Compared to the last time I was here, the Temple had clearly expanded. The main hall was at least three times wider, and many more rooms were added on the walls. Despite this, it still felt very crowded—at the moment, almost a thousand Dwarves were crammed inside, gathered around rough stone long tables, gloomily gnawing on the food in their hands, which included dark bread and hard-baked pancakes. These were typical marching rations, easy to store and designed to avoid stoking any unnecessary appetite in the carriers.
On the altar of the Temple, a Dwarf Priest was giving a speech to the crowd in the hall, talking about the indomitable and fearless racial traditions of the Dwarves. However, as soon as he saw Lancelot and his companions walk in, the Priest immediately jumped off the altar and walked towards them.
