Winning Vote(s): said:
[X] Plan Prepare for a Yorriing
-[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. 2 Retainer Actions.
--[X] Deep Surveying: Gain 30 Favour +? With Kraka Drakk.
--[X] Elderly Expertise: Gain 40 Favour +? With Stormpeak.
-[X] [Simple] Armoured Maidens: [Cost: 12 actions] Due end of Turn 40. Productivity like No Other will proc. Gain 70 Favour and 1 Standing with the Cult of Valaya. The Clergy of Valaya are making plans to expand the Valkyrie Guard in preparation for what they believe is a coming wave of colonization across the Karaz Ankor in the future. Given your history with the Cult, they've come to you wondering if you had the inclination to create armour for some of the future Valkyrie Guard that will no doubt come from the endeavour. The number is not the sum total of suits, but ones specially made for their eldest and most veteran Matrons. The foundational core of the future Valkyrie Guard in these future-Holds. The Cult will hold the suits in their vaults until such a time they are needed. 4 Actions.
-[X] ORDER: Merwyrm Corpse
[X] [Letters]: Knowledge about Vaul
━<><><>< 283 A.P. ><><><>━
You have a feeling that there is little else in your immediate future aside from constant crafting and creation.
Such is the fate of the humble craftsman, and better you're needed constantly than unwanted as well you suppose. Not that you'll be spending years of your life sequestered away for a whole decade. There would, thankfully, be time to take a short breather every so often. Letting you have the time to see to your duties and stay up to date with the goings-on around the Hold. Which is a damn fine thing, seeing as you have two dozen Master Runesmiths, and likely more in the future, coming to learn the knowledge behind the Rune of Forged Limb, and that would require a good deal of time both to do and prepare for as well.
Still, you do find yourself immersed for weeks on end, mind focused solely on creating a truly astounding amount of Gromril wire necessary to make the amount of chainmail you'll need. More than just the order from the Cult of course, but also your retainers, and for Otrek and Gloin respectively.
You'll not have your king nor your prince prance about in steel Chainmail when you have the capability to make it out of Gromril!
But first things first you'll need to have the workshop expanded yet again. Both to house these Masters for the duration of their learning and to have the requisite forge space to house them all. You may have to dig down, get a few extra spaces just in case there were any more who decided to try their luck and learn from you.
You'll get Rudil to write to some masons as well before he goes off.
There's always something to do, at the end of the day. And with that in mind, you'd best get to business and get started on all the wire you'll need before the beardlings come knocking and take up more of your time.
Bah, the things you do for your people.
━<><><><==><><><>━
Nain cannot help but flail about as the wind of the slope buffets at him, but he keeps his grip and carries on with his work regardless. Ahead of him, a group of other apprentices march on, stumbling just as he does, but still marching on at a faster pace than he does. He ignores the pang in his arms and slowly helps his fellow journeyman up, using the pick he brought to anchor himself when a particularly strong gust blows at them both.
"If we hurry we may be able to catch up," Nain says with a huff, earning a grunt of agreement.
He and the other journeymen begin walking once more, trying to catch up with the main body of dwarfs. All the while, they and everyone else feels the exacting gaze of the Hammerspite staring down from his perch above the ravine.
The trials have only begun.
━<><><><==><><><>━
"DUM GRIBBAN! GAND DAMMAZ, AZ BARAZ, THRONG A KRAKA DRAKK-ZA!!" Gimli roared, driving his axe deep into the cranium of a roaring minotaur, silencing the beast's bellows but doing little to dim the cacophony of the battle around him.
Around him the Huskarls and Runesmiths of his small detachment roar in agreement, overcoming the panicked shouts of the beastmen as their flank and rear fall beneath swinging axes and roars of anger. The charge catches the enemy army unaware, caught up as they were with his Lord Father's advance.
A raging part of his soul wished to be there, among the tumult of battle, to hear his heart thunder in his chest and feel the blood pulse in his ears.
But he has been given a greater duty.
Mainly eliminating the scrambling forms of the enemy casters slowly turning to face their oncoming doom.
Gimli and a quartet of the oldest present Runesmiths run down the foulest of the shamans, while the Huskarls and other Runesmiths tie down the shaman's guards and block their escape. The enemy tries to cast a few paltry tricks, but their fel power does not heed their call, not before the sheer number of magic nullifying Runes they all wear. Only when the eldest shaman falls, head falling from its body does Gimli grab it by the horn and lifts it for all to see.
"YOUR MAGIC HOLDS NO SWAY HERE URK! TO MY FATHER BRAVE DAWI! BY GRIMNIR, CRUSH THEM LIKE GRAVEL 'PON AN ANVIL!" he roars, tossing the shaman's head towards the already crumbling enemy army.
Invigorated further by the sight, Gimli's force redoubles its efforts to chew through their foe and join the rest of the Throng on the other side, the prince coming to join them by jumping down from the outcropping he stood upon and onto an unsuspecting Bestigor with a savage bellow of anger.
It feels like an eternity, yet the prince is informed the battle took no more than thirty minutes before the last Chaos Spawn is destroyed.
"Hmph, acceptable," a voice mutters, making the prince look up from his mug to stare at his father's imposing visage.
Before he can rise Gloin waves him down and moves to take the seat next to him.
"You fulfilled your duty, and already I can tell you wished to be part of the main flanking force nai?"
"Aye lord," Gimli responds, not bothering to try and hide beneath his da's imposing gaze.
"In good time my son, in good time. But you'll not lead a charge until you understand how the throng wages war, and that means you've participated in every aspect of it," his father rumbles, taking a swig of his ale.
"Even the rangers?"
"A good way to bond with your wife no? She's an ordained Raven Cloaked after all," his father barks out with a laugh.
He can only nod.
"Is grandfather-"
"I've no clue," his own father interrupts, knowing full well what his son was going to ask, "But we hope and pray he doesn't, and if it comes to pass, we live up to the legacy he left us all, aye?"
"Aye father," Gimli says with a nod.
"Hmph," Gloin rumbles, patting his boy on the shoulder.
━<><><>< 285 A.P. ><><><>━
Your workshop is the site of a great deal of construction work. Master Masons and craftsmen hewing away at the stone to form the accommodations and workspaces for the Masters who will come in two years time. Of course you haven't been idle either of course, too much to do to simply laze about ya see. Not to say you didn't take your customary time to step back and refill your mental tankard and exchange letters every so often.
Much like the roll of parchment you were writing to Myrion, most of it idle chatter but with a few poignant questions about this Vaul your discussion has turned to as of late.
For the most part she's done a good enough job explaining through her letters that you understand the foundations of this
god.
And the first, and most basic, part of that understanding is that the elven gods aren't
Ancestors. They exist, obviously, but they are...different. Rather than a paragon to be emulated, the elf gods seem more fickle and altogether less caring. An elf worships through simple action, according to Myrion, every hunt evokes Kurnous, every spell a libation to Hoeth, every ship at sea a prayer to Mathlann and so on and so forth. There is a reason why the elves have gods who embody things no sane being ought to be reverent of, and the elves, for the most part, believe the same. These elf gods are emotion and idea, story, thought and person bound into entities far removed from the elves themselves. They do not worship the god of murder, only acknowledge that he exists and warily respect all he represents. The stories about him are not true, or at the least are more than simple history, but amalgamations of ideas, beliefs and thoughts put to page or spoken in song. Whereas your folk drew lessons from the stories of the Ancestors it seemed almost the inverse. The Interplay of emotions and ideals acted out through these figures in stories that happened at some nebulous point in the past. The god and the mortal are reflections of each other in their own way. At least that's how you understand Myrion's explanation of it.
It has the smell of self importance to it, but who are you to judge?
So then you come to the explanation of Vaul.
The title of Smith God is a misnomer, for Vaul is the patron of all craftsmen. Every act of creation, from every freshly forged sword, to newly raised roof and constructed sailing ship is the domain of, and prayer to Vaul.
A bit too broad for your tastes, a carpenter may have a
similar foundation to a cabinet maker if you squinted for instance, but their paths diverged wildly at the far end of things. But you suppose this Vaul may just be extremely well learned.
Well that or the elves simply see it more in terms of craftsmanship as one whole concept rather than the actual crafts involved, and thus make no distinction given your understanding of their belief system, but who's to say?
But back to Vaul.
Mythologically his story is tragic, which bodes ill for the craftsmen of the elves if you're honest, and you
are.
As Myrion tells it Vaul was once no different from the other gods; fair of form and master of his domain. In that time he created masterworks a-plenty, many of the elves' greatest divine relics are said to have been forged by Vaul or had his hand play a role in their creation. An echo and reference of the supposed Golden time when the elves grew and learned in peace.
But it was not to last.
A great war among the Gods erupted, and Vaul found himself before Khaine, god of murder and war. Vaul fought bravely, Vaul fought fiercely but in the end he was broken. Crippled, blinded, and bound to his anvil, Vaul is forever doomed to make tools of war for Khaine. The gist of it is obvious enough to you even without Myrion's explanation of things. The elves saw themselves beset by monsters and beasts beyond reckoning and so turned their craft to wage war in order to survive. Tools of death and destruction rather than creation. It spoke volumes of what they saw conflict as and spoke of the feelings of their craftsmen as well. Bound to work ceaselessly, their
vision stymied and cast aside, yet dutifully carrying out their work for a task they detest because they know full well that without their efforts the elven people were doomed.
You can respect that at least, not so much the image of their smith god being a crippled blind man bound to his anvil, but that became less of an issue when you realized the elven deities were just as much allegory as they were actual beings.
But only just.
Course it confuses you just a bit, to you a hammer was both tool and weapon, cracking stone and heads with equal ease, and yet to the elves there is seemingly a distinction. Aye, you'd rather sit in your workshop going about your day in peace but would not balk or find sorrow in fighting for your right to survive. War, battle,
conflict was, after all, an endemic and unlikely to disappear. There was no use about lamenting that fact in your opinion, it simply
was.
Bah, enough wool-gathering, you have some shirts to deliver.
━<><><><==><><><>━
Gimli can scarcely believe it, even when the metal rests in his hands, proving its authenticity. Around him the rest of Clan Ironarm, the smiths especially, jockey and jostle to take a look for themselves. Eventually he passes the shirt along to his wife and the crowd of Dawi follows the shirt, leaving him alone enough to let reality really sink in.
Gromril chainmail.
The stories spoke with one voice, that only Grungni was able to craft such a thing. Intellectually Gimli could accept that perhaps the other Ancestors may be capable of the same, Smednir and Thungni especially, but for a dwarf like Lord Snorri? Preposterous.
And doesn't that just encapsulate the tumult of his emotions.
Because Lord Snorri isn't
just some Dwarf, and yet, and
yet, before the monolithic shadows of the Ancestors what else could he be? It makes it all the more jarring, to know that a dwarf like
him had solved that particular puzzle. Though he'd admit that of all the Dwarfs he'd met over his life, Lord Snorri was certainly among the ones who both seemed skilled enough, and were willing to have a go.
He just didn't expect the Runelord to go and
do it, to succeed and actually make Gromril chainmail.
And he had given their Clan
two of these shirts.
That thought makes his gaze fall on the still sitting form of his grandfather, quietly staring at the shirt in his hands, his thumbs running over the material gently.
"Prove yourself worthy of it, just as you have everything else," Gimli mutters, echoing the Runelord's parting words to himself.
Well.
━<><><><==><><><>━
Karstah sips from her mug and listens to the conversations happening around her, no one present is willing to bother a runesmith, even a prospective one, if they look busy.
"More beastfolk sightings," one old ranger grumbles, "tracks, fur, filth and like, but the amount we're finding is telling. Best to keep your axe sharp Gunnars."
"It'll be a good thing to have the main hold excavated and the food stores moved inside so soon then," another voice, Gunnars she imagines, responds.
Everywhere in the tavern similar stories abound. Tales of shadows in the forests that climb higher and higher up the slopes with every passing day, the growing stench of offal and rot. Dark grumbling and grim promises interspersed with rumours and hearsay.
Karstah thumbs the handle of one of her hammers idly as she drinks.
"Temple's full of more toys than ale these days," a woman's voice mutters, grabbing her attention easily, "no clue who's offering them but Elder Kemma isn't talking. Fine toys, good for the beardlings, but you have to wonder who has the time to make so many?"
"Well I'd rather the most worrying bit of news is the amount of toys the temple of Valaya is getting than all this," her companion retorts, gesturing at everything and nothing.
Karstah tunes out the rest of their conversation, sipping from her mug to hide the smile trying to form on her lips.
Beastmen or no, I will keep to my oaths.
━<><><>< 289 A.P. ><><><>━
(Roll, Elderly Expertise: 14 +35 +15[Omake] =64)
"Emberplume tells us our changes have been well received by the Brana, and the beardlings are smart enough to heed their elders as well. Balik was butting heads with the Master Engineer about using a better weave for the lift cable but we managed to stop him from going mad. May wanna keep an eye on that one though Fire Keeper," Skella reports, setting a tankard down and sliding it over to Ylva as she takes a swig out of her own mug.
"Aye, I'll go see if I can patch things up there when the shift's over for them. But before I do, I want a second opinion on something else that was brought to my attention. Look at the tunnel leading to the storeroom here, not yet built, and I've got my reservations about having the cavern be that large and have the pillars arrayed like that. It's structurally sound, but I'm not sure these Dorden folk have taken the wind generated by the Brana in account properly. Good for the natural wind flow of a regular Dwarfhold, not so much for the levels you'd expect a living hold full of flyers though. Thoughts?"
Skella bends down and looks over at the plans for a good few moments before grunting.
"Not an engineer of a mason, but I can see what you mean. They didn't ask any Kraka Drakk Dawi about it?"
"If they didn't I'd be not at all surprised. More likely they haven't taken it into account when they were asking and the lads have gotten so used to it that no one bothered to check. Shameful really. Then there's the whole issue about the design for the pillar branches. These won't be strong enough to support any Brana trying to roost there, I remember the trouble the engineers had when they started adding them in Kraka Drakk, damn well treated some of the poor fools who got caught under the rubble of the test models myself. So we may as well get that checked in before they bring it to Brangandazi. Can't have the first child aerie the Brana set up be anything less than the best work we can offer. By the way, have they settled on the name yet?"
"Karazbinvarr won. Their side's champion threw a shard of ice through his opponent's wing and pinned him to the ground, and duel didn't last long after that," Skella replies nonchalantly.
"Ah bugger, I owe Kemli five gold then," Ylva grouses.
━<><><><==><><><>━
When Master Snorri called them to his workshop, of course, all three of them cleared their schedules as best as they were able and made all haste to reach his home on the agreed-upon date.
Though Dolgi admits that when he says agreed upon it was more akin to being ordered, but at least their master had the decency to word it like a simple request.
But this was surprising.
The path there was familiar enough, though it had only grown more terrible as Master Snorri began incorporating more and more novel ways to kill his enemies. It had even gotten so bad that their master had opted to begin applying his ancient mind towards booby-trapping both the path leading to his workshop and the inner wall of the settlement that had continued to grow around his home. He saw Fjolla sniff in quiet pride at seeing the Rune she'd developed be considered worthy enough to adorn the killing field their Master had been crafting and building upon for almost as long as they'd been alive.
But for all of that change, what lay
inside their Master's workshop was by far the most...jarring. Dolgi, Fjolla and Snerra enter a heavily expanded entryway, widened and opening into a larger hosting space now bearing two hearths, bearing the visage of Thungni and Valaya respectively, on opposite sides of the room. Stairs on either side of each hearth leading up and down more levels, while the main hallway they all so vividly remembered loomed ever larger, having been expanded to accommodate increased traffic.
"This place is turning into its own hold at this rate," Dolgi muttered.
"I was here no more than five years ago and it looked no different. The workers must have had Grungni Himself watching them to get it done this quickly," Fjolla mutters, drawing nods from both him and Snerra.
One of their Master's retainers steps away from his post and beckons them to follow, and they obviously oblige. Walking under the stern and vividly depicted faces of the Ancestors of their people and Clan Winterhearth specifically as they reach the crossroads that break off into the other segments of their master's home. They take the path towards the workshops they spent decades of their lives at, and slowly begin to hear the pounding of hammers and the chanting of not one or even half a dozen, but two dozen different voices.
Dolgi, Fjolla and Snerra find themselves left at the doorstep of a
greatly expanded workshop. One that is so large that the entrance actually leads to a platform overlooking a complex room comprising many forges, tool racks and other necessary implements. Their little viewing deck was connected to everything by two pairs of stairways that jut out of the side of the platform going up and down. Down below they see Master Runesmiths toiling away at anvils they almost certainly brought with them all the way from wherever their workshops were. Walking around them, prowling like a Sabretusk at the sight of a wounded elk,
their Master lurked and watched for any sign of weakness or error in their work.
Dolgi glances questioningly at Fjolla who only shrugs, while Snerra passes them both a strip of troll jerky.
"Is this a Rune you would feel
proud to have an honourable warrior wear? A Dwarf who trusts you
implicitly to have given them the closest possible thing to his or her missing limb back? Tell me beardling, will you look at this Rune with not an ounce of shame? If the answer is
anything less than absolute certainty otherwise you. Aren't. Done. Fifteenth Strike, and thirty more blows besides, I will not let you leave this workshop and return to your kin without having ensured you know this Rune as well as you know the knots you've weaved into your beard!"
"Yes Elder!" the hoary old Master yells, drooping mustache flapping as he strikes with his hammer with renewed vigour.
"And that goes for the rest of you!" their Master shouts, watching for any of the masters to have faltered at his sudden outburst, "This is no Weapon Rune to be brought out in times of war! This is a Rune your client will wear until their dying day, one they will rely on to function
properly and without issue! I'm sure none of you lot would be happy to have your arm twitch randomly every so often, or have your legs give out for no good reason! Continue on with your training! I will return shortly."
Their master looks away from the toiling Runesmiths and levels his grim gaze directly up at them. A near millennium's worth of age bearing down on them like a mountain on their backs.
"Good, you three have arrived. I'll be up shortly, I have something to show you."
They wait dutifully.
━<><><><==><><><>━
(Roll, Deep Surveying: 50 +35 =85)
"Hohoho, we've got ourselves a fine seam of silver here Hearth Lord," Mikken chortles as he rubs his hands together, the candle atop his hat guttering and waving through the air with the movements of his head, but showing no sign of going out.
The man has a Rune of Light on his helmet and admittedly uses it too, but always in conjunction with the candle he stubbornly lights every time it goes out.
"Bah! Silver, a dime a dozen beneath the hold. An
okay find you lout, but
I found a lode of sapphire big enough that you could fit fifty,
sixty large clans in the hole you'll dig before you even get halfway through clearing the whole damn thing out," Tullek hollers as he swaggers into the tent before gingerly lowering a raw uncut sapphire half the size of his head for Rudil to inspect.
"A good find, we'll note it down and leave it to Lord Snorri to have it seen to. But I feel like I ought remind you, gentlemen, that our goal here is to survey the caverns, not uncover even more tunnels in our attempts to find the wealth of the earth," Rudil explains.
The two old prospectors look at him as if he'd lost his beard, then each other, before shaking their heads in disbelief.
"Boy doesn't realize we can do both old chum," Mikken mutters, melted wax from his candle falling to the stone as he bows and shakes his head in disappointment.
"A damn shame that. Two years in the mines isn't enough I tell ya, it's only good for learning how not to trip over yer damn feet in the dark. Should make it five years at least, a decade if I had my way, and this is living proof standing right before us!" Tullek grumbles, patting Mikken on the back.
"Ancestors preserve me," Rudil mutters.
━<><><><==><><><>━
You walk through the halls of your workshop, the pitter-patter of your former apprentices' following in the wake of your proper thumping.
"What I am about to show you three," you begin, "Is but one stage in a project. One I plan to eventually reveal to the whole of the Guild, but it's something I believe you three are worthy of at least knowing about first. The three of you have seen and heard about Adamant anyhoo, and technically speaking this was just a hair's width easier to accomplish on my end. So it will serve as a good test."
Letting them stew over that little nugget, you continue the rest of the walk in near-total silence. When you reach the door, you are pleased to see that the entrance is undefended, just as you asked of your retainers. Only the three Dwarfs behind you ought to be present for the occasion after all. Tapping your hammer on the door, the Runes flare and the stone slides apart to reveal your workshop to them. It is a sign of trust, to let them into this place without a blindfold or strict orders to keep their eyes on what you want to show them.
"
This," you continue, walking over and patting the finely decorated box on the side, "is the Chainforger, and with it…"
You walk over and roll one of the many tarp-covered stands close to Fjolla, Dolgi and Snerra, then in a single motion tear off the covering to reveal the silvery chain beneath.
"I have done what even those few others that have done the same failed to."
You take the time to let them process what they're staring at.
━<><><>< 290 A.P. ><><><>━
At the turn of the year, you receive the next book from your agreement with Valma, a large tome of dark blue leather decorated with gold and sapphires that is about as thick as both of your palms side by side.
Azyr the wind of the heavens, fate and the future, of inspiration and that which remains outside of reach. Drawn skyward and into the air as it enters reality where practitioners see it as ethereal blue clouds, uncoupled by time and fate. Consequently, the spells within unsurprisingly revolved around the manipulation of fate, peering into the past, present and future, and the manipulation of weather events.
It's also the wind you have come into contact with most on a daily basis simply by virtue of the Brana's prevalent use of the stuff. So much of what you learn is simply adding more context to phenomena you've long observed. Though from what you've gathered after taking the time to read through it, not in the way the elves envisioned.
Not limited, most certainly not, but perhaps divergent is perhaps the better term.
Because, from your perspective at least, the Brana made far greater use of the more elemental effects of Azyr than they did the whole fate, fortune and woe business. From great swirling storms or concealing fog banks that could engulf entire armies, tossing great shards of ice or bolts of lightning from on high, to wreathing their forms in layers of crackling lightning and shearing ice the Brana had a strong understanding of how Azyr could manipulate the weather. By the Ancestors, the King of the Sky literally made the air in the highest slopes of the summit as breathable as ground level, if that wasn't mastery well you'd eat your shoe. It makes you wonder if their nature and the context around their growth either made the more esoteric methods of using Azyr more difficult or simply not as desired compared to the more immediate destruction and power Azyr can bring forth. But you imagine that such a thing could change as they make greater, more frequent contact with the elves.
But that's none of your business, and more something between the Brana and the Elgi.
Still, It might do you a bit of good to speak with Blizzardwing over this when you get the chance, if only to compare differences and confirm any commonalities.
But that's something you'll have to do so
after you finish the work at Grom that's come up. The beardlings finally managed to make enough statues that you'd have to spend more than a month or two to inscribe Runes on them all.
━<><><>< 292 A.P. ><><><>━
Laequalys grins despite his injuries, protesting muscles ignored in favour of the pride he feels after a fine hunt.
The great elk's body lies on a sled, organs and viscera buried in respect of the land or offered to Kurnous upon last night's campfire. By his reckoning he is only a few short hours away from Kraka Ravnsvake and the warmth of a tavern.
He notes some movement out of the corner of his eye, and slowly moves his hand towards the knife on his belt.
One good throw ought to give me enough time, he thinks.
"Friendly!" A grinding voice calls from the trees, revealing a band of dwarfs cloaked in pale white raven's feathers.
Sighing in quiet relief, he moves his hand away and turns to face the Ranger.
"Hail ranger. You've me at a disadvantage it seems, to whom do I speak to?" He asks, the grinding tones of Khazalid coming more easily after more than a decade of living among the stout folk.
"Ah, well that makes this whole business easier then. As for your question, I am Logar Longstrider and these two louts are Mena Copperplaits and Algrim Oakenbeard, two prospective youngsters being tested to see if they've got the chops to rough it up out here," the old longbeard explains.
"Then may your ancestors grant you fortune. Tell me, what brings Ravnsvake's watchers out of the way to speak to me of all people?" He asks with a grin.
"An elf princeling, let alone an heir, is a bit more than just some random folk I reckon, not unless your home is chock full of them?" the old ranger chuckles.
"Well I imagine there'd be a bit of scuffle," he admits.
"Aye I suppose there would. Well you're not the first youngster out looking for adventure in the unknown, nor will you be the last, though I
was asked by my King to find you and give you this here letter before I head off and put these two to the test."
Laequalys takes the letter with a nod and grimaces at the seal marking the wax.
"Ah, I know that look. The one ya get when ma and da finally get wise to your rabble rousing hmm?" the old ranger chuckles.
"It would appear so," he mutters, reading the letter.
His father had seen it fit to assign an escort to protect his person.
"Maybe I shouldn't have sent the head of that Greedy Troll back home as a trophy," he comments, "Well it appears my days of lone hunting are behind me good Ranger."
"A band is better than going it alone, youngster. Land's a treacherous thing after all. You never know when it can turn on you," the dwarf lectures.
"It seems that decision has been taken from me either way, my good dwarf. Alas, I shall endeavor to keep a chipper outlook on things. I won't take up much more of your time then Elder Logar, I'd best bring this in and enjoy my last few nights at the tavern as an unwatched man."
"Good day to you then Princeling, may your Ancestors grant you favour,"
Laequalys cannot help but think those very ancestors had a hand in forcing his father's hand, but he decides to keep quiet and take the blessing. Putting the letter away before hefting the rope over his shoulder he carries on towards Ravnsvake.
Behind him he can make out the faintest stirrings of conversation.
"So that's the elf prince who's been going about slaying monsters and beasts these past few years?" a man's, not Logar, voice asks.
"Thought he'd be taller," a woman's voice, Mena no doubt, replies, her tone clipped.
"Don't think I didn't catch you staring at his hair. Feeling a bit jealous cousin?" Algrim replies teasingly.
"Prince Gimli can slay fifty trolls on a bad day, but I could at least say I had better hair than him. I can't do that with that one though can I? S'not fair is what it is," she grouses.
"Beardlings you're still within earshot of the elf, I hope you do realize," Logar's low timber interrupts.
Laequalys cannot help but laugh quietly to himself.
━<><><>< Khazalid Trivia ><><><>━
DUM GRIBBAN! GAND DAMMAZ, AZ BARAZ, THRONG A KRAKA DRAKK-ZA! - Doom is upon you! Face the axe promise, the Throng of Kraka Drakk comes!
URK - enemy
Brangandazi - Son of the King of the Sky, He who Thinks.
Karazbinvarr - Mountain by the Sea/ Seapeak
━<><><>< Gain ><><><>━
- +1 Merwyrm corpse, Research Unlocked! Whatever magics have preserved it have ensured it's body is still fairly whole, save for the wound on its neck that was no doubt the cause of its death.
- +6 Progress to Armoured Maidens, new totals:
[Cost: 12 -6 =6 actions]
- An understanding of Vaul, elven god of smiths and craftsmen.
- An understanding of
Azyr, the Sapphire Wind.
- Title, Chainwright no longer hidden! The news spreads like the wildest flames in the driest forest, at least in Kraka Drakk. But it's likely the Far North is sure to follow and from there the rest of the Realms.
Retainers:
- Deep Surveying Complete!
-- +40 Favours with Kraka Drakk, new totals: Favours: 500
-- The Hearth Guard have charted out a very large, relative for the size of their party, area of Kraka Drakk's natural caverns.
--- Discovered several caverns that lie beneath your workshop. An opportunity for sure, but right now they're a
liability if you do nothing to secure them! Bah! Options Unlocked!
-- Snorri now owns the right to exploit several other mineral veins beneath Kraka Drakk including:
--- A Very Large Sapphire vein
--- A Large Silver vein
--- Several middling Iron Veins
- Elderly Expertise Complete!
-- +40 Favours with Stormpeak, new totals: Favours 40
-- Several aspects of the Brana's new aerie have been revised and an area to accommodate Dwarf, and non Brana visitors have been altered.
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AN: Sorry for the delay, exams before our week-long break take up a lot of my time ya see. Anyhoo, hope you enjoy it regardless, don't forget to C&C. :^)
