Harbek's eyes were completely shot with blood. As a Legendary-level powerhouse, he was utterly helpless. He wanted to do something, anything, but there was nothing he could do.
The frustration was so intense he felt he could have screamed. He was not reconciled to this fate.
The prophet Dain simply stared down at the small warhammer charm hanging from his belt—the symbol of his station. But the charm was now shattered. All that remained was half of a cracked handle, a heartbreaking sight.
It meant that the Dwarven Tribe of Utessar was gone. Their territory had a new master.
"Prophet… Prophet, tell me, what do we do now?" Elder Harbek's anguished, furious voice rang out again, startling Dain from his stupor.
"Prophet, I'm scared. I feel weak, I have no strength left. I can no longer sense the direction of the dwarven Tribe. I can no longer hear the clang of hammers from Thunderhold City, no longer feel that invigorating heat from the forges… I…"
