Still, there are some that dare to dream of their realm renewed. The dream of their forefather and Thane that “…between Orcs and Men was the rightful Kingdom, the Vast; Land of the Dwarves.” Hearken back to ancient Rodilar that once thriving pre-vastian Realm of Glimmering Swords when dwarves won their first major victory over the teaming orcs. Or take Lost Sarbreen, buried beneath the now mostly human city Ravens Bluff like a silent corpse. These last tangible proofs of a heritage and its people. A people repeatedly trod underfoot in the annals of Vastian history. But now a united purpose calls a handful of Dwarves. A call that can no longer be ignored. A call that beckons some to unite in cause, to right wrongs new and old. A call to Reclaim, rebuild… and rule again.
These brave few will no longer whisper of possibilities, patience or hope. Stirred from their human granted mines they now forge weapons from rails. Now they act, they march. No longer content with the fat drippings of human lords. These Dwarves will now tell, not ask. They will bring a reckoning to those human usurpers who are holed up with a false sense of security in their most vulnerable creations… their cities.
However, these Pact Forged Confederates offer one and only one shred of grace for the humanifistation of new Vesperin. Over the last century rumors have persisted that there might be at the heart of this human ‘swell’ a nefarious cabal of xenophobes calling themselves The Cure. It is believed that this cabal has insinuated themselves into the highest stations of government. That these base and immoral beings are responsible taking away the identity and freedoms of Vesperin’s rightful heirs for over a century.
And so The Called are converging in a whispered locale away from the busy port cities of men but still among them. Through careful planning and shrewed manueverings they meet in a far corner of Ravnos in a now sparcely populated hill land called the Nentir Vale. They sit together, strangers, but brothers in purpose in a large timber inn at the top of Dragon Falls in foggy Fallcrest. Some talk of all out war and many agree but the wise urge a weather eye and an ear to the ground lest the well intentioned children of Moradin be damned forever for sins wrought on an anvil of hate.
One of the Thane’s few human friends, Korgon the Old, foretold these times in a prophecy now called ‘The End’ before being forever silenced by Lolth herself in one of her many dark and lonely ubliets nestled deep within her Abyssal Demonweb. Now accounted for in The Dream of the Forgotten to The Called.