People of the Mountain, hear me.
The doors of Khazad-dûm are shut.
Our fathers’ halls lie in shadow,
and the light of our forges has dimmed in the deep places.
But though we have lost stone, we are not lost.
We are dwarves.
Our strength is not in gold, nor mithril, nor throne,
but in kinship, in craft, and in the will to endure.
Look now to these grey peaks around you—
Cold, yes. Harsh, aye.But strong. And empty no longer.
For where dwarves gather, mountains grow warm with firelight.
Where we labour, the earth yields treasure.
Where we dwell, a kingdom rises.
I call you now—
not to war, but to home.
To halls yet uncarved, to hearths not yet lit.
Bring your tools, your tales, your children.
Come not in grief, but in purpose.
Let the Grey Mountains echo with our names eastward.
Let them know the sons and daughters…
Your ban has been reduced to 30 days from now. We are excited to see whether or not your return will be fire.