It is rare for anyone not born into the few remaining dwarven communities of the Tablelands to gain such insights as I have into the nature of dwarven life and afterlife. Though many would see it as a threat to their way of life and privacy, I feel called to put my unique insights and knowledge into writing. Being born of two worlds and well-traveled, I feel that I can offer some much-needed insight into the psychic world, such that it is, of those most cursed by the shackles of the dwarven mind and the undying passion of their arrow-like hearts. It is my sincerest hope that my work might help to put those most wayward of souls to rest and to aid in bringing the dwarven people back together towards a wholeness that they so clearly crave but remain painfully unable to navigate towards.

I have known great struggle and determination, for I feel the power that drives my brethren in their lives, but I am blessed with the room to reflect and the ability to let go - an ability that often comes at only the most extreme of prices to my mother’s people. My father, blessed of deep flows and trained in the Way, helped me to experience the world beyond the veil known as the Gray. He was honored among the people of our small village until his tragic death - a death which set me upon the path I have taken for the last three decades. My mother still dwells among her people, unyielding and unwavering in her commitment to her community, no matter how little hope remains of its realization. She, like many others in that remote corner of the Tablelands - far north of the Sun’s Fist - still strives to reclaim a past that can never again be. Only now, she has joined the long fallen in their never ending struggle. After my mother’s death, I could not continue to dwell among the dead as the majority of those true blooded, but still living members of my clan are determined to do. Afflicted with my own curse - one never permitting the birth of flesh and blood - and unshackled with the true focus of my half-kin, I have committed to my own with as much fervor and devotion as my half-dwarven heart can bear, hoping to birth something into the world that might bring renewal and a chance for rest.

I have traveled these lands far beyond the bounds of civilization in my pursuits, seeking out dwarven communities both intact and fallen, growing or slowly crumbling. I have journeyed into the ghettos of Nibenay and the degadas of Gulg. I have traveled to the far reaches of the Road of Fire and the ancient mines of the Mekillot Mountains. I have sought out hermits and mystics, and even chased after the mirage of the ephemeral Order. And I have done so in pursuit of insights and knowledge into the nature of the dwarven mind and soul, the nature of undeath on this dying planet, and the secrets of the mind. I cannot reveal all of the secrets I have witnessed, for much could be used to ill purport, but even more so simply defies words, resisting my feeble attempts to capture it and taunting my limited nature and desire for mastery. But here I will set down what I can through story and metaphor, fact and fiction, with whatever tools I can manage, for unlike my kinfolk who may forever dwell in pursuit of their unfinished quests, mine will end with my last breath and can only be preserved by what relics and legacy I leave behind.