To ye, Moradin, All-Father, I offer this prayer:
I pray ye keep well the everlastin’ soul of me brother, Boggle Hammerblow, who in the very thick o’ battle, was called to join ye in the halls o’ the fathers. I beg o’ ye to look kindly upon him; though he professed not to believe, I know in me heart o’ hearts that he’s one o’ yer own.
I, too, have a confession, All-Father. This day I have been torn, near to cursin’ yer name fer takin’ me brother a’fer it seemed time. But in the same breath as ye took ‘im, ye saw fit to renew me, and ye guided me hammer throw to avenge Boggle on the murderous goblinkin what killed ’im. Suren’ I know it were yer hand in that, and I am sore sorry fer doubtin’ ye, even fer a moment. I see now, too, why ye took ’im from me. It were a message, that.
Ye want me blood boilin’. Ye want me filled with yer divine wrath.
Ye want me with revenge on me mind.
Well, All-Father…yer humble shield-dwarf hears yer message. My purpose, which I’ll admit was cloudy ere Boggle’s death, couldn’t be more clear now. Aye, but you took a steep price to teach it to me, Moradin, but yer will rings clarion in me mind now.
The Red Hand dies. Each and every one o’ em.