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.
Snorri Klausson of Clan Winterhearth Complains About Cities and Adopts Three Children
(A Fate/Grand Order Crossover)
If you were to ask Snorri Klausson of Clan Winterhearth what he was feeling at the moment, it would be a rather even split between confusion and grouchiness. Confusion, for he had suddenly awoken in this smoldering, wrecked Hold of a style thoroughly unknown to him, clad in Barak Azamar and Skarrenbakraz with Zharrgal and Karaz-Kazak-Rhun holstered at his hips, and grouchy because the beardlings who must've built this place clearly had no understanding of the proper way things are done!
Look at these buildings! Placed with no rhyme or reason or any consideration to good hold planning! No clear demarcation between zones of business, zones of pleasure, and zones of residence! There weren't any outerwalls! How were you meant to properly defend this place? What's with all the Valaya-damned glass? Not only is that not a sturdy building material, how is anybody supposed to have any privacy? Even if this place wasn't clearly dilapidated and damaged, he'd still be harboring thoughts of taking whichever fool of a beardling plotted all this out over his knee and disciplining them, and he wasn't even a member of the Builders' Guild!
Just about the only thing Snorri could call passable, if you chopped off his arms and legs, wired his jaw shut, restrained him to a slab, and held a razor up to his beard, was the foundations of these strange, tall buildings. They were solid, and were an earthquake to happen, they'd passably keep whatever was built atop them standing upright... for the most part. He doubted all of the damned glass would survive, and it certainly wasn't built to survive whatever brought about that massive gouge running across the hold, like an az-wound chopped into some poor dwarf's arm.
The smell of smoke and ash and death was thick in the air. Magic pressed against his senses. Snorri had some idea of what had brought about this hold's end, and he found himself rather displeased. These people had foolishly let Mages work and live in their hold and suffered the consequences when things inevitably went wrong.
Bah. Just standing around wouldn't solve anything. He had a hold to get back too. If only the smoke wasn't blotting out the sky, then he could figure out which way was North and start walking. Snorri supposed he would have to try and find somebody to shake down for answers. Much to his consternation, Snorri realized quite quickly that he might actually have a moral imperative to stick around and help out to some degree, rather than immediately making his way back towards Dwarfen territory (this place certainly wasn't part of the Dwarfen Holds, not with its shoddy construction). That reason was the rampant necromancy. Within ten minutes of wandering, Snorri had turned a blind corner and come face-to-face with a gaggle of skeletons, wielding swords made of bone and... not having any skulls, for some reason, just the jaws. They certainly weren't Dwarfen skeletons, their frames were much too tall and skinny. The closest things Snorri could draw comparisons to were those human bodies he had seen in his raids against the Fimir and the Elves.
Putting some thought into it, Snorri concluded that these were bespelled human skeletons, and that he was in a hold of humans, not Dwarfs. The Elgi, he knew, lived amongst trees, and Snorri had not seen a tree around for kilometers.
Thankfully, the skeletons were as fragile as he expected them to be. Unfortunately, he had encountered almost a throng's worth of skeletons so far, and not a single living being. This entire hold might've been enveloped by fell magics... in which case, it was his duty as a proper Dawi to see all of these poor souls properly laid to rest, so that whatever Gods these people worship may properly shepherd these lost souls to their rightful places.
His ears, sharpened and honed as the ages went by, picked up the sounds of metallic clanging and shouting. Those skeletons didn't have any metallic weaponry, so those noises must belong to living souls. Thank the Ancestor Gods, some folk still live... although the damned wazzocks apparently fell to infighting instead of banding together like right-thinking Dwarfs...
Bah! Beardlings! They must be beardlings and plaitlings. Foolish youths, falling apart without any elders to guide them. Snorri immediately pivoted towards the clamor, pumping his legs faster. Damned buildings, so many blind corners.
As he rounded a corner, he finally caught sight of the fight. The first thing he noticed was that his earlier hunch was right. This was definitely a human hold, for those were definitely humans he was seeing in front of him. The second thing he noticed and cataloged were the two sides of this spat: closer to him was a group of three. Two noncombatants and a combatant. Snorri's brow furrowed as he felt the humming of magic around the fighter. The waif was up against two others, both of whom had the buzz of magic surrounding them.
Bah! At least one of the foolish mages had enough sense in their head to protect the humans affected by their big screw-up...
The third thing Snorri noticed was...
Bah. Bah! BAH! BAH! What in Grungni's hallowed name was he looking at?! That waif-mage was lugging around a shield as big as she was! She was smacking her opponents with it! She had no proper weaponry, and she wasn't even wearing armor! Her opponent was swinging around a farming tool! That was meant for reaping your wheat, not drenging, you fool! It said something sorry about the state of the warriors in front of him if the only person even close to being properly armed was wielding daggers! Daggers, of all things! Bah, bah, BAH!
Snorri broke out into a sprint, making sure Zharrgal was grasped firmly in his hands. May Valaya give him the wisdom to properly guide these younglings to safety... and actual armor and weaponry. If you were to ask Mash why she was about to be gutted like a fish, she'd tell you it was because she had no training in the art of combat. Oh, sure, she was certainly accumulating a good deal of experience throughout today, but actual training? No, she had no such thing to go off of, only her instincts. That's not even considering Ritsuka's inexperience as a commander.
Was this an excuse? No, not at all-- well, okay, it was an excuse, a very reasonable one in her mind, but that wasn't how Mash was intending these thoughts. Rather, it was more an explanation as to why Mash was about to have her stomach and chest opened up like a pair of doors with a scythe. The shadowy Assassin had thrown her and her shield off-balance, and the Lancer capitalized on Mash's weakness with all the ferocity and speed of a wolf. Not that she had ever seen a wolf, what with living in a secret facility in the Antarctic, but she had heard that wolves were vicious little things...
As the scythe swung down, Mash squeezed her eyes shut and tensed her shield arm as tight as she could, hoping that somehow, someway, she could swing the giant slab of magical metal into position to block the blow.
CLANG!
"Wh-What?!"
Hmm. How curious. That was certainly the sound she expected to hear if she miraculously managed to interpose her shield, but the sensation of pressure against her limb, of it being pushed backward by force, was distinctly missing.
Mash opened her eyes to see a thick, heavy mallet slam into the gobsmacked face of Lancer, the Servant being thrown backward by the force of the blow. Mash looked down at her savior... and goodness, it felt so strange to have to look downwards. Servants, in her mind, were all tall figures, whatever other qualities they may have. They were quite literally the incarnation of larger-than-life figures, of heroes. Never had she ever expected such a figure to be shorter than her, even while wearing armor.
Yet even as the figure raised their hammer, head alight with golden flames with just a hint of teal, and swung, sending a fireball sailing towards the Assassin, Mash couldn't help but fixate on the fact that her savior didn't even reach her shoulders.
"M-Mash, focus!" Ritsuka called, drawing Mash from her trance. "They're still--"
"They're about to find out why I've managed to live through three wars." her savior interjected, voice wisened and clear. "Unless these foolish youths wish to put down their... weapons and surrender?"
The two enemy Servants collected themselves, tense and ready to strike. Mash watched as Lancer picked herself up off of the ground, the anger in her face swiftly turning into smug superiority as she took in the new factor in play.
"Hmph. Me, surrender? You're far out of your league, old man." Lancer readied her scythe and crouched, legs tensing. "That armor won't save you when I put effort into my swing." Mash flinched at the jab to her combat ability. Was she truly losing to an opponent who hadn't even put in any real effort?
Lancer sprung forwards. "NOW DIE-- OOF!!" Mash's savior rammed his shoulder into Lancer's gut, and Mash watched on, stunned, as several things happened all within mere moments. A construct formed out of the asphalt, leaping forward to tackle Assassin to the ground and start pummeling it. The old man in immaculate armor threw Lancer to the ground and slammed his hammer down on her skull, just as the stone-- er, asphalt golem brought both fists down upon Assassin's. Both Servants vanished in flashes of golden light.
Her savior watched on in silence for a moment or two, the golem smoothly standing and making its way over to his side. "Bah. Magic," the short old man muttered as he shook his head, quiet enough that Mash probably wouldn't have heard if she wasn't a demi-servant herself. Her savior finally turned around to face her and Ritsuka and Director Animusphere, somehow seeming to loom even as he directed his stony gaze upwards at them.
"Are you alright, younglings?"
The End
Initially, I intended for this to feature a POV from Ritsuka, who would be characterized as a stressed out internet kid who's teetering on the edge of having a breakdown and rapidly losing his patience for Olga and her bullshit, but it felt like it was starting to drag on. Maybe I'll make another one covering Olga's and Ritsuka's perspectives.
Anyways, in regards to Snorri bodying Lancer and Assassin... well, first of all I would like to state that my only experience with the Fate Franchise is the first three or so chapters of Fate Grand Order and thus I don't really know the sorts of feats Servants have demonstrated throughout the franchise. I'm operating mostly on osmosis'd information and Vibes™
From what I understand, Fate Grand Order had an awful lot of power creep when it came to Servant power levels. In Fate Stay Night, Servants were like... the upper end of Street Level? I think? Like, leveling entire neighborhoods/cities with one use of a Noble Phantasm is supposed to be an example of the very high end of Servantdom, not the middle of the pack. So since Shadow Servant Assassin and Lancer!Medusa are based on Fate/Stay Night Servants, I had Snorri body them because this guy has fought armies worth of opponents and won handily. Like, if Snorri with Barak Azamar equipped can survive being melted/fused with his armor in the center of a storm of magic, I sincerely doubt anything Shadow Assassin or Medusa Lancer could do would damage him in any significant capacity, unless a Noble Phantasm was brought into play. We'd have to bring one of the extra-bullshit Servants like Karna or... begrudgingly Gilgamesh, I suppose, into play before I start thinking Snorri might actually have to worry about getting got.
@soulcake, what are Runic Tongs commonly used for in this quest? Because it's came up a few times now but I'm still confused about it. Like, what kind of Runes go on there? Weapon? Talismanic? Can you treat such Tongs as a Runestaff?
presumably runic tongs are used because non-runed tongs would very quickly be destroyed. a rune to increase material strength, a rune to resist heat, and maybe a rune to allow easier control of heat in the workpiece.
or a rune to make it so the tongs just don't absorb heat at all, making the work piece that much more isolated from things that'd cause it to cool too quickly.
or, maybe, runes to make the tongs grip the work piece securely no matter their actual shape. so you can just use flat jaws for everything. instead of needing five or six different tongs for all your workpiece shapes.
My guess for Thungni's Tongs in particular is something like:
-Completely stops heat dissipation from cooling while in the grip of the tongs
-Tongs remain cool no matter how hot the object they're gripping
-Can't fumble while using so can't drop whatever you're holding and you have perfect grip of whatever you're holding so the item won't shift when striking it
-Metal is easier to mold while in the grip of the tongs
-Vastly increased strength while wielding tongs
-Can crush shoddy gear
-Something to complement KKR's fate sensing ability
-Metal is perfectly tempered
-Something related to wind or magic manipulation
Maybe that's why Thungni ascended? He was tired of never having enough time to upgrade and make Runed stuff because he kept having to deal with everybody's bullshit?
This could even be why he made a bunch of possible heirs, he wanted to pass on his hell to someone else
(If it is not clear, this is a joke.)
Master Rune of Anders Iron-Shaper : This rune allows one to turn the entirety of their workshop into what is, for all intents and purposes, a massive furnace, making the shaping of metals within the area much easier because one does not need to constantly reheat the metal in order to continue to shape it.
An odd rune, originally made by the only runelord of Clan Andersson. This rune draws in ambient magic and converts it into heat, allowing one to maintain a constant high heat in a large area.
#Rune-ideas
So, this is essentially a rune that draws in magical energy similarly to the Rune of Purification, but it is entirely focused on producing a consistently high level of heat over a large area to make the process of forging easier rather than being inscribed on a smelter and focused on removing impurities. If it's too similar to the Rune of Purification, that's understandable, but I think it's different enough to essentially be like a divergent path on the same research tree.
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[Semi Canon] The Burning Forge, +15 to a Roll, There is a Fimir with a Grudge
Bright fire burned in the stone pit. Mystical energies folded, forced, fed into the flame. Brightest Aqshy, fiercest Aqshy, a screaming furnace to forge the brightest, hottest metal. To imbue it with Power, force, might. A sharp eye turned upon it, an old eye, a wise and able eye. Aged and learned in secrets held to death, secrets held to oath, secrets held to the end. Secrets not to be shared with the unworthy. Secrets beyond the ken of the common folk, secrets beyond the comprehension of the common folk.
The Dirach raised his hammer.
Akhash'Ksy, Blood Guardian, awaited.
A blade, sharp and hard. A sword, as the knife-ears pranced about with. A sword swathed in mysticism, a sword swathed in the knowledge gained by centuries. The black steel thrummed as he shaped it and gave it form and substance, gave it mass and weight. He saw it in his mind's eye, saw the devastation, saw the one, single, chance for victory. And to that he shoved power, raw, unthinking power, Dhar as black as pitch, as black as night, as black as obsidian, into the steel until it was all but saturated, groaned it settled, groaned as it expanded, groaned as he made it hold, groaned as his will constrained and shaped and forced magic into submission and compliance.
Pressed on all sides by foes. Attacked by Slaan and Elf and Dwarf alike, dragon fire streaming from the skies to burn out entire cities. So many kin lost, turned to ash and dust. So many kin, to be forgotten if he should die here.
So he would not die. They would not die. They would live on in his memory. The cities would live on, and bear their touch. He swore it, to the Four, to a mother perished, to a father gone, to brothers dead and lost and to children sacrificed.
A tall, broad thing, a cleaver more than anything else, he saw it in his mind's eye. The steel answered to his song as he worked it into shape, a thing made to cut through armor and flesh with equal ease, weighted to concentrate the force precisely to the edge so that it crumple thin plates of gromril and ithilmar as easily as he could cut through roasted flank. No elf nor dwarf would ever manage to bear it, only the incomplete project to the east or the damned Kroxigor could even lift it never mind find it. Sigils he inscribed, invocations of protection along the single edged blade. It was straight of edge, the spine reinforced and thick, to be layered with power stones. One from every Wind, gained at great expense either from other crafters or as spoils from the isle to the west.
To be layered with death.
As he pounded the steel on the hard stone of the anvil, of the Sanctuary, of the consecrated place. He whispered prayers. To the Four, of course.
An invocation of Khorne the Warlord, to make the bearer able and fierce in battle.
To Slaanesh the Artist, to make it keen, to grant him focus, even as he felt the Daemons bucking and braying for his soul.
To Tzeentch the Wizard, to allow that he should fold the magic ably, craft the enchantments well.
To Nurgle the Enduring, to make it strong.
But he prayed to more than that. He prayed to all that he could.
To Malal, who hates all, to make it a conduit for his feast.
To Necoho, to make it cleave the perfidious work of a so-called deity.
To Zuvassin, to undo the works of the lesser craftsmen.
He would have offered prayers to any willing to hear him.
Any and all he called, with one goal: to hurt the enemy. To make them suffer. To break them. To take victory in blood and ash.
His smithy sang with the chorus of daemons and the screaming of magic as he gave it power and focus and clarity, as he shaped it into being, as he created this: A blade so sharp and so fierce and so terrible that it would cut the Old Ones if it but struck, a blade so sharp and fierce that even the City-Breaker would know its bite, a blade so sharp and fierce that even the Defender would bleed, a blade of such potent ability that none, not even the Skyborn Slayers would ever, ever manage to defy it. A thing to shape fates, a thing to defy the End, a thing to gainsay destiny itself. They swore it, the voices of things from beyond, they swore to him, and to him alone they promised victory. So he continued to spit magic, to spit dhar into it.
As he invoked he finished the blade, the sigils of contempt, the sigils of loathing, the sigils of power having melded and shifted and moved at some point to become a proper frescoe, engraved into the steel, showing the Otherworld, showing the Fimir victorious.
Wishful. But either he would succeed, or it would not matter would it, for they'd all be dead.
He began to shape the hilt as the steel remained molten. He let the voices of daemons guide him as he forged, shaped, worked and wrought it. It would be a fairly simple thing all told, really more akin to a haft than his usual hilts. A long piece of bone from one of the dwarfs griffons, already saturated with Azur, a lightning white. He carved holes into it, divots fit to hold jewels, divots fit to hold power, four of them that circled around the hilt.
Around one divot he layered brass, and that brass he shaped to resemble a scowling wolf's head.
Around another, pink gold, scored and shaped and carved and marked to resemble a coiled serpent, eating its own tail.
A third he carved into the bone, and a third he lined with blue coral, and from the coral trailed the mark of the wizard.
The fourth, a ring of emerald shaved to look like an open maw.
And into these four divots he laid glass orbs, of red and purple and green and blue, that shuddered and if you held your ear to them you could hear the bellicose cries of Daemons enraged.
He ignored them, ignored them all, to as he planted each one carefully into the sockets, allowed gravity to keep them close to the long, thin bone.
But yet he was still not done. For a last stone there was, more terrible than the others.
He beheld it and grasped it.
Not mere Warpstone. The Chittering Ones would claim that yet, it was not his time for it.
No.
No, it was a bright jewel like the sun, a bright and hot thing that danced from a solar yellow to a vibrant red to a shimmering orange. Carved to resemble an unblinking eye, carved to resemble the end.
Taken in...sacrifice. Taken at cost.
He ignored the cost though, ignored everything for the sake of revenge, as he pressed the gem of One-Eyed Balor against the hilt and heard sizzling and roaring as the heat made it begin to melt into the bone, mold with it, even as he prepared to slide the hilt onto the blade itself and the vat of King's Blood boiled...
So looking back at the earlier bits of the quest, on turn 13, we put 4 snorri actions and 2 apprentice actions (which was our max action investment at the time) on helping the hold complete the Underway. That took the form of creating runic equipment for every member of the hold, and the gronti known as The Miner which was 12 meters tall. This leads me to wonder, given our recent improvement of status to Minor Ancestor God of the Far North Holds, if we might be able to now do a similar pass through, for runic equipment for the entirety of the North, and how many actions that would actually take if we went all in on it?
Ya know, take our Gift of Ghastly Proportions and properly improve it for our new status, and level of skill.
if we might be able to now do a similar pass through, for runic equipment for the entirety of the North, and how many actions that would actually take if we went all in on it?
This brings to mind the image of wide-eyed Dwarf younglings, amazed to have received Runic mining gear from the Gift-Giver himself, all the while Vragni is in the background yowling about how this violates the Rule of Pride as he places sliiiiiightly different runes onto his own set of pickaxes. Not that anybody will use Vragni's pickaxes when they have the good stuff straight from the Gift Giver.
This brings to mind the image of wide-eyed Dwarf younglings, amazed to have received Runic mining gear from the Gift-Giver himself, all the while Vragni is in the background yowling about how this violates the Rule of Pride as he places sliiiiiightly different runes onto his own set of pickaxes. Not that anybody will use Vragni's pickaxes when they have the good stuff straight from the Gift Giver.
It's not violating the Rule of Pride if the pickaxes are all part of a single set. It just so happens that the set is 'however many pickaxes as there are Dawi in the Karaz Ankor.'
It's not violating the Rule of Pride if the pickaxes are all part of a single set. It just so happens that the set is 'however many pickaxes as there are Dawi in the Karaz Ankor.'
Honestly it's not even the crafting cost that would make that a problem. How do you work out the logistics of that? What's the cutoff line for the north? Are people in the North temporarily counted? How do you get an accurate count of how many you need to make? How do you get the axes to people?
Honestly it's not even the crafting cost that would make that a problem. How do you work out the logistics of that? What's the cutoff line for the north? Are people in the North temporarily counted? How do you get an accurate count of how many you need to make? How do you get the axes to people?
The act that ascends us to full godhood will of course be delivering a runed item to every single Dawi across the Karaz Ankor, of all ages, nothing else will do.
The act that ascends us to full godhood will of course be delivering a runed item to every single Dawi across the Karaz Ankor, or all ages, nothing else will do.
And once Snorri is a god, he can make a gift for ever Dawi ever born. A masterwork toy will just appear when no one is looking with a little note congratulating the parents.
(Aside: I see the Rune List has been updated, with a great many runes shifted to the "All" category. The selection of non-master Armor Runes has been all but obliterated.) Darkwood's Backburner Workshop:
Project: Runic Power Armor (Step 1)
Part 1 (The Helmet): Produce an oversized helmet with fully sculpted facial features, bearing Runes of [Forged Eye], [Forged Ear], and [Forged Nose] to give the wearer a full set of facial senses ([Forged Tongue] has been deemed unnecessary for this project)
Thought Process: If a helmet doesn't have to be 'worn' like a traditional helmet (i.e. Affixed to the head of the user) it could function as a Talisman of sorts, thus expanding the available Rune Slots. (So long as the helmet isn't fully attached/can be knocked off by a sufficiently hard blow it should work)
Part 2 (The Body): Produce an oversized suit of armor bearing Runes of [Animation], [Direction], and [Forged Limb]. To produce a suit of armor that can be worn like a second skin. [Animation] and [Forged Limb] should allow the armor to lift its own weight, thus allowing it to be thicker and heavier.
Thought Process: Admittedly I'm trying to place as much "Conceptual Weight" as possible onto the idea of the armor functioning as an extension of the wearer's body and Brute Forcing the desired result.
Hopeful Result: x1.5 Size Dwarf with appropriately extra thick protection, capable of wielding suitably oversized weaponry. Unknown if strength will translate appropriately to size. If results can be Compressed, Step 2 (Single Piece Power Armor) can be devised, leading directly to Step 3 (Single Rune Power Armor)
Disorganized Notes:
Disclaimer: I'm not calling it the Rune of Waking. It will always be the Rune of Animation to me.
Minimum helmet size will be determined by the minimum size of a Forged Eye, as at minimum the eye must sit in front of the wearer's own. (Or the 'helmet' could be a solid block in the shape of a head. That might work too.)
It may be prudent to design the armor so the wearer would be looking out through the chest/beard area, to further increase the effective final height and make maximum use of the helmet.
The helmet could be designed with a protrusion of straps or protrusions so it can slot into the armor portion or be strapped to the wearer's head. (May be dangerous, may make the thing qualify as a single Rune Item. Experimentation data required.)
It may or may not be possible for a wearer to wear armor underneath the oversized set (Results pending)
Use of [Forged Limb] may require non-hollow arms and legs, the required extent of which will determine minimum size. i.e. If only the lower leg and forearms (Knee to foot and elbow to hand) need be fully prosthetic, then the estimated x1.5 size projection works. If the entire arm and/or leg sections need be prosthetic, then the "Chair in torso" design will need to be considered. (And the Rule of Form consulted) forcing a minimum size to the Armor based on Leg Length, potentially only the lower leg (Knee and down) need be filled in.
[X] Plan: Go all Out ✓
- [X] [Simple] Gronti-Bay: [Cost: any 2 actions] Peerless Production will proc.
-- [X] Hirelings: [Cost 5 Favour with Kraka Drakk] x7. [-35 Kraka Drakk Favor]
-- [X] [Location:] Overtop the Anvil of the Earth: +3 actions to Gronti-Bay. Can use the Anvil of the Earth when crafting. -- [X] [Scope:] Dedicated General Facility. +2 actions to Gronti-Bay. Every 3 request actions building Monumental Items add 1 extra progress. -- [X] [Runes:] Do Both. +3 actions to Skaudardrengi. Double reagent cost for Skaudargrengi's Runes (not including equipment). Gain an improved variant of The Master Runes of Waking for monument-scale Gronti that would cost at minimum double the reagents.
[X] Plan: A Crack In The Consternation (Turn 58) Snorri & Karstah
- [X] [Difficult] Starlight Pt. 1 [1 Karstah AP]
-- [X] Choose: Master Rune of Conduction [T4 Radiant Pegasus Blood + T2 Dragon Essence], Rune of Lightspite [T4 Radiant Pegasus Blood], Rune of Echoblow [T4 Elder Wyrm's Gas Sac]
- [X] [Difficult] Flamedrinking Pt. 2 [1 Karstah AP]
-- [X] Choose: Combo, Flamedrinking: [Rune of Thungni's Presence, Rune of Thungni, Rune of Forgeflame]
- [X] [Simple] Once more with Smelting [1 Karstah AP] [Note: This Smelter is being built near a Waystone near the Anvil]
- [X] Write-In: Talisman, AetherAethyrbinder Pt. 1: [1 Karstah AP]
-- [X] Arm covering made of plates and metal loops linked together by adamant chains that fits over a dwarven arm, either armored and unarmored. Looks like a very sturdy dwarf jewelry and it is marked by knotwork pattern of a forge and the implication of a smith working at the anvil in the background. Rune inscribed near shoulder, below elbow, back of hand.
-- [X] Choose: Master Rune of Purification [T4 Voidstone], Rune of Worldly Warding [T4 Ancient Stone Troll Blood], Ancestor Rune of Thungni [T4 Adamant]
- [X] Aetherbinder Pt.2 [3 Snorri AP, with KKR/BA/Skarren, after ESP]
-- [X] Choose: Master Rune of Purification [T4 Voidstone], Rune of Worldly Warding [T4 Ancient Stone Troll Blood], Ancestor Rune of Thungni [T4 Adamant]
Research -[X] Extra-Sensory Pt. 1 [3 Snorri AP, before Aetherbinder Pt.2] ✓
Retainers
-[X] Expedition, Grungaldrin [2 Retainer + Industry of the North AP] ✓ -[X] Expedition, The Throng is Mustered [1 Retainer AP] ✓
Orders ✓ -[X] Order: T4 Elder Storm Wyrm's Brain
-[X] Royal Authority Order: T4 Cockatrice's Eye [-15 Kraka Grom Favor]
-[X] Royal Authority Order: Slave Wyrm Corpse #1 [-15 Kraka Grom Favor]
-[X] Royal Authority Order: Slave Wyrm Corpse #2 [-15 Kraka Grom Favor]
-[X] Royal Authority Order: T4 Elder Wyrm's Blood x2 [-30 Kraka Grom Favor]
--[X] Royal Expedite [-30 Karak Ungor Favor]
--[X] Royal Expedite x2 [-30 Karak Ungor Favor] VOIDED
-[X] Royal Authority Order: T4 Lightning Oriented upgrade to Stonehorn Horns [-15 Kraka Grom Favor]
-[X] Royal Authority Order: T4 Ancient Greedy Troll Heart [-15 Karak Ungor Favor]
--[X] Royal Expedite: T4 Ancient Greedy Troll Heart [-15 Karak Ungor Favor]
-[X] Princely Hunting: T4 Elder Greedy Troll [-15 Kraka Drakk Favor]
[X] [Social:] Nain talking to other Runesmiths about his work expanding the lift.
[X] [Social:] Dreng dueling the Hearth Guard in a friendly spar.
[X] [Letters:] Knowledge about Phoenix King Bel Shanaar [Standard]
Thungni's Brilliance, DC 80: 34, 13, 21
Peerless Production, DC 40: 82, 42, 67
━<><><>< 487 A.P. ><><><>━
You look at the orb in your hand, now cool enough to touch, and quietly contemplate what it represents.
A hollow sphere of Gromril that, like your first Windsight eye, has an opening for light with the Rune of Windsight inscribed on the inside wall opposite it. Ten rhombus cut gems have been embedded around the hole of the iris like the petals of a flower and ground flush with the metal. The surface is covered in flowing knotwork, ten lines originating from the back of the sphere on the other side of where you inscribed the rune, going out in varied paths before they end up framing a jewel each.
How so small a thing could represent the defeat of such a fundamental obstacle to your craft would make you chuff in amusement were you not so intimately aware of the centuries of personal effort, let alone the millennia of institutional efforts, behind it.
You're apprehensive.
A thousand fears and a thousand dreams circle around in your head endlessly, threatening to send you down a long, long spiral of introspection if you entertained even one of them.
So you don't.
Without another moment to get lost in your worries again, you place the prosthetic into your waiting eye socket.
━<><><><==><><><>━
"With me Hearth Guard, to Grimgal!" Karstah roars, pulping the head of a bloodletter with a swing of one of her hammers. She watches the body fall, already falling apart into a puddle of evaporating gore before a flash of blinding light, followed by a terrific screech of pain, draws her focus.
Looking away from the corpse of her foe to glance at the Shard Wyrm, deep in the Fimir lines and wreaking terrible havoc from the sounds of it. Every so often a flash of lightning slams into the earth farther up ahead as the High King slaughters his way through the Fimir leadership, other times the swooping form of Prince Malekith's mount flies low, spitting flame and death among the Fimir lines before disappearing into the clouds above. Both moments only seem to incense Grim, and make the dragon push forward harder to keep up. But unlike the High King or the elf Prince, her charge didn't have a way to get out of there if things got hairy.
The sound of whistling air and her own instincts give Karstah just enough time to raise her other hammer up to block the swinging glaive of a Fimir warrior.
Grunting, she twists her weapon around so that the greathammer's head hooks in, and she can yank the weapon out of his hands.
More wroth than anything over being unarmed, the warrior pulls out a wickedly pointed warpick and rushes her, shield raised.
Training with Dreng to wield her hammers was a painful and often sad state of affairs. Even decades into it, she still finds herself flat on her arse every nine bouts out of ten whenever she duels the Living Ancestor.
But it is paying off.
The one lesson Dreng had drilled into her head over anything else was that her weapons were still greathammers. Even when both were balanced to be carried like a one-handed war hammer, they were still the size of weapons normally built for two hands. And that meant they had the appropriately long handles that gave her the variety in reach that she could put to good use at the right moment.
Like now.
With a yell she lets her hand slide down Drakkgrund mid-swing just as Dreng taught her, adjusting the distance so that the hammer's head swings past a Fimir's raised shield and slams into his shoulder, cooking flesh and cracking bone.
The whoosh of a bolt passes by her left, slamming into the agonized Fimir's eye and through the back of his head.
Dwarf portable Bolt Hurlers, like their siegeweapon sized counterparts, were slower to reload, but packed a far greater punch. Morgrim's gift, first given to the Engineers of the North as the Endrinkuli serving her master gleefully point out to the southerners in the Drangthrong, before heading to Everpeak.
"Right in the eye Daril! Just like I told you! That's drinks on you now Wazzok!" one of her retainers yells gleefully, Daril's grumble of displeasure intelligible despite the din of battle.
Before Karstah can say anything, a new groaning roar echoes over the battlefield.
Turning to its source, she sees a great cloud of fog bulge and deform as the looming shadow from within begins to tear its way through it, more of that same low roar rippling out like a horn over the battlefield.
"To me! We head towards that cloud Hearth Guard! I've a mind to put a stop to theFimir's scheme before it can begin," she orders, adjusting her grip on Drakkgrund before raising it high, "Forward! The Ancestors witness—!"
━<><><><==><><><>━
—you this day.
Because you have done it.
There's no grand revelation, no great chorus of voices proclaiming victory, or anything of the sort that happens when you put in the prosthetic of course.
In one moment you saw the world as you have for over one-thousand years.
Then in another, you do not.
A part of you expected a sense of wrongness, like the time you stuck on a prosthetic arm to give yourself an extra limb, but nothing of the sort manifests.
If anything, it's a bit anticlimactic, but then again reality could never hope to match the image in your mind.
You see the Winds of Magic in their totality now. You see them with a level of detail and clarity that is beyond the bright lights of your old eye. You can see them coil and suffuse everything in your workshop.
How they congregate around that which calls to their nature.
How the different strands come close, mingle and even entwine with each other without ever mixing.
How the stone resists and serves to mostly confine the currents to the space of the room, but not so much that the individual Winds can't permeate through at differing speeds.
How your Runes interact. From creating volumes of empty, clear space around themselves, deadening and stilling whatever is nearby and/or pulling the strands in to fuel themselves, the Winds seemingly losing color as they are consumed.
You begin to walk towards a nearby Rune—to go and use the Rune for the very reason you wanted to pursue this knowledge in the first place—when an idle thought runs through your mind that makes you pause mid-step.
Your old eye showed living beings as amorphous masses of light, colored by the most prominent Winds within their bodies. Most often a mostly equal mix of all eight with a slightly higher portion of Ghyran or Ghur, save for a few edge cases like Grim, Zharrok or a Wizard. All of your sources agreed however, that there was a distinction between the soul and the Winds. They were related as almost all believed that both ultimately came from the Aethyr, and the latter was a constituent part of the former, but they were emphatically not the same. From your research you also knew it was possible for a Zhufokri with sufficiently developed Windsight to read the emotions, intent, even the very souls of others with perfect clarity. Ignoring the part about how a soul appeared to a wizard was perhaps even more individually unique than the different manifestations of the seventh sense itself, you also strongly suspected that such a level of detail was most certainly in the realm of a Master Rune, and that many of the details they described were likely locked behind the same restrictions as thematic vision. At the very least you knew you couldn't even read the mood of others with your old eye like even the most middling of mages apparently could, let alone see into the depths of their soul.
But maybe your new eye could?
Even if it wasn't really what you made the Rune for, seeing any improvement would be a nice surprise.
So with that in mind, you look down at your hands, expecting little, only to blink in surprise.
You see the Winds of Magic; both from the environment and inside yourself. The energy outside moved as fast as molasses and only got slower the closer it got to you until most of it stopped good two meters away from where you stood. After that only a few stray whisps break past the invisible barrier and continue to sluggishly crawl towards you. In comparison, the Winds you see within yourself move much faster, but in a way that is slightly more orderly than the currents outside; bands of color rising from your skin temporarily before sinking back into you and disappearing from sight. Where both sources meet, you see the Winds make a brief connection before the outside is buffeted away by some invisible force.
That alone would have been more than enough to satisfy you.
But there was also something else.
Every so often there's a flash of something translucent that appears for a moment before it's obscured by your—well—you. An instinctive flex of your fingers gives you pause, and after a few more repetitions you wonder if you're hallucinating.
Was that—?
You move your hand closer to your face, and to your disquiet you see a ghostly reflection of your limb, covered in veins of gold like, move to where your mind wants it to go before it's obscured by your physical limb.
Curiosity and trepidation bloom into your mind, causing a wisp of dull grey Ulgu to flicker up from you like steam.
"What in the—"
━<><><><==><><><>━
"—name of the Ancestors was that?" a Hearthwarden mutters.
"A damn freak of nature is what," one answers bitterly, leaning on his crutch.
"Drakk," another says grimly.
Even rendered to nothing more than offal and ground meat the corpse is large, larger than Grimgal even. In life it had the bodily proportions of a Shard Wyrm, but beyond that little else was similar. Regular, if horribly maintained, scales covered the length of its body, with patchy matted clumps that looked like hair at some point randomly scattered along its spine that became tangled in a mass of uneven, disjointed and broken horns. The most defining feature of the drakk's head though, wasn't the halo of horns nor the maw of equally mishapen and mutated teeth that was eerily reminiscent of the Fimir.
No.
It was the large, cyclopean eye.
An eye that was so full of dark magic that, even in death and after it had been destroyed, putrid black smoke wafted off the socket like the worst sort of steam and black while black, viscous blood dripped down and polluted the ground.
The Fimir had brought it out from the fog near the battle's end. Perhaps as a desperate final gambit to turn the tide, but from the way it killed its handlers as readily as it did Dawi and Elgi, was more likely a spiteful final act against them. It had crashed into their lines and tore open a ragged hole in the shield wall. An entire company of warriors, all Longbeards, had been subjected to the paralytic magic of its gaze, rendered unable to move out of the way of its flesh melting breath attack or scream as they were rendered into piles of viscera -covered armour in a puddle of caustic acid.
A further three companies of elves and dwarfs had died or been maimed from swipes of its claws and its fang-filled maw, sending bodies flying as it continued its rampage. The number of casualties was, in the grand scheme, a rather small amount of damage for something so large, but that was only because it had been challenged by something of comparable size.
Grimgal.
The eldest Shard Wyrm triplet had immediately changed course and charged at the Fimir's creation the moment it appeared, delayed only by the mass of enemy bodies she had to cut down to reach it. When they had gotten close enough, she fired a beam of light magic that had grabbed both the monster's attention and ire.
Karstah had watched it turn to face then charge at Grim in turn. Saw the two behemoths barrel past whatever unfortunate thing was standing between them as they ran headlong into each other, heard the loud thudding crush and smack of flesh and metal as almost forty meters of armoured Shard Wyrm slammed into this unique and even larger specimen of a Slave Wyrm.
And she had watched Grimgal lose that ensuing battle.
Slowly and not without taking her own pound of flesh from her enemy, but losing all the same. Blows that tore through a fully armoured Fimir noble barely scratched its iron armour, lances of purifying light that could pierce centimeters of steel and deform Gromril were shrugged off and the wounds healed over by ugly weeping scabs.
They had rushed over to intervene, both to shore up the shield wall and aid her charge.
Together with the Heard Guard, Grimgal finally managed to hold the Fimir's monster in its place and turn the tide somewhat. Even managing to blind it, tearing out its eye with her maw before it sent her thudding to the ground with a strike of its tail. Victory though, was out of their grasp.
At least until the High King and Prince Malekith arrived and slew it for good.
The ultimate cost had been three dozen injured Hearthwardens, and only one death.
Thrimbold Gorsbane, Elder of Clan Bryggeroot and one of the first inductees into the Hearth Guard, had died distracting the beast from finishing off a dozen young warriors that had bravely and foolishly charged in to aid them. Continuing to fire his crossbow and shout obscenities even as the Drakk crushed his legs with its tail and grabbed his broken body in its claw. The Living Ancestor even had the spite to laugh mockingly when it failed to crush him, unable to deform the Runed Gromril armour he wore.
It was the beast's caustic breath that finally did him in; overpowering the already overtaxed Runes that were keeping him alive, and causing his flesh to melt and fall away to reveal bone that fared only slightly longer. It had happened quickly enough that he didn't have the time to suffer at least.
Gone in less than three heartbeats.
A cold comfort.
Where once was a living Ancestor six centuries old, a great grandfather of eight and pillar of his Clan and community—
— was now nothing more than a pile of Runed Gromril equipment in a puddle of unspeakable liquids.
She had watched it happen, the blows of her hammers doing little to distract the monster.
He had died saving others, just as Lord Truthteller and so many other elderly Dwarfs did she found. Short of simple time finally doing one in, dying in such a way was one of the worthier ways for a Dwarf to die.
But it felt like—no it was, nothing more than posthoc justification, like the one her people gave every other death. Pretending the bitter taste on their tongues was ale and not the hemlock it actually was.
"My Lady," a Hearthwarden, Daril she recalls, calls to her, "the High King wants to have a word if you have the time."
She lets herself linger on Thrimbold's remains for another second before she turns away, squaring her shoulders and nodding at the Hearth Guard in thanks.
"We'd best not keep him waiting then."
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You aren't normally one to indulge in people watching when there are other things to do. It was as textbook an example of wool-gathering as you could find after all, and was solely the realm of open gossips and rumour mongers.
And like any good elder of your people, you were an inconspicuous gossip and rumour monger.
More than that, most people don't want you to look at them despite what they may otherwise think.
Getting your attention required they do something extraordinary after all.
And for most people, it was more likely than not extraordinary in the way they cocked up what should be simple and straightforward tasks.
But you'll make an exception this time.
Trying to look at your own soul is an exercise in frustration after all.
So instead you pop out of one of your many hidey-holes that criss-cross Khazagar—far away and well hidden from everyone on account of the fact that it's several meters in the air above a statue of Thungni— and settle in to look at the crowds that walk Khazagar's walls.
You believed that seeing souls with a great level of clarity was beyond your Rune, because every text you read made it clear that only wizards with the most sensitive and highly developed Windsight could manage it.
Which makes it a surprise for you to see the souls of these other Dawi with such, perhaps disappointingly mundane, clarity.
No amorphous blobs that were only vaguely the shape of a person or masses of emotions and memories. Instead you saw the souls of most of your fellow Dawi as nothing more than semi-transparent versions of themselves that walked in almost perfect lockstep with their physical bodies.
They weren't all a perfect match or equally clear of course. Several Dawis' souls looked like an older or younger version of themselves from what you could tell, those who lacked physical limbs were curious, their souls often varied between looking whole or mirroring their physical forms and lacking the same body parts, with clouds of Chamon over their prosthetics. The Runesmiths piqued your curiosity the most, though you couldn't see with enough clarity without getting caught, you noticed that they too had specks and veins of gold running through their bodies.
The memories of your discussions with Blizzardwing come unbidden.
She had described your people as stone, and Runesmiths as rocks that bore ore. And funnily enough, that lined up rather well with what you saw here.
It could be nothing more than coincidence, but when you dealt with magic that was rarely ever the case. The most workable theory you had was that the Rune conveyed the Winds of Magic through a distinctly Dwarfen lens, and that you hadn't so much as removed the individually unique nature of Windsight but moved it from the individual to the Rune itself. It was an idea that lined up well within the existing framework of Runecraft at the very least, and barring Windsight completely upheaving those theories, it was the most grounded by evidence.
If every different method of inscribing a Rune resulted in an entirely new Rune, then in reality every new variant of the Rune of Windsight would be individually unique. But at the very least these unique forms could actually be shared, unlike those of the elves or brana.
A variant of this theory was that the Rune of Windsight actually pulled from the collective metaphysical psyche of Dwarfkind to determine how it presented Magic to its user.
That though, brought up questions that quickly started to tackle with the nature of time and was best left for when you were either very bored or very drunk.
The second most likely possibility was that you simply were that good and managed to create a Rune that mimicked someone with highly developed Second Sight.
Bah.
You relegated that sort of monumental hubris to the goals and expectations you set for yourself.
Snorri Klausson will prefer his ale warm and flat before he would ever be anything but brutally, critically, honest of his own work.
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Rudil looks at the shrouds blankly. Some are whole, others are in pieces. They are the lucky ones, the ones who had left anything behind.
Sixty Hearth Guard and, at King Dorr's insistence, one hundred and twenty Ornsmotek warriors marched into the lower Deeps of the Hold to slay the thing that had been terrorizing the Hold's miners.
In a few short years they had lost forty of those warriors and ten Hearthwardens.
He knows each one, knows how they died.
How he failed them.
His first mistake was believing the enemy was a beast. The bodies found had been savaged, and the targets just outskirt operations or the occasional prospecting group never returning from an expedition.
Rudil had bid the Hearth Guard lead the search and scout the tunnels, taking a third of the Ornsmotek warriors with them while leaving the others to defend and patrol those tunnels they had vouchedsafed.
That had ended when three squads were found dead within a span of two days.
He recalled everyone, and spread out the Hearthwardens to lead groups of their younger allies.
Even now he can't tell if his foe was just adapting and finding a new opportunity or if the entire thing was intentional action.
Regardless, that was when his own men had started dying.
Daggi; dragged into the dark only to be found in pieces by the terrified Ornsmotek Dawi he was assigned to lead.
Ketil and a half dozen others, taking an axe between the shoulders despite standing back to back in a circular formation.
Dargo, killed by a granite boulder that came from a ceiling that showed no signs of structural failure and was made from Limestone.
Starki had given them the first clue as to this monster's identity at the cost of his life. Based on the arrangement of corpses, their best guess was that he had been the first target, cut in half with a single stroke, before the attacker went and picked off the others as they ran back to camp, not realizing the stubborn old goat was alive. He had likely crawled to the nearest wall and begun writing on it with his own blood before the killer came back and finished the job, cutting off his arm at the elbow and was in the middle of smudging out most of the word before backup arrived.
Had they been even a few seconds later, he was sure that there'd be nothing for him but a bloody wall and a dead friend.
Eleven Dawi had died, and all they got for it was a half smudged letter "M."
After that, Rudil had realized that keeping the Ornsmotek Dawi here would only lead to their early demise. So he had led the party back to the Hold, not foolish enough to break into two groups, and relayed his suspicions to the King before marching off with just the Hearth Guard in tow.
Many would argue that lessening their number wasn't the smart move to make. But he would argue that 80 untrained and underequipped bodies to defend would only spread out his warriors more thinly. Better that they remain tight and cohesive and better prepared against an enemy that seemed to only take opportunities to pick them off one by one. Quality over quantity.
And in hingsight, it meant he had less deaths on his conscience.
He had attempted to be more prepared, modified his plans according to his suspicions. Norgrim and the rangers were pulled back to tighter perimeters, fewer, and larger scouting parties, watch rotations randomized and the number of sentries doubled.
It only made their enemy more obvious, but no less deadly.
Storris Longnose and Blackbrows, found half a meter from each other by the sentries that were meant to relieve them, died from deep wounds to their chest that left their armour Runes drained but the plate physically untouched.
Cormak had managed to shout in alarm before a blade found itself in his gut, but his death was delayed when Rogni rushed to his aid.
The former was beheaded for the attempt, before the attacker went back and finished off Cormak..
Rudil was almost sure by that point.
But these last three had made him certain beyond doubt.
Zammin was found half embedded in the rock, his face a rictus of anger and despair, hands frozen clawing at the stone.
They had to crack open the boulder to find Thingol.
And Vikken.
They had joined the Huskarls under King Otrek together. Sworn into service in the same ceremony in fact.
Both had survived the Siege together, stuck as partners guarding the way to their Granduncle's workshop.
Then, when their Granduncle announced the formation of the Hearth Guard, the two of them had been the first to be accepted.
Only for Vikken to be slain by his own shadow.
"Rudil," Norgrim grunts out, smart enough not to pat him on the shoulder, "it's time."
He doesnt reply verbally, but Rudil does turn his head to nod at a patiently waiting Logain.
The priest of Gazul returns the gesture and steps forward, beginning the process of giving Vikken his last rites.
Normally their dead would be carried home, afforded the respect usually reserved for Nobles and Runesmiths of being entombed with their kith and kin leaving this world beneath the same stones they had entered it under.
But Rudil can't guarantee the safety of his subordinates even when they're at full battle readiness in these tunnels, let alone when several of them would be occupied carrying the dead.
Much as it galls him, dishonours him, Vikken, his cousins and friends must be buried here.
His vengeance was for the dead, but his duty was to the living.
━<><><>< Khazalid Trivia ><><><>━
Riluzkuldrakk - Lit. "Brilliantly shining skull Dragon/Monster"/ The Bright Death
Zhufokri - Lit. "Current/Torrent Craftsman"/Mage/Wizard
━<><><><Gain ><><><>━
Snorri
- Gronti-Bay complete! Skaudardrengi Pt. 2 unlocked!
-- A facility dedicated to Monumental scale construction, not quite building, but well beyond even a Gronti.
-- -35 Favours with Kraka Drakk, new totals: (calculated below)
- Extra-Sensory Pt.1 complete! Extra-Sensory Pt. 2 unlocked!
-- The ability to see the Winds of Magic is no longer outside the grasp of your people. Everything is different now. (Information hidden by Windsight will be revealed when appropriate/asked, otherwise I'd be stuck updating information for days)
— Souls appear as translucent versions of the mortal's body with a few minor visual differences that likely reflect their self-perception.
— The Winds of Magic appear as a layer of multi-colored trails and bands superimposed over reality.
-- Rune complete! Rune of Windsight: (see New Runes/Combos)
-- Gain Trait, Windsight (see below)
-- (Hidden) Mythical Deed, The Consternation Soothed: (see below)
-- +1 Progress to The Secrets of Light Pt. 3a Utility, new totals: [Cost: (4 -1) = 3 actions]
-- +1 Progress to The Happening of Things, new totals: [Cost: (8 -3) =5 actions]
-- The Movement of Things Pt. 7 unlock condition met!
-- The Rune Metal Pt. 7 unlock condition met!
-- Master of the Odd [7/15] > [9/15]
Karstah
- +3 Progress to Drakk Rearing, new totals: [21/? actions]
-- Grimgal, length: 36.5m by 493 A.P.
— Her growth is still terrifying to behold. She'll break 40 meters sooner rather than later at the current rate of growth.
— By far the toughest of the three, and Zharrok's creation have allowed her to better use her magical talents.
-- Zharrok, length 31m by 493 A.P.
— Spines lengthening the most by proportion, and unevenly so.
— Greater dexterity than the others, likely from training.
—Has finally made his Master Work(s). Zharrok had intended to enchant it himself, but Grimgal persuaded (read bullied) him into letting her do it instead. The enchantments are not as good as Runes of course, however Menlinwen says they are well made for one who has only so recently begun their journey wielding the Aethyr.
— Zharrok (and Grimgal)'s Epic Creation of Note, Wreath of Light
---- A wreath made to be worn around the head, with the main Gromril structure obscured by the forest of upward pointed spines that Grimgal donated. The spines all glow softly with Hysh, and the largest spines, placed close to the ends, have had their tips replaced by Diamonds.
---- It increases Grimgal's ability to wield Hysh, as well as naturally collecting it.
---- +10 Bonus to casting Light Magic, further +10 Bonus to casting Illumination Spells.
— Zharrok's (and Grimgal)'s Epic Creation of Note, Mantle of Metal
---- A mantle made of gold forged into the shape of Shard Wyrm spines connected by links of Gromril chain, with the largest at the center over the wearer's chest and growing smaller the farther from the front they get.
---- +10 Bonus to Combat and casting Magic. When active, spines are hardened and take on a golden sheen while barely visible golden barrier covers the wearer's body
-- Izgrom length 31.5m by 493 A.P.
— Spines lengthening as well.
— Claws haven't grown as thickly as his siblings, thin and more ductile but still as durable.
-- The increasing dimorphism between them is notable but not a cause for concern right now.
New Runes/ Combos
- Rune of Windsight [Engineering, Prosthetic]: Must be inscribed on items with at least 10 different flawless gems. Items inscribed with this Rune always provide the user a form of visual based Windsight. Viewing the Winds of Magic as multihued threads of energy superimposed over everything in their field of vision and the souls of mortals most often as translucent versions of themselves with a few minor differences.
Retainers
- +15 Former Valkyrie Guard recruited, new totals: x25
- +8 Masons of Grungni recruited, new totals: x13
- Grungaldrin complete! (conclusion in pt. 3)
-- The Shadow Hag reveals itself after decades in hiding. Slaying 40 Ornsmotek warriors and 10 Hearth Guard by 487 A.P.
-- (revealed in Turn 58 Results Pt. 3)
--10 Former Huskarls, new totals: x28
- Expedition, The Throng is Mustered complete!
-- The Drangthrong of the High King and Prince Malekith encountered a massive example of a Slave Wyrm, one unlike any seen before. A cyclopean monstrosity that could paralyze with its gaze and melted flesh with its breath. The Hearth Guard would have been badly depleted holding it back if Grimgal had not been there.
-- (revealed in Turn 58 Results Pt. 3)
-- -1 Hearthwarden Rangers, new totals: x47
169 +23 -11 =181/240 +1 retainer action
Khazagar
- [Mid 484] The sheer number of Runesmiths has apparently done the opposite of what you expected. Contests are clogged with contestants, and stores are running empty of reagents. Good problems to have, but problems are problems! Bah. Nothing's getting done with all these dunderheads about. Still, through sheer numbers alone more Runecraft is being made, if not to the same level of efficiency as expected.
- [Early 485] Skalla Honestheart's presence has drawn several other bird-hating Runesmiths to the Hold. These Dawi, united from across any and all spectrums have deemed themselves to be wronged by the Changer, and come to learn Runes that spite it in turn.
- [Tier 4] Ancient Greedy Troll corpse x1 yields
-- +1 [Tier 4] Ancient Troll's Heart, new totals: x5
-- +2 [Tier 4] Ancient Troll's Blood, new totals: x6
Favour and Standing
- -60 Favours with Karak Ungor, new totals: 120
- -50 Favours with Kraka Drakk, new totals: 40
- -90 Favours with Kraka Grom, new totals: 110
- +1 Standing, with Kraka Ornsmotek, new totals: Standing 10, Favours 75
-- Standing Bonus received! Standing 10, Here be Monsters: Reduce turn timer on native Far Northern Monster orders by 1. (minimum 1)
— Ex. Trolls, Frost Wyrms, Chimaera, etc. If unsure, ask.
- +1 Standing with [Region] The Far North, new totals: Standing 10
-- Standing Bonus received! Standing 10, Paragon of the Peninsula: All [Region] Far North favour is now interchangeable. All individual Far Northern Hold favour converted to "Far North" favours.
-- [Ancestor] In the event of Snorri Klausson's death, he will be honoured as a Minor Ancestor God in the Far North, a source of pride and wisdom that all Norscan Dwarfs will remember until the ending of the world.
Trait(s) Gained/Upgraded
Snorri
- Master of the Odd [7/15] > [9/15]
- Windsight:
-- +2 to the total Specialty Modifier when researching Runes,
-- -2 total cost to all [Difficult] Research options, and
-- -1 total cost to all [Simple] Research options
- Mythical Deed, The Consternation Soothed:
-- Durin is lost but his soul, wherever it may be, shall rest easy knowing that one of the two great struggles that defined his life has been conquered.
Grimgal
- Title, Riluzkuldrakk (The Bright Death)
━<><><><==><><><>━
EDIT:
AN: Update, Its really late. I had Rudil suffering and Karstah suffering down pat for weeks, a come down from Skarri's whirlwind decade-long romance of sorts. Understandably I think, most of the delay stemmed from trying to convey how a Dwarf would react to being able to see the Winds. I asked a lot of other QM's for their thoughts and ideas. I want to give it justice, but not just default to shock and awe. Its an entirely new way to percieve the World, so all the little details and discoveries wont come crashing into Snorri at once.
I agonized a lot about how to portray souls especially, and solicited then received a lot of great ideas from people about how to do it. But the very literal and only slightly magical view of an intrinsically metaphysical concept definitely had the biggest Dwarf vibe to it, and serves as a nice core for me to add the most compelling bits and bobs of the other ideas to. After all, Dwarfs use the suffix for physical objects "-az" for abstract concepts if they're important/real enough.
Hope you like it! As always don't forget to C&C. I'm gonna post the Nov picture with Pt. 3 (which will be after the Dwarf Si chapter, sorry patrons I didn't forget you!). A long needed update I think. The Christmas picture is gonna be good too, hopefully I don't take that long to update though! :^)
