The small group of migrants stood on top of the hill, gazing the ominously crackling and sparking air over the ghostly walls of Ardentdikes. A robed figure was strenuously climbing the slope. They waited for him.
"By Ilon, what happened?", the migrant guide asked.
"It had to be done! They were tearing down Urist's confinement! Fools! Fools all of them!"
"Is this the Urist people rumors about? The one whose crimes were so heinous no jail could contain him, and had to be entombed alive --yet he continued being chosen to rule this place?"
"He found a way to trick the dwarves into digging him out of his tomb. Time was running out, and they had to be stopped!"
"But, the fortress..."
"Magma was breached over the blood soaked battle axes, and Armok's power sealed the fortress in a different plane. Nine loyal dwarves will guard Ardentdikes for eternity, as no material walls would hold back Urist McDuck anymore."
"May Armok rest their souls! Knowing too much about it won't do us any good, though... So, what is your name, and what are we supposed to do now? We have travelled for too long, and I fear we won't find a safe place to stay before our supplies run out."
"I'm Armok's Priest and last manager of Ardentdikes. Udib Wastedlabor is the name. I can guide you to blessed land. I only ask that you help me build a new magma fortress, for I fear leaving the old Ardentdikes unguarded. I'm sure Urist will try to return to our world, even if the only way is through Hell itself."
And so began the story of Moltenchannels...