Epiloque, Part I

After the encounter with the wolves, the rest of the trip around the mountain was tense, but otherwise uneventful. To the relief of the party, the lava flow never made it to the bottom - but it was still a dangerous climb over the cliffs. From a distance, they see clouds of smoke rise where the dwarven city stood.

As the band of Dragonborn and their elvish allies escorted the few remaining dwarves over the last hill, they know they have guessed correctly, for the scene below is devastation. The lava flow on their side of the mountain was but a trickle compared to the torrent on the side facing Belprin's Gate.

From this vantage point they saw the lava flow had cut the town in half. At least the undead were nowhere in sight. Perhaps this was the lesser of 2 evils, but the lava had effectively sealed off the road into Belprin's Hold, and Belprin's Gate will have to be rebuilt. The dwarves said farewell to the adventurers, who knew that they no longer had a place to claim their reward. They joined the refugee line towards Rorst, hoping they would take in their dwarven allies. The Gate's militia would be the last to leave, just in case the orcs are specially blood thirsty. But there probably will not be any need to fight - the orcs can loot the town once the lava cools and the dwarves clear out.

Rorst is 30 miles through a trading route south west of Belprin's Gate. They made it within 2 days. For a town of 3600 to suddenly take on 1200 dwarves strains the food supply heavily, even with the river to bring food upstream. The local lords lend the dwarves a tract of land to set up temporary shelters, with the understanding that the dwarves will slowly leave and find a way back into Belprin's Hold, even if its the long way around.

It has only been 2 months since the Dragonborn was last in Rorst, for some reason it had seem much longer. They have a few new allies a half-elf paladin, a Eladrin wizard and a dragonborn barbarian.

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Deep in the mines, the sounds of picks rang in pitch darkness. Rotting limbs holding dwarven picks, a mass of zombies hacks into the new tunnel tirelessly. Those without tools claws loose dirt with their barehands, ignoring pieces of flesh left behind.

The lich sat motionlessly on a new throne crafted with dwarven bones. The surprise might be lost, but he has all the time in the world.