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Discord.

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.

Please endeavour to be cordial. :^)
 
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The effects description of the Master Rune of Flight is "Weapons cannot be lost, and can be thrown at the enemy as if launched from a bolt thrower", so I'm pretty confident short dwarven limbs can still throw them effectively.
This is pretty stupid logic.
I was discussing whether the form of the weapon is conductive to being thrown by a dwarf.
Just because I put the MFlight on a montain does not mean I can now throw a mountain.
One, Accuracy runes are not stacking. And two, we'll never know until we try. It also helps that I'm just trying to recreate the flight control systems of modern missiles, something that has been proven to work very effectively in real life.
Accuracy runes may or may not stack, I don't think that just because the rune list doesn't give specific effects means they don't stack.
However accuracy runes are a category of runes e.g. Striking, Kneecapping, Hunting, Morgrim. and they certainly would stack.

The Rune of Animation is essentially pulling double duty here, controlling the fins for better steering and controlling the tip so that it expands inside an enemy. Even assuming Snorri knows the Rune of Barbs, the weapon is already 3 for 3 on runes and the Rune of Animation is just too versatile to replace when combined with creative use of mechanisms. We could also just forget about having the javelin hook itself inside the enemy and use retractable blades that pop out and cause severe internal damage. It'll be all the more devastating when we recall the weapon back and it leaves a much larger wound than when it entered.
Animation has never activated other runes... And your own plan leaves the expansion mechanism as something to figure out.
So... no it just wiggles the fins.
Retractable blades are a better idea than expansion, however barbed weapons that never historically needed to be retractable to stick, so itd probably be just as good to just use regular barbs and skip animation.
Even at best, Animation seems to just be pulling double duty on two bad ideas.

(I have a proposal)
Darkwood's Backburner Workshop:
Objective: Burudin Challenge, Snorri's (Provide a rune or rune combo that has the possibility of true killing daemons, with said rune or combo being teachable to master runesmiths.)
Datapoint: Most effects that 'kill' daemons do so by disrupting the energies that a comprise a daemon's body forcing them to retreat to the Warp to reform.
Datapoint: Applying True Death to a daemon is really, really hard. But produces Voidstone when successful.
Datapoint: According to the testimony of Fingrod Fingrodsson [Circa 113 AP, Grand Conclave part 1], Daemons have been killed by hostile magic affecting them when they were halfway banished back to the Warp
Hypothesis: If the energies that compose a Daemon can be altered or destroyed, the Daemon will suffer True Death.
Proposed Method: Reduce a Daemon's body to its base energies and feed those energies to a Hysh-infused fire. (ANNIHILATE THEIR COMPONENT ENERGIES! Leave nothing but Hysh and Void behind!)

Proposed Rune Combo:
Master Rune of Purification: Burns the target from the inside out, especially effective against magical entities. Actively uses nearby magic to increase the effect's potency.
Rune of Gazul's Flame: Generates a magical flame that is especially effective against Daemons.
Rune of Calcination [Create Weapon Variant]: Alters flame to burn away all physical matter, leaving only ash single component wind.

Desired Result: The innermost core of the target is lit with black fire, and all the rest of the energy that comprises the target's body is pulled in to feed it. Until all that's left is a hysh-touched flame.

Notes: From what I know the fire made by [Gazul's Flame] is hysh aligned, and I'm hoping that affinity can be transferred to the rest of the set. If some kind of Hysh-infused reagent can be added to [M.Purification] or [Calcination] then the [Gazul's Flame] rune can be replaced with another. [Daemonslaying] may be suitable as replacement but disrupting the energies that compose a daemon's body may either render it more vulnerable to Hysh-burning or alternatively it might be detrimental by allowing the daemon a chance to escape incorporeally. [Cooking] might also be applicable for directing the outcome, though in a more roundabout method.
So the problem here is that True Death is an incredibly high bar to clear, make it clear this is stage 1 of an unknown amount of combos and I'd support it just because I'm genuinely uncertain what it would do.
 
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Better question, how do you know you made a true death combo?
I don't. But this is my best guess at the moment.
There is also the benefit of it being a method I can nigh guarantee no dwarf has tried before, as Snorri invented two thirds of the runes involved. So the odds of it working are slightly higher than normal. (A 0.02% chance of 'Does this cause True Death?' is incredible compared to the 0.001% most dawi have to work with.)
 
I don't. But this is my best guess at the moment.
There is also the benefit of it being a method I can nigh guarantee no dwarf has tried before, as Snorri invented two thirds of the runes involved. So the odds of it working are slightly higher than normal. (A 0.02% chance of 'Does this cause True Death?' is incredible compared to the 0.001% most dawi have to work with.)
I think that what Franksson was actually saying was that after we're 15 combos deep into True Death,
how do we know that we've truely killed a daemon and not that its just decided to never show its face anywhere near dwarves again.
Or that its not still in the process of reforming but it'll be back in another century.
 
I think that what Franksson was actually saying was that after we're 15 combos deep into True Death,
how do we know that we've truely killed a daemon and not that its just decided to never show its face anywhere near dwarves again.
Or that its not still in the process of reforming but it'll be back in another century.
Ah. Well, hopefully it drops voidstone. They're probably dead when that happens.
If not, we'll have at least made a traumatizingly effective anti-daemon weapon.
 
how do we know that we've truely killed a daemon and not that its just decided to never show its face anywhere near dwarves again.
That is a good idea!

We need to make a rune/rune combo that allows daemons to be tracked down. It'll be summoned only for 500 dwarves to come crashing in to kill it. Make them too afraid to even be on the same continent as a dwarf.
 
That is a good idea!

We need to make a rune/rune combo that allows daemons to be tracked down. It'll be summoned only for 500 dwarves to come crashing in to kill it. Make them too afraid to even be on the same continent as a dwarf.
Rune of GrudgeseekingAllRunePoints towards general area of recipient of Grudge inscribed on itUnknown
probably what you want.
I'm not sure what we'd do to create it though.

Making a task force of dwarves who can travel anywhere on the continent is an exercise left to the reader.
 
[Non Canon] A Good Vow Made, A Good Vow Kept, x3 +15 to a Roll
A Good Vow Made, A Good Vow Kept

I examine the sheaf of velum, hidden in my home workshop, with the kind of critical eye I can only turn on myself. Seeing the armor, sketched out and designed as perfectly as it could, until it was made manifest. From the underlayer, the gambeson; to the maille, good composite protection; to the plates of hardened metal, wrapped around my form like a shell, a shield from the whole world.

"It will end."

It was not about my pride. It was not about proving myself, or showing that I was the best, or Ancestors forbid, as some suggest, an attempt to...to what, embarrass my fellow apprentices? Or reassert myself after Nain managed to be the only one of us to not burn his Voidstone making his smelter? Good for him.

No.

It was never, not in all the effort I put into it, about that.

It was...it was remembering. The elgi say we're lucky in that way, that even now, hundreds of years on, I can remember being a little girl, my father playing with me, my mother's soothing voice and sweet songs, uncle's kind words even if he cloaked them in the gruff stone expected of a man of his age, of his position.

Perhaps.

But you know what I do remember, too? I remember Longbeards, good, noble longbeards of the Bryggeroot, sworn to me, vowed to me, nearly dying to protect me. A High King, my High King, almost blasted into nothing if I had not been there, and who knows what next to the Kingdom of Grungni if his son had perished? My apprentices, threatened by those witches for the audacity of trying to help their people.

My hammer creaks in my hand.

That memory...that was it.

That I didn't want any more of my people nearly dying.

Somebody needs to stop the Fimir. We can't just keep tossing my uncle at them either, unleashing Skarrenbakraz in the hopes that eventually they all choke on the ash and the smoke and the fire. They will figure out something, they aren't stupid, these Fimir. Honorless puppets, dancing on strings of...of Dhar and magic to the tune of wicked things; but inept? Incapable? Incompetent? No. No. Imagine, if it were us, the Dwarfs, being pushed back by some seemingly invulnerable foe of immense power, channeling some force of destruction, coming nearer and nearer to Karaz-A-Karak, to Karak Eight Peaks, to Kraka Drak? Would we kneel, succumb, bend the knee?

Or would we get creative? Would we unleash all our abilities, ensure that even if we did die to the last, whatever killed us would never forget as we struck them down?

The Fimir are pressed on two fronts, desperate and foolhardy they may be, but that, that only makes them the more dangerous. Who knows? Who can even tell, what powers these Mearghs, kneeling to their babbling, idiotic daemon gods of Surrender, of giving up, of pure nhilistic anathema, might unleash in their death throes? Daemons bound, oaths made, with many, many gods. Every slimy thing in the mortal soul made manifest in a single moment.

I hate them. It's unusual for me, to feel the kind of hot, ready, contempt that seems to come to so many of the rest of my people with such ease. I rage, I curse, I abhor, as the rest of the elders do.

But I don't only hate. I pity them, even as I know they need to be cast down, their works unmade, their efforts thwarted, as I comprehend everything about them. I hope one day someone might free them; I hope one day, perhaps we shall meet Fimir who never fell to the Anathema. And if nothing else, one day there will be a reckoning with the things hidden in their hellpits that drove them to this point in the first place.

But these cities must burn, and their works be scattered.

And I can help.

The furnace roars. Adamant, purest adamant, bubbling, waiting to be worked by my hammer.

I examine the first of the reagents I acquired, Barazgal straight from Ekrund itself, earned through a relatively minor commission as a much younger woman, a journeyman trying to survive and learn how to make my way in the world finally out from under my uncle's wings, an independent Runesmith in my own right, not knowing--of course--that I would so quickly take on an equal office to his.

Thane Filli of Clan Stonewalker, colonists from Ekrund, requesting a crossbow for his son, and I had delivered it, Runed and tuned to deliver bolts capable of punching through a breastplate like so much velum, trailing fire and aimed right at the weakest points of the enemy. The prongs carved with the clan's history in as much detail as I could mention, minute detail accentuated with silver, the stock stained and worked to look good, craggy basalt stone. Easy work, simple work, straightforward work, a thing of troll-tendon and wutroth and steel made to the standard set by my uncle. The Thane had thanked me for it and as my prize, as my payment, as my reward, an ingot of the most precious and pure of the most precious and pure of metals, sacred to Grungni, good as a king's word. Kept, all these years, in that simple clay container, only just waiting for a project worthy of the attempt.

The time was now.

The project was now, was this. A means to fulfill an oath only I knew, not sworn on my plaits nor to any who would ever know but the Ancestors and myself, and that made it all the more worthwhile: I wasn't keeping the oath for honor or glory or pride, but because I had made a promise, and I needed to keep it, not anybody else.

The crucible lights as power flows through the Runes, magic harnessed, power shifted, taken, fed to the things of fire, the things of heat and forging that fill my workshop. I slide it in, more heat, more power, ever more power fed to it, going from red to blue to singing, shining, shimmery white, the haze and waves of heat quickly rising up as it reaches the awesome temperatures required to melt the gold to the proper state for Runework, for my art.

As that cooked, I turned towards the second reagent. This, this was a bit later, a bit harder earned. I had fought many abominations in the incursion, but none ever caused me half so much grief as the Doombulls. You youngsters like to bloviate a lot, how easy it is to fight the beastmen, how straightforward, how lowly they are--but if they ever gained a moment to gather themselves, if they find a second to think and to plan, if and if and if, they'll show their mettle. I killed a particularly big one, back during the Catastrophe, you know. It wasn't paying attention in battle, and let that be a lesson to you: a weaker foe can kill with complacency.

Its reagents are long gone, of course. How do you think I powered all those Runes for the crossbow, hm?

But I always kept an eye out from them, always listened for reports of bigger ones, better ones, impressive ones, tried to corner the market on them for myself. A little trade secret, now shared to you, apprentice. And there came a time when the Beerguard told me one was making quite a name for itself, gathering together the tribes for some kind of planned siege of Kraka Ravnsvake, or Dorden, or Ornsmotek, or Drak.

Do I think it could have been a threat?

...Maybe. Maybe. We all like to think they're fodder, these things, but I saw what was behind that one's eyes. Akshyish, the thing called itself. Knowledge seeker. Bray-Shamans, Great Bray Shamans, they all flocked to it even as it did not simply burn our libraries but looted them, looking for knowledge of metal working and woodcraft and who knows what else. It had already started summoning Daemons, if none of the worst of their kind--yet. Perhaps worse than that, a Ghorgon. I can't help but think, even then, that it was sent, working with the Fimir. Gathering strength and knowledge the better to be a puppet to cut its strings. It wasn't too much bigger than the usual Doombull, but it hardly needs to be bigger to be a threat, especially if you toss a brain to match instead of the usual anger and rage, rage and anger on repeat.

Not that it mattered.

"How did you beat it?"

I didn't. The Beerguard isn't full of rangers, but beastmen aren't overly stealthy abominations at the best of times. And I might not quite be my Uncle's equal in these things, but I do have legs that work and more than a few runes. The Gori kept up camp on the slopes of one of the mountains, and they picked well: It wouldn't have had an avalanche, and they kept up a watch at that to make sure one wouldn't be induced.

But nobody can watch everywhere, all the time. Not even their gods. I had the Beerguard engage a number of them in combat a few kilometers away, skirmishing with ungors, drawing their guard, and keeping their attention directed there, towards that, figuring out what to do. Their omens fizzled out as I broke their magic, keeping them from doing anything until with a sickening crack I finally managed to start the avalanche proper, sending a few thousand tons of snow and ice and rock down on them.

We never did find the entirety of its body. A little part of me still worries, one day, that it will return, and that I'll have to fight it. But that's okay, because I can.

But we did find the Ghorgon, dead. Most of its body, a ruin beyond ruins, but its horn, symbol of might and endurance and resilience, there was a large enough shard of that still present for me to use, saved for just this moment, for just this opportunity.

The last of them was a gift from the High King, for saving his life. A treasure from his hoard, a reagent of course. The heart of a great Wyvern, great and vast and strong indeed. Lesser than their cousins, the true dragons, perhaps, but nevertheless they are mighty beasts indeed, venomous and durable and angry. This one had made its roost on the World's Edge Mountains, perhaps ten kilometers from Karaz-A-Karak. Snatching up goats from herders, supplementing its diet. Grudges atop Grudges atop Grudges.

Then it tried to attack Whitebeard's daughter.

I say "Tried" because she was journeying with the High King when it made the attempt. Starving as it grew bigger and bigger and prey that could sustain it disappeared? Growing territoriality as it grew in size itself, and seeing the traveling band of Dwarfs as a potential threat? Maddened by Chaos in an easy attempt on a good man's life?

It hardly mattered. All that mattered is it attacked the High King's daughter, in his presence. The beast ought to be given this, it put up a better fight than most would, managing to endure four blows from his hammer and keep fighting rather than giving up the ghost. But a better fight than most means little, precious little, when you still lose the fight and after all of ten minutes the thing was dead. He gathered up the parts of it, everything that could be a reagent or the material for armor and other crafts. Over the years doling it out as a reward to Runesmiths and other craftsmen: Some bone here, leather there, blood and eyes and horns and all other manner of its parts until at last, I received the very final portion of it all:

The heart. A thing green like an emerald and big as my torso, kept preserved in a chest, a masterwork in its own right, layered with runes of preservation and stasis.

Not, I think, something akin to the Greedy One that uncle killed all those centuries ago.

But, a truly impressive specimen indeed.

With those all set, turned my gaze first toward the underlayer, a simple gambeson cutting off at the knee made of Ancient Troll Hide worked into a particularly supple leather then dyed a dark red, like the sky at sunset. I trimmed this with Brana Down of the finest quality, particularly around the neck, before lining it with Klinkarhun in bright white, prayers to Thungni mostly, asking him to look well upon the work I set out to do. The Tale of The Glittering Realm was woven into the fabric in thread the shade of lapis lazuli, in art, in image, so simple that anyone could understand it, and understand what it meant.

There was a hiss as the Adamant was finally ready to be worked precisely as I finished looking the underlayer over one final time, precisely as I planned. Carefully I took up my tongs, hard troll bone Runed to ward off heat, and thrust them into the crucible, grabbing the first piece I needed and placing it on the anvil. And then, I set to work, slamming my hammer against it again and again and again. It had taken uncle time, nothing but time, to even just finally get the Adamant malleable, never mind worked into shape. Standing on the shoulders of giants, I could hope at least that it would take me a little less time to see it done, to see the thing finished, but I was in it for the long haul, this I knew.

My mind flowed through what I had planned. Not quite the same full body protection as Barak Azamar, but close, a barbute to wrap around the head while leaving my vision near-unimpeded and ensuring keeping my plaits from getting pinched in the metal, with a crest made of electrum ending in the visage of a Grungni, tracing the opening for my face as well, all of it textured to look like rope and left a gleaming, amberish hue.

And then after a time that was done, the helmet was shaped if still not quite ready, just waiting, waiting and thirsting for the Runes. And that would come, soon enough, but first there was work to be done, all of it left a ruddy, rising-sun red, lacquered to that brilliant shade.

Yet more plate to be shaped.

The pauldrons next. I was not quite so flamboyant as some were, leaving the geometry of it well-enough alone, but I chiseled and cloved and beat and cut until the left was Smednir, craftsman, metalworker, shaper and crafter, while the right was Thungni, Ancestor, he that had chosen me for the duty of Runelord. I lined the edges, themselves lipped to catch weapons, in the same-rope like electrum, then left a thin coating on the Ancestor's faces to make them shine against the red of the metal itself, though without that same texture. To finish it I slotted gems in where their eyes ought to go, dronril in Thungni's and hearthstones in Smednir's. The work was simple, and I did it well, moving through apace, perhaps a month for each of them?

And so I moved on to the next.

The gauntlets, vambraces and rerebraces. A prayer to Thungni, etched in gold, along the bicep and forearm. Each knuckle joint would be chiseled, marked, with the visages of the living legends of the Guild: my Uncle, of course, but Alric, Angkra, Gottri and others besides. Figures to live up to and a reminder of the oath I held, to live up to the standards of my Guild, each as detailed as I could make it and still ensure complete flexibility. I lined the larger plates with that same electrum, framing the work.

The cuirass next, and the plackart. I gave them shape and form and substance, to ensure I could move, fight, dodge, duck, weave as though it was a second skin. Not an ounce of extraneous weight; not a degree of movement sacrificed. Not by an able artist, performing her craft. Not by I, not by me.

They were two images flowing into each other. The cuirass depicted the Ankor Brynn in electrum once again, this time worked until it was shiny and pristine and pure as the noon day sun, like woven sunlight and stars, until it glittered and gleamed in perfection, a dim reflection perhaps a thousandth of the real thing, in a field whose emulations often failed to reach a millionth of it. The plackart would depict Thungni Himself stumbling onto that realm, and all the Runecraft he would end up delivering onto the Dwarfs, onto His descendants, to race and struggle and strive and hope to meet.

I worked.

And I worked,

And I worked.

Until it was done.

No, I could not have told you how long. But the time did come, and I had complete coverage of the torso, leaving only the bottom half of my body to cover.

The second layer of good maille would cover to the middle of my upper leg.

Unacceptable. Far too many arteries, blood vessels, bones and other necessities for only a layer of gromril chain.

Onto the cuisses. These I shaped and shaped and shaped with intricate, knotwork depictions of the mountains of Norsca alternating between the electrum and bare adamant, giving the appearance of sunlit slopes and the volcanoes that dotted the peninsula. Every so often, I laid amber etched with Klinkarhun about where a hold would be in the mountains. I lined the larger plates with the electrum as well, pouring my everything into reinforcing them.

I shaped the poleyns as Grungni and Thungni, the most warring of those three, left and right respectively. The top plate resembed their crown and helm respectively, the middle their faces, and the bottom their long beards. Both recieved Dronril in their eyes, were once more covered in the electrum.

Down to the greaves. I continued the mountains, continued alternating between the electrum and the ruddied adamant, and once more laid the amber down about where the Holds should be.

How long?

It didn't matter.

I kept forging.

The sabatons. Simplest protection for my feet, these, and so the decoration was sparse and simple though present, alternating between the Adamant and the electrum, white invocations of Thungni filigreed onto the Adamant, just waiting to be worked.

And like that, it was time.

Time for the Runes.

And Thungni found a cavern, and within it a great, glittering realm.

I took up my chisel and reverently, slowly, carefully began to cut the Rune of Iron into the electrum of Smednir's face on the pauldron, slowly, carefully gliding it in. I needed a channel of power, a channel of song and so for my own sake I sang, I chanted, following the old songs of power. No failure, no imperfections, this needed to be perfect. As well-made as I could, and that was very well made indeed. Slow, repetitive, calming blows. I counted, each and every one, to be sure I could it in as few as possible: Three-thousand-and-seventy-seven. It began to glimmer and gleam and shine with that inner teal light, shifting to gold as I blinked and remembered that oh yes, I was in Khazagar.

Wyverns. Surly, mountain-dwelling acid spitters, not altogether unlike the Dawi who lived under stone. Dishonorable, cruel thieves however, and no right-minded descendant of the Ancestors would engage in such behavior. Their flesh, their spirit, all of it was durable, strong, resilient to the cruelties of the world. And this had been a durable thing itself, able to withstand the hammer of Snorri Whitebeard for four mighty blows when even true dragons had struggled to withstand one. Something that would not break, something that could not be shattered or scatter. Its heart, granted to me by the High King, by the heir of Grungni, a perfect reagent to feed to the Rune of Iron, as the seat of its power and its pride and its durability. The Rune ate like a hungry dwarf as I portioned out the heart, chanting all the while, ignoring the tiredness and fatigue to focus, instead, on completion. The material disappeared as it touched the metal, the power taken and absorbed to serve the ends of the Rune,.

Cut. Place. Chant.

Cut. Place. Chant.

On and it went, as the hundred pounds of what had once pumped blood and strength and vigor into the thing's body was taken to instead porvide magic and power to the Runes, magic and power for my ends, to my flesh.

Until all at once I lowered the knife and touched nothing.

Looking down I saw there was no more heart.

The Rune glimmered, pleased, even as I tried to ignore seeing someone out of the corner of my eye.

And plucked from it gleaming seeds of power, that he might give to the dwarves.

The Rune of Stone. Strong, enduring, resilient. Necessary. I took up hammer and chisel and struck Thungni's face on the pauldron and kept striking it, slowly, painfully slow, starting to shape that Rune, mighty and enduring, into being. Blow after blow after blow, biting into the electrum, shaping the hard, straight lines. I kept a precise mental count of each and every one: one-thousand-and-sixty-nine, requiring precisely fifteen seconds between each lest you should take too much of the metal with an ill-considered, sloppy blow. Precisely, struck as my Master would, and his master would, and on and on the chain would go, back and back and back and back, all the way to Thungni himself, and I always smile at the thought.

And then the Rune started to glow, to shimmer, to shine, golden light streaming forth from it, streaming and ask for sustenance. It would function without.

But I've never been good at letting things go hungry. Not the Beerguard, not my apprentices, and not my Runes.

I took my hammer and I shattered the Ghorgon's horn into chunks, big ones at first, slowly reducing them down to smaller and smaller pieces from what had been a "bar" about as tall as I was and thicker around. As pieces got small enough to fit I fed them to that golden Rune light, softly illuminating the hallucination playing in the corner of my eyes that I resolutely ignored to keep my attention on feeding the Rune as it desired and deserved in equal measure. I took bit after bit after bit from the Horn, grasping them in hand and feeding it to the Rune, the shards slowly dwindling down and as it dwindled down my chanting only soared higher and higher and higher, echoing through the stone walls of the room back to me.

I didn't need it anymore, but it felt right. Proper. Going back, back, back to the ancestors and to the Ancestors, the knowledge refined by generations of effort into what I now, myself, was refining to further pass along to those who followed me, my apprentices, Jolla and Siggrun, and more would follow beside, the students they taught, passing on and passing on and passing on the wisdom of ancestors, after adding their own to the pile, improving and refining the Karaz Ankor much the same as one might refine metal.

The Rune of Stone has never been half as much of a glutton as some others I could mention. It slowly takes reagents, you know that, and it did the same with the horn, the pieces only slowly disappearing into the shimmering golden light, unlike the Rune of Iron which gorged itself on the pieces of the heart in an instant with all the table manners of a particularly ill-bred boar.

Until there was no more horn, and it was done, the Rune beginning to shimmer and hum properly.

One last Rune. One last mark.

This gift we carry, as servants of our Lord.

I began to carved into the figure of Grungni and the crest, biting into the metal with my chisel, slicing the hard, sharp lines, chanting all the while. The physical structure needed to be perfect, a ready vessel, otherwise all I was going to do was splatter a bunch of hard to replace Oathgold and ruin the whole thing.

That, I could not accept.

One strike. Two strikes. Three strikes.

Three-hundred strikes. Four-hundred strikes. Five-hundred strikes.

Five-thousand strikes. Six-thousand strikes. Seven-thousand strikes.

Ten-thousand strikes. Twenty-thousand strikes. Thirty-thousand strikes.

I never lose count. I don't have the right, and I don't want to. But there does come a time when my body forces itself, even as my mind wraps around the numbers and I turn towards the brightness of the Rune.

A hundred-thousand strikes. A hundred-thousand-and-one. A hundred-thousand-and-two.

Done. It began to glow gold, flickering, shimmering, unsturdy, unready, needy, hungry and thirsty alike. I took the crucible in the best of tongs, where the metal had bubbled and boiled waiting. I grabbed the ladle and I began to pour the Barazgal from the crucible into the waiting Rune, letting it soak each and every inch of each and every crevice.

The Master Rune of Galkarin. A Master Rune of protection. A strange thing, crafted by the Twenty-Loops, taught to her student, taught to my master, and from my master to me.

As it drank the ladled metal it grew more stable, more secure, less flickering and unsure of itself, like a youth growing to a man and finding his profession. If Stone was a survivor and Iron ate like a pig then Galkarin consumed, devouring, scarfing, slurping down the metal with the thirst of a beast near the door of death. The boiling, bubbling metal could not touch the Rune but disappear, and as it disappeared, as it was taken, the golden glow only grew stronger, better, purer and more refined as the magic of Runes themselves were forced into it, as it took on the power of the world and the glimmering realm, as it became my key to fulfill the oath I had made, a shield from every evil of the world. A shimmering plane of gold began to appear, a panel of pristine protection from all the evil of the world, slowly becoming more and more real as the work completed, as I grew nearer and nearer to finishing off the Barazgal and bringing the Rune to nearness, realizing at some point that my throat had gotten raw, ravaged even, needing ale, needing rest; but not until this was done, not until it was ready.

Then all at once, it stopped.

I was done.

There was darkness at the edge of my vision. A gnawing hunger, a great thirst. The amulets and talismans laid on my form burned and burned and burned, even as I slammed a hand on the table.

And then all at once, it passed.

I was hungry. And I was thirsty.

But this--Azulgrozkarinal--it had been worth it.

Stone shall strengthen Metal and Shield and I.

Iron shall strengthen I and Metal and Shield.

Galkarin shall strengthen Shield and I and Metal.

A strength beyond strength.

A protection beyond protection.

A Myth.

I look at it, even as the Beerguard finally enters, knowing I am done, bringing with them stonebread and ale. "Thank you."

Then I drain the whole keg in a single, vast gulp.
 
A Good Vow Made, A Good Vow Kept

A strength beyond strength.

A protection beyond protection.

A Myth.

I look at it, even as the Beerguard finally enters, knowing I am done, bringing with them stonebread and ale. "Thank you."

Then I drain the whole keg in a single, vast gulp.

Snorri. Hand over the hammer and title of heir to Snerra please.
Fjolla. You aimed too low.
Karstah. You better make one hell of a dragon gronti.
 
Valaya the Warrior, dueling that shoddy abomination of the Tempter Kal'Tharnix and destroying him so utterly that at the least he's never found the courage to return, assuming he still exists at all.
I can only think of Valaya doing a dwarfy hairflip, calling a Keeper of Secrets "b*tch" right to it's cow face, and sending to right back the warp in shame.
 
Some stories aren't yours to know the end to.
Just hope somebody got a happy ending. after expirience like that, they earned it.
If not. may they rest well.

So anyway, Crossover ideas? Anything you think would be whacky enough to bring forth Snorri's 'Naughty list' (legally distinct form personal grudge book) to bear? Also according to Snerra whose the most annoing dwarf in the hold she meet regulary?
 
Azrilzhufgotten/Turn 57 Results Pt. 2:
Update update, or Dwarf Player Guide Update?
Well I was gonna post that day and say something dumb, but then I was hit by inspiration and then it took a whole ding-dang day.

Anyway here ya go
Winning Vote said:
[X] Plan: The Dragon Kaiju Begins and Checking in on Draco Grandkids
Snorri & Karstah
Requests
-[X] The Enduring War Rune 1 Snorri + 1 Karstah + 1 Retainer. Already covered, this is for action tracking purposes. ✓
-[X] Drakk Rearing 1 Snorri + 1 Karstah AP ✓
-[X] [Difficult] Design Skaudardrengi, The Singing Slayer, Emperor Dragon Gronti: 1 Karstah AP ✓
An exemplary 45 meter Storm Wyrm forged from pure Adamant, with eyes of glowing Dronril shielded by metallic lids. Rest linked in this post.
--[X] Choose: Master Rune of Waking [T4] Greedy Troll Heart, Rune of Empowerment [T4] Dragon Ogre Shaggoth Heart, Rune of Siphoning [T4] Greedy Troll Heart.
-[X] [Difficult] Build Azrilzhufgotten, The Silver River Banner: Design link 1 Karstah AP ✓
-- [X] Choose: Combo, Goruz-Kazak Rikkaz: Master Rune of Traversal [T4] Radiant Pegasus' Heart, Rune of Impact [T3] Stonehorn Leg Muscles, Rune of Amber [T4] Barazgal.

-[X] [Difficult] Accept Starlight: Due end of Turn 59. ✓

Research
-[X] [Difficult] Convert Siphoning to Engineering 1 Snorri AP ✓
-[X] [Difficult] Extra-sensory Pt. 1 2 Snorri AP ✓
-[X] [Simple] Slave Wyrm Autopsy 1 Simple proc ✓
-[X] [Simple] The Secrets of Light Pt. 2 Simple procs ✓

Retainers

-[X] Expedition, Aiding Krum (1 +1 [Industry of the North]) =2 Retainer AP ✓
-[X] Expedition, Aiding Kraka Drakk 1 Retainer AP ✓

Orders
--[X] Princely Hunting: T4 Radiant Pegasus
--[X] Royal Authority, Additional Order:
[T4] Barazgal 15 Kraka Grom Favor
--[X] Royal Authority, Additional Order:
[T4] Voidstone 15 Kraka Krum Favor

[X] [Letters:] Knowledge about reactions to you running off with Karaz-Kazak-Rhun [Extensive, Evolving] ✓
[X] [Social:] Brynna covertly attends a competition in Khazagar. ✓

[X] [Social:] Fjolla showing her new smelter.
Winning Vote Turn 57 Results Pt. 1 said:
[X] [Khazagar:] Allow the Guild to host their contest but do not work with them. ✓
Gain, ??? A second Guild will sponsor competitions inside Khazagar.
You have a better idea about what may happen this time. The most obvious result would be an uptick in the kind of Runecraft that the Metalsmiths Guild would care most about, usually weapons and armour, with the occasional talisman or helmet. Much the same way that the Engineers Guild's competitions caused the amount of war machines to increase. But in the long term you'll expect to see more smiths form relationships with visiting Runesmiths and vice versa.

━<><><>< 476 A.P. ><><><>━​

Your stylus leaves the page, and you stare down at what you've written with naked discomfort.

It had made sense at the time to complete your autopsy of the Slave beasts that Fimir had created as part of the prepwork for Karstah's planned creation. Yet another data point to pin to the board, another example to compare and contrast with. You had come into this project with the expectation that nothing you found could be as wretched as what was in the Chimaeras.

In the end you are half right.

What you found was, on paper, not worse. There were no masses of pulsating flesh that had no seeming purpose, no fang filled maws within the stomach, nor malformed sets of organs wedged where they ought not to be.

But what you find is no less horrible in your mind. The bodies of these degenerate drakk were crudely built, flooded with power for power's sake and done only as intricately as was needed to ensure they did not immediately mutate or expire. Well enough so that they took on the shape the Fimir intended…

…but not so well that these creatures did not suffer every moment of their tortured existence from the side effects.

And suffer they must have. For their organs are aged well beyond what the rest of their bodies and simple math would suggest. You have only seen similarly poor examples from truly sickly and weak drakk; enlarged hearts and fatty livers, failed kidneys, distended stomachs, and brains that are the right size but rife with malformity and growths to name a few.

That is the cost for the power they possess.

Because these sad wretches are indeed mighty. Where their organs are withered and broken, worn threadbare from corruption and the stress of keeping the rest of the body alive, their muscles and skin are tough and strong. Stronger than a dragon of their age could ever naturally be, more comparable to a freshly matured Wyrm for the younger specimens, and a true Wyrm for the eldest, than the newly weaned welps you have realized they truly are.

How? You cannot say exactly, nor do you think you really want to know.

But there are hints, or more accurately there is one hint.

The blood.

It is, well potent is one word for it, and horrific is another. The truth is that it's probably somewhere in the middle. It is, to your great surprise, effectively the blood of an Elder Wyrm when viewed with your Windsight eye. Such is the nature and amount of magic held within that you theorize it may be the only reason the organs and by extension the creatures did not die from their transformation.

When you make the ultimate test by trying to run one of the Smelters with it, you feel a mix of revulsion and awe to see that it works.

It is the sort of gnawing horror of seeing something beyond the pale and knowing just enough to comprehend the necessary skill needed to make such a thing happen.

You are no friend to the drakk, the siblings are Shard wyrms ya see and yes that makes it different, but even this incites pity within you. The Fimirs' sorcerers somehow managed to prematurely age these poor creatures with magic until they reached the size and strength of an Elder Wyrm without any concern for the consequences of such rapid development. That their bodies swelled with power a-plenty and that was enough.

And, a dark part of you whispers, maybe their suffering was perhaps just a pleasant surprise?

Some small part of you wonders how developed these Slave Wyrms truly were. The siblings had not truly begun to think beyond their instincts and engage in complex, abstract thought until they were decades old at the earliest, and these were of comparable age.

Had these dragons even lived long enough to be aware, to possess minds capable of complex thought and fully understand their suffering? Were they even capable of it after what was done to them?

Which fate would be the kinder?

Your mind can begin to piece everything together in all its terrible reality. The Fimir desired only a mighty beast, but circumstance made them release their creations early. In the face of defeat, they cared not for the quality of its life, only the minimum length and the value that could be extracted before its expiry. What would they have cared that their slave beast would live only a fraction of its full lifespan when that fraction was more than enough for their current needs? This flaw could be looked at when they were not at war, they required only that the weapon worked. Their perfection could wait.

It is that casual disregard, bereft of cruelty or malice, and that makes it all the worse.

Not since Karag Dum, since the Frurndar, have you felt such revulsion.

This is one of the rare times that the thought of doing a bit of wool gathering actually seemed sensible.

A part of you is thankful that you never ended up making Karstah do this.

━<><><><==><><><>━​

A long, slow exhale leaves her lips.

The round piece of Adamant sits in the forge while she watches patiently, eyes scanning for the sign that it is ready for working.

Ready for the Rune it is to bear.

The rest of the banner was largely complete. The leering skull of Grundbak, from the tip of his sweeping horns to the teeth of his fang-filled maw coated in shining silver, carried aloft an Adamant banner pole and crossbar. The fabric of the banner was a well cut piece of a Troll's belly skin, made supple (for trollskin) and clean enough for writing and staining, but enough of its natural state visible that its source was still unmistakable. With Queen Valka's blessing, the rune sigil of lost Karag Dum was placed below the symbol of the Hearth Guard both branded onto the leather then gilded in gold so pale it was almost silver.

Around the two symbols are more images, brand marks that depict the carefully stylized image of Hearthwardens in battle. They are locked in combat against Beastmen, Dumi and even the Frurndar, though the latter designed to appear as nameless, formless shadows. Each of the scenes was posed then placed in such a way that it created the image of a Dwarfen shieldwall protecting the symbols of the Hold while the banner in miniature fluttered defiantly at the forefront. Bordering the banner were long, gilded lines of Aldrhunr, the oaths and promises of Valaya to protect and aid one's people wherever they may be found framing the image on the banner. While all along the crossbar were twenty one holes, for which twenty one bolts with their heads forged to appear as shields, would pin the troll's hide in place.

It was a purposeful juxtaposition on her part, a solemn oath of protection written on the consequences of forcing its fulfillment.

But it isn't done.

Only eighteen have been made and hammered into place.

Three more shields need to be made, and three Runes need to be forged.

She spots the subtle shift in the metal's hue and all thoughts flee her mind as instinct takes over.

Now.

With well-practiced ease, she uses her tongs to pull the orange round of Adamant out of the forge and onto her anvil.

Then she raises her hammer.
Power Flows
In her mind she can already see the final form of her work. The first Rune to be struck, the Rune of Amber, to hold those under the Banner's aegis together against whatever it is that would seek to separate them. The Rune is ready, eager to rise up from the depths of her mind to be wrought onto the wondrous metal beneath her gaze.

And she is the conduit.
Will guides it
Karstah begins the striking by bringing her hammer down against the orange Adamant, the first blow heavy and purposeful. The ring of metal on metal reverberates through her Workshop, lingering longer than expected. It is an oddity she pays no mind to, bringing all her focus onto the task in front of her.

A second strike follows, then a third, and so it goes. The steady sound of metal hitting metal like some Engineer's contraption beginning to run, or like a heart beginning to beat.
Let song remind you
The first words of the Rite leave her lips unbidden.

"Honour to Vanya, beloved of Thungni the Ancestor. In memory of her strike for each decade of her span…"

━<><><><==><><><>━​

You decide that reading Rorek's letter is as good a way as any to get your mind off of the disconcerting discoveries you've made.

Only to hold back a grimace after getting only a few lines deep.

Rorek's first line was about sicc-ing his Dragon gronti on you, out of jest of course (you hope), but the mention of drakks immediately brings you back to the headspace you were trying to get away from.

Grumbling, you push through and continue reading the letter, willing yourself to focus on the writing and nothing else.

Well it's about as bad as you thought it could get.

You're lucky both young Kazador and Lord Hammerspite had vouched the veracity of your claims. Otherwise there would have been a strong chance that all of Izril's Runesmith Clans would have come for you and Karaz-Kazak-Rhun to kill and reclaim respectively.

As it is apperantly by Royal Decree, one no doubt vouched for by the Runesmiths, you're barred from entering Karak Izril without an escort, read minders and spies, to keep an eye on you. You don't need Rorek to tell you that most of Izril's Runesmiths are wroth at the thought of you claiming the hammer and terribly embarrassed to have been literally sitting ontop of it for centuries without realizing. Mostly because you aren't an idiot, and because Magda and Modi, your Brotherhood colleagues from the Hold, moved to Dron in the medium term to not deal with the social fallout of being known associates with you.

That part you do feel bad about.

As for the others though…

Almost immediately after your announcement hit the hold several expeditions were sent, both official and not, to try and find the cavern and reclaim something from it. Most had gone poking at Kazador or Gottri for their riddles for clues and answers first, but a number of folk, like the entirety of Clan Deepdelver for instance, had just started heading down in droves. Rorek himself had sponsored a handful of expeditions, using them more as political networking opportunities and to shore up his relationships with Izril's elite more than anything. He tells you he doesnt expect much to come from it, and that he won't lose sleep if they come back empty-handed.

Pull the other one.

Consequently, Izril's archives have become something of a tavern, much to their Loremasters' displeasure. Dozens of Runesmiths can be found there at all times of day, scrawling over the old records for hints or clues and needing to be forcefully removed from the premises by the angry librarians when maintenance of the archives needs to be done. No accusations of theft, but there are now guards who ask the Rhunki to empty out their proverbial pockets when they leave.

Then there are the four current great Clans.

Whatever the truth was before, the relationship between the Runelords of Clans Gemlinling and Aldbaraz had solidified over their mutual contempt for you. So much so that they had further sealed their newfound friendship by pushing for more matches between their Clans. Rorek would not be surprised to see a Gemlinling weapon Rune on Aldbaraz axes and Aldbaraz armour Runes on Gemlinling platemail in the near future, or for the Clans to end up learning some of the secrets of the other in time.

Good for them you guess.

And then there was the worst reaction of the four. Clan Grungagril were quiet, the sort of quiet that only happens when a Dwarf's a hairsbreadth from violence as Rorek puts it. Of them, your fellow Runelord can only say he's seen far, far more Grungagril Runesmiths dropping what they're doing and chipping in to The Brilliant Hall than before. They had something of an active rotation before this point, keeping one portion of their Runesmiths working on their joint work with the other Clans and letting the others rest and work on their own personal projects. But your act is an affront to their pride as Runesmiths and a crime against Thungni, and as can do little beyond declaring a punitive Grudge against you, they have also turned that offense into the sort of productive spite the Dawi know all too well.

Oddly enough Clan Deepdelver seemed to take it the best out of all the four Clans. Of course best was relative here, they cursed your name publicly but also let a few young journeymen north out of the same hope to see the hammer for themselves. They were a secretive lot, as Rorek sees fit to remind you, but they seem to take your discovery of Karaz-Kazak-Rhun as proof that their obsession with discovering the portalway to the Ankor Bryn is not in vain. Their faith has been buoyed, and their Dawi make up the vast bulk of the expeditions now heading down to find the place where the hammer once rested. Hoping that there is a clue to finding the Ankor Bryn in the rubble.

As for the rest of the south, well Rorek isn't as connected, but the sheer volume of activity your actions generated let him learn a great deal. That and because most of that activity seems to alternate between cursing your name and cackling at Izril's Runesmiths. You aren't surprised that more than one of Izril's rivals have taken the opportunity to tweak their noses over it. The Hold had a reputation for being as snooty over Runesmithing as Zorn was over…well everything actually ya see. Something you can corroborate from your letters with the Burudin and Brotherhood too at least. Brynduraz especially, seems all too happy at Izril's misfortune, leading the charge at mocking them, even as they grumble at you despite being the one who made it possible.

Some part of you expected to be, you know, happy about thumbing Izril in the face.

But you aren't. Or at least you aren't as happy as you expected to be.

It mostly leaves you with a sense of exhaustion and guilt, or something close enough to guilt to not quibble over.

The Runesmiths squabble, but in your heart you know it is not the usual sort of clucking and prancing of the past. This is the kind of conflict that arises in the wake of a power vacuum, in the wake of great and tragic loss.

In the wake of Thungni's disappearance.

Rorek's letter makes a part of you wonder if you ought to have taken the burden on. —

I will reach you.

but then you remember, and you find the resolve to ignore the whisper in your mind.

Besides, going by everything so far, you're fairly sure you would have killed multiple Dawi from rage-induced strokes if you had claimed the title of Thungni's Heir.

Ah, that doesn't actually make you feel better to think about.

Blinking, you realize you read through that far quicker than expected. Then with a sigh, you slide Rorek's letter to the side and reach for a fresh parchment.

You don't know when you'll get the chance to write a reply, so while the memory is fresh you might as well spend this unexpectedly free moment doing just that.

━<><><>< 477 A.P. ><><><>━​

As part of your ongoing efforts to be more, bah, social, and get the thought of your earlier research out of your head, you let yourself be wrangled into attending a tournament held in Khazagar. It was a martial contest sponsored by King Gloin. The rules, as you understood, was that a Runesmith would test their weapon Runes against each other, although they would be wielded by a warrior of that Runesmith's choosing. The winning warrior was to earn a place among the Huskarls, and the Runesmith the patronage of the Royal Clan. Understandably, every contestant submitted a greataxe of some sort, as the weapon had become the traditional choice among Kraka Drakk's royal retainers. A clever thing for Gloin to do, you reckon; to poke and prod and give reason for visiting Runesmiths to invest time in the Hold by finding a warrior they could trust to wield the weapon they made. A connection was the goal you reckon, if it blossomed into anything more all the better, but the King was heeding his father's wisdom and trying to entice as many of the visiting Journeymen and Masters to stay on a more permanent basis as possible.

The contest itself was alright enough. The contestants were all young, and therefore mediocre at best. Not quite sure why Gloin is settling, but you recognize that mediocre for you these days was a Longbeard who had the talent of someone twice his age. It was an expectation you had to keep in check, lest you drink yourself to an early grave out of sorrow for the state of the youth faster than usual. Speaking of which, you nod imperceptibly as one of the warriors in the ring does a half decent job at disarming his opponent with the beard of his weapon.

Only to tsk alongside several other Elders when the young man chooses to press the attack, failing to realize his opponent's weapon has a lesser derivative of the Master Rune of Flight inscribed upon it. The young cheer when the weapon comes flying back into his opponent's hands, smacking the warrior in the back of the head as it goes for good measure.

Shoddy, shoddy, shoddy. You shake your head and take a sip of your drink. The Huskarl's will have a tough time beating whoever ultimately wins this contest into proper shape.

You blink.

Was that—?

Doing your best to be as inconspicuous as possible, you turn your gaze away from the competing Dawi just a smidge so that you can get a better look at the crowd. Squinting, as if you're judging the two warriors below, you focus in on the figure huddled near the back.

Sure as steel it is.

Her appearance is in stark contrast to how she usually dresses herself, but that's unmistakably Brynna. She's donned a Ranger's cloak and pulled the hood over her head, obscuring her form beneath the teal and gold cloth, but you spot the metal plates of her prosthetic peek out from the edge of one of her gloves. Her hair, usually kept in long, tight plaits, has been left unbraided for once, the long silver strands carefully wrapped around her belt. You can't see her eyes from under the hood, but you imagine she's also forgone putting on the black liner around her eyes as well.

You feel a genuine sense of surprise at her presence, and immediately begin to wonder why she was here. Then your mind dredges up the list of names that were participating in this contest and everything falls into place.

One Buri Bryndazson was competing in this tournament, wielding an axe crafted by a Zornish Runesmith.

━<><><><==><><><>━​

The Rune of Impact is an old hat.

So much so that the difficulty comes not from making it, but deviating from the methods and muscle memory ingrained into her mind by centuries of experience.
Let mind shape it
It's a bit like pulling a muscle or standing in an awkward position for just long enough that the muscles begin to protest. The sensation is on the cusp of pain, but not quite there. It is this dominating sense of pressure, wrongness, and discomfort that can only be stopped by correcting the body and relieving the unexpected weight.

Karstah ignores it, focusing on the chant even as she breaks from what it demands.
Sing the song of creation
She speaks of grinding down the tendons of boars, even as she sprinkles in the ground tendons of the stonehorn.

Recites lines demanding that the dust be added to spring melt even as she pours the powder into a bowl of blood.

Keeping in tune with the proper rites, even as she deviates so greatly, is an act of great skill in and of itself. Stanzas must be adhered to, the rhythm of her striking cannot change without consequence. To do any less will risk creating a subpar Rune, a waste of effort and a shame upon her kith and kin.

It cannot be rushed.
The work of eternity
━<><><><==><><><>━​

You slip away from the competition easily enough, grumbling about business to be done and fools wasting time. An age old reason, one that few question the validity of. Donned a disguise of your own before skulking around the edge of the crowd to stand next to Brynna

"Last I checked, wasn't the lad using a shield?" you ask.

"A friend of his was the original partner, but ran afoul with sickness after eating a bowl of poorly made Drongnel. His honour demanded he take the boy's place." Brynna explains, unfazed.

Shaking her head at one particularly dumb headbutt, she turns slightly to look at you.

You blink.

"Gone all out then and gave yourself new eyes too eh?" you ask, staring at Brynna's new set of prosthetics

This pair of eyes used amethyst for the iris instead of the amber and gold you first saw her use decades prior, a trio of two obscured Runes in conjunction with the Rune of Forged Eye.

"One benefit of disfigurement," she explains calmly, "I can pick my gaze as freely as I can choose a necklace. Perhaps a set with Ruby and Hearthstone next honoured Elder?"

You're about to reply earnestly when Brynna's words catch up with you.

"Is that a joke I hear my Lady?" you say with faux astonishment.

"We in Zorn do know of it. Even if it is a rare luxury that, I must confess, must often be imported," she says nonchalantly.

Heh.

"We learn something new everyday," you say with as much sincerity as you can muster, earning an upward quirk of your colleague's lips.

The two of you turn back to watch the contest. The bout ends with one warrior headbutting the other, knocking them out and making their Runesmith patron wail at the loss. As the loser is carried away on a stretcher, the young page in charge of updating the bracket crosses out the loser's name before announcing the next bout of the quarter finals.

"He'll be after this one won't he?" you ask, looking at the bracket to see that Brynna's grandnephew will be facing off against a Dawi from Clan Grimseal.

"Indeed. He's done well enough so far, but these will be men and women who have trained with the az-dreugi their whole lives now. A challenge if there ever was one."

"One worthy of reward should he overcome it?" you hedge, watching the competitors step into the ring.

Brynna inclines her head.

"If the Ancestors are so kind."

"I see," you murmur before blinking in realization.

"And you my Lady? I haven't asked how you've fared since we last spoke."

Brynna makes a sound of what you realize is amusement

"Despite the setback, I have continued my work. Unless misfortune strikes again I will be ready to unveil one particular project sooner rather than later." she states cryptcally.

"That's heartening to hear."

"And you my Lord? Surely your newest acquisition has changed your plans a great deal?" she asks in return.

You hum in thought. A number of images, from a great white wyrm, to strange half formed machines and other, less positive things, are conjured by your mind then dismissed in equally short order.

"Less than you'd think," you eventually respond.

"If memory serves, I recall you saying you were attempting to be more social, correct? Is this one such part of your plan?"

You grunt in confirmation.

"Standing and watching silently like an undi for most of the tournament before sneaking off with little warning or notice?" Brynna points out lightly, turning around to give you a slightly admonishing look.

"Seeing an honoured colleague and going to speak to them about matters unrelated to work," you correct, sniffing as you look down at her.

Your fellow Runelord blinks owlishly, and you feel a bit of indignation about that.

"I stand corrected then my Lord. That does indeed sound like a great burden for you," Brynna amends, recovering from her surprise and doubling down with blatant insincerity.

"One I bear without complaint," you state with overemphasized stoicism, going along with her joke.

A shout of effort draws the two of you to look back to the ring just in time to see one warrior use his axe to pull the other's boot from under them, sending his opponent to the ground. The other Dwarf tries to get up, but is stopped by an axe milimeters from his neck.

The downed combatant doesn't say anything for half a minute, simply staring at the weapon poised to kill him were this fight not a friendly bout. But thankfully he eventually does concede, moustache twitching fiercely with wounded pride as he grinds out the words.

You and Brynna clap politely, drowned out by the cheers and hollers of the crowd.

━<><><><==><><><>━​

Brynna's grandnephew made a good showing in his match and the following two rounds after that. He beat Dawi decades his senior, overcoming the difference in skill out of sheer stubborn-mindedness, in fights that were far closer than most expected them to be. A consequence, you reckon, of his opponents underestimating both his youth and lack of experience with a greataxe, but his streak of good fortune could not last. Once he got to the quarter finals his opponents had stopped taking anything for granted and, wizened up to the threat he posed, fought him seriously from the get-go. He had done his best, but Buri would eventually end up losing to the same Grimseal warrior you saw earlier.

The young Zornishman pulled out all the stops in his final match, trying some strange snaking attack he clearly wasn't well versed in after spending most of the bout on the backfoot. To his credit he did enjoy some early success, getting more than a few good hits past his foe's guard, before eventually ending up on his back with his axe under his foe's boot once the other Dwarf figured out his tactics.

He had fought well, but there was a point where stubbornness could not overcome the skill gap. By this stage almost all those still in the running were Dawi who had been born into prominent warrior Clans, and looked like they had trained with the greataxe for as long as Buri had lived and then some. In the face of such opponents, it was a praiseworthy feat that he managed to get to the quarter finals alone.

"Farther than I reckoned he could go," you admit, watching the boy walk off the ring to respectful cheers and grunts.

"Do not underestimate my kin my Lord. Persistence can fill where skill lacks, and Bright Zorn's people are a stubborn lot," Brynna tells you, eyes also on her grandnephew.

Despite the seemingly frayed relationship with her home, you hear a hint of regional pride in her voice. It shouldn't, and doesn't, surprise you to hear, it would be difficult for any Dwarf to completely forsake the place of their birth.

"So it would seem," you concede, "That last move though, never seen anything like that. Is that a Clan secret?"

Brynna shakes her head, hair swaying and bulging out her cloak at the motion.

"Neither. It is, I believe, an approximation of something from a story all children of the South know," she corrects, faint exasperation coloring her voice.

"Oh? Now you've caught my interest. A good story is always worth listening to," you tilt your head forward a smidge.

"Perhaps some other time my Lord, it is a long story. Not one told in one sitting at the very least."

"Very well. What about the premise then?" you insist.

Brynna turns to look at you, a slight hum escaping her lips for a moment before she finally nods.

"Very well. It is the story of a King. The First King some say, from a time before the Ancestors, before even Zorn. Of his life, of the trials he overcame, the treasures he accumulated, and the wisdom he learned."

"Aye? It's rare to get any sort of recreational reading out of Zorn. Its usually all history or proclamations."

"Zorn does not see a reason to share her stories, not that many would like to hear them. Though given her— our — history, it is for good enough reason I suppose," Brynna admits with a small bit of pity in her voice, "Even so, I doubt this tale would have travelled far anyway. It is tradition that every copy is written entirely on clay tablets, which given its length, makes sharing incredibly difficult. There are a few who know have memorized it in its totality, and perhaps some debased retelling exists on paper in the Old Holds north of Zorn, but I cannot say for certain it ever travelled far. The lessons are not to the taste of the Dawi to my home's north, and it has long been supplanted by the Ancestors' own legends" she explains.

"But Zorn keeps it," you surmise, "because Zorn remembers."

"Because Zorn remembers," she agrees as a complicated look forms on her face, "both for good and ill. More than one wordsmith has juxtaposed the Sunlit Hold and her penchant for shadowed secrets and hidden treasures."

"Well, I look forward to whenever I get an opportunity to pry that story from you, my Lady. Now you'll have me wondering what else Zorn holds."

Brynna inclines her head

"Zorn has many treasures and secrets, my Lord. If one knows where and how to look, they can claim them for their own," Brynna says, staring at you cryptically, "If you'll excuse me though. I must speak with my dutifully foolish grandnephew."

"Good day to you then my Lady," you say, "Ancestors keep you."

"And you," she responds before walking off, cloak trailing behind her.

You watch her go for a moment before turning away to start heading home yourself when realization strikes.

Stopping in the middle of the street, you run that conversation through your head again.

Then shake your head ruefully.

You're letting Damin get to you Klausson…

━<><><>< 482 A.P. ><><><>━​

If Ylva felt kind, she would say that one could tell where the young man's skills lied.

If she felt cruel, then she'd say Otrek Gimlisson does not take after the man he was named after.

He was not a fighter.

The fact that his first campaigning season was at 125, not in a season of leadership which would be understandable, but on campaign at all, when Kraka Drakk has been at war with the Fimir since before he was born, well…

…It's folly to expect a Dwarf to be a fighter, if their talents lie elsewhere then so long as they can swing a weapon and join the shieldwall nothing more is required of them.

But that is not enough if you're a member of Clan Ironarm. Not for a Royal Clan, expected to lead from the van of the Hold's Throng, not for a bloodline of warriors descended from Valiant, Doomed Grimnir in the last Hold He ever set foot in before He walked off into legend.

The fact is, he's not cut out for the sort of high intensity conflict that his bloodline prides itself in. At one-hundred and twenty-five his forefathers were regularly dueling elder Trolls and his own father was waging an all out campaign alongside his grandfather. It paints a stark contrast when only now, as a Longbeard, is he deemed just acceptable enough to go out and not get himself killed leading an Ironarm charge into the enemy flanks.

Were that all he brought to the table, Otrek Gimlisson would be just an unremarkable, subpar Thane in a long line of Clan Ironarm's many Thanes. Not a death knell for any Royal Clan, but he'd be someone not spoken of quite so proudly as others were by his descendants.

Thankfully for him, what Otrek Gimlisson lacks in his family's iron arms, he makes up for with his gilded tongue.

He is the finest speaker and diplomat in five generations by the estimates of his Elders, and Clan Ironarm hasn't let such a talent lie unused. King Gloin has been sending Gimli's son out on diplomatic meetings in some capacity since he first showed signs of his aptitude as a boy of sixteen. A life of building connections, affirming old bonds, mediation and judgements have honed his mind to the point that the King trusts him enough that has granted his grandson with a great degree of independence to maintain the prestige and honour of Kraka Drakk. Moreover it was a good way to stave off rumours that the heir of Gimli Three-axe was a goodfornothing layabout by giving him the ever important, if not so awe inspiring, job of diplomat while Clan Ironarm kept training him so that he could at least fight well enough to not die.

But that could not hold forever. Eventually Otrek must lead a campaign and prove that he can bring out the potential proven in his blood.

And that time is now.

Clan Ironarm is refusing to leave anything to chance here. Gimli and Gloin are with the bulk of the Hold's forces in the High King's drangthrong, but Otrek has been charged with clearing out several minor Fimir presences spotted near the frontier fortresses that serve as the main supply link between the Karaz Ankor and the High King.

Ylva expects something to go wrong, it always does, and hopes that the princeling doesnt get too rattled by it.

Because he certainly isn't going to die, at least not before everyone else around him dies first.

━<><><><==><><><>━​

Not quite sure how you got here.

You had meant to continue working on the Rune of Windsight, having begun the long work of testing your shortlist of solutions when you stumbled upon a curious discovery.

It isn't an earth-shattering secret that Runes who interacted with vision and eyesight had structures in them that your forefathers theorized interacted with light. It's an obvious intuition that even a child could make after all, not even a Dwarf could see in complete darkness.

But then, in your efforts to manipulate the vision of the Rune of Windsight to reflect the desired "kind" of aetheryc senses, you noticed that you could actually alter that same light interacting structure in the Rune, the one you pulled from the Rune of Forged Eye to be precise, and get startling results. This modified Rune allowed you to see everything, but it was all blurry, the lights strange, and far too intense.

Instinctively, you had tried to block the light with your hand, but when you did you noticed that everything became visible. Not in colour, and rather poorly done all told, but noticeably better.

So, in a fit of unbound curiosity, you dropped what you were doing and decided to pursue that avenue of research instead.

What you came to suspect is that the structure you manipulated actually controlled what the Rune decided to show the user. The change you made had not given you the thematic and symbol laden that usually came with Windsight that you hoped for, but it led you to two discoveries.

The Rune's sensitivity to light could be heightened or lowered, and that you can let yourself see heat.

Strangeness and strangeness. Your best guess is that manipulating that altered the Rune's sensitivities to Hysh, and Aqshy in such a way that the latter superseded the former.

You had the basis for two very practical Runes. One that allowed a Dwarf to see in very low light conditions, and another to let a Dwarf see heat sources. Both had applications, and a part of you wants to combine both into one Rune at some point, but for now you only managed to complete the—

[ ] [Light] Rune of Dark Sight

[ ] [Light] Rune of Heat Sight

━<><><><==><><><>━​

"He'll need to stay off that arm for a while, but he'll bounce back like over-proofed dough soon enough," Ylva affirms, watching the Huskarls standing guard relax slightly.

"You hear that beardling?" she continues, looking down at the injured princeling. "You'll be right as rain. No more bellyaching eh?"

A groan is the only response she gets.

"Bah!" she mutters, waving her hand dismissively.

Otrek Gimlisson is not a fighter. He has spent most of his adult life in diplomatic talks, settling disputes and using his charisma to the benefit of his people.

But he is a good leader, proven so in peace, and now she sees here also with the potential to be the same in war.

Takes a special sort of foolish bravery, or perhaps desperation, to volunteer yourself to be the distraction for a dozen Slave Wyrm riding Fimir nobles. Especially when you're about as talented as an apprentice in his first year of study.

"—Is it dead?" a voice whispers, just loud enough to grab her attention.

She looks down and sees the lad seems to be getting his wits about him.

That's good.

"Aye lad, you proved a fine distraction for us," Ylva confirms.

He groans again, only to be abruptly silenced by a drinking horn shoved to his lips.

"Rest now my prince," she orders, tilting the horn back and forcing the drink down the boy's throat.

━<><><><==><><><>━​

…Thrice is the Rune hammered, and on the fourth striking shall it be slaked in the beast's lifeblood.
Wrought onto mortal plane
The hiss of steam and burble of boiling blood join the roar of the forge. The Adamant quenched not for its own sake, but for the Rune inscribed upon it.

Karstah pulls out the small round of white metal and begins hammering once more, the next steps of the Rite coming to her mind with ease.

She imagines a company of Dawi, dressed in shining snow-white plates, their fluttering red cloaks blowing like the tail of a comet. Each is ancient beyond reckoning, dressed in armour worthy of a Lord and weapons that are the envy of Kings. They are not the Hearth Guard of today, but a vision of what they could be.

Thrice is the Rune hammered, and on the fourth striking shall the tendon be lain within it…

The formation begins marching, the thump of their boots heard and the songs of the ancient past accompanying them like camp followers. They march, through storms and blizzards, through day or night and through fire and ice, without complaint or notice. The light of the Runes, bright and mighty, shines through any that seek to snuff it out, a warm crimson light in the darkness.

Sparks fly off the metal with each blow, all of them different colours, and all brighter, hotter, than they should be.
Legend and myth
Thrice is the Rune hammered, and on the fourth striking, shall the powdered flesh of the heart be driven into the metal….

In her mind the company travels the distance of three days in one; their march carries them across rivers, overtop mountains and through bogs and forests. No obstacle stands between them and their oathsworn duty, no matter the distance, the difficulty. The thumping of their individual steps becomes one, like the beating heart of some great, implacable beast that was picking up speed, the beating of its heart going faster and faster and faster still.

They crest a hill, and behold the site of battle, the clang of Karstah's hammer melding with the imagined clash of metal on metal. Cries, of victory, and of loss, echo through the air alongside the smell of blood and offal.

The Hearth Guard, resplendent in Adamant, charge. Hundreds of feet running, sprinting in perfect unison as if led by one mind. Their crimson capes trail after them like a comet's tail, and she sees the Runes on the standard they carry burn, furious and angry.

One by one each warrior is engulfed in flames that do not burn, but instead shield them, the fire that turns arrows turn to ash, spells are deadened. At the apex of their charge, mere moments from contact with the foe, the world freezes. In her mind's eye she seems them all, formless, nameless but unforgettable; they are mightier than any foe before them, more terrifying than any nightmare a mind can conjure, as unbreakable as the Adamant they clad themselves in.

Then, as the final singing blow of her hammer lands home, Karstah's mind allows time to pass, to witness the moment of impact—
The work of the smith.
—and in both worlds, there is fire.

━<><><>< Khazalid Trivia ><><><>━

Drangthrong - A huge Dwarf army
Grongrungral - The Vaulted Forge
Kazad a Grungnaz - The Citadel of Creation
Khazagar - The Halls of Everlearning/Hall of The Endless Gift
Khazrilaz - The Brilliant Hall

━<><><>< Grumblings and Goings ><><><>━

- [Mid 474] The Metalsmiths Guild has always had a noticeable, but unofficial presence within Khazagar as no sensible Smith will turn away the chance to have good proper Runework inscribed on their goods, ever since the institution's completion. But now Gormak's successor, Thurgar Drominsson, has come to you to ask the same question the Engineers Guild had decades prior.
-- With your go ahead, the Metalsmiths went about their business without delay. A tournament was held at the turning of the year, a day of significance to the Cult of Smednir. Another Pure Gromril smelter was to be built, and the honour of this work alongside a portion of the Smelter's first decade of output was to be the prize. The nature of the reward made the list of contestants limited, but in return they were all Master Runesmiths who could be trusted with the task. The winner, one Ongki Dweisson of Kraka Drakk, won such an honour with a set of tongs that allowed the wielder to manipulate and carry massive, unwieldy pieces of metal with childish ease.

- [Early 475] It's only tangentially related to your institution but it's a literal and proverbial stone's throw away. It seems Dwalin's doing something in Khazid Okraz. Some strange combination of inn and stage from what you gathered. Well as long as he doesn't cause any noise complaints that's his business…

- [Early 476] The Vaulted Forge, the Grongrungral. A simple name compared to the grandeur of the other three other locations it is no doubt being built in response too. Unlike the Glittering Lords of Izril and their Khazrilaz, the Rhunrikkal Brynduraz make no great proclamation of honouring the past, nor veil themselves in some twisted proof of orthodoxy as Khazagar or The Kazad a Grungnaz do. No. Forthright with the truth, it is a place of similar purpose to SIlverbrand's Citadel, but its rule is a rotating council of the Hold's Runelords. Fifty Years, shall a Runelord serve as Master of the Forge then, barring extremis, they shall not serve again until all of their living colleagues have done the same. King Bryndurak has already agreed to the Runelords' petition to claim an ancient, long since exhausted mine junction in the lowest Deeps of the Hold.

- [Early 475] A wall of metal, a monument to craft. Azul, and Karaz-a-Karak have made common cause. The mighty industry of the Iron Peak shall be bent to the righting of wrongs and the growth of Karaz Ankor. By the order of High King Snorri Whitebeard, and rewarded in wealth and ties of kinship, the Dawi of Karak Azul have committed themselves to supplying and bolstering the mighty fortresses the High King raised in the west, and those of the Northern Peninsula. Tools, supplies, and equipment of the finest Azul steel shall make the trek west and northwards, being ferried by the Merchants and Caravaneers Guilds to their intended destination. Now, the first of these shipments is ready, and within a few months time they shall be put to work.

- [Late 478] Skalla Honestheart, a Master Runesmith known, perhaps infamously so, for her hatred of the Blue Trickster has come to Khazagar. Deeming the institution acceptable enough for her to share some of her repertoire of Runes, mostly those designed to counteract and exploit the weaknesses of the Changer's minions, with those worthy in Khazagar. That her son and grandson are here, has also certainly played a part you reckon.
-- She has begun teaching her eponymous Master Rune to those worthy as a start. Options unlocked!

- [Early 479] Jorri's first major project as Guildmaster of the Caravaneers Guild has been announced. After decades of work finagling, saving and negotiation, the first stage of his "Realm Route" name pending, will soon become a reality. A chartered path of Under-inns, rest stops and paths that will, starting at very reasonable rates, allow a Dwarf to travel the length of the Karaz Ankor from Zorn to Kraka Drakk, in a comfortable, predictable and most importantly safe manner. One of the greatest physical obstacles to travel has been struck a mortal blow. Oh aye, a King need not use this service, but the common Dwarf? Why, it opens a host of possibilities. Journeymen, Apprentices, young adventurous Dawi or kin who simply live a great distance away have had the world open up for them just a bit more. Subsidizing this relatively inexpensive form of travel, are several hard won contracts with various Guilds to give them access to the services that Jorri's Guild now maintains. It is a great gamble on Jorri's part, because he's betting on Dwarfs wanting to leave their Holds, and that enough Dawi buy in that they make lowering the individual cost feasible. But by his reckoning, if he builds it, they will come.

- [Early 480] Halfway done, the Brilliant Hall is already a sight to behold. A towering central keep with long, multi-story, hallways branching out from three of its seven sides and four massive chambers between them. Within that core, a council drawn from seven of Izril's greatest Runelords shall sit, and there shall they judge those who come before them. Great is the recrimation, or the reward, for those who test themselves against the judging gaze and implacable wisdom of these vaunted elders. Treasures without equal or Runes of great might shall be given to those who pass the tests of the Council, and burning shame or trial for those unworthy or not yet proven. It is a burden of great responsibility, and some say power, and is to be closely guarded against the unworthy. Beyond this, the Brilliant Hall is also a repository and font of wisdom; not of Runelore, or secrets of the Guilds, but history, in example and in word. In honour of Thungni, His Brother and Father, shall mighty treasures be held here in safekeeping until they are wielded in great times of need and put away once the work is done. In honour of Gazul, stories and sagas chronicling the great Dawi of Izril's past shall be open for all to see and learn from. In honour of Valaya, lessons in more mundane and universal wisdom, for foundlings and those willing to learn shall be taught. In honour of Grimnir and Morgrim, contests of arms and craft shall be held to show the Runelords that their wielders and makers are worthy of Thungni's Gift.

━<><><>< Gain ><><><>━

Votes Collated:

[ ] [Light] Rune of Dark Sight

[ ] [Light] Rune of Heat Sight

Snorri
- Slave Dragon autopsy complete!
-- [Windsight] Terrible. Save for their blood, every part would make for poorer reagents than a usual drakk. A poor man's drakk in truth. A crude weapon, forged in desperation, or perhaps spite. The beasts are fed so much magic that they are as physically mighty as a Dragon centuries their elder, but little else. It burns out their bodies, irreprably damaging and mutating their organs, and would leave them little more than husks by the end of their lives. A testament to Fimir cruelty, and Draconic resilience.
-- [Tier 3] Greater Slave Wyrm's Corpse x1 yields
— +6 [Tier 4] Elder Wyrm Blood, new totals: (calculated below)
— +2 [Tier 2] Dragon's Gas sac, new totals: (calculated below)
-- [Tier 2] Slave Wyrm's Corpse x1
— +4 [Tier 4] Elder Wyrm Blood, new totals: (calculated below)
-- +1 Progress to Akazit Pt. 2, new totals: [Cost: (14 -12) =2 actions]
-- Master of the Odd [5/15] > [6/15]

- +3 Progress to Extra-sensory Pt. 1, new totals: [Cost: (12 -7) =5 actions]

- The Secrets of Light Pt. 2 complete! The Secrets of Light Pt. 3a Utility and The Secrets of Light Pt. 3b Power unlocked!
-- You've collected a small trove of light manipulating Runes in your time. Some destructive, some novel, all left largely to the wayside as you pursued other things. In your time you've tinkered with improving the power of these Runes, to…middling success. But as part of your efforts to improve the Rune of Windsight you stumbled upon a strange phenomenon that allows you to see better in the dark.
-- New Runes unlocked! (see vote and below)
-- Master of the Odd [6/15] > [7/15]

- New Variant unlocked! Rune of Siphoning [Engineering] (see below)

Karstah
- (2 [Plan] +1 [Karstah]) = +3 Progress to Drakk Rearing, new totals: [18/?? Actions]
-- Grimgal, length 35m by 483 A.P.
— Training with Hysh continues. Menlinwen is committed to giving Grimgal as comprehensive an education as she can, but apparently it's become increasingly clear to the Elven mage that they are more proficient in Illumination than anything else. By the century's end Menlinwen will begin teaching her Chamon.
— Drakk
-- Zharrok, length 30m by 483 A.P.
— He will be introducing his Master Work soon, his teachers tell you. The details of which he keeps close to his chest.
-- Izgrom, length 30m by 483 A.P.
— Despite his desires to delve deeper and farther, Karstah has impressed upon him the need to actually begin mining the several claims he's found.

- Skaudardrengi Pt. 1 complete! Pt. 2 unlocked!
-- New Combo learned! Combo, Empowered Waking: [Master Rune of Waking, Rune of Empowerment, Rune of Siphoning] (see below)
-- Karstah has compiled a complete report of the material and logistical cost of creating the capstone to Khazagar. It is…well expensive would be underselling the cost in all honesty. It may very well beggar you.
-- You will need x192 bars of [T4] Adamant
--- Which will require x32 units of [T4] Elder Wyrm Blood. Put another way, at your current level of efficiency 6 units of Adamant will require 1 unit of blood. A perfectly reasonable, if expensive, trade that you can manage passively. Producing more bars from activating something like tapping a Waystone or if another Storm of Magic were to appear will require having the extra blood on hand.
-- Dedicated facilities, either within Khazagar or another location of your choosing, will be needed to not only store, but process the Adamant into the necessary forms. See vote.
-- All in all, completing the body will take at least decades [3 turns] of work to complete. While the Rune bearing portions can be completed with relative ease, building something that immense with, at most, 2 people is a massive undertaking. Even for the Gift Giver and his heir.
-- The various pieces of Equipment Karstah mentioned will undoubtedly also take cumulative decades to complete.
-- ConstructsTrait: [0/6] > [3/6]

- Azrilzhufgotten Pt. 2 complete!
-- Karstah's Legendary Creation of Note, Azrilzhufgotten: A large banner made from the belly hide of a Troll. On the skin the runic symbol for fallen Karag Dum has been given a place of prominence, and above it the symbol of the Hearth Guard, surrounded by art of the Hearthwardens waging war against monsters and daemons. Along the banner's edge, written in Aldrhunr, is an oath sworn to Valaya to defend the Dawi wherever they may be. A line of Adamant plates, shaped like shields, anchors the hide to the banner pole. Coated wholly in silver the leering skull of Grundbak, the terror of Ornsmotek, rests atop the banner as both trophy and dire warning to the foes of the Hearth Guard. When the Runes on the banner burn, those marching under the standard feel their muscles swell and find their path unimpeded, crashing into the enemy like a flame wreathed fist of an angry god.
Combo, Goruz-Kazak Rikkaz+: Master Rune of Traversal [T4] Radiant Pegasus' Heart, Rune of Impact [T3] Stonehorn Leg Muscles, Rune of Amber [T4] Barazgal: Allies in range that charge and march together in formation are individually wreathed in a protective shield of flames and deal greatly increased damage when charging an enemy, the larger the formation the greater the speed and damage dealt. When charging they ignore all mundane obstacles.
Master of Metal
Beastbane
Master of the Odd
Khazagar-made
— Banner trait: [1/6] > [4/6]

- New Rune understood! Master Rune of Zon-Dum (Karstah Specific)
-- Conversion unlocked! Master Rune of Zon-Dum
-- Standing Bonus proc! [Fraternity of Thought] +1 progress to Understand the Master Rune of Zon-Dum. As part of her efforts to plan the Capstone project you assigned her, Karstah has, in her personal time, gone through the effort of studying the Master Rune that you traded with Brynna for. Even going so far as to poke and prod members of the Brotherhood to some success.
-- The Rune is simple in terms of what it does. The complexity lies in the amount of effort that's been put in safely channeling all of that power. [Master of the Odd] And it also makes the Rune uniquely suited to having branching variants spawned from it. Karstah doubts the original creator designed it with such considerations in mind though. Zornish Runesmiths were a "one way is the best way," sort.
--- In practical terms, she theorizes that the nature of the Dragon's Gas Sac is what largely influences the Wind used to fuel the Rune, while the gem affects how that energy manifests. If your Windsight Rune were complete, and she had a collection of the Master Rune made with differing ingredients, she could confirm. But she doesn't.

- New Variant unlocked! Master Rune of Zon-Dum [Talismanic]: (see below)

- Red Plate Pt. 1 complete! A helmet for a champion. A proof of concept. A test to Karstah's theory about the Master Rune of Zon-Dum.
-- Talisman (Helmet), Zonbak a play on words for "Daybreak":
-- A fully adamant helmet, designed as a more extravagant version of those worn by the Hearth Guard, and dyed red to match Rudil's moniker.
-- On its forehead is a Ruby with the Master Rune of Zon-Dum. Activating the Rune requires the user to say the Khazalid word for Sunrise, "Nar."
-- Choose: Master Rune of Zon-Dum [T3] Flawless Brynduraz, [T4] Elder Frost Wyrm's Gas Sac
-- Talismanic Trait: [3/6] > [5/6]

New Runes/ Combos

-- Master Rune of Zon-Dum [Talismanic]: It must be inscribed on a Flawless Gemstone set into a structure wholly composed of Pure Gromril or better. After a brief charging period, the gemstone unleashes a beam of extreme heat powerful enough to melt Pure Gromril after a few seconds of exposure. The beam's duration is inversely related to its strength.
-- Rune of Siphoning [Engineering]: Constructs and War Machines inscribed with this Rune can draw on Deep Magic, roughly doubling the longevity or recharge rate of any other Runes inscribed onto them depending on function. When inscribed all Runes glow gold. Superseded by Structural effects.
-- Incomplete? Rune of Dark Sight [Talismanic]: Must be inscribed on lenses. Allows the user to see in incredibly low light conditions. (props to @Carcer , independently submitting these Runes like a year or three ago)
-- Incomplete? Rune of Heat Sight [Talismanic]: Must be inscribed on lenses. Allows the user to see differences in heat
-- Incomplete? Rune of Burning Light [Talismanic]: Must be inscribed on a gemstone. The user can cast a concentrated ball of Hysh. Based on what you know of the Rune of Fire, but harnessing Hysh rather than Aqshy. It is painful to the things of Chaos, but unlikely to kill. Its power is not yet terrible
-- Combo, Empowered Waking: [Master Rune of Waking, Rune of Empowerment, Rune of Siphoning]: ??? The effects of the Rune of Empowerment are improved, and recovery time is now a quarter of the time afterwards.

Retainers
- Expedition, Aiding Krum complete!
-- +1 Standing with Kraka Krum, new totals: (calculated below)
Standing Bonus proc! [Nowhere too Deep] +2 to Recruit Roll
Standing Bonus proc! [Lord of Deeps and Crafts] +20 Favour with Kraka Krum, new totals: (calculated below)
— Standing Bonus received! (calculated below)

- Expedition, Aiding Kraka Drakk complete!
-- +20 Favour with Kraka Drakk, new totals: (calculated below)

- Azrilzhufgotten
-- + Movement, new total: Average+ Movement

- +9 Huskarls recruited, new totals: x38

- +6 Engineers recruited, new totals: x36

154 +13 =169/240

Khazagar
- [Mid 474] The Metalsmiths Guild has always had a noticeable, but unofficial presence within Khazagar as no sensible Smith will turn away the chance to have good proper Runework inscribed on their goods, ever since the institution's completion. But now Gormak's successor, Thurgar Drominsson, has come to you to ask the same question the Engineers Guild had decades prior.

- [Early 475] It's only tangentially related to your institution but it's a literal and proverbial stone's throw away. It seems Dwalin's doing something in Khazid Okraz. Some strange combination of inn and stage from what you gathered. Well as long as he doesn't cause any noise complaints that's his business…

- [Late 478] Skalla Honestheart, a Master Runesmith known, perhaps infamously so, for her hatred of the Blue Trickster has come to Khazagar. Deeming the institution acceptable enough for her to share some of her repertoire of Runes, mostly those designed to counteract and exploit the weaknesses of the Changer's minions, with those worthy in Khazagar. That her son and grandson are here, has also certainly played a part you reckon.
-- She has begun teaching her eponymous Master Rune to those worthy as a start. Options unlocked!

Orders
- +1 [Tier 4] Radiant Pegasus Blood, arriving Turn 59
- +1 [Tier 4] Barazgal, arriving Turn 58
- +1 [Tier 4] Radiant Pegasus Corpse
-- +1 -1 =+1 [Tier 4] Radiant Pegasus' Heart, new totals: x1
-- +1 [Tier 4] Radiant Pegasus' Brain, new totals: x1
-- +2 [Tier 4] Radiant Pegasus' Wing Tendons, new totals: x2
-- +2 [Tier 4] Radiant Pegasus' Blood, new totals: x3
- +10 [Tier 4] Adamant, new totals: x46
- +10 [Tier 4] Elder Wyrm Blood, new totals: 10

- +3 [Tier 2] Dragon Essence, new totals: x45
- +2 [Tier 2] Dragon's Gas sac, new totals: x5

Favour and Standing
- -15 Favour with Kraka Grom, new totals: Favours 200
- (-15 +20) = +5 Favour, +1 Standing with Kraka Krum, new totals: Standing 10, Favours 25
-- Standing Bonus received! Standing 10, Deep Delving: Underground "Expedition" options gain a chance to produce mineral reagents when completed.

Trait(s) Gained/Upgraded
Snorri

- Master of the Odd [5/15] > [7/15]

Karstah:

- Armour Trait [3/6] > [5/6]
- Banner trait: [1/6] > [4/6]
- Talismanic Trait: [3/6] > [5/6]
- ConstructsTrait: [0/6] > [3/6]

━<><><><==><><><>━
There will be an two-hour moratorium for discussion.

AN: A day late, an oath broken. This blew up, by like...a lot. Anyway I am making my Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer dreams a reality through the power of author fiat Karstah Khazadsdottir. As always, hope you enjoy and don't forget to C&C. :^)
 
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