Snowstorm Henk and the Sorrowful Tunnels

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Sketch of Snowstorm Henk made by fellow scholar Snowstorm Makka shortly before the ascent of the Gildermark mountains.

Introduction

In Spring 386YE Vaclav Mladenovich Kosti, then Minister of Historical Research, asked Snowstorm Henk was dispatched to investigate the newly uncovered Sorrowful Tunnels in Skarsind. The exploration took longer than expected due to the disappearance of the Imperial Orcs researcher during their initial expedition. Shortly after writing a letter outlining their initial findings, they led their team into the lower tunnels and were presumed lost for several months. Fortunately Henk eventually returned relatively unscathed, and was able to complete their assignment. What follows is a transcript of their preliminary notes sent by letter to the minister; their story of what happened after their disappearance into the depths; and a summary of practical information they uncovered.

Preliminary Notes

Following the Spring Equinox 386YE the Golden Pyramid Conclave order engaged in an extensive exploration of Skarsind looking for ways to help the new nation grow. A group of prospectors lead by a skilled dowser visited the so-called Sorrowful Tunnels, but were turned away by the unendurable aura of melancholy that saturates them. They were followed, however, by a band of Varushkan miners who reasoned that where there is terrible sorrow and a suffocating aura of sadness there must surely be treasure.

They were proved correct not only once but twice. They found mithril in the tunnels, but more importantly from our point of view they found signs that these passages and galleries had once been home to one of those mysterious creatures known to the Winterfolk as “trolls". Deep runes were carved into the walls, and there were other signs of habitation that gave the impression of being very old indeed.

The Winterfolk say that what is today Skarsind was at one time part of an ancient troll kingdom, and that these tunnels beneath Gildermark might represent an outpost or perhaps a mine (given the presence of mithril). There was apparently some discussion about whether these ruins should be explored or whether the focus should be on excavating the mithril.

I was commissioned personally by the Minister for Historical Research, Vaclav Mladenovich Kosti, to make a study of these tunnels and discover as much as possible about the troll or trolls that once abided there. A supply of precious liao was also provided, and my colleague Marko Siwarsbairn recruited a Winterfolk priest by the name of Tolva to use the liao to provide us with anointings of Wisdom so that we could weather the oppressive aura of melancholy.

Much of Skarsind remains an alpine wilderness.

Visiting the Mountains

Returning to Skarsind for the first time in a little while made me quite misty eyed, I won't lie. Intellectually I know that this place has been our home for only a handful of years in the great scheme of things but my heart feels differently. Having roots for the first time is a powerful experience, if I might be allowed a moment of personal reflection. We made a point of visiting the Legion's Rookery to pay our respects – my first visit since it was consecrated – and it was a powerful experience. As well as, in a way, a foreshadowing perhaps of things to come.

The trek up into the mountains was tiring, but we were well prepared for the weakness and shortness of breath following our experiences in Sungold Pass. At least this time we were unlikely to be captured by Thule and imprisoned! We'd made adequate preparations and did not rush, letting our bodies acclimatize to the thin air and the cold. Marko insisted that we packed extra warm clothing, and fussed and clucked around us before we set off along the trail up toward the peak. They themselves remained at the “base camp” established by the Varushkans, having their own investigations to be getting along with in the coming months.

The miners from the east had marked the trail with lightstones, and taken a few steps to make the path a little easier which were well received I can tell you. We took advantage of the second camp they'd established outside the entrance to the tunnels. Along with our own band, several warriors had come along to ensure that the agents of the Whisper Gallery would not take the opportunity to try and assassinate us in the wild places above Gildermark. They would not accompany us into the Sorrowful Tunnels themselves. Most stayed behind at the base camp, but a half dozen or so accompanied us to the entrance of the tunnels and resolved to set up additional protections at the second camp.

The Sorrowful Tunnels are old; that much is apparent to anyone who makes the long climb up into the mountains. As near as I can tell they have never been properly explored. There are stories that stretch back to pre-Imperial times of would-be heroes attempting to do so and either returning shattered in body and spirit or, more often, simply disappearing. We discussed extensively how best to make sure our own story does not end in the same way.

The Dolorous Aura

The “dolorous aura” is a very unpleasant thing to experience. I made a point of attempting to weather it unprotected by liao – both so that I could try and judge how debilitating it might prove to be and, if I am honest, to test myself against this darkness.

At first it seemed relatively subtle, a nagging reminder of things lost and paths not taken. Distracting, but endurable. It intensified the further we went from the entrance and at the very moment that I could no longer see the opening the full weight of this spiritual miasma fell on me like an avalanche. I found myself weeping, barely able to summon the will to move from where I sat with my arms wrapped around my knees.

The urgent imprecations of my companions could barely penetrate that intense sense of loss and despair to reach me and I was all but unresponsive. Even the voices of those who had gone before did not reach me, although I remember hearing them calling and cajoling me to get to my feet and flee this place. Many of us find the experience of being underground unsettling, because it reminds our ancestors of the time when we were forced to work in mines and they do not like it. Normally I do not find that to be too difficult to deal with but as I sat there consumed by sorrow I could feel them railing inside my spirit.

If not for my friends, who had sensibly received anointing before we entered the tunnels, I can easily imagine I would be there still weeping until there was no more water left in my body and I was naught but a desiccated husk.

I regained my senses back at the Varushkan camp outside the caves. My friends had all but carried me out, and even then it was nearly half an hour before I recovered enough to be aware of where I was. I felt the voices of my ancestors settle and quiet, and then sensibly received the Challenge of Wisdom which served as an adequate shield against the melancholy that saturates the caves and tunnels under Gildermark.

We'd determined that even with the anointing it might be best not to spend too much time in the dark tunnels, and arranged with the guards that if we did not make contact for more than three days they would raise the alarm. We also resolved to ensure that copies of our notes were written up when we returned to the surface, and left with the warriors in case anything unexpected happened.

The Runes

Suitably armoured in spirit as well as body, and fortified by a hot meal, we braved the darkness again. The Varushkans had left several lightstones in the first gallery after the entrance, and it was here we encountered the first runes carved into the stone walls. They were large – I measured them against my hand and some of them were at least two hands tall or wide. They were cut deep as well, at least six inches into the stone. We couldn't determine what kind of tool had been used to make them.

Unlike many of the other runes I had examined – those in the old runeforge chamber under Gildenheim or in the tunnels around Lorenzo's Deep Pockets – they were not inlaid with metal. There was something in their emptiness that tugged at my awareness, and brought a wave of misery over me that the shield of Wisdom turned aside thank the paragons.

Leontes insists that all members of the department can sight-read the runes, but there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to what had been inscribed here. The most common were the Shears (Yoorn, the rune of Ending) and the Fish (Kyrop, the rune of weakness), but also the Scythe (Hirmok, the rune of Dominion) and the Apple Tree (Pallas, the Rune of Wealth). Poor omens, said Tolva – the Winterfolk priest insisted on accompanying us into the earth.

From this first gallery a spiderweb of tunnels extended further into the mountain. These tunnels reminded me very much of those under Lorenzo's Deep Pockets – the height and width of them suggested that they were carved for something larger than human or orc.

We discovered that while most of the tunnels were relatively level some sloped down or upwards, descending or ascending in long shallow steps four-feet wide and around a foot high, again suggesting something larger than any of us. The further we delved beneath the surface the more complex the workings became. We carefully prepared maps, indicating where we had been and where we still had to go, and the scale of the excavations quickly became apparent.

Divinations

As is traditional when exploring strange ruins, we took the time to consult both the Night and Day realms with magic.

First, given the dark environs made it feel fitting, we consulted the Shadowed Glass of Sung. This ritual answers the question “Is there a specific secret, mystery, or enigma associated with this location?“ Our divination received the not-particularly-reassuring response “What does it mean to be alone? What does it mean to choose to be alone, or to have no choice? What does it mean to know that things end? How long can one be alone before you forget you are alone?” Not precisely illuminating, but fit for the place we were exploring I would say.

Much more useful, arguably, was the Clear Lens of the Eternal River. This divination asks the question “What is the historical significance of this place?”. The ritual unfolded around us and provided considerably more context than we were expecting. “This is the domain of the troll (untranslatable) that came here in the time of Chaos to the high places above the kingdom to await the inevitable, to be alone with their thoughts, to be away from their fellows who sought to drag them into chaos. Self-exiled and ostracised they dwelled here while the stars spun across the sky, waiting for the end, mourning for everything that had been lost, and would be lost when they ceased.”

The untranslatable name came as a rush of sensation, and is hard to put into words. A sense of profound silence, water dripping into water, and the scent of pine needles first thing in the morning and last thing at night. We were left with the impression that this was a name, and started referring to it as “Silent Water” for our convenience.

We're reasonably confident following the divination this is an account of the troll lord who once lived in these caves, and most likely carved them themselves (or had their servants do it). It confirmed the supposition around the historical importance of this place, and how vital it is for the Empire that extracting the mithril here be delayed as long as possible.

Sung is a winged serpent, with feathers of iridescent hue

An Unexpected Guest

A short time after we'd performed our divinations, we were joined by an unexpected visitor. At first we mistook it for some spirit of the tunnels, but it soon became apparent it was anything but. They had the aspect of an orc, but with feathers instead of hair that immediately marked them as something other. They emerged without warning out of the darkness, and introduced themselves in a mellifluent voice as Elionwy, Whose Wings are a Shield – a favoured herald of the Feathered Serpent that Night magicians call “Sung”. She vouchsafed that she had been sent by her mistress specifically to protect us from the attention of the Whisper Gallery but also would stand between us and other dangers of the dark places under Gildenheim. It wasn't clear what one odd orc-like herald could do, but after asking some probing questions we determined that they appeared to be sincere in their offer. Tolva offered them an anointing but they claimed that they didn't need any protection from “the mystery” here – the shield of their wings was sufficient.

(We noted they did not in fact have wings, so thought at the time that it was just a turn of phrase).

There was a little discussion about whether Sung might want to impede our investigations to preserve the mystery here but in the end we agreed to give them a chance but keep as close an eye on them as possible. Also, they raised the spectre of the Whisper Gallery and its agents, who are known to take a particular pleasure in trying to murder members of the Department. While we found it unlikely that any agents would make it past the guards at the base camp or the second camp, we resolved to keep an eye open just to be safe.

Signs of Habitation

Accompanied by our new companion and guard, we pressed on in our investigations. It was easy to see why the Varushkans believed this place was inhabited. Two levels down from the entrance the tunnels lost their rough appearance and became worked stone. More runes – especially the rune Hirmok – but also carved arches, vaults, and columns. We found stone tables and what must have been work surfaces, as well as several heavy doors made of metal and stone that took all our combined strength to open and revealed only more tunnels and galleries.

We found several rooms and features that made no sense to us. A pentagonal depression six feet deep in a cave with runes of Revelations, Discovery, Thought, Secrets, and Mystery on the walls. We surmised this might have been a meditation chamber of some kind, although why the depression was needed was unclear.

Everything was on a giant scale – there were no signs of anything made for orcs or humans here. Given the weight of the doors, it was unlikely anyone could have moved around here with any particular ease.

After several weeks of exploring what we had started calling the upper tunnels, we decided to try something different and press down as far as we could to see what was at the bottom. With that in mind, we took a few days to prepare and fortify ourselves, ensure our notes were up to date, and began the descent down into the depths.

In the Bowels of the Mountain

Following the initial letter, Snowstorm Henk and his companions pushed further down into the tunnels below the mountains. While the rest of the group returned, the Imperial Orcs researcher was not with them. What follows is the later testimony written by the scholar on his return shortly before the Spring Equinox 387YE.

A Dark Descent

I and my companions spent the New Year deep under the mountains. As I said at the end of my earlier letter, we planned to abandon the inch-by-inch exploration of the Sorrowful Tunnels, and see if we could find our way down to the bottom of this great complex. Descending proved remarkably easy at first – there was a central well-like structure with a stone ramp running around it. At first I was worried it might collapse but like the rest of the structures we encountered it was as sturdy as it must have been on the day the work was completed. At the bottom of this well was a whole additional complex made up of much larger chambers, halls, and galleries, whose grandeur was often almost overwhelming.

The further down we went the worst the effect of the Dolorous Aura became. Even with the anointing the Wintermark priest Tolva had provided, I often found myself drifting off into morose introspection. Fortunately, the power of the virtues was enough – coupled with any orc's natural unwillingness to abandon their fellows – to keep me on track.

I won't give a blow-by-blow account of these explorations. We established a secondary camp with bedrolls and food supplies, and we encountered (and mapped) a lot more empty chambers and then at the end of the third week underground... I fell down a hole.

It was my own fault, I'm sure. At the time I could have sworn I felt a push, but looking back I must have been mistaken. I was paying no attention to what I was doing, busy lost in a conversation with Elionwy, Whose Wings are a Shield (the herald of Sung who had been asked to protect our expedition from the Whisper Gallery agents) and I discovered what I had taken to be a solid stone floor was in fact a wide open well of some kind.

In The Deeps

I have no idea how deep the hole was – I smacked my head on the way down and remember nothing until I came to on a rocky shore. Scattered around me were multicoloured pin feathers, each the length of my forearm. I imagine I have they Whose Wings are a Shield to thank for my miraculous survival. Not that they were there when I woke up.

At first I was terrified, obviously. Fortunately most of my supplies were still intact – if a little waterlogged in places – including my trusty back-up lightstone. I applied the medicinal salve to my broken bones and torn skin and silently thanked Siwar for having insisted I take a Sovereign Specific with me into the caves. Then I hollered until I was hoarse, but there was no reply save echoes. Then I wrung out my clothes, and set about trying to find my way back to the rest of the team.

I had no idea how long I had been missing, or where I was, or where anyone else was. Rather than give in to despair, however, I used some of the tiny reserve of crystal mana I had in my satchel to perform Gralka's Gift to the Lost Seeker which confirmed that I was in the Sorrowful Tunnels deep beneath the mountains of Gildermark. While not necessarily useful, it was reassuring that I had not been swept away into some supernatural sinkhole or plunged into the Howling Abyss thanks to the ignominious nature of my demise.

Over the next few... hours? days? I discovered I was in a veritable maze of tunnels, mostly natural but worked in some places. The Dolorous Aura was oppressive but the anointing held. I pushed worry about what would happen when it faded to the back of my mind, and focused instead on rationing the hard biscuits, cheese, and small package of pilf I had in my satchel.

I won't bore you with the details any more than I already have. This whole period is a little... unclear to me, I confess. I slept fitfully and had bad dreams. Lost track of time. As I travelled, though, the dark tunnels became colder. At first I wondered if I was approaching an exit but in the end those hopes were dashed. I wandered, lost, and slowly began to succumb to despair.

Occasionally these winding tunnels would open into rough chambers, some of which showed signs of having been shaped in places but for the most part appeared to be raw stone. Here and there, I would encounter runes carved into the wall. Primarily Aesh and the Shears of Yoorn.

Exhausted in body and spirit, I lay down in one of the larger caves, beside a pool of cold black mountain water. There were crystals in the ceiling – lightstones I think – that glimmered and glittered like the midwinter stars back in Skarsind. I lay down near the lake, in the lee of a great stone outcropping, and made my peace with my ancestors.

The cold had begun to eat into my bones – as bad as when we braved the peaks up near the Sungold Pass – and so I decided to use the last of my kindling, and the last of my parchment to light a small fire. If I was to die, lost under these mountains, I resolved to die warm at least.

The little fire burned low, but the warmth was welcome and I drifted off to sleep by its flickering light, unsure if I would awaken again.

An Unexpected Meeting

I awoke. I awoke to find something leaning over me. It was massive – easily twice my height. I thought at first I was still dreaming, my experiences to date causing phantasms of some giant creature out of ancient days to haunt my sleep. It had a face both like and quite unlike that of an orc. Long rangy arms that creaked and groaned as it moved, and squat bandy legs. Its skin was like unworked stone. It's eyes were massive and dark, like orbs of obsidian. It had tusks of discoloured grey, and a cracked and pitted brow. And it was alive, of that much I am sure. It prodded me with a talon the length of my hand, of the same off-white bone as its fangs, and it spoke in a grinding voice like a boulder slipping down the side of a mountain. I didn't understand it.

I did not move, certain that an entirely unexpected death had found me. It didn't move. It just stared at me. I noticed, with a sinking feeling, that the outcropping under which I had taken shelter was gone. Or rather, I suspected, that outcropping, awoken by my fire or perhaps my presence huddled below it, had come to life and now stood before me. A creature of the deep mountains.

What I said I can't quite remember, but the thing rocked back slightly on its granite heels, and next time it spoke it was in passable if archaic Imperial.

It wanted to know what I was, who I was, and what I was doing trespassing here and disturbing its rest. I did my best to explain. With long multi-jointed claws that put me in mind of a strange Spring herald I encountered once it picked up my satchel, emptied it out on the floor, and picked through the remaining contents. It held them up one at a time, turning them over in surprisingly dextrous claws. After it had examined each item it put them to one side. It paid no more attention to my scrolls than it did to the quills and pot of ink, or the pens, or my useful knife.

I considered scrabbling away, but I was too tired. Too resigned. I realise now that what had happened was that the Dolorous Aura had begun to seep into me as the anointing faded. The creature – the troll for it could be nothing else – turned its attention back to me and continued to ask questions in that slow grinding voice, barely blinking. I stuttered answers as best I could, tried to ask questions of my own. After a time the creature became irritated with my manner, and disappeared into the darkness. A few minutes later a fish splashed onto the ground at my feet. I could barely force myself to gut it, but I was hungry enough to eat it raw.

Some time passed, I slept fitfully, and drank a little cold water in the rare moments when I could force myself to shake off the despair that was slowly tightening its grip upon my spirit. Without warning, the troll creature suddenly emerged from the darkness, pinned me in place without any obvious effort, and pressed a circlet of metal onto my head. As he held me in place I felt something shifting around me – something I recognised as a bonding – and then the sorrow that was eating me alive fell away and I felt a burst of energy. The circlet was a magic item, something that restored my spirit and helped me pull myself together. I tried to thank the troll but it ignored me and went back to questioning.

Questions

I was still tired, and I think I faded in and out of consciousness. Whenever I was lucid, the troll was there, asking me questions. It was fascinated by the fact we had come here to learn, and returned to that interrogation several times. Once I had satisfied its curiosity, it began, haltingly at first and then with more eloquence, to talk about itself and that is where the bulk of this report comes from.

The creature refused to give up its name. I think though that it was tired and perhaps a little lonely, as it seemed to relish the opportunity to talk to me about its people and their stories, and the doom that awaited them. About their kingdoms, and their forsaking, and the runes, and the like. After a while I started to make some notes, which the creature seemed unconcerned about. When I started to falter a little, it would disappear for a time and return with a blind cave fish and then continue the conversation. Sometimes, without warning, it would stand and depart, without a word, and it would be some time before I saw it again. I believe for all the loneliness I felt emanating from it, it had only limited patience for my questions and company.

I have no idea how long this lasted. The creature seemed unhurried, and unconcerned. For a creature that had sat unmoving long enough that it had effectively become a lump of stone, it is perhaps unsurprising that it had no interest in rushing the conversation.

Returning

After a time though, I broached the subject of returning to my companions. It considered me for a time – an hour I would guess – before it spoke again. It was extremely unnerving to sit there for an hour being stared at by this massive, unmoving fanged-and-taloned thing of stone and ancient sadness. Then without further comment it simply... picked me up. Tossed me over its shoulder like I might a sack of grain, and began to walk through the darkness with me. It was at this point that I got a feel for the sheer physical strength, the presence of this thing. I knew it could kill me easily, tear me apart as easily as I might shred a piece of cooked chicken. If it wished to.

It moved with purpose, with me bouncing over its shoulder. It's gait was uneven, which began to give me a form of seasickness. I could tell we were ascending, several times mounting curving ramps. I couldn't tell you the route we took, nor entirely how long it took, but then without warning it stopped. It dropped me a little heavily and leaned close.

“Do not come back,” it said. “Take what you want from the upper halls but you and your Empire must leave me alone, little orc. No good will come to you or yours if you disturb me or mine.”

And then without waiting for a reply it turned and disappeared back into the darkness. I was at the base of the well that lead up to the mine workings and ultimately to the gate. I had been reported missing, presumed dead, but there was much rejoicing at my return. After reaching the doors, though, I swooned and spent two weeks in bed barely conscious dreaming of being trapped in the darkness. Then I spend another two weeks convalescing before beginning to write my report.

I think it likely that the Dolorous Aura that hangs over the caves and tunnels is a result of the troll that has spent untold years sleeping and dreaming in its depths. There is mithril here, but exploiting it will be difficult. I do not think the aura can be removed - it is too engrained in the soul - but I am no priest. I think it likely that even killing the troll - were such a thing even possible - would not especially weaken the aura. Any extraction of mithril will be challenging - and I strongly advise that we respect the wishes of that lonely inhabitant of the tunnels beneath the mountain.

There is one other matter I feel relevant beyond this report. While I was being carried out of the depths by that troll, that sorrowful creature of ancient days, we passed through a hall filled with statues. Half again my height I would judge – and remember I was bouncing upside down over the shoulders of the troll and in a half-starved state – and clad in metal armour with terrible weapons. Statues not of orcs or humans but of an altogether more practical shape. I would hesitate to speak with certainty, but I would guess that these may have been old constructs, built by my peculiar host. Probably they fused solid long before there was an Empire but if not... then I would wager that this creature would be more than capable of ensuring its injunction to “leave it alone” would be obeyed, and that we should think long and hard before venturing beyond the highest levels of this mine lest the Empire ignite another troll war in the north.

Further Reading

• Long shadows - 386YE Spring Wind of Fortune (re)introducing the Sorrowful Tunnels
• Skarsind