On Thread Etiquette:
I'm not going to weigh in on the logic of either side's arguments, but I will ask that everyone read over what they write and really consider if the words they used are polite and won't be inflammatory intentionally or not. You cant account for people's tolerances perfectly but at least try to say your piece without saying things that can be easily construed as overly dismissive of the other side of the argument, thank you.
If I am not mistaken, it probably just wouldn't work, wouldn't you think? I mean, they were allies for a long time in canon, and there's no mention of them, so I would guess it is either impossible or some shenanigans occurs where they only end up as one of the races, not a mixture(leaning toward the former)...
Of course, it is the Everqueen so perhaps there is some leeway with things such as that. With normal elves I would bet it just doesn't work though.
I'm not sure what the dwarves stance on mass adoptions like that would be, I feel like neither they nor other dwarves would see them as real members of Winterhearth. That said we do have 3 apprentice slots we can fill and they haven't had any runesmiths to teach them so there should be pretty good pickings among them.
Its kind of distasteful but I can more easily see the Cult of Gazul stepping in here. They'd either personally vet the survivors to find any possible Hashut cultists and then deal with it.
In response to try to mitigate knowledge of 'the deranged false Ancestor God cult' I can see the families being split up between numerous other holds. North and South of the Worlds Edge Mountain. Clan Winterhearth might get a couple kids, especially if they might have 'the Gift' but I can't see them getting anywhere close to a majority.
More likely the will either immigrate into another Hold completely or return to extended clans (because the Eastern Dawi probably were like the Northern Dawi and just split off from existing families) or just be split up between various Holds to mitigate any possible 'corruption'.
If the Cult of Gazul is going to try to mitigate knowledge of Hashut they aren't about to spread all of the orphans all over the Karaz Ankor. Furthermore, I doubt more than maybe one or two dwarfs of Karag Dum are going to be leaving the rule of Queen Valka. As much as they are willing to abandon Karag Dum, it isn't their home. Valka is still their Queen. If Igna survives she'll probably dedicate herself to rebuilding Clan Metalheart, with those that have the Gift being apprenticed out to other holds with the expectation that they'll return to wherever Valka decides to rebuild.
One day maybe Snorri will upgrade that apprentice trait to the point it doesn't cost an action to have an apprentice. Maybe after figuring out how to handle the resulting character bloat lol.
The potential Metalheart runesmiths will probably go to either Igna or runesmith clans that were relatives of Metalheart.
on terms of homosexuality, I can see dawi not really caring one way or another about it.I could see gay women being pressured to have children, but no one really caring past that. That said, this is the sort of thing that is going to be low enough profile that its not going to come up "on-screen" so to speak, especially given the dawi are the sort to simply not bring up private matters unless they have to.
I feel that given the targeted attacks against Runesmiths, there aren't likely to be many viable apprentices and Igna is going to want to train most of them anyway.
I feel that given the targeted attacks against Runesmiths, there aren't likely to be many viable apprentices and Igna is going to want to train most of them anyway.
The targeted attacks are why there are likely to be potential apprentices, all the actual runesmiths were killed off so there has been no-one to teach any of the kids with the gift:
Recounting the tale of them slowly building something resembling a resistance against the Cult of Hashut, the centuries-long war she waged, of the last Runesmiths of Clan Metalheart creating the Wardstones that kept them safe from the scrying of the enemy. Of them dying one after the other over the decades, their apprentices killed and the Clan left with no dwarfs to teach the ancient craft to those who possessed The Gift.
This does raise the potential of adult dwarfs who have the gift, potentially even strongly, have it but who haven't been taught runesmithing and taken up a different trade; maybe we could take some of them on as apprentices.
The targeted attacks are why there are likely to be potential apprentices, all the actual runesmiths were killed off so there has been no-one to teach any of the kids with the gift:
This does raise the potential of adult dwarfs who have the gift, potentially even strongly, have it but who haven't been taught runesmithing and taken up a different trade; maybe we could take some of them on as apprentices.
The gift is heritable, the runesmiths being killed means there were fewer potential runesmiths because those runesmiths died before they could have more children.
Maybe we could produce amulets with non-master ancestor rune based combos on them to hand out? Items that can tap into earth magic even if their regular power source falters would be great heirloom pieces for these of all dwarves.
"We end this business once and for all, to the chamber if you'd please lass," you tell Valka.
The Queen nods, and soon enough the lot of you leave Igna and her Gromriltrommi to their work. Valka's retinue deftly and quickly makes their way through the oncoming rush of bodies to get to their destination, cleaving a path that you and Valka only widen as you follow suit. Even now, in the throes of their grief and anger, Igna and her warriors have enough sense to help ease your way down. More than once the blurred form of a Gromriltrommi rushes past you and towards a Frurndar that would have been in your way, shouting war cries and chanting the battle songs of their Clan all the while. A frightening thing to see a screaming dwarf shaped mass of Gromril barrelling towards you at speeds that were more akin to a Bolt mid-flight than a Dwarf in some fifty to sixty kilograms worth of all-encompassing Gromril armour. Each and every last one a former member of the King of Ornsmotek's own personal retinue, warriors with centuries of experience and skill clad in enough Star Metal to beggar a small clan. Each suit is only enhanced even more after being given Runes that improved their strength, durability and power beyond the average mortal limit, then further customized to suit their individual wearer's strengths and talents. What they lack in numbers they make up in sheer lethality, as the sight of one Gromriltrommi fighting ten Frurndar on his lonesome and winning handily proved.
But for all their martial prowess, standing apart from them all is Igna herself. Her armour towers, in part due to her own natural height, but also by virtue of just how thick the plates are, over enemy and ally alike. The Runes on it burn and flare as she crashes into the Frurndar with almost manic fury, never giving them enough time to form a proper shieldwall before she sets herself upon them. Her shield is draped over her back, having taken a spare axe from one of her retainers and using it with her hammer to deal the greatest amount of damage possible. Rune enhanced strength turning her already powerful swings into blows that cleave heads from bodies or render plate armour to nothing more than crumpled scrap. This is the artifice of a Runelord wholly dedicated to one specialty. Only your own armour outperformed the durability and benefits Igna's armour provided her.
Yet for all the carnage Igna enacts, for all the terror her bloodied visage engenders, and the awe her craft inspires, it is the mournful dirge that comes from her lips that captivates everyone, friend and foe, present.
For all that you had a personal distaste for it, more because you knew very few Dawi, yourself included, were as good at singing as they were at fighting, you are not inherently critical of a Dwarf singing during battle. After all, the tradition began with Grimnir, who it is said was inspired by Valaya's melodious voice to use his guttural bass tones to instill fear and bravery in his enemies and allies respectively. By Grungni you're related to Clan Kazaksongr on your mother's side, a Clan known for its Skalds, Warriors and Warrior Skalds in equal measure. But what comes out of Igna's mouth is not the oft jaunty tune of a Dwarf singing about the death of his enemies, nor the mournful recitation of a Dwarf in the face of their certain demise, it is something wholly new, something wholly different in terms of scope and purpose.
It is a grief-ridden thing, a mournful elegy to her Clan and kin, a song of her own failures and the sheer tumult of her emotions laid bare. Yet it is a song of not only vengeance but hope as well. A solemn vow to see the desecration returned tenfold even at the cost of her own life, to see the survivors raised above the cruel fate they've endured for centuries. The words, the rhythm, all of it can be heard over the din of the battle with startling clarity. It instills a feeling of mournful vengeance in you, and from the looks of things a terrified pallor in her enemies.
Maybe it is the all-consuming rage you feel intertwining with the grief, maybe it is the natural echo caused by her helmet, perhaps the screams and shouts around her creating some inadvertent harmony, but for a moment you swear she does not sing alone, that a choir of voices, far too many to be comprised of just the Dawi in the room, sing with her. A haunting choir of vengeance and grief that follows in her wake.
Whatever the truth may be, the last thing you see before turning the corner and head off towards the ritual is Igna bodily picking up a Frurndar and tossing him into his allies, that same haunting tune echoing through the tunnels even as you and Valka head closer and closer to the Ritual site.
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Hogrimm ignores the Bloodthirster's impotent screams of rage, secure in the knowledge that the chains will hold the vessel in place. The vast majority of his attention is instead focused on the sputtering form of the ritual. His apprentices, all eight of them, stand around the circle and chant the incantations he had taught them. At the center of it all, the dark shard pulses and flares with power.
Your party marches on, barreling through the ever-growing number of guards.
The eddies of time and space fold and ripple under the weight of so much magic being forced into one place. It is enough power to fuel the mightiest of spells, enough to sunder armies and bring down the walls of a middling Karak.
It is still not enough.
Nowhere near enough to restore his lord. Not even enough to forge an Avatar from the body of the daemon bound before them.
His magic falters, the spell beginning to fade as the power it so desperately required runs out. Even with the essence of that foul servant of the Changer and the infusion of so many other willing sacrifices, the losses incurred are too much for Hogrimm to overcome with even his prodigious arcane might. Around him his apprentices falter, their bodies slowly but steadily calcifying into stone as the power of the ritual loses cohesion and begins lashing out at them.
He pushes on, forcing more and more magic through his body and into the spell, fueling it and bringing the guttering flames back to the brink of life.
He will succeed.
He must.
He does not notice the Dwarfen Party that breaks into the chamber.
(Roll, a Desperate Gamble: 41,51,55 +55[Power Unending] -25[Winds Denied] =71,81,85, DC 90)
But desire and will alone are not enough. Just as he is on the cusp of success he feels it, the presence of the Runelord, whose simple proximity begins unravelling the matrices and components of the ritual at the most inopportune of moments. He turns, just a moment too late, to see that contemptible Silver Bastard cutting his way towards him. Helpless, he can only snarl and watch as the ritual erupts in a cataclysmic burst of flame and magic.
His mind rages, rants and raves at his foe with a fury he usually only saved for the accursed Ancestors. This was not the path, this was anything but the path. Everything had gone wrong, it had all gone wrong, it-
(Roll, Madness: 94)
-It did not matter. This would not stop him, not while he still drew breath, not even now in the face of such abject failure.
Vengeance must be had, will be had! He refuses to die, not here, not now!
In those few moments between when the wave hits him and certain oblivion Hogrimm pulls at the skeins of magic readily spilling out of the ritual, grabbing them and imposing his will over them. Twisting them and forcing them into a new shape and purpose, channelling them through the fragment that eagerly pulses before him.
The shard hums and pulses, the fragment within enacting its final gambit.
Slowly, inexorably, the cascading currents of power are twisted, usurped and dominated into submission. Hogrimm forces the resulting energy from the shard and into his own body, fueling his power with the suffering and power of an innumerable number of souls.
I will not die here, his mind rages, I cannot die, I cannot die, Icannotdie, icannotdieicannotdieicannotdie-
Outside of the spiralling madness of his mind Hogrimm Ironhand screams; a terrifying roar that vibrates the air around him, accompanied by a towering gout of flame from his lips. His body, like wet clay, is moulded further and further by his patron.
His body forces back the urge to hunch forward, maintaining his composure even as it shifts and twists with mutagenic energy. Even so, it leans more and more on his staff for support. Within the confines of his mind, the last fragments of Hogrimm's consciousness feel his body shift and twist. Armour and fabric slide and conforms to him like liquid before reforming to match his greatly expanded bulk. His helmet altered such that the massive iron horns that sprout from his head are not impeded. Boots are replaced by a great set of spikes that fit the newly cloven feet he stands upon.
When full consciousness returns to him, Hogrimm stares down at a new body, then at the enemies who are cleaving their way through his guards. Briefly, his eyes lock with those of the Runelord; burning orange globes staring death at defiant slate grey.
Yet, just as he prepares a spell the sound of snapping chains and a scream of triumph erupt behind him. All present turn and stare at the source of it. A massive red behemoth, wings having long since been removed and bereft of anything save a simple loincloth.
The Bloodthirster.
The Bloodthirster, its body wounded horrifically, wings torn off its back, weapons missing and maw dripping thick black blood, stares at them all with mindless rage. Whatever semblance of control it ever had now engulfed in its all-consuming anger after decades of captivity and bloodletting.
But before it can even begin to walk towards him the wall of the ritual chamber is destroyed in a shower of rock and metal. Hogrimm blinks as the other prisoner bodily slamming into the Greater Daemon with a trumpeting cry that temporarily deafens him.
No matter, he thinks, but first…
He crouches down for a moment, muscles tensing with magical strength before leaping off from the top of the pyramid and towards the stunned gaze of the Runelord.
"DIE!" Hogrimm screams.
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Abomination.
That is the only thought that crosses your mind when you first laid eyes on the monstrosity the prophet had become. A massive minotaur like being, the only physical difference between him and the Gori in question that you could see was the fact that he had the face of an, albeit heavily mutated, Dawi instead of a bull's.
Then the wazzock had the gall to jump at you.
You roll out of the way, bringing Zharrgal on an upwards swing as you stand back up and knock the prophet's helmet clean off of his be-horned head. In retaliation he sends his axe swinging for your midsection, the weapon's edge finds no purchase in the face of the Adamant plates however, simply skidding off.
Snarling in contempt the prophet blurs with movement, hands grabbing and lifting you skyward before sending you crashing back down to the stone below with enough force that a crater forms.
Bah!
The prophet does not let up his assault, bringing his hands together and slamming them down atop you for a solid minute. When he realizes that blunt force trauma will do no more than his axe he resorts to holding you down with one hand while conjuring a gout of flame hot enough to melt stone and aiming it square at your face.
Your free hand grabs his arm and squeezes down on the offending limb. You hear the groaning of metal, the squelch of flesh and finally a bellow of pain before he ceases his assault to grab at his ruined hand.
Feh.
Taking advantage of his bellyaching you swing Zharrgal upwards as far as you can reach, the hammer's head smacking him directly in the chest and sending the mutated prophet flying off of you and crashing into the steps leading up to his profane altar.
Meticulously, but efficiently, you push the rock and rubble off of yourself with purposefully casual movements, taking your time to dust off your armour as best you could before looking up and matching the loathsome gaze of the prophet.
"Now," you mutter, flicking Zharrgal and setting the hammer alight with furious golden fire, "Let me show you how it's done, beardling."
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Gimli swings his axe down on the sorcerer's staff, the Gromril edge chipping but not cutting through the magically empowered steel.
A nameless figure stalks through the tunnels, towards the sounds of battle
He lets his enemy push him away, rushing back in and past their guard before they can cast yet another spell.
Around him his Huskarls duel the sorcerer's guards, several on both sides having fallen already. The battle around him is a grinding stalemate as Dawi hold against the tide of madness that barrels down on them. If he was forced to guess they'd gotten a third of the survivors to safety even as the line had been pushed back on the center and left flanks.
Old eyes that blaze like molten rock gaze upon the conflict, weary but unbroken.
But he can't afford to think about the overall strategic situation at the moment, not when some wazzock with an axe to grind is trying to cave his face in.
They hone in on several beings, ones an equally old mind considers key to the enemy effort
He shifts his grip, swinging his Greataxe farther out than usual, cutting a jagged line across his opponent's chest plate. The flare of the axe's Runelight clashing against the dull red of the armour's enchantment. Reversing the weapon's momentum through brute force Gimli swings the great axe back around, only this time he releases it such that it's sent flying towards his foe like a saw blade.
The shadow disappears without fanfare, the only trace of his existence is the glow of the blade in his hands.
The prince doesn't bother to see if the weapon flew true, instead unholstering his other two axes and charging forward with a battle cry on his lips.
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The prophet stares at you hatefully but wearily, his arm a ruin and his staff looking more and more like a warped piece of metal with every blow from Zharrgal.
He is tense.
You are serenely furious.
He is apoplectically angry, enough that he's slowly become sloppier and sloppier.
You are so furious that your mind is working with crystal clear clarity.
Before either of you can re-engage with another the room rumbles as the Bloodthirster is bodily thrown into the wall to your left. You stare as the massive dog-faced daemon barely dodges out of the way of what would have been a fatal goring by the Mammoth's equally massive tusks.
Sheer instinct lets you dodge out of the axe swing, the blade creating a deep gouge in the earth.
"ARROGANCE," he roars.
Surety, your mind responds as you swing Zharrgal at his chest.
The sound of metal shrieking as it is blown apart greets your ears, shards of the prophet's staff blowing apart after he used it to block your blow once again. You take advantage of your enemy's temporary blindness, reversing the strike and sending another hammer blow careening towards his chest. This time the weapon flies true and you chuff as the prophet is sent flying once more.
You begin making your way towards the crater he was slowly crawling out of, casually disrupting his attempts to regenerate his broken body.
"There will be no magic without my say so beardling," You shout loudly enough for him to hear.
The scream of impotent anger that erupts from ahead of you sends a surge of vindictive spite down your spine, one that you willfully ignore.
For all that you've done to these innocents, this is a paltry payment.
Every crossed blade, every blocked blow is only a delay. A stop-gap measure holding back the inevitable conclusion of your battle. Like the inexorable march of a glacier, your people's vengeance will not be denied. The debt will be settled, one way or another.
This you swore.
The prophet casts a fireball at you, a thing of baleful orange-red anger and flame the size of your torso.
A swing from Zharrgal meets the spell head-on and detonates it early while you simply walk through the conflagration of flames no worse for wear.
The prophet bellows once more and charges towards you.
You do not even break your stride, simply preparing Zharrgal for another swing.
━<><><>< 219 A.P. ><><><>━
Gimli stares down at his opponent, his armour broken and weapon thrown aside. He looks up around him, watching as his Huskarls finish off the last of the enemy's retainers and farther ahead, the Dawi line now pushing back the faltering lines of the Beastmen. Leaving their own battle behind in the wake of such a rapid advance.
The sorcerer mutters incoherently, blood on their lips but his eyes still painfully clear, aware and glaring up at him.
"..end..you. A G-grudge on you-your line," he struggles to say through a mouth full of blood and broken teeth.
Even now, broken beneath him the sorcerer was desperately grabbing for his axe with his single working hand. There is a grudging respect there in his heart he realizes, a foe that will not relent, that will not cower even in the face of their own death.
A grim and expected thing. Odd Dawi they may be, but they were Dawi after all.
"Gazul Bar Baraz; Gazul Gand Baraz Malakai Dorrisson," he mutters down at his foe.
"Da-damn Gazul. Damn the-hurk" the sorcerer begins to reply before the Prince ends it with a single swing of his axe.
There is no joy, no grim satisfaction about a foe bested in honourable combat.
Only sorrow.
"Shouldn't be any joy in this act, but its one that needs to be done regardless," a voice rumbles behind him.
The prince spins, brandishing his axes only to stop short at the sight of a truly ancient Dawi standing there. Around him his Huskarls blink and turn, shouts of alarm and the sound of axes being raised.
"Hold!" he shouts at his guards before looking at this new arrival.
"You have me at a disadvantage my Elder. I am Gimli Gloinsson, Prince of Kraka Drakk, who would you be?"
And how did you get past the cordon of guards?
The mysterious elder simply scoffs.
"Just an elder making sure there are no stragglers hiding among the dead," he replies, staring down at the dead dwarf at Gimli's feet.
Gimli stands back, letting the priest kneel down and close the Dawi's eyes.
"Too many beardlings lost in this madness, one in fifteen wounded or dead thereabouts," he grouses.
"The Throng has lost so many?" he starts, blinking in surprise before the burning grip of sorrow clutches at his heart.
"On both sides boy," the priest clarifies, "And the number will only climb as we settle our debt here. This one was a sorcerer?"
"...Aye," Gimli eventually responds.
"Hmph. Damnable bull, even shattered you grasp at things you have no right to," the Dawi rumbles, "No matter."
Gimli watches the priest stand up, dust off his knees and pull something out from beneath his cloak.
His eyes, and those of his retainers, widen in shock.
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You scoff, staring at the prophet in contempt even as you snuff out yet another one of his damnable spells.
"HOW MANY TIMES MUST I TEACH YOU THIS LESSON BEARDLING," you roar, charging forward.
Your foe simply snarls and swipes at your oncoming form with his axe. You simply sidestep the downright shoddy attempt at an attack, and swinging Zharrgal forward, break the prophet's last weapon in another explosion of metal and magic that sends him skidding backward with a yell of anger.
Pitiful.
The prophet is bereft of most of his armour, his body a ruin of charred or broken flesh. A testament to his inherent stubbornness that despite the ruinous injuries on his body he still refuses to die, let alone fall.
Grudgingly admirable, if he wasn't responsible for all of the suffering in this damnable place.
The prophet roars again, this one even more animalistic than every other time before, and charges headlong once again. Several hundred kilos of muscle, metal and spite charging forward like an avalanche. Against any normal foe the force of the charge and resulting impact would have liquified organs, crumpled armour, and sent what remained flying in separate directions in bloody chunks.
But you are not a normal foe.
Standing firm, you let him slam into you, and scoff when he finds little success. You skid backwards certainly, but bullishly stall and then outright halt your enemy's forward momentum eventually. Gouges left in the stone, from where you had dug in your heels. It would be a comical sight perhaps, a massive almost minotaur pushing fruitlessly against a perfectly still Dawi only a third of his size. For you, it is only pitiful.
"Bah," you grunt.
Zharrgal sings through the air and the half-mad prophet finally crashes to the earth with a thud. You stare at the utter ruin of him; his body utterly spent, magic unable to heed his call, and equipment rendered to so much slag and ash.
Yet he still breaths, still glares up at you angrily even after you sever the arm that was reaching for one of his fallen retainer's weapons. A part of you screams to end it, to finish this madness, yet you do not raise Zharrgal. Simply staring down at him placidly.
He does not take it well.
"I do not want...your pity Runelord." he says wetly, blood dribbling up his lips, "Kill me and be done with it Unbaraki, you'll have no repentance, no sorrow from Hogrimm Ironhand."
"I have none for you," you respond darkly, "Not after what you've done, the suffering you've caused."
The downed prophet laughs, the action causing him to fall into a coughing fit. Blood to bubbling up his mouth from all of the agitated internal injuries.
"Look at you...girded in the gifts of your Ancestors. HAH. You know nothing...nothing of suffering. The debt was repaid, suffering for suffering, and blood for blood. If not upon the accursed Ancestors, then upon their followers. Have you watched your wife die in your arms, birthing a babe more stone than flesh? Your brother lost to the predations of daemons, left to suffer and die in the ashen wastes alone? To pray and have your words not be answered?! What do you know of suffering Runelord, so sure you are in those who abandoned us," he wheezes out, eyes glaring at you.
You frown.
Her hand falls limp.
You see shrouds carried into tombs.
You see sundered statues.
You see a ruined hold squatted in by the very ones who desecrated it.
You see a beardling's snarling face and hear heretical words.
You see a tired queen and hear a tale of horror.
You see children far too thin, and Dawi far too burdened for their age.
"More than you think," you reply.
Nothing more needs to be said. It ends just as it began, and with a single singing blow from your hammer, Hogrimm Ironhand will no longer peddle his foulness among your people.
Quicker and far more mercifully than he deserves, a part of you seethes out.
The rest simply conjures the memories of the past few hours. Just where the spite of your people could go if left unchecked by propriety and common decency.
Vengeance was had, and that was enough. You'll make no show of it.
You sigh, and look towards the massive form of the Bloodthirster and blink when you realize just how poorly it's fared.
Three gaping holes litter its chest, large enough that one can see through them to the other side. Its left arm a ruin of muscle and bone shards, and its muzzle crooked to one side. Its opponent meanwhile looks little worse for wear, its tusks dripping ichor and its fur matted more with the blood of its foe than its own.
You turn to see that Valka is faring well enough, and after catching your eye she simply juts her chin towards the daemon before dodging a swing from a Greataxe.
A part of you screams to aid your kin, to leave the business with the daemon to the mammoth who seems to have things well in hand. Yet the rest of you simply says that your time is better spent dealing with a threat that Valka and her folk certainly can't deal with rather than aiding them with a foe they've long since learned to fight.
Bah!
"Better not die Beardlings," you mutter to yourself.
Snorting angrily you begin making your way towards the duelling titans.
Maybe this time you won't get thrown about like a pebble in a miner's boot.
━<><><>< 221 A.P. ><><><>━
Igna stares at bodies, breathing deep shuddering breaths that reverberate through her armour and into the air.
She feels empty.
The fury, the fire that burned through her soul now smouldered like the burning embers of a dying hearth. Nothing now stopped the cold from seeping in.
She looks to her surviving Gromriltrommi, each one battered, wounded, but unbroken despite the ferocity of the combat they endured.
"There is work to be done yet still," she says tiredly, "We march to Lord Snorri and Queen Valka's aid. One last fight before we can lay down our arms for a good long while."
She is met with a series of nods and grunts.
The Shadow follows her after its own business is done, unseen and unheard.
Igna walks forward, the will to see all of her oaths through, pushing her forward.
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You crash into the wall with a quiet grunt of annoyance.
The force of the blow is nothing Barak Azamar cannot endure, and with your current state, you feel no pain from the impact either.
Yet here you are, once more embedded into a wall with a single contemptuous swipe. Even when bereft of its weapons, crippled and otherwise on the verge of death, the Bloodthirster's sheer combat prowess has seen you thrown, tossed and outright chucked at all manner of things, from the usual wall, pillar or statue to the novel experience of being used as an impromptu shot fired at the titanic mammoth you fought alongside.
A part of you wonders if you've more hindered this odd ally of yours than you've helped.
Arrogant, you berate yourself, kill some up jumped wizard Unbaraki and your head gets filled with all manner of nonsense.
Right, no more faffing about. It's damn near unsightly of you to be tossed about in front of an audience.
An audience preoccupied with fighting for their lives while they go about the business of clearing out the last of the prophet's thralls and retainers yes, but it's the principle of the thing.
With a yell of exertion, you rip yourself out of the wall and fall to the floor below with the dull clang of metal on stone.
"DUMI!" You roar, "YOU WON'T BE RID OF ME THAT EASILY YOU UNSCRUPULOUS DOG-FACED SON OF A BLOOD OBSESSED HRUKI!"
The Bloodthirster dodges out of the way of the mammoth's charge and grabs it by the neck. With a show of strength you didn't expect from one so ruinously injured, it lifts the mammoth up with one arm and throws it.
You stare at the airborne creature, trumpeting angrily, and realize far too late that you stand squarely in the center of its shadow.
You only have enough time to give a scathing glare at the roaring daemon
"YOU WAZZO-"
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They are falling, slowly, almost imperceptibly, but they are losing ground. Each of these Dawi are her eldest warriors, almost all of the remaining survivors from the Fall stand with her, and for all their skill they cannot hold the tide back indefinitely. Already she sees a small gap threatening to form on the left flank, and she rushes to shore it up. Behind her, several of her retainers run after her while the rest stay put and watch for gaps to plug.
Rushing up behind a flagging Warrior, Valka charges past him and brings her shield up to block the hammer blow that would have likely killed him. Grunting at the lad to fall back, lets the Frurndar wind up for another blow, feeling the vibrations as the axe crunches against her shield, embedding itself and leaving its wielder overextended.
Beside her, one of her retainers takes the opportunity to swing out his own axe and hack off the enemy's arm at the elbow with a vengeful cry. Capitalizing on the opening, she shoves her shield forward, bashing it against the foe's head, dazing the Frurndar and leaving him vulnerable to a devastating chop across the neck that almost severs his head from his body.
"Vengryn a Zan un Uzkul!" she roars, the cry taken up by the rest of her surviving warriors.
Carrying the momentum forward, she rushes towards, the line closing behind her and charges the nearest enemy she can find. Flanking the preoccupied Frurndar and slamming edge of her shield behind his knee before pushing him forward. The blow sending the already falling Dwarf stumbling forward and leaving him open to a downward hammer blow from another one of her own warriors.
"My thanks, my Queen!" he shouts.
"Steady withdrawal towards the altar's steps! We hold them there Dawi!" she shouts, not waiting for his confirmation before charging towards another one of her subjects, this one cut off and locked in duel with a tainted one of far greater stature and equipment. Yet just before she can reach her struggling kinsman the Frurndar he was duelling is quite literally thrown away by a shoulder check fast enough that she can hear the crunch of the traitor's bones before he is sent flying.
"KHAZUKAN KAZAKIT-HA!" a chorus of voices bellow from the chamber's entrance.
Lady Igna has arrived, and with her the hammer to Valka's anvil.
They need only survive long enough for the Runelord and the rest of her retinue to reach them.
"AID COMES MY KIN! STAND FIRM AND HOLD!, HOLD AS IF THE ANCESTORS WATCH YOU, AS IF YOUR CHILDREN STAND BEHIND YOU! FOR ALL YOU HOLD DEAR STAND FIRM! VENGEANCE IS AT HAND!" Valka screams, axe swinging out to find the neck of a charging Frurndar.
"VENGEANCE, VENGEANCE, VENGEANCE!" her warriors roar back, spirits heartened at her declaration.
Behind their shieldwall a keening scream erupts from atop the altar, drawing the gaze of all present. Turning to face it Valka sees the Greater Daemon has fallen onto both of its now broken knees, its one working arm holding up its body before its wrist is destroyed in a blast of fire and energy that sends it sprawling to the earth.
The massive mammoth from earlier takes the opportunity to trumpet once more, raising itself on its hind legs before slamming its feet back down on the creature's torso with a rumbling crash, sending shards of bone and other offal spraying out in a circle from the point of impact.
Five centuries of life, two of which she has spent living in a perpetual state of war, are all that save her from the axe blow that would have surely sent her to her Ancestors. As it is the blade's edge only meets the horn of her helm, cutting it off completely, but before the Queen of Karag Dum can retaliate her would-be attacker's head is removed from his shoulders by the glowing hot edge of a longsword. The now headless corpse falls to the earth numbly, and Valka realizes that a trail of bodies has cut through the enemy to reach her position, the cause now standing before her.
Clad in a cloak as dark as any tunnel, an incredibly long coal-black, grey streaked, beard and molten red eyes stare out from under the shadows of a voluminous hood. The few pieces of stranger's armour that are visible from under his cloak are of a quality that puts even the Azrilgromthi's armour to shame. Yet what draws her gaze is the massive blade resting on his shoulder, longer than he was tall and burning with Runes of Power. The metal dark as pitch, yet every fine detail of its construction could be seen with stark clarity even through the ethereal flames that danced over its surface.
"Do not turn your gaze away from the foe for even a moment," he says with a pat on the shoulder.
A trumpeting cry from above interrupts her reply, drawing both their gazes.
"At last," he mutters, making his way up the steps and leaving her behind.
━<><><><==><><><>━
"And that's what happens when you turn me into an Ancestors damned railway spike," you grumble, kicking the Bloodthirster's, already disintegrating, severed head. Beside you, the massive mammoth stands idle, eyes scanning the ritual chamber with inscrutable intent.
"Your pace could do with some improvement boy, but a none too terrible effort nevertheless" a voice rumbles from behind you.
The cadence, the words, the sheer age the voice exudes makes you straighten up instinctively. Some deep, primal, part of your mind telling you this was your Elder.
You have, blessedly so, only felt such a sensation a few times before.
Turning to face the Dwarf in question only confirms your suspicions.
"Lord Gazul," you intone respectfully, bowing deeply in the face of the Protector of the Dead.
"Feh," the Ancestor grouses, grabbing your hand before pulling something out of his pocket and dropping something onto it before marching past you.
Reverently, you look at the piece of polished black steel. A sword, a shovel and a pick crossed over each other, the mundane Rune of Gazul emblazoned proudly over the section where they all cross. Your gaze, and that of the mammoth's, follows the Ancestor, watching as he stands before the shard of foulness that the prophet claimed was a piece of his detestable god.
Gazul pauses and turns to stare at you specifically, then back at the crystal, before making up his mind.
"You get one look," he decides, just loud enough for you to hear.
In a flash of movement he unsheaths Zharrvengryn, the sword darker than the night yet so easily discerned, and swings it down upon the shard.
You hear a crack, followed by a keening wail that transforms into a scream of agony, then a wave of light and energy erupts from where the Ancestor stands.
In those few fleeting moments, just before the light blinds you, you gaze upon Zharrvengryn and the Runes upon its surface. They are beyond you, and likely forever shall be in your humble opinion, but you were not the man who stared upon Grimnir's armour in befuddlement. You are wiser, older, more hardened, or perhaps Gazul has simply deigned to set up events so that you receive some fragment of insight. Regardless, before your vision is turned to nothing but whiteness, you see-
Shadow meets Shard, and renders it onto oblivion
[ ] Zharrvengryn: Ties
[ ] Zharrvengryn: Fire
[ ] Zharrvengryn: Cutting
━<><><><==><><><>━
The weeks and months after Hogrimm's death are ones not spent on rest. The survivors of Dum are tended to by those with the knowledge, your Hearth Guard especially, while the Throng, you included, sets about the busy work of clearing out the Karak in its entirety.
Your odd mammoth companion, now freed of his bondage and vengeance sated, disappeared into the wastes. Staying only long enough to stare at the Ancestor before being swallowed up in a flurry of snow so thick that not even the Brana could see through it. Any attempts to find him by your avian allies proving equally fruitless, lending credence to the possibility that he was capable of some innate magic.
Perhaps fittingly with Gazul participating in the work, it takes on an air of finality and solemnity. There are no more pitched battles of true import, for without Hogrimm supplanting their will the Cloven Ones fall to their old ways, while the Daemons find themselves fighting each other just as much as they do your own forces. The only real point of resistance that materialized was the Beastlord and his Brayherd, and in the face of an Ancestor he did not live long once found.
No grand battles await you, no more titanic struggles, and for many, even Dwalin, it is a welcome reprieve given what has occurred.
At least until you reach the residential district and the Throng finds itself face to face with fortified Clanhalls and the dark knowledge of what's to come.
The eldest among you recall the oldest stories, of the dark days of Inter Clan warfare in the time before the Ancestors. None alive save the Ancestors themselves were even born during that time, let alone experienced it. The closest would be those from Uzkulak and Valka's own forces. The…
...the work done in those days is one you will take to your grave forever. If the easterners suffered a situation even a fraction as terrible as what occurred in those halls…
Well, It is perhaps the only time you are truly glad a part of your people's past was consigned to the dust of bygone ages.
With all of that darkness seen to, the Throng goes through the arduous task of fulfilling Igna's oath. Under the exacting gaze of Gazul, every last structure, wall and brick of the fallen Karak is destroyed or ground to dust. A process made far easier with liberal use of Zharrgal to collapse entire galleries by destabilizing the surrounding stone with a few well-placed gouts of motel rock. Though the majority of the work still comprised Dwarfs working over their frustrations and traumas upon the unfeeling stone. Here too your Hearth Guard distinguish themselves, the advice and presence of their elders doing much to alleviate the condition many of the beardlings suffer. In the end, the site of the Karak is reduced to a heavily scarred mountain. A massive monument erected at the site of its once-entrance covered in the names of the fallen and warnings to leave this place forevermore, a simple message written beneath.
For the fallen, rest.
For the living, retribution.
Perhaps the only bit of wholly happy news during these times was the recovery of the two other expeditions, led back to the Karak by Gazul on his journey north. Their added number raising the total populace of untainted Dum born Dawi by a third.
━<><><>< 222 A.P. ><><><>━
The command tent is full once more, though there is certainly an air of formality beyond even what was already there before. Though the presence of an Ancestor would do that to most any other situation admittedly. The last meeting at the now fully cleansed Dum to hammer out the last details about the situation.
For one thing, just how the situation regarding the Frurndar would be dealt with.
There are no longer any Dawi in the Throng who do not know the truth in some capacity, especially after the clearing of the residential district, and that in itself is another point to consider. Many argue that such shame be struck out, forgotten, and lost. Others counter by pointing out that the Throng nearly cracked under the psychological pressure of having to face their traitorous kin, and that by hiding such knowledge unnecessarily would harm them in the long run. With neither side proving able to budge the other to their way of thinking, it seemed likely that opinions would have remained split.
Had Gazul not intervened.
"The news will spread one way or another. I will not force you to hold your tongue of what happened, only remind you to truly consider the fortitude and worthiness of those you wish to speak to. The shame is not yours to bear regardless," he lectures.
And his words are enough.
The last topic, however, is one of more immediate concern for many involved, regarding the fate of the surviving Dawi of Dum. While Valka has made it abundantly clear that her people will not resettle the mountain, not that they even can anymore, the question of just where they will go is still up in the air.
The settling of a future Karak, for Valka has proven herself a fine Queen and no royalty rules anything less, is one that requires a great deal of planning and decision making. A task that, obviously, ought to not be rushed. Many Clan heads offer to lend their support in petitioning their Holds to provide temporary lodging, Gimli included, while many more offer a more permanent place for them among their populace. You let them bicker all they wish about where exactly the new Hold will be because such things are not your true concern. However you are a Dwarf of not so inconsiderable means if you do say so yourself, and are in a position to provide a different sort of aid, the question becomes just how you'll go about providing it. Monetary support, equipment, political backing if you were forced, perhaps even having your Hearthwardens aid them until they back on their feet.
Bah.
Ultimately you decide to commit-
[ ] Aid: All that you are able to.
A large commitment of material and time towards helping the Dawi of Dum recover. [Cost:1 action and 1 retainer action] Locked in for 8 turns. Take on [Simple] Hold Founding:[Cost: 6 actions].
[ ] Aid: Some of what you're capable of.
You cannot devote everything, but you can devote some or much of what resources you do have available to you. Pick as many as you want.
- [ ] Hearth Guard aid. [Cost: 1 retainer action] Locked in for 8 turns.
- [ ] Material support. take on [Simple] Hold Founding: [Cost: 6 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc.
- [ ] Political support. [Cost: 1 action] Locked in for 8 turns.
━<><><><==><><><>━
Karag Dum cleansed! Hogrimm Ironhand, Hogrur the Beastlord, and nameless Bloodthirster of Khorne Slain! The first slain by you, the third with the help of the mammoth, and the second at the hand of Gazul Himself. Grudges for the former two avenged.
Khazalid Trivia:
Gazul Bar Baraz; Gazul Gand Baraz - Invocation of Gazul, Lord of the Underearth. Literally "A bond to Gazul's Gate; Gazul help them find the gate."
Kvinn a Klad - literally "Lady of Armour"
Rik a Flegi - literally "Lord of Banners"/Bannerlord
- New contact, Gemlin Steeleyes, Old Lord of the Desolate Peak: +5 standing, new totals: Standing 0
- 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.
- Epic Deed, The Gatebreaker: Over the course of only a few hours you not only broke open the gates of the Fallen Hold Karag Dum's outer defenses with only your will, armour and the hammer in your hand, but you also singlehandedly slew more Beastmen and daemons than anyone else. Barunbakazi, the Gatebreaker, some call you, for nothing stands in the way of your vengeance.
- Eternal Grudge,Hashut: For the corruption of innocent Dawi, the tainting of so many innocent lives, the desecration of our traditions, the assault of an Ancestor's person and-and RAAAAARGH! UNBAK. UZKUL. DRENG! DRENG! DRENG!
- ??? from Gazul. To be decided.
- Trinket from Gazul. A pendant of blackened steel. A shovel, sword and pick crossed, the Rune of the Ancestor marked upon the intersection of all three.
- +4 [Structural] Magma Wyrm Bone: All that remains of the Magma wyrm used in Hogrimm's ritual. The rest used for things of truly foul purpose, now little more than dust.
- +5 Wardstones: Runic items carried by the survivors of Dum to shield them from prying eyes. Inscribed with the Rune that allowed them to serve their purpose as well as a Rune to preserve them for as long as possible. [Rune of ???, Rune of Preservation]
- +1 Standing with Conservative and Radical Runesmiths, new totals: Standing 8
- +1 Standing with Valma Stoneshaper, new total: Standing 7
-- Standing Bonus received! Standing 6, : Chance for actions understanding/researching Master Rune/Rune of Waking to proc extra progress
- +1 Standing with Dwalin Thunderlung, new total: Standing 8
-- Standing Bonus received! Standing 6, Battlepoet: Chance for actions understanding Banner Runes to proc extra progress
-- Standing 8, Rik a Flegi: Higher Chance for actions understanding Banner Runes to proc greater amount of progress
- +2 Standing with Igna Metalheart, new total: Standing 8
-- Standing Bonus received! Standing 6, Metalheart: Chance for actions understanding Armour Runes to proc extra progress
-- Standing 8, Kladkvinn: Higher Chance for actions understanding Armour Runes to proc greater amount of progress
- +10 Standing, with the Cult of Gazul, new totals: Standing 5, Favours 0
-- Standing Bonus received! Standing 5, Watchers in the Dark: Order of Watchers and Guardians added to recruitment pool
- Other Standing stuff to be added after I reformat the page >_>
- Legendary Deed, Grimunbakazi a Dum (Unyielding Breaker of Darkness):Down, down, down into the depths of fallen Dum did the Gift Giver walk. He feared not what lurked within, for he carried cleansing fire and silver light, whose heat and luminance burned away the cold dark and brought salvation and vengeance to those trapped within.
Traits Gained/Upgraded:
- Winds Denied: All Enemy Spells will suffer -35 automatically if Snorri takes the field.
Retainer Stats and Reputation:
- + Morale, new total: Supreme+ Morale
- Reputation and Trait, Steadfast Guardians: Under my watch no ill will go untreated, no sorrow will go unsoothed, and no foe shall harm my charge. Provides morale bonus to nearby units.The Hearth Guard gain +Defence and Endurance when defending other Dawi.
- Deed, Pillars in the Dark: For a people who have rarely seen an Dwarf over three hundred, the sight and sound of so many unshakeable fonts of wisdom and confidence instilled hope and surety where there was once anxiety and apprehension.
Rune Trade coming after this and before the turn.
There will be a two-hour moratorium for discussion.
AN: Phew! That's Karag Dum completed. I hope you enjoyed it, and hopefully we get to go back to regular turns soon enough. Just have the Trade with Valma to do before we go back to arguing over rolls and stuff. Thanks for waiting, reading and participating in this quest, and as always don't forget to C&C. :^)
Snorri has 5/5 wounds
Snorri regens 1 wound every 2 rounds, every round deal 1 damage to equipment regardless
Prophet has 6/6 wounds, 4 pieces of equipment 1/1 gives +5, 2/2 gives +10, 3/3, and 3/3 durability both give +15
Prophet rolls to regen 2-3 wounds every round DC 40
Bloodthirster has 8 -1[Failed Ritual] -1[Decades of Draining] =6/8 wounds, 4 pieces of equipment 2/2 gives +10, 3/3, 3/3, and 3/3 all give +15
Angkor has 9/9 wounds
(Roll, a Desperate Gamble: 41,51,55 +30 =71,81,85, DC 90)
(Roll, Madness: 94)
(Roll, Empowerment 1d50: 29 +60[Power Runoff] -35[Winds Denied] =54. DC 50,60,70)
Avatar of Hashut failed to be created. Bloodthirster dealt 1 wound, Hogrimm negates personal backlash and gains +10
New total: 120 +10[Empowered by a Fell God] =130 or 80| or 30||
Round 1
35|| vs. 39|| W
66|| vs. 40|| L
45|| vs. 50|| W
52|| vs. 25|| L
Tie. Hogrim gains -5 Malus, New Totals: +130 -5 =125 or 75| or 25||
Round 2
38|| vs. 35|| L
27|| vs. 45|| W
75|| vs. 44|| Crit L
34|| vs. 39|| W
Loss. Snorri takes 1 wound, New Total: 4/5. Hogrimm 1/2 to equipment loss.
Round 3
30|| vs. 64|| W
48|| vs. 41|| L
40|| vs. 46|| W
55|| vs. 47|| L
Tie. Hogrimm gains -10 Malus, New Totals: +125 -10 =115 or 65| or 15||
Round 4
24|| vs. 24|| T
31|| vs. 34|| W
26|| vs. 28|| W
60|| vs. 47|| L
Slight Win. Snorri regains 1 wound, New Total: 5/5. Hogrimm 1/3 to equipment loss.
Round 5
31|| vs. 64|| W
57|| vs. 26|| L
29|| vs. 65|| W
37|| vs. 47|| W
Win. Hogrimm takes 1 wound, New Total: 5/6. Hogrimm 2/3 to equipment loss.
Magic Round 5
24,25,50,19
Round 6
33|| vs. 66|| W
51|| vs. 46|| L
50|| vs. 60|| W
35|| vs. 68|| W
Win. Hogrimm takes 1 wound, New Total: 4/6. Hogrimm gains -15 Malus, New Totals: +115 -15 =100 or 50| or 0||
Magic Round 6
39,25,12,22 no healing.
(Roll, Empowerment: 26 +50[Power Runoff] -35[Winds Denied] =41, DC 50,60)
Round 7
39|| vs. 49|| W
12|| vs. 30|| W
07|| vs. 38|| W
44|| vs. 62|| W
Win. Hogrimm takes 1 wound, New Total: 3/6. Hogrimm 1/3 to equipment loss.
Magic Round 7
10,6,42,47 no healing.
"HOW MANY TIMES MUST I TELL YOU THERE IS NO MAGIC WITHOUT MY SAY SO BEARDLING?
Empowerment + Bonus =36.
Round 8
16|| vs. 56|| W
36|| vs. 65|| W
03|| vs. 28|| W
11|| vs. 44|| W
Win. Hogrimm takes 1 wound, New Total: 2/6. Hogrimm 2/3 to equipment loss.
Round 9
23|| vs. 52|| W
01|| vs. 32|| W
21|| vs. 30|| W
43|| vs. 58|| W
Win. Hogrimm takes 1 wound, New Total: 1/6. Hogrimm gains -15 Malus, New Totals: +100 -15 =85 or 35|
Round 10
46| vs. 89| W
84| vs. 94| W
71| vs. 90| W
48| vs. 102| W
He's dead.
Meanwhile!
Angkor V Blood Thirster Round Summary
L, T, T, T , W, W, T, W, T, W
Angkor 8/9, Bloodthirster 2/8
Snorri comes charging in like a madman!
Grievously Wounded Bloodthirster of Khorne +130 +X[Bonuses] -Y[Ancestral Aura] -Y[Malluses] =105 or 55| or 5||
Snorri +70 +10 [Chaos] +15 [Beastmen Grudge(Conditional)] =95 or 45| or -5|| | Runes =45
2 Dice rolls are auto suxx due to Angkor.
Round 1
49|| vs. -04|| Crit L
34|| vs. 08|| L
Snorri takes 1 wound, New Total: 4/5. Bloodthirster 1/2 to equipment loss.
1/3
Round 2
53|| vs. 22|| L
21|| vs. 15|| L
Tie. Bloodthirster gains -10 Malus, New Totals: +105 -10 =95 or 45|
2/3
Round 3
88| vs. 91| W
82| vs. 62| L
Win. Snorri regains 1 wound, New Total: 5/5. Bloodthirster takes 1 wound, New Total: 1/8. Bloodthirster 1/3 to equipment loss.
3/3, Bloodthister not killed before 3 turns = Minor bonus denied. So you just get 100% instead of 110% as a metaphor.
Round 4
75| vs. 54| L
83| vs. 57| L
Tie. Bloodthirster 2/3 to equipment loss.
Round 5
80| vs. 95| Crit W
90| vs. 93| W
Uber Win.
Snazz Points burned for Bonus reroll chance.
(Roll, A Chance, a Snazz: 17, DC 78)
Oeuf
Throng vs Beastmen + Chaos Dorf Summary:
Rounds: L, W(Gazul arrives), W, W, W
Evacuation Rolls: W, L, L, W, W
Wow.... just wow. The battle the imagery the struggle on multiple fronts. And Gazul coming in to cleanse Hashut. Still going to need to fix getting thrown around.
Also for Gaz rune:
[ ] Zharrvengryn: Ties
This to me screams bonds, and if so is in fitting with the type of runelord we are and what we are doing with the hearthguard.
[ ] Aid: All that you are able to.
A large commitment of material and time towards helping the Dawi of Dum recover. [Cost:1 action and 1 retainer action] Locked in for 8 turns. Take on [Simple] Hold Founding:[Cost: 6 actions].
My poor research but hold founding we get productivity so we can get that done quickly. And they deserve a good home. Also no grabbing apprentices since we will already have an action locked for 8 turns.
Edit-
Also the standing reworks, oh my I like what we get for high standing with other runelords. I am curious what Snorri would give from high standing.
And right now 5 and 8 are cutoff points with another tier likely at 10.
This was amazing! Snorri just *tore* him apart bit by bit...and the others kicked ass too! Valka and Igna finally getting closure and Vengeance for what happened to their people.
Not surprised that the Karak Dum Dawi dont' want to stick around there, and while we couldn't reduce the mountain to rubble, at least the forces of chaos will have to essentially do all the work all over again in order to get a fortress out of it, and they are hardly the types to do so.
So close to getting extra gribblies for being fast enough for Gazul but we still getting so much shiny!
Also we helped the Mammoth...by being a landing pad! Friggin Snorri, if it werent' for BA I think the Yeeting of the Mammoth Ancestor God would have killed him.
Your odd mammoth companion, now freed of his bondage and vengeance sated, disappeared into the wastes. Staying only long enough to stare at the Ancestor before being swallowed up in a flurry of snow so thick that not even the Brana could see through it. Any attempts to find him by your avian allies proving equally fruitless, lending credence to the possibility that he was capable of some innate magic.
[ ] Aid: All that you are able to.
A large commitment of material and time towards helping the Dawi of Dum recover. [Cost:1 action and 1 retainer action] Locked in for 8 turns. Take on [Simple] Hold Founding:[Cost: 6 actions].
We are Santa Dwarf...this is what we *do*.
[ ] Zharrvengryn: Ties
Ohohohohohoho, things we could do with this and Deep Magic...YESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYES
. And rope in our daughter again 
