Winning Vote:
[X] Character Moment: A Leader of his Own
-[X] A King's Honour is Bound to his Hold: It does not matter what glories you win, what monsters you slay, what weatlh you amass. Your people's prosperity is your honour, your people's suffering your shame. As King, the question you must ask of your every action is, "Is this what is best for the Hold?" The answer to that question will never be simple or come easily. But a true King strives to make certain the answer is always yes.
-[X] Know Yourself: You will never be King Otrek. You will never be King Gloin. Because you are not Otrek, and you are not Gloin. You may, however, one day become King Gimli, and King Gimli's legacy may equal or surpass that of King Gloin or King Otrek. You say you know you're not a thinker, you have skill in battle, and you make friends easily. That's a start. Do better. Know yourself, know your strengths, your weaknesses, your blind spots. Because...
-[X] The Most Important Thing a King Must Do Well is Delegate: You will never be good at everything. You cannot be everywhere. You cannot do the work of a hold with your two hands. Above all else, you must become adept at recognizing skill in your subjects, and giving them responsibility to match. You say you're not a thinker? Then you'd damn well better learn to recognize good thinkers when you see them, and make the very best use of them.
-[X] Sometimes, You'll Lose: It's inevitable. Much as you will spend every waking minute seeking to avoid it, some day you will fail, and your hold will pay the cost. In that circumstance, many will shy away from the shame, try to push it elsewhere. Others will shy away from the responsibility, believing themselves not equal to the task. A true King shuns both those lies. He faces the truth with courage, and shoulders the burden of shame. He sees failure for what it is: a mine of the most precious ore any dwarf can possess: Wisdom.
[X] Social: She who Calls the Furious Cold/ Blizzardwing
[X] Social: Lady Valma Stoneshaper
[X] Social: Logazor Bonestrider, Head Ranger of Karak Vlag
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"A King?" you rumble, staring the boy down.
"Aye Elder," he says.
You look away from him once more, into your drink and then at some far off place, grumbling the whole time.
"A King is a craftsman," you eventually say, looking back down at the boy, "The hold is a work, one that you will never finish, and one that has no discernable endpoint. One begun by your Ancestors, continued by you, and taken up by your descendants after your passing. Your life is dedicated to it, so much so that your honour and its prosperity are bound more tightly than the strongest and most finely made rope. Your subjects are your tools, and you must use them to shape and craft the hold to the best of your ability. But in that same vein, a King must know when the right tool ought to be used for the right task, and like any Craftsman, he must treat his tools with all the respect and care they deserve. You will not know what sort of challenges await your descendants, your people, after you enter the Halls of your Ancestors, but you must prepare for them regardless. And lastly…"
You pause, making sure that he is listening intently.
"You must be able to bear the burden of failure. A king ought to never fail in his duty, but I didn't get the hold to build seven layers of walls for no reason. You must endeavour to never fail, but in the terrible chance that you do… you cannot break under the weight of that failure, or worse, let it hamper your ability in the future."
Taking a final swig of your drink you walk off after refilling it, content to let the lad stew on your words.
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"Lord Gift Giver," Valma says, jumping down from her Golem's hand when she sees you approach, "what brings you here."
"Wandering and pondering," you grumble out, "There hasn't been a chance to fight, which is all well and good, but concerning all the same."
"Aye, I can agree to that. Didn't bring out the lasses for a walk, but it looks like that'll be what they'll get," she replies, patting the foot of one of her massive gronti.
Its solid work, the kind you expect from a Runelord regardless of her age. The tallest of them is clad in a massive suit of plate armour, protecting the stone structure beneath. Made in the image of a shield maiden, her plaits looped so that the stone would not easily break off. This was the first Valma made only a decade after first learning the Master Rune from her Master. The other two show marked improvement in construction, incorporating greater levels of craftsmanship and aesthetic choice in exchange for the sheer size their predecessor possessed.
"Nothing for it, better this than a grinding slog to reach Dum. We can only hope the hold is equally quiet," you say.
"Logically, I agree, but emotionally I'm of two minds on it. A damn shame for me to reveal Girda here for a whole load of nothing eh? I put a damn lot of work into her, and having her maiden campaign be so….boring doesn't feel right. I imagine you can understand given that suit you're walking around in..." She replies, patting the third golem's foot while staring up at it affectionately.
"Hmmph, we'll see if there isn't at least one bit of excitement during this whole campaign. Barkeep's just waiting to drop the tab on us I reckon," you grumble, crossing your arms and glaring off at some nebulous space in the distance.
Your beard tingles.
After you quietly threaten the world you stand there for a few moments, wondering why Valma hasn't spoken before you notice that her face has scrunched up in confusion. It's a look you know well, the kind where a Craftsman notices something they didn't intend in their creation. The Runelord finally stops staring at her gronti to look back at you with confusion, looking back between her work and you a few more times before she begins to mutter under her breath.
"Lass?" you ask.
"Lord Elder, would you be willing to indulge a hypothesis of mine?" she says suddenly, reaching into a pouch hanging off her belt and pulling out a glass and metal contraption with a Rune of Far Seeing on it.
"I'd like to know what exactly I'm indulging in before I agree to anything." you huff back.
"That armour of yours is doing something curious to my gronti. I didn't notice until you got close, but if you could…" she trails off while making a moving motion with her hand.
Well, a bit of walking never bothered anyone you reckon. Still, you quietly grumble as you walk backwards, stopping only when Valma raises her hand. You stand there as she jogs on over with a look of concentration on her face, eyes darting to and fro to the other Runesmiths who are walking around. A bit of etiquette on their part, doing their best not to intrude on the discussion of two Runelords, but Runesmiths were a curious lot and that had to be taken into account. Whatever it is, Valma thinks she's found something that she's not willing to share.
"Will you follow me back into my tent?" she asks.
Well, now she has your curiosity.
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The hearth crackles in the distance, light playing off the metal of her forge and anvil. The space itself is occupied by three dwarfs total now, just barely within the expected occupancy tolerances. Not the room's actual limit, but her own personal one, which obviously superseded it.
Her home feels more cramped than it has ever been. A consequence of housing another two dwarfs. She'd expanded it to suit her needs, exactly the same as Master Snorri's teaching space, but still, it feels odd. Fjolla stares down at the two youths, bright-eyed bumbling buffoons that she has decided are worth her time. It is their second day, not yet truly aware of the struggle that they would endure to become Runesmiths.
Didn't I say I'd only take on one apprentice, she thinks to herself as she squints down at them.
Durrik Thorgromsson of Clan Hrokkisson, her own grandnephew in fact, and Emlik Norgrimsson from her Master's Clan. Both youngsters were the exact image of what one would expect from a dwarf hailing from their respective clans. Durrik had their Clan's signature blonde hair and blue eyes while Emlik had the dark earthy brown locks and eyes of the Winterhearth.
"No time for wool-gathering now," she mutters under her breath, "COME ALONG BEARDLINGS. YOUR LESSONS BEGAN THE MOMENT YOU WOKE UP TODAY!"
"Yes Master!" they yell.
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"Alright," you mutter as you sit down in the chair opposite Valma, "what's this about?"
"You're channelling a lot of Deep Magic with that armour," she says straight out, "it's the only explanation I can think of. I don't know-how, and I'm only asking since you've traded with Lorna, but I'm willing to trade whatever you feel like giving in exchange for what
I have."
You quirk a brow.
Brazen, very much so, but then again you did vote for her during Rhunkalbrogg.
"I won't ask for specifics, but how do I know you have anything I want?"
"Gronti, or more specifically the Master Rune of Waking," she says, "That Rune of Transcription, your Miner, and the whole deal with the limbs...I know you're going places with it. I won't pretend to know more than you, but I'm offering what I
do have. And this," she says, turning around and pulling a tome out of a chest behind her.
You peer down at the Khazalid on the cover.
The Readings and Insights of the Winde of Metal/Order/Chamon by Avalrith of the House of Serantor, most esteemed Maige of the Kingdom of Saphery.
Raising a brow you look back up at Valma.
"A damn right pain in the arse to learn the Elgi tongue, but the stories about them made me think. They use magic, that can either mean they're insane enough to use magic and not know-how, or they're sensible and
do know something about it aye? And seeing as I don't like
not knowing, I took the time to discover for myself. I've been buying these books and even got myself a contact through a few proxies to get what I can. The hit to my vaults hurts, but you don't go prospecting without some investment. And it looks like I struck
quite the goldmine."
"Oh?" you say, intrigued, "What sort of gold are we talking about."
"Galbaraz," she says with absolutely no hesitation, "I have….an inkling, a twinge in my plaits. But based on my readings...well I won't say and make myself look a fool, but I'm fool enough to say I'm hopeful."
Well well well…
You take a while to ponder her offer. Knowledge for knowledge, you can't necessarily say you are sure of her character, but you voted for her during Rhunkalbrogg and she seems sincere enough, but the question remains.
Is that enough for you?
[ ]
Valma: Accept
Gain: Trade with Valma Post Campaign.
You'll table the actual negotiations for after this mess is resolved, but you'll agree to it. From what you know Valma likely has a deal of Gronti related knowledge you don't possess as well as some Elgi books she thinks are worth your time.
[ ]
Valma: Refuse
Gain: Nothing.
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You leave Valma's tent in contemplative silence, letting your feet carry you where they may as you think and idly drink from your mug. Your solitude does not last long, as soon enough you see a shadow above you grow larger and larger as you walk, culminating to the dull thump of a Brana landing beside you.,
Blizzardwing is an average-sized specimen of her species, her blueish black feathers radiate enough cold that ice crystals mat her crest and pinions, creating a white outline along their edge. The silver torque you made her now dangles with all manner of trinkets, claws, chains, and other things she'd seemingly picked up since.
The sight of a Brana seemingly falling out of the sky with nothing more than a quiet whump of displaced air does not startle the Kraka Drakk dwarfs, but sends many of the other dwarfs grumbling or clutching their chests in surprise.
Feh.
"Elder Windstiller," she says, "are the wilds of this land always so quiet?"
"Don't rightly know, but based on what I've managed to glean, this is uncommon," you rumble back. Outwardly unperturbed but wondering why Blizzardwing would be asking you of all people.
"The unseen winds blow strangely here," she explains, "very
strangely, even for ones such as us."
That piques your interest.
"Oh? What are they doing that's so different now?"
Blizzardwing takes time to ponder, head tilting side to side, the crest feathers flaring out behind her head swaying with the motion, before she replies.
"Your folk do not see the unseen winds, it makes discussing the topic difficult but I shall attempt it regardless. In the time before me, my elders spoke of the unseen winds spilling out from the roof of the world, flooding and suffusing the land like water down a slope yes? With the end of the Siege the winds began pulling westwards, towards the home of the elves I am told. That is how it has been since, but here… it is wrong. The winds are as strong as I would expect, but the pull is being drawn northwards. It is troubling, unnatural."
You quirk a brow, "There's a reason for this then you think?"
"A pulling on such a scale...we Brana grab at the unseen winds, coalescing them and twisting them so that we may do many of our non-physical abilities," she explains, creating a ball of frost for emphasis, "for the winds to be pulled at such levels, I do not trust this to be mere coincidence…"
"Bah," you grumble, "So it may have something to do with the lack of beasties as well?"
"I do not know… I have no frame of reference, but my hypothesis as to where the source of this pull is, it bodes ill. I intend to inform the others during the meeting."
"Bah, this reminds me too much of the Greedy One's trickery for my liking," you grouse.
"Hmm, a question, if you could indulge me, Elder Winstiller. If it isn't the secrets of your Guild, would you explain how your folk can be blind to the unseen winds, yet your Runesmiths manipulate them so?"
You snort, "A question for the ages. Mmm, it's common enough knowledge, but have you heard the story of Thungni yes?"
"He who Chills the Winds to Stillness, Maker of the Torque that rests on our Lord's neck? Yes, yes, the Ankor Brynn and his discovery of it. I have heard."
"Yes, well without revealing the Guild's Secrets, I can say that our best theories poke at our ties to Thungni as to why, but we're as in the dark as most anyone else."
"Hmm, curious. The average Dwarf is like Granite. The winds touch them, but unlike other beings, they suffuse them slowly and with great difficulty. The Runesmiths...your kind are Quartz, metal, and stone in equal measure. It is-" here Blizzardwing looks up sharply with a squawk.
"My apologies, something touches the storm… I must rectify this immediately, farewell Elder Windstiller," she rumbles before disappearing with a single flap of her wings. A flare of dust and snow is the only proof of her existence.
You sniff and check to make sure no dust or snow got stuck in your beard.
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After getting a refill and doing some ruminating, your feet take you to the ranger's section of the camp. Here the sight of hooded dwarfs examining their bolts, cleaning their crossbows, and quietly discussing with each other around various fires is a common one. Walking past them, you head towards the hunched over form of Logazor. Blizzardwing's comments still in your mind.
"Logazor," you hail, drawing his attention, "A word if you have the time."
The ranger looks up from his charts at you, blinks then nods.
"Rhunrikki, I'm guessing you're here to talk about the oddness of the journey so far?" he rumbles.
"Mmm, not too much. Can't account for every bit of oddness, I'm mostly here to satisfy my own curiosity. What sort of trouble would we be normally dealing with up here?"
"Hmm, the Plains aren't as barren as they seem. Aside from the daemons that you can find wandering about, all sorts of beasties and creatures end up coming down from the mountains and the north or crawling up out of the earth to die here. Mammoths, Rumblers, Manticores, Chimaera, Hydras and the like. The odd lost troll or two looking to scavenge on the dead, and Dread Maws the further north we go especially. Not teeming with life obviously, but to have run into
nothing? Doesn't fit. Migratory patterns, tracking reports, we should have run into
five dozen mammoths whose trails we've seen heading in this direction, a few dozen trolls and there were sightings of Daemons about the northernmost reaches not too long ago. Enough to warrant a throng of this size even, but they're not there
now and we can't find them. There's trickery about, and I don't know
where it's coming from
."
You hum contemplatively.
"Where could it be then?" he says more to himself than you, "Whatever's drawn the beasts out of the way is either fast enough to cover the entire plateau, which I doubt, or they've found a way to draw them all somewhere...bah! It makes no sense, and that's enough to tell me its probably
magic," he grumbles, hissing out the last part.
Before you can even begin to reply, there is a loud rumbling in the skies, loud enough to make many dwarfs look up in confusion. The clouds are inundated by the shadows of Brana darting in and out with a level of frantic energy they never had before. For what feels like an age, but was in actuality several minutes, the entire camp watches with rapt attention at the display of light and magic above them. The boom of thunder, the flash of lightning and the screeches of incensed Griffons are all that can be heard.
(Roll, ???? vs Brana: 100 +30[???] =130 vs. 79 +25[Things of the Sky] =104)
Only to watch the storm above them begin to dissipate, clouds seeming to burst apart and the entire structure from earlier collapse into weather of a more mundane nature.
"We should probably head over to Lady Igna, I reckon this meeting is happening earlier than expected," you mutter to which the ranger nods grimly.
The two of you make haste to Igna's tent, around you dwarfs are hefting axes and muttering while wounded Brana descend from the skies.
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The tent is packed to bursting, you and Logazor making your way with a few well-placed grumbles so that the various dwarfs present shuffle aside to let you get closer.
You catch sight of Igna at the head of the table, Valma to her left and a dishevelled Blizzardwing to her right, dwarfs around them grumbling and rumbling ominously.
"What good is your King's aid if it breaks apart at the first sign of trouble!" one Thane rumbles, pointing a finger at Blizzardwing.
You catch a glimpse of Gimli's dark frown, mirrored by many of the Kraka Drakk leaders aimed directly at the offending party.
"SILENCE YOUR TONGUE BEARDLING, LEST I WALLOP YOU OVER THE HEAD!" Dwalin snaps while wagging a finger, "The foe has made their move, the inciting incident is at hand! Now the climb to a most awesome and terrible climax has begun!"
"It was either let the storm dissipate as it did or have it risk falling apart around the Throng into an uncontrollable tumult of magic, ice and lightning. It will take time to reform, but my concern lies with its necessity in the coming days," she replies, nonplussed by the Runelord's tangent.
"Enough," Igna rumbles, giving a stern look at the already cowed thane, "Does this relate to your theory Blizzardwing?"
The Brana nods, "Something has been drawing in the unseen winds northwards. The pulse that destabilized the storm felt purposeful. Whatever is out there is likely aware of our presence, and given the scale they operated at…"
"Can you point on the map where this pull is coming from?" Logazor says, catching everyone's attention.
Blizzardwing nods, and lifting one of her talons, gently marks out a circle on the map to indicate where.
You narrow your eyes, as do many around the table.
The mark of Karag Dum lies in the circle, not exactly center, but definitely well within it. To your side, Logazor is cross-referencing the image with his own charts.
"It may be related to the startling lack of foes we've faced on our march here," is all the ranger says, looking back up at Igna, "I can't confirm it, but mere coincidence doesn't seem likely."
"Looks like the lasses may get to strut their stuff after all," Valma whispers.
"We march at first light the next day, the entire Thong is to be ready for battle at a beard's twitch, no Dwarf walks twenty paces from a Runesmith. Logazor, when will your rangers be back?" Igna says, tone getting many present to stand a bit straighter.
Good effort you think, the tone could do with a bit more work, it lacked that grumble that really gave one an authoritative quality, but no one was perfect.
"Three days time, they know to meet us at the predetermined location," Logazor replies.
"Send out another party, with the Rangers of Uzkulak I believe we can spare enough Dawi. Best case they come back with the original scouts, worst case…"
"It'll be done," he says with a firm nod.
"We can do little here, save gather wool and grumble. I want everyone here to alert the dawi who need to know and prepare for the march tomorrow. If anything else happens on the way there I'll call another meeting. If you've anything to say, do so now, otherwise, you're all free to go. I'd ask for my fellow Runelords to stay and discuss some things however."
One by one the dwarfs in the command tent march out, off to carry out their duties and rouse their kin to readiness. Blizzardwing nods at you before exiting the tent while Valma and Dwalin stay where they are.
"The chance of magical muckery is high, very much so. With the power to break apart a storm large enough to cover a throng. I think it best that we spread ourselves out over the throng and make sure someone who knows what they're doing is around in case things go arse up. Anyone have any preferences?"
"THE VAN! I WISH FOR MY FOES TO SEE THE MAN WHOSE AXE THAT SHALL CLEAVE THEM IN TWAIN!" Dwalin rumbles, fist on hips.
"No preference really, so long as I'm with the girls I should be able to reach almost anywhere as long as folks know how to get out of the way, which I have my own way of ensuring," Valma explains.
"I'll fill whatever role is necessary, what about you Gift Giver?" Igna says, looking over at you.
You will march in…
[ ]
Position: The Front
The axe's edge, the hammer's face and the shield's surface. Igna has decided that the fighting tip of the Throng will march here, young warriors and quarrellers yet to prove themselves and a smattering of Longbeards to make sure things don't fall apart. You know for certain Gimli will be among here rather than with his fellow nobles.
[ ]
Position: The Middle
The greatest concentration of Longbeards, Thanes and Lords. It is from here where they lead their Clans, and if need be march out to bolster faltering lines and turn the tide where their younger kin falter. Moreso it is closest to the supplies in the case of a flanking maneuver or bout of trickery from the foe. Unofficially it means they have the first pick of the ale, but they already had that on account of their age.
[ ]
Position: The Back
The supplies, well-protected aye and easily capable of being enveloped by the throng should worst come to worst, but it relies on the enemy not collapsing on them immediately. The Siege engines, many of the engineers, and a great deal of food and munitions are back here. Not all, because any sensible dwarf knew to spread their investments, but enough to hurt if they were lost.
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Valma Vote for ease of...well voting:
[ ]
Valma: Accept
Gain: Trade with Valma Post Campaign.
You'll table the actual negotiations for after this mess is resolved, but you'll agree to it. From what you know Valma likely has a deal of Gronti related knowledge you don't possess as well as some Elgi books she thinks are worth your time. Still, you're hedging your bet on her skill level on mostly faith alone.
[ ]
Valma: Refuse
Gain: Nothing.
It's unconventional in the extreme, too much so for your taste. Belief or no, vote or no, you have no true proof of her capability.
Current Situation:
- The storm has been removed from play for the march to Dum.
- A smaller version can be remade by the Brana but is dependent on the wind situation not being screwy.
- Brana are still giant magical murderbirds who can chuck lightning bolts and throw arm length shards of ice however.
- A large amount of magic is being pulled north in what is likely the last known location of Karag Dum
- A pulse of what the Brana believe was very intentional magic usage almost destabilized the storm to the point that it could've turned on the throng without Brana stopping it.
- It's likely that whatever's cleared the Zorn Uzkul of its gribblies and nasties is also the cause of the odd magical occurrences.
- A few other choices.
- Info.
There will be a one-hour moratorium for discussion.
AN: A short one, just getting back into the swing of things after my midterm. Thankfully I did above the class average and it was curved so I survive yet another day! Anywho, thanks for waiting for this admittedly small doot, hope you enjoy and don't forget to C&C. :^)
