Winning Vote:
You start the decade off by finishing Thane Ironarm's commission piece, deciding that the beardling's waited long enough for it.
Bah, you've waited longer for a loaf of stonebread, what's a few decades really?
But a timely delivery is part of a craftsman's responsibilities and it wouldn't do to have a client wait
too long.
With that in mind, you leave your apprentices with explicit instructions to ready the reagents for your Runework. Each of them meant to haul the materials there themselves by using carts,not through the tunnels still being built out from the hold, but through the mountainous terrain and up the slopes.
In the middle of winter.
You go just a tad easy on them, giving them both
wheels on the cart and the option of actually wearing warm clothes! Of course you dont leave them out there alone, speaking with Elder Brokk to have a ranger or two of his to keep an eye on them in case they do something foolish.
Shouldn't take more than a few months, a year tops if they faff about, all told.
…
Both apprentices wait outside the door, hearing the dull thunk of their master's hammer strike metal, the murmurs of what could only be the chant of Runes being made was barely audible to them.
"He's been in there for a year," Dolgi says, uncertainty lacing his voice.
"Aye," Fjolla replies.
"We both agree we shouldn't check in on him," he continues.
"Only if we want to keep our heads," she affirms.
"Well, what do you suppose we do in the meantime?" Dolgi remarks, scratching his beard.
"Same thing we always do Ruby-head, train, learn, grow using the lesson plans he left in case this happened… and maybe tell Thane Ironarm," she says after some consideration.
"Good idea, where's the contract he told us to give him for if this happened?" Dolgi says, wracking his mind for the answer.
"Fifth drawer from the left, three down. Cmon Ruby-head, we have
work to do," Fjolla answers, rifling through the document drawers with purpose.
Eventually the two of them find both documents, the letter for Thane Ironarm and a thick stack of documents for each of them that they both leaf through.
"Hmmph," Dolgi mutters, raising one page to the light.
"What is it?" Fjolla says, looking up from her own stack of papers.
"Does yours have a section dedicated to recipes based on Troll?"
"My da inherited a few Kulgur recipes, but I'm not sure how it applies to our training…" Fjolla mutters, finding the exact same document in her stack.
"I mean he put it here for a reason so…" Dolgi trails off, looking at her expectantly.
"Makes sense to me, he
is the Master here," Fjolla shrugs.
.1 Year.
You have the Pure Gromril axe head in your Rune inscribed glove, the metal glowing hot from the forge, surface ready for Runes. You examine the glowing metal, your eyes trailing across the final form of the weapon, a large bearded blade and wickedly long buttspike to balance it. You can imagine the engraving that will go on its surface, the burning image of a comet falling to the earth, the Runes you've planned burning bright in its center in your mind's eye. The metal is beautiful, one of the purer samples of Gromril you've forged.
Still not pure
enough.
You throw the axehead back into the furnace, drawing more charcoal from the pile and shovelling it into the smelter. Reconstitute the bar, replace it if necessary, you weren't
satisfied yet.
This work had to be
better.
While you wait for the metal to heat up again, you pull out your blueprints, charcoal moving with decisive precision as you redesign the head a tad. Tweaking the shape to cleave better and make the most out of the explosion of force that would follow, rebalancing the weight and shoring up the knotwork you're planning for the handle.
Speaking of.
You glance at the silver bars waiting to be forged.
...You can get rid of some more dreck from that ingot, you're sure of it.
…
When Thane Otrek Ironarm is informed by the Runelord's bowing apprentices of their master's seclusion he simply nods in acceptance, deciding to adhere to the Elder's wisdom and content himself with waiting.
He and his honour guard, when asked, simply tell their clansmen that the Runelord is still working on the weapon itself.
In the meantime, Thane Ironarm supposes, he should delay his campaign and wait for the weapon to be done before heading off.
Wouldn't do to be off killing trolls when the Runelord finally leaves his Workshop to present him the finished piece.
Internally he is excited, the power of Runes was something he never questioned, but seeing the Ruhnrikki in battle only solidified that well known fact into concrete experience. If the discussions with his Clan's elders bear fruit, which he think they will, he will be commissioning more runic equipment in general.
.3 Years.
The axe finally meets your expectations. The silver knotwork spirals up the axe's shaft in a crisscross pattern, small beautiful sapphires accenting it just so. The gleaming silver of the axehead, not yet affixed, stares back at you.
Not the silver sheen in your mind, but brighter than any experiment you've made, if only by virtue of obsessively removing the smallest
grain of impurity in the metal.
Acceptable.
To anyone else it is beyond pure, but you've
seen purer, if only in your mind.
With that done, you look at the stack of reagents you've prepared, the Keg of Magma Dragon's Blood still sealed.
...How long have you been in here?
Bah! Doesn't matter, greatness demands patience.
You pick up your chisel, the Gromril glinting in the light of the room and look at the axehead.
This will be a
fine weapon. A fitting tribute to Thungni, of that you're sure.
Ancestors, it's been
ages since you've actually worked on something that's done more than bring quiet satisfaction. Actual giddy excitement courses through you from toe to the tip of your beard hairs. A current of energy flowing through you in a way you haven't felt in a
good long time.
This,
THIS, is one of the many reasons you live for.
You're going to put the
art into your artform with this.
.5 Years.
"The Ruhnrikki not here?" Gormak grumbles, sitting in the chair he's since claimed for these meetings. He shifts, getting comfortable. If
he had made this chair there wouldn't be that infernal bit of softness on his bottom. No dwarf needed a cushion to sit down, clearly the youth just weren't tough enough to sit on good solid stone anymore.
A shame really.
" 'Fraid, not Elder," a guildmaster replies, "he's caught
it ya see. Working on young Otrek's axe I hear."
Gormak does not grunt, doesn't even snort, he simply nods with a knowing look in his eye.
It.
Not really a better way to describe it in his opinion, dwarfs have tried and all have failed to capture what
it is. But any craftsman worth their beard or plaits will know when another says it
.
The feeling of working on something truly great.
Bah,
Lucky lad.
"While young Snorri's absence will be noted, our work continues. A king must be chosen, a royal clan acclaimed and all that business," Moira calls out, silencing the quiet conversation.
Gormak snorts, shaking his head. He'd made his opinion clear, no point restating it.
"Has anyone changed their stance in the decade since?" she asks, tone even.
"Nai," they all say.
"Then we are agreed, it will be a clan from
this hold that will be raised to the Nobility. Of the ones here, only three have royal blood., Moira announces and turns to a set of three Loremasters.
Made sense to him, a king with no stake, no experience working with the hold, wouldn't be a good king. Best to pick from the earliest clans, the first clans to be here.
"Clan Ironarm, who Princess Thungika, seven times great-granddaughter of Grimnir, of Karak Kadrin married into four centuries ago," One Loremaster says.
"Clan Grimseal, who were sired from Gorren Grimeyes, third son of the King of Karak Izril," another continues.
"And finally Clan Winterhearth, whose founder married Huldra, great-grandniece of Thungni, Princess of Karak Azul," the last finishes.
Gormak sniffs loudly enough to get their attention before speaking, "Can't be Winterhearth, the one we want from them would refuse as we are well aware. And I don't have enough information to trust people so new to the hold. So it's gotta be Grimseal or Ironarm. Both have around the same amount of wealth, but personally I'm for the latter. Their Thane led the army that killed that
thing after all, and a Lord needs to be a proven warrior and commander."
Grunts fill the room.
"So we are in agreement? Clan Winterhearth is then removed from the running. All in favour of Grimseal?" Elder Moira asks the room.
Several dwarfs tug their beards or plaits.
"All in favour of Clan Ironarm?"
Gormak tugs his beard.
.7 years.
Let the heat be wrought, glow brightly the metal, brimming with power.
When struck 'gainst foe let heat sing through and render them ash…
You pour the dragon's blood onto the grooves of the Rune, the keg kept still by your arms and tilted to maintain even flow and spill not even a drop. You have poured half of the whole batch, yet the Rune still hungers, growing brighter and brighter as you continue to pour.
You raise your hammer, only one arm now the keg steady. Centuries of experience keeping it still and tilt it to stop the flow of the blood.
Power flows.
You bring down the metal head onto the Rune, the echoing force of the blow moving up your arm, but you force the limb still.
Will guides it
You strike six more times, before tilting the keg downwards once more, the drakk blood flowing once more.
Let song remind you
All the while you hum and think.
Let mind shape it.
The image of a meteor, it's surface blazing blueish red from the sheer heat and intensity. Filling the sky with its blazing light and brightening the darkness of the night. You watch amazed as it crashes, a deep gouge of molten rock and carbonized wood as it cuts into the earth, leading to its final destination where celestial and terrestrial bodies collide in a thundering explosion.
You do not look away as a fireball that reaches into the sky is born, a wave of scorching hot air burning and flattening trees for miles around.
You walk on ghostly limbs towards the point of impact, the sheen of Gromril, the colour of silver exactly matching that day near a century ago. Around it, like a rotten shell, Warpstone glows in its menacing and baleful glory.
You strike at it with a phantom pick, knocking off hunks of the irradiated green rock, cleaving it from the purity that even now grows tainted by its very presence.
You cleave.
You strike.
But still, you cannot stop the taint.
The trance breaks.
You stare at the Master Rune, burning brighter than expected. You trace your fingers over its surface, feeling the power thrumming within.
This you think, will be a great weapon. One whose tale will be more than just its creation. It will be storied, spoken of in awe, a weapon with a
legend behind it.
Thungni is pleased
You can feel it.
You raise your hammer again, chisel ready to receive the blow.
Two more runes to go.
.9 Years.
At last, you leave your workshop, only now feeling the grumbling of your stomach and the weakness in your arms. You don't remember eating, you don't remember
sleeping but you are not done.
You call your apprentices, the two of them come to you their eyes wide and looking a tad bit older.
"Fjolla, Dolgi, inform Thane Ironarm I will meet him a month from now. The work is done, but I am...tired." you say, exhaustion only just barely tinting your otherwise normal voice.
Both nod vigorously and run out the door.
You meanwhile, head straight for the kitchen before veering off towards the larder.
There's more food there you see.
…
The two of them stare down at their master, then around at the empty kegs of ale and torn open pantries.
"That was a year's worth of ale wasn't it?" Dolgi says, awed.
"Aye."
"Should we move him to his bed?"
"I suppose so, cmon Dolgi you take the right and I'll take the left."
"Alright then."
"...HIS right you kruthead!"
"...right, sorry."
…
When Thane Ironarm is informed he is outwardly stoic but inwardly pleased. The moment the Runelord's apprentices leave he orders one of his honour guards to go inform the clan and tell them to prepare a festival for the hold. A momentous occasion such as this cannot go uncelebrated after all.
In days a date is settled.
In one week the venue decided.
In two weeks, the cost is tallied.
In three weeks, the ale ordered.
In four weeks, the food is remembered and hastily ordered as well.
Then finally the day arrives.
…
You shake your head, blinking the blurs out of your eyes to little effect. The hangover is immense, compounded by your less than stellar state even after a month of recuperation. You remember walking up a podium, handing Thane Ironarm the axe, his tears of joy and the adulation of a crowd of dwarfs chanting "Rik! Rik! Rik!"
Apparently it moved the elders, already favouring Thane Otrek out of the many other candidates, to commit fully.
Hail Otrek Trollslayer, King of Kraka Drakk, long may he reign.
Frankly, you're happy with just the axe, didn't expect to make someone a King with it, but what's a dwarf to do when faced with so much success besides accepting it?
Wait a moment.
This isn't your workshop, this is…
"Disappear for a decade, just to come back and force our hand
then get piss blind drunk after only a
month of recovery. Bearding, are you trying to have me kill you?" Elder Moira says, sitting in the same chair as last time, not looking up from what looks like some embroidery.
You say nothing, knowing full well that speaking will only damn you further.
…
Gain:
- Kraka Drakk has a new King! Hail Otrek Trollslayer of Clan Ironarm, the new king of Kraka Drakk!
- New contact,
Otrek Ironarm King of Kraka Drakk: +10 standing, + 150 Favour, new totals: 10 Standing, 150 favours.
King Otrek will never forget the enormous debt he owes you. A weapon worthy of the greatest songs and a Kingship for his line. He does not doubt you nor the power of Runes.
- +1 standing, +30 favours with Kraka Drakk, new totals: 9 Standing, 100 favours,
- +1 Standing with the Far North, new total: 7 Standing
- +1 Standing with Conservative Runesmiths, new totals: 4 Standing, 0 favours
- +1 Standing with Radical Runesmiths, new totals: 4 Standing, 0 favours
-
Creation of Note: Trollslayer, the weapon of the Kings of Kraka Drakk. A two-handed, single-bladed greataxe, it's head decorated to look like a falling meteor starting from the head and trailing into the buttspike, a stained Wutroth shaft decorated in swirling silver knotwork studded with sapphires and handle wrapped in Troll leather. A weapon fit for the greatest of kings, a weapon that may have crowned one. [Combo, Meteorfall: Master Rune of Conduction, Rune of Might, Rune of Impact]: Its blows fall like Comets into the earth, sundering all in its way. The strength of which astounds and goes beyond even its maker's expectations. Trollbane: Made by Snorri Gift Giver, this weapon holds a part of that most Legendary Runelord's terrifying aura, sending chills down the spine of things too dumb to feel it otherwise and cutting through them all the faster.
- +1 progress to Rune Metal Pt3.
AN: welp you've drastically shifted the political climate of Kraka Drakk and installed a king who believes strongly in the strength of Runes and your character especially. King Otrek's actions will be seen across the hold and region.
As for the Trollslayer itself you've made a T4 weapon of great prestige and power. Something on par with the Axe of Dargo, which while not on the level of Gal Maraz or the Widowmaker is a weapon that will be known throughout the Karaz Ankor at the very least.
Anywho C&C and thanks for reading :^)
EDIT: Also can I just say that I loved seeing this meme vote win >v>
