Winning Vote: said:
[X] Plan: This is what they're for
-[X] Render Aid:
--[X] On the March x3
-[X] Grave Wardens x3
-[X] Defence in the Depths
(Roll, Peerless Production Grave Wardens: 75, 74, 78, DC 60)
(Roll, Peerless Production Defence in the Depths: 67, DC 60)
━<><><>< 314 A.P. ><><><>━
Even with Rhunkalbrogg so close you cannot simply
shirk your responsibilities. Limbs to make, Masters to teach, commissions to be completed and of course…
...a home to be secured.
You send off most of your retainers to do what they could to help with the rising number of Beastmen while you entered the depths of your home with your equipment and an ironclad understanding that you would not be leaving until the work was done. Not that you'd take particularly long, not compared to everything else you do anyhoo. The lower you go the louder the sound of running water becomes until you enter the converted cavern.
Eyeing the tastefully decorated but Rune bereft walls, you snort in annoyance.
To have left it in such a state for so long prickles at your pride, but at the very least you can rectify this indignity once and for all.
Zharrgal ignites in your hand, teal light joining the torches that illuminate the cavern.
There is work to be done!
━<><><><==><><><>━
(Roll, Retainers: 46 +35[Bonus] +15[Extra Actions] =96)
Amberhold's denizens tense at the sound of a long warning horn, the low tone echoing for several moments even after the blower stops. In the span of a heartbeat, dwarfs begin running to the walls while the young are hurried into the main holdfast in the heart of town. The first time the horn had blown there was an air of confusion, the settlement was one of the oldest and most regularly patrolled settlements in Kraka Drakk's domain, and with the King's continuous campaigning culling the vast majority of the dangerous fauna, it was somewhere the threat of attack was seen as less likely in the eyes of many. Ignoring everything else, the settlement was built against and inside an imposing basalt cliff face, further protected on one side by the mighty Draksfjord, and that was even before taking the imposing set of walls and defences built up out of simple common sense. Amberhold was not necessarily
safe, nothing short of a Karak was ever considered such, but it was safe enough that no one grumbled too much when children started popping up.
But then the Beastmen disabused them of such a notion.
To their credit, what little rust had accumulated in their skills had swiftly been removed as the casualties and Grudges began to pile up and this new normal was rapidly adapted to. Even with the increased patrols and presence of so many defenders sent from the main Hold there were talks among the populace of sending their children to the safety of the Karak with the rest of their Clans, plans for the worst possible occasion.
But what the defenders saw upon the walls that day was not a horde of raving mad Beastmen, or rather, not
just a horde of raving mad Beastmen. Instead they saw a host of Gromril clad Dawi, elders of hundreds of battles and countless campaigns cresting the hill and go charging headlong into a collision with a herd of beastmen five times their number.
Despite the distance, the red and white banner defiantly waving in the air is unmistakable, nor is the collective glow of the equipment they bear.
The sight of their honoured elders, fearlessly wading into battle, shamed and galvanized the garrison in equal measure. And soon enough they come roaring out of the gates, weapons drawn and warcries upon their lips, to the aid of their kin.
━<><><>< 316 A.P. ><><><>━
With one last clang of your hammer, the Rune glows into being, its effect already spreading into the surrounding stone and reinforcing it beyond what it would normally be capable of.
Just as you thought, nothing particularly taxing in terms of Runecraft that needed to be done here. Reinforcing key supports, applying Runes of Force behind false walls and Runes of Waking to several simple trap mechanisms, nothing you haven't done countless times before. Your mind falling into the rhythm of striking the Runes, moving onto a new spot and beginning the process all over again, is one that never fails to bring you a sense of serenity. The work was so simple, and your skill so great that you found the time to even add a few more Runes and flesh out the defenses beneath your home too. You didn't get
caught up in anything, it was a perfectly deliberate choice to add a few more Runes more than what was necessarily required. A few extra Runes of Fire to make sure you really burned your enemy to ash. More Cleansing and Filtering Runes on the valves and pipes and Runes of Stacking on the barrels that made up your Alcohol reservoirs to
really secure your water supply in case the worst was to come. And of course, few more Warning Runes a going beyond what Rudil had marked just to be sure your Retainers aren't caught unawares by a particularly tricksy and perfidious enemy.
Perfectly acceptable!
A Dwarf had a right to defend his home from any would-be ne'er-do-well or troublesome pest that sought to harm those within his home and maybe even run off with his property like the foul scum they doubtlessly were!
Entirely rational!
Bah!
━<><><><==><><><>━
"Queen Valka," Rudil says with a bow, "where would you have us?"
The Monarch of Grom takes the sudden arrival of him and his compatriots in stride, head scanning the battlefield before coming to a decision and facing him once more.
"Right flank, the Bestigor had a few minotaurs press us there. They're holding for now, but not as well as I want them to be," she says before ducking under a bone-crushing swing of a club and pulping the offending Gor's knee with her hammer.
"We'll see it done," he says with a nod before turning to his fellow retainers.
"HEARTH GUARD! TO THE RIGHT FLANK! GREAT WEAPONS TO THE FORE THERE ARE MINOTAURS WAITING FOR US!" the Hearth Lord bellows, voice carrying over the din of the conflict and the screams of the dying, and earning a collective roar of understanding in reply.
"KHAZUK, KHAZUK, KHAZUK-HA!"
━<><><><==><><><>━
The doors to his office open suddenly, his herald not even having the time to announce the intruder's arrival before Gloin stares at the kneeling form of his eldest before him, helmet tucked under one hand to reveal the unkempt mess of his hair.
"Son," he greets plainly, "you have arrived."
"I am shamed by my tardiness," Gimli mutters from his position, "I was waylaid helping defend Khazid Wyrren from a rai-"
"-there will be time later for such things. Go, there isn't much time left," Gloin interrupts, moving around his desk to help his boy get up onto his feet.
Nodding, Gimli marches off, the axes on his back clanging as he sprints through the hallways towards his grandfather's bedside. For his part Gloin simply watches him leave, the lad's form disappearing around a corner before he returns to his seat and picks up where he had left off.
His father is not yet dead, but he has made his peace. Much as he would wish to be there, right next to his children and siblings, there are things that need to be done. The campaign to plan for, funerary rites to administer and preparations to be made for dozens of things that for all he understands their importance feel inconsequential.
But Gloin remains seated, even as every fibre in his being screams and begs for him to get up and
move.
He has made his peace.
Now, more than ever, Kraka Drakk requires a king, and the needs of the King's subjects outweigh the desires of a dying father's son.
"I have made my peace," he mutters into his office, wondering just what his Ancestors think of his decision.
He stays in his chair for another three minutes before getting up and making his way to where his father lies.
━<><><>< 317 A.P. ><><><>━
The Hold has a solemn air about it. Though dwarfs and Brana walk the streets, work and go about their lives as normal, there is nevertheless an air of sorrow among the populace. Drinks are raised in memoriam before being drunk in sadness and remembrance, the Longbeards grumble just a smidge more quietly and the old tales are told to the children with an air of wistfulness. For the news has left the halls of the Royal Clan, proclaimed with great sorrow and solemnity that, for all one may have prepared for it, rings like a hammer blow upon the head.
Otrek son of Gorn, Lord of Clan Ironarm and King of Kraka Drakk is dead.
For three hundred and thirty-three years and thirty-three days did he rule his people wisely and justly, and now he is to be carried aloft by his kinsmen to the temple of Gazul and then to his eternal rest. For four days the Priests enact rituals and rites of their order beyond closed doors, just as tradition demands, and for four days the news proliferates throughout the Hold and surrounding area.
On the fourth day, the doors of the temple open once again, and the Dwarfs of Clan Ironarm move to raise their lord's earthly remains with all haste and honour. The path to the Clan burial chambers is long and circuitous, and lined all along it are silent dwarfs who wish to pay their respects. The procession is a small affair. Seven Huskarls, the king's closest guardians, march at the fore with a torch held aloft in each of their hands. Behind them, the King's body is carried aloft by his family. They are led by Prince Gimli and King Gloin, the former's head bowed while the latter has an unbending stoicism to his features, with their siblings behind them in order of age. The King's widow stands behind them, dressed in mourning clothes and walking with regal silence as they make the journey to the Clan's burial vaults. Trailing at the end of the procession are other Dwarfs of Clan Ironarm, those kinsmen deemed worthy of carrying the King's most treasured possessions with him to join their owner in eternal rest. Two great litters laden with gold, weapons and gems of great value.
They march quietly and quickly, ignoring the massive crowd of dwarfs who have assembled outside the temple to pay their respects, towards Otrek and all his Clan's final destination.
The Royal Burial Vaults.
An elaborate structure, built deep beneath Kraka Drakk proper, the symbol of Clan Ironarm covers the circular stone door. On either side, statues of Gazul and Grimnir stare out into the dark with their weapons crossed over the entrance, daring any would-be interloper to meddle with the resting place of their descendants. The procession stops just outside the doors of the vault, passing on both body and possessions to the priests once more. The high priest of Gazul touches the stone door and with a flare of Runelight the protections fall and the massive stone hands of the Ancestors blocking the way rise with only the sound of grinding stone and machinery. The flicker of torchlight and the air of sorrow are all that permeates the area, only those of his Clan and most esteemed in his company allowed to be anywhere near this most hallowed of grounds.
The eldest dwarfs of the hold, those who advised the King for the entirety of his reign; Ancient Gormak, the Guild Master of the Metalsmiths and oldest Dwarf in the Karak and possibly the entire region, High Priestess Moira, his Grandmother and faithful follower of Valaya, and Lord Klausson, who's stern countenance does not falter even now are offered places of particular honour, behind only his Clan and Kin. These three elders, along with his most trusted advisors, allies and friends watch as the shroud-covered body disappears into the depths of the vaults, the mournful chanting of the Gazulites echoing through the cavern.
"Gazul gand baraz; Gazul bar baraz…"
After what feels like the passing of an age the priests leave the tomb in a single file with the last, and eldest, of them to leave having the duty of sealing the tomb once more. It takes five Dwarfs to roll the great stone door back into place, wherein the High Priest of Gazul touches the surface and causes a series of Runes to flare to life before fading once more into bare stone. Invisible, but primed to smite any would-be grave robber.
All eyes, subconsciously or not, turn to King Gloin.
The new Monarch of Kraka Drakk is silent for a long while, only deigning to speak after a long period of silence.
"My father joins our Ancestors, to feast and drink eternal in Gazul's halls, and so leaves his burden for me to uphold. But his
legacy, he leaves for us all to share and defend with our dying breath. Tonight we mourn his loss and celebrate his life, and come morning we crush those who seek to undo the fruits of his labour. As tradition and all that is right demands of us."
━<><><><==><><><>━
It has only been days since Otrek's death, but the world will not wait for his people to properly mourn him.
Fitting, that in the wake of such an event, you finally get to work on the commission from the Cult of Gazul. Ingots and reagents are carted in by the wagon-full, hundreds of kilos of material needed to make the suits of armour requested by the Cult.
You don't know why, but you feel possessed by some force; as if the Ancestors watch and judge you and in doing so drive you to greater heights. The commission, something that many would consider the work of decades, is cut down to years. Time, eternal time, more than usual you are reminded of its weight and inevitability. You take note of the length of your beard, the whiteness of your hair and the wrinkles and marks upon your flesh. Though you feel no different, the signs of
age are present. A scar in its own way, a reminder of the battle you and every Dwarf wage against the passing of seasons. Perhaps that is why you feel so compelled to see the work done?
It does not matter in this case, you suppose, the ingots are hammered, plates drawn and the suits take shape under the unrelenting force of your hammer and the effort of muscles rendered tireless. Taking breaks only to see to your duties sworn and upheld. Teaching Masters, administering rites, overseeing and participating in holidays and festivals. It is all remembered of course, as everything always is, but you simply didn't focus on it in the face of the work weighing on your mind. The only time you truly take note of anything is when you spend those months in complete isolation, deep in your forge, creating works of art and power.
Heat the metal, hammer it into form, fold the metal and bring your creation forth into reality.
It is no different, in the end, from when you were but a lad. The knowledge you hold is greater, the skill, the technique and equipment have changed, yet at its core it is still the same craft you were taught all those centuries ago. Creation,
craftsmanship just as the Ancestors imparted upon your people in the distant past. To make works that would outlast their maker and be passed down to those who pick up the torch after you. One of the few true forms of immortality a dwarf could find in this existence. Long after Gazul took you, the work you created would remain; a tool and reminder in equal measure.
A legacy, as young Gloin so nicely put it.
Before you realize it, the day of Rhunkalbrogg is naught but a few months away.
With a snort, you leave your sanctum just as Rudil was about to knock on your door.
A token of respect for his bravery, but it was unnecessary.
You would not forget.
"I'm not that old yet nephew. Have the Hearth Guard begin preparations for our trip in earnest, I have a Rhunkalbrogg to attend after all!"
━<><><>< 323 A.P. ><><><>━
As your small groups grow closer and closer to the massive gates that loom ahead, you come to the conclusion that Karaz a Karak has only grown more splendorous in the centuries since your last visit. The great, gargantuan statues of the Ancestors that line the path towards the Karak proper, their arms raised to evoke the image of holding up the cavern roof, have grown more numerous and beautiful. Beard buckles wrought of precious stones and metals so large that they beggared belief and carved with such detail that they put the work of many others to shame. The road itself is built so precisely that the stone blocks paving it appears as one homogenous surface, broken up only by the decorative metal markers and Lighting Runes that illuminate your way.
As you continue to come closer and closer, everything grows more and more wondrous. The original statues, made of solid stone, are now covered in precious metals. Silver chain and light copper skin that, were it not for the metallic sheen, looked identical to living flesh. Marble eyes with gemstone pupils that shone with Rune light stare down at you. The great gate before you is emblazoned with a massive Rune of Grungni, surrounded by stunning reliefs of the Ancestors and famous dwarfs of ages past, a living monument to the past you all shared.
You let your former apprentices and retainers boggle at the decoration all they wish, your attention instead firmly planted on the Rune itself.
Save for its immense scale, it is no different to any other Rune of Grungni you have seen, and yet you simply bask in its light. The glow is unyielding, but not harsh, as if the Ancestor Himself is watching you and not the facsimile carved into the gate.
This place…
...there was a reason why Valaya favoured this place above all the other holds She founded you suppose.
━<><><><==><><><>━
You sniff casually as your charges break off into their own little groups. Dolgi and his wife off to shop in Karaz a Karak's markets with Fjolla and Joll trailing behind them. Snerra had run off to the temple of Valaya to see some business or another, the details of which she had sworn not to reveal.
As for your fellow Runelords, they had come here earlier on their own time and were doubtlessly somewhere in Karaz a Karak waiting for the conference to begin in two days' time. Despite lacking a fifth of its Throng due to Prince Whitebeard's call to arms, the influx of Runesmiths, and the accompanying rush of merchants almost filled the Hold back up to its original numbers. Even now Dwarfs hustle and bustle about as they seek to take advantage of such an influx of goods and talent.
For your part, there was little actually planned save for Rhunkalbrogg itself, giving you a few days to freely explore the Karak at your leisure.
"Where to Lord?" Rudil asks from beside you, red faceplate lifted up so that his voice doesn't bellow out through the Runes of Amplification you inscribed.
That
was the question you suppos-
-A tongue smacks you across the face, much to the surprise of your retainers and to the enjoyment of the Dwarf who threw it.
"Bodyguards are a good first step lad, but you can't rely on them for everything! CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Yorri cackles.
"Master," you grumble at the Dwarf guffawing off in the distance, "It's nice to see you as well."
"Ach, won't even give this old dwarf the satisfaction of flustering you hmm? Bah! It's fine enough to see you've not bungled up and died while I was away. I must admit my time is limited, if you've the time, come visit me after Rhunkalbrogg has ended, my business ought to be done by then! Toodaloo now!" Master Yorri shouts at you before disappearing around a corner.
Choose 3:
[ ][
Explore]: The Markets.
Goods a plenty, there is doubtlessly
something of value to you, Karaz a Karak has only cemented its position as a nexus of trade across the Realms in the time since.
[ ][
Explore]: The Temples.
The shrines and temples of the Ancestors are quite the thing to behold. It will be good to visit them and enjoy the splendour before you.
[ ][
Explore]: The Taverns.
Ale, what other reason is necessary? Doubtlessly there will be people, but they're just in the way between you and that most delightful of drinks.
[ ][
Explore]: The Bakeries.
Two centuries since you have come to this place, and you wonder just how the art of Stonebread and baking has fared since. There are likely other baked goods to try you suppose, but nothing really beats Stonebread.
[ ][
Explore]: The Foundries.
The Engineers, you hear, are having a public competition among their Guild over something or other. You aren't sure over what though. Of course, there are dozens of Master Smiths vying their trade here as well, you still needed to get Fjolla and Joll's wedding gift too you suppose.
[ ][
Explore]: The Great Hall.
Though Prince Whitebeard has gone on campaign, the throne, and with it
Azamar sits empty in the Hall of Pillars.
━<><><>< Gain ><><><>━
- Defence in the Depths complete! Runes, inscribed. Traps, primed. Home, secured. If there is ever a need to expand your Workshop in the future, there is a solid foundation to build from at least.
- +8 Progress to Grave Wardens, new totals:
[Cost: (12 -8) =4 actions] Working as if Gazul Himself watched you, progress on the commission far exceeds what you expect.
Retainers:
- On the March complete!
-- +30 Favour with Kraka Drakk
-- +15 Favour with Kraka Grom
━<><><><==><><><>━
There will be a two-hour moratorium for discussion.
This took way too long for what it actually is but a lot of stuff wanted to mess with me these past few days so uh sorry about that. Anyhoo, in more positive news we're 1 year old as of today, and in recognition of that I commissioned some art from
@Renu ! I can't believe this little quest got this far given everything, but it feels nice regardless. Rhunkalbrogg awaits! Thanks for sticking with me for so long and for making this project popular, (which still trips me up tbh). There's alot i've learned since I started and while I can't say I have
no regrets, I'm satisfied with what I've done. I mean there's a not-insignificant amount of people participating so I must've done something right I hope.
Uh, anyhoo thank's for waiting, enjoy what little there is, and don't forget to C&C1 :^)
