Elydrith is your standard fantastical world, full of humans, elves, dwarves, etc. The oldest of these races are the dwarves. Please read up on a much more specific detail list in the wikis.

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The Shifting of Change
We seem to have found ourselves a new member of the party. He be a halfling called Luticrous. Though he be a nice addition to the party (I'm no longer the only one looking up to the behemoth sized humans), I cannot be certain if he has the heart for the trials ahead. He seems naive, much akin to the young Mhoran, who was lost when we left this plane to go into the fey. His bardic power is something to which I be not accustom. He lightens moods, speaks of simple pleasures, and recalls better times. He recently brought up the fun of his childhood, a foreign concept to me.

I was raised in a dark place, the common mines of the dwarven empire. The mines were not any sort of commercial pursuit and there was very little ore to be had. It was all slate and sand stone. These mines were meant to keep large portions of dwarven population busy and away from the political scene above. Only after a change in military policy, was I taken away from the depths and me kinsfolk. It was a dark time for the common dwarf; however, the military was good to me. I was taught the way of the hammer, both with the anvil and the shield. Me years spent with the pick had given me strength, though the poor food I believe cut me growth short. The function of the military is more or less autonomous from the fickle squabbles of the political sphere; it functions primarily from long ages of tradition and agreement. The military is there to maintain what stands not invade or plunder. Honor is only found in protection.

I look to the notched hammer in me bag, and remember each of the 14 notches and that which they represent. They were those dwarves who had lost their way and I regret their loss. As I look at this new finely crafted craghammer I see the symbol of me people, the symbol of Moradin. I contemplate the need for such a tool, I know it shall offer me further protection, but I have heard of the cost at which was gained. Is the bartering of one's devotion normal amongst the human folk? Sinnares is a dauntless mender with a fiery zeal for his deity. I do not understand the worship of a god of trickery but I understand devotion. Now there seems to have been some play with that dark god Jaret held so close, the Raven Queen. I only wish such fickle fights amongst the Gods would come to an end and our mortal realm left untouched. Indeed, even the fey has become effected. The poor people of the Elf's world seem to have come under the subjugation of the black dragon. Only Moradin knows who this dragon serves.

Our party seems to have made some progress with its dealings with those more or less in neutral standing to our cause. The Alchemist seems to be a friend at this point, though these mage types seem dreadfully fickle from me standpoint. I was proud of Sheldor for only destroying a picture and not a life. I believe he needs training in the purpose of battle. He seems to have the ability to deal great and terrible damage to his foes, but has very little understanding of who a foe is. Such is a result of the untrained life of a barbarian.

We now come to the place of our desire, that western kingdom by the sea. Here we shall be able to sell our goods and muster support against this stormblade and those he worships. Mayhaps we shall find emissaries from the distant human and elven lands; I be hopeful. Looking at our future, I be confident of the power o' Moradin to overcome these squabbles.
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Epic!
The Torn World
As I find meself some time fer this record, I cannot help but note the state I've found the group in... I feel the party is loosin' heart, mayhaps that be only a feelin' from within me own heart... I do not understand the toll that this journey has levied on me fellows. Sinnares is no longer fully a man, and 'as lost 'is counsel. Jaret 'as passed on, this Sorrow character seems to be more amused by the troubles of this land than involved. Even the mighty Sheldor has been altered by the Journey, his actions become more and more irrational with each passing day, only sometimes does reason modify his course. Now we add to the group a Halfling, this Luticrous, what can he bring to our band but more troubles, more liabilities... another mouth to keep quiet in the night... I only wish to gain contact with the Dwarves of me brotherhood, those who stay true to Moradin... Elydrith feels torn, there are no longer any allies within me own lands, marble has turned to slate, granite to sandstone. As our foes gain strength we seem to stay in the same place. I feel we be like the dwarves of the legends, who were made to fight the darkness with not but copper and bronze axes and helms. How did they emerge from the dark? Had they more heart? Had they more strength? What takes a dwarf and makes 'im a Dwarf, be it the fire of Moradin, or be it the bellows we pump with each day we live? How am I to purify the ore if I am without the coal... Mayhaps I need only open me eyes, mayhaps I need only look to my small band of companions. I feel we need a name...
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Shadows of Guilt
I grow weary of this place. It has been many days by my best guess since I came to be here. To long without seeing the sun. To long without the feel of soft grass on my feet, and the forest breeze on my hair.

I was granted the opportunity to see into the minds of my new companions. This has been exceedingly valuable. After all, the only thing I truly know of them is that they are very skilled at destroying kingdoms, killing kings, and brutalizing my people. Though, through the glimpse I was given, it would appear that there is some shadow of guilt over the incident that lies over the party. In fact, not just over that event, but several other occurrences as well. I thought it would be a relief to know that they feel guilt over the slaughter of my people, but instead this only serves to infuriate me. Men are so weak. Clearly they knew full well what would happen when they made their choice, and yet the only action they have taken to honor the fallen is to express regret. How can my fathers death mean anything if his killers regret it?

I surprise myself with my own emotions on the topic. I never felt such responsibility for my father or my people before, why is this happening now? perhaps it was my own mental encounter with my mother... Damnable wretch. I hope she is still alive somewhere, so that one day I may rip her lying tongue from her mouth and... Well now, it would appear that Sheldors attitude is wearing off on me.

One last note before I retire. The woman, Adrie as my companions call her. She has returned, and I fear she intends to travel with us. I have read of her kind, the Wood Elves as the old texts call them. Something feels... wrong about them. They are so similar to us, and yet... Well. in any case, I do not like her.
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The Slipping Mind
As we trudge our way through this maze, I find meself wonderin' about the ways of the mine... I contemplate the loss o' friends, the recovery o' friends, and the forging o' new friends. Even so, We be lost in the maze o' the beholder. What good will Adrie bring to the party, when we ourselves cannot find the way beyond these forsaken shafts... It would seem only natural fer the dwarfs above would 'ave sealed such a place. Alas, the artist, like the God o' the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.... I've lost me sense o' dwarfhood. I must find meself. I must remember...
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Games of the Beholder
I write this in haste, as we heal our wounds. Apparently there is more to this realm than dark twisting corridors of stone, which I must admit is a relief. My new companions seem distraught at being here, though I do not know if that is because of the oppressive nature of these caverns or because of the loss of the ones they call Jaret and Adrie.
In either case, they seem as anxious as I to be free of these stone bowels. To that end we have allied ourselves with a creature known in the common tongue as a Beholder. From all I have read of the creatures I understand them to be egotistical and manipulative. I am not comfortable with this arrangement, but a meek smile seems to have gone a long way with him. We have done what he asked of us, all that remains is to pull the lever that disables the trapped corridors and we will have fulfilled our part of the bargain, and he should let us pass.

Though I sustained no grave wounds, I find that the life of a commoner that I currently lead is most tiresome and dangerous. I have only been a traveler for a short time (I do not know how long exactly, as the sun does not shine here), and already my clothes are dirty and stained by flame and blood. My current company seems able to swing their weapons about well enough, though none of them seems to have much sense. Typical of men I suppose, but especially of human men. i reserve my judgement of the dwarf, for now.

Oddly, I do find myself thinking of Father. We were never close, and i did not suspect his death would weigh so heavily upon me. As a matter of fact, the burden of responsibility i bore as a princess seems to have been replaced by the heavier weight of his haunting presence. No matter, I should not let such petty things concern me. If i am to survive here, I must remain diligently focused on the matters at hand. My comrades seem to be ready to move. I will talk more of these things at the next opportunity.

For now, I right these things for you Father.
-Sorrow
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