The dwarven fortress has only one tower, located in the southern quarter — Rasputin Tower. Rasputin was a Clan Master, the one who led his people long ago to build the fortress with their own hands. The dwarves had not come to the surface in search of grandeur, but of survival. The fortress was never meant to be sophisticated, and it was certainly never meant to have a tower.
They worked tirelessly to raise its walls — and their Master even more so. The ancient dwarf barely allowed himself to sleep until his people were safe behind stone.
As a sign of gratitude and respect, the dwarves built the tower while Rasputin was away, gathering the rest of the lost clans. A monument he had never asked for.
At the top of its long flights of stairs lies a single chamber. At its center stands a large round table, hand-carved from solid wood and surrounded by nine sturdy chairs. A tall window, draped in heavy red curtains embroidered with gold thread, bathes the room in warm light. The chamber is circular in shape, its silver-tinted brick walls perfectly aligned — not a single crack in sight.
It feels both regal and restrained. Beautiful, yet unmistakably professional.
The other Clan Masters could not hide their respect for Master Rasputin and nominated him Lord of all clans. And so rose the title of the first Lord — Lord Rasputin.
Lord Rasputin was a noble dwarf. He kept the titles of the other Masters and, in fact, gave each of them a defined place of their own, elevating their roles. In this way, the Deep Council was born — and gave meaning to this sophisticated chamber.
And so, besides the caged candles perfectly spaced along the walls, there is only one other object adorning the room: an ancient document surrounded by a golden frame.
The document is signed by the eight Masters and the Lord himself. In it is written the structure of the Approved Council.
The Deep Council is formed by nine masters.
At its head sits the High Lord of the Forgehall, upon his Forgehall Throne, holding authority above all others.
Beside him sits the Grand Chancellor of the Elder Council — second in command — overseeing law, assemblies, and internal diplomacy.
Next in line is the Marshal of the Watch, master of security, who commands the guards within the fortress, organizes patrols, and supervises prisoners under the banner of the Iron Guard.
Beneath him stands the Warthane of Strategy, captain of the Iron Guard, responsible for leading warriors into battle, devising tactics, and offering military counsel.
The next four members share equal rank, though their duties are no less vital:
— The Master of the Wild, leader of the Wildrunners, directs hunting expeditions.
— The Keeper of the Fields, with his Fieldwardens, manages crops, livestock, and harvests.
— The Bricks Warden, head of the Woodshapers, oversees construction and repair.
— The Master of the Hammers, with his Hammerguild, supervises the forging and maintenance of weapons and armor.
Finally, there is the Envoy of Realms, representative of the Concord Order, who maintains relations and negotiations with other races and kingdoms.
Today, at the table, only three chairs are occupied.
- We have to start fighting back the humans, yes... that's what I said! But I never agreed to let them live and care for them. This is a waste of resources we don't have!
The angry dwarf slams his fist against the table. His dark, grizzled beard covers most of his chest, his red nose wrinkles in fury beneath thick, bushy eyebrows. Three red-haired dwarves stand behind him, nodding vigorously at their Master's words.
- I agree with Master Darian.
- Yeeeah, that's right! We do too!
The dwarf raises his hand, pointing to the framed document.
- The whole point of hunting humans was to eat them and steal their goods. Our ancestors used them as a source of meat and wealth. Why shouldn't we do the same?!
- Our ancestors accepted the peace terms at the—
Darian rises abruptly, cutting off the calmer dwarf's words, who sits in front of him. His subordinates cheer as usual.
- We honored that agreement until they broke it first. That means peace is over.
- Yeeeh! Let's kill them!!
- For our ancestor's honor. We have no reason to be kind to them. Can't you see that, Cornelious?!
- That very mindset is what brought us to this food shortage.
Cornelious, older and steadier, sits calmly. His brown hair forms a loose braid down his back, his shorter beard neat but modest. His voice is measured, firm, but not harsh.
- Aren't you breaking the treaty by kidnapping human women? You treat them as labor, feed them... yet still expect obedience. Your "kindness" won't make them loyal, Cornelious. You've seen their attempts to set the fields on fire.
- Kidnapping them was your idea, and since the rest of the Deep Council agreed, I had no choice but to find a more peaceful way to secure food. I did what I could to respect the peace terms.
- If those peace terms still meant anything, those humans wouldn't be trying to destroy our food source even after being captured. My Wildrunners aren't able to find more animals—
- Enough!!
- Lord Igion...
The man on the Forgehall Throne raises his voice, his long silvery-gray hair bouncing as he gestures. His beard is braided with small white threads, and the thin lines above his eyes are still, as a soft sigh escapes him.
- The dwarf women who stayed with us aren't enough to tend the fields. Darian made a practical suggestion — humans certainly help, and Cornelious has made good use of that resource. Running out of game and lacking enough forge workers, there was no other way to gain labor than to bring humans here. Darian's plan was crucial for survival.
- Thank you, Lord Igion.
- However, we will not kill the human women! We will release them as soon as possible... once we find a way to bring our dwarf women back. Cornelious, as Keeper of the Fields, you and your Fieldwardens must continue to tend the humans and minimize their discontent.
- Yes, Lord Igion.
- Tsk... this isn't over...
Cornelious frowns at Darian's muttered remark. Lord Igion strikes his hammer against the wooden table. A small iron hammer adorned with raised gold and silver patterns, created solely to signal the end of the meeting. The blunt sound echoes as the tall doors swing open.
- Master Darian, Master Cornelious, we have a problem.
- More problems?!
Lord Igion rises as he speaks. The less muscular dwarf, with a two-year-old brown beard, who had burst through the door drops to his knees the moment he realizes who stands before him. His forehead touches the cold stone floor between his hands as he stammers out his words.
- Lord Igion... forgive this subordinate for not noticing your presence sooner.
- Do not worry, Envoy of Realms. Raise your head and tell me what has happened.