The Other Runelords Contribute - Bara
"Not to worry, beardling, I promised the king artillery and I'm not one for breaking such an oath."
Otrek walks behind, politely silent, his silver and teal clothing still faintly shimmering in the Rune light, followed by his huskarls.
By rights there's an argument that his grandfather, the King ought to be gathering this particular bit of work. And if not King Gloin, then Prince Gimli. Certain eyebrows could be raised, had been raised even, for the Runelord before him had grumbled to see him and not his father or his grandfather.
There were any number of reasons why that was not so.
First and foremost, while there was propriety in the King sending a more elderly representative, the Prince at least, to gather the work it was still, fundamentally, his right to send just about anyone to gather the commission. There were limits but Otrek was not passed them by any sane definition of those limits, hardly some toddling child.
Secondly, his father and his grandfather are getting ready to go out marching again. Examining supplies, speaking with the troops, gathering the militia from outlying settlements, things that require a better touch, more gravitas. That have to go right.
Perhaps most of all, to try and get him used to dealing with the Rhunrikki. They are old, surly and stubborn folk, even more prone to grumbling than the usual elderly Dwarf with one, glaring, exception (and perhaps that was why he wouldn't be meeting with that particular glaring exception, hm?) and most of his fellow youth sure do seem to have trouble the second a truly old Dwarf starts grumbling.
He is...less inclined so. If he has made an actual error or if they seem in a truly murderous mood, aye, he'll get away fast as possible; but when he's done nothing wrong, and when she has no cause to be angry at him since he just got there?
Well, it all kind of washes off his back like water off of well-made tile.
His thoughts are interrupted as they reach her secondary workshop, meant for bigger projects or more numerous ones. Wutroth lies seasoning under the glow of the Runelights, even as the massive stone door slides open exposing the reception chamber for clients
On the other side, well.
Otrek is neither an engineer, nor war-minded, nor a Runesmith but he does have eyes, and those are some impressive war-machines. He can tell by the look in her eye that some part of her is pleased. "The king asked for war-machines so what nearly happened with Sven doesn't happen again, and I have made him some alright."
The tile mosaics of Thungni and Morgrim, studded with precious gems and shining metal, seemed to throw their light on to the pieces. Bara walks over and pats the smaller, a Bolt Hurler bigger--much bigger-- than any he's ever seen before which is sort of impressive in its own right just from size alone. The body is Pure Gromril, as are the prongs, tipped with Troll Horn that is itself capped with gold. Knotwork mountains run down the side of the main body, made of two different metals: snowy caps of white gold and darker, exposed body of blackened Gromril. The winch that will draw back the prongs is shaped like Morgrim's snarling visage, plated in gold, while a depiction of His long passed visit to Kraka Drak is carved into the prongs and then reinforced with bronze rendered dull, ironically enough making it stand out more against the shiny Gromril. To complete the effect the same bronze lines the side of the top of the main body, lining where the bolt will be held, many prayers to Morgrim.
She pats it, smiling with glee. "I call him Barag Grom. Master Rune of Shardthrower, Rune of Barbs, Rune of Burning. It hits something big enough, say one of their dragon, the bolt will break into pieces and send sharp, flaming shards of metal flying all over the place, still with enough force to punch through their armor, and then get stuck right into their flesh, and it's a pain to try and pull them out at the best of times."
Next she walks over and pats a truly huge Stonethrower. Wheels, taller than a dwarf, bear the immense weight with nary a complaint, perhaps because they're made of the same shining white metal as the Gift-Giver's armor, as is the rest of the contraption. There are seven spokes on each wheel, and each spoke honors one of the Ancestors: on the outer edge a precious jewel, polished so much it shined, carved to resemble the Ancestor's face, while the inner edge has their mundane rune carved and then reinforced with wire made of the best of gold. The spokes themselves are studded with gold and jewels designed to depict stories of the Ancestor in question.
The bucket that will hold the ammo is designed such that it resembles the snarling face of an Elder, their eyes hearthstones shimmering brightly. It's made of the same metal but layered with gold to make it shine until it meets the arms that connects it to the rest of the body, itself etched with the story of Kraka Drak from founding to the present day, with a particular emphasis on the Grudges struck out, in particular that Wazzock the Greedy One.
The lower body depicts the Great Incursion in pure gold layered onto the boxy body, everything from his namesake killing the thing to the King of the Skies dueling it and every moment in between, accentuated with jewels where necessary. She looks with pride at the thing, smiling, proud of her work.
"And this handsome lad, I call him Grumbaki Grund. Master Rune of Thunderclap, Rune of Dismay, Rune of Discord. It will blow up any walls it hits with a sonic boom, and any enemy that hears it will be horrified and confused in equal measure. Very horrified, very confused." She nods. "So then what does the king's kin think?"
He nods to the huskarls, who themselves get the chests of gold and more ready. "I think it would be a shame not to pay you more, for work is greater than the contract agreed on; and for that matter, I will convey as much to the king."
