Wandering through the great hall of Silverbrand, Thurbert spotted a door at the sidewall, unimpressing and small,
yet it somehow drew his attention on it.
He opened it and looked in the room behind:
Bookshelves, rows of chairs tidely arranged in rows facing an altar, surrounded by anvils.
Axes and battleshields on the wall.
This must be the temple of Irmorom.
After lighting the torches and looking around the room more closely, he made another discovery:
This place hasn't been cleaned in ages, judged by the dust that coated everything, chairs, the floor, the bookshelves but -and that hurt him most-the altar itself.
Cursing at himself, Thurbert went back to his chest, grabbing a piece of cloth and a bucket, which he filled with water immediately.
He carried it back to the temple and started his work, mumbling at himself.
'Tis be reasonable. Any dwarven town has tae face all 'o 'tis problems 'tis town has with a temple in 'tis poor state...
He started to clean the room, freeing the altar from dust first, working his way through the room.
'yer so right tae abandon us, Irmorom, fer 'tis be a shame fer all 'o yer creation. But trust me, 'tis 'll change now.
He mumbled while cleaning the first row of chairs. Then two coffins cought his attention.
Curses! 'tis cannae be.. fer howlong have ye been here already, brothers.. or.. sisters?
He shook his head then continued his work.
We sure have a lot tha make up fer you, right ye big craftsman?
Thoughtfully he stare at the altar for a while, then he started to scrub the floor.
Dust of old...
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