After Abigail and Thorkoth had spent several years adventuring together Abigail decided she had a task to perform that would most likely take her to places that would be unaccessable and inhospitable to Throkoth. So when they were celebrating their 7th year together Abigail informed Thorkoth that she wanted to show him something that she had found prior to meeting him that he might find interesting.
The next day they went on a journey through the underdark into caverns deep below Morten that he were unexplored by adventurers for centuries. Eventually she showed him a hidden recessed cave deep within the mountains. There lay an old dwarf whom seemed to be sleeping against the back wall. At his side was a book, faded and worn. In his other hand was a dry quill. Thorkoth attempted to awaken the sleeping dwarf, but Abigail informed him that he wasn’t actually alive although he appeared as such. In fact he was dead, and had been here for ages as if he was alive. “I found him long ago when I initially escaped from my duties watching over the treasure of the necromancer. I didn’t realize the significance of my find until the other day listening to the dwarven bard at the tavern.
“Read the book my friend”, stated the beautiful red haired woman. Reaching for the book and reading it Thorkoth realized that this was the famous dwarf adventurer Drugen Hammerstorm. The dwarf that traveled through jungles, and deserts; braved the savage land of Maztica and the frozen wastes of the north; survived devil plagued planes, and vampire haunted forests; challenged foes miles beneath the earth, or across storm tossed waters. The last pages detailed the famed dwarf’s demise.
“Well, I am the last one left. Bazim fell finally to the spells and weapons of the Great Hive Mother. Her death marked the final one of my compatriates that set out with me to clear the last remaining threat to my homeland of Morten. With her death I entered a beserk rage and finally finished the beast. But the cost has been great. I feel the pain in my chest, and the numbness in my left arm. My breathing is becoming very difficult. I do not believe I will be able to make it home to tell my clan of our victory. Clan Morten has much to thank my friends whom have given the ultimate sacrifice to clear the path to being able to finally establish this area as our home. Bazim the Ranger, Claire the Wizard, the Cleric couple Sota and Larurn, the gallant Rogue Opt, and Cian the Warrior/Mage, together we have defeated the last great denizen to claim this area, yet no one will know. We fought our way through cavern after cavern, minion after minion, offspring after offspring, trap after trap. One or two falling each step of the way with but one thought in mind to hold true to the friendship and loyalty they felt towards me; my goal the safety and security of my peoples.
We have succeeded. The rest only the tenacity of my people and the blessings of the gods can determine. I know I am dieing. My wounds may have healed, but there is just so much this heart can take. It is the combination of my age and the despair I feel at the loss of my friends which brings this old heart to finally break. I lie here now dieing and knowing that I shall meet them in the hallowed halls where all warriors go. If any good worthy soul should come across my remains, take my treasures and wear them proudly. But know that we the Sacred Seven watch from beyond. Pass on to the world the sacrifices we made, not a single one with regret. Pass on to the world the final story of how the Sacred Seven gave their all for the dwarven people – for my people!! Tell them what my friends did for lov….”
The weak shaking hand writing stopped there, his last word incomplete in all but thought. Taking the book and putting it carefully in his pack, Thorkoth looked down upon the missing hero of legend. No one knew what ever became of Drugen and the others of the Sacred Seven, but now he had the tale in the dwarven hand writing of the famed hero himself. This was a treasure itself beyond all ken. “I will take this so the bards and the elders can finally know what happened,” stated Thorkoth.
“Yes, I trust you shall do the honorable thing Thorkoth - you always do. But I brought you here not just so you could read the diary of a deceased dwarf, but to give you the equipment so that you will be safe while I am away.”
“Away? What do you mean away?”
The woman’s head bowed, and she took a deep breath. “My friend you know I love you more than words can say, but there is some business I must attend to, in areas that even your extreme martial prowess wouldn’t survive. I can’t bring you with me because I have come to care for you to much. I could not possibly bear to go throughout the millennia knowing that the one I loved was killed because of being around me and I can’t allow that. Please understand that this isn’t what I want, but what I need to do.”
Looking into those deep green human eyes, and seeing the emotion portrayed within them, rather than protesting Thorkoth nodded his head in understanding. “You will come back to me won’t you Abigail?”
“Of course my dearest, of course. Not even death could keep me away from you” she chuckled.
With shaking hands Thorkoth removed the Gloves, Earing, Belt of his hero. Placing them upon his person, he felt their magic surge through his body. With the knowledge that he was fulfilling some unknown prophesy he reached for the sacred hammer and felt its energy course through his hand. Hefting the hammer and swinging it in the air a few times he marveled at how light yet sturdy it seemed. Strapping it to his side he looked down at the sleeping figure and removed the precious ring that was known to have saved Drugen’s life miraculously time and time again. As the ring slipped off the dead dwarf’s finger a contented sigh escaped from the lips of the corpse and time seemed to finally catch up with it as the skin dried up, cracked and flaked. The clothes faded and finally the entire thing crumpled to dust and then drifted away on some unseen and unfelt current of ethereal wind. The only thing left was the soft leather hat that had always been a symbol of Drugen’s tenacity and fortitude. Always surviving every adventure he was on. With held breath and reverence Thorkoth placed the hat on his head. No stain or tear marred its surface; the color was as if brand new, and the feel and fit was soft and perfect as if it was especially made for him.
Turning to look at his friend he saw her floating away into the darkness, her flaming tresses flowing behind her. The beautiful human woman was gone and his friend the Flameskull was off on its own personal quest. With a wave to his vanishing love he began the long trek home to tell the world of the greatest heroes of Morten…The Sacred Seven.
