Winning Vote said:
[X] [Where:] The Throne Room ✓
[X] [Where:] The Old Shop
[X] [Where:] The Great Hall of Clan Thungnisson ✓
━<><><>< 404 A.P. ><><><>━
Of all the Dawi you expect, or want, to bump into in this morass of bodies, the King of Zorn, his wife, and their attendants rank squarely in the bottom fifth of your list.
There's not much you know about King Tungaz beyond what most other well learned Dawi know save the few unflattering insights you've come to from the times Brynna spoke of him.
Your first real impression of him neither supports or detracts from that image you've built in your head. He and his retinue appear like the quintessential image of Zornish Nobility. The king with his long, ornately bound locks, a striking set of brows, and aquiline nose framing dark, brooding pools of emerald-flecked onyx. A suit of intricate and masterfully articulated golden armour adorns his powerfully built frame, leaving the king's ham sized and tattoo covered arms bare save for a set of gold, Rune-inscribed bracers. Only his beard sets him apart from that stereotype, while decorated in the gilded finery expected from the ruler of Zorn, rather than being snow white it yet retains a healthy amount of the obsidian vibrancy from his youth.
His wife stands in stark contrast, wearing a dress of purest white cloth, accented with heavy amounts of gem encrusted gold jewelry. Like her husband, the queen's arms are largely bare, revealing the tattoos that denote her status and rank as the consort to the Hold's king. Her face is youthful, and her hair, styled in such a way as to accentuate its length and fullness, retains even more colouring than her husband.
Tungaz's guards meanwhile are covered head to toe in archaic, but no doubt potent armour. The gold that comprises each suit's construction is of several different varieties, each with different hues and tones that are used to break up what would be an otherwise bland palette. Their helms bear horns almost twice as tall as their head, and in their hands are gilded axes and shields.
"Honoured Runelord," the queen greets, dipping her head, " I am Tharma, daughter of Brondra and consort to His Honoured Highness of Karak Zorn. Forgive our ignorance, but what brings a scion of Thungni to this congregation of Kings?"
Right.
This is how he wants to play it then.
It's an old tradition, that the King speaks only to those who equal his station, or earn his respect. That Tungaz, and it is most certainly Tungaz, speaks to you through his wife, sends a very clear message to you and everyone who may be hearing this conversation.
"To gaze upon Grungni's finest creation, and find some inspiration in doing so," you answer honestly, nodding your head at the looming magnificence sitting above the crowded hall.
"The works of our Fathers are ever worthy of emulation," she agrees, "My Honoured Husband and I are heartened to know that at least in this regard all Dawi, even those so far from proper guidance, may yet find agreement."
She decides to emphasize the point by staring first at Mhorni, and then at Karstah. The former for obvious reasons, and the latter because the traditions about the work women may undertake, from what you've heard, are especially draconic in Zorn.
"And you King of Karak Zorn, what does the South hope to find here in the Hall the Ancestors built?" you continue, perfectly aware of what he implied and disregarding it for the sake of diplomacy.
You'll not be the first Dwarf here to start a brawl, that sort of nonsense is a hazkal, or particularly rowdy noble's game.
"The Honoured Elder, King of Karaz a Karak and heir of Grungni, Snorri Grungnisson, petitioned my Honoured Husband truly and honestly, and in his magnanimity, my Honoured Husband chose to answer in good faith. In such troubling times, it is best to remember our shared past," Queen Tharma answers.
Doesn't take a particularly clever Dwarf to know just which "past," Tungaz implies.
"Aye" you reply, nodding along, "That's the heart of the matter isn't it? Even when they aren't here the touch of the Ancestors can be felt, a reminder of all they have done for us will certainly help."
Whatever you intend, you will find no purchase here.
"Then we are in accord, Honoured Runelord. I beg pardon on behalf of my Honoured Husband, for he has many discussions to be had, and many such reminders to impress upon those wise enough to heed him," the Queen says, nodding, more shallowly than before, before she and her husband turn around and march off in the direction of the a crowd formed from several other Southern Holds.
"Ancestors Guide you King Tungaz," you call after him, most seriously and without a hint of sass.
No sir.
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As you told Tungaz, you are here for a reason, and it is not wrangling concessions and deals with the Kings of other Holds.
Admittedly, that would probably lead to far more fruitful results but that required talking to people.
Yet any chance to gaze at
Azamar is one you think ought to be taken, even if it means having to jostle and quietly make your way past posturing nobles and curmudgeonly Elders.
It helps that you can simply make people move out of the way a good amount of the time. Perk of being an old Dawi ya see, when rank levels out it becomes a question of who's got the biggest beard, grumbliest voice and the wrinkliest face and there are precious few who can outcompete with you. Well that and the fact that Mhorni's presence makes most people give you a wide berth, other Runesmiths notwithstanding.
Admittedly if there's anywhere that such a strategy would falter, it would be here among Dawi who had a higher than average chance of being your senior.
But thankfully such a thing does not come to pass, and your beeline towards
Azamar proceeds without comment or issue until at last you stand at the steps that lead up to where the Throne rests. Though you do not climb, even here the glow of
Azamar is an enthralling visage, not through some sorcerous bewitchment or anything of the sort, but because the mere sight of its craftsmanship is so outstanding to those who understand the work that went into its creation.
"If only I could take a closer look," you mutter to yourself, still staring up at where the throne rests.
"More than one of my nephews and nieces have expressed similar sentiments Lord Klausson."
You turn at the noise and come face to face with the son of Grungni himself, also staring up at the distant silhouette of the Throne of Power. Surrounding him are four Living Ancestors, companions of Grimnir, armoured in Rune-inscribed Gromril and bearing wicked looking great-axes half again longer than they are tall.
"For good reason, the work behind it is something I can only imagine," you reply, unsure of what else to say, instead taking the opportunity to examine the craftsmanship of King Whitebeard's regalia in closer detail while he's distracted.
The Adamant of the gauntlets is finely wrought, articulated so well as to bend nearly as smoothly as the flesh beneath. You desperately want to reach out and examine the Runes inscribed on the back of each hand, but propriety and good sense stop you from literally grabbing the gauntlet of Snorri Whitebeard off from his literal hands.
You may very well die, not only out of embarrassment, but from the axes of the four Dwarfs that will no doubt find themselves buried into your vital organs,
Barak Azamar and
Mhorni be damned.
You're proud of your armour, rightfully so, but not so proud as to discount the lethality of ancients who marched alongside Grimnir for centuries and earned the right to guard His nephew.
A quiet chuckle draws you out of your thoughts, and you stare at the knowing look of the son of Grungni.
"I'm surprised my equipment is of interest to you Lord Klausson, its craftsmanship is without equal but nothing quite so exotic as what you possess I imagine," he says, nodding at your shadow.
"And yet, I'm certain they are the greater ones your Highness. Besides, I've found there's always something to learn from examining another's work, especially in the case of the Ancestors," you respond honestly.
The King of Karaz a Karak stares at you with a critical eye before seemingly coming to a decision in his mind.
"Thungni always did cultivate curiosity in his children. How about this, I offer you a trade, Lord Klausson, of knowledge for knowledge," he begins, "a look at my gauntlets, and in return you answer a question I have. If you answer well I'll even throw in a chance to examine my uncle's axe and my hammer."
You blink at his words, then really consider what exactly Whitebeard is putting on offer.
Merely offering your words and thoughts, for a chance to examine the work of the Ancestors? It spoke either of the value of your opinion as the Eldest Runelord of your region, or how little of an issue King Whitebeard saw in letting you examine his equipment. The truth you reckon, lay somewhere in between.
"I am honoured your Highness," you say eventually, nodding low to impress your genuine sincerity, "very well then, I accept."
"Good! My question is simple enough, what do you make of this?" He asks, turning away from you once more to gaze across the Hall and its many occupants.
"
This, your Highness?' you ask, genuinely confused.
"The outcome of these discussions, their very existence even. I would hear your thoughts and reservations, even the result you'd wish to see come to pass. I've been working my way through this room, asking every Dwarf here, from lowliest Thane to the Highest ranking Lord, and received just as many answers in turn. Some have been thorough, others brief, some honest almost to the point of insult and a few said much without saying anything at all. I even got offered a chance to fight for one King's crown if you could believe it. So now I ask you, Snorri, son of Klaus, scion of my brother, what do you make of this all?
[ ] [
Character Moment:] Write-in. What are Snorri's thoughts, hopes and worries about what King Whitebeard is doing here? Bullet points are fine to use, you dont HAVE to give a quote.
As you finish speaking, King Whitebeard is prevented from replying by the sounds of a growing ruckus somewhere in the distance. A retainer rushes over, whispering something in the King's ear that causes a mild frown to adorn his previously jovial face.
"Not even a day," he grumbles before turning to face you, "If you would excuse me Lord Klausson, I have to prevent a brawl from escalating between three of my brother Kings and their retainers. I made a promise and I intend to keep it, but I don't imagine you'll get to see either the gauntlets or the weapons until all
this is settled, and for that you have my regret."
He does not wait for your reply, but unlike Tungaz he does nod a final time at you before walking off in long, purposefully loud strides towards the source of the commotion.
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You leave the Kings to their bickering, Whitebeard's oath in the back of your mind as you walk out of the Hall feeling more than a little annoyed.
Not at Whitebeard, certainly not, but because some fool from Drazh decided to escalate with some other fools from Azul and Kadrin about which Hold possessed the greatest steel in the realms and things understandably spiraled from there.
The Kings of the North came here dressed for battle, and yet by some miracle they weren't the ones who got caught in the first fight of the day.
And you
do mean first, because you're sure, despite all of Snorri Whitebeard's charisma and experience and the presence of so many Dwarf ladies, you don't think they can completely prevent people as proud as Dwarf Kings from acting up during so tense and uncertain a time as these were.
After a quick trip to your lodgings to don your old hooded disguise once more, you let your feet carry you through the bursting streets of Karaz a Karak to a familiar bakery in what is becoming a little tradition for you everytime you find yourself in Everpeak.
The smell of
Brangga's Bread and Baked Goods is unmistakable even centuries since your last visit, and though the lines are longer than before you easily pass the time by spooking beardlings and listening in on what passes for gossip in the heart of the Dwarfen realms.
As expected, the mood is a tense mix of confusion and dire worry. Here, where the touch of the Ancestors was the heaviest its been in living memory, their loss is more keenly felt than anywhere else. Despite this, many of the elders among the line merely grumble and grouse at the panic of the youth, telling them, and perhaps themselves, to trust in King Whitebeard's wisdom. A delicate peace that is broken up when a screaming Zaki runs down the street yelling about this being the end times, two angry guards chasing him as he rushes past the line. The sight you've all just witnessed reignites the tension among the line and indeed across the whole street as the words many in the crowd feel are finally spoken aloud. It causes the metaphorical dam to break, and more and more Dawi begin speaking similar sentiments among themselves in a growing crescendo that, if it isn't shut down soon enough, will doubtlessly cause a full blown panic.
You almost intervene, but stop as another does so in your place.
"If anyone can lead us out of these times, it's the King. Now stuff your mouths and let your elder buy some bread in damn peace," an wizened matron, maybe 600 years old or more, says to no one in particular in a pointed and successful effort to start calming down the Dawi in the immediate area.
With her words spoken, several other elders join in, muttering and grumbling about the foolishness of youth and the need to stand firm, even as they check in and calm down their younger relatives in the subtle ways that Elders do.
You catch the matron's attention and nod quietly, she glances at your beard and you earn an appreciative nod from her in return.
The wait afterwards is thankfully far more peaceful, and you get to the counter without further issue to come face to face with the store's proprietor.
It is not Brangga, but from her appearance and a simple question inquiring about her whereabouts, you confirm your suspicions.
"Our Mother passed fifty years and two months ago Lord," the Dwarf matron manning the till tells you solemnly, "and so it falls to me and my siblings to try and uphold her legacy."
You leave the store with bread in hand and a small bit of melancholy in your heart.
The bread isn't bad, it's as good as their mother's creations in fact.
And yet the taste is not the same.
Stifling a sigh, you chew into a loaf and begin meandering your way back towards the inn you were staying at, taking in the sights and sounds of Karaz a Karak with the knowledge that when you next return they may very well change again.
Your next stop would be the home of Clan Thungnisson, to meet with your fellow Runelords and, in Alric's words, reconnect and reaffirm the bonds of kinship you all share as the descendants of Thungni.
Which is to say, there will be a great deal of strutting about and posturing, not unlike what happened in the Throne Room.
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The entrance to the home of Clan Thungnisson is suitably mystical for the origin of every other Runesmith Clan. A massive slab of stone, only decorated to appear like doors, and flanked by four guards, bars the way into the Hall proper. At the sight of you, wearing your full panoply with Karstah and Rudil in tow, one of the Thungnisson guards pulls out a small striking hammer and lightly taps it against the wall, which in turn causes the Runes carved onto its surface to flare into existence. With incredible smoothness, the stone morphs, as if it were clay, to create hinges and openings so that the carvings swing out as proper doors to let you and your retinue pass.
The first thing you notice is that, like you and Karstah, everyone here is armed to the teeth. To an outside observer it may appear that the lot of you are mustering for battle, but to a Runesmith the purpose for it all is clear as day.
Showmanship.
Like a bunch of blue-crested Zornish parrots, almost every Runesmith and Runelords here does not want to be the Dawi with the least impressive panoply. A good third of the Runesmiths, mostly the young or foolish, are treating this as a question of quantity; covering themselves in enough talismans and relics that they could probably forgo armor and still be fine. Foolish, and displaying that they lack both the talent and common sense to be selective about what they showcase.
No it isn't hypocritical of you to say that, you create a large amount of
quality items ya see. Completely different from these youngsters. Though you quietly swear to yourself that if you see a Kraka Drakk Runesmith among their number tonight there will be hell to pay.
The rest of those in attendance are a sliding scale from the realms of absurdity you're seeing. Their equipment is of higher quality, and there's a general trend of less being present the finer the craftsmanship they were. Runelords and wizened masters who know that sometimes just one great thing can outdo a dozen good ones.
Then there are the outliers.
Dawi who wear a decent amount of equipment, but each piece is nevertheless an unmistakable masterwork that can put many other works to shame. This is the realm of either the truly talented or the truly old, oftentimes they are both, and where the Burudin members and prodigies presently lie.
As for you, the appearance of your armor, cloak and Mhorni are enough to turn more than a few heads in your direction. You pay them no mind, and continue on your way to your destination.
Talk can, and most certainly will come later, you're sure of it. Khazagar is fresh in the minds of everyone here and you will doubtlessly be hounded all night. So right now, with the Clan Hall largely empty and the stocks of ale fresh, you'll be addressing the issue that is the noticeable lack of good quality brew you've had. That is to say, you're in the mood to get right and truly tipsy so that you may better endure the nonsense that will come to pass when the Clan hall fills up and Dwarfs get talking both to and at you.
Plus you've had and are going to be a busy Dwarf in the coming few days to boot; King Whitebeard, whatever that nonsense was with Tungaz, the Ancestors departing, your meeting with the Brotherhood and the coming Conclave to name a few. Focusing on such pressing matters can understandably cause one to get a smidge thirsty!
Before you forget, you wave Karstah and your retainers off with a grunt, letting them loose to do as they wished.
You lock eyes with a young Master Runesmith hogging a barrel of Yinlinsson palebrew to himself and correct your course to remind him it's rude to monopolize the good alcohol.
Age before beauty beardlings!
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As you suspected, more and more Runesmiths come as the day drags on, walking into the Thungnisson vaults for all the reasons one can imagine.
For your part, you've successfully managed to keep the barrage of questions and accusations about Khazagar to a minimum, conversely maximizing your drinking time while making sure you don't get absolutely sloshed in the process.
Its a fine balance to strike ya see, getting just drunk enough to actually enjoy yourself but still so sober as to not say or promise anything foolish.
You idly glance at a group of chattering youths meandering near your little claim of the ale, resting in between carrying trays of drinks to their elders. Young even by regular Dwarf standards, with beards full of color and lives, hopefully, full of untapped potential. An elder Dawi marches over with a look of annoyance on his face and an empty tankard in hand, the sight of which sends the youths scrambling back to work like Dwarfs possessed even as their senior ignores them to refill his mug.
You scoff in some amount of amusement.
They were only just moving beyond childhood, barely past their second decade. Boys really.
Youths on the cusp of adulthood, a life yet to be fully lived ahead of them.
You remember being at that age, unknowing of the great many events that you would experience in the coming centuries. The successes, the failures, the myriad of introductions-
-and the goodbyes.
Such thoughts lead to nothing productive, but here, deep enough in your cups to be tipsy, surrounded by your kin and in the wake of
Their departure, you allow yourself the momentary indulgence of melancholy. This was the turning of an Age you quietly conclude, one you didn't even realize could end. You're almost so lost in your musing, and your drink, that you almost fail to notice a presence making its way towards you with purposeful strides, and you turn to see.
Choose One. These may or may not result in a Rune Trade, but not immediately. But I figure I might as well tell you now, since this seems to be a major factor for several voters.
[ ] [
Meeting:] Thormund Stalwart-shield
Specialties: Generic Rune Subset: Buildings (Mastered), Weapon Runes (Mastered)
Stalwart Shield came to you wanting to poke and prod about the construction behind Khazagar, what begins as a debate about the benefits and drawbacks of certain kinds of booby traps… spirals.
[ ] [
Meeting:] Kazador Ironwill
Specialties: Weapon Runes (Mastered), Engineering Runes (Mastered)
You remember him coming to you to learn the secrets of the Chainforger, and now he comes to you once more for some other, mysterious purpose.
[ ] [
Meeting:] Angkra Twenty Loops
Specialties: Armour (Savant+), Talismanic Rune Subset: Protection (Mastered-)
She wishes to speak with you about Snerra specifically, to better learn about your niece apparently. For whatever purposes, you cannot say for certain, but at least it's not for negative reasons…you hope. You'd rather not start a feud with a daughter of Thungni.
[ ] [
Meeting:] Rorek Get-gold
Specialties: Engineering Rune Subset: Animation (Savant-), Talismanic Runes (Mastered)
He is a rich fellow, he has created a Dragon Gronti. You are a rich fellow, and you are from the Dragon Hold and are known for making Gronti, he's sure you can find something to discuss. You aren't sure if you appreciate being used to stave off conversation with other Dawi but the cheekiness is novel in and of itself.
EDIT: Just to clarify some points:
Angkra is on a fact finding mission, BUT, what she decides to do with Snerra is NOT dependent on you talking to her. Only do it if your interested in the discussion and potential trade if that's what you care about. These are just narrative hooks.
Other vote:
[ ] [
Character Moment:] Write-in. What are Snorri's thoughts, hopes and worries about what King Whitebeard is doing here? Bullet points are fine to use, you dont HAVE to give a quote.
━<><><>< Khazalid Trivia ><><><>━
Hazkal - Recently brewed ale; a fiery young warrior.
- A promise to see the gauntlets, axe and hammer of Snorri Whitebeard.
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There will be a twenty-four hour moratorium for discussion.
AN: My apologies for the delay! We haven't even gotten to the Brotherhood yet OR the birb, but this felt like a nice spot to cut it off. I'll tinker away at the parts that I
can write, but I'd rather not make you guys wait three weeks for content. Keeping the pace up seems the better choice in my mind. Anyhoo, hope you enjoy, and don't forget to C&C. :^)
