Prologue, by Vox Nihili
The year is 260. In the dim, flickering light of a candlelit room, a great dwarven historian and a young acolyte converse. They are among some of the last survivors of the dwarven civilization known as "The Famous Palisade" that once stood proudly against invaders from all directions, and has now been all but overrun.
'Why do we still record histories of tragedy and of despair when there will soon be no dwarf left to read them' asks the latter.
'A historian records history for its own sake' grunts the aged historian. 'It is his duty.'
'Our duty is to carefully carve down every last instance of our failure?' asks the acolyte. He reads from the engraving upon the wall 'In the early winter of 260, the 78th pillaging of Truststeel ocurred. 78th. Must whoever finds these writings know that a once-proud dwarven city was vanquished 78 separate times? Must our shame at the hands of the Forest Lovers and the Arrogant Ones be known by all? Even the Greenskins, once allies, openly mock our weakness.'
The historian ignores his young apprentice, and continues chiseling events into the walls of the near-empty Mountainhome. Vivid images of clearly one-sided battles take form in seconds under his skillful hand.
'Here you record how one dwarf stood against hundreds of foes and was slain' continues the apprentice 'as though it is a thing of glory, rather than a thing to be pitied. We dwarves are finished.'
Now the old historian responds ''ave you forgotten The Roasted Assault, where 200 some stout dwarves stood strong against 6 times their number?'
The apprentice rebuts 'When was the last time a dwarven army of more than 20 soldiers was marshaled? You know well that our strength is sapped. We all know.'
'As long as a single dwarf of The Famous Palisade still stands, there is strength yet to destroy any number of foes' finishes the historian. The issue is dropped, and the two return to the task of recording the agonizing descent of their civilization, one of the last dwarven peoples that still stands.
Several seasons later, survivors of one of many attacks on dwarven land set out to carve a home in a place that will not easily be discovered by their foes. This place will come to be known as Gemclod. It will be founded in a stinking, wretched swampland that even elves and goblins refused to settle. Its rise and fall, its comedies and its tragedies, will be recorded in this thread.
The Pantheon of The Famous Palisade
