Dwarven tradition says that the first ancestors heard a note beneath the oldest mountain and answered it with hammer blows.

The answer became the Deep-Song, and its harmonics gradually took names and faces as the Chorus. The faith does not claim that the dwarves created the gods; rather, its earliest singers learned to recognize powers already resonating through the world.

The world is a vast instrument, and the mountains are its sounding body.

The Deep-Song is not a creator’s speech but the resonance of reality: pressure, memory, time, and buried possibility vibrating together. The ten deities are listeners and answers to distinct harmonics, not rulers standing above the world. The deepest notes pass beyond divine understanding; even Kharvoss, who keeps their measures, admits that the Song cannot be owned.

The Chorus is worshipped more as a distant assembly of powers than as a family of intimate patrons.

Dwarven communities commonly keep a shrine to several deities, with local emphasis shaped by occupation: miners favor Kharvoss and Ormbrun, craftsfolk Beldra and Istren, travelers Sildra, and the bereaved Veldra. Priests rarely claim to speak for a deity; they interpret patterns in stone, dreams, and inherited custom. Oaths, repairs, and communal works are more common offerings than gifts of wealth.

The dead descend by remembered fault-lines into the Hushed Below, where each soul hears the mountain’s Deep-Song as a single, unfinished note.

Those who lived in balance are gathered by Ormbrun beneath the roots of the world and may rest within the stone. Others are carried by Veldra through echoing caverns until their voices fade or are taken up in a new strain. The faithful do not expect reunion with the living; they leave a final hum in the rock so descendants may know they were heard.

Kharvoss insists that the Deep-Song must be measured and preserved, while Dromekh breaks old measures to hear what lies beyond them.

Sildra argues that change is the mountain’s natural answer; Ormbrun fears that ungoverned change will loosen the world’s foundations. Veldra carries the echoes of the dead between them, though Namaru claims those echoes belong to the living. Istren and Beldra dispute whether craft should reveal the mountain’s voice or protect its silences. Tholven seeks the fault-lines that could unmake the assembly’s order, while Urdeth tends the endurance that keeps its oldest works standing.

The faith has no supreme pontiff.

Local circles of listeners, keepers, and craft-priests maintain shrines, records, and rites; councils convene only when a shared danger affects several settlements. Each deity has distinct orders, but worshippers often honor multiple members of the Chorus. Disagreements are settled through witness, debate, and practical tests rather than declarations of divine certainty. The most respected leaders are those who can say what they do not know.

The world is older than mortal understanding, and its divine voices are harmonics within the mountain rather than accessible rulers.

Faith is the patient practice of listening, making, remembering, and accepting that some truths remain beyond reach.

Distant and restrained: the gods rarely intervene plainly, their signs are ambiguous, and even their priests treat revelation as partial.

The sacred is immense, quiet, and woven into stone, labor, and the long memory of places.

Varied: two lawful deities, three neutral deities, three chaotic deities, and two good-leaning deities; the assembly has no single moral consensus.