On Thread Etiquette:
I'm not going to weigh in on the logic of either side's arguments, but I will ask that everyone read over what they write and really consider if the words they used are polite and won't be inflammatory intentionally or not. You cant account for people's tolerances perfectly but at least try to say your piece without saying things that can be easily construed as overly dismissive of the other side of the argument, thank you.
Its mostly flavour, realistically no one here is actually more durable than you are, but myeh it felt OOC for Snorri to say he was the best in that context and...you know, mean it.
Yea we have to send Snorri after the ritual, he's the one best suited to dealing with it and given its the biggest threat around it deserves his full attention.
As for the Hearth Guard whilst their help dealing with the ritual would be welcome that's not why Snorri created them. They don't just exist to provide more military power to hit things with, they're there protect people and to help solve the problems that Snorri is to busy to deal with himself. That's why we recruited Dawi with a variety of talents rather than just combat. The best use of all depth and variety of skills is definitely aiding in the complex and essential task of evacuation. It's not like we need their combat ability in particular anyway, given that we're part of an army finding combat-focused Dawi to help fight the ritual should be easy.
Behind it, they lie in wait. Ranks upon ranks of Beastmen in great blocks and formations clogging the blackened gallery halls. Artillery and archers line the alcoves and parapets almost to bursting, each and every one aimed at the gate. Instead of the cacophony of roars, disorder and chaos that is usual among the Cloven ones, there is only robotic stillness and near absolute silence save for the crackle of torchlight and the sound of their breathing. They are more akin to automata than living things, minds, or what could count as one, shackled to the will of the One below. Sent to hold, to die, so that their lord's dark work may come to fruition without interruption. It would be an eerie sight, to see row upon row of monstrous beastmen covered head to toe in thick black plates of iron and steel. These are not the dregs and chaff that scavenged along the surface, they are the backbone of the slave army, the cream of this most blighted crop, stronger, taller and mightier than the others. Each one raised from birth to live and die for their master, their wills and personalities strangled before they ever had a hope of formation.
When the gates bellow with a ringing gong and the surface deforms they do not balk nor flee.
When the magic that wards the gates dims, the dull red light fading to blackness, the front most ranks simply lower their spears, creating a wall of bristling death.
When the dark is illuminated by the dull orange glow of melting iron, and the air is filled with the sound of crumpling metal the archers and artillery simply cock their bolts and aim down their sights.
When the gates crash open, each door flying off of its hinges and straight into the waiting army, they still do not move.
When regiments are decimated or outright destroyed by the passing of metal shards the size of minotaurs the survivors simply fill the gaps, stepping over their dead and reforming the line.
When the Runelord walks into view, form illuminated by the glow of his armour and the pale light of the moon the Beastmen open fire.
When the bolts do not connect, or are simply shattered by a casual swing of his hammer the front ranks begin moving forward, first at a walk and then at a run. Each one's step in perfect synchronization with the others.
Their advance is met by the thunder of dwarfen throats and boots, and the silence is broken by the cry of battle.
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Gimli ducks under the weapon blow, the Minotaur's axe hitting the air where his head was naught one moment before. Countering with an equally impressive swing of his own, the young prince's axe strikes true and severs the leg at the knee in one blow. The creature doesn't even bellow in pain as it falls, merely using one of its arms to steady itself while the other grasps for his head.
It does not get far before the hand falls limp, the massive bull's head falling to the earth separately from the body with Gimli's backswing.
"REFORM," he bellows, the Huskarls around him moving to comply with an accompanying shout.
The prince surveys the surrounding battle, ahead of them the shield wall has already reformed, leaving him and his retinue to clean up the errant minotaurs that came barreling through.
This was nothing like the battles before, far more difficult, far more disconcerting.
The tunnels, the deeps, the earth itself, something that should have brought him a sense of calming familiarity simply does not. This was hostile ground, held by those who sought to harm him, and how it rankled at a part of him. Arrows and artillery rain down above them, ineffectually for the most part, the tunnels and galleries lit only by the glow of torches and Runes. The shadows above them, outside of the light's reach, engender a sense of foreboding because, for the first time in his life, Gimli does not know what lies in the dark. The feeling that for once, the tunnels and caverns are not their domain.
An inversion of something he'd known since he was but a babe.
Was this what his father dealt with during the incursion? During the battle with Haruzrildrakk?
A thunderous boom and flash of light erupts ahead of him, far removed from the Dwarf line despite the best efforts of his retinue to close the gap. An island of unyielding will and shining silver in a sea of darkness and foes.
Gimli hefts his axe and grips it tighter. A windfall of energy filling him and pushing him to keep moving forward. He will not, cannot, falter in his duty when others carry on ahead of him, when his Elders and Ancestors watch him. The comforting knowledge that is never truly alone invigorating him.
"KHAZUKAN KAZAKIT-HA!" Gimli roars, charging towards the front of the line.
The Huskarls and many around him meet his cry with their own. Wills invigorated by the energy the young prince displays. The front surges, pushing the enemy back.
The battle rages on.
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Dolgi stares down at the hammer for the final time, the creation resting on a fine down pillow. The light of the Runes glinting off its surface and the light and heat of the slowly cooling forge contrasting brilliantly. The Gromril head stares back up at him, the recounting of the Clan's deeds etched in the ribbons and lines of the knotwork while the face of the Clan's founder is carved right in the center. The handle is a piece of darkened Wutroth, accented by blocky spirals of silver and gold.
The Runes, the Master Rune of Breaking especially, glow brightly and cleanly on its surface. As sure a sign as any that he has done fine work here. It is his first true work with the Master Runes, and he cannot help but feel the thrum of pride when he stares at his labour.
Humming a song his father taught him, he picks it up and puts it away in a secure case, ready to be delivered to Thane Vilgilling at his earliest convenience.
With that done Dolgi finally takes the time to stretch his back, joints popping and spine cracking in response. He grunts in contentment, finally given the chance to get that kink out of his back.
How long has it been?
Taking a tankard from one of the tables in his workshops he begins to drink from it while making his way to the door. With a casual tap of his hammer, the stones slide open and he walks out into the rest of his home. Immediately he is hit by the smell of fresh food on the stove and the crackle of the hearth, something that he has missed dearly.
Turning the corner he sees his wife sitting in a chair, idly knitting by the fire.
"Klorah," he says, grabbing her attention, "Work's done,"
"Only a year this time," she says with a smile, "food's almost done if you're hungry. I don't want you sneaking a bite before it's ready either."
"Me? Never," he says with a chuckle. Taking a seat on the chair to her left with a quiet grunt.
"Hmm, then I imagine Skarri must have gotten it from someone else then?" she retorts with a raised brow.
He wisely chooses to remain silent, simply drinking from his tankard and taking in the moment. A memory rises unbidden in his mind, one of the myriads of lessons imparted to him.
When I deem you worthy of the rank of Master lad, you'll have no hand to guide how you divide up your time. It is just another test, both of your ability to prioritize the rest of your life and that of your craft. There are many answers, one meant for each person, and it changes with the circumstances of your own life, but remember this…
The image of his Master's eyes, distantly staring off at someplace far away from the workshop is one he won't forget.
...more often than not, the world doesn't give you the chance to spend time with the ones you cherish before it rips them away from you. It's up to you to make the time for them, do not forget that.
"By the by, Ironwing asked me to let you know he has a message specifically meant for you. Something about a commission I think, wasn't anything urgent," Klorah mentions, never looking away from her work.
"Hmmm, I'll go see what he has in store, but I don't think I'll take another commission for a few months at least," he says with a hum.
"Oh?"
"Aye, got a bit of research to do. Catching up with old friends. Reagents to order. Maybe we can go to that restaurant you talked about eh?" He offers with a grin.
"Oh I have a better idea," she says, finally looking at him with a serene smile.
"Whatever could it be?" he asks curiously.
She keeps smiling.
"Klorah?" he says, grin dropping from his face and confusion evident in his voice.
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Valma ducks under the leaping form of a Gor, the monster jumping from an alcove on the walls to land on the shoulder opposite her. She blinks then snarls when she sees the massive chain draped over its body, their purpose clear as day.
"GET OFF MY GRONTI YOU WAZZOCK!" she yells, charging forward and axe blurring.
The ground quakes as Kemma stamps her boot on a group of charging Gors, while her hand reaches up to pluck the Beastman her creator was dueling and bodily toss it into a pack of its allies with an audible squelch.
"ATTA GIRL KEMMA!" she says, patting the stone giant affectionately, "LET'S SHOW THEM WHAT WE CAN-"
The Gronti's eyes flash, and its hand catches a screeching Daemon that tries to leap onto her creator's unprotected back. Then another lands, escaping her clutches by a hair's breadth, followed soon after by yet more Beastmen and Daemons. Like a summer rain they come jumping down from above, scrambling over the Gronti with great sets of chains in their hands that they anchor with hooks and claws of dark malignant steel.
"GET OFF OF HER!" Valma roars, doing her best to throw the enemy off, "KEMMA! AWAY!"
The Gronti's eyes flash, her bulk moving back towards the safety of the Dwarfen line and towards her sisters. The other two Gronti already making their way towards her. All the while her hands move and swipe dozens of invaders off of her form, ripping chains off of her with contemptuous ease. Bodies fall off of her like droplets from a rain cloak, daemon and beastmen alike tossed or shaken off and crashing into the unforgiving stone.
But it is not enough.
Harpies, far too many for the Brana to screen, swarm over the giant's upper body and even more enemies begin piling on, carrying yet more chains meant to bring the stone giant to the earth. Lengths of thick metal begin flying off of the Gronti towards the ground and into the waiting hands of the waiting enemy. For a moment there is a stalemate, the indomitable strength of Runecraft and Gromril fighting bestial strength guided by a malign will.
Then a Ghorgon, eerily silent and armoured head to toe in dark iron, comes barreling into the Gronti, sending the titan sprawling to the earth with a thundering boom.
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A wave of despair buffets the Throng at the sight of the Gronti falling to the earth. Beastmen and Daemons begin to swarm its downed form like scavengers to carrion. The line surges forward, desperate to reach the downed Runelord and her creation, but are stymied by the unyielding resistance of the enemy. The Gronti's siblings march toward her but are blocked by a mass of bodies and a Ghorgon each. It is as if they are helpless to watch as one of their finest is killed before them.
Yet just as mouths begin speaking oaths and Grudges of retribution, the roar of flame, the flare of golden light and bellicose warcry of a thoroughly unamused elder sound through the battle like a clarion call. Heads turn, eyes watch and breaths hitch at the sight before them.
The bodies of the foe burn to a cinder, crumple to the earth or are bodily thrown aside as the Runelord makes a detour from his inexorable march towards the second deep and to the aid of his fallen compatriot. A line forms up before him, pikes and spears are levied against him, arrows, bolts and spells fire down at his unguarded form like a ceaseless torrent.
The line breaks, pikes and spears are broken, magic and metal ignored with complete disdain.
The Mountain walked, and they could no more stop it than they could the turning of the seasons.
In response the Dwarfen line bulges forward, the Gift Giver's Hearth Guard beginning to cut their way towards their lord's intended destination with renewed vigour. Behind them, the rest of the Throng followed soon after.
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Ancient eyes stare at their surroundings. The cavern is dark, lit only by the foul magic that adorns the walls while the diminutive form of its thralls stand guard at its feet. The stench of blood fills its nostrils and the chanting of profane tongues inundated its ears.
The chains that bind it weigh heavy on its form, looping around its legs and straining against its back and neck. Its soul senses the echoing pain of those poor lives used in their creation, the remnants of their blood acting with the dark enchantments wrought on the bindings to suppress its magic just enough that it can be held at bay.
A bellow of hatred, a cursing scream, and a scratch of pain echo out from beyond its cell, ancient ears and an equally ancient mind realizing that its captors have come for the Daemon just as they came for the old fire-breather. Seemingly no longer satisfied with just its blood.
It closes its eyes and flexes its tremendous bulk, testing the chains for any weakness to exploit. It is patient, it remembers, and it waits.
Soon enough.
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"Get up there Lady Stoneshaper," you say, offering a hand that Valma takes without complaint.
"My thanks Elder," she says with a nod before turning to examine her Gronti, "Ah Kemma, look at what they did to your armour! I'm gonna have to fill in those seams before they get worse. Nothing for it, you're relegated to ranged duty you hear me? Damn Gori did a number on you didn't they?"
The Gronti, as expected, says nothing as it slowly rises to its feet. Hooks and chains hanging off of the statue's form like curtains that it only now carefully begins to remove after getting up from the floor.
"Valka and Gruna will have to pick up the slack for a little bit," she mutters more to herself than you.
Grunting to grab her attention, you gesture with your chin towards the thin line of Hearthwardens and other Dawi that fight to keep the three of you from being interrupted.
"Let's get back to our lines first aye?" you say with a snort.
"Aye, I suppose we should," she says eventually.
You grunt and swing Zharrgal, another wave of fire erupts outward, cracking and melting armour while burning the wearer within badly enough that your retainers can take them down far more easily. Much as you'd like to simply send the enemy tumbling down to their deaths beneath the earth or send a spout of lava up at their feet the fact remained that all of you were standing above an open cavern. While you doubted it would cause something so severe as a cave-in, even so badly desecrated Dwarf stonework would not break so easily, it could very well collapse a section of the floor.
Waves of magical, foe burning flame would have to suffice, at least until you reached a part of the hold that had a more substantive foundation to it.
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"Gazul safeguard you," Hamur mutters, closing the Dawi's eyes quietly.
"Hamur!" Logain shouts.
Instinctively the priest rolls back, draws his blade and severs the arm and the axe in its hand with one stroke. It takes only a moment for him to ensure the Beastmen stops playing dead and dust off his armour.
Sloppy he thinks, resheathing his weapons, that sort of overconfidence is the realm of beardlings!
"Still trying to perfect that move eh?" Logain says, walking over to him.
"Reckon I can cut down another second or two from the wind up without losing any power, it'll just take time is all," he replies.
"That fella from the Order really has you fired up doesn't he?" Logain comments idly, gingerly moving the deceased's weapon and shield so that they rested beside him.
He only grunts in response.
"Clan Thunderfoot, they've rotated out from the front but there was a final push by the Gori before they finished," Hamur says, receiving a grunt of thanks and acknowledgement from his fellow Clergydwarf.
"I'll see your kin informed of your deeds and your earthly remains given the honour they deserve," Logain says to the honoured head, beginning to enact the rites of Gazul, "As our flesh came to this world, carved from the mountain, so too does it return. Go, honoured dead, to the Halls of our Ancestors with your head raised high and know your tale will be sung and your death avenged by those you leave behind you. Gazul safeguard you, unbound soul, so that your journey..."
Hamur leaves Logain to see to this dwarf's last rites, heading back towards the rest of the Hearth Guard to take up his shift in the line. Lord Snorri may not require them to keep his person safe, but that wasn't the only reason why he chose them over everyone else that applied. Their duty was to defend helpless Dawi from all threats, be it physical or not.
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Thyk cannot help but feel a swell of hope at what he sees.
For Doom itself had come for the desecrators of the Hold, and in its hand, it held a hammer that seemed plucked from the roots of a mountain, his body as unbreakable as the ageless peaks, with the face of wroth and fury gazing upon the horde.
Azrilgromthi a Vengryn, Dobrin called him once.
The Silver Ancestor of Vengeance.
That name, above all the others they give, sticks best.
Behind him his fellows watch with him as the Throng marches forward, following in the footsteps of the living ancestor that marched at their head. They cheer, quietly, at their successes and despair at their, thankfully few, losses. All the while they glance at the banner of Dum, and the Dwarf that carries it on her back.
He is roused from his observation by the quiet tapping of his second. The runner they had sent having recently returned with a letter it seems. He notices the seal of the Queen herself upon it, and understands immediately the magnitude of the response and the attention his report had received. He takes it from the lass's hand and unfurls the parchment carefully, reading his Queen's response with anticipation.
(Roll, Contact: 72 +30[Azrilgromthi a Vengrynn] =102)
He is not disappointed.
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You stare out at the battlefield. The Corpses of your enemies and allies long since cleared away to be burned and prepared for burial respectively. Sentries watch from posts raised in the hours after the battle's conclusion. The number of Dawi here are a fraction of the Throng, the remainder making camp farther back and closer to the relative security of the staircases down from the First Deep. Safer there than being comparatively out in the open after all because unlike the floor above, the Second Deep was where the Hold began to open up into several branching paths and caverns. These were the earliest mine shafts dug by the original settlers, expanded and converted into halls and pathways that led to the first homes and defences of the Karak before the inhabitants delved deeper.
You can imagine it, a series of tunnels jutting out from the main thoroughfare leading towards the various Clan homes, and maybe the last remnants of the Karak's industry before they were moved downwards, connected by spiralling staircases to the floors below.
Much of that history is unrecognizable, purposefully erased as the interlopers turned the homes and structures of the Second Deep into massive sets of Barracks. Black stone walls and pillars, profane statues to Hashut now lining the grand gallery hall that acted as the main roadway connecting all the parts of the Second Deep to one another. Every hole now had to be plugged and kept under watch, lest the Throng finds itself encircled.
You stare out into the blackness, the pale light of torches and Runes in stark contrast to the blood-red light and darkness ahead of you. Around you, your Hearth Guard went about their business. As it was you and a few other Runesmiths were the only protection the sentries had from more esoteric assault, having volunteered to remain while the others stayed with the main body of the Throng.
Then out of the darkness, you hear it; the trundle of boots, the clink of armour and the quiet words of idle conversation. As it grows closer you see the faintest flicker of light, not dull red or the orange glow of a torch, but bright, teal and uncorrupted Rune light.
Too early for the Rangers to have returned unless something had gone wrong, but neither was it the eerie quiet or snarling curses of the Beastmen or… or the Frurndar. With a single gesture to one of your Hearthwardens they, and the sentries on watch, are roused to readiness and fully aware of your impending company.
You all watch as the group enters the range of your lights, and blink at the figures that come into view. All of you stare at the group of Dawi in front of you with suspicion and confusion. They are...not quite emaciated, but certainly look as though they've been through more lean days than not. Their armour is worn, faded and seemingly pulled from a myriad of sources. It is downright pitiful to see Dawi reduced to such a state, yet they stand before you all unbowed and unafraid. Axes, crossbows and shields that look as if they haven't seen proper maintenance in a good few decades are slung on their backs. And held aloft by four of their number in the center of the formation, a large stone carefully and thoroughly covered by a thick tarp that nevertheless glowed the very light you saw earlier.
One of them comes forward. Their armour is the finest among them, but even then it shows signs of wear and tear despite the equally numerous signs of care and attention on it. Layers of steel and leather around the arms and legs while a Gromril chest plate gleams in the darkness. A crown of silver and cobalt sits on a winged helm that obscures their face. Slowly, and deliberately, the figure grabs the helm and lifts it off their head to reveal the face of a dwarf Matron, mayhaps reaching her fifth century of life going by the colour in her hair.
"I am Valka, last member of the Royal Clan Zantrommi, and Queen of the free Dawi of Karag Dum. I and some of my followers come before you honoured Ancestor, so that we may parley and prove ourselves,"
The sentries and your Hearth Guard stare at her before turning to look at you expectantly.
"What assurance do I have then, that you are as you say you are?" you rumble, tapping your amulet and sundering any potential magic nearby. To their credit the massive Runed stone doesn't seem to react at all.
"Only my oath, sworn on the blood of my Ancestors and all those betrayed by the Frurndar, my willingness to enter your camp unarmed and unescorted, and the relics I bring with me," she says, staring at you unflinchingly.
You stare at them, these down on their luck but otherwise proud Dawi. You note that many of them are young, barely past their first century, and the eldest among them look no older than three hundred.
"Lift the tarp, and let me see the Rune engraved on that stone," you order, voice brooking no argument.
Their leader only looks back at the four dwarfs that carry the rock and nods once. For a moment there is only the sound of rustling fabric and the unclasping of buckles as the tarp is released and lifted.
The light that hits you is bright, enough to make some look away at the intensity of it. But not you, no, you stare at the Rune in front of you, examining the structure for even a hint of some falsehood or deception. Much to your internal relief, you find none. This was a true and proper Rune. Though it isn't one you have yet seen, the similarities to the Runes of Warding and Disguise are not difficult to discern.
In the end, you make your decision and quietly pray you haven't made some kind of mistake.
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Proving the Queen's identity was a tedious process, but otherwise straightforward thanks to Siggrun and the testimonies of her fellow expedition members. Something Queen Valka was shocked to see since she'd long since thought them dead. Nevermind the sheer difference in age between her and someone that was actually born only a decade before her. Proving her overall purity takes Katalin most of the day, but by the end of it, he is Gromrilclad in his certainty.
Only then does the queen tell her tale.
It began simply enough, Dum survived the siege worse off than before but not ruinously so. Lining up with Siggrun's account of the events that transpired though with a few added details that only a noble of Royal Blood could offer. She recalls very vividly the faltering of some of the Ancestor Runes during those dark days, how there were hushed whispers and reports to her father of babes being stillborn...or worse. She was young, foolish, and paid the stories little mind, much to her future regret. Her father, the same King that Siggrun and Thane Granitebrow petitioned to leave, she vividly remembered having a great crisis of faith when the former's party did not return. Decades passed with little public upheaval until one day a new Ancestor Cult began to be spoken of among some of their numbers.
Hashut, the Unseen Father.
She speaks of decades of slow subversion, so insidious that only with the benefit of hindsight can the extent of the betrayal be seen. Her father ruled fairly and wisely, but was forced to contend with the growing influence of the Hashut cultists and their High Priest, a dwarf by the name of Hogrimm of Clan "Ironwill." Of the growing factionalism in the Karak, and how her father dealt with this as of yet unheard of level of disobedience. A sordid tale that even she has not the full picture of. Only having been present during the aftermath of some of the events that transpired. But even so she remembers, then with worry and now with grief, the day the Hashut cultists won the chance to act as sentries and patrol dwarfs for the Karak. Part of some long political struggle over some right or another between them and the King wherein they had snuck in this deal seemingly as an act of magnanimity.
"If they wish to stand in the dark and look for beasts for the good of the Karak, let them," she recalls her father saying.
A bitter irony.
Then the murders and the disappearances began occurring. Dawi found dead in the streets, in their homes, or offices. At the time it all seemed haphazard, random, like some act of madness, but now she realizes that among the very many victims of those dark days were several key members of the Clergy, Warrior Thanes and Runesmiths of Clan Metalheart. Slowly, insidiously, as the other institutions within the Karak dealt with their almost crippling internal losses, the cult of Hashut brought order. Bringing food, supplies, counsel and aid. Even using their remit to begin sending out night patrols to keep watch for whoever was committing such atrocities.
Only more chances to subvert yet more Dawi, to gain influence, and she later learned, infiltrate several of the Guilds and replace their Guildmasters with those loyal to their cause. For a time terror gripped them, but slowly the murders stopped, their foul purpose done now that the Runesmiths were but five dwarfs and the Guild Masters in their pocket and the Ancestor Cults flagging in influence, and the Cult of Hashut was quick to claim themselves the cause for its end.
It continued like that for decades. It was slow work, centuries in the making, culling those loyal to the king, even managing to oust another group of loyal Dawi by getting the idea into their heads to go on another fool mission into the wastes to rediscover their lost kin. But then…
...then the Betrayal.
By means she still did not know, an army of Beastmen was spotted by their rangers, and the Dwarfs of Dum prepared for battle. Light skirmishing and assaults by the King's Throng to weaken the horde proved ineffective, culminating in the Karak falling under siege once more. Dum had recovered from the Incursion by then, but many still dreaded what was to come. For years they held out, maintaining the defence in the face of the Beastmen army seemingly content to starve them out. Many were befuddled, but perfectly fine with this, seeing as her father had worked tirelessly to ensure Dum could grow its own food natively in the face of having no other Karaks to trade with, her people had become certain they would outlast the enemy.
All except Thane Zargin Drogisson, Lord of the only remaining Warrior Clan not suborned by the Cult of Hashut and the Dwarf nominally in charge of the Karak's Throng in her father's absence. For all his loyalty and friendship with the King, he grew irate that they hid behind the walls of the Karak, content to simply fire artillery at an army that seemingly gained reinforcements faster than they could mine out more ammunition.
"LET ME BREAK THEM OLD FRIEND, SUNDER THEIR LORD AND SCATTER THEM TO THE WIND LIKE ASH," she remembers him bellow in her father's chambers.
Her father forbade it, they would not risk their people in such a manner.
The Cult saw their chance.
Stoking Zargin's battle lust they spoke to him about managing to alter the patrols and watches, getting members of the cult on the wall with Zargin's best, and together win great glory for Karag Dum by slaughtering the Beastlord called Hogrur in battle and breaking his Brayherd utterly.
It worked.
On that fateful day, two hundred years after the Incursion on the Autumn Equinox the only Dawi on the walls were the Cultists of Hashut and the finest warriors of the Karak under Zargin's command. Her father was busy in a meeting with some Guild Leaders, leaving Zargin in charge of the defence for the day. She was having lunch with some maidens from the other noble Clans, helping her family find a suitable bride for her brother as best as she could. Her eldest brother, too young to be given command, was out there with lord Zargin to learn at his feet. While her two younger siblings were undergoing their apprenticeships to the Engineers and Masons Guilds respectively.
She wasn't there when it happened, only knowing from the recollection of survivors now long dead.
It was three hours past noon when the Horn was called. Zargin brought his warriors to the gate and charged out to meet the Beastmen in battle. They pushed forward, cutting a swath through the Brayherd, reaching the Beastlord where the Lord and the Prince met it in battle. The duel lasted mayhaps an hour, but by its end, Zargin and the Prince lay dead and his warriors cut off from the wall.
The horn for aid was called.
None came, and they were butchered to a man.
So it was that the hill outside the Karak was called Zargin's Doom, but it was only the beginning. For the Cultists now controlled the Hold's defences and abused that fact immediately. They opened the gates, letting the Beastmen rush inside the hold, slaughtering what few loyal defenders still remained and took control of a majority of the key institutions and districts in the Karak. All throughout the hold, at some unseen signal, the betrayers began their grisly work. Slaughtering and destroying what they could not capture.
She recalls her father sending her away with some of his guards while he and the rest went to rally the defenders and meet the Beastlord in battle.
That was the last time she saw him.
She remembers going to the Guildhalls only to find both her siblings slain at the hands of their own Masters. Of running for her life while her father's retainers ensured her safety with their lives one after another.
She remembers the great exodus, Dawi fleeing from enemies and former allies in dazed confusion. Of the tunnels, her father showed her and her siblings, secret vaults that the Royal Clan commissioned for the worst-case scenario in the throws of the Incursion. She remembers somehow rallying the Dawi she could to follow her, down the vaults and through a stroke of luck, finding a passage to undiscovered natural caverns even further below that. Recounting the tale of them slowly building something resembling a resistance against the Cult of Hashut, the centuries-long war she waged, of the last Runesmiths of Clan Metalheart creating the Wardstones that kept them safe from the scrying of the enemy. Of them dying one after the other over the decades, their apprentices killed and the Clan left with no dwarfs to teach the ancient craft to those who possessed The Gift. The raids on enemy vaults for supplies, to recover ancient relics and heirlooms and sabotage their efforts. Of the ritual being enacted in the desecrated Hall of Kings by High Prophet Hogrimm Ironhand and the losses they suffered to slow it down. Of reports of a Throng of loyal Dawi assailing the fortress, of the Azrilgromthi a Vengryn barreling his way through all that stood in his way and how it ultimately swayed her decision to come personally. All the way to her meeting with all of you.
When Valka finally finishes her story no one speaks for a good long while.
There are no words, no phrases, or acts that can encapsulate the emotions you feel.
The anger, the betrayal, the burning fury in your veins these past few days is nothing compared to what you feel at this moment.
This...this was betrayal at a level so base that you found it earth-shattering. A deception so vile and thorough that it…
...it is wrong.
Too wrong.
All the world has gone mad and you stand there to witness it.
But to live it, as Valka has, to see the horrific transformation from normalcy to anything but. You cannot even begin to fathom…
...BAH!
BAH!
You reach for a tankard and slide it over to her. Too deep in the throws of incalculable fury to say anything.
"Drink lass," Igna rumbles, speaking for you, "You've earned it... many times over."
"Our folk have had to ration out our ale for decades now Ancestor. While we still manage to brew a few kegs every year demand greatly outstrips our supply," she mumbles casually, taking the mug in her hands, "This stein would be the equivalent to the total I'd receive in a month."
"Another wrong to put to rights, another bout of suffering you've had to endure," Valma mutters, chugging her tankard in a single gulp, "Just when you think this place can't get any worse, it finds a way."
Valka only hums as she drinks slowly, savouring each gulp with the relish of a dwarf dying of thirst.
━<><><><==><><><>━
The assembled leaders of the Throng sit around the table, both Siggrun and Valka on either side of Igna. The news of survivors sends a current of joyous emotion through those that do not know the whole of the sordid truth.
"Settle down the lot of you, this has clearly changed our operating parameters a great deal. Queen Valka's knowledge and the fact that survivors exist means our priorities are now split between interrupting the enemy wizard's ritual and connecting with the Dawi of Dum and offering relief. Save any talks of reclaiming the hold until we actually control the place once more." Igna says, shuttering the mumblings and grumblings of the assembled Dawi.
You note that Valka has nothing of import to say on that front, choosing instead to focus on the topic at hand.
"We've been excavating side and bolt tunnels for centuries at this point. With enough time there isn't anywhere in the Karak we can't go, but the issue of throughput remains. Moving that many bodies will be time-consuming, and with the number of Wardstones at our disposal it also means we risk getting caught with our trousers by our ankles if we try to increase the number of bodies in the tunnels overly much. A decision must be made about just how many Dawi you want to help stop the ritual compared to free Dum Dawi getting topside. We don't have the luxury of time on our side to play for the long term, we're getting pressed hard as is and moving that many Dawi will mean there are far fewer bodies contributing to the defence rather than not."
"Can we not send Dawi down to aid our kin?" a Thane asks.
"We can if we must, but I'd rather get the children out of harm's way as soon as possible. Better to keep to one front than open another needlessly. The Ungkarak has housed us for centuries, but we do not see it as our home. Difficult to see much of anything in this place as our home anymore. Over half of us were born after the Karak fell, many of our relics were desecrated and those we retain are that which we can carry without too much effort. Too much taint, too much blood and suffering have been had in these halls for us to ever feel safe here again. Had we the supplies and a way to brave the Zorn Uzkul without suffering the same fate Siggrun and the other expeditions have been, we'd have left long ago," Valka explains.
Many grumble at that. On one hand, it was practical and considering the experience of the past few days, not many are surprised by Valka's declaration but there is still an undercurrent of surprise and distaste at the idea of abandoning the Karak so utterly. One does not abandon their home, at least not without plans to come back and retake it, and even then it wasn't a decision to be made lightly.
Though, you ponder darkly, just how much do these Dawi have tying them to Dum? Many were born after the fall of the upper Deeps as Valka said, living a life of eternal guerilla war against a better fed, better equipped and more numerous enemy. This place...yes you can see why she would say it wasn't home to them.
"We leave the option of sending reinforcements below open, but Queen Valka is correct. Our priority ought to be recovering our Kin before they're discovered. I'm of the opinion that we cause a scene here, distract our enemy while the Dawi of Dum evacuate the Ungkarak and we send a group below to do something about the ritual," Igna rumbles.
"The Larger the group the more time it may take to-" Valma begins to say before a thunderous boom and rumble echoes around them.
All of you look at each other.
Time, it seems, isn't on your side, but when has it ever been when it mattered?
Ultimately the decision is Igna's to make as to how many Dwarfs she sends but you have enough sway to decide where you'll personally be going.
[ ] Tunnels: Take the paths down to the ritual site.
Is there any other choice? You aren't sure frankly. For all you know, that explosion was the ritual blowing up in the sorcerer's face but was that a gamble you were willing to make? Few were more durable and none as good at dispelling enemy magic as you are thats for certain. If the worst came to pass down there you'd be in the best position to intervene. But you'd have to leave the Throng to its own devices and hope they can hold out long enough.
[ ] Tunnels: Defend the evacuating refugees.
Do what you've been doing for most of this blasted occasion, be a big bright beacon drawing enemies to you to like moths to a flame. You're certain that you'll draw quite the crowd regardless. You'll have to leave dealing with the ritual to whoever goes with the forces Igna sends.
Then there was the question of your Hearth Guard and where to send them. They would be a boon regardless of where they went, but it would certainly affect their reputation,and say much to both those around them and themselves about their purpose.future.
[ ] Retainers: Bring them with you
60 heavily armed dwarfs are always a boon wherever you choose to go.
[ ] Retainers: Send them elsewhere without you.
- [ ] to prevent the ritual.
- [ ] to aid the evacuation.
- [ ] to aid the Throng.
Khazalid Trivia:
Ungkarak - Underhold, Underkarak
Gain:
- Title: Azrilgromthi a Vengryn (The Silver Ancestor Vengeance) The dwarfs of Dum speak of a Silver Ancestor, made of stone and wielding fire like Wrath incarnate. Salvation in the form a warrior in silverine arms and golden flames.
Updated:
- Grudge: Unnamed Prophet of Hashut > Hogrimm Ironhand, Prophet of Hashut: Hogrimm Ironhand: For the continued magical assault upon the Throng, the indirect aid in the injury and death of many dwarf lives, the desecration of the hold of Karag Dum, the corruption of her inhabitants, and Betrayal on a level thought impossible, the only recompense shall be death. +25 Bonus to Breaching Roll.
- Grudge: The Unnamed Beastlord > Hogrur: For the death of eighty-three Dwarfs, the Injury of a further one hundred and fifty-four, the crippling of Thanes Gorlbag of Clan Gorltrommal and Thane Algrim Emeraldeyes of Clan Bronzebrow, for aiding the enemies of the Dwarfs in the destruction of Karag Dum, BAH, and serving a prophet of the perfidious Hashut. The only payment is death. +15 Bonus to Rolls against Beastmen.
Current Situation:
- The Free Dawi of Dum have been found. An enclave of hardy survivors who have been waging a centuries long war against the dark enemy that have stolen their homes, forced to fight when the option to flee was taken from them. Led by the last member of Clan Zantrommi, Queen Valka is one of the incredibly few Dawi of Dum who yet remember the days before their long struggle for freedom and slow march to extinction.
- Valka has provided crucial information regarding the enemy's ritual. While they slowed its completion, at great expense, they cannot say for certain how close the Sorcerer actually is, even after the setback they caused.
- An explosion below heralds...something.
There will be a two-hour moratorium for discussion.
AN: Heres the doot. We're reaching the end of Dum now people! As always, thanks for your patience, enjoy and don't forget to C&C. :^)
EDIT: To clarify, the Retainer vote is more reputation than anything. :^)
Deep 1: win 3 rounds to pass
Deep 2: win 3 rounds to pass
Snorri Bonus, every two of his successful combat rolls will add 1 suxx to the round total.
Magic Rounds have DC 60 to add 1 suxx.
Round 1
81| vs 115| (Snorri) Crit W x2
80| vs 52| (Valma) L
59| vs 59| (Igna) T
40| vs 35| (Dwalin) L
2 W 2 Snorri W =3 W
1/3 Deep 1
Magic Round 1
65
70
38
38
2W
Round 2
45| vs 112| (Snorri) W , cancelled by Valma's roll
85| vs 31| (Valma) Crit L x2, -5 next round, destruction of Golem counteracted by Roll and Snorri
60| vs 86| (Igna) W
81| vs 34| (Dwalin) L
(Roll, Golem survival: 71, DC 60 -10 [Snorri] =50)
1 W 1 Snorri W =1 W
1/3 Deep 1
Magic Round 2
52
44
53
41
Round 3
53| vs 67| (Snorri) W
78| vs 42 -5 =37| (Valma) L
39| vs 79| (Igna) W
80| vs 50| (Dwalin) L
2 W 2 Snorri W =3 W
2/3 Deep 1
Magic Round 3
56
86
73
42
2 W
Round 4
49| vs 114| (Snorri) Crit W x2
54| vs 37| (Valma) L
57| vs 96| (Igna) W
68| vs 61| (Dwalin) L
3 W 2 Snorri W =3 W, Snorri Ws carried over
3/3 Deep 1
Magic Round 4
64
45
75
45
2 W
Deep 1 Cleared!
(Roll, Contact: 72 +30[Azrilgromthi a Vengrynn] =102
Round 4
42| vs 76| (Snorri) W
63| vs 58| (Valma) L
46| vs 56| (Igna) W
54| vs 74| (Dwalin) W
3 W 2 Snorri W =3 W, Snorri Ws carried over
1/3 Deep 2
Hearthguard in my opinion should be with Snorri attempting to stop the ritual. To be blunt I worry that if the ritual is not stopped we don't just have to worry about the survivors but also the whole army living through the experience.
The ritual is pivotal not only for the battle but potentially for the long term fight against Hashut and his insidious cult. It is highly likely (I'm actually nearly certain) that the most elite warriors in the whole army other than the Runelords and maybe some thanes are the hearthguard, they absolutely should be fighting in the most critical part of the battle, at least in my opinion.
Hearthguard all have pure gromril armor and weapons, made by Snorri, and frankly if the benchmark is legendary works then it's likely that only Snorri, and maybe one or two of the other Runelords qualifies to go down there. We will 100% need backup, it's not just going to be the Hashut prophet alone down there, and I'd like that back up to be the best infantry force we have available.
The assignment of the Hearthguard is Word of GM to be more what sort of Reputation they'll pick up than mechanical benefits for being in one place or another.
the Hearthguard were founded not to serve as some sort of martial super dwarfs, tho they are that. Rather, they were meant to be able to help dawi in need no matter the circumstance, and that feels better put to use helping with the survivors than raiding the ritual site.
Hmmmm. It's a tough choice. Well, for the Hearthguard anyways, obviously Snorri's going to the ritual. On the one hand, we did create them to help other Dawi, and helping with the evacuation would certainly be doing that. But on the other hand...this ritual's gonna be rough. Whatever forces accompany us are going to be put through the grinder, and if they're not up to the task we might be unable to stop the ritual by our lonesome, even if they can't kill us. And the Hearthguard's certainly our safest bet for backup in that regard. Decisions decisions....
Hearthguard all have pure gromril armor and weapons, made by Snorri, and frankly if the benchmark is legendary works then it's likely that only Snorri, and maybe one or two of the other Runelords qualifies to go down there. We will 100% need backup, it's not just going to be the Hashut prophet alone down there, and I'd like that back up to be the best infantry force we have available.
Igna's Gromriltrommi are better fighters than them. For a variety of reasons, one of them being encased in suits of armour warded to a degree that it makes an Ironbreaker look like a guy in a suit made of tin cans. That and the fact that they're devoted purely to martial matters as Igna's bodyguards unlike your Hearth Guard.
Igna's Gromriltrommi are better fighters than them. For a variety of reasons, one of them being encased in suits of armour warded to a degree that it makes an Ironbreaker look like a guy in a suit made of tin cans. That and the fact that they're devoted purely to martial matters as Igna's bodyguards unlike your Hearth Guard.
I am amused by how much that our amor is helping. Like... at no point in the narrative has ANYTHING even SLIGHTLY caused problems for Snorri. Masses of bodies, sure, but he can just bust a hole right through and nothing can stop him because nothing can hurt him.
He's a walking example of why the tempo of battle and the operational deployment rates therein are as important as how merely run-fast you are. He can do Shock with the sheer power of Zharrgal and how he can't DIE, he can do Penetrate with said effective immortality, he can't do Envelop much but eh, and he can Reduce like a champ.
Whatever happens though, our retainers should be focused on saving lives first.
Also I vote for Snorri to go for the ritual site. Though a corner of my mind is whispering to let them finish the ritual so we'd be forced to retreat or at least not remove Chaos Dwarves as a future problem.
After reading hilarity that is Gronti-mode snorri, I now firmly believe that our next personal equipment upgrade should be focused on mobility. We have made snorri wrecking ball, now to make sure that wrecking ball is where it is needed and that it can lay chaos on entire battlefield.
Probably some sort of talisman with master rune of travel would be best
[X] Tunnels: Take the paths down to the ritual site.
[X] Retainers: Bring them with you
I'm going with this here Snorri going to the ritual is a no brainer you should always stop the evil wizard from completing there ritual. Now I'm bringing along the bodyguard since in Part 6 of this wild adventure the Hasut Sorcerer ordered some slaves/Captives to be brought up for the Ritual and our Bodyguard are the best equip to save and heal them in that fight so they should come with us. After all there is an entire throng worth of other dwarfs to see to the evacuation of the Karag Dum survivors. And goodnight everyone I'm off.
[X] Tunnels: Take the paths down to the ritual site.
[X] Retainers: Send them elsewhere without you.
- [X] to aid the evacuation.
Why create a group of retainers with the skills to do something if the moment we have an opportunity to do that thing we decide to take them elsewhere, lets send the hearthguard to help the evacuation like they were made to do.
[X] Tunnels: Take the paths down to the ritual site.
I sense there's a general consensus here that the ritual must be terminated as soon as possible. As for the retainers, I too don't have a stance on this.
