Although my memory is near perfect, and tradition insists that our histories be kept verbally, I find myself in the unenviable position of being the only remaining skald currently with the expedition. Therefore I will put pen to paper as has not been done with our histories for hundreds of years to ensure that if I die, what has come to pass will be remembered.

By the grace of Moradin and the Thunder Blessing has our hold - Djuprheim (a word which means "Deep Home" in the common tongue of man) become filled to capacity. Were we to let the situation continue, dwarves would soon be falling out the forward and rearward gates everytime one of us sneezed, and all the precious gemstones would be mined, a tragedy for the dwarves to come after us.

And so it was decreed by the King of Djuprheim, the High Thane Hildroson Thrivaldi, The Hammerhand of Gorm Gulthyn, Descendant of Mordinkuld The first, that a cohort be assembled. It's purpose; to discover new sources of gems and precious stones, secure them from threat, and to establish and settle a new heim. In the name of our ancestors, and to the glory of Djuprheim will it be done.

The mention of Djuprheim calls to mind an old edda, passed down to me by my own father - Hloi Galarr as I sat upon his knee in my childhood all those years ago.

The Vaults of Djuprheim

The Djuprheim was found of old, In days when Dwarven Blood, still cold Within the stone and rock of kin, Not warmed by breath of Moradin.

For untold years it lay unfound, The fall of rock the only sound. No hammerfall on beaten gold, It's roaring forges, dead and cold.

Unto this crypt came Mordinkuld, His clan bereft of home and hold. Of 'Thrice the victor'did they sing, Their god-touched, battle blessed king.

The veins of gems they found were long, it's diamonds made their clanhome strong, But Deep Home's strength, it lay in fact Inside a vault of books intact.

Unknown to whom it once belonged, Or whom it's master may have wronged, The lore within was to be kept For good of all within the sept.

Now fires warm those ageless halls, And dwarfsong rings off granite walls. Now Mordinkuld and clan are free Within the heim of Thrivaldi.

Even now, scant months after leaving those halls of my birth, the memory sits in my mind as a fond remembrance, reminding me why I left, and why I must succeed.

Home.

We've explored for a month now, delving into passages that havent seen so much as a whisper of air to disturb the dust on the cavern walls in centuries. We've pushed ourselves through cracks in walls barely wide enough for half a dwarf, let alone a fully grown, well-fed warrior in full armor. We spent almost a full day crawling through a space no more then 2 feet high, only to finally emerge into a cavern that did not appear on any of our maps. Finally we are in new territory.

The expeditionary force is in high spirits, with hope and song resting light in the hearts of those that have come. All said, we are a force of one-hundred and twenty dwarves from the various clans. Thrivaldi, Galarr, Fornbog, Glanderuri, Mordinrin, Brottemja, and Sonnivfaern, as well as some from the smaller clans. All united in the common goal of finding a new clanhome for the Sept to expand into.

It is hoped that travelling no more then a week or two more through these caverns will bring us to a place suitable for settling. It must have fresh water, a sound foundation and ceiling, be either abandoned or occupied by beasts our force can drive off, and finally must be near a source of gems, preferably Diamonds, that can be mined and worked by the artisans.

I hear the call; some of the scouts have returned. I will close this entry, and go to see if Thorinnfarli has brought back word of what lays ahead.

Several days have passed since the last entry I wrote. Thorinnfarli and the other Fornbog scouts that returned spoke of a passage that appeared to be of worked stone, some distance ahead of us. Of the other scouts that had been sent out along other routes, none had reported back anything that seemed worthwhile. The captain of the expedition - Dengskapr Thrivaldi, son of Hildroson, son of Mordinson, son of Mordinkuld himself, has decided that we are to explore this cavern, in hopes that it will prove suitable to our needs.

I have taken it upon myself to keep the force's spirits light, and not a day goes by that I dont share one of the many limericks that I've picked up in my time among the soldiers of Fornbog, Glanderkuldar and Thrivaldi, or the workers of Brottenja, Glanderuri, and Sonnivfaern. Some were first coined by the wit of those among the clans themselves, others by Galarr. In the end, all that matters is the laughing echo of the men as we dare the many dangers of the long dark, looking for our new home.

The Galarr Brown Chant.

A Galarr chanter, Alsace, Could sing notes that were lower then bass. He hit a low "E", That was lower by three, And he soiled every chair in the place!

*a footnote is added* - A limerick about one of my ancestors - Alsace Galarr, famous for once singing a note so low that it made everyone at the birthday of the Brottenja Clan Thane lose control of their bowels. They never asked him back, ill tempered bastards that they were.