Winning Vote: said:
[X] Khazid: Accept
[X] Fire Keeper: Ylva Hearth Hands
[X] Plan Chain and A Daughter's Hand
-[X] Render Aid: [Cost: 1 retainer action] Can be taken multiple times. Roll for usefulness, additional actions apply bonus to roll. Gain reputation and +2 bonus per action to Recruitment Dice. You formed these Hearthguard to combat all the ills that befall the dwarfen people. Send them out, render aid, earn goodwill and spread the word of your retainers and their stated mission beyond the borders of Kraka Drakk.
--[X] Eagle-Eyed: Gain 40 Favour +? with Kraka Ornsmotek. There is now a consistent presence of tunnel gnubblers within the mines of Ornsmotek. 1 Retainer Action.
-[X] Dronril, Dronwut: [Cost 6 actions] Journeyman of the Odd and Soul of the Earth will proc.
--[X] Craftsdwarf Expertise: [Cost: 15 Favour from Kraka Drakk] Gain 1 progress. Can be taken 4 times and without actions. Ask the Masters, and set them loose on what parts of the work they can. Take 4 times.
-[X] The Rune Metal Pt. 1b: [Cost: (8 -2) =6 actions] Journeyman of the Odd and Soul of the Earth will proc. 3 Actions.
--[X] Brotherhood Expertise: [Cost 10 favour from Brotherhood of Dron] Gain 1 progress. Can be taken multiple times and without actions. Call upon the expertise of the Brotherhood to aid in your research. Spend 50 Brotherhood Favor.
-[X] [Difficult] A Princely Wedding Gift Pt.1:
--[X] Accept
-[X] [Difficult] Triage Pt. 1: A Princess's Strong Arm and Stout Legs. A terrible business that must be ended and made right to the best of your abilities. Give Orra arms and legs of Adamant, with Hearthstones socketed into her shoulder and shins and bands of Pure Gromril engraved with her lineage.
--[X] Choose: On the arm the Master Rune of Waking, Rune of Stone and Rune of Forged Limb. On the legs, each bears a Rune of Forged Limb. The left leg also bears a Rune of Fortitude and a Rune of Vitality. The right also bears a Rune of the Valiant and Rune of Warding. Every rune associated with Valaya is engraved on a Hearthstone. You'll come back for her eye later. 1 Action.
--[X] Accept
-[X] Order: T4 Troll Heart.
--[X] Kingly Expedite: Spend enough Kraka Drakk favor to get it by end of turn 34.
━<><><>< 244 A.P. ><><><>━
An innocuous package arrives at your door in the spring, one of the many parcels and letters you receive and send regularly. It is processed with due diligence, of course, you're not some animal who leaves packages just lying about your place of residence to gather dust after all, but you don't really take note of the contents either. A Combination of the amount of work you've taken on and the sheer volume of material that leaves and enters your workshop means it is simply labelled and put on a shelf for half a month based on the received date carefully marked on its wrapping. It is only after you finish the preparations to head south to Ungor to visit princess Orra, get permission from King Otrek to have the land around your workshop opened up for settlement, coordinate with both Rudil and Ylva over Hearth Guard movement, and go through the earlier mail you received that you finally take the time to really
look at the package properly.
Carefully unfolding the packaging reveals a large book. The tome itself is particularly large, and bound in tasteful red leather. You are fairly certain what the package will be based on the sender's identity alone, but the title,
Aqshy: an Artform, by Olorion Whiteflame of the Kingdom of Eyatayne/Eataine as translated by Valma Stoneshaper
, certainly helps.
Well, it'll be good reading material as you trundle south at least.
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"You think we ought to have a stable set up for all the goats?" Skalgrim rumbles as the wagon moves along the road connecting the workshop to the overland road connecting the Karak to the valley entrance.
"Warehouse for the wagons as well, aye," Yngvar agrees.
"Got a cousin who I can recommend for the Stonework needed," Alrik chimes in from where he was sitting, mug in hand.
"Gunnar?" Thargrim mutters, drawing a nod in response, "Surprised he isn't busy with work over at Grom."
"Oh he was, but that's done and he can't really get started until the main hall is excavated. And
that's under overall Guild supervision and control, so he's got two to three decades free to pursue his own work before he gets put back in by his reckoning."
"Mmm, might commission their services myself if you could earmark me. Kemma was packing up everything the second we got the okay it feels like. Might as well get in early and get a spot closeby," Yngvar rumbles, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.
"You want to live
above ground?" Skalgrim asks.
"I want to live
nearby, more for Kemma's sake but I wouldn't mind a quicker commute either. Sides, there's a hill I've been eyeing for a while now; solid Granite under a paltry two feet of soil, and right in the middle of the residential district Lord Snorri zoned out. I can see it now, clear off the muck, a bit of hewing and I can make a fine home out of it. Not a mountain of course, but what can you do?" he responds with a scoff.
"No tavern though," Alrik comments.
"Course we're moving
after a tavern is set up. You take my wife and I for fools?"
They all nod or grunt in understanding.
A tavern was a given, and likely the first thing that would get built. After all, no dwarf would go without a source of good drink within a fifteen-minute walk if they could help it.
As was proper.
━<><><>< 245 A.P. ><><><>━
Your ride south is uneventful, and for that you're thankful. Because it lets you devote most of your attention to the book from Valma while your retainers take shifts to drive the cart.
Aqshy, the Lore of Brightness the author claims, the Wind of Fire, Passion and Emotion in general. Known to you and the Brana as the Ruby Wind, for the latter saw it as scintillating crimson and red in the hearts and minds of all living things.
Ghyran is attracted to and propagates life, but Aqshy is drawn to that which makes it worth living, or so the author claims.
You must admit the overall tone and cadence of the book is curious. More suited to the library of a particularly fanciful skald than an instructional text, but it's still readable. Many of the references made about the mages of the neighbouring kingdom, one named Curunuir especially so, go right over your head, but you didn't get this old without being able to parse what appears to be a very heavily veiled diatribe against colleagues the author thought were spouting nonsense. Or at least that's what Valma's translation lends itself to being read as.
For all your differences, there are also similarities you suppose.
But as mildly amusing as the academic equivalent to a bar brawl was to read, you were reading this for a slightly more important purpose.
Aqshy, as previously stated, was supposedly tied to not only the idea and concept of fire, warmth and heat in general but emotion as well. Bravery, brashness, and passion, be it the heights of rage or the most exuberant of joys;
Aqshy followed where emotions went and especially so when they burned as brightly as the fires it allowed one to control and conjure.
Once again much of the actual spell theory is useless to you save for help in the disruption of enemy casters. However, you note that Olorion seems to make great pains to highlight the more esoteric or little known spells of bright magic.
We are not conjurers of cheap tricks nor dazzling fireballs alone! Ours is the wind of passion and excitement, of emotion, of the warmth of life itself! Aqshy flows in the hearts of the bravest of us, the most impassioned, and the most inspired. Those who are exemplars of all the highest of virtues. From there to the comfort of kindled flame in winter chill to the joyous rapture at the sight of breathtaking vistas, that is where Aqshy thrives!
Yet you cannot help but notice there are more spells about conjuring or casting great torrents and balls of magical fire than there are spells around invigorating the hearts of allies or rousing the ire of one's foes. And what few exist tend to show a lack of effect compared to the more combat-oriented applications. By Stone and Steel, the author even speaks about the benefits of mastering a healing spell literally named
Sear Wounds!
It's clear that
Aqshy is more a Wind for combat, or has far more development in that area than anything else, and yet…
...you are far more intrigued by the latter than the former. For all that you rightfully question this Olorion's beliefs, you must admit the more esoteric
Aqshy spells are curious. There is, despite your disbelief, a current of logic beneath it. It is stoking the flames of one's emotions, even transforming that abstract into a literal flame to burn your enemies in some cases. It shows, at the very least, that the Wind is capable of other uses. A part of you wonders just how much of this
Aqshy is manipulated in say, a Rune of the Valiant, or a Rune of Courage or Stoicism for instance.
Of course, you also couldn't forget the Hearthstones, and how they fit into all of this. The Brana spoke of it
dulling the bite of the Ruby Wind, making it a pleasant wonder to behold and tamper with. Another property of magic, one that you had learned from the tome on
Chamon and also confirmed here.
Magic now permeated all things with the breaking of the so-called Polar Gates. It flowed out in great torrents and inundated material existence, changing it, sometimes even irrevocably, but so too was the magic changed in turn.
It makes you wonder what it is about the Hearthstones that caused such a thing, whether it was a fluke of chance or some aspect of their original existence that made them what they were now. It also made you wonder, once more, about what sort of uses such a phenomenon could bring if it could be harnessed through the use of Runecraft into something safe, stable, and consistent.
You aren't blind to the description of a spell named
Purge and how eerily similar it is to the theory you and the Brotherhood came up with for your own Master Rune.
Thoughts for later you suppose, right now you had a princess to meet and limbs to measure for.
━<><><><==><><><>━
King Buradarr's retainers lead you into a single room in Ungor's Temple of Valaya. You pass by Clerics of Valaya and members of the Healers Guild as you are brought deeper and deeper into the temple proper. Eventually, you reach a large, intricately decorated, and Rune inscribed metal door guarded by two very old, and therefore very deadly, Royal Retainers who simply grunt before one of them opens it for you.
Immediately you see a form lying still on a bed, the sheet covering her body highlighting the absence of two bulges where her legs ought to be. You walk in and the Guards close the door behind you, leaving you and the occupant alone with only the crackle of the hearth and the scent of poultices and healing brews to accompany you.
Quietly, gingerly, you walk over and take a look at Princess Orra.
It is not a pretty sight, despite the best efforts of the priestesses. Under the blanket, the stumps of her legs terminate at different lengths, while her missing arm simply ends at the shoulder.
"Removing the burned skin, I am told, was the worst part. I had to be unconscious for it after I kept screaming the first few times," the Princess comments, voice nonchalant.
"Princess Orra," you greet gently, staring at the young woman's otherwise placid features, noting how half her face is marred by a scar that reaches up into her scalp and down to her chin.
"Lord Snorri," she replies, "Are you here to take measurements for my...replacements?"
You nod, "Aye I am, though there isn't much I can do for the eye just yet I'm afraid."
"You have my most sincere thanks regardless," she says, mustering up some semblance of emotion beyond what you imagine she usually manages.
"Let's start with the arm then," you begin, gesturing to the shoulder in question.
The Princess merely grunts an affirmative.
━<><><><==><><><>━
"We find, given the evidence provided by the defence, and the lack thereof among the accusers, that young Rorrisson is innocent and that the claims made against him by Lord Gurnisson unfounded in their
totality. Lord Gurnisson, your debt is the sum of eighty-five thousand gold pieces, seventy-five silvers and thirteen coppers, the sum total of both young Rorrisson's lost business as well as restitution for the damage caused to his Honour by
your Claims. We the Reckoners have spoken, what say you?" the lead Dwarf asks, smacking his gavel for emphasis.
"I accept the reckoning given," the young engineer announces, voice loud and features not showing even a hint of weakness or relief.
It takes a great deal longer for Grim to respond, Warrior's pride defiant even in the face of defeat, but the other Drakebeard claimant does eventually relent in the face of his peers and elders.
After all, when a grandson of Grungni Himself tells you your reckoning is incorrect in such meticulous and lurid detail, there is little to do but swallow and nod.
All while Kadrin must suffer yet another decade without a King.
━<><><><==><><><>━
"Left leg terminates just above the knee, ball socket would be too loose for my liking, no it's probably best if we mimic the joint structure. Do you have any preferences?" you mutter as you poke and prod at the stump in question.
When Orra doesn't reply you look up from her leg and realize she's staring at the amulet in her hand, utterly unaware of the world.
"Youngster," you grumble, drawing her attention, "any aesthetic preferences for the leg?"
"Plain, or at the very least Spartan, I think," she mutters, "I don't think anyone will be staring at my bare legs anymore."
You grunt, and commit it to memory.
Time for the other leg.
━<><><><==><><><>━
Ravnsvake is a Hold built into the hills and mountains along a particular stretch of river that feeds into Varn Wyrren. The Hold itself is unusual for how much of it is outside of the mountain proper. The oldest segments of the outside portion of Ravnsvake are built close to the mountain itself; jutting out of the nearby hills and cliffs like mountains in miniature. Meanwhile, the newer construction stretches out, reaching towards the lakefront proper. All of it is ensconced in several layers of imposing defensive curtain walls that tower over the landscape. The dark pastel blues of the Okrinaduraz stonework contrasted by the bright silver and gold decorations create a stark and beautiful aesthetic. The only ways into the Hold are through the eastern gate that faces the only navigable overland road to the valley itself while the southern gate faces the lakefront where the newest buildings, only decades old, and active construction are.
Despite the amount of traffic it receives, there are very few actual homes here. Indeed, many of the buildings here are simple warehouses and inns, places made to store goods and lodgings for their owners. Among the hustle and bustle of all this new construction, one structure, in particular, stands out amongst it all. Made only two years ago, a large building of fine grey marble richly decorated with silver and sapphires and constructed in an altogether different but fadingly familiar aesthetic to the rest of the structures around it stands out like a sore thumb. Atop its largest spire and hanging from the arches are large banners that bear the image of a stylized swordfish fluttering proudly in the breeze.
Gimli cannot decide what to make of this embassy of House Hadrinloth.
"Lord Dawnseeker's nephew stays here to act as his Thane and Herald, and it is usually through him that our Clans interact most times. While he makes frequent visits, as Lord of his own lands he cannot be present at all times of course. Did you know his room is on the uppermost floor of the embassy?" Ladra explains as she leads him around this section of the town. The guards around them keep bustling merchants from bumping into the two of them.
"I see," Gimli mutters, looking up at the spire at the building's center and wondering why anyone would want to live
inside something that far up in the air. Watchtowers? Sensible, and, aye, the Aeries and some of the uppermost levels of the Karak were technically higher up than this, but they were surrounded by kilometres of stone. Completely different in his opinion.
"Do you want to see the docks? They're always good for drawing a laugh whenever someone who's new visits, or so I'm told," she adds cheekily.
"Really?" he asks, tone curious, "I suppose the concept itself is odd, and from what I could see uphill these
Barks as you call them are also quite odd, but are they really that surprising?"
"Nai, you're correct, but you've forgotten that the docks are usually where you can find the Elgi traders and folk who've seen only Dwarfs their whole life always get a bit odd staring at them. Its common enough that the guards are used to moving them aside so they don't clog up the traffic even," Ladra says.
"Ah, like being
Branastruck," Gimli replies, catching on.
"
Branastruck?" she asks.
"Whenever folk visit Kraka Drakk for the first time they always end up gawking at the Brana and then they look at us like we're mad for letting what is, admittedly, an apex predator live alongside us. Doesn't happen among those who live here that often, but traders from the southern Holds? If what you're describing is
anything like that, aye I can see how it'd be hilarious yes."
Ladra blinks before her brows scrunch up and she puts a finger to her lips. He watches her pout as if she's just been caught before another smile replaces it.
"I suppose you're right Gimli son of Gloin. Still, would you like to see if you'll end up being all
Elgistruck yourself?"
He rubs his beard, stares at Ladra's twinkling eyes and serene smile, and decides that if it would make her happy he'll risk making a fool of himself.
"Alright, I'm game. Lead the way your highness," he says with a grin of his own.
━<><><><==><><><>━
"You've taken a commission for my nephew?" Orra asks, as you prod and poke at the stump of her right leg.
"Aye, the King of Ravnsvake wanted something Gimli can use even after the lad's taken up the Kingship. Would you rather cotton or fleece for the padding?" you ask while you measure the stump's diameter.
"Cotton," she replies, "Never was fond of silk or anything too soft."
You grunt and for a good long while neither of you says anything else as you finish some of the last few measurements.
"Is it always like this elder?" Orra asks suddenly, "To go about and act normally even in the face of such loss? My husband is dead, I'm crippled and here we are discussing Gimli's wedding gift as if I'm having my yearly check-up with the Healers Guild and not getting fitted for entirely new limbs."
You stop what you're doing and instead take a measure of the woman in front of you. Her hair is bound loosely into one braid that falls haphazardly around her, while her single working eye stares at you with an all too familiar emotion evident in her gaze. Your eyes stare back but your mind is reliving a set of memories you've not recalled in a good long while.
Dark days, both literally and metaphorically. Your craft, your relationships, it all suffered after she died and you could care not a lick. What point was there? The light of your life was gone, the plans you had made, the dreams, dashed against the stones by an uncaring or outright malicious world.
Jumping from the deepest bouts of depression to an aching hollowness that refused to be filled no matter how hard you tried or the heights of a rage that you've rarely reached since.
A part of you considers that you clawed yourself out of that hole more for the sake of her memory than for yourself.
"At the beginning it is," you say softly, looking away from Orra at some point beyond the horizon before you continue.
"It will be an act, a deception, both for yourself and to others, if only to make them stop fretting over you."
Your brother's forlorn face, your mother's concerned gaze, your master's stoic gaze.
"Time will pass but the ache does not lessen, and you will fear the day it ever does, but it will become a smaller part of yourself as life goes on. A great wound for the sapling is but a scar on the tree so to speak."
The nightmares, the rage and the tears do not come as often as they did before.
"You will find other things to take your mind away from the darkness. Be reminded of those who remain and that you have a duty to them as well."
More work to be done, apprentices to teach, duties to fulfill, birthdays to attend, Kumenouts to attend, festivals to celebrate, friends to see.
"There will be days you will falter, but you must push on. If not for yourself, then for the sake of their memory and those left who still rely on you. And you will continue to do that, over and over, until you can find it in yourself to care again, until the ache is only something that comes when you wish it to. You can never forget, nor would you wish to, but it will hopefully become a source of strength rather than a yoke that weighs down at you," you finish, staring at her fully.
The princess meets your gaze for a moment before she looks down at the amulet still pulsing warmly in her hand.
"Only Zaki expect you to be
healed, though that foolishly implies the damage can be
removed, quickly your Highness. It will be long and arduous, but that's the case for anything worth doing," you add, getting up and dusting off your pants with one arm as you tuck away your notes with the other,
"The same can be said for a fool's errand, can't it? What difference is there between following a vain hope and what you just described," she mutters, more to herself than you.
You stare down at her, not an ounce of judgement in your gaze or voice when you reply.
"The difference is that there's a reward at the end of this particular journey. Even if it may take us a lifetime to realize what that reward is."
You shut the door behind you as you go, leaving Orra to her thoughts.
━<><><><==><><><>━
Rudil enters Queen Valka's temporary office within the hall. Solid stone walls surround the fortress that serves as the administrative center for all of the construction going on in the mountain proper. Though one wouldn't notice, as any sound that escaped the open gate did not get through to those within given how thick the walls were.
"Grimvala," he says with a nod as he takes his seat across from her, "Something on your mind?"
"Lord Rudil," she greets, "Before we get to the monthly report I feel it necessary to inform you of an active situation between several Elder Goldsmiths from Ornsmotek and one of your Hearth Guard."
He raises his brow but internally he's already beginning to consider what exactly one of his technical subordinates would have done to get another dwarf grumbling. Each and every member, their personalities, proclivities and quirks are examined in his mind until he narrows it down to a list of likely suspects.
Gold. Goldsmiths. One of his fellow retainers.
It's Enlag.
Because whenever it involved his fellow Hearthwardens and the Goldsmiths, it's almost always Enlag.
"It's Enlag and the
Gold Song isn't it," he asks, pinching his nose.
"Aye, I'm not exactly privy to the details but we have five elder Goldsmiths and one Enlag Burloksson currently tearing through the camp's ale supplies in what is apparently one of the longest consecutive
Gold Songs in the Far North by the reckoning of many elders. Nothing has gone wrong, and last I heard they had even begun singing together, but I fear that we'll have to up the amount of ale we receive for the next few shipments. It's still well within expected tolerances,
right now, but if you could?"
"Aye, aye I can deal with Enlag," he rumbles.
Why he took it upon himself to challenge every Goldsmith he met to the
Gold Song was a source of only mildly annoyed grumbling. Enlag wouldn't have become a Hearthwarden if it was to his detriment, it usually benefited him and by extension the Hearthguard greatly in the long run he would admit…
...but Enlag was certainly one of the largest reasons why their Ale expenses were as high as they were, and that said a lot considering they were all Elders with constitutions and tolerances to match. Only Alrik and Thargrim's pre-Festival drinking contests raked a higher cost per occurrence and they almost always ended up involving everyone!
Bah.
━<><><><==><><><>━
It is good to be home.
Outside your workshop, to no one's surprise, the earliest beginnings of an Inn, and more importantly the tavern within, is the first structure being built. Aside from that, you've been informed that road work will start as soon as the weather permits, as the architects of Kraka Drakk have informed Rudil that the land around your workshop is likely to be a significant source of traffic.
Bah.
Significant they say! A few injured veterans, the Hearth Guard and a couple of messengers here or there does not a significant number make!
You've given Rudil the stipulations to give to the architects, carpenters and masons so they don't muck up your very
carefully tuned and deliberate defensive scheme.
Bah!
To hell with it, you had purposefully divested yourself of this business as much as possible, and you weren't going to go and undo all that effort by getting involved now. Even if the beardlings were going to make poor decisions, so long as your rules were followed you'd be forced to do so. Micromanaging how a Dawi built their home was perhaps the least productive thing you could do with your work time, and not at all fulfilling enough to spend your,
very limited, free time on.
You were going to read some letters, do some research and put this business well out of mind and that was that!
━<><><><==><><><>━
Dronril, Dronwut, two pieces of an altogether curious bit of magical mutation. The notes from the Jewelsmiths and Carpenters Guilds that you requested are illuminating in both their succinctness and content.
The gems that you've come to call Dronril is a misnomer because in actuality it was the tree's hardened, magic-filled, sap. At least according to the testimonies of several Guilds and Brana. Observations showed that the trees seemed to have replaced their need for light and soil with lightning and that the orbs they created were likely ways to shunt off the magic that came part and parcel with the skyborne energy they consumed. The very orbs that had so many Brana and Jewellers in a tizzy was actually a
byproduct of the trees' natural processes, funny how often that was the case.
As for the Dronril itself, they were incredibly deep blue, almost black, "stone" whose form is illuminated internally by what appears to be flashes of lightning and pulses of bright blue light. Probing tests had discovered that the gems actually discharged mist and literal lightning when cracked or broken, much to the chagrin of the poor tester's beard.
Static,
and water damage,
together? Bah! A curse, a curse on whatever whim of fate deigned for such a thing to happen.
But thankfully there were indeed ways to cut them in a manner that prevented them from discharging any to not that much energy or mist, because they were
beautiful when cut properly. The energy flowed in a predictable pattern within each Dronril, and a skilled Jeweller could cut the stone such that the pulses and flashes of energy accented its beauty.
But for all that the Dawi desired it's beauty the Brana who knew of them valued them not only for their beauty but for another reason as well. Because each piece of Dronril was filled to the brim with the Sapphire Wind, and to the secondary sight of the Brana, they were supposedly far more beautiful. On a more practical level, the stones naturally attracted yet more of that same wind, a great boon to their mages and Stormcallers especially.
Of course, the obvious possibility of weaponizing the stones to create a contained burst of electricity and mist without the use of Runes was not ignored, though the Engineers would take a great deal of time to ever report back on that particular avenue of thought. In comparison, the collaborative attempts by the Carpenters, Jewelsmiths and Engineers Guilds to coax the trees into creating larger sap orbs, both to make larger specimens to sell or work with were proving far more fruitful. And if that whole business with the weaponized Dronril worked out then it would also provide bigger payloads for the barags, as testing showed a correlation between a Dronril's size and the amount of energy it stored.
In comparison to the oddities of its byproduct, the wood of the trees that made it was relatively mundane. Relative being the keyword there, as the wood was as hard as granite but only half as dense. A boon lessened by the fact that there were several channels in the wood itself that the sap flowed from, though when cut the wood bled that same sap until the end grain and those same channels took on an appealing blue sheen.
Harvesting the stones was time-intensive, and would remain so until the proper infrastructure was set up, but that was simply a matter of time. There were already plans being made to clear and widen the path when, again, the weather permitted and then only begin tunnelling when they reached
Grungni's Forge proper. No other safe way to reach there without the use of Master Runes ya see.
Much as a solid tunnel the whole way there did any sane dwarf's heart good, the cost efficiency when compared to a solid Dwarf-made road had to be taken into account. The path would be regularly patrolled, watchtowers would be set up, and doubtlessly an inn or two would be built along the route when it got established enough.
So much to do, and it felt as if you had so little time to do it all.
Nonsense of course, nothing worth doing was done
quickly after all!
━<><><><==><><><>━
You weren't worried that your letters would confuse the hell out of your colleagues, actually, you'd be more worried if they
weren't at least puzzled by your request.
Yet they acquiesce and you find yourself with several hundred pages worth of notes about their attempts to create Gromril chain, all showing signs of age and usually ended with disgruntled admittances of defeat. Of them all, Gorra had the most recent, perhaps only a century old, and from the looks of it she usually tried her hand every so often more out of tradition than any belief that she could crack the issue. It was always a poorly kept secret among those in the know that Runelords and Master Smiths were always chomping at the bit to try and recreate that particular bit of mythical artifice if only to prove they could.
Proper chain, while incredibly useful, simply couldn't compare to well-wrought plate armour in your opinion. Both in tandem was of course the best, but in the case of chainmaille required a large number of dwarfs, read apprentices, to make practical. The wire drawing, link forging, pattern making, if done by one dwarf took a great deal of time with even simple steel by virtue of how tedious it was.
Yes, you weren't a fan of making chainmaille, you
could of course and relatively quickly as well, you were a Runelord after all, but you were too meticulous to enter the calm, almost instinctive trance like you do when making toys or cooking every so often. Every rivet, every link, received your fullest attention because your pride as a Craftsman demanded no less.
Bah!
But enough about your complaints about the finagling of maille.
You had notes to go over, and then, Ancestors willing, you'd succeed where so many others had failed, up to and including some of the greatest Runelords you know. All of them, legends and masters beyond your own ability.
Well, you couldn't make diamonds without pressure you suppose.
━<><><><==><><><>━
The winter winds blow harshly, snow and ice pelting the surrounding land and blanketing it in frigid cold as high as a dwarf's shoulder. Within a cave in a hill, the light of a torch burns and struggles to stand out amidst the dark and snow. Inside, the bleating of goats and the roar of flame do not make it past the cave entrance thanks to the din of the blizzard. Meanwhile, a wagon stands quietly and defiantly against the weather, its bulk standing between the outside world and everything in the cave itself, keeping the snow and cold out while helping keep the warmth in. Inside that wagon's Rune insulated walls, the glow and heat of a Hearthstone kept its lone occupant warm and comfortable.
Karstah sips at her tankard thoughtfully, leaning back into the wall of the wagon she looks at the map of the Far North intensely.
Where to? she thinks, eyes roving over the parchment. Dozens of locations where she could go are thought up, considered, and cast away with all the speed and diligence taught to her by her Master. She can find nowhere to
prove her skill, both to her peers and herself.
She wishes to help, to
do as the Gift Giver has and does; aiding communities, raising up the downtrodden, and make herself useful, but where can she go in the Far North that hasn't felt her teacher's presence? She's even hard-pressed to find a single Dwarf who doesn't know at least one person who has something made by him, so prolific is he. No, there are few chances to find what she seeks up here, and she realizes that she'll likely never find it here. In the place her Master has lived in and helped for longer than she's been alive there is no need for a Karstah Khazadsdottir to prove her mettle.
So she must move to somewhere without a Snorri Klausson, and from there prove she can do even a fraction of the same as he.
It will take a bit of effort but then again everything in her life has taken a bit of effort.
Digging through a compartment in her wagon, Karstah eventually pulls out a map of the wider realms and begins trawling her mind for every lesson she's learned at her Master's foot, every scrap of news or overheard conversation during her journey thus far. With a mug in her hand and her ear to the Runes of Warning outside, she starts examining the map in earnest. Making her way down from the North and finalizing her plans.
When day breaks and a path is cleared for her wagon to pass, Karstah begins to head back towards Kraka Drakk, and more importantly, to the Underway Terminal that connects it to the south.
━<><><><==><><><>━
You put down the last page of notes and rub your chin thoughtfully, after months of cross-referencing, collating and doing your own experimentation you believe that the commonalities and most important parts of making Gromril chain are within your grasp.
It's simple when you look at it, heat, strength and something harder than Gromril, at least in theory. Heat high enough to make Gromril malleable is also heat high enough to kill a dwarf not protected by Runes. Lowering the heat meant compensating by increasing the amount of strength one needed to pull the Gromril through the draw plate to levels beyond any average Dwarf. As for the draw plate itself, that would require a material harder than Gromril, capable of maintaining its integrity in levels of heat that would begin deforming said Gromril and tough enough to withstand the forces acted upon it when drawing the Gromril
through said draw plate.
As stated, theoretically simple, practically speaking it was asking for a miracle.
Of course, the mammoth in the room was the fact that you and the Brotherhood
had a material capable of acting a draw plate, as attested by the copious amount of notes seemingly written once each of your colleagues had gotten a hold of the metal for themselves.
But that still left the issue of the heat, and having the prerequisite strength.
The latter could be solved by Runes easily enough, but the issue arose when dealing with the heat. Creating temperatures that hot was the simple part really. The right array of Runes could do that easily enough, but it was the matter of
surviving that heat that made it difficult. Because, for all of Gromril's wonderful properties, it had the issue of becoming unacceptably
brittle when it was made that thin without proper treatment, and that required being worked at a set temperature with as little variation as possible less the resulting links be no better than a particularly hard biscuit. So, it required a continuous level of incredibly high heat. Fine, difficult, but still doable.
But not just any armour could be subjected to levels of heat capable of deforming Gromril, even with the assistance of Runes, you needed a suit of Adamant armour for it to maintain the necessary level of integrity for the period of time required.
So here you are, you have the temperature, the tools, and the armour necessary to make Gromril chain, but now you have to figure out how to survive for long enough periods in a room that had no breathable air, was hot enough deform Gromril, in a suit of structurally sound but also incredibly hot armour, all to forge the thousands of links needed to make a shirt of chainmaille that was arguably less effective than simply forging a far more comparatively simple suit of plate.
Simple.
Childs play really.
It is after that realization that you begin to wonder if Grungni was simply stubborn enough to subject himself to such conditions to make Gromril chainmaille. Then again it was Grungni, and it was far more likely he'd either discovered an easier way to forge the links or was simply capable of surviving that level of heat with comparatively little protection.
Had that been said of any other Dwarf you would have scoffed, but He wasn't any other Dwarf.
He was Grungni.
Patriarch, King, Father, Guardian, and Ruler, the epitome of a people who prided themselves, usually, in their stubbornness, work ethic and craftsmanship.
Foolish, that's what it was. It was foolish to think you'd manage it so eas-
-your head almost snaps as it twists to stare at
Barak Azamar, then once again as you look at
Zharrgal sitting innocuously next to it.
The suit was powerful, as experience had readily shown, would most certainly keep you alive and make you strong enough to potentially pull the Gromril through depending on the temperature. Maybe a draw plate wasn't even necessary with
Zharrgal, the hammer could theoretically ease the burden of making the chain itself. If you had a room with the right wards,
Zharrgal could probably keep the heat at a high enough temperature for your needs. All that was in question was your own ability to keep hammering fast enough to maintain that temperature, but that could be alleviated with the right Runes in the theoretical forge…
...you had some preparations to make.
━<><><>< 247 A.P. ><><><>━
(Roll, Retainer: 99 +25[Bonus] =124)
"Haven't seen one that big in a good century or two," Thamur mutters, kicking the Queen Gnubbler's corpse idly.
"I'll take your word for it," Ylva mutters, staring down at the body.
About half the size of a Dwarf from foot to shoulder and three times as long, the odd mix of naked mole-rat and hedgehog is a terrifying thing with two sets of stone crushing teeth and barbed, toxin-filled, spines. A regular Gnubbler rarely got larger than a dwarf's foot and their venom did little more than inflame flesh and cause some bothersome itching, but the same could not be said for their queens. The comparatively massive females were capable of growing large enough to actually be a threat to the average Dawi; with venom capable of killing depending on the site of injection, and big and strong enough to easily bowl over a miner. If that wasn't enough, Queen Gnubblers could give birth to dozens of creatures in a month depending on the availability of food.
A hassle to deal with even with proper extermination measures, and if left unchecked it only meant an even greater deal of effort to rectify. As the original Queen would only breed and create subordinate daughter Queens, increasing the population until either the food ran out or the daughters killed each other in a vicious power struggle after their mother's death.
The one they were staring at was one such daughter, one of the many
dozens of Queens infesting Ornsmotek's mines alone, and with her death, Ylva could finally cross off every recorded Queen they could find.
That still left several more to find and exterminate by her reckoning. As given the ages of the ones they found, these individuals could not account for the original infestation, and that meant that the original mother was still around somewhere. Lurking in the caverns and tunnels around them.
Thankfully she had Norgrim and the native Monster Wardens he had commandeered to take care of tracking down the Queens for them and Ornsmotek's warriors to slay. Leaving her and the non-ranger members of their group to deal with shoring up the Mines and repairing any damage the creatures may have caused while a new target could be found.
They weren't yet done, but at the current rate of progress she thought it unlikely to last beyond the turn of the decade.
"Well enough wool-gathering, there's wounded to tend to and work to be done," Ylva says, spitting onto the stone before making her way back to the main shaft and their adhoc base camp.
Gnubblers were foul things, vectors for disease and illness not only from their scratches and bites, but from the leavings and mess they left in their wake as well.
By Valaya, she hated Gnubblers.
━<><><><==><><><>━
The chamber has an orange glow to it. The walls, the ceiling, the floor all emanate that same hue, what air exists creates a hazy effect as the temperatures in the room are more akin to the inside of a forge or volcano. You're currently kneeling inside this literal hell room feeling no worse for wear, your armour shining and hammer burning with magical flame as you pound the Gromril into a wire on your knee. Every so often you have to shift about in place because your hammering steadily drives you into the stone. Because even with the assistance of Runes, it has become ever so slightly soft from the sheer heat involved.
But it is working.
It takes days of pulling and steady consistent pressure, but you
are creating Gromril wire. Slowly ever so slowly you've managed to make enough to create half a shirt of fine chainmaille. After making smaller spools of varying diameters for the individual links required and then bringing them out of the room to cool properly you simply walk back in and start on another bar. It is a delicate process to make sure the wire doesn't meld with itself as you spool it around the rods you created, which themselves were always under threat of melting if not properly cooled as well.
You're thankful that after this business is concluded and you have enough wire you can actually make the shirt at your anvil
outside of this accursed orange room. Though you feel no ill effects from prolonged, the sensation of not breathing is not exactly a pleasant one in your opinion.
In between wire pulling sessions you aren't idle either. Always thinking of ways to streamline the process as your mouth guzzles ale and chews on troll jerky. Gorra had attempted to make a drawplate that would heat the Gromril as it was pulled through, which was sensible, but she couldn't finagle a way to wrap the wire round a spool while still under the right temperatures. Making a dedicated specialist setup was madness, the cost in Adamant alone made it downright untenable for anything more than perhaps a dozen individuals. You doubt there'd be a way to remove Adamant from the equation completely, but you could certainly lower the costs.
One might ask why you were thinking about such things when you had found a workable solution, one that for all its awkwardness was actually rather simple for you to manage.
Because, you hypothetical fool of a beardling, it felt
wrong to leave it here.
By virtue of two items whose effects synergized just
right, you managed to do what Grungni has done. And by virtue of doing it yourself, most certainly believe a scant few others
must have done as well, but never revealed for the same reasons you won't, at least right now.
Because it is...wrong, distasteful to do so. Because it goes against the spirit of the challenge.
Like saying "look at me, I, by virtue of these very extenuating circumstances, have managed to, very awkwardly and haphazardly, create the work of the Ancestors themselves!"
Which some would believe that as a Runesmith you would be accustomed to, and admittedly you could see why, but this felt too far gone. Your pride and your desires demand you continue, that you find a more universal solution. Something any Runesmith could do at the very least, mayhaps even the Metalsmiths Guild could do with some properly Runed equipment.
Though that latter part will most certainly be incredibly difficult, and you wouldn't feel comfortable sharing that capability without at least doing the former.
Because a part of you feels that making the chain itself wasn't Grungni's challenge, if he even challenged you in the first place, but rather finding a way to make available to more than a very select few Dawi.
Or maybe Grungni hadn't actually challenged you, and this was another case of you having incredibly high standards beyond what most Dawi expected, but what else was new? Really, if everyone did things as if the Ancestors had personally challenged them then maybe the Karaz Ankor would be farther along than it was now! Had they thought of that?
Bah!
You slam
Zharrgal against the billet, slowly starting the arduous process of thinning it down to a length of Gromril wire over again.
━<><><>< 252 A.P. ><><><>━
At the year's end, several members of the Brotherhood of Dron make the long journey to visit their newest and farthest-flung colleague. Partly because it's a bit of a tradition, started by Durin himself, to bother each other and discuss things face to face whenever their schedules permit, but also because they all recall the content and amount of notes he requested. Gromril chain was always something of a novel and high in the sky challenge for dwarfs of their position, and the possibility that Snorri was finally taking a crack at this particular problem had piqued their collective interest. Of course they had other reasons to head north, as it was simply efficient to do so, but it would be disingenuous to say those were more important than satiating their own curiosities.
So their group makes its way north, up the Underway, through the southern holds, grumbling their way through the terrified beardlings who knew better than to try and collect repeated tolls from a band of six Runelords, past Ungor and its crippled princess, and to the gates of Kraka Drakk's Underway Terminal. They pass, incognito, through the crowds of Dawi and Brana, and reach the surface.
From there they take the road out of the Hold and head towards the fortified deathtrap Klausson called his workshop.
And from looking at the road alone they can tell much has changed in the decades since they've last poked at the Gift Giver's residence.
The path to Snorri's residence has been expanded, such that two wagons could now comfortably pass each other with room to spare.
As they walk closer they see the hustle and bustle of Dwarfs at work, and to their quiet surprise, see that a small settlement is beginning to take root. The largest and oldest structure appears to be an inn, where the sounds of drinking songs and the smell of good food and ale could be found leaving its door. A sign above the entrance depicts a Dwarf sitting in front of a fireplace, the name
Hearth Rest Inn written below. Around this vital aspect of any dwarf community there are already several homes built in a cluster nearby, sectioned off and organized by a bit of clever road placement while the beginnings of yet more homes and businesses were slowly but surely being raised as well.
Stowing their surprise at these developments they carry on and after getting their way through his retainers and after speaking with their leader, patiently wait for him to open the door.
It does not take long for the frowning form of their compatriot, looking a smidge confused but otherwise fine, to open the door and welcome them in.
━<><><><==><><><>━
"So, the old Chain conundrum hmm?" Gorra begins, "finally taking a crack at it?"
"I suppose so yes," you reply, "but that can't be why you're all here?"
"Yes it is/ No it isn't" they reply all at once.
You stare at them flatly.
"Some of us
do have business here, this place is one of the main Gromril supplies for the Brotherhood after all, but I know a few are definitely here just to see if you managed it aye," Bogrin admits before taking a bite out of a piece of troll jerky.
"Still not selling your recipe are you? Telling you it's a waste to keep it to yourself," Magda replies.
"It's mostly my Master's recipe, though I've added changes to it over the centuries, yes. But that's beside the point, what exactly made my attempt so special? The lot of you all sent me your notes after all, hell Gorra tried barely a century ago and no one came running then," you grumble.
"For one thing Gorra's a piss poor host," Magda responds, drawing an indignant
oi from the Runelord in question, "For another, we did visit the
first time she tried, but not for the subsequent attempts. At least, not all of us. I think Kraggi did for that one though,"
"Had business at Varn at the time so It wasn't that much of a hassle to check in," Kraggi says from behind his cup, "No luck, obviously."
"I don't recall visiting the lot of you that much since I joined," you question.
"You live in the Far North you daft Gnubbler, you're farther from us than we are from each other by a few thousand kilometres give or take. Sides, you're a literal hermit second only to Damin over there, and the only reason
he gets more visitors is that he lives in Karaz a Karak," Gorra retorts.
The Stoic only grunts an affirmative.
"I am not a hermit! I leave my workshop often, I'm even helping found another Hold," you say with only a little indignation. Why of all the things to be called, a hermit was the least applicable!
"Not a hermit then, but rather a loner," Gorra amends.
"I most certainly am not," you reply.
"Tell me, have you ever even spoken to one of the other Runelords in this Hold in an unofficial capacity?"
"I interact with
many Runesmiths."
"Because your duties demand it, and almost always in the capacity of the eldest and therefore the authority among them," Kraggi says before getting up from his seat, "I'll pay you lot five gold each to save me three pieces of jerky while I use the loo."
A round of affirmative grunts later and Kraggi heads off in the direction of the bathroom thirty gold poorer.
"Ancestors, now that he's said it out loud I have to wonder how you haven't gone mad already. Then again you may not have noticed given how much you work, and that says a lot coming from a Runelord. You're an anomaly Klausson," Gorra comments idly.
"This is preposterous. An attack on my character and personality," you begin to retort.
"-One of your fellow Runelords was drinking at the inn outside your damn workshop and from the look on your face you didn't even realize until I told you," Magda cuts in.
"Seems like work-obsessed loner behaviour to me," Modi comments, speaking for the first time since the conversation started before taking another piece of Troll jerky from the plate on the table.
"Be that as it may," you say with a cough, "You didn't come here to discuss whether I am a or am not hermit or loner, and/or a work-obsessed busybody, you came here to see if I succeeded. So I'll just cut to the chase and show you the stonefruits of my labour."
You most certainly do not beat a hasty retreat to your inner workshop in an attempt to get out of the conversation.
This was
your home damn it!
━<><><><==><><><>━
"Well I'll be damned," Gorra mumbles, running her hands over the glimmering chain, "you managed to do it."
She passes it on, and Modi begins his own half stunned, half disbelieving examination of your creation.
Does your heart just a little bit good to see, though it's partly overcome by the overbearing feeling of
falsehood your achievement brings you.
"Not exactly one of the best experiences I had when I made it," you comment.
Explaining just what you had to do to make the shirt draws looks of sympathy and grudging respect in equal measure.
"Not surprised," Damin rumbles, drawing looks of confusion.
"Why not?" you ask.
"Master Rune, heat there. Stories about Dum, strength and endurance there. Personality, willingness there," he begins to explain.
"Why thank you," you respond.
"Only one mad enough to sequester himself in a big furnace for years to make a chainmail shirt," Damin finishes, expression unchanged.
"Be that as it may," Bogrin cuts in before you can voice your indignation, "How are you going to go about spreading the news? This is certainly quite a prestigious achievement after all."
"I'm not," you reply, hastily continuing before the others can voice their disbelief, "Doesn't feel right. Like I achieved it through what feels like a
fluke. If I ever tell anyone outside this room or my apprentices, it'll be when I find a way that's repeatable by any Runesmith. Just like with Adamant."
None can argue with that logic you think.
"Not surprised," Damin finally says, "Only one mad enough to think that making Gromril chainmaille isn't enough of an achievement to celebrate."
That statement draws
too many nods of agreement from your colleagues.
Were you not a gracious host or fine purveyor of choice ales, Damin would be getting the bad ale for the rest of the night.
━<><><>< 253 A.P. ><><><>━
You walk out of your workshop just before daybreak, leaving the confines of your residence for the silence of the predawn darkness.
The few buildings outside your home are dark, the few wisps of smoke that still leave the chimneys fly skyward, a fresh blanket of powdery snow covers the roofs and protective coverings of those structures not yet finished.
It is idyllic.
Of course, it is broken by the roaring laughter of a familiar voice, the deep note resonating through the air and shifting about the snow and peace of the moment.
"The lungs young Dolgi! A runesmith is nothing without a good strong set of lungs! Today you
will break the five-minute mark or I'll shave my head bald! Remember your training, hold firm in the face of your own body's rebellion! A Runesmith's will must be beyond mere mortal flesh! Now, begin!"
"Yes Master!" the bare-chested apprentice shouts, inhaling deeply for a solid two minutes before beginning a blistering exercise regimen.
"Not even a
hint of breathing my young charge! A true Runesmith can go days, nai,
weeks without food or rest, relying only on the mastery of their own body and strength of will to push through! Push beyond your limits Dolgi Dolgisson! You shan't even entertain the
thought of the exhaled exercise without enduring this for five minutes!"
You stare quizzically as Lord Thunderlung is overtaken by some desire to join his apprentice, taking a relatively normal breath, exhaling, then beginning his own workout.
Except he doesn't breathe in for a solid five minutes before you even catch a hint of movement in his chest.
It made sense, in an odd way. The man couldn't manage the level of sound he usually reached so consistently without near-absolute control over his lungs you suppose. Still, for all his deafening cadence, Dwalin's volume never actually hurt someone, despite the many complaints otherwise. Something that may actually take far more control to achieve than you may have realized. No, the worst Dwalin could get was temporarily deafening, but actual damage from his voice alone? That was more the realm of certain types of daemon than the, admittedly very loud, dwarf easily trouncing his apprentice's exercises in both speed and overall number.
Still, the memory of seeing the air literally deforming from the sound emitted, and the impact of it against an enemy sticks in your head like a particularly sticky burr.
No, despite your flights of fancy, you doubt Dwalin would ever be capable of that.
But could a Rune do the same?
Probably, you've seen odder things.
━<><><><==><><><>━
The cavalcade of oddities continues as Ylva and her group of Hearthwardens returns, but their numbers significantly larger than when they had left.
A bit of questioning later and you find yourself face to face with around twenty Elders from Ornsmotek who, according to Ylva, have proven both capable and willing to swear themselves to you. Several were miners, and engineers, elders whose Clan honour, personal livelihoods and those of their kin, had been saved thanks to Ylva's efforts. They made enough sense. But what confounded you were the fifteen figures all totting crossbows large enough to almost look comical if anyone else was wielding them.
Monster Wardens. A unit of Ornsmotek's rangers, particularly odd Dawi who were even more accustomed to the outdoors than even a regular ranger. Sallying out in groups of around five usually, they did their level best to track and kill the wide variety of beasties that made their home in the mountains around Ornsmotek proper. Overland routes to the remotest mining communities in Ornsmotek's sphere of influence owed their continued safety to the efforts of these madmen and women. Stories of them being as enigmatic and difficult to find as the very monsters they tracked were common enough that even
you had heard them.
And Ylva, or according to her, Norgrim, had managed to impress them enough to test their luck and see if they were cut out to join you.
Your retainers did good work, obviously, but you must admit this was at a level you didn't expect.
You had the ultimate veto over their inclusion of course, but you trusted Ylva's judgement on the matter. She was literally chosen because of how much she embodied the virtues you wanted from your retainers after all. You'd give it a thrice over out of due diligence, but these Dawi were pretty much guaranteed a spot if your Fire Keeper was vouching for their worthiness..
Still, there isn't exactly enough time to go through all of their applications right now, what with the guests you have to entertain, so you send Ylva, the group who originally came with her, and the Hearth Guard watching the workshop off to help these new recruits settle in.
━<><><><==><><><>━
A month later you find yourself finally thinking all of this oddness is done and dealt with. Your colleagues had all found lodgings elsewhere or gone home after promising not to reveal what you'd shown them, the newest members of your Hearth Guard were being integrated, and work on Grom was finally reaching the stage where you were finally needed.
So you thought little of it when a package marked for you came through the mail.
Unwrapping it revealed a fine box of Wutroth about the size of your hand.
Curiously, you open it to find-
-a small trinket made of Adamant, made in the shape of an anvil that bears the Rune of Smednir.
Lifting it, you only just manage to notice that the pillow it rests on was removable. Lifting it out of the box, you find an envelope resting beneath.
With an air of trepidation and excitement, you open the letter and pull out a sheet of shining metal. It's thin enough to mimic actual parchment, but the sheen of Gromril is unmistakable, and you're left wondering just
how long this took to make. Unfolding it, you see, written in incredibly precise and neat Khazalid, a simple message,
For services rendered in the settling of a familial dispute, one Charm of Grombrynril Adamant -S
7/7
━<><><>< Khazalid Trivia ><><><>━
Varn Wyrren - Cold Water/ "Cold Lake enclosed by mountains."
Dumaraz - Darkness Splitter, named for the foaming white rapids that carve through the black volcanic sands and that form the river banks, and for the dark caverns it's carved through the mountains between its source and the Sea of Claws.
Bark - Boat, derived from the elven term "Barque" which was a specific type of ship that Grimnir Himself took and used to make "Bark," to refer to boats in general. Sensible!
Grombrynril - Defiant Brilliantly Shining Metal
━<><><>< Gain ><><><>━
-
Smednir's Note: A gift, a wafer-thin sheet of Gromril leaf with what appears to be the receipt for a work order on it.
For services rendered in the settling of a familial dispute, one Charm of Grombrynril Adamant -S
- The Rune Metal Pt. 1b complete! The Rune Metal Pt. 2b unlocked!
-- Creating a Gromril Chain is… disturbingly easy, if incredibly tedious, for you and
only you. Taking years of concentrated effort, even for you, to make but a single shirt. You can do it, doing what only Grungni could, but...leaving it as simple proof of concept, let alone one that requires such extraordinary circumstances, doesn't sit right with you.
-- +1 Gromril Chain Shirt.
Making this shirt took the same amount of time as several hundred sets of far more effective platemail. The inefficiency galls you, potential prestige be damned.
-- +2 progress to The Rune Metal Pt. 5, new totals:
[Cost: (12 -4) =8 actions]
- +5 progress to The Rune Metal Pt. 2b, new totals:
[Cost: (14 -5) =9 actions] Without Zharrgal or Barak Azamar you would have required an entire forge set composed entirely of Adamant to forge the chain. As is, you can likely create the pieces needed to make it less of a hassle. Making a method to do this for other Dawi though...still eludes you.
- +1 progress to Diction Direction Pt. 2, new totals:
[Cost: (8 -2) =6 actions]
- +5 progress to Dronril, Dronwut, new totals:
[Cost: (6 -4 -1[Standing Bonus]) =1 action]
-- The gems are actually a solidified sap that is not quite amber, and they discharge mist and electricity when broken or cracked, but can be carved and shaped safely with proper care. Attempts to control the discharge proved unsuccessful due to the way it is released.
-- The amount of energy they release and can hold seems to correlate with the size of the gem in question.
-- The gems, when struck by lightning, simply explode.
-- The sap itself rapidly hardens when exposed to air.
-- Brana see the gems as storms in miniature. They attract and hold the Sapphire Wind, and sing the song of the roiling thunderheads and fierce tempests.
-- The hardened sap actually tastes vaguely sweet, but consumption is not recommended.
-- The wood has the hardness and flexibility of an actual block of Granite, but weighs the same as the average oak.
-- The wood can also act as a very effective lightning rod if properly grounded.
-- Brana observation of the phenomenon leads them to believe the trees are actually absorbing the Sapphire Wind accidentally and the lightning fuels their growth.
- Triage Pt. 1 complete! Triage Pt. 2 unlocked! Three limbs have been planned, now there are three limbs to be made.
- A Princely Wedding Pt. 1 accepted! Something for Gimli? Bah, what's one more scion of Clan Ironarm to create an item of power for.
- x1 [Ingredient] T4 Troll's Heart Ordered,
[Cost: 1 Turn]
-- Item Order Expedited
- +90 Favour with Kraka Ornsmotek, new totals: Favours 190
- -50 Favour with The Brotherhood of Dron, new totals: Favours 5
- -75 Favour with Kraka Drakk, new totals: Favours 380
- +1 Standing with members of The Brotherhood of Dron
Retainers:
- Ylva Hearth Hands chosen as Fire Keeper
--
++Medical Aid, +Search and Rescue
- Deed,
Mine Sweeper: Every nest, every warren, every last Gnubbler that dared lurk in Ornsmotek's mines was exterminated with extreme prejudice. There shan't be hide nor hair of the foul things for centuries to come.
- +15 Monster Wardens recruited.
Monster hunting specialists, or if you're feeling less charitable a mad mix of ranger and Zaki. Dwarfs trained to use massive crossbows armed with specialized bolts that can bury themselves deep in flesh to greatly wound the especially large monsters they track. With their additional proficiency in throwing axes and great weapons, they prowl the slopes of Ornsmotek's domain, keeping the paths clear and monsters away from the Hold's overland holdings.
- +7 Longbeard Miners recruited.
- +5 Master Engineers recruited.
67 +27 =94/120
━<><><><==><><><>━
AN: Happy belated New Years! *pop* *fizzle* *shebang*!!! So a point of correction on my part, I forgot the word Receipt in the item description for Smednir's note, which was my bad. So sorry about the confusion I may have caused. Anyhoo, I feel the need to reiterate you only managed Gromril chain here because of a very specific set of circumstances and had you have not had
Barak Azamar and
Zharrgal it wouldn't have happened as quickly as it did. The fact that it required a
specific set of effects synergizing from a
T5 and T4 item respectively should tell you how difficult it would have otherwise been. Sorry for the delay, I wanted this out by New Years but I guess this'll have to do instead. So thanks for your patience, enjoy the doot and don't forget to C&C. :^)
