The Quiet Register and the Mist of Witness
The Quiet Register and the Mist of Witness Lukkog comes to the temple of Moradin, Clangeddin, and Dumathoin alone, carrying something that does not look like a relic until you understand what it is. The Quiet Register is not a book. It is a slab of dark stone, smooth as river-worn bedrock, its surface veined with pale mineral threads that catch lanternlight like buried frost. Names move across it as if written by an invisible chisel. Each line is steady. Each letter is precise. A record not of glory, but of rest. In the main hall, the forge-brazier breathes low. Oil lamps burn steady. The air tastes faintly of soot and sanctified resin. This place is built for oaths and endings. Lukkog does not announce himself. He does not ask for attention. In a private side chamber, he sets the Quiet Register on the basalt plinth with a care that borders on tenderness, as if stone can feel disrespect. The slab settles with a dull, heavy certainty, like a door closing. He bows once. Not as a wa...