On Thread Etiquette:
I'm not going to weigh in on the logic of either side's arguments, but I will ask that everyone read over what they write and really consider if the words they used are polite and won't be inflammatory intentionally or not. You cant account for people's tolerances perfectly but at least try to say your piece without saying things that can be easily construed as overly dismissive of the other side of the argument, thank you.
wonder what a 100 could be for looting chaos? did we find a waystone they where studying before corrupting it or something? or some bit of an ancestor's panoply that they somehow stole?
wonder what a 100 could be for looting chaos? did we find a waystone they where studying before corrupting it or something? or some bit of an ancestor's panoply that they somehow stole?
wonder what a 100 could be for looting chaos? did we find a waystone they where studying before corrupting it or something? or some bit of an ancestor's panoply that they somehow stole?
Potentially a Old One trinket/minor artifact that the Deargh had as a trophy maybe. Or a strategically important document (map of future plans? Map of waystone network under Fimir control?)
It could be a Relic Blade. Something moulded by Chaos in an attempt to create a weapon, only to screw it up and create something antithetical to itself would certainly be a suitably rare prize to come across.
Shouldn't those be -'s for thing that were in the Ash Storm?
E: also the second crit roll was just 7 off of being a second order crit was that a hard limit to how much can these explode or was it a "The chances of another Greedy Troll are so low I can bring back exploding crits."
so, the 71 got a +20 and a +15, to 106, and then exploded with a roll of 50 and a +6, for a total of 162
the 37 got a +15 for a 52
The 100 got +15 for 115, and then exploded with a 78 +15, for a total of 208
and the 35 got a +15 and +20 for a final result of 70.
Unless the exploding dice are not added to the original result and are treated as separate rolls, which gives us
106, 52, 115, 70, 56 and 93
I think the latter, because otherwise, the 208 would have exploded again.
so, the 71 got a +20 and a +15, to 106, and then exploded with a roll of 50 and a +6, for a total of 162
the 37 got a +15 for a 52
The 100 got +15 for 115, and then exploded with a 78 +15, for a total of 208
and the 35 got a +15 and +20 for a final result of 70.
Unless the exploding dice are not added to the original result and are treated as separate rolls, which gives us
106, 52, 115, 70, 56 and 93
I think the latter, because otherwise, the 208 would have exploded again.
how it works is that the second roll just adds to the previous one.
so
100+15=115. 115+78=193.
the way you can write this is
100+15=115
78+15=93=193
basically you don't add teh bonus again to the second roll
so, the 71 got a +20 and a +15, to 106, and then exploded with a roll of 50 and a +6, for a total of 162
the 37 got a +15 for a 52
The 100 got +15 for 115, and then exploded with a 78 +15, for a total of 208
and the 35 got a +15 and +20 for a final result of 70.
Unless the exploding dice are not added to the original result and are treated as separate rolls, which gives us
106, 52, 115, 70, 56 and 93
I think the latter, because otherwise, the 208 would have exploded again.
Though many are caught in the desperate fighting of urban combat, none can ignore the goings on in the city's center. The swirling column of black clouds has remained in place for hours now, a gaping maw that has consumed the heart of the Fimir's stronghold and the lives of the countless warriors and beasts they have sent in and had not returned. So when an echoing scream, one that was decidedly inhuman and reptilian in nature, sounds from within at a volume loud enough to travel across the entire city, followed by a muted boom, morale falls and rises in accordance to the side of battle one finds themselves on. Not long after, that emotion is only reinforced when those same eyes see the storm recede, its imposing walls shrinking inward until only a thin black column remains standing, before it too falls away like a structure of sand worn away by a breeze.
The Hearth Guard, seeing it as a sign that their liege has completed his work, alter their path. Bellowed commands and hearty affirmations ring out as the hundred some Dwarfs in service to Lord Klausson begin moving toward the city center. Resistance, thankfully, has already begun to crumble, with only a few remaining Fimir holdouts still capable of being a credible threat to the Throng that is already beginning to demolish the parts of the city closest to the breach.
The fighting will continue for several hours more, but by the day's end the city is firmly in Dwarf hands.
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Karstah and your retainers find you in the central chamber where you slew the Meargh, reptilian head in Mhorni's hands while you stare at the ruins of the Stone solemnly. Around you the room is a ruin of bodies and upturned stone that lays under a heavy layer of ash and dust. Turning at the sound of their combined footsteps coming to a halt, you idly note that several of your Hearthwardens raise kerchiefs to cover their nose and mouth while others stoically endure the discomfort. Belatedly you realize that they do not enjoy the same protections as you do, and move to make standing where they were less of a health hazard. With a grunt and small application of Runecraft you force the dangerous and frankly unsanitary particulates floating in the air down to the ground, weighing it down just as easily as you force your foes to their knees.
Several Hearthguard find the top of their armour spotting a thin dark grey coat of ash and bone dust, but better there than in their lungs or irritating the soft tissue of their nose and throats.
"Master?" Karstah broaches, making you turn and regard the hesitance in her gaze and how her eyes flicker from you, to Mhorni, and the mess you made of the central chamber.
"You ran straight here the second the storm fell didn't you?" you grumble, putting Karstah's worry aside for a moment. You glance at her in a way that makes it clear you'll discuss things in private later.
Your heir and the commander of your Hearth Guard nod.
Bah.
"Right then, Rudil!" you bark instead of answering, making the head of your retinue straighten at your tone, "Take a quarter of the Hearth Guard and start separating the rubble out, secure whatever parts of the monolith you think are untainted for me to inspect later. Mark down where it originally stood with something that I can find even after we tear this place down to the foundations, I trust you with figuring out how. As for the rest of you, standard tainted equipment clean-up procedures. Be especially diligent here, I'd rather you bring me something mundane to break down than risk letting even one daemon-forged artefact escape destruction. Everyone save Karstah and I will act in teams of no less than five, mark anything that looks too dangerous to handle without more assistance and act with care. Just because I killed everything inside doesn't mean this cesspit is safe."
"Aye Lord!" Rudil confirms, smacking his fist to his chest, the movement followed by the rest of the Hearth Guard
"Come along now Karstah, there's much to discuss but we'll talk while we work," you say as you pass her and the Hearthwardens rushing past you to see their orders through, marching out of the room without waiting for her to reply.
When you get to Dreng, the two of you share a brief look between yourselves and come to an unspoken agreement. Understanding that you'd rather speak with your heir in private your fellow elder nods and moves to join Rudil as they pick through the rubble.
You and your heir walk out of the room, the rest of the Hearth Guard following suit..
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"Ask your question properly lass," her master finally says, still looking ahead as they walk down an unexplored hallway, finally alone
"That was one of the stones you spoke of, wasn't it?" Karstah asks quietly.
"Aye," he answers, voice bereft of emotion.
Before Karstah can inquire further, Master Snorri slows to a halt as they come before the entrance to a sealed chamber, the stone door pristine compared to the ash-covered and unnaturally weathered stone surrounding it.
Her teacher spares her a glance, and at her shrug merely snorts and shakes his head. He moves to open it, but stops just shy of touching the door itself when a flash of necrotic purple energy zaps his Adamant-clad hand harmlessly. Humming thoughtfully he turns to his shadow, taking the Fimir's head still held in its hands and shoves it in front of the door for several seconds. The two of them wait for a few moments, and just as he begins to reach for his hammer the sound of grinding stone emanates from the entrance, and the slabs of rock slide apart in a fashion similar to what her teacher has in place in his own workshop.
"Be on guard," he whispers, hand resting cautiously on the pommel of his hammer.
Nodding, she follows him inside with her own weapons held at the ready
The room is silent, the black stone lit only by the harsh glare of torches both mundane and magical. Several tables, appropriately sized for a creature much larger than a Dwarf, are arrayed everywhere with all manner of instruments and other baubles upon them. The most common and mundane items are flasks made of darkened glass in various shapes held aloft by metal apparatuses, some filled with mysterious concoctions, and stacks of unknown parchment and books bound in what she can only hope is animal leather. Yet there are just as many tomes that exhibit more esoteric effects; crackling energy, shrieking ghastly wails, releasing puffs of dust or spores, or sickly rotten scents. One particular book, bound in red, bloodstained leather, even bleeds fresh blood from its pages rests on a pedestal that collects its weeping emanations and carries it somewhere below their feet. On the other end of the room she can see the outline of three entrances.
"Her inner sanctum?" Karstah wonders aloud, moving towards one of the least objectionable tables.
"Likely. But don't get distracted, remember the purpose for our coming," her teacher cautions, watching as she quietly examines a set of glass phials that hold a neon-red substance within them.
"Yes master," she answers, tearing her eyes away from the oddities and back towards his quietly frowning visage.
"Continue looking through this area for anything that needs to be destroyed, Karstah." her Master orders, "I will see what lies beyond the doors on the left. If you somehow finish before me, examine what lies behind the one on the right."
Karstah nods and then starts walking around the tables, examining everything in the room with renewed attention.
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"My prince!" one of the Huskarls shouts, standing to attention.
Gimli nods at him absentmindedly, still staring at the wretched sight before him. The forms that are exiting too small hovels constructed out of rock and mortar. Dawi from all walks of life, yet all in deplorable states of dress, injury and nutrition were being escorted or carried out of the slave quarters in their dozens to the healing tents where clerics of Valaya laboured to treat them.
How many had laboured to build this city? How many had died? Gimli wondered, frowning at the scene in front of him.
How many had suffered because of their collective failure, a traitorous, poisonous, whisper in the back of his mind asks.
Another cause to hate their enemy, another wrong to right. Every injustice a weighty stone laid upon a metaphorical scale that was the duty of all Dawi, especially Kings and Lords, to see balanced.
Gimli puts the thought aside and moves to assist an emaciated Elder as he stumbles out of the hovel these Dawi had been crammed into.
"I need no pity Princeling," the Old Dwarf says, "Go help the beardlings and those who need it."
Gimli looks at his shaking knees and half-sure steps.
"I won't hear any cheek from you," the elder warns, glaring without any heat, "Prince or otherwise."
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Bodies.
Dozens upon dozens of corpses from several separate species all in varying states of wholeness. Not just animals, no your foe is too monstrous for it to remain there. Instead, interspersed among the chimeras and griffons and just as clinically torn apart are Dwarfs.. Many are sporting incision marks indicative of dissection, others are missing limbs and extremities while a few are barely more than slabs of precisely cut flesh. It shows an utter disregard, or perhaps just how lowly the lizards view your people.
The same as any beast, and deserving of no better treatment.
Idly, you note that you had planned to see if there could be some use from the Fimir's head that Mhorni was currently cradling and that you had hacked apart Dragon Ogres and Drakki in the past as well.
So the macabre sight does not phase you, merely brings about a wave of weariness as you move to secure their remains for the priests of Gazul.
Before you reach the dead Dawi, another set of corpses makes you pause.
(Roll, Survival: 31 +15[Omake] =46)
At first, you thought they were Elves, but upon closer examination you realize that despite the parity in size these bodies are much too muscular, along with a host of other minor differences, to be one of the Elgi.
There are three bodies, two are what you assume to be men, and one woman. One of the men is older and sports a chin-length beard and braided locks the colour of snow, his tanned skin is weathered with age but pulled taught by his heavily muscled frame. The other two are not as old, their raven black hair and smooth skin a sign of their youth, and had you been made to guess you would say they would have just entered adulthood. The younger male is heavily muscled, but not as much as his elder, while the young woman is a bundle of corded musculature beyond that of an elf but fairer than either of the two men. All three sport tattoos across what remains of their bodies, the white and green swirls depicting beautiful, precise curling patterns and stylized imagery you have no context to appreciate.
A closer look makes you realize that they share a striking resemblance between the three of them, and it sends a pang of empathy through you. Perhaps you are merely projecting and their shared traits are endemic to their people, but the thought of this being a family strikes you deeply. Glancing at the other two, they are briefly replaced by the blank-eyed stares of your nieces and nephews, of Rudil, or Snerra, of Karstah.
You try to get the image out of your mind by returning your gaze to stare at the slack-jawed face of the elder. You wonder if these two beside him were his niece and nephew, or perhaps his children, maybe even his grandchildren. Their bodies sport signs of torture, bruises and cuts that show a level of cruelty and malice you hadn't seen on any of the other corpses in the room.
What horror and indignity did these beings suffer? Did this elder beg for their safety? Did he swear vengeance?
Allowing a moment of empathy to overtake you, you step close enough to shut their eyelids one after another, giving their mutilated bodies some small measure of dignity in death.
"I do not know you stranger," you mutter, "but I hope my vengeance brings you and yours some solace, wherever it is your souls rest."
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After having gathered every hazardous item she could find and putting them onto a set of tables for Master Snorri's later perusal Karstah continues with her appointed task by heading into the rightmost chamber.
Immediately upon opening it Karstah is face to face with the pale, lifeless eyes of the Dragon. The head and the rest of the serpentine body hung from giant chains
The Shardwyrm's corpse fills the room, its serpentine body plucked clean of its trademark spines and several sections have been cut off in their entirety.
Young, her mind analytically notes, development suggests subject had only just reached sexual maturity, perhaps a few decades older at most, at time of death. Wounds indicative of live capture then slaughter at a later time.
She notices that tucked away in the corner of the room are several containers made of steel and dark, semi-transparent glass. Walking over to get a closer look, she opens one of the barrels and is immediately hit by the smell of fresh blood. Opening another, shows what appears to be the Dragon's gas sacs floating in a preservative. Looking at the other containers against the corner Karstah is pretty sure that she's found the Dragon's blood and missing body parts.
A few minutes of opening containers confirms her suspicions easily enough too.
Very recently slaughtered then, given the state of the blood, the appearance of the organs and the almost haphazard method in which these were moved to the side.
They'd have to confirm that none of this material had been tainted, but if even a fraction of it was clean it'd be a very valuable catch indeed.
When Karstah told you of what she found in the rightmost room you had to see for yourself.
You're quietly thankful that it seems your foe didn't have the time to utilize such a potent source of reagents against you. Not because you thought it would change the outcome of the battle, merely make it more bothersome to overcome. Potent as it may be, a young shardwyrm was not on the level of the elder specimen you faced all those centuries ago so it would have limited the sort of danger you'd expect to face. Admittedly you could be wrong and had the Lizard been able to utilize the Shard Dragon's body parts for its ritual you'd have been in far graver danger than what you faced, but given that the Fimir wizard was dead, the point was ultimately moot.
If nothing else, you'd be happy to come away from this entire endeavour with the Fimir's head, but an entire Dragon corpse? That was quite the nice surprise, but perhaps inconsequential in the grand scheme. You already had a great deal of material wealth, some would say almost incalculable, if they were a fool of course. While a dragon is certainly not so mundane as a chest of gold, you've got…quite a few dead dragons and their constituent bits in your vaults.
You absentmindedly glance at Karstah as she diligently goes about gathering a stack of books to bring to the pile on a table you've temporarily marked as the "for destruction" pile.
Karstah could find some use for it, she'd certainly actually get around to using it faster than you would at any rate.
Tabling the thought, you order your heir to finish up there and join you before the final door. There is some trepidation about what you'd find there, given the last two chambers had contained bodies then if the pattern held you wonder what sort of beast the Fimir had slain, carved up then stored in here for their master.
"Ready Master," Karstah says, standing at attention behind you.
When you move to open the door a familiar, if far larger, bolt of green lightning strikes your hand. The sound is loud enough to make several sheets of parchment flutter off their tables and leave a very faint ringing in your ears.
For the love of-
-Exhaling, you motion for Mhorni to bring the head forward, waiting with Karstah as whatever magic has been worked on the door to recognize its formerly living creator and let you in.
It's only thanks to Mhorni's quick reflexes that it reacts in time when the door rejects the head. The construct shielding the body part from the bolt of necrotic lightning that sought to strike the corpse.
Right. The Fimir who built this either really didn't want anyone that wasn't them to open this door, or they were spiteful enough to give people like you a false sense of security. From what little non-violent interaction you have with their kind, you reckon it's honestly a bit of both.
Well.
Nothing for it then.
You reach for Zharrgal and a few swings of your hammer later the door lies in broken shards at your feet, revealing the contents it guarded to the world.
There are rituals and general signs that Runesmiths are taught to use that are meant to detect corruption and corrupted items, derived from lessons imparted by Thungni in the breaking of magic through the use of Runecraft. In the centuries leading to and during the Siege many Runesmiths had independently honed such an art. You did not need those practices to tell that the chamber is filled with such items, many of them clearly tainted beyond the point of no return. Cruel instruments and weapons made from that same dark iron you have grown used to seeing, and that doubtlessly contain daemons bound to their material forms. A few are like the books behind you, and emit esoteric effects that can only be done by cavorting with dark things anathema to this world. Instinctively you move to stand between them and Karstah, gripping Zharrgal all the tighter as the enormity of what exactly stands before you settles in.
"They're whispering to me," Karstah mutters, grunting in annoyance as she reaches for an amulet, casting the Rune to quell the noise. The clarion ping of Thungni's craft rings through the room, and you feel a small nugget of pride seeing several of the more obviously magical items waver as the light of Runecraft washes over them.
You glance at her questioningly, ready to drag her out of here if it proves too much for her to handle. Though it takes her a moment to settle down, she does confirm she's okay enough to continue. You decide to trust her judgement, but resolve to drag her out of here if her estimation of her capabilities proves wanting. This was the sort of situation you expect Karstah to be able to handle eventually, but you'd not throw her in unprepared.
"Should I even ask what garbage they spoke to you?"
Karstah shrugs, trying to feign nonchalance, "Promises of power, attempts to subvert my allegiance, the standard fare. I encountered something similar during my Journeying, but never in such numbers."
Your hammer ignites and you eye her critically. Your body language makes it abundantly clear that she can stand back if she wishes.
Karstah nods at you again, tense but firm in her decision to reject your unspoken offer.
"Very well then."
As the two of you walk closer, you stifle the magic in the room without much of a second thought, noting how the tenseness in Karstah's shoulders loosens ever so slightly.
"There have to be at least several dozen items in here I wouldn't put in the hands of anyone that wasn't a Runesmith, and two dozen I'd be wary of giving to anyone that wasn't a Runelord," she murmurs to herself.
Eh, you'd say a dozen and a half, but she's not far off to correct right away. Once you get somewhere less hazardous perhaps.
You did say to make sure not one corrupted item from this place survived past its destruction. You suppose you had to get started at some point, and now seemed as good a time as any.
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Rudil and several of his fellow Hearthwardens pause in their work, listening as the sound of a striking hammer rings through the halls mixes with the sound of shattering metal and the wail of dying daemons.
They're already running towards the source of the sound when the familiar roar of Lord Klausson echoing through the cavernous hallways signals the end of the cacophony, cutting off the last, most terrifying, of the screeching with his warcry.
"Two tankards we missed it," one of his brothers-in-arms says, running beside him.
"Only a fool would take that bet," another Hearthwarden replies, pausing for several seconds, before continuing, "Morgrim, want to wager on it?"
"Oh shut up you wazzok."
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When Lord Rudil and several other Hearth Guard reach them, her Master stands in front of a pile of shattered metal and dead daemons with a look of mild distaste; his features are cast in stark shadow by the flames that engulf his gore-caked hammer. Meanwhile, she sits in front of a smaller pile of broken Daemon weapons beneath her, though she's far more exhausted than her teacher. With a sigh, she wipes back some of the sweat-drenched hair clinging to her face. The screams had been painful to listen to, like a blade stabbing into her mind that she had to endure with every weapon broken and every Netherspawn banished, and she can't help but feel some measure of shame at becoming exhausted from simply enduring them when her master looks no worse for wear.
Looking up from his work, her teacher spares her a neutral look before snorting at his retainers.
"Well since you're here you can help with the bodies."
To Lord Rudil's credit, he takes it in stride and begins hollering orders immediately.
"Karstah," her master announces, drawing her gaze towards a proffered drinking horn, "Drink. Stand and follow if you are able, but do not force yourself to continue. There are likely more artefacts to destroy, yes, but the price of overexertion in this case is not one we pay without dire need. Do you understand?"
Taking the tankard, she gulps down the fortifying brew greedily before standing up and nodding.
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Tricksy lizards.
Your search led you to discover a draft that indicated a false wall, and after a single swing of your hammer it ended up revealing a room full of chests and vials. Not being a fool, you had sent in Mhorni first, who easily survived the wave of magical traps that activated once he passed the room's threshold. Several moments of watching enemy magic batter the unfazed elemental later, you and Karstah enter. A bit of digging has you soon discover that half the chests were empty, and many of the vials' "contents," were merely illusions cast by some devious enchantment. After clearing everything you found that only half of the containers held anything, and all were incredibly tainted. Totalling in a final haul of only more tainted artefacts, largely in the form of crude, geometric jewelry, and several dark tomes, of which one literally emanated a foul odour and visible green energy from its pages, that needed to be destroyed.
That time you did send Karstah away with a stern look and grim frown, knowing she was in no condition to expose herself to such malign things so soon after almost exhausting herself.
Another solid round of destruction later, and you were left with little to show for the effort. Just as you were about to leave the chamber, an idle comment by a returning Karstah made you decide to do a final once-over. Something you'd find a way to thank her for, given that listening to her and doing that second sweep was how you found yet another chamber hidden behind one of the walls in the first hidden chamber. The entrance was barely tall enough for a Fimir to walk through, and after getting past a heavily guarded door enchanted with yet more spells, it opened into an even smaller rectangular room. Even after passing this mortal coil the enemy had almost pulled a fast one on you, hiding a secret chamber within a secret chamber.
A second-order secret vault, you can grudgingly respect that sort of base cleverness.
And that had led to what was likely the final and most significant prizes this place would offer.
Three Shardwyrm eggs sat in a dark iron box at the far end of the room, and to their right was a weapon stand that held an absolutely massive example of a sword.
Well over two meters long the weapon was too massive for a Dwarf to wield, the hilt alone was about a fourth of its total length, while the black metal of the blade made up the remainder. Gold decorated it in a distinctly different, yet oddly familiar, aesthetic from the Fimir's usual style. Opposite the blade, to the left of the eggs, the broken remnants of two more swords that share a similar appearance to the whole one lie in another Iron display case.
As Karstah moves towards the box containing the eggs, you head towards the blade and give it a more thorough lookover.
Like a puzzle piece snapping into place, you realize that the swirls and motifs on the blade are strikingly similar to the tattoos on the bodies of those mysterious beings in the other chamber. The rush of satisfaction you feel at puzzling out the answer is quickly replaced by a sombre feeling as you continue to examine the weapon. It is immaculately cared for and well made, its edge keen, its length true and unbroken; the signs of obvious reverence and attention only visible to a fellow smith are evident. This was a weapon forged with great care and attention, and though you cannot ascertain its effectiveness, there is a kinship you feel examining the work of a fellow craftsman and a sense of sadness at seeing it in the hands of what could only be an enemy. Had the three bodies you found crafted these blades themselves? Were they gifts? Heirlooms from their forefathers?
"Did they seek to ruin the work of your people too I wonder?" you whisper to yourself.
"Master?" Karstah asks, her voice drawing you from your thoughts, "that sword isn't tainted."
"No." you reply, "No. It is not."
"...Do you know who made it?" she continues.
"Nai. Not for certain at least, but I know who wielded this one and the two others over there I believe," you answer, still staring at the weapon.
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You and Karstah watch as the fallen Hearthwardens are carried upon the all too familiar slabs, destined to be part of the larger convoy dedicated to bringing them home.
It is a grim note at the end of your little looting spree, but there was little to be done.
In total six of your retainers have fallen in battle, a full 5% of their total fighting force gone and in need of replacement. The cold logic of battle would say such losses were well within the expectations of any Throng on the march, if one took into account the calibre of the enemy your retainers regularly fought these past few months only six permanent fatalities was a great statistic.
And yet those words…
they fail to encapsulate the externalities of such a loss. Those were six grandparents, never to return home. Six elders who were sources of great wisdom, comfort and benefit not only to their Clans but their entire communities, forever lost. Six masters of their craft and profession, the secrets they hadn't yet shared, the skills they didn't teach, would be blows that would take centuries to recover from. If ever. Their lives, the price they paid to fulfill their oaths, and to avenge the Grudges of the fallen was costly indeed. While it was still a price any Dwarf would gladly pay, you included, none truly ever wished to pay it.
Better that no lives be lost, better that the Fimir were not here, better that they could continue as they did; living their lives until their work was done and they could feast eternal in the Halls of your forebears without regret or shame.
But that was not what fate decided.
They won't be the last, the world is too poor a place to be so kind.
"Come Karstah," you say, letting not a hint of the weariness you feel betray itself in your voice, "You will join me in the command tent this time."
You walk away from the sight of the procession and do not turn back. Soon after you can hear the footfalls of boots as Karstah follows you, but you know all too well that her gaze still lingers on the cloth-covered platforms heading in the opposite direction.
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"We're well below even our most hopeful expected casualty rates," Gloin says, just a smidge of satisfaction leaking into his voice.
Many in the room look to you, some in appreciation and in the case of Lord Silverbrand, barely disguised disdain. You merely grunt and say nothing, content to let your silence speak for you.
"A great many doors have been opened aye." the monarch of Dorden admits, "The question is what we do with the windfall."
"What do we do? There's only one answer isn't there?" King Dorr retorts.
A round of agreeing rumbles.
One part of you agrees, the other knows well enough that patience needs to be exercised, much as it galls to leave when the foe yet breathes.
"And yet there are two cities on either side of us. Splitting ourselves is folly, so we must choose," King Svarti clarifies, frowning at his brother king.
"Fair enough, the Rangers find anything that could sway us either way?" Dorr admits, too proud to do anything more than that.
The boy ought to be careful, you think quietly, a single poorly thought-out sentence has been the catalyst for more falling relations than the Dawi would like to admit.
"Not as much as we'd like, security's tighter than a Ravnsvake dovetail half the time, but what we do have is still useful. The closest settlements are to the north and southeast, we can't be entirely certain but the few troop movements we saw suggest that the northern city possesses a higher proportion of slaves and slave beasts. The south's main concern was because the swamps become far more difficult to traverse, large amounts of heavily corrupted plant and animal life will be present," Gloin answers, trying to keep the conversation from spiralling into arguments.
"What sort of Neverborn did they witness in either direction?" Vragni interjects, speaking what you, all of the Runesmiths and others in the know were no doubt thinking.
"As expected, predominantly the Tempter and Plaguebearer respectively," Gloin confirms, causing a round of groans and dark mutterings to emanate from the room's occupants.
"Lovely," Dorr mutters, sarcasm thick in the ruler of Ornsmotek's voice, "An enemy that dodges too much or one that doesn't know how to stay down."
"Neither are good options no, but before we decide further there was something I wanted to discuss. The rangers scouted four cities within striking distance, we have just destroyed one and know of the other two, but what of the last King Gloin?" A Dwarf lord asks, looking at your liege expectantly.
"The rangers know far more on that front. Bone piles at the city's outskirts and the stench of blood filled the air, and if that doesn't spell it out for us, then there were plentiful sightings of the Wrathbringer's servants around the place," Kraka Drakk's king replies.
"And what of the Trickster? If there is one certainty among such intolerable rabble, it is that their arrogance would not allow for the other three to be present anywhere without it also being present. A full course feast of wretchedness if you will," Lord Sven asks, taking a long drag of his pipe.
"Was it not this one?" another voice, farther back, asks.
"Hardly. Examples of all four were present throughout the battle, nor were there any of the expected behaviours expected when dealing with those under that Deceiver's thrall. Nai, I'll bet my grandfather's golden nose ring that its followers are farther west. Perhaps even the fifth city the Rangers found in the initial ranging."
"That aside, we should focus on what's in front of us. Whether it be a vote or having only one of us choose, we must decide the next course of action," Gloin repeats.
━<><><><==><><><>━
The Throng ultimately decided to-
[ ] [Campaign:] Continue the offensive. Campaign goes high level and my rolls will solely be for how things generally play out + Snorri fighting any heroes/big bads, because man am I tired. After a city falls/retreat, a similar vote will happen until you return home or all three cities are rubble.
- [ ] Against the Nurglish City
- [ ] Against the Slaaneshi City
[ ] [Campaign:] Return home. Rune Trades and other choices post campaign will happen at this point.
[ ] [Blade] Give it to Karstah to study. Karstah will use her own personal time outside of your official duties for her to uncover the mysteries of this blade, how long it takes, if at all, depends on Karstah's own ability. Potential new Rune developed, Karstah will gain expertise.
[ ] [Blade] Study it yourself
The blade defies your expectations, and a part of you itches to see if you can match its abilities. Gain new research option, [ ] [Difficult] Mysterious Mystery Blade.
[ ] [Corpse] Give some to Karstah. Karstah gets a portion of the corpse, she will use it for something. A fitting reward for your heir you reckon, and admittedly you wanted to see what she could do with it. While the contents of your vault are technically her inheritance, she must ask you for material, and you certainly don't plan on dying anytime soon. This would be wholly hers to do with as she wished.
- [ ] Organs and Musculature. Reagents, of great power especially for one so young.
- [ ] Bones, Hide and bits. The trappings and bits. Not as potent as reagents as the organs generally, but they are fine material to work with regardless.
- [ ] The whole corpse. You have enough already, let Karstah see what she can create from this.
[ ] [Corpse] Keep it. Gain +1 Shardwyrm corpse. Into the vault it goes.
━<><><><Gain ><><><>━
- +1 [Ingredientl] Meargh's Eye
-- A little bit charred, but its cosmetic damage at most. Just scrape off that char beardling, dont go wasting a perfectly good ingredient now.
- +3 [???] Shardwyrm Eggs
-- You know not what the Fimir planned to do with these, only that it would be ruinous. What you will do with them remains to be seen.
- One whole Mysterious Mystery Sword, and the fragments of two others
-- composed of some mysterious black alloy and filigreed in gold, the weapon is far too long for any Dwarf to wield. Through unknown magic it has the ability to cut through even Gromril with ease after a close call with one of the Hearthwardens.
Retainers:
- -6 Hearthwardens, new total: 114/120
-- -2 Longbeard Miners, new total: 10 > 8
-- -2 Longbeard Warriors, new total: 5 > 3
-- -1 Priest of Grimnir, new total: 3 > 2
-- -1 Former Valkyrie Guard, new total: 15 > 14
━<><><><==><><><>━ There will be a two-hour moratorium for discussion.
AN: Me tired. Still trying to be more concise and poignant with my writing. Also, my mind is coming around to smaller updates and breaking up the turn if it means I don't enter these month-long hiatuses. If only for the sake of my mental health, the patrons and the thread's continuity. Loot wise, well I'm still within expected parameters in terms of rewards but man crits are both hype and fear-inducing. Worries about jumping the shark like with the Greedy One are always in my mind, but I have plans regarding that this time so hopefully, they work out! As always, I hope you enjoy this mess and don't forget to C&C. :^)
Wow, this is a humdinger, and I agree Soulcake that you probably should break them up into smaller pieces.
Thoughts:
[] [Campaign:] Continue the offensive.
The grudges remain unfulfilled. Both for the Dawi, and those we will come to know as Umgi. VENGEANCE! The exact city matters not.
[] [Blade] Give it to Karstah to study.
I know it looks like fun special stuff, but we have a full list of things to look into anyway.
[] [Corpse] Give some to Karstah.
-[] The whole corpse.
We have plenty of dragon-parts already. Let our daughter have some fun stuff to play with.
