The machinery of Doguldhwr whirred, echoing to the thump of hammers, the hiss of metal being quenched, and the faint clink of pick-axe on ore. Other noises permeated the cavern - running water from the underground river that was the reason for Doguldhwr's existence, drips from the moisture that condensed out of the clouds of steam, even the faint bellow of cattle. Through this atmosphere of sound walked the populace of the city, oblivious to the din. For them, such a racket was nothing more than the sound of their civilization, ever solid, always grinding forward. It had been many generations since the city had sounded otherwise, protected by distance, thick walls of rock, and the legendary Ironguard.
Unless one listened to the populace, and not the city. While the city sounded much as it ever had, there was a susurrus of anxiety, half-hidden but tucked into the underbelly of conversation. It floated along the streets and through the taverns, alighting gently on some, passing by others, found from one end of the cavern to the other. A closer listen, to individual words and phrases, revealed a hint of an answer here, a tempting notion there, but they were as ephemeral as sound, overlapping, intertwining, but never reaching a state of harmony.
Of course, anyone who had even approached a public space in the last few weeks knew the underlying cause of the concern - trade. Trade with other Tokunnir cities had slackened, and messengers had returned with cryptic answers, or occasionally not returned at all, from forays across the deeps to sister-cities. For a populace so large that it could not feed itself in the long term, such trade was the lifeblood of Doguldhwr, and while this season supplies were healthy, would the same be true for the next? Or the next after that?
The Tokunnir of Doguldhwr had turned their eyes to the future, and they did not like what they saw.
***
It felt wrong that such momentous decisions should be taken in a room so barren of majesty. But that was what they had done. A barren side chamber of the council of elders, devoid of anything but walls, flooring, and furniture, had played host throughout the day to groups of Tokunnir, sometimes supported by their Constructed servitors. Each had been given an assignment, a packet of sealed instructions, and sent forth sworn to secrecy. Because the council knew what had ravaged the trade caravans, knew why the messengers did not return. Or at least guessed. There had been much study from the loremasters, based on the fragmentary reports of those who did arrive. An old enemy had returned. Perhaps. Or a new one had arisen. Either way, what they did know was contained in the sealed instructions, bound closed by a rune that would only dissipate outside of the bounds of Doguldhwr.
He could not suppress the sigh as he greeted the next group. So many willing, so few likely to succeed. The sigh turned into a smile as a thought occurred to him, that whatever else might happen, the Tokunnir spirit that had seen them survive the Llethu invasion, survive the fall of the Arhosan Empire, remaining whole and undamaged, was still here. Restored, he began a monologue he had spoken many times today.
"Greetings! Given you are here, and thus understand what you have signed up for, I'll save you the preamble. Your quadrant to explore is east north-east of the city. You'll find your instructions in this sheaf." He fixed a stern glare on the group before him. "It will not open before you depart the city. If there are any questions before such a time, now is when you should ask." He paused, and a chuckle sounded in the room. "And no, you aren't going to get extra supplies. I've heard that one from half of you lot today. Anything else, speak on."