Dwarven Mountain

Dwarven Mountain is an underground world of roisterous merrymaking, belching smoke, and sweaty labor - all the things that make a crusty Dwarf's life complete, carried to the excess of joy.

There aren't any towns in this realm, at least not according to a human berk's understanding of things. The Dwarf powers don't give notice to the surface world. What lives, eats, and expires on the icy slopes of their mountain is strictly outside their realm. Not much is found out there anyway, since the slopes are so high, rocky, and freezing that any sod wandering out there is likely to end up in the dead-book.

What makes the Dwarven Mountain unique is more its attitude than anything else. Every petitioner here's a Dwarf, and they don't care much for anyone or anything. The Dwarf realm is nothing but endless tunnels that weave through halls and caverns, intersect, cross chasms, climb, sink, turn into coiled staircases, and end in plunging shafts. It's all stone and brace work, every inch magnificently carved, and it's always under construction. Although the only petitioners here are Dwarves, the little sods have built the cage on an immense scale, so any berk short of a hill giant could wander through most places with ease.

The halls nearest the surface tend to be brightly lit and noisy. Dazzling and occasionally rude frescoes line the walls. The passages are filled with bubbed-up Dwarves who will cheerfully challenge any passing basher to a drinking contest. It's not a good idea to take them up on it, though, because the petitioners here can swill a prodigious amount of strong ale. Gambling of every type can be found here; dice, cards, even pea-and-shell games are played without trickery.

The second layer is sober and earnest. The bright paintings of women, drinking, and amusement are gone, replaced by endless bas-reliefs of work and industry. The light here is the ruddy haze of smoky glass. Bells clang and whistles screech out the hours. The Dwarves here are always in motion, hurrying to their tasks, hurrying to their homes, hammering and singing furiously. They work at a pace that'd make the hardiest smith heave and curse.

In the very depths of the realm, dressed stonework gives way to rough-hewn mine shafts with runes and markers crudely chiseled into the walls. The shafts echo with a mystical monotonous drone - the chanting of the petitioners - punctuated by the harsh chimes of steel on stone. A cutter's breath hangs in the air, and frost glazes the deepest shafts. Lanterns and torches are far between, creating pools of light where Dwarven workers cluster.

Note: Dwarven Mountain originally appeared in this form in the Planescape AD&D campaign setting from TSR. Its use here is for the purposes of providing context for the campaign only.