The old dwarven highways once connected a great number of settlements and mines, gardens and libraries, craft pits and music halls. Many of the smaller routes have been left for the gloomy, steamy forests of the dwarven realm to inhabit.

There are strange things down here in the mists, behind curtains of leaves and calcified trunks of trees so old that even the oldest elves can not identify their sort. Voices travel for miles, footsteps race around the stony corridors, and the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings can be heard from miles away.

We often come down here, for supplies and inspiration, but somehow it seems so detached from the world above that sometimes it feels like we’ll never return.