Winning Vote(s): said:
[X] Plan Obvious
- [x] [Simple] Armoured Maidens: [Cost: (12 -6) =6 actions] Due end of Turn 40. Productivity like No Other will proc. Gain 70 Favour and 1 Standing with the Cult of Valaya. 4 actions
- [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.
-- [x] Elderly Expertise: Gain 40 Favour +? With Stormpeak. 2 retainer actions
[X] [Secret] Tell them: Gromrilklad rewards altered, the highest levels of the Cult made aware but sworn to secrecy until you reveal the secret yourself.
[X] [Letters]: Knowledge about Avelorn's Magical Traditions
[X] [Letters]: Knowledge about Vaul's priesthood
━<><><>< 303 A.P. ><><><>━
"If I am to tell you this," you eventually say, "I would have you swear an oath that this knowledge not spread beyond the high priests of the Holds who sent you Lord Gron, and that none in Kraka Drakk may know either. Not until I make the news public myself."
The three of them exchange glances and a great deal of whispers that you purposefully ignore until at last Dwinbar and Gron nod at you.
"So we swear, on Clan, Lord, and Honour. No soul shall learn of this secret from our lips or those we are permitted to speak it to."
Grunting in satisfaction, you put down the mug and tell them of your plans with the Chainforger; its capabilities, the price, and your decision to share it fully with the Runesmiths Guild in less than a decade. By all rights, it was your knowledge to keep, but knowing of the material's importance to the Cult of Grungni it did not sit well with you to keep such things hidden from them. While you would not begrudge anyone else in your position if they had chosen not to, it simply wasn't the choice you would make.
The three of them take your words stoically, though Kadrin does make signs of shock at the revelation of your willingness to share such a secret he at least doesn't make a fool of himself.
Dwinbar will need to train that out of him before he takes up the older dwarf's responsibilities you reckon.
"This certainly changes things," Gron admits as he runs his hand through his beard.
"This Chainforger, have you considered making such a thing for groups? The Metalsmiths, at the very least, would be ecstatic and perfectly willing to foot the bill to have such a thing, and its use is doubtlessly going to be similar to the way they allot the Gromril smelter. I will not speak for the other High Priests, but the local temple would be very interested in acquiring such a thing for ourselves."
"Gormak made it clear that he'd be willing to outbid you for the right Lord Dwinbar. Still, even if I were to entertain such an idea, I am just one dwarf. Productive though I am, my oaths to Thungni's strictures bind me from simply making them as often as I do a set of axes," You inform the high priest, drawing nods of understanding from all three.
"The same order then, I suppose. When the information spreads out sufficiently we'll have to find another Runesmith to fulfill the order for these Chainforgers," Gron rumbles, "I will be sure to let the High Priests know, this will not be forgotten, of that, I swear to you Runelord."
His statement draws nods of agreement from the other two representatives present.
After hashing out the final details of the oaths and the request they had for you they all depart, the Lord of the Stone Wall to report his findings while Dwinbar and Kadrin head back to the temple to see to their regular duties. You aren't sure what they'll do, though it certainly alters the context around the original request, you are not entirely sure about how the consequences will play out beyond the obvious.
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After dealing with the Cult you and several members of your Hearth Guard head into Kraka Drakk proper, headed towards the annual council meeting.
It is the first time you've attended one that does not have Otrek at its head.
Instead of the face that has customarily sat at the table's head for almost four centuries, it is now Gloin who goes over the coming campaign with a council far younger than you, Moira and Gormak. Even Brokk has seemingly disappeared to carry out his surveying beneath the earth, his second in command appearing more frequently to give reports and relay new discoveries as the expanse of tunnels continued to bring up situations and that required Brokk's direct and consistent attention. Something that Gloin and Otrek were fine with apparently, better that Brokk be away doing good work than present and risking shoddiness you suppose.
Much to your surprise, the rest of the Hold's Runelords are also present for the first time in a while. Though you suppose the occasion would warrant their presence, likely to take their measure of the new King.
Sensible.
You are content to remain mostly silent throughout, letting others ask their questions and report their findings. You merely drink and wait, watching Gloin's response to things in between bouts of grumbling between the eldest members of the council. There is not much to say on your part, with four other Runelords to spread the weight, much of the burden you carried was considerably lessened. Between Brynna, Lorna and Dwalin there was almost always one of you willing to follow along with the Throng when they go out on their yearly campaigns, and with the sheer number of Runesmiths in the Hold to take care of day to day infrastructure...well there is no need for you to act as you had before. In stark contrast to your fellow Living Ancestors, who all seemed equally, if not more inundated with work in the Hold proper.
And isn't that a thought?
Of the original group brought together to oversee the Hold's development, only you, Moira, Gormak and Brokk are all that now remain. Each and every one of you was a Living Ancestor by the reckoning of your people, living links to the past, though to you it didn't feel as such. The rest of the Dawi here are replacements, successors, or newer additions.
Before it had been something you were intellectually aware of, only just beginning to notice, but now it is something you truly understand. The average Dawi lives no more than four hundred years, those you interact with on a daily basis live perhaps two centuries longer, and from there the list grows shorter. Living Ancestors are a rarity after all. So rare that mayhaps half of them are on the council while the rest are too engrossed in their work to bother.
It has been so long now that even some of the original Runesmiths from the Hold's founding have begun passing. The eldest masters, survivors of the Siege and those you worked alongside in the earliest bits of the Hold's construction, grow smaller and smaller with each passing decade. It will take centuries more, but soon only those who were Journeymen and younger during the Siege will be the eldest, then their apprentices, and then…
...well it need not be said really.
But that is the nature of time you suppose. Aye, there were Dwarfs present who remember the first great wave of colonization, of the time before there were two moons in the sky, but they are fewer and fewer with each passing day. There is only so much space in the mortal span to do as much as one can, and those who can defy the pull of age as the Living Ancestors like yourself do are very few and far between. And even they die eventually, when their work is done or when the world overcomes them through some cruel twist of fate.
Bah.
You belatedly realize you've gotten so old that you've begun retreading old paths and thoughts. Not that you haven't done so before, but now it feels...different. Especially with your first Millennium coming upon you.
━<><><>< 305 A.P. ><><><>━
Nain leaves Lord Hammerspite's workshop for the night with the rest of the other Journeymen who passed the first stage of his trial. The trundling of their boots is all that comes from their group, each and every one of them too tired to talk until they get a meal and a few drinks in their bellies.
As they reach the main road the large mass breaks up into several smaller groups, each headed to a different bar or inn for the night. Nain is part of a large group hailing from more northerly Holds, though he is the only one from Kraka Drakk among them. After a solid five minutes of walking they reach the welcoming sights and sounds emanating out of
Logan's Lager House, a brewery that sourced much of its non-native ale from the family of its owner, Logan Bundriksson, in Karak Ungor.
As close to the taste of home as he can get.
They enter the stout two-story building in an orderly fashion, eldest to youngest, and find their seats. From behind his counter Logan Bundriksson stares at them all impassively, his impressively thick, half grey half red, beard spotlessly clean despite the quantities of brew he expertly slides around or dumps onto the trays his apprentices carry.
Nain claims an unoccupied table in the corner, reads the number masterfully carved onto a metal lantern built into its center and makes his way back to order. Around him, several other journeymen are talking idly, the thought of ale giving them enough energy to quietly discuss among themselves.
"Ach, I'm telling you it's Yinlinsson ale from Karaz a Karak that's best. Valaya Herself favours their brew, what can be better?"
"Bah, Clan Bitterbrew of Karak Kadrin have got them beat. No finer flavour, the makers of Boggi's Belly Busting Trollbrew and received the patronage of Clan Drakebeard for centuries! When all that nonsense was going on, every last claimant was still drinking Bitterbrew product, and that says something."
A round of quiet grumbling, while a discussion over who's home was the source of the greatest brew was of great seriousness and liable to get heated quickly no one wanted to get kicked out for causing a brawl.
The last fellow who got kicked out, a thief who thought a journeyman was far drunker than he actually was, was still fresh in their minds.
Nain keeps silent even as the argument picks up once again, simply placing his order and paying the appropriate amount of coin to old Logan before heading back to his table. He'd tried many of the drinks his colleagues spoke about, but Bryggeroot ale had most of them beat in his opinion, but he wasn't in the mood to get into that sort of discussion.
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A package from Valma arrives in the middle of summer, the bundle contains a large tome several times larger than the other texts you received from her before. Scrawled on its leather cover the words "Understanding Elementales/Constructs" are written in gold leaf. The choice to use Konk as opposed to Galaz is curious, but you must admit the ruddiness does have a certain appeal to it. Definitely not Clan Dromlinling work then, they preferred the latter or a high silver content alloy that left a particularly pale, almost white, gold.
Wracking your mind you cannot reckon of any Clan in Dorden that uses such ornamentation for tomes they make. Which makes you wonder if Valma had this bound either by her own hand or from some outside source. You recall that the binding traditions of Valma's home being more partial to gold of a particularly vibrant shade of yellow, so it was unlikely that she had bound this particular tome on her own. The use of Konk pointed to a more central hold, in and around the area from Karaz a Karak to Karak Eight Peaks, which certainly didn't narrow things down.
But you were getting away from yourself, as curious as the binding was, it wasn't what was particularly special about the book.
Sourcing the book's binder would be something to ruminate on
after you finish the book you suppose, a nice little distraction while you went about your day.
You carry the book to a secure shelf and stow it away for when time permits you the chance to study it in more depth.
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Karstah hums a tune to herself as she creates the last hammer, an old Winterhearth tune she had learned from her teacher. The roar of the forge and the pounding of her own hammer providing a perfect beat and rhythm to the song, one made for such an occasion by Grim Storrisson before being spread and preserved by his descendants. Her singing is interrupted however by the sound of yet another round of knocking at her door.
They were persistent.
Huffing, she stares down at the hammer and nods. Structurally complete and more importantly, ready to receive the Runes that would adorn it. Nodding in satisfaction she puts the hammer away for later and makes her way to the door.
Opening the door ready to tear into whoever foolishly couldn't read the sign hanging from her door she pauses when she finds Tarni standing outside her door with a rather peeved expression on her face.
"Tarni? What brings you here?" she asks.
'Why didn't you tell me your master was Snorri Klausson?!" she huffs out, crossing her arms angrily.
Blinking, Karstah runs over the breadth of her interactions with the other Journeymen in her mind before responding.
"I didn't exactly make it a secret Tarni. I'm from Clan Winterhearth, I spoke about how I wanted to live up to his example, and you're aware of my practices, much as you criticize them."
"I thought you were just someone from his Clan! A grandniece or something, not his apprentice! This changes everything I'll have you know!" she says, wildly gesticulating with her hands for emphasis.
"I don't see how it does?" Karstah mutters confusedly.
"My master is your master's rival! Vragni Silverbrand, how can that
not change everything!" she almost shouts out, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
She can't help but notice a few passersby turning to look in confusion before going about their day.
"... The Runelord from Ornsmotek? What about him?" Karstah asks dumbly.
"Didn't you hear me? Our Masters are rivals!" her colleague repeats hotly.
He was? They were? Her master didn't seem the type, but she wasn't privy to everything about his life, much as that sent a small pang of sadness through her that she quashed. Maybe he didn't want to burden them with such knowledge? She'd ask him after she came home she supposed.
"He never mentioned it," she admits honestly.
"Bah! Well as his apprentice, I can't besmirch his honour by failing to beat you and prove that his method is superior," she explains with a fierce nod.
"Alright," Karstah says slowly, "Are we still on for drinks two days from now or...?"
"I...Hmmm. Master Vragni said nothing about whether or not I could cavort with his rival's apprentices, let me think it over," Tarni admits.
"If that's everything then I have work to get back to Tarni, if you wouldn't mind?" she asks.
"Flaunting your success in front of me, are you? Well I won't take that lying down, I'll show you what the student of the Silverbrand can do!" she counters.
"That wasn-"
━<><><><==><><><>━
You begin working on the final parts of the Valayan commission with the deadline looming in the back of your mind like a particularly unpleasant pebble in your boot. While the basket was a treasure trove of ideas and potential, it did not offer anything that could be used for the commission. You had held out hope, but you suppose that believing a basket would have some new Armour Rune for you to use on some commission accepted centuries later was too much to ask for. As for the work itself, well it's actually rather relaxing frankly. For you, a suit of properly fitted armour was the work of weeks, rather than months, and with
Zharrgal and
Barak Azamar removing imperfections and the need for sleep respectively, the actual hours you spent working could be fit into a matter of days. Because of that, inscribing the Runes became the longest part of the process, and you could only do so much to cut down on that.
Where before you would have had little time for anything else aside from the commission, at this point in your life you can just manage to fit in all your other responsibilities without much hassle. Though it does mean there isn't much time to do any real research which will also likely be the case until you finish the work on the commission for the Cult of Gazul as well. Still, it could be far worse, rather than spending a decade or two in complete isolation you're now skilled enough to do the same amount of work in bursts every few months and doing whatever needs to be done in between before secluding yourself to work once more. It was during one such break that you took the time to look over Valma's translation with a mug in hand and a roaring fire in front of you.
Understanding Elementales/Constructs was quite an interesting read; a three parts bestiary, instructional manual and magical tome rolled into one. The first part was dedicated to cataloguing every instance of artificially created being the author, one Salendor Highmane of Tiranoc, a student of Savan, had seen in his life. The need for them to state such a thing obviously points to some great honour clearly, but you are once again severely lacking in context to understand such a thing.
Nevertheless, his knowledge of artificial creations was extensive. Citing both his own experiences and firsthand accounts from other mages, Salendor had broken up and categorized several forms of artificial lifeforms noted by the elves through their history. The most familiar and interesting to you are the concept of these "Golems," rather rare artificial constructs whose abilities were rather similar to that of the gronti, yet far more limited in scope. From the precepts and reminders about behaviour, Salendor made painfully clear for any prospective elf looking to try their hand at such a thing, it painted a picture of something far more limited and finicky than the Gronti in terms of use. Still, it provides valuable information, firstly by confirming that there are others besides your folk who are able to build similar creations, and secondly by giving you an understanding of how such a thing is animated from the perspective of a magically attuned race. And it is
quite the hassle apparently; aside from taking care with how you commanded the golem, there was also the near-constant infusion of magic to keep the automatons functioning or constantly maintaining the enchantments that did that for you. Salendor, for all he appreciates their use in battle, considered them a poor trade off in terms of time spent in upkeep and actual use.
Only the most skilled and learned in the art of enchantment or those most attuned to the control and flow of high magic ought to attempt making such a powerful thing. For any aspiring young mages, while experimentation and learning are key to mastery, understand that any constructs beyond the size of the average elf are, in this author's opinion, not worth the effort and shall remain that way until sufficient mastery of the animating spells and enchantments mentioned earlier and explained in detail later in this text is achieved. I also recommend you not skip ahead to said spells without the proper grounding the pages in between give, barring that you are one of exceptional skill or foolishness of course.
A bit wordy but it's understandable enough. Students thinking they were a few decades more experienced than they actually were seemed to be a universal constant. Something as intensive as a golem was especially dangerous, given the threat they could pose. Frankly, the amount of insights and advice Salendor offers for controlling the constructs makes you question if the elves have as good a grasp on the idea as your own folk.
Yet, after shoving away your own hubris and thinking a bit more critically, you wonder if the disparity in ease of use is because the Master Rune simply takes over, using the same principles Salendor spoke of when animating and controlling the construct but removing the need for the Runesmith to consider such things when issuing their commands. Which in itself opened a great deal many more questions, like how it knew to interpret your commands so accurately, or how the Gronti were capable of understanding so much context but were otherwise limited in their ability to think and act on an individual basis.
Bah.
The other concept mentioned which drew a bit of your interest was the concept of something Salendor called an
Elementale or Elemental, Valma wrote that either translation worked. It was, in his own words, a "Categorization for constructs and beings akin to daemons and spirits yet wholly different." Things he had discovered in his journeys that did not neatly fit into either category and so were sectioned off into their own space. Salendor notes his own frustrations with this methodology but also states that he cannot yet grasp a better way to record them.
How do you categorize that which is water but solid? Not ice, but exactly as I said. Liquid water yet bound by the rules of solidity. It boggles, it contrives and confuses. They are constructs that in my sight are like the daemons I have long fought yet wholly different. Singular in purpose beyond even the daemon, to a degree more akin to the Golem, but with just enough intelligence that I question if they simply choose
to be such as they are. Living things made of that which does not live as we understand, not like the spirits of Avelorn's forests nor even the odd phenomenon wherein the corpses of our fallen rose again in foulest mockery of life by the unintended congealing of the Winds during the most cataclysmic of our battles against the Great Enemy.
Indeed the things written down here are exactly as he puts it. Entities composed of living fire, wind, earth and water born within particularly magic inundated lands, most often in the aftermath of great battles where the winds were worked and torn asunder. Forming and falling in the span of hours to minutes with little rhyme or reason until the ambient levels of magic are returned to something more akin to normalcy. Beings that ranged in appearance from looking like elves to amorphous constructs of barely coherent shapes and forms, made wholly of the unliving material of the land and when dissected revealed little more than particularly magical rocks, water or ash.
Yet there is one particular brand of Elemental that Salendor wrote about that disturbed him as much as it did you to read about.
The Elemental Incarnate as he puts it, living entities composed of the very Winds of Magic themselves.
Where the mortal plane is more akin to the Aethyr than our material existence, where the monsters who so love to consume and torment our souls dance freely and with no care, I see them. Bursting into existence in pillars of the Winds so large that only the greatest mages could dare bring an equal amount of energy to heel, they rise like beacons in the night. The chaotic howl of the immaterial is silenced by the roar of a single wind brought to something akin to the foulest form of sapience. The daemons laugh and wail in equal measure depending on if they were summoned to aid or born more "naturally", in the case of the latter they charge the beast and they die and reform and die again until either the construct falls to their blades or whatever quirk of the Aethyr maintaining its form fails. In the case of the former, it takes a great deal of effort for our blades and magic to slay such Incarnations. No more than two dozen times in my life have I seen such phenomena, each one far to the north in the Kingdom of Nagerythe or at the edge of our charts wherein Caledor brought many of us to seek the source of the world's malignancy. Each time I saw them, they were a creation composed of either Ghur, Aqshy or Shyish but none of the other five Winds. Yet I believe it is possible that such a thing could be made, though I dread the cost of such an endeavour. Better a familiar, or even a golem good reader, than that which I saw. As this is a tome meant only for those yet learning or are interested in such an art, I cannot, in good conscience, recommend anything other than you flee or if you are so blessed to have a mage who has come into the fullness of their power and wields Qhaysh with goodly skill, to leave such a threat to them.
The rest of the tome was thankfully less bleak. The elf oddly transitions to speak about which materials are most magically in tune with certain works and incantations. How best to prepare the spells and mindset for creating a golem, and or familiar. The latter especially was something that he went into a great deal of detail about. A bit of light reading for a hopefully humbled and terrified reader to finish the book with? Or maybe it was Salendor's way of promoting the use of familiars as the superior form of magical construct? The placement of the section
after he detailed the myriad of terrifying and uneconomical versions of such creations certainly pointed in one of those directions. Or it could entirely be due to his whims and desires on the subject, he did after all spend a good thirty pages detailing why only charlatans and fools used Limestone for anything other than decorative covering, fertilizer or some odd tooth-specific paste. Which while something you generally agreed with save for the whole tooth business that you had no clue about, went beyond describing why using it to create a Golem intended for combat was a poor idea and all the way to why it was inferior to Marble for use as a kitchen countertop.
As for the familiars themselves, well they were, from what you understood, a form of companion for an aspiring wizard, attuned to them specifically and providing a multitude of benefits to the caster. Absorbing spells, acting as a reservoir of power, an extension of their will, even a medium for them to speak with others if so inclined. While there were many ways such a being could be created or bound, in line with the topic of his book Salendor spoke only about creating a familiar from scratch with the use of magic and a whole host of collected material. Things like which reagents were best for whatever sort of creature the mage in question wished to have, and how best to create such a being and the like. But that wasn't all, he spent a considerable amount of time explaining and arguing for which body types were best suited for what type of work one did, whether it was better to have a familiar that enhanced your strengths or covered your weaknesses, and other similar topics.
It is best, in this author's opinion, to commit wholly to one such companion at a time. While some of my colleagues are fond of acquiring a collection of familiars over their lives, all can agree that it is best for any mage, especially one making their first familiar, that they do not shirk away from committing the best resources possible in a familiar's creation. After all, as one grows in their wisdom and status it is natural for you to accumulate greater quality reagents and materials as time passes, and the hoarding of such materials, when they can be put to use getting one to such a position all the faster, is simply inefficient.
While the idea of a companion who would effectively live as long as you did and was capable of enhancing your own Runecraft was an idea you could see the appeal of, the element of chance inherent in their creation, something Salendor makes great pains to point out, soured the idea somewhat. Magic was, despite the best efforts of the elves, an inherently finicky and unpredictable power, and for all their preparation one could still end up with a familiar that either had some odd physical property or had an entirely random personality.
Magic, no greater source of nonsense to be found save perhaps a particularly foolish beardling.
Your musing is interrupted by a crash and round of cursing.
One of the Masters must have gone and bungled up something, you get up from your chair and move out of the way of the Hearth Guard rushing onto the scene with bundles of bandages and medical supplies in their hands and grumbling on their lips.
Foolishness was a sadly persistent force in your life.
━<><><>< 307 A.P. ><><><>━
(Roll, Retainers: 84 +35[Bonus] +10[Extra action] =129)
(Roll, Crit: 7 +29[Rollover] =36)
Ylva stands before the Lord of Karazbinvarr, his mate and children beside him dwarfed by his imposing height.
"Ylva Whose Hands are like Hearths, Keeper of Flame and paragon of your Flock" he begins, voice echoing through the chamber as it takes on an otherworldly quality, "For aid rendered by those who Guard the Hearth, those of their Flock with the talent, She who's Talons Hold Amber and She who Sings Snow in Creation, shall be taught by the Bloodhunter and Stormcaller of Karazbinvarr, until such a time that the teacher deems the apprentice sufficiently learned in their respective skills. Signed now in blood by both parties."
"On behalf of our Lord, I observe and agree to these terms," She proclaims, staring at the Brana's now glowing eyes with no trace of fear.
The air crackles and smells of ozone, and Ylva cannot help but notice that lightning now crackles out of the otherworldly orbs the Prince's eyes have become.
"Then the pact is sealed, in blood and honour are we bound, let neither party be found wanting in the eyes of our Forebears," he roars, the wind picking up to a powerful gale that buffets at her before it and the energy of the room fades away to nothingness.
The room is silent for the next few moments, broken only when He who Thinks deigns to speak once more.
"Your aid will be remembered Hearthwarden, let the blood pact between our folk continue to be as fruitful as it has here," the massive Brana says, eyes that were cracking with lightning returning to their natural state.
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"Thirty-fifth strike is faltering again Laggra, do you want a working Prosthetic or a sad assemblage of metal you can shuffle around!" You thunder before turning around and yelling at yet another bumbling beardling that somehow attained the rank of Master, "Belegar! Don't think I can't hear you futzing up that chisel placement, do you take me for a deaf man? Do you see a horn sticking out of my ear lad?!"
"No Lord Klausson!" Belegar shouts over the din of hammers and roar of flame.
"Bah!" You shout, voice echoing out of the chamber and through to the rest of the Masters in their own stations, "I disappear for an hour to meet with a veteran missing a leg and I find a third of you slacking! This isn't about
you beardlings, this is about what you're making! Every mistake repeated, every lesson ignored is a mark of shame not only for yourself but for your Ancestors and your Masters! I expect to see my wisdom taken to heart when I return!"
A chorus of acknowledgements follows you as you ascend the steps, but words are only words when it comes to the making of Runes. Results are what matter here.
With that out of the way read through Myrion's latest letter, this one, in particular, was especially hefty, a solid ten pages of answers with a further five composed entirely of questions for you. Perhaps because of your questions regarding Vaul, Myrion had started to ask a few questions about Grungni, Smednir and Thungni and the differences between them from your perspective, which in turn led to a discussion about the cultural role Runesmiths held within the dwarf community. In your own explanations about the importance Runesmiths had, both in determining one's social standing in the work they gave and the practical uses your items obviously held made her draw parallels to the priesthood of Vaul.
And that naturally drew your curiosity. Because for all you found Vaul's tale disquieting, what was likely a group of the Elve's greatest craftsmen and smiths interested you greatly both on a personal and professional level and Myrion does her best to oblige.
Based within a temple built inside a mighty Volcano aptly named Vaul's Anvil the literal blind priests toiled to make arms and armour of great magical might for the elves of Ulthuan. To bear something of their make was a mark of great esteem, and many of Ulthuan's ruling families and heroes bore one of the famed creations made at Aenerion's order and enchanted by Caledor's mystic might, or so Myrion says. As for the priesthood itself, Myrion was admittedly less learned in such things.
What she knew was rather general in its understanding, with a lack of nuance and detail you saw in her diatribes about Avelorni cuisine for instance. Still, what she knew was far more than you did. All new initiates into the cult ritually blinded themselves in imitation of their patron, to understand and suffer as he did for the sake of elfkind, yet they retained their skill and ability as if they had never been blinded at all. It was rumoured that in some respects they even improved after such a ceremony. Myrion is not privy to the secrets of how exactly the blind priests are able to achieve this, but her belief in Vaul's hand in causing such a phenomenon was one shared by many among her people. Nevertheless, once they had blinded themselves the priests became adherents to the strictures of the temple, not necessarily removing the ties they held to their past life, but putting their duty to Ulthuan before any loyalty to their family or home Kingdom. Those duties, from what Myrion wrote, were remarkably...familiar. Initiates were expected to learn at the feet of elder priests, honing their newfound "gifts" until they were deemed capable of crafting weapons and armour worth the metal they were made of through some secret ritual. Every so often an enterprising elf, often a great hero or noble of high standing, came before the temple's steps to beseech the priests for a weapon worthy of aiding them in their tasks, just as Aenerion, Caledor and so many other warriors of ages past did, usually in exchange for some labour or sacrifice of wealth to prove their intent and purity of purpose for the sake of all Ulthuan.
And it clicks for you.
Perhaps it is due to your position as a Runesmith, but you came to the realization that the Priests of Vaul were a body of artisans not too fundamentally dissimilar to your own Guild, something Myrion was partly aware of but, as hubristic such a thought was, you felt didn't fully grasp. After one tore away the pomp and ceremony behind everything, what the Cult did it was little different than a Craftguild. Incorporating and teaching apprentices, taking commissions from clients, there was even an annual festival throughout Caledor that had the priests reveal relics of ages past and new weapons forged among them to the populace, offering trials for those worthy to wield them in war and testing the craftsmen of Ulthuan. Of course, there were specifically religious elements and ceremonies, pilgrimages to the confusingly named Anvils of Vaul throughout Ulthuan and the known world, which Myrion tells you were entities and phenomena separate from Vaul's Anvil, and the passing of Vaul's hammer to the greatest smiths for especially important commissions, but by and large, there was a practical purpose behind even those ceremonies.
Thinking on it further you realize, it was in line with your understanding of elven faith and religion as well. The fact that Vaul's priests were simply exceedingly faithful Master Artisans made a whole host of sense. When every act of forging or creation was invoking and worshipping Vaul the best smiths being the members of his priesthood was a forgone conclusion. Whether one was cause for the other or vice versa was ultimately irrelevant in the grand scheme though you imagine the elves may ponder over it.
You'd reckon your own Guild were the better craftsmen though, but an honest answer would require a proper comparison. That much was the very least your professional and personal pride demanded.
Words were words after all, only when backed by one's honour, or better yet, their deeds were they something you cared for.
━<><><><==><><><>━
"That went well," Fjolla mutters as they leave her parent's house.
And it had, her mother had been supportive and her father hadn't been using his displeased grunts the entire night. Joll nods in agreement absentmindedly, staring at and flexing the fingers of his flesh and blood hand.
"Your father has a very strong grip. I think it may bruise," he says.
"It means he likes you," she assures with a pat on the shoulder.
If Joll is skeptical of her words he makes no show of it, simply lowering his hand and following her through the Clan Hall silently and, for once, visibly. The both of them ignoring the curious glances of the rest of Clan Hrokisson as they make their way to where the Clan Elders wait. For all that she is anxious about the meeting, it's simultaneously made worse and better by the fact that most of her Elders are her Aunts and Uncles with the occasional Granduncle or Grandaunt, a consequence of being a Clan so young she supposed.
Another consequence would be that her family would be particularly aggressive about keeping her
in the Clan. Joll had told her that his Clan didn't particularly favour one tradition over the other, and that meant they were flexible enough about the whole thing if there was sufficient recompense for losing a Runesmith they'd go along with it.
"Be ready for anything, I'm told the meeting between your Elder Council and mine went well enough. So I expect them to run you through the grinder for all that you're worth," she explains.
"It may be different than what Master Yorri put me through, but I can't imagine it being worse," Joll tells her honestly.
"For both our sakes let's hope you're right. Come on then, we'd better not be late," Fjolla mutters before she and Joll open one half of the door each. A purposeful gesture.
Ancestors she wanted this dealt with as soon as possible, she shuddered to think what her apprentices were doing while she was away dealing with this mess. Damn fools could be getting themselves killed for all she knew.
━<><><>< 310 A.P. ><><><>━
It is done.
After a century of labour, your oath to Kraka Grom is considered complete by all parties.
The ceremony to commemorate the occasion is one of the better ones you've attended, if only because you aren't the Hold's Runelord and are therefore not required to do anything save be present and enjoy the ale.
A refreshing change of pace.
Beneath the light of countless runes, the symbols and faces of the Hold's Ancestors the whole of Grom's populace celebrate the occasion in the largest of the Hold's galleries with as grand a feast as they can manage. Ale flows by the barrel, spiced roasts are carted out and there is an air of general celebration you are unaccustomed to seeing from the otherwise stoic populace. Dwarfs from across the north, nobles, thanes and veterans of Dum, are invited to partake in the occasion, and they come in their droves. It is not a raucous and drunken festival from Ornsmotek, nor even as cheerful as Kraka Drakk, but the people are undoubtedly happy. Happy to have completed a great endeavour, happy to be out of the horror that became of Karag Dum, or happy to simply see their children hale and healthy, it nevertheless marked a change. One that was undoubtedly for the better.
Another welcome change of pace was the fact that no one tried to bother you, instead, they were focusing their attention and praise on your Hearth Guard and Igna for their contributions. Not out of a lack of appreciation, quite the opposite in fact. No one from Grom wanted to annoy you out of respect and that something that the guests they invited caught onto and mimicked, which meant you could actually drink in peace too!
Ah, you'd relish this.
Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a consequence of the situation. There, with his back to a table, you see Rudil has been surrounded by a crowd of several dwarfs, fathers and their daughters from Grom and across the Far North, enterprising youngsters no doubt looking to impress him and even the odd veteran of Dum coming by to offer their thanks. For all that Rudil puts up an admirable front in the face of such an onslaught, you can easily tell he's flustered by the attention.
You cackle internally at the boy's plight but then realize that said boy is only a few years shy of his fifth century by this point.
Ancestors be good, what are they teaching the youth these days?
Your faith is restored however when you see young Valka, equally surrounded by a host of suitors, compose herself with all the dignity and grace you expect from a Queen of her hold. Giving them just as much attention as she feels they deserve without offending any parties involved unintentionally, while thoroughly disabusing them of the notion that she will let whoever she marries dictate how her home and people are treated with impunity, let alone sideline her.
At least someone knows what they're doing.
━<><><><==><><><>━
As enjoyable as the feast was, you can't spend all your time eating stonebread and drinking ale. Too much to do and you weren't the kind of dwarf to enjoy spending your time lazing about and gathering moss.
Not anymore at least, maybe before, when-
-well the point was that you had more important things to do.
Like finally finishing off the Commission for the cult of Valaya, which would be your immediate priority the moment you got home. As of right now, stuck in a wagon headed towards Kraka Drakk and surrounded by your Hearth Guard once more, you focus your restless mind by reading over your correspondence with Myrion. The topic had recently shifted towards what sort of magical traditions the elves of Avelorn practiced that were distinct from the rest of the Kingdoms.
Compared to the details she had on the Cult of Vaul, Myrion was able to speak with a great deal more authority and detail.
There was obviously a great emphasis on the use of
Ghyran, the Wind of Life, among the populace. Obvious uses like using it to cultivate gardens of magical plants over centuries for all sorts of properties were common as were maintaining groves and natural sanctuaries across the Kingdom considered sacred to Isha. But the elves of Avelorn used
Ghyran in other ways, nurturing groves of magically nutritious fruit and making fields of wheat so equally beautiful and filling that they shone like molten gold the light. The few farmers Avelorn had were so adept at using
Ghyran that they could feed a disproportionate amount of the populace with far less land than expected. Something purposefully cultivated by the Everqueens, Myrion explains, to better preserve the natural beauty of the Kingdom and ensure that the Kingdom wasn't reliant on a large percentage of its population to keep itself fed. Though much of those same traditions were invariably tied up with incantations and invocations to Isha, the elven mother goddess, considering the realm was the domain of her avatar. Surprisingly, at least at first, there was also a sizable portion of the populace dabbling in the use of
Aqshy as well. Though after Myrion explained it with a bit of detail you suppose it made a lick of sense.
Aqshy was not only the Wind of Flame, but of Passion and emotion as well. So it stood to reason that as Avelorn was considered by many, again according to Myrion, to be Ulthuan's cultural heartland the Wind would not be far behind. It was most often used among Avelorn's poets, artists and other performers, using the Wind's tendency and proclivity to inflame passion and emotion to heighten the impact of their performances.
As the eldest of the Elven Kingdoms and progenitor of the other nine, Avelorn's magical traditions harken back to a time when Ulthuan had but one Ruler, the Everqueen. And that reflected in the methodology of their traditions. Harvest ceremonies that lasted days, plays and poems that were so long they required weeks to recite fully, it spoke of an idyllic and almost timelessness to the land. So too was the magic and traditions held there. Spells used were meant to last a great deal of time even for the elves, and so few Kingdoms could boast enchantments as long lasting as those of Avelorn's mages. Myrion spoke at length about the bows of the Sisters of Avelorn, how she caught a glimpse of one in her youth and tales of how these artifacts could go for decades without requiring maintenance.
Not that impressive to you, but then again the Elves didn't have
Runes.
But while that was all well and good, you had wondered why Myrion hadn't mentioned any traditions practiced solely by Avelorn's mages, asking if it was something akin to Guild Secrets that she could not divulge.
She had assured you that she would tell you outright if it was ever the case, and that the reason why Avelorn's mages didn't have their own unique traditions was simply because of a trend towards Homogeneity among all of Ulthuan's mages. When every mage strived to master
Qhaysh, it was difficult for any one realm to develop a distinct and unique form of spell casting for their mages. Mages who focused on one wind specifically weren't uncommon, but mages who never bothered to learn beyond one wind were rare. So it was that the common populace, those who rarely used magic beyond what was necessary, were the ones to develop distinct traditions based on the few winds they used most often. The Mist Weavers, the Priests of Vaul, Myrion explained, were examples of elves who practiced casting with a single or a few winds, but they weren't considered true mages. Simply professions that interacted with magic on level deeper than most.
Every elf, she wrote,
used magic in some way shape or form, but only a mage put in the effort to
master it.
Enlightening.
━<><><><==><><><>━
"Have a bite," Laequalys says, passing over a loaf from his satchel as the dwarf pokes at the fire with his axe. An elk leg slowly roasting on a spit over the fire fills the campsite with the smell of tender flesh and carmelizing fat.
Gimli eyes the baked good suspiciously, the last time he had food from Ulthuan it had kept him chained to the toilets for a week.
"I've vetted it with your Valayan priestesses you worrywart. No runs, constipation or any other ill effect you can think of by eating it. I swear it," he says assuringly.
Grunting, Gimli gingerly takes the proffered loaf and takes a bite.
Then another.
And another, stopping just shy of finishing the loaf halfway.
"Not as good as Durazbrog, but not
terrible," he replies eventually.
"Glowing praise I see. A traditional meal, which I'm sure you'll appreciate, from Avelorn that spread with the original elven exodus countless ages ago. Plenty of names for it, but in Chrace we call it Hunter's Loaf. A single bite can keep us going for days, useful for said long hunts and stores easily."
"This doesn't have any magic in it does it?" Gimli mutters, eyeing the half-eaten piece of bread with newly raised suspicion.
"Only as much as the wine, can't exactly have anything non-magical in Ulthuan, at least for very long," his friend says with a shrug that somehow manages to look dignified.
"Still don't get that stuff either by the way," he says, poking at the fire again and turning the handle to rotate the slowly cooking meat over to a new side.
"You're meant to savour it," Laequalys explains for what feels like the hundredth time, "enjoy the sips."
"I can understand the
savouring," he mutters, "I'm wondering why you insist on using such small glasses. It's like you want to spend all night by the barrels with how quickly I've seen you pour it down sometimes."
"Would you rather spend your night by a barrel of wine or talking with a bunch of nobles vying for your favour? At the very least I have a good enough excuse by saying 'I've run out of wine and need to get some more for myself since I don't trust the server to give me enough.' "
"I'll give you the spending your night by the barrel part, but I can do the exact same with a properly sized tankard," Gimli counters.
━<><><>< 312 A.P. ><><><>━
The representatives of the Cult of Valaya arrived exactly when they said they would. On a fresh summer's morning, the small settlement around your home is treated with quite the view as a procession of masterfully made wagons guarded by a band of heavily armed and armoured matrons all being led by an elderly priestess and her two apprentices ride into town. They stop outside your home, beneath the imposing gaze of the two towers that flank the approach to your front door. They are thankfully spared the hassle of bringing the wagons to your door because you've been standing outside waiting for them with the armour and several members of your Hearth Guard.
As they get closer you get a better look at the Dwarfs in question. The Valkyrie Guard present are all old veterans, wearing gleaming Gromril over steel chainmail and the cult's customary purple fabric, their winged helms catching the light of the sun while Runes glow on their arms and armour. The priestess is clad in simple if masterfully decorated robes, the fabric a deep and rich purple and edged with gold, Valaya's rune burning on a golden amulet dangling from her neck.
"Lord Klausson," the representative says, eyeing the armour curiously, "Punctual and proactive as Moira claims, Valaya favours such dedication. I am Menna Bronzeeye, the representative of the Cult on this occasion and High Priestess of Karak Drazh."
"Of course Priestess," you rumble respectfully, "Would the aid of my Hearth Guard be appreciated?"
"I don't see why not," she replies, planting her staff into the snow and cracking her fingers, "Alright girls, the faster we get this done the sooner we can head out. Valaya does not brook laziness now! Up to it!"
"Yes High Priestess," they reply, swiftly moving towards the armour and the mass of dwarfs already moving them onto the carts.
Both you and High Priestess Menna walk after them while both your entourages move into action around you.
"You thought about a loading bay Klausson? A damn sight more practical than standing out in this weather just to make an impression," she says conversationally.
"Thought about it, but hands are full teaching beardlings, and shoring up the defences. But I can put it on the docket, was deciding between doing that or widening the approach," you rumble.
"Forged Limb Rune hmm?" she says, drawing a nod from you, "Well at least it's a better reason than most others give. Moira's rather gung ho about the whole thing and the lasses up here are following her lead, but we're a tad bit more cautious down south. Though I suspect that as the knowledge gets passed around to a few more Masters we'll pick up the pace."
"That is good to hear," you answer, lifting up a piece of armour, "Has the Cult been having issues?"
"Hah! We've dealt with prickly Runesmiths before, I'm not privy to the specifics, and the circumstances certainly make it a pain in our arses, but I don't reckon this is any different so long as no one gets foolish about it. Have a bit of faith eh? No one gets to our age by being incompetent, well most of the time," she chuckles before stopping in front of one of the suits.
You watch silently as she shuffles over and examines the chainmail resting beneath the plates.
"Hmph, well I'll be damned, you
did manage it. Much as I prefer six to one, I suppose there's nothing
wrong with the standard four to one pattern. Grungni's baldric, it's a wonder why His lads aren't swarming your home like bees to honey," Menna utters, rubbing a piece of the mail between two of her fingers and giving it a sniff.
"I've already made an accord with them, which is about as much as I can say on the matter without breaking my oaths," you respond.
"No need to speak about it any more than you already have either. Even that is good enough news, my sister Priestesses were worried they'd act a bit rashly,"
"You have my thanks Priestess," you rumble, hefting another chest full of armour onto one of the wagons.
"Hmph, Elda always grumbled about how many of you Winterhearth moved North but I reckon that it turned out for the best," Menna says, showing no sign of exertion as she expertly loads another two chests onto the wagon.
"Aunt Elda was certainly one of the more vocal proponents against the decision from what I've been told. Is she well?" you ask.
"Bah! She's still kicking and keeping the more foolish Thanes at Eight Peaks in line. Course I haven't met her since the conclave two months ago, so anything more up to date is beyond me. If you're so interested in her business write to your aunt yourself lad I'm no Rune Bearer!" she tuts.
"Of course Priestess," you reply.
━<><><>< Khazalid Trivia ><><><>━
Konk - Gold that is ruddy in colour
Galaz - Gold used in ornamentation
Dromlinling - "Dromlin's People/Folk"
Durazbrog - Stonebread
━<><><>< Gain ><><><>━
- Hold Founding Complete! Kraka Grom has been founded within half the span of a single dwarfen lifetime, a great achievement
-- Revealed Standing with Kraka Grom, new totals: Standing 10, Favours 400
--- Standing Bonus received! Standing 5, No Deep Ignored: Dum Delvers added to potential recruitment pool.
--- Standing Bonus received! Standing 10, Nowhere too Deep: Retainer actions gain a bonus when doing tasks underground.
-- 2/2
---
Productivity like No Other Upgraded!
---
Specialty: Productivity (Mastered) > Productivity (Mastered +)
- Armoured Maidens Complete!
-- +2 Standing and 40 Favour with the Cult of Valaya, new totals: Standing 8, Favours 200
--- Standing Bonus received! Standing 7, Healer, Brewer: Retainers now have access and ability to administer Valayan brews and medicine, + Medical Aid and Endurance, new totals: Medical Aid +++, Incredible+ Endurance
- Gromrilklad changed!
Due end of Turn 47. Productivity like No Other will proc. Gain 2 Standing and 70 Favour with the Grungni. Snorri thinks another person might be found by the end of turn 45. They have been told, and though the reward is lessened they will remember your honesty. +?
- Knowledge about Avelorn magical traditions.
- Knowledge about Vaul's Priesthood, the order of Blind Smiths who craft the magical weapons and armour of the elves. Of course their works can't compare to Runecraft, nothing really can, but they're closer than most. Though your sample size isn't that large admittedly.
- Knowledge about beings the elves call
Elementales and other constructs.
Trait(s) Gained/Upgraded:
Productivity like No Other -> Peerless Production: Every 2 request actions add 1 free action's worth of progress. If 3 request actions, instead add 2 free actions.
Every input request action has a 40% chance to proc another action, does not proc on free actions.
Retainers:
- Elderly Expertise Complete!
-- +60 Favour with Stormpeak, new totals: Favours 160
-- Rimesong and Amberclaw to receive personal training from a Stormcaller and Bloodhunter respectively as payment.
━<><><><==><><><>━
AN: How about that DL Vote huh? :^V Sorry it took so long. Anyhoo here's the doot. So to explain peerless production, since I know you guys will ask for clarificaiton think of it like this.
Say you have put two actions into a request.
Before it would be: 2 [Input] +1[Proc] = 3 actions
Now it's: 2[Input] +1[Proc] + a potential 2 actions, one for each actual action you put = 3 to a theoretical max 5 actions.
So if you put in 5 actions before you'd get 8 actions guaranteed, it's now possible that you can get up to 13 actions worth of progress on a request if the Dice are in your favour.
Otherwise, I'd like to thank
@Imrix for his help with the elf cultural stuff. He was a great sounding board for checking the validity of my ideas and offering his own insight into stuff. Hope everything in here is worth the wait. As always, thanks for reading, and don't forget to
SUBSCRIBE AND MASH THAT LIKE BUTTON C&C. :^)
