shore of uncertainty appeared. To a dwarf, death was the most terrible fate. But being exiled from dwarven society was also uncertain. Many lacked experience of the outside world, knowing only of it through stories and tall tales. Death in that sense was a known, quick fate. Exile was the opposite – A fate, but unknown and slow if it could be put in those terms at all.

“Would any soul want to speak up on behalf of the accused?”

Ithil, warily turning her head between the observing Patriarch and her chastised brother as if panicked hesitation, caught glimpse of his eyes. His head was slumped over and turned down as if in shame, but she felt his eyes penetrating her, and saw how he discretely shook his head. “He knew this, he wanted this.” she thought, just as suddenly nauseated, infuriated and confused. She was panicking, although not hesitating, as she slowly retreated backwards, surrendering to instinct. As the tears began to protrude, she turned and disappeared into the hushed crowd without a sound, and quietly became part of the collection of petrified statues surrounding him

“It is settled.”* The Patriarch declared in an almost jovial tone, and ill-hidden satisfaction. “You leave tonight.”
* The chronicles differ as to what the utterances were. According to some sources he was quoted as ‘That’s a bingo!’

He gave one last glance to the belongings he had spread out on the bed in his chambers, hoping he had remembered it all. The disagreement with his sister did nothing to assist his concentration as he felt doubt beginning to seep through. “Maybe she is right? But in what sense? How can I stand here, profess one creed, and then have it guide me elsewhere? How can you speak of closing a door, as you hold it open?” No, it had to be. For every time he obeyed, he had been rewarded. For months it had grown on him, only to intensify. This door was opening.

First it had been a cold, long, dark, cavernous hall – A boring dwarven dream by most standards. But eventually the further wall had begun to crack, two horizontal openings, slowly widening each night. Then one night, a fire had come alive in them. He had gazed into it, and felt the radiant heat penetrate his very being. As he touched the flames, he came awake – With a burnt hand. As time went by the openings had greater and greater flames licking out of them, as if eyes set in the very rock with flaming eyelashes.

These dreams began to preoccupy him, and they continued as his previous religious sentiment faded in favour of this new feature of his sentient life. And as he did, the distinctions faded and thoughts turned into prayers and prayers became granted, and his dreams progressed as well. But for some time he had been stuck. By the flickering eyes there had appeared an anvil and a bucket of water, and inside one of the openings he could see something inside the fire burning – But he had no
means by which to retrieve or work it. He needed some tongs, and he understood what it meant.

Zigilgathol had been founded by Hamar the Forger. Of his time there remained only one artifact, a pair of tongs hung behind the Patriarchs seat in the great hall – A symbol of what needs to be built. As local law decreed, all punishments was to be proportionate to the crime. All crime was met with scorn, but the punishment of theft was a return of property. Infidelity was divorce. Murder was punished by death. As he belonged to the priesthood, albeit more and more distancing himself, Thikil had realized the Patriarch might be lenient so as to not diminish their societal status, among which the Patriarch’s own son belonged. For these reasons he first thought he ought to let tattoo himself, so as to mutilate the face which the religious creed insisted must remain untouched. As such, he would be forced to leave the priesthood. After which, if he were to steal Hamar’s tools, he would be banished. Or so he hoped.

He considered for a moment that he may have been slow to interpret his dreams and had maybe been expected to leave his home and livelihood for some time. Maybe he had failed in some regard and was now being tested – To receive a sentence such that he may not remain but nor may suffer. Regardless, this time there were no misunderstandings. He snapped himself from his thoughts and began packing all his equipment and ready it for departure. Soon enough he would make it to the Great Hall and intentionally get caught, after which this would come to use. Or so he hoped.

“I think it’s unfair” one of the guards let know with an air of confession.

“Bah, serves him right.” the other muttered.

Thikil was being hurriedly escorted by the guards to the southern gate. By late noon the sentence had been passed and it had decreed he was to be out by sundown. Somehow though surprisingly darkness was yet late off and he was already fully dressed and on the go – Massaging his right hand.

“I mean, I agree but we only jailed him two days ago and now he’s out. Like that. Say he’s innocent, would you want to be treated like that?”

“Except I’m not.” Both guards stopped, turned around at looked at him. Those were the only words he had uttered ever since they were fetched to carry out the sentence. They both gave him a confused look, then each other before realizing that he had been co-operative to the extent they were just walking along with him with little regard as to the timeless art of managing a criminal.

“Don’t you stop, on you go” the less sympathetic guard snarled at Thikil, as he motioned him forward by thrusting his axe into the air. And just as co-operative he had been, he continued to be. As the guards continued jabbering on the contrasting merits of Dwarven jurisprudence on their way to his imminent departure, Thikil was as happily surprised on the turn of events. The guards had caught him, retrieved Hamar’s tongs, put him in jail and then the rest was just the Patriarch’s own workings – To hurriedly and comfortably rid himself of a personal nuisance through a show trial.

It was all perfect. Except Ithil’s reaction of course. More so Thikil hoped that it was what he had foreseen in his last dream in jail. As he was pondering it’s ultimate meaning and interpretation, he was presented with the southern gate – Wide open. He did not turn to look at his companions.

“A few hours off there’s a trading post. I suppose it might’ve been pitch black had you’ve been kicked out by sundown but as it looks now, you might make it”.

“Well, considering you get caught out of luck and sense inside these walls I would not count on it being any different out there. Good riddance.”

“The same to you. Give my sister my regards.”

His last words caught him off-guard. He had not intended to say anything of the sort.

“Outta the way!” As he was standing there stuck, trying to decide on whether he had acted in accordance with the intention of the dream a tradesman passed by on a cart, forcing him to move out of the way. As it rolled past him his intuition got the better of him, and after a quick nod to the guards he went after the cart. The irritable guard shouted something behind his back that he didn’t make out as he hurried forward, trying to understand what he had lost – And hoping it was to a greater gain than the potential company of a lonesome trader handling a donkey cart.

Sleep had come surprisingly easy to him in jail, maybe out of exhaustion for what had been, before the thought of what was to come or simple eagerness of what might be discovered.

Once again he found himself present in the cavernous hall, with two openings that suddenly came alight with flickering flames. He paced towards the fires, the footsteps echoing forcefully against a ceiling which could not be made out – if it existed at all.

He glanced inside the fire and as usual he could make out something within there, but this time looking towards the anvil – Tongs! He would be able to extract this something out of the searing flames which was working it. He grabbed the tongs off the old anvil and inspected them. Just like Hamar’s. He hoped with these tools he would gain some insight as to the workings of this divine entity he had found himself subjected to by extracting the item. But he managed to restrain his eager curiousity, realizing that he would not want to expose his entire body so close to the flame.

So instead he slowly approached the fire from the side and only exposing as little as possible of his body, so as to not get burnt by the radiant heat. By this point in time the openings had expanded so much from his initial visions that he could actually place his hand inside of it without touching the flames. As such he slowly reached inside with the tongs, grabbing for the item inside.

He could not reach it, so he extended his hand inside a little further.

He felt himself touching the object using the tongs, and began to navigate it using the tools.

And just as he struggled with reaching, the flames came alive.

Both fires turned towards him, as if though they were pupils constricting – Suddenly fiercesomely piercing him with their gaze.

He was frozen in terror for a moment, and just as he was to pull his hand out the very rock shut itself on him. Stuck with his arm in the wall in an excruciating and crushing pain, he awoke, flailing and screaming – Not sure what it had meant or what he had just witnessed.