RHUNRIKKI STROLLAR (Warhammer Fantasy Golden Age Dwarf Runelord Quest)

[Thor's Twin]

The Doomed Journey

Lectures on Slayers, Circa 2450 I.C.

…

Over the course of these lectures, we have discussed the formation of the Slayer Cult amongst the Dwarves, the cult's rise of prominence in Karak Kadrin, the Slayer Keep, the allure the Slayer Cult has amongst a section of Dwarves and why they may seek this manner of death, and the strange hierarchy amongst the Slayers which paradoxically establishes the most skilled and most ashamed dwarves amongst their ranks. We will, however, now move on to the final part of these lectures, and that is the Doomed Journey, the last stage of a Slayer seeking his doom.

While the Slayer Cult in Karak Kadrin will accept any dwarf who comes seeking a doom and provide for that slayer's needs, that does not mean all slayers are allowed to embark upon the final journey of a slayer. No, only those who have reached the final rank of Slayer are allowed the choice on whether to continue seeking their doom as they have been or to engage upon this most sacred journey. Not all slayers offered this choice accept the offer, but those that do begin preparations to begin a walk from Karak Kadrin to Kraka Drak. This part of the journey has many names, The Path of Memory, The Dragon's Walkway, or The Trail of Tears, and is kept largely clear of Geenskins and Skaven by the holds which the Slayer Cult has the largest influence in. For dwarven legend holds that it was this path that their Ancestor God Grimnir walked on his way to the Chaos Wastes to stop daemons from pouring into the world during the Catastrophe. As such, this stretch of the Underway is held in the utmost regard by the Slayer Cult, and slayers who walk it are given deference and hospitality all the way to Kraka Drak, the first and most important, stop on this final journey.

Here, in Kraka Drak, which the legend of Grimnir holds to be the last hold to host and feast with their Ancestor God before his journey north, does the preparation of the Slayer into a Doomed Slayer begin. Shrines to Grimnir are prayed to, and maps of the North are studied. But the final challenges are the ones that stop all but the most dedicated from taking the first step on the Doomed Journey, for after the final oaths there is no coming back. Between the third and fourth walls of Kraka Drak, otherwise known as the Wall of Oaths, a solemn ceremony is held where a Slayer seeking to complete this final journey speaks to a priest of Grimnir of what made him into a slayer. He speaks of tragedies and of triumphs, of the foes he has slain and the brothers of the cult he has seen cut down. He speaks of his clan, of lost loves and of bitter regrets. All of this the priest of Grimnir silently engraves into the inner section of the Wall of Oaths, etching into the bricks the words spoken by the Slayer. Finally, once all the Slayer wished to say and record has been said and recorded, and his name has been etched into the stone, the final line is engraved, "This Far and No Further."

This is the first of the two oaths that must be sworn, and once this oath is sworn there is no going back. Seeming to have two meanings, this oath is at once a promise to all the foes of the Dwarves that they shall never breach the fourth wall of Kraka Drak and a vow that the Slayer who makes such an oath shall become a living brick of the Fourth Wall, promising that until his dying breath he shall not retreat past the Fourth Wall. In such a manner the Slayer who makes this oath gives up his name, his history, his very reason for becoming a Slayer, and instead swears to be a living bulwark like the Ancestor God Grimnir.

The next oath is an oath of silence, for just as Grimnir was not heard from again after beginning his legendary work, so too shall the dwarves who take this vow not be heard from again except in battle. But it is more than that as well, for it is a vow to forgo letting their legend be recorded and their final doom known. None but their enemies will ever know how they fell if they fall at all. And so upon taking this vow, a note is carried to Karak Kadrin by the Slayer Cult of Kraka Drak bearing only this slayer's name. Upon receiving such a note, the Slayer Cult of Karak Kadrin, which as spoken before records the names and dooms of all Slayers known to them, engraves over the Slayer's name "Doomed." It is much more impressive looking in Dwarven I assure you. In this way, all slayers who reside and work from Karak Kadrin know that one of their number has taken the final step and should be remembered as having found his Doom.

The next step in the process is a strange one, and I am not sure if even the Dwarves know if it is the process that empowers the Dwarves or is simply a dedication of the skill and devotion of the Slayer in question. It is here that the priests of Grimnir ritually take the dust fallen from the engraving of the Wall of Oaths and mix it with white ink. Then, in the final ceremony, they tattoo the Slayer with the name of Grimnir right over the heart. In this way, the Slayer has completed the transformation into a Doomed Slayer and is walked past the Wall of Oaths, never to return. Here, the Doomed Slayer gives up the axe which as been a part of him until this point and receives a runed axe in return. The runes on this axe can vary based on the runesmith who forged it, but it is traditionally common to have three runes of grudges on the axe. One for Trolls, one for Daemons, and one for Humans, ostensibly for those who have forsaken all that is good and proper and sworn themselves to darker gods. Then the Doomed Slayer begins his trek north, following Grimnir's footsteps and to begin carving away, piece by piece, those who would seek to harm the Dwarves to the south.

Every so often, a Doomed Slayer will return to the Wall of Oaths, and while they are forbidden from going past the wall, in the space between the Wall of Oaths and the fifth wall they can receive treatment for wounds and partake in hospitality provided by the Slayer Cult. In addition, on rare occasions, a Doomed Slayer will return a runed axe which had been given to a previous Doomed Slayer. The return of such a weapon is always a cause of celebration for the Slayer Cult for it means more runic weapon for other Doomed Slayers in the future as well as knowing that a Doomed Slayer died protecting the Karaz Ankor from the horrors of the north.

And it is from these Doom Slayers that most scholars believe originated the tales of vengeful ghosts amongst the Norscan tribes. Beings with hair like fire slaying all those who pledged lives to the Dark Gods. One account of such a ghost tells of his fight in a blizzard where after being frozen solid, the being in question broke free in the morning and began to hack the frozen army surrounding him, ensuring that they all were dead before moving even further north. Such accounts seem to be exaggerated for as durable as dwarves are known to be, such tales speak of them as unkillable machines far beyond the capability that any dwarf has shown. But it would be wise to remember that should one travel far in the North, one takes steps to ensure you will not be mistaken as a corrupted soul, for the Doomed Slayers will never ask questions before taking your life.

A/N: The muse spoke and I listened! I hope people enjoy this possible future of the Slayer Cult, I know that I enjoyed writing it! Also, @soulcake Another omake for the omake throne!

 

[Copperscale]

So, I wrote something. It originally started out as a new write in option, but I thought better of it. Something from Prince Gloin's perspective.
Why Kraka Drakk becomes the de-facto capital of the north
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Heavy is the weight on a king's shoulders.

Just how heavy, Gloin was only just coming to realize.

His father was still hale and hearty, and for that, he thanked the ancestors. He did not feel ready for kingship just yet.

The losses of the frontier holds were horrifying. One in three holds fallen. He knew what that meant.
The population of his hold did not look impacted, but the words of his wife had stuck with him. It only looked so 'good' because refugees from other holds had padded their numbers enough that they could keep on fighting.

But what would happen when those refugees left? A quarter of the hold's population had been lost.

He didn't think they would leave all at once, even Beardlings knew better than to stretch their strength too thin. But he knew that underneath the skin of the dispossessed, there would be a fire burning. An itch, at the back of their minds, to reclaim their homes.

The question was, what could they do to keep the dwarfs that were manning his hold here, yet at the same time soothe their yearning for their homes?

He stood pensive for some time until the memories from when he marched with Grimnir's Grand Throng hit him. The Throng of Kraka Drak was but a shadow of Grimnir's, but the promise of assistance with reclaiming their homes would hearten the refugees, and the first reclamation even more so.
They would have to plan the first expedition quite soon after the hold's defences were restored. That would be necessary to give patience to those most eager of the resettlers.

But the rest of the effort could be more spaced out, as the logistics of the hold demanded.

The end result would be a stronger hold in the short run and more successful reclamations, with less casualties. In the long run, the Northern reaches of Karaz Ankor would be tied together with a much deeper bond of brotherhood, a bond forged within the depths of the Dragon Hold.

He would need to spend much more time with the Loremasters, of course, refining his idea before presenting it to his father when he woke up.

 

[wrecksalot]

On the Road to the Conclave
​

Snerra Magnasdottir internally lamented her poor fortune, When she first heard about how some of the elder runesmiths had decided to invite her, she was privately ecstatic, a chance to show runesmiths she hadn't yet met her work and, ancestors willing, receive feedback was a once in a few decades opportunity, and she quickly sought to make some showpieces as she usually made things to order. She looked at her barren storehouse with consternation. All that remained were a few small talismans she had made to try her hand at adapting other runes into talismanic ones and a few children's toys she had made just in case there was some grand runic secret in the process. It turns out that there was no such secret, but she wasn't one to begrumble Master Snorri his, well, anything really, but most especially his hobbies. Ancestors knew he was productive enough as is, and, after all she was hardly a paragon of focus herself, having taken a liking to both baking and eating Stonebread.

Her efforts to make pieces that would impress her peers and elders were stymied at every turn by dwarves commissioning items from her, as helping the hold regretfully took priority over her personal project. Of these dwarves, the most notable and frequent were indubitably those from Clan Bryggeroot. They were requesting contracts with her with great gusto and, for a reason she could not fathom, desperation. Contracts might be a bit of a strong word for it, in Snerra's opinion, because they failed to specify what they wanted commissioned, and in fact, frequently offered entirely one sided contracts. She could not offer a complaint, because insulting a clan's contracts would be tantamount to insulting their ability to perform their jobs, which by all accounts Clan Bryggeroot performed admirably. She had had to resort to using the traditional clauses for runesmiths going above and beyond to be able to actually give them things for what they had done for her. Surely they must know that failure to give recompense for goods and services rendered would bring shame to her. This state of affairs was, if she would permit herself a bit of strong language, very irksome.

Which brought her thoughts back to her current predicament. She needed to make a lot of runes very fast. Silently offering thanks to Master Snorri for his novel vision of the Rule of Pride, she began loading her tools and several stones of slate into the wagon.

"Bringing your tools, eh Snerra? I applaud your work ethic lass, but I don't think us Journeymen will be allowed the use of a workshop there." Dolgi Embermane says, carrying an assortment of runic equipment. Snerra couldn't help but feel a bit envious that the older dwarf had so many pieces on hand to bring to the Conclave.

"Actually, I was intending to work while we travelled, I believe these tools will be sufficient."

"Oh,were you planning on using slate for runework? You see, the problem with that is that slate just doesn't hold up the same as granite does you see, your strikes will be too deep." Dolgi replied, seeming a tad nostalgic from when he had lectured her when they were both apprentices. Snerra contemplated a way to express her opinion on the matter that paid proper respect to the elder dwarf

"I do not foresee that being a problem, Journeyman Dolgi."

"I see," Dolgi mumbled thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you have some slate to spare, by any chance?"

---​

The sound of cracking slate followed by khazalid cursing were her only warning before a large chunk of debris slammed into the back of her head, causing a bruise. With practiced ease she finished the remaining 37 strikes of the rune she was working on, then began frantically looking around for the nearest broomlike object. She only paused when she realized that Dolgi was doing the same. Due to needing to be as far away from Master Snorri as possible, they were both crammed into a single wagon. This was not the first time on the journey that Dolgi's attempts at carving runes on slate failed spectacularly, in spite of Snerra informing him that all he had to do was stop the chisel at the proper depth. Dolgi had chosen to do his work near the center of the wagon, apparently so he would not have to bother adjusting for the local wind speed, but it seems that he was also unwilling to compensate for the miniscule bumps in the road which Snerra's perch at the front of the wagon forewarned her of.

"Ach, I'm sorry about that, Snerra, this damnable wagon keeps jostling. I hope I didn't muck up your work as well." Dolgi lamented, having cleaned up the debris of his most recent failure.

"No, my work turned out fine, but may I ask you how many more times you are going to try this on this journey?" Snerra asked, pleadingly.

"At least one more time." Dolgi declared, suddenly resolute.

These interruptions were really hindering her productivity, by all rights, she should feel irked, like she had in her workshop earlier and yet, between the sound of hammering and occasionally being pelted by rocks, she couldn't help but feel at ease.

 

[Nihilo]

Aight, a lurker has asked me to post this on their behalf, since they don't have an SV account. @ArchAIngel can corroborate, since we're in the same discord server where the request was made.

---

Fjolla sighed into her ale with mild discontent. It might have sounded ungrateful to her elders, but she was not happy with where she was and what she was doing. Oh, make no mistake, the work she was doing, and the favor of Gemma Diamondeyes was great for her. Her skill had been growing by leaps and bounds while she had steady employment giving her a steadily growing reserve of funds with which she could attack the root of her discontent, namely, her trial. While she was a journeyman, she was not content to just be one, which was all the more nettling to her pride when she met with Rubyhead and Snerra, the both of them having had done things of note that would catapult their success. She was better than Dolgi was, and older than Snerra near a century too. Why was this giving her such trouble?

Adding to her headache was this Wazzock trying to once again serenade her like a skald, despite not being able to carry a tune in a bucket crafted by Grungni himself! If she were a younger plaitling and not trained by Master Snorri she'd have run screaming in pain from the assault on her ears instead of ignoring the fool absolutely. She had zero interest in settling down after all and he had nothing new to say to her… "With tresses as fine as threads of the finest Oathgold!" the Dawi caterwauling finished. Well now, THAT was an idea!

After laying out yet another would be suitor with a swift punch, she rummaged around in one of her pockets and set some coin down near the barkeep with instructions to buy that Dawi she had just laid out a drink or three once he woke. He couldn't sing worth a stone, but an idea like that? That was worth something after all. Fjolla left the tavern with a smirk on her lips, not from the simplistic rush of beating someone bumbling along in their attempts to court her, but the giddiness of a Runesmith with an idea. One that might just be good enough to earn her mastery.

Fjolla swiped sweat from her brow. Her form was perspiring as she worked with the fevered mania that only the Scions of Thungni had settle down upon them when they had IT. By Thungni did she have it bad, the very idea of her masterwork burned into her head so strongly she could all but reach out and touch it. An Amulet of Gromril inlaid with Oathgold, diamonds and sapphires. Eight gems in all connected by Oathgold set over the field of the finest silver she could get her hands on, only outshone by the works of her Master in purity. Suspending and holding the amulet would not be a chain, but a rope, a rope not made by hemp or threads of plants, but of metal. Specifically, a rope made of threads of Oathgold pulled together into the finest cord she could create. Upon this work she would strike her selected runes, the rune of warding, the rune of spelbreaking, and the rune of spelleating. A work of mastery in every way, now all she needed to do was to make the vision in her head a reality.

 

[soulcake]

+15 to @Walliseatscheese for proving accordions within accordions function.

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[Dark as Silver]

I have to update my omake policy.

Click to shrink...

Are you taking proposals?

Canonicity
100% Canon
Canon 'cept for a few bits
Canon in all the most important ways
Few glaring/major divergences or errors but apart from that canon
Canon except that would be spoilers
Semi Canon
Not entirely non Canon.
Alternate Universe (Sub rank according to canonicity of the specific AU)
So not Canon it's actually a derail.

or...
if you're adventurous?

Cannonicity
Ship of the line broadside
32 lber cannon
8 lber cannon
Puckle gun
Musket
Pistol
Thats a pike what are you even doing?

 

[Thor's Twin]

Recollections: Journey North

Now, as I am sure all of you reading this are aware, Norsca is not a place for the faint of heart or soul. Indeed, before I began my adventures I had heard my own share of the horrors that lay at the edge of Chaos Wastes, the monsters and frightening tribesmen who eeked out a living in the frigid harsh climate of their land. But instead of fearing for body and mind in that place, and shuddering even contemplating traveling there, I found myself drawn there. For surely a land as rugged and treacherous as Norsca and the Far North would hold wonders aplenty hidden like needles in haystacks. Very large haystacks, and very small needles, but this intrepid explorer found the challenge exhilarating rather than daunting.

So, in preparation for my travels, I employed the services of Everard, a rugged fellow from the Amber College of Magic. He was seeking a journey to conduct his journeyman trials and I was seeking an individual well versed in wilderness survival who could hold his own in a scrap. A finer match could not be found, and his services as a survivalist, warrior, and wizard saved my life many times over. If one thing could be said against him, however, was that his ability to hold a conversation was sorely lacking, and he did not seem in a hurry to remedy this fault. Alas, I made do with talking to locals when able or writing new discoveries in my journals.

And what discoveries I made! Flora and Fauna not yet truly cataloged by scholars of the Empire, the sheer variety of trolls that can be found in, what I now know to be named entirely appropriately, troll country. Everard himself found some particular plants which he claimed interacted somehow with magic, something astonishing, I am told, for those with the senses to comprehend it. I myself found the plants to be quite delicious when added to nearly any stew. There were even some encounters with more civilized barbarians, tribes who rejected the dark gods of their brethren, and instead sought to ply their trade with the men of Kislev and the Northern Dwarfs. And while the variety and quality of their trade goods were nothing compared to even the most meager market of the Empire, this far north and away from stable sane human civilization it was quite laudable what they were able to achieve.

Of more interest to me was not their trade goods, but rather the weaponry the tribe's chieftain held. The axe was clearly of Dwarven make, good solid steel, and finely made. While it was difficult to communicate with these tribesmen, eventually an understanding was reached and the tale of how such a fine axe came to be with such warriors was told. Mostly through rudimentary sign language and grunting if I am to be honest, but what I was able to piece together was remarkable. Apparently, the first of this tribe's leaders, or their ancestor it wasn't quite clear, assisted some dwarves in driving away beastmen and was rewarded with a finely made axe for their troubles. Truly fascinating the similarities in this story to the one regarding our very own Sigmar!

Soon enough, though, we had to leave such enjoyable company and head further north. The goal being to establish a forward base at Kraka Drak to recuperate and resupply before further exploring the land of Norsca. In that regard, we were successful beyond our wildest dreams for in the journey north we made acquaintances with the most fascinating of fellows. A griffon from Skarrenraz Ankor! Now, for my more read readers, the term Skarrenraz Ankor might be familiar to some degree, but it is such an uncommon term down in the Empire that I feel compelled to explain, at least, somewhat, what a truly magnificent encounter this was. In my research, the best records of the Skarrenraz Ankor comes from the Great War against Chaos when Magnus the Pious united the fractured Empire and crushed the Chaos Host lead by the Everchoosen Asavul Kul. Accounts of the war speak of griffons working side by side with Dwarfen throngs to crush chaos warbands and chase down fleeing marauders. These griffons are of the Skarrenraz Ankor, an entire civilization of griffons that apparently developed the means to cooperate with others before Sigmar walked the earth and have worked with the Northern Dwarfs since the time of their Ancestor Gods.

For my more astute readers, the question my quickly arise about how griffons could form any sort of civilization having no means to grasp tools, no means to engage in agriculture, and having no means to bend nature to their whims on a large scale. Fear not, for that question is indeed answered, for I posed those same questions to my griffon acquaintance, "He who Seeks Hidden Paths." And we will get to those answers in good time, but first a recounting of how we first met!

It was still the summer months in the Troll Country when Everard and I first encountered "He who Seeks Hidden Paths," and we were some time away yet from Kraka Drak, and, possibly, had become lost. Upon hearing some cries of pain, Everard and I quickly worked towards the source and stumbled upon a clearing littered with a variety of dead trolls, of which all smelled repugnant. In the center of the clearing, there was the corpse of a massive troll, of the like which I had not seen before or since and a very wounded, and a very large, griffon. Seeing the distress of such a noble creature, for what other type of creature could it be for killing such a number of trolls, I instructed Everard to assist me in tending to the wounds of the griffon. With a hodgepodge of splints and bandages, we were able to bind and set most of the griffon's injuries. Indeed Everard was worth his weight in gold for the process as he was able to communicate with the griffon via some magical means and express that we were attempting to help as well as calming the griffon. It was, of course, through Everard that the griffon was able to communicate it's own name, "He who Seeks Hidden Paths" as well as direct us towards Kraka Drak. As the Griffon gingerly flew away, I had presumed at the moment it was flying to its nest, I was struck with the oddity of the situation, for it had finally occurred to me that the griffon had a torc around its throat. The nature and importance of the torc I would learn in time, for it was none other than "He who Seeks Hidden Paths" that greeted us at the gates of Kraka Drak!

I quickly pressed him, with the assistance of Everard, about how he came to be in Kraka Drak and he was more than happy to begin explaining the Skarrenraz Ankor, apparently being something of a historian himself amongst his people. To think, that there would be such a civilization working together with the Dwarfs that not only had not been properly discussed in the academic literature of the Empire but did not even seem to be acknowledged by anything but the most obscure texts regarding the North! Truly a travesty, and one I sought to begin rectifying immediately.

Over the days Everard and I resided in Kraka Drak, we pressed "He who Seeks Hidden Paths" about his people and culture. It was quite enlightening! Indeed, without the ability to produce tools of their own, or the ability to use most tools, the Skarrenraz Ankor had developed a robust culture of trading with the Dwarfs who lived below them for custom tools and services in making aeries and homes for the griffons. Again lacking such tools to make products to trade to the dwarfs with, they offered services as premier hunters to gather meat and local wildlife for the Dwarfs while also providing superior scouts and observers for military ventures by Kraka Drak. In such a way, the griffons would accumulate treasures that they were fiercely proud of and then traded such treasures for services or additional products by the Dwarfs. It was a beautiful system of coexisting and cooperation that I feel even the venerable Empire might learn from, with its own system of independent political entities.

However, the real prize was when we cajoled "He who Seeks Hidden Paths" to let us see Stormpeak ourselves. Apparently, as legend has it, this grand aerie of the Skarrenraz Ankor was crafted during the time of Dwarven Ancestors, and the construction was envisioned by Morgrim, one of the Dwarven Ancestor Gods, himself. And let me tell you reader, approaching the mighty contraption leading up to Stormpeak I could perfectly understand where such a legend would come from. A wondrous working of engineering, the lift of Kraka Drak allows groups of griffons and dwarfs to travel from the depths of the earth to the height of the mountain, all without having to take a step themselves. The journey using the contraption was as smooth as a trip on the paved roads of the Empire, with no jerking or sudden stops along the path upwards. Along the way, however, "He who Seeks Hidden Paths" discussed the exquisite reliefs and artwork of the dwarves. Most prominent in the lower section of the lift was religious artwork detailing the glory of their Ancestor Gods. Appropriate, I suppose, for a construct claimed to have been envisioned by those very gods. But I was more intrigued by the story told further up the lift as we moved to Stormpeak. The story of how the Griffons of the Skarrenzar Ankor met and began cooperating with the Dwarfs.

Asking my guide "He who Seeks Hidden Paths" about the various reliefs provided a wealth of information regarding the historical characters and their roles in the stories of the Griffons' history. One legendary Dwarf, known by a variety of names but most prominently "He who Hunted From the Ground" and "The First Friend" seems to have played an integral role in tracking the first of the new Griffions after their hazy genesis as a culture and began working with them for the benefit of all. Another Dwarf which featured prominently was also a Dwarf of legend for the Griffons, a mythical runelord who was the first to gift dwarven speak to the griffins and warded this very aerie from harm with his mighty art. While, unfortunately, I was unable to properly ascertain whether these mythical dwarves actually lived, it seems likely that their deeds were actually the composite actions of multiple dwarves which, as seems to be the case when dealing with legend and myth, have been merged and magnified in scope to the point of becoming the legends that are now known. For, I assure you, readers, that upon seeing the enormity of Stormpeak that no single dwarf could have applied the plethora of runes that were visible in any time frame that would be considered reasonable. But, we will get to that in due time, for there is still another character from legend that must be discussed more thoroughly for any understanding of the Skarrenzar Ankor to be reached. And that is their God-progenitor "The King of the Skies."

According to "He who Seeks Hidden Paths," every griffon in the Skarrenzar Ankor is descended from a single god-like being, in an extremely similar vein to that of the Dwarven Ancestor Gods. However, in contrast to the Dwarven multitude of Ancestor Gods, the Griffons only have the one god. As legends would have you believe, this griffon was of titanic size, larger than even the griffons of the Empire by orders of magnitude, and it was by his mighty hunts that his progeny were formed and molded. A creature simply known as "The First Son of Greed," apparently a massive troll of some description, created the impetus of thought and reason which is the defining difference between the Griffons of the Skarrenzar Ankor and other griffons, but that creature was simply the first of the legendary hunts. Next, the legend goes, was an Elder Frost Dragon which gifted his heirs with control of wind and snow, a most potent gift in these hard northern lands. And finally with the defeat and consumption of a Dragon Ogre Shaggoth of enormous size "The King of the Skies" gave his kin command over lightning and storms.

While I could not ascertain the truth of these claims, Everard was able to determine that magic flowed around these griffins in a manner completely alien to the griffins in more southern lands, and was able to determine that while their magic didn't seem to follow the traditional delineations made regarding the Winds of Magic, it certainly had dominion over the wind. In fact, it is through such magic that we could breathe while we toured Stormpeak, for such is the height of the mountain that without the magic we would be gasping and stumbling around in the thin air.

However, my dear readers, I will have to leave further explorations of this unique culture for future writings. There is just so much to learn and explore in regards to this unique culture and civilization of Griffons here in the North that I can not do it justice unless I take more time to conduct proper research and gathering information.

A/N: Well, here is something that has been niggling at the back of my mind for a bit now. I hope people enjoy the read!

 

[Warmach1ne32]

AN: Inspiration hit me and I want to share a short omake for you all. Based on a popular show that I watched as a kid. Enjoy!

Dolgi Bolgisson's Runesmith Survival Guide
​

Word just came from Master Snorri that there are signs of a Shard Wyrm near the Karak. So me and Fjolla are hard at work with our own projects, Fjolla is making a Banner while I am forging Griffin armor. I had just finished quenching a back plate, when Master Snorri arrived with two dwarves, most likely his new apprentices.

"Alright wait here, while I pick up several things you'll need for your next lesson. I'll be back in a few minutes." With that said, Master Snorri left to get what I think are the weights and books in the mundane storage.

Seeing a golden opportunity to get to know the fresh ore to the forge, I took off my gloves and went over to the younglings to introduce myself. A quick glance at Fjolla shows that she is currently inscribing a rune to a Talisman, so it is likely that she will be too busy introduce herself.

"So you are Master Snorri's new apprentices, huh. Dolgi Bolgisson of Clan Scorrilling, Master Runesmith and one of Master Klausson's former students. The Kvinn that is engraving a Rune whilst listening in on our conversation at the back is Fjolla Igunsdottir of Clan Hrokisson." The two poor unfortunate souls have no idea what Master Snorri has in store for them. They stare at me with the same wide eyed wonder I used to have when seeing other Master Runesmiths.

"Greetings Master Bolgisson and Master Igunsdottir, I am Nain Kazzarsson of Clan Stoneplate." The beardling bows his head, likely from years of etiquette training.

I raised my hands in a halting motion, "We don't do that here. I'm not a Longbeard yet so there's no need to be all nice and proper. Master Dolgi is fine, we're all gonna be peers soon enough anyway." his flustered expression is pretty amusing.

"Karstah Khazadsdottir." The plaitling simply offered her name, the lack of a clan strongly indicates that she is a foundling, perhaps from one of the Minor Holds that did not survive the Incursion, so it is best to not point it out and just nod at her.

"Nice to meet you lass, well since you are apprenticed to Master Snorri, as a "Welcome to Apprenticeship" gift I made this guide for Runesmith Apprentices so that you'll have a easier time under Master Snorri." With that said I gave the two apprentices a tome.

"Dolgi Bolgisson's Runesmith Survival Guide?"

"That is right, this tome contains lessons and tips on how to survive Master Snorri's unconventional teaching method. Nain, you may have an idea of what Runesmithing is all about due to living with a Runesmithing clan and Karstah, may not know what exactly you are getting into when you are apprenticed to a Runesmith. However, no apprentice is ever prepared for Master Snorri's unique teaching methods, so this tome will help prepare and explain the various lessons Master Snorri will teach you." As the apprentices open the tome, they start to read a few of the entries.

"Be wary of Pocket Gravel?" I shiver.

"You'll know it when you feel it."

"Don't you mean see it?"

"I know what I have said."

With that said, Master Snorri came back with the various tools in tow.

"I see you are all getting to know each other. Good saves me the trouble and time. Wear this, we are going for a walk." He eyes the tome I gave and raised an eyebrow and a side glance at me.

I shrug "It is just some of my personal notes from my time as an apprentice that I have made various changes over my time as a Journeyman. Should help them better understand your... uh unorthodox teaching methods."

"Bah, you and the other apprentices I had taught turned out fine. No harm in letting them keep it though. Alright lets get a move on, we are burning daylight." With that, Master Snorri ushered the poor souls to start the harsh of years of Grumbling, physical and mental torture that are called 'lessons', and Liberal use of Pocket Gravel. I wish them luck, because they are certainly going to need it.

--------------------------------------​

AN: If I made any mistakes please let me know.

 

[Dak'kon]

As I said I have become inspired by the discussion about Snorri's legacy in the future.
I started writing before the last update+vote hence the Gronti.
The omake is set in the future, either in the age of men or later, I kept the timing intentionally vague to compensate for my lack of familiarity with the setting.
without further ado -

Borin is so nervous his hands shake. His adoption into Clan Firehelm, long in the past now, was a calmer affair. Now he felt almost ill with nerves, only Zinda blow smacking his hand away from his beard prevents the ruin of the past day's work. Longer than he is tall, it almost shines silver.
"tagging your beard with those hands?" she sniffs, " are you trying to ruin my work?! Present yourself before the ancestors with your beard like an unkempt nest?".
Borin barely hears his wife's grumbling, he can tell her heart isn't really in it. To fortify himself he pulls deeply from his tankard while thinking of Dolgi and Fjolla, "should have called them both Snorri"; he blurts, damn nerves.
"Are you going to start with this again?" he can feel the echo of his second favorite pick hitting his skull.
Understanding when to leave a collapsing mine shaft is a critical skill, one he mastered, "the beard looks much better now Dear.",
It's an old argument, one he lost ages ago. He wanted to call all the kids Snorri, Zinda didn't. Besides scolding a Snorri didn't feel right.
There is only one thing to do. "I'm going to the foundling wards''; not really into them as it would not do to disturb the beardlings, the outer hall is his true goal. Borin feels Zinda's fingers intervene with his, and they set out down memory lane.

*****

Thud thud thud
Borin can't sleep. Used to the feeling of uncertainty its absence is disturbing. He is excited, happy, confused. One of the elders proclaimed his effort in the mines, "not shoddy"; giving him the pick he hugged now.
Thud thud thud
Giving Masters Snorri toy to the new plaitling Zinda today of all days, she looked like she needed it, with those big eyes red from crying.
He was one of the oldest in the ward, it was proper, but tonight he needed the most stable thing he knew in life near him.
Thud thud thud
The faint sound of a beating heart calms him, it's an open secret of the wards, you can only hear it sometimes at night when it is quiet, the elders either don't notice or believe its the beardlings hearts they hear.
The beardlings are sure it masters Snorri's gift, to make them dream half-remembered memories from before the foundling wards.
Thud thud thud
"bah"; Borin grumbles quietly as he gets out of bed, he pauses briefly, that didn't sound right, he should practice more, not enough gravel in it.
The Hold is quieter than usual, Grobi attacks again, most of the elders are busy on the walls or otherwise occupied with the siege.
Thud thud thud
After sneaking into the outer hall of the wards with his new pick, Borin gazes up into the face of Grimnir, made by master Snorri, it's a different depiction then elsewhere but who can argue with a dwarf that seen the ancestor with his own eyes?
Pristine in its whiteness a Dwarf dressed for War, Borin can't find the words. Legend is, that master Dolgi insisted it will be placed here, "if it's not working, might as well inspire a sense of safety in the beardlings";
Borin is mesmerized, his heart beats in tandem to the sound.
Thud thud thud
He is awakened by the horn, afterward it's all a blur. Grobi in the hold. nearby.
Thud thud thud

Something strikes the doors to the hall, and then again.
A Green thing leers at him, it's huge, with crooked teeth a massive slab of metal in its hand. dripping blood. behind the Grobi he sees a slain guard and a sea of green. More Grobi.
"Wot we 'eve 'er?", it says while leaning forward, its bloody hand leaves a mark on Grimnir's white shoulder as it leans towards Borin.
All Borin can see is the red mark on the pristine depiction of Grimnir.
The reds spread in his vision, to mar the statue so is unforgivable.
Thud thud thud

Someone bellows a warcry and Borin charges forward pick held high.
Grimnir's axe is faster. The Gronti turns smoothly decapitating the Warboss, for a moment there is a silence and then the Gronti steps forward, the blood marring it is gone.
Thud thud thud


*****

Borin gazes upwards at the whiteness of the Gronti, it had been many years and many fights since, he was never as badly equipped or trained. Never as fearless, Who would know fear when Grimnir is leading?
The ward was emptied that night, armed with hammers and picks made for practice they followed the Gronti.
Later the longbeards would grumble that they mainly made a ruckus, so much so that the greenskins believed a throng came out of hiding. If there was a note of respect in the grumbling it was mostly unnoticed by the foundlings.

After gazing at Grimnir for while Borin feels brave enough. He goes to the Headquarters of the miners guild, he is not late but there is already a large crowd assembled, mainly miners and runesmiths. and foundlings.
With great solemnity, the guild head gives him The Pick. You pretend not to notice the runesmith wringing his hands, "Can't be fixed no more, the pick will hold for 500 more strikes at most". poor lad, living down the shame of not being able to fix a pick made by master Snorri. A pick that made the Underway a pick that moved the earth.
Borin nods, his throat is too constricted to talk and goes down to the mines.
He strikes and then, again and again, the familiar motion calms him and he hums an old miners song as he works. if he shed a tear or two there is no one to see.
Another master's work would be locked in a vault, master Snorri would have wanted to contribute to the hold and so - strike.

****

"BAH!" Borin comes out of the shaft, now that a proper sound, gravel? "BAH!" you need to put stones in it," held for 1500 strikes!".

 

[wowow2264]

AN: Ok, so this is my first real try at doing an Omake so please don't be too harsh with me.

The Discovery of the Living Ancestor

They marched through the tunnels towards the ruins of the famous Kraka Drakk in hopes to find artifacts made by one of the most famous runelords of The Time of the Ancestor Gods and later, The Golden Age. The Gift Giver, The Greed Slayer, The Earth Mover, Shadowkiller, Hold Warder, Teacher of Runelords, Eldest Runelord of The North, Snorri Klausson of Clan Winterhearth.

While normally they would wait till it was possible to take back the entire hold, it has gotten dangerous for their own hold and they need something soon to give them an edge over all those that would destroy them. Thus, the Throng was traveling through old underway passages filled with Thaggoraki and other beasts to try and enter the ancient hold from underneath since it was neigh impossible to get to it above ground without dying from something.

So far, the throng has made good progress towards the underdrak and in perhaps a single day they shall be able to enter the underdrak itself. The Throng just finished killing the latest batch of Thaggoraki when they noticed sounds of combat and strangely some of the loudest dwarven grumbling they have ever heard despite the battle ending. Quickly realizing that there might still be a remnant of Kraka Drakk still holding out, the Throng quickly moved towards the sound of battle. Grim hope fills the hearts of the dwarfs as they march.

Soon they turn a corner and pause briefly as they see the magnificent and awe inspiring sight of what appeared to be a Gronti made of almost entirely of pure gromril with a truly majestic beard slaughtering Thaggoraki by the dozen every second while grumbling in the way only the most ancient of dwarfs can most fiercely. It is the last two bits that made the Throng charge forward into the midst of battle. With the aid of the Throng the battle quickly ended and the Gronti approached the Throng and did the most shocking thing and revealing the Gronti must actually be a Living Ancestor! It, no, He Spoke.

"About time beardlings. Now, does anyone have any decent ale?" The Living Ancestor asked.

One of the nearest longbeards quickly took some of their best ale they had on hand and reverently handed it to the Ancestor.

As the Ancestor finished his ale, a brave longbeard asked him, "Honored Ancestor, would you please honor us with your name?"

The Living Ancestor turned to him with a face so stonelike that made them question themselves if the Ancestor might actually a statue after all.

"I am Snorri Klausson of Clan Winterhearth, Runelord of Kraka Drakk. Or what remains of it at least." The Living Legend informed them, making many of them, longbeards included, faint from shock and awe.

With a Grunt, The Oldest Runelord alive asks, "Now that the introductions are over, what brings your Throng here beardlings?"

The same brave longbeard tells him of their holds likely doom is approaching and they were hoping to find something to help them repel the attackers.

With another Grunt, The Hold Warder says, "Well, in that case, it seems you have my aid in this."

And again, the majority of the dwarfs faint.