Winning Vote said:
[X] [Where:] The Throne Room
[X] [Where:] The Old Shop ✓
[X] [Where:] The Great Hall of Clan Thungnisson
[X] [Character Moment:] We're Journeymen, and We Need to Know Where We're Journeying Too: ✓
We're Journeymen, and We Need to Know Where We're Journeying Too: "When I look around this hall- no when I look at the whole Karaz Ankor, what I see are... Apprentices. Apprentices who expected to learn for much longer from their Masters, but now find themselves forced to take their first steps as Journeymen alone. Whether the Ancestors planned for this or it was forced upon them is beyond me, but even if certain sorts look to take advantage of the situation, I trust we'll pull through in the end. Might be some false starts, and if not everyone understands where we're going or gets their chance to be heard we'll like as not get mired down in resentment and pride and missed opportunities, but I reckon you've already started on keeping that from being a problem."
[X] [Meeting:] Rorek Get-gold ✓
━<><><>< 404 A.P. ><><><>━
You take some time to formulate an answer, wracking your head to come up with an appropriate response.
The unbidden image of Master Yorri telling you that your Journeying was to begin is the most poignant image in your mind. The emotions, the swirling confusion, the
anger you felt that day, all of it takes a bit of work to dredge up from the depths of your memories, but it nevertheless remains as pristine and clear as the day you experienced it.
That, you suppose, was as apt a comparison as any.
"When I examine the actions and attitudes of many within this hall, I see a great many similarities to how I felt after I became a Journeyman; unprepared, scrambling for some sense of normalcy, even angry. I spent a mere two decades under Master Yorri's tutelage before he deemed me a Journeyman, where I expected a century or more at the least. I reckon everyone here feels something akin to that notion, though I can't say for sure if the Ancestors' were as deliberate as
my Master was."
You stroke your chin in thought.
"As for what I think about this event? If I beleaguer the Journeyman analogy some more I'd say this is a necessary step. Personally speaking, there's no surer way to be certain of a path than eliminating every other option. The Ancestors did that on our behalf, as all Masters do, so that we don't waste our time pursuing what was either unfruitful or too beyond us to yet grasp. But now we must decide our own course, and that sort of business always carries risk. We're not as wise, not as skilled, and we risk getting swindled, sidetracked or so caught up in our ideas that we miss golden opportunities. I can't claim to know your intent, Your Highness, but the fact that you've called every last one of your fellow kings here leads me to believe you at least have
a plan. Which puts you above a good portion of those in attendance, and I reckon you're all too aware that some of us will probably use this uncertainty to get up to quite a bit of mischief. What exactly that plan is or entails I won't dare guess of course, but it'll be a damn sight better than some of the ideas I've overheard already."
What Whitebeard thinks of your position remains a mystery thanks to the scuffle he has to break up, but at the very least you think you haven't embarrassed yourself in front of him.
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Rorek Get-Gold, you are told, is a rich Dawi, even by the exceedingly high standards of The City of Jewels
You notice his approach due to the staccato rhythm of his staff hitting the floor.
Dressed sharply, he walks toward you in finely decorated and armoured robes, wielding a talisman covered Runestaff that was a head taller than he was alongside a
tack hammer of all things. Course you're not one to judge the quality of a man on the size of his hammer, but Runesmiths tended to be a fairly predictable bunch. All in all, enough to make you quirk a brow, but not enough to truly distinguish him from everyone else in this room.
Were it not for the simple fact that Thungni deemed him worthy of the rank of Runelord, a singularly rare piece of praise that means you owe him just enough respect not to grumble noncommittally when he starts yapping. No matter how much you would rather be using this time to drink.
"Lord Klausson!" Rorek says, "just the Dawi I was hoping to run into."
"Aye?" You reply, crossing your arms as you take his measure. "What can I do for one of the Runelords of Izril?."
"Just be an interesting conversation partner I hope, the lickspittles and old goats all seem to love hounding me about a strapping young lass they know, or taking a young kinsman of theirs under my wing."
You stare at him, impressed by his boldness and equally unamused that
you were the one he picked to do this with.
"Why choose me for so singular an
honour," you say, making sure your voice is especially flat at the final word, "When there are so many other Runelords here?"
"I sought you out specifically for admittedly mundane purposes." Rorek admits unabashedly before taking a swig of from his horn. "Did you know your middlemen regularly outbid me for Dragon parts? Not even the blood as all the Brotherhood members seem to do nowadays, but in general as well. In some ways I have you to thank for getting me off my arse and doing it myself, and everything that came after it."
You blink at his admission, then squint again when you turn that thought over in your head. While you admit you've done things for less important reasons than that, you doubt that's the last of it.
"I'll admit that
is a curious thing to learn, but from the look in your eyes I can't help but think it's something you only just came up with on the way here."
"Guilty as charged I suppose, I did say I'm mostly here to get the vultures away. How about this, I tell you something that may be of
actual interest to you if you keep humoring my attempt to stave them off eh?"
You stare at Rorek, note the grin on his lips, and then glance out towards the crowd and several Dawi occasionally glancing in your direction.
Damn you and your curiosity.
"Fine, if you're going to be a limpet may as well spin me a tale for the trouble," you grumble, nodding.
"I knew you Elders loved gossip too much to pass up on a chance to hear more of it."
You glare lightly at him even if you internally agree with his assessment.
He's no spring chicken either, you think to yourself, staring at the growing amount of silver amidst a sea of warm gold hair.
"Before we begin I suppose I can tell you a few things so that you don't go wasting your time asking me things Im not too knowledgeable about. Its a hobby of mine to keep in touch with my more mercantile kinsmen and for the large part many of
their associates are now my own as well. So the odds are fairly high I can tell you who's buying what for most of the Hold's south of Karaz a Karak. Course merchants interact with a large number of people,
hear a lot of things too. A lot I can't say of course, but a surprising amount I can too. Then if you're not interested in any of that, I keep track of Karak Izril's Runesmiths as my duties demand. No secrets again of course, but I suppose a Dawi building something as significant as your
Khazagar may be interested in something more concrete than 'The Conservatives are angry'." he finishes with a grin, stretching out his hands in a shrug. "So what do you think Lord Klausson. Anything I know you think is worth your while?"
[ ] [
Write-in] Ask Rorek Three Questions that don't pertain to political or Runesmith secrets. He knows a lot about the global reagent market, the Southern Hold's current political climate, and the local political climate of Karak Izril's Runesmiths.
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"Who invited him? Was it you Northerner? I'd bet one of my best axes it was one of you!" one King shouts across the hall, finger pointed at Gloin.
Why is
the King of the Skies's son here Gloin wonders to himself. When one of the guards arrived to announce that a massive Branakroki had arrived, bearing a letter with Grungni's seal on it no less, things had grown tense and more than a few pairs of eyes went looking to where the Northern Kings had arranged themselves.
"And
why in the Ancestors' names would we do that?" King Dorr thunders back before any of them can reply to the obvious provocation.
"Why do you lot do anything! All that time in the snow and cold has addled your brains, bewitched you with odd magic! They may have the blessings of Grungni and Valaya, but you northerners started talking to them well before that!"
"Bewitched eh? A
bold choice of words coming from you King Ranulf, especially when you've spent most of your time here staring at the jewels on this ceiling than offering up any wisdom in that hollow nut you call a head. Speak plainly and do not hide behind pretty words!"
"Peace! Peace the both of you," Gloin intejects, trying to cut this particular spiral off at the head, "the
Brana are our allies aye, but as my fellow King has said we have no reason to invite them south. Speaking only for myself I can confess that I told their liaison that the campaigning season may be delayed, but never why."
Before Gloin can see if his words have actually done anything, another voice enters the fray.
"Enough!" King Whitebeard roars, slamming the butt of his axe against the floor with a loud crack for emphasis. "This is to be a time of diplomacy and discussion! Not rumour-mongering and accusations! As host, as
King of this Hold, and the one who was
asked, I will allow the Branakroki representative to enter and explain themselves. We will get to the truth of the matter easily enough
without resorting to words that any one here can see will lead to a brawl at
best."
None dare voice open defiance, not at Grungni's firstborn, but more than a few grumbles can be heard nevertheless.
Not even Snorri Whitebeard, Gloin's mind whispers,
can cow them completely.
Not when everyone is already so on edge.
The King of Kraka Drakk cuts his musing short when he hears the sound of the doors to the Throne room begin to open.
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Eventually Rorek runs out of interesting information, and true to his word, he departs in short order.
Before you can finally return to your drinks, you are
again interrupted. This time the source of the incoming steps is the familiar sound of your heir, and because you know full well that Karstah won't bother you with nonsense, you give her your full attention. Inebriation notwithstanding.
"Was that one of the Dawi Lord Thungni picked?" she asks, walking over.
"Rorek Get-Gold" you confirm with a nod, "bothersome, and by his own admission only here to get away from everyone else, but he told an interesting story or two for the trouble. What brings you to my table lass?"
"Just… trouble."
"Trouble? For you, or for me?"
Karstah shrugs, "both, I think?"
"Vragni?" you ask, mentally preparing yourself for
that debacle.
"No."
"Bothersome southerners?"
"Of a sort.
Pursuers."
You blink.
"You don't mean the kidnapping variety do you?" you ask flatly.
"No.
Suitors."
"As in, courting?
Marriage? That sort of business?" you hazard.
Karstah nods grimly.
"I think you're scaring off the traditional ones by accident, but more than a few have come to me directly," she explains, staring at her drink.
"They annoying you?" you ask seriously.
"Nothing I can't handle. Just…unexpected. Don't get many people trying to court me back home. I suppose it's less intimidating for these ones."
You hum in acknowledgement. In hindsight, it's obvious that anyone attempting to court Karstah would, invariably, be forced to deal with you, and given your reputation that was probably far too daunting for all but the boldest young lads to attempt.
Feh.
Admittedly you also thought Karstah simply kept that part of her life hidden, at least until she thought she found one, or ones worth the time.
"Any of them catch your fancy?"
"Not really. Should they?" she asks, looking at you directly this time.
Feeling her gaze, you turn away from your mug to return Karstah's stare with one of your own. In your mind you recall a discussion you had long,
long, ago. The circumstances were different, the assumptions doubly so, and yet you remember the frankness of it, and the resulting oath you swore to your wife all those centuries ago. One you only felt more sure about as you bore witness to a few particularly sad outcomes over the course of your life, and recently reinforced when you recall your discussion with Tungaz.
"No," you say emphatically, "Don't feel pressured by it. I may have my fun and terrify them a bit, but whoever you choose… I and the Clan's Elders will abide."
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The morning after sees you and your tag-alongs meandering out of Clan Thungnisson's home with mild headaches and back towards the inn. There you divest yourself of your armour in favour of your traditional disguise and dismiss Rudil for the day. Karstah in tow, you make your way through Karaz a Karak back towards the empty smithy where the Brotherhood are holding their own meeting.
When you enter, you see two Dwarfs mulling about the empty shelves, having moved several to make way for a table. At the sound of your entrance the two of them look up in surprise. They push back their chairs, hands reaching for weapons before you cut them off by showing off the coin that signified your membership.
"Lord Klausson, our Master and their colleagues are waiting for you within." One says, nodding towards the secondary door.
"Is she also?-" the other begins to ask before you cut him off
"Aye," you say,"Well lass, grab a chair and get comfortable."
You watch as your heir awkwardly grabs a chair and moves to the table where the other two young Dawi have sat themselves at before turning away and walking to the second, inner, door.
"Well, well, well If it isn't Lord Tableflipper! Come down from your frozen hovel to see what mischief you can stir up down here eh?" Kraggi greets as he opens the door to the old shop, a hint of warmth infusing his gravelly voice.
"Kraggi! Fer Grungni's sake, use the damn code at least!" Bogrin calls from farther back.
"Bah, mischief he says! And just how many bars did you pass on to Hammerspite to learn his secrets eh?" you grumble back, walking inside and nodding to the others already seated around the table.
"A fair amount for what I learned oh honoured Burudin Member. If it wasn't me, it would most certainly have been you eventually," your colleague counters, ignoring Bogrin's earlier outburst with a wry grin gracing his face.
"If you two are done," Gorra cuts in, "come over and sit down so we can start passing around the alcohol and get to business."
The both of you grumble over a good round of banter getting cut short, but acquiesce with her request all the same.
As the two of you sit down, drinks are passed around as you greet everyone else in attendance.
"Now that everyone's settled," Bogrin begins glumly, "I suppose we tackle the issue at hand then eh?"
"We were sworn to secrecy by King Whitebeard," Damin says immediately, passing knowing looks to everyone else at the table.
"Well that's one of them. How many of you were brought into the loop then, and for how long?"
"No more than two dozen, and speaking only for myself, the better part of a century."
A round of grumbling.
"You didn't breach his
Workshop did you?" Modi inquires.
"Not me, but it was done aye. Lord Alric braved that trial, and even then only after every other option was exhausted" Damin replies seriously.
You and the others nod in understanding.
If anyone dared open Thungni's workshop and risk possibly disturbing the Ancestor in the middle of His work, it would have had to have been Alric. No one else was both brave and tough enough to survive the ordeal with their self respect intact.
The questions continue for another half hour before Gorra sums up your thoughts rather poignantly.
"So they're gone then."
"Aye."
"Never to return?"
"King Whitebeard doesn't seem to think so. I imagine he's telling the other assembled Monarchs the exact same thing he told us, but there were things he was tasked with doing by his father that made little sense at the time, but have carved out an ominous sculpture in hindsight. Letters meant for certain individuals according to specific times and conditions, requests to pass certain things onto certain places, people and institutions and the like. I do not know what they told the King in private, but he told us there was a finality to the tasks he was given that was unlike anything he'd experienced before."
And what can anyone say to such a revelation? Short of telling him that they were not long for this world, you must admit a lot of what Damin has told you all sounds suspiciously like a Dwarf settling their affairs before-
-
that.
Death.
You shudder, not at death, not anymore, but at the fact that even the Ancestors were subject to its whims. Which was preposterous from an outside perspective, and yet not at all if you were a Dwarf.
"This is the most I think you've said sober in a while Damin," Kraggi mutters offhandedly, "a damn shame it had to be because of…
this."
"I only speak when I have to," the Everpeak Runelord replies.
"If only your definitions of such a time matched literally anyone else's."
Damin does not quite growl, but it's a close thing.
━<><><><==><><><>━
"My Prince, forgive this intrusion" one of the guards greets, falling to one knee when he enters Laequalys' chambers.
"Rise Thiriol." the Chracian says with a nod. "What needs to be brought to my attention."
"Archmage Maeledros' scrying has borne fruit my Prince, and he requested that you be informed with all due haste, and to meet him in his tower."
"Very well," he replies, "Get yourself some refreshments from downstairs if you wish Thiriol, I'll be out shortly."
He watches the guard take his leave before turning to stare contemplatively in the direction of the Archmage's abode. To call it a tower would be a misnomer, not when half of the structure was little more than an image on parchment. It, like a good number of other buildings, were woefully behind schedule after the ships that were carrying the bulk of the marble meant for their completion were sunk a few months ago. It had made convincing the Archmage of the necessity of finding out what was going on all the easier, though Laequalys felt an undercurrent of bitterness that it took the loss of yet more elven lives.
Gimli hadn't infected him with his, hypocritical in Laequalys'
very quiet personal opinion, disdain for magecraft and its practitioners, but most elves would tell you that the aloof mage archetype had to come from somewhere.
If father hadn't trusted Maeledros so implicitly, he would have protested more fervently for a more in touch magical advisor.
Decades of this confusion were now, hopefully, coming if not to an end then certainly to a point of clarity. They hadn't lost complete control, but it had made keeping Tor Vernath and the Dwarfs secret from the court an even more herculean effort. People tended to talk when ships kept disappearing, even more when people
kept sending more and more ships in the same direction as those that were lost initially. The haste his father took with finding more captains undoubtedly meant that elves loyal to House Wilderwood or Dawnseeker would be finding their way here in the coming decades, but by then he hoped to have finished his negotiations with the various Krakas to ensure their two Houses had the best pick of the lot.
At least he, Ladra and Gimli actually visited each other more often because of it.
With a sigh he moves towards his coat rack, the walk to the tower would be brisk and the shield kept the worst of the winds out, but this time of year was always particularly chilly and Brana Down was oh so very warm.
If only the harp he had imported for Gimli to scoff at hadn't been lost too.
Well there was always more wine.
━<><><><==><><><>━
"Second topic of business has to do with our Lord Tabbleflipper here, and what exactly he needed the Cult of Valaya to prod us all for," Bogrin says, causing everyone to turn and stare at you expectantly.
"Bah," you grumble, "had a theory. Your notes helped. Still working on it, but as an aside I did end up stumbling onto a way to improve the Chain forging process."
"Really?" Bara asks, staring at you in surprise, "You were thinking of ways to improve it still?"
"Course he was, look at the man's track record. Can't leave it well enough alone if he thinks he can do it better," Kraggi explains to her before turning to look at you appraisingly, "how
much easier?"
"No Master Runes for one, and the Runes involved are so simple that barring an utter imbecile, I could trust most apprentices with it."
Gorra and the twins nod appreciatively.
"Big words." Modi comments.
"Apprentices can surprise you in the worst ways," Magna agrees.
"How do you even plan to release it?" Bogrin asks curiously.
"Pretty obvious isn't it. The other lit torch Lord Tableflipper decided to casually toss into the tinderbox," Gorra comments, staring at you knowingly.
You grimace.
"She has the right of it, the first people to learn will be from Khazagar aye. If anyone wants to learn from
those people then that's their business."
"And that's all well and good, but don't think I didn't catch that misdirection Snorri." Gorra continues, looking at you pointedly. "
What you're looking for is obvious enough to everyone in this room, you have to be blind given the specificity of what you wanted otherwise, but you have that air about you. Just like the time with the improved smelter."
You grunt.
Kraggi squints in your direction, before he nods in agreement.
"Aye, Gorra's right. He's doing that thing again,
classic Klausson tell."
"What
thing?" you mutter indignantly, "we barely meet in person enough for me to have a tell that you can pick up on."
"Shows what you know, and don't ask what the tell is either. If we say, we lose our advantage Klausson, figure it out yourself," Gorra mutters from behind her mug.
"You're actually going to keep this secret from me?"
"Pot calling the kettle black, with his secrets and whatnot." Damin comments quietly.
You shoot him a pointed look.
"Bara," Kraggi says, "Confirm something for me, this fool holes himself up for decades every so often doesn't he? Hard to tell since he writes so sporadically and is so shite at replying in a timely fashion half the time, but you literally live in the same Hold as him."
Her silence is all the confirmation they need.
"Giving Snorri the well earned ribbing he needs aside, I must reiterate that if your research pans out, most of us expect you to share it at
some point, Snorri. Defeats the point of this entire endeavour otherwise," Bogrin says, trying to steer the conversation back on topic.
"Bah. Give him some slack. He shares practically everything else doesn't he?" Magna says off-handedly which earns her a thankful look on your part.
"What he shares isn't exactly relevant to the Brotherhood's interests though, is it?" Gorra responds, though from her tone it's more for the sake of argument than any real annoyance.
"No one batted an eye when Kraggi admitted to handing out Adamant to Lord Hammerspite. In my mind, Snorri is likely to provide a return from our knowledge he gained from us. The same can't be said for Lord Hammerspite." Modi wonders out loud.
"For one thing, Gottri Hammerspite isn't some wet-behind-the-ears youngster we haven't properly vetted. Unless you think any of us are
more qualified than he is. Sides, Kraggi didn't give the blueprints for the Smelter did he?" Gorra counters.
"I don't know, did you Kraggi?" Bogrin mutters, looking at Kraggi pointedly.
The Runelord in question looks genuinely offended at the suggestion.
"Don't give me that look, if anyone can help you with Old Breaker it's Hammerspite," Bogrin says, unphased by his colleague's glare.
As the group descends into more casual conversation your mind still mulls over the statement that caused this entire discussion to begin with. You are almost obligated to tell the Brotherhood if your idea
does pan out. After all, at the end of the day this was a reciprocal relationship. If you couldn't trust
them, then who, besides your apprentices, could you trust with this knowledge?
Still.
The research into Adamant cleaved far too closely to pursuits that the Brotherhood didn't have much of a leg to stand on. Alchemy, the Winds, those were pursuits that, while touching upon Adamant, offered so much more than that. More than anything you wanted to keep that close to heart.
Yet, you cannot help but agree that such knowledge would undoubtedly help the Brotherhood move forward in their stated goals as well.
In the end, when there is a lull in the conversation you-
Choose One:
[ ] [
Knowledge:] Keep silent.
Gain Nothing.
[ ] [
Knowledge:] Reveal a little bit.
Gain 15 Favours with the Brotherhood of Dron. Brotherhood knows your research involves stuff only you know.
Tell them that your research involves some very experimental methods who's efficacy you cannot verify.
[ ] [
Knowledge:] Reveal a moderate amount.
Gain 1 Standing and 30 Favours with the Brotherhood of Dron. Brotherhood knows your research touches on concepts that go beyond improving Adamant.
[-] [
Knowledge:] Lay it all out.
LOCKED. Gain 2 Standing and 80 Favours with the Brotherhood of Dron. Brotherhood understands the implications and potential fallout of Akazit and Wind Theory as Snorri understands it.
Other Vote:
[ ] [
Write-in] Ask Rorek Three Questions that don't pertain to political or Runesmith secrets. He knows a lot about the global reagent market, the Southern Hold's current political climate, and the local political climate of Karak Izril's Runesmiths.
━<><><>< Khazalid Trivia ><><><>━
Nothing.
━<><><>< Gain ><><><>━
- Revealed Standing with Rorek Get-Gold, new totals: Standing 3
━<><><><==><><><>━
There will be a twenty-four hour moratorium for discussion.
There will be more Brotherhood stuff in the following update as well. I just think this is a good place to cut it off. Hope you enjoy, and don't forget to C&C. :^)
