12th Day of the Oak, Year of the Crown
The world cracks and my head spins. Everything has changed.
I write hurried thoughts now as the others patch wounds: we have reached safety now for the first time in hours. My wounds need healing but I can scarcely keep these thoughts in my head without them careening about, madly caroming off one another.
The Dwarfs of Carn Orn did have dealings, but not with some mortal leader of wyrmspawn. They dealt with Undying Celadon. It was Celadon, Wyrm of Death, locked for untold ages in chthonic sleep and now awoken, no doubt, by the deeds of Maegwir with whom they dealt. There can be no reckoning with Celadon; no demands; no peace. These Dwarfs will not be swayed by any words of Elf or Man — indeed, why should they, if they be not moved by decency, by brotherly love?
We cannot hope, I think, to persuade these Dwarfs to help their neighbors. But with some luck we may be able to broker their help in containing the creatures that have begun to spill from the depths. They need no longer work through wyrmlings to reach Celadon, so perhaps they will no longer defend them?
More importantly, there is work to be done. Lykk must be found, but most importantly of all, banners must be raised from one coast to the other.