RHUNRIKKI STROLLAR (Warhammer Fantasy Golden Age Dwarf Runelord Quest)

Winning Vote: said:

[X] Plan: Stormrider
General
- [Y] Understand Runecraft [2 Free Progress] ✓
- [Y] Understand Runecraft, The Stilling Field [1 Free Progress] ✓

Crafting
-[X] [Difficult] Skaudardrengi Pt. 2 [6 Snorri AP + 6 Peerless + 2 Peerless Procs + 4 Mind for Constructs + 2 Gronti-Bay] Use the Anvil of the Earth and KKR and Zharrgal. Wear BA/Skarren/Aethyrbinder. Rest in this post ✓
--[X] Choose: Combo, Empowered Awakening+: [Master Rune of Waking [x2 T4 Ancient Greedy Troll's Heart], Rune of Empowerment [x2 T4 Dragon Ogre Shaggoth Heart], Rune of Siphoning [x2 T4 Ancient Greedy Troll's Heart].]

-[X] [Difficult] Design Swift Wind, "Alazilfin", Wing , Pt. 1 [1 Karstah AP]
[Talismanic] Skaudardrengi's wings are already immense limbs of Adamant, rippling with carved muscle. They await the Runes. Upon the middle joints of the wing limbs, the Runes of Speed and Breezes are inscribed. In the joining point over the spine where the wings emerge from the back, the Rune of Featherweight waits to be used. Like the Storm Wyrm's it emulates, Skaudardrengi shall also harness the winds and defy the grasp of gravity and the earth. 3 Adamant
--[X] Choose: Rune of Featherweight [T4 Elder Storm Wyrm Wing Tendons], Rune of Speed [T3 Pegasus Heart], Rune of Breezes [T4 Great Eagle's Feather].

-[X] [Difficult] Design Thunder of Doom, "Dronadum", Armor Pt. 1: x3 [T4 Adamant].[1 Karstah AP]
[Armour] This is a circle of white Adamant, slots around its rim allow it to be locked into a retaining device within Skaudardrengi's mouth, and the slots are incorporated into blackened Pure Gromril knotwork that surrounds the rim. The center of the shield is covered with a layer of swirling gray Pure Gromril shaped like storm clouds and shaded as to hint at a great wyrm's body spiraling within the storm. The Wyrm circles a large and beautifully faceted Sidereal Sapphire, protected by retractable Adamant plating, and inscribed onto the gem is the fiercely glowing Lonely Rune of Zon-Dum.
--[X] Choose: Lonely Rune of Zon-Dum [T4 Sidereal Sapphire and T4 Elder Storm Wyrm's Gas Sac]

Research
-[X] [Simple] Kraken Autopsy [1 Karstah AP]
-[Y] [Simple] Mysterious Mystery Cauldron [2 Free Progress]

Retainers: ✓
-[X] Training Regime Pt. 2 [3 Retainer AP]
-[X] Waystones, Warding [1 Retainer AP]

Khazagar:

Orders: ✓
--[X] Order: [T4] Voidstone
--[X] Order 2: [T4] Ancient Greedy Troll Heart. [-15 Far North Favor]
---[X] 1st Royal Expedite. [-15 Far North Favor.]
--[X] Order 3: [T4] Ancient Greedy Troll Heart. [-15 Far North Favor]
---[X] 2nd Royal Expedite. [-15 Far North Favor.]
--[X] Order 4: [T4] Ancient Stone Troll Blood. [-15 Ungor Favor]
---[X] 3rd Royal Expedite. [-15 Ungor Favor]

[X] [Social:] Alma Almasdottir's first day in Kraka Drakk. ~
[X] [Social:] Nain's wedding ✓
[X] [Letters:] Knowledge about Nagarythe [Insightful]

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Karstah's Plan said:

-[K] [Simple] Examine heart: [3 Personal AP] ✓
-[K] [Difficult] Design [Armour] Karag Drakk, Armor Pt. 1 [1 Personal AP]
-[K] Teach your Apprentices [1 Personal AP] Locked for 10 Turns.
-[K] [Social:] Tarni, what do you want?✓

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"Who are you?"

Alma Almasdottir does not jump, but she does make a perfectly understandable sound of surprise(at the appropriate volume) from the sudden appearance of an unknown kvinn in her personal space. Bent forward with ruby hair dangling in two plaits capped by little gold hammers.

"Hail, I'm Alma Almasdottir, apprentice of Karstah Snorrisdottir, who might you be?" she greets, nodding at the younger woman politely.

The red-head grins, freckles stretching across her face as she makes no effort to nod back.

"Svina Brunasdottir, daughter of—"

"—Skarri Dolgisson, son of Dolgi Bolgisson, apprentice of Him," Alma finishes instinctively, "I know of you. It is an honour."

What fortune, or perhaps simple happenstance? He was known to keep in touch with His students regularly, so it should be no surprise that Alma would come across the family of Lord Klausson's apprentices.

Svina blinks.

"You mean Gruncle Snorri?"

Grrk—!

"That is an inappropriate title for Lord Klausson," Alma retorts primly.

"Bleh, he's grumpy and he acts like my Uncles, perfectly fitting to me!" the younger woman (incorrectly) reasons.

"Assumptions about his personality aside, it demeans his achievements!" Alma retorts, nose wrinkling in vexation.

"Oh you'll be fun," Svina decides with a sage nod, "we're going to have a great time together, yessir."

"I strongly doubt we shall meet all too often," Alma responds. Perhaps monthly, in all likelihood she would be taken on as her grandfather's student if she understood what Yorri (the younger) explained.

The younger woman, the girl really, squints at her then smiles cryptically.

"Wanna bet on it?"


All is glittering and golden.
Power from the Tools twists the tunnel, directing, guiding the trajectory.
The wall of brilliant light and power encircling you and the silverine ribcage you have "on" the Anvil of the Earth is blinding, but not completely so.

Though the pillar of energy you are inside appears as one cohesive whole, the truth is laid out by your Windsight Eye. With Barak Azamar here, the waterfall of power from the Storm crashes against an upswell of Deep Magic like two colliding streams colliding. The spray from their meeting exactly where you and the Anvil are.
Hammers rise, words spill from your lips, and hammers fall.

You eye the golden veins that grow and creep up the Anvil, from Gormwand, and wonder as to their significance before dismissing the thought. Not seeing them crawl to your feet.

The final lines of the striking are rung into being, and the last words of the chant spill from your lips.

The Stilling Field shrinks, power floods—first through you—into the Rune of Empowerment. Strength for a time, enough to reach below.
For a moment you see the wall of energy around you shift. For a brief moment the walls cinch inwards—constricting like it's a Dawi tightening their belt—towards the Rune of Empowerment as the Runecraft drinks its fill before the torrent rights itself. A new Rune, fresh and blazing with power.

One of three. The Hammer hums, unheard over the din, evaluating. It calls to its present partner.

You allow yourself a moment to bask in its glow, the deafening roar of magic the only sound that can be heard.

Enough rest.
Karaz-Kazak-Rhun and Zharrgal flare to life with Mhorni's echoes glowing mere moments after. Then you swing Zharrgal down, and in the brief moment before the first blow lands you dimly realize something—

—Wait, when did you learn to start using two—?

—but the ring of metal on metal instinctively draws your attention, the chant spills from your lips and you regretfully toss the thought to the wayside. Questions about how and why are for later.

All is glittering and golden.


Alma Almasdottir does not rise to the taunts of one so obviously attempting to goad her.

"Hey~ fellow apprentice, hey, hey!" the newly (and sorrowfully) revealed peer and aforementioned goader, calls from beside her.

An attempt that is clearly meant (and fails) to anger her, she is certain.

"Alma, Alma hey! Alma!"

Her will is inviolate!

"Allllma—Alma, hey Alma! Alma, hey! Hey! You owe me five Brass!" Svina continues to sing-song.

Inviolate her will may be, Alma Almasdottir still honours her (ill-conceived) debts and digs into her pockets.


All is glittering and Golden.

Siphoning was next.

The bolts of magic sting now, thicker than your arm and falling upon you like rain in a summer storm. Not as painful as they were during the equivalent stage of Skarrenbakraz's creation, but they still hurt. Where they land is not random as you once thought. No, they strike the golden veins on your soul, making the lines pulse as magic is fed through them.
The energy coursing its way through your soul has grown to the point that your equipment and Stilling Field cannot fully stop—cannot fully shield some dim part of you realizes—your soul from suffering the feedback.

Such a thought, made with what little of your attention you can spare on it, is chilling.
But it's a thought for later, like the question of when and how you started or even learned to strike a Rune with two—four really—hammers. Because there will be a later and now you must focus on the Rune taking shape before you. Line by line and blow by blow the work of Thungni is wrought into being upon the Adamant. The metal glowing orange thanks to the now constant plume of flame that comes roaring out of Aethyrbinder like a dragon's breath.

The chant you devised for the Rune of Siphoning heralds the blow of four hammers, a rhythm that feels instinctual.
You see the Stilling Field begin to shrink once more, slowly closing in. Hammering continues, never stopping, never ceasing. The chant on your lips grants you clarity, synchronizing the fall of four hammers despite it being devised around the movements of only one. The consequences and implications are small, distant things in the face of your work though. Focus Klausson, focus. All else is pointless if you cannot survive this ordeal, if you cannot return to kith and kin—

—if you cannot uphold your Oath.

Ages?

Seconds?
Time passes in an endless droning roar and blinding glow of power, tracked by the beat of hammers and the chant you have memorized. You begin to mistake the clang of metal for a heartbeat, before you realize you're actually hearing your own thundering in your skull. The Stilling Field continues to shrink according to whatever incomprehensible rules control it, and the agony of each magical bolt grows in correspondence. Your gilded veins glow hot.

You feed the increasingly magical lines the ground up Greedy Troll hearts, an echo of the creation that inspired their development.
Then it is done.

The Rune glows to life and gets to work; dredging, pulling upward, to bring power to the surface as the Dawi delve into the stone of the world and haul up its riches. The upwell surges, pushing back against the fury of the heavens for a brief moment before the violent equilibrium between earth and sky reasserts itself.

Two of three.

All is glittering and Golden.


Your teacher still hasn't left the Giantworks.

Not that you expect him to, not even Snorri Klausson can work that much Adamant in a few short years.

But that's neither here nor there.

So you push such thoughts aside as you walk into Guthrum's Grog-house, alone and hidden beneath a red hooded cloak, and make a beeline for a table where another hooded Dwarf waits.

Taking a seat, you pull off your hood and stare at them expectantly.

"Couldn't be early could you?" she begins, mouth tilted in a small frown.

"Hello to you too Tarni," you reply with a huff.

The student of Vragni Silverbrand scoffs and pulls down her own hood, staring at you in annoyance.

Tarni Olkasdottir, or Brightaxe as she was now called, was perhaps your strangest or at least the most combative—well you're hesitant to say friend actually—colleague.

Which said a lot given the company you keep included three Dragons, and several Brana.

Whatever the case, it's not often that Tarni writes to you, let alone want to meet you in person.

Never in Kraka Drakk of course, her pride and beliefs about your Master would never allow it barring the most dire circumstances. And you in turn, demanded that it never be done in Ornsmotek. Not because you hold similar feelings as Tarni, but because fairness and standing demanded an equivalent expectation.

A whole lot of tat to explain why you both chose to meet in a random tavern in Ravnsvake every time a meeting takes place.

Thus you and your apprentices, not yet including Svina much to the girl's annoyance, make the journey there once you get her confusingly obtuse request. For your part it's not just to see what Tarni could want, but also an opportunity to give your students—with Dreng secretly chaperoning—the chance to go about and do a bit of exploration. A treat, for their good progress.

"Hmph!" Tarni huffs, puffing a stray lock of gold-tipped silver out of her face, "yes, it's well I'll get right down to business Snorrisdottir. We've a problem."

You tilt your head. "Aye, what's it then?"

"It's about that damn hammer! " Tarni thumps her fist.

"Tarni we've already talked about Karaz-Kazak-Rh—"

"Not that one! The other hammer you numpty! The frozen one!"

"What?"


Alma Almasdottir travels the markets of Ravnsvake, one of the two Dwarf Holds built by the sea (two and a half if one counted Dorden's cliffside), her pockets full of coin and her mission clear.

"Alma!" a damningly familiar voice yells in her ear, making Alma jump in surprise.

She turns, and to her dread she spots the grinning visage of one Svina Brunasdottir grinning at her, bent forward with arms behind her back.

"Whawawa—how are you here?" she demands, recovering from her (perfectly understandable) surprise.

"I flew!"

Alma Almasdottir (rightfully) refuses to believe her.

"You—what?"

"Yup!"

Impossible.

"She means she came on the back of a Brana," Yorri chimes in from behind the crates in his arms, reminding Alma of his presence.

"Bleh! Ruin my fun," Svina pouts at him before turning back to grin at Alma.

"Does your father know you have left the Hold without escort?" She asks, looking at Svina in concern. What young woman goes out and commits such reckless acts?

"The Brana is her father's partner," Yorri adds again.

Thunder Wing, Alma recalls immediately as she nods at him in thanks. Meanwhile the vexing young lady in front of her grumbles at him about ruining her surprises.


You are Karstah Drakksdottir and you are confused.

"Greathammer with Everfrost, Petrification and Paralysis, oak and gold construction. Material couldn't be sourced, no identifiable maker's marks," Tarni repeats, "I remember when you asked me to do some digging."

You nod as you finally recall it. It was what? Six decades ago if you recall correctly. Tarni hadn't found anything. "You found nothing and gave me a bit of grief over using your debt to me on 'fool's errands,' if I recall."

"Yes, well I came upon something a few years prior. Doing completely unrelated work."

You raise a brow, "Oh?"

Tarni takes a swig before she starts, staring at you.

"I was given access to the archives of Clan Thungnisson alongside several of my fellow apprentices for, at the time, secret purposes—" the Tongs right, "—and as I was digging I noticed that some accounts in their older Book of Debts were strange. Thought it was a clue, so I did some digging. And I found a strange pattern in the old tomes, sixteen hundred years or so at the youngest, that all related to Durin's final expedition."

"That's not surprising at all," you comment, "Not the first time records have been omitted or vague—"

"—That's not the strange part. I found a list of expenses, one for another expedition forty years after Durin's, and it lists enough supplies for a party of twenty-eight headed somewhere, they return ten years later and only note the loss of a greathammer and suit of Gromril armour but make no mention of any deaths or Grudges sworn, which is something I don't think you need to be told is not done so vaguely. I can find nothing else about it. Forty years after Durin leaves, twenty-eight head out and then come back after a decade, only losing a suit of armour and a hammer."

"Alright…" you murmur, frowning harder. Tarni's right, losing Gromril—a whole suit of armour no less—wasn't something just noted and seemingly never brought up again. Especially in a time before Varn's founding, when Gromril was rarer than gold and used exclusively by the greatest and eldest smiths. Your teacher found a helmet and a greathammer of indeterminate age up north, is she—

"Karstah," Tarni says, not Snorrisdottir, not 'Numpty,' but your actual name, "I returned a day later with my teacher to show him the original record. But instead I find the record gone, and our access to the records blocked for a month not long after. Nothing was said, but—"


Yorri stares at Gromril walls that separate him from his most foolish student. Why couldn't he have been like Joll…

Behind him Snorri's retainers are not idle. A solid third of the Hearth Guard are out and about at the lad's order, using this place as a waystation while they check on the nearby Waystones for signs of trouble and mischief. Sensible, if loud. Bah. Break 400 and like every two-Brass Grungni Grungsson thinks he's an expert. Look at him! If he got to his age…

…well the world isn't fair.

Yorri adjusts his position, responding to aches he has lived with and had forgotten about. Those old cracks and pops returned after the Staff left his possession. Like realizing you had a mosquito on your leg and smacking it away, only to find that it lived. Returned to annoy you, and yourself all the more aware of it.

But spending some time with the Staff, while decent, would not make him bellyache, audibly at least, about it.
He's used to the pain, the ache, had to. Especially when he's lived with it for such a long time…
Such a miserable, agonizingly, long time…


All is Glittering and Golden—

—and all is agony.

The Master Rune of Waking is last.
When your Stilling Field shrinks you know right away that your equipment is not enough, but you're too far in to reverse course.
Your body is aflame in both senses of the word. Golden fire covers your form, Aethyrbinder's Runes are glowing and making a whining sound loud enough that you can actually hear it despite the background roar of magic and pain clouding your mind. Skarrenbakraz crackles with lightning, refracting power it cannot bear, while Barak Azamar's frantic beat mirrors the rabbit-quick beat of your own heart.The staff grounds, hammer strengthens, the rest of the panoply regulates and vents. Supports bolstering a dam to beyond its limits. But a dam built to hold even the greatest river cannot withstand the Ocean.

Blizzardwing's description all those centuries ago was—for several possible reasons—more apt than you first thought. Parts of your soul-self fracture like upturning stone, creating fault lines in the bedrock of your existence. The golden veins that crisscross your form are melting and popping like molten cheese, oozing into these faults and sending fresh jolts of agony through you.

Your soul is breaking; cracking apart and erupting like a volcano. The damage being dealt is so great that the translucent reflection of your body lags behind your flesh enough now that you see yourself in double.

Still you hammer, still some part of you cheers.

Because you haven't blacked out, because you are awake.

Even though you wish the oblivion of unconsciousness claimed you.

But you push those thoughts aside, push the agony aside, to the farthest edges of your fraying mind and focus. You cannot falter, not now, not until it is done.

Never cease until the work is done. Create that which mundane hands alone cannot.

The Blood of Thungni, His Gift to you, is yours to shape this world—
—and with it you will make a Wonder.

A thing terrific and majestic to behold, with silverine scale and dronril eyes, the bane of your foes and the shield of your Home.

You hear the roar that shakes the mountain, wings that blot out the sun and feel breath that matches its heat.

If you were a sappy sort, and at least some part of you is, you'd think it's a fitting bit of symbolism. That what would surely be the Hold's—nai, the region's—greatest shield and axe would take the distinctive shape of one of the Dawi's oldest foes. But you are of Kraka Drakk (second k notwithstanding), your child raised three Shard Wyrms to boot.

And as a man who cared for aesthetics, that was a pleasant thing to see.

Bah.

The mind takes you to strange places when you're half mad from pain you suppose, molten blood flying from your lips as you chuckle.

Swing, chant, endure.

Skaudardrengi, Karstah calls you, you think to the metal beneath your hammers, her Singing Slayer.

Fly upon wings of silver, rend the foe with glittering claws and roar with the fury of the heavens. Stand before the darkness, and be unbowed.
Let it be worthy of such a name, such a dream.

Your Stilling Field continues to shrink, thinking is growing difficult, but you feel it in your bones and your beard, see it with eyes of flesh and of metal.

All is Glittering and Golden.

Through the agony, you grin with bloodied teeth.


The Runelord hammers alone, his shadow consumed. His crumbling body and melting mind subjected to forces it has already endured once before. Forces to unmake, not meant for a soul of Stone, course through his body.

But this time he is awake, he is lucid, if occupied by the labour before him.

Occupied, but not oblivious.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees the walls of his self-made prison shimmer. The Eye that beholds the un-beholdable let him see what occurs. See how the walls pass the endless leagues of stone, tunnelling, digging below, below, until rock becomes color and color becomes power. A vision of madness Then darkness. A passage of natural rock where no torch is lit along its walls, where the only light is that at the passage's end. To great doors, flanked by statues and then through them to a hall.

The Last Hall. That which was once a simple opening hewn into material and immaterial by pick and blade. Succor and purpose, Hall and fortress, a Hold for the dead to safeguard a Gift for the living.

One that rings with laughter and song. Whose air is warm and inviting, scented with food that tastes of home and peace.

Even as he reaches for the reagents, he cannot look away. A table, endless and overflowing with food, at whose head sit six distant figures that shine like stars. Staff and Hammer greet their Maker, who sits in his chair with contemplative silence.

The Runelord feels it, hears them. Gruff pats and warm touches accompanied by voices of those he knows have long left the world above. To see them hale and whole and warm. If his eyes could shed tears as they were, they would.

—and then he feels her hands, one overtop his own, and the other on his cheek. His eyes behold something he has seen only in dreams since their parting. The lovely sight of pale golden plaits and warm green eyes that stare at him with not only exasperation, and worry, but unshakeable love.

The journey's end. Rest.

Will, Will that has withstood so much stutters, whines like overstressed metal.

It is almost enough to make his pace falter, to simply stop what he is doing. Leave the Master Rune incomplete, and lay down his tools.

Almost.

He hammers on, continues the chant with a shuddered breath and with her hand over his feeds the last of the reagents to the Rune with a shaking, shuddering frame.

But his eyes do not look away, willing the image he witnesses to be seared into his mind.

The vision before him twists and the image along the walls take him away, away and out the backdoors of His Hall. To the place where it was built, to cavern taller than the eye can see, where gold dust floats in the air—
—to see a Realm where all is Glittering and Golden.

(Roll, What notices the tunnelling: 4. Chamon.)

Before the Golden Hunter's spear, erupting from their arm with a haft of reason and tip of coldest, sharpest logic, drives home. The weapon lunges at the moment of a Runesmith's greatest vulnerability, and—fed upon the magic of the Anvil—its ethereal form passes through his panoply, turning the very means the Dwarf can safely channel the Winds against himself. Tip driving through Golden veins in his soul to pierce through the Runelord's heart.

Outside the chamber, the air shimmers as things emerge. Yet more Hunters, drawn to a call not meant for them yet nevertheless heard. Shifting silver serpents and golden humanoids, glutted upon the magic permeating the air.

Retainers bark orders, showing no outward surprise at the intrusion, only the annoyance of a duty interrupted.

An old man gets off his chair.


The Realm
- [Late 504] The sister Holds of Karak Varn and Zhufbar make a new announcement perfectly in line with this Age of Wonders. Using their portion of the grand windfall that comes from the newest Gromril strike, the Masons and Engineers of both Holds declare that they shall create a thing to match the wonder of Lord Morgrim. A grand series of causeways to connect the two Holds. Not beneath the earth, but rather above it! Spearheaded by the Guildmasters of each Hold's Engineers Guild chapters, this Skybridge, shall span kilometres of open air with simple mastery of the physical principles. And once its value and skill is proven, there can be no doubt that the chapter in Everpeak shall also participate. The necessity of such a bridge? Bah. Don't listen to their prattle, this is first and foremost a vanity project.

- [Early 505] Karak Drazh, Eight Peaks and Karak Azul, to much less fanfare or pomp announce a further widening of the Underway connections between them, funded in part by Izril's great surge of purchasing. With the work done and purses full, the Kings of these Holds, all first cousins, invest that wealth for greater profit. Easing the congestion these already heavily trafficked paths possess. Truly they are the beating heart of Dwarfen trade.

- [Mid 506] Karak Vlag's great road to Uzkulak nears completion, but in a sign of the Hold's ambition(or folly) the King already declares that the great Angaz of Vlag shall be expanded, headed by the Hold's chapter of the Metalsmiths Guild, the great feat of industry will allow the Hold to process not only its own considerable mineral wealth, but the material it gets from its eastern partners. Always a need for Iron.

- [Late 507] Karak Zorn is a populous Hold, a storied Hold, a settled Hold. The eldest jewel of the Ankor's crown is heavy with the weight of the ages. Zorn has little need for works to show its greatness, but if there is anything that remains in perpetual progress, it is a Hold's defence! The Golden Walls of Zorn shall grow ever closer to the ideal envisioned by the wise Kings of the Eldest. More towers, more bulwarks, and even more walls, using designs that are closer to the ideals of the Honoured Ancestor Morgrim than the deviations implemented by the youthful ignorance of his followers.

Burudin

Past said:

- [Burudin] I should hope that someone has found a Rhunki worthy of filling Angkra's place.

- [Burudin] Slim pickings. What of that girlchild from the North? Klausson's niece.

- [Burudin] Too young, but should she live long enough(which I do not doubt), she's a sure enough option. Angkra would have approved at least.

- [Burudin] Too cheery.

- [Burudin] That's an apprentice level answer, there is no doubt in my mind that all four of them will have their perceptions of your maturity broken in good time. But who among this current crop is worthy hmm?

- [Burudin] Light a torch in a cave gas cavern and bring forward Svaltisson for consideration one of you, I'll offer up my best ale.

- [Burudin] Bryngold Angwanaz of Varn, a good head on his shoulders, of age.

- [Burudin] Damin of Karaz-a-Karak. Solid and undeniably skilled. Member of the Brotherhood of Dron.

- [Burudin] Hmph well Hammerspite's sure to agree if only for more of that Brinril.

- [Burudin] Would do keep the balance in opinion here.

- [Burudin] The day such considerations become the main component of membership amongst this body is the day half you louts ought to stop harping on Gift Giver about supposed aims for leadership and go after each other. I'll sooner join Lord Grimnir than sully this group with such consideration.

- [Burudin] If such schools of thought want a seat at the table, they simply need to find worthy candidates. It's quite simple.

- [Burudin] My brother made this union as a forum of discussion, there is merit to a diversity of thought here.

- [Burudin] Then find such freethinkers who have the skill to not shame the rest of us with their inclusion.

- [Burudin] Oh tug my beard you third-rate baker—

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- [Burudin] Shoddy construction these days, and I'm supposed to trust the work of those same builders will last as long as the Runes I inscribe upon it? Bah! Would it be that I could split myself sevenfold, and just do it myself.

- [Burudin] Thankfully for the realm, you cannot.

- [Burudin] I mislike the goings on in the east, troublesome sort that.

- [Burudin] All whom I am in contact with from that place will speak nothing of it. Not even if they are oathbound, which is a sure sign that they are.

- [Burudin] What Dawi requires an oath to be sworn to have his word trusted? I'd trust him less if that was required frankly. And smack a fool for demanding I swear such a thing.

- [Burudin] When the matter is serious, you thick-headed goat. And if they are oathbound, have the decency to think them right-headed and true, unless proven otherwise of course.

Khazagar
- [Late 505] The Grudge between Hegrimm Hearthblood and Malakai Warm-glow over proper attribution of work is settled with the aid of Karstah Snorrisdottir. Appropriate remuneration from both parties was determined in private, to both Dawi's satisfaction.

- [Early 506] An Overview on Generally Acceptable Cuts for Hearthstones is a five-hundred page tome replete with diagrams and writings about proper faceting for Hearthstones jointly penned by the Master Runesmiths Hegrimm Hearthblood and Malakai Warm-glow. Stored in the second lowest clearance level of the Kron-Thingondrol, for some of its techniques touch upon how to best direct the glow of Runes inscribed upon or behind the gem. A solid quarter is dedicated to critiquing the cumulative lessening of a work's beauty should a Runesmith use the wrong cut for the wrong piece or material.

"…A square cut Hearthstone inset on a circular belt buckle, supposing no appropriate effort made to fashion a pleasing transition of shapes, is deserving of a smack across the head."

- [Late 507] Reports of young Journeymen getting into fisticuffs over gem-cutting appear at increased frequency.


Thungni-karinaz - Lit. "Thungni's Shield"/ The Stilling Field
Brynzan - Lit. "Glittering Blood"/ Term for how the Rune of Windsight renders The Gift.


General
- +(2[Auto] +1[Skaudardrengi]) = 3 Progress to Understand Runecraft, new totals: [9/??? actions]
-- A Rune is benediction, a Rune is order. For Thungni's Gift is to order the wild, to tame the untamable.
-- This Gift is a measure not of skill or connection but capacity, and vulnerability.

- +1 Progress to Understand Runecraft, The Stilling Field, new totals: [3/4 actions]
-- It appears that a Stilling Field can grow and shrink outside the purposes of forging a Rune. Admittedly your only data point is your master's injured soul but still!
-- Enough magic can overcome the repulsive effect of a Stilling Field, the amount depends on the Field, but it can. The ordering effect however, does not seem to be affected by that.
-- Two Runesmiths you've seen have mangled veins, you and Yorri. You don't know why Yorri's are the way they are, but you (probably) know why yours are.
-- This shields you, Stone soul, girds you from that which would render you inanimate. To craft is to lower it, to lower it is to invite attack.

Crafting

Research

Retainers

Khazagar

Runes

Reagents

Favour and Standing

Trait(s) Gained/Upgraded

AN: Here ya go! Lore dumps? Lore teases! As for the roll 1 was Chaos, 2 through 9 were the Winds in Alphabetical order. As always, hope you enjoy and don't forget to C&C. :^)