One war. Two Sisters. One end.
There is no running from it. Fate shall have its way as both daughters of Stormband take to the field of battle. Each with one goal - vengeance.
Approximately 130k words.
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While the wind howls it's annoyance, and the rivers and oceans attack the ground to carve paths to their goals, the mountains patiently stand tall above the fray. Unmoving, they are content to watch while all others squabble over who shall rule the world knowing they will outlast them all.
Tuan Taun - Dwarven King of the Southern Undermountains
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With each strike of the pick's blade, rocks fell away in sloughing chunks. Clacking down the wall to the floor of the freshly carved shaft, the rhythmic cadence of steel on stone repeated itself time and again without ceasing. Stacked upon the melody of the previous attacks upon the stone, each new note added to the last with a tone that sang like any number of dwarven folk tunes passed down from one generation of dwarven miners to the next.
Each of those hymns had a cadence unique to their chosen purpose. Some had fast beats, designed for speeding along the work through soft soils mere feet below the surface. Others were slow and methodical, the intent behind them to draw upon strength and precision with each blow used to cleave out the hardest of all stones ever encountered.
When the next swing came, despite seemingly not dissimilar to any of those before it, what it produced was a different and wholly unexpected result from all those previously struck. Instead of rock conceding to the demands made upon it to move out of the way, the tool's edge impacted upon something unseen until the impact. With a clank and a spray of colorful sparks as though it were striking flint, the pick slid off an invisible shell. The tunnel, once only lit by the dim radiance of the last placed glow stones some thirty paces back, exploded into brilliant resolutions before quickly fading back into near darkness.
Undaunted, and perhaps disbelieving, the dull-skinned dwarf wielding the pick, his hollow undead eyes possessing a singular and focused purpose, drew back and swung again.
The result, however, was the same. There was no progress made and the barrier remaining firm against any further incursion into the rock of the mountain. Conceding with quick consideration that any further attempts would prove equally futile, he lowered the well-worn tool of his trade. Reaching out a hand to touch the perplexing obstacle that would not allow him to pass, his fingers caressed the glassy smoothness of the unseen and out-of-place surface. It provided a stark contrast to the jagged stone all about him. With the physical connection made, fingers splaying across it, the energy exuded from the impediment caused the hairs on his arm to stand up with a static charge.
