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.
To be completely honest I don't rightly know, that's why it's random question.
But what I'm imagining the Combo would do is be a more potent and powerful version of Mountainsouled with ability to generate Deep Magic from the armor and user, instead of dragging it up from the earth like with Snorri's armor does.
It's just random though, don't know if it's any good or it's just plain bad.
To be completely honest I don't rightly know, that's why it's random question.
But what I'm imagining the Combo would do is be a more potent and powerful version of Mountainsouled with ability to generate Deep Magic from the armor and user, instead of dragging it up from the earth like with Snorri's armor does.
It's just random though, don't know if it's any good or it's just plain bad.
To generate Deep Magic instead of drawing it up/from the world around us. *thinking*
Depends on what Deep Magic is. My current theory is its Earthbound Magic, as described in the rpg rule book Realms of Sorcery. So what you'd be looking for is a rune that draws in immense amounts of the Winds, and stores them in the armor for later use. So something like the Deep Gate combo, compressed and simplified as maybe one of the Runes.
theory, deep magic is just warp energy, but run through a giant rune like array naturally formed by the earth itself deep underground that converts the energy into something safer to use, like how warp energy is converted by runes. is related to the geomantic web the old ones make, but that is them slapping their own runes on top of the natural channels in the earth.
maybe relates to how snorri now said to be like rock with veins in them, but apply that to the earth, it has lots of veins in it to channel winds like a rune
Maybe something like MRune of Mountainsouled + Rune of Deep Gate + Rune of Aethyrbinder depending how Deep Magic, Combo Deep Gate, and Combo Aethyrbinder work.
Master Rune of Wretched Taste:
Weapon Rune
Tags: Curse, On Hit, Offensive, Odd
The only weapon rune designed by Dwinbar Comfort Seeker. A Runesmith mostly known for the creation of a number of household utility runes. Based on his research in cookery and flavor enhancing runes, the Master Rune of Wretched Taste curses those that are stuck by it with a disgusting flavor on their tongue and wrongness of mouthfeel. The sudden onset of this offensive taste and texture (said to be like a combination of fire, gravel and poorly fermented sewage by those dwarfs unlucky enough have suffered it's affects) causes even the most enduring opponent to suffer nausea, confusion as well as uncontrollable vomiting. The rune also affects anything eaten or drank by it's victim giving them an entirely new flavor of awfulness each time they eat for the weeks the runes power is at work. Strangely creatures affiliated with Nurgle are also affected by this rune leading some scholars to believe the runes flavor changes based on the victims preferences.
Master Rune of Wretched Taste:
Weapon Rune
Tags: Curse, On Hit, Offensive, Odd
The only weapon rune designed by Dwinbar Comfort Seeker. A Runesmith mostly known for the creation of a number of household utility runes. Based on his research in cookery and flavor enhancing runes, the Master Rune of Wretched Taste curses those that are stuck by it with a disgusting flavor on their tongue and wrongness of mouthfeel. The sudden onset of this offensive taste and texture (said to be like a combination of fire, gravel and poorly fermented sewage by those dwarfs unlucky enough have suffered it's affects) causes even the most enduring opponent to suffer nausea, confusion as well as uncontrollable vomiting. The rune also affects anything eaten or drank by it's victim giving them an entirely new flavor of awfulness each time they eat for the weeks the runes power is at work. Strangely creatures affiliated with Nurgle are also affected by this rune leading some scholars to believe the runes flavor changes based on the victims preferences.
I'd think to get that effect you'd need to do more than one iteration. I'd think Mountainsouled would likely combo with siphoning and defiant stone though. Mountainsouled is already about the dawi and how they were born of the mountains. adding siphoning adds the deep magic and its taming to their story, and defiant stone shows how they react to magic and indeed everything else that tries to effect them, with stubbornness. Figure that should at least get a combo that's closer to what you were looking for.
Rune of Worldly Warding, Rune of Inner Courage, Rune of Defiant Stone, Master Rune of Thungni
Combo: Rhunrikki
And if we can put two master runes on Glimril
Rune of Worldly Warding, Rune of Inner Courage, Rune of Defiant Stone, Master Rune of Thungni, Master Rune of Wandering
Rushes into the room present in hand. Sees the clock.
HANUKKAH SAMEACH!
Winning Vote: said:
[X] [Grimgal:] Accept. ✓
[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] ✓ They pulled me back in.
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. ><><><>━
"High King," Karstah greets, kneeling in deference the second she steps fully into his tent, "what would you command of me?"
He acknowledges her with a gruff nod, "Stand up Snorrisdottir, there's business to discuss and you'll do little good staring at the rug."
Obeying, Karstah watches the High King's steely gaze drift down to the map on his table.
"This has been a protracted war. Longer than I or the boy thought it would take to see done." He begins, eyes not moving from the unrolled parchment.
"Don't go mincing my words though. My Father as my witness, defeating the Fimir is not a question of if, but when."
The High King's brow somehow furrows further, a sign of his annoyance.
"Unfortunately for us, the when is the sticking point. The Elgi mages tell me that the Fimir's ritual hinges upon their control of the waystones their Hag Queens have built their citadels around. Of which, the rangers say at most seven still remain. Despite our efforts and continued success there is no guarantee that we can see these stones toppled before the ritual comes to fruition. The monster you and yours stalled was proof enough that the Fimir are not a spent enemy. Not just yet anyway."
He looks away from the map back to her, gaze hard and mouth set into a grim line as he hands her a metal cylinder, covered in protective Runes.
"I'll go over the finer points when I call a general assembly later tonight, but suffice it to say that this plan is already in motion, and that I require something from your father."
She nods, taking the tube from the High King respectfully before stowing it away in a pouch on her belt.
"This will not leave my hands or sight until I reach Master Snorri, my King, I swear on it."
He sniffs critically.
"I'll hold you to that girl. This whole scheme has a few too many moving parts than I care for, but the boy made as sound an argument as one his age could. Now, with the business seen to let's get to the other reason for my summons."
Karstah watches High King Whitebeard turn his head slightly and nod to the two retainers that had, until now, stood silently in the shadows behind him. Taking their cue, the two Living Ancestors bend down to lift and carry forward a large chest towards her.
"Let it not be said that the High King of the Karaz Ankor does not recognize the great deeds of his subjects, nor fail to reward them."
━<><><><==><><><>━
Karstah and Grimgal return in triumph.
Tales of their deeds on that campaign precede them of course. The great battle against the largest Slave Wyrm yet seen passed along the supply trains to the Karak proper, their own contribution becoming a notable part of the grander narrative that was the War against the Fimir. It gets everyone in a tizzy, and makes Izgrom begin pestering you about their return and Zharrok puffing his chest out like a preening rockdove everytime he overhears anyone talk about Grimgal's equipment. Tension, the positive kind this time, builds with each day, and you see how Aqshy waxes in the wake of so much bottled emotion.
On the date of their appointed return, when the Aqshy is so thick it overpowers the Chamon that has historically been the dominant Wind of the trio that are so strangely drawn to your institution, you had the way for them made clear. The few Hearth Guard that remained with you in Khazagar keeping everything in order with the help of Winterhearth Clansdwarfs seconded for the occasion to hold back the crowds that ring either side of the path.
Even if the total is far less than the literal swarm of folk who came to welcome the main body of Throng back in the Hold proper, the fact that there are this many people here specifically still gives you a measure of satisfaction.
Though you aren't there to see it, you know exactly the path they are meant to take. Walking out of the Hold, Karstah and the others will follow the surface road, under, or over in the case of the Brana, three of Kraka Drakk's seven walls. They will follow the gentle bend that takes them east towards the slightly smaller, but still imposing walls of Khazid Okraz. They will pass through the settlement's main gatehouse then up the main thoroughfare towards the outer gates of Khazagar and the final few doors of their journey.
A pair of Hearthwardens will usher Karstah and company into the outer portion of the complex, where another pair will do the same through the outer doors of Grozurbaz, before they reach the final set of doors and guards that separate the market hall and outside world from the Karaz-Irkul. Were you, Zharrok, Izgrom and hundreds of Dawi and Brana are currently waiting for them.
Pomp and ceremony.
But a victory such as this deserves no less.
The recognition and faint praise of the High King deserves no less.
Your heir and your loyal retainers deserve no less.
So you stand there, your back to the circular hole in the Grand Gallery, eyes trained on the doors and ears patiently listening for their return.
It begins suddenly and quietly.
A dull, rolling roar of cheers so strong that it can bypass the sound dampening Runes to filter through the still closed doors. The Winds in the environment begin moving in response, not to the noise of course, but the growing excitement of those who were lucky enough to stand and wait here rather than be stuck watching along the path, the morass of Chamon shifting as Aqshy flows over the crowd and bouncing helplessly against the doors. The sound continues to build until it grows loud enough, and your heir and her company close enough, for your ears to pick up the rhythmic march of boots and claws amidst the jumbled hoops and hollers of celebrating Dawi and Brana. The noise grows to the point that even the doors, masterfully wrought pieces of Dwarfen craftsmanship that they were, begin to shake.
Then the thumping stops and the dull roar dies down.
Before it returns full force as the doorway that connects the Gallery to the Grozurbaz swings open. Your eyes squint from the sudden wall of sound and magic that the door's Runes had largely kept outside rush inwards.
Karstah is the first thing your eyes notice, leading the procession of Grimgal and the Hearth Guard as the crowd that have been waiting alongside you begins cheering in earnest. Ylva carries Azrilzhufgotten, raising it high and earning a roar of approval. The environmental magic moving erratically and chaotically from the sheer emotion that fills the air. The otherwise cacophonous symphony only slightly quieting when people see the one litter that is held in the center of the Hearth Guard's marching column, Thrimbold's armour sitting on a shroud that bears the sigil of Clan Bryggeroot.
The column moves to stand before you, waiting for your leave.
You don't bother with a speech, simply stepping forward to clap Karstah on the shoulder before nodding at them all.
"Welcome home."
━<><><><==><><><>━
Later that day representative Clan Bryggeroot receives Thrimbold's effects from you in the quiet privacy of your personal rooms, away from the festivities taking place. They are the perfect picture of stoic dignity one expects from such old Dawi, the lead Longbeard nodding in thanks to you as four of his slightly younger kinsmen take up Thrimbold's litter from your retainers.
You nod along to his words and speak little. Both because you are sure this lad doesn't want to be here any longer than he has to, and because you cannot trust yourself to say much more right now. Most of your focus is spent trying to ignore the disquieting differences between the faces of these Dwarfs' souls and their corporeal bodies. How these two contrasting views create a disquieting whole; with traces of the open and ragged sorrow of their aethyric selves poking out over their flesh's stoic placidity. The slight lag between body and soul means that even the slightest twitch makes the contrast all the more noticeable, heightening the wrongness and unnatural nature of what you see.
When they leave you let out a sigh of relief and exhaustion before turning to Karstah.
"The letter?" you ask expectantly.
Nodding, your heir unhooks the tube from her belt and passes it to you, patiently waiting as you unfurl and read through it.
Karstah had informed you of Whitebeard's request the moment she was able to, though true to her oath she could not offer much more than what Whitebeard himself told her and the assembled leadership of the Drangthrong.
As you read the letter you blink in surprise, then furrow your brow in thought.
What Karstah and the assembled leadership of the Drangthrong knew was that Prince Malekith and the High King were going to drive their combined forces towards the centermost of the Fimir's coastal cities in the coming year, to see it toppled and the Fimir's holdings sundered in twain while the fleets of both moved to do the same at sea.
The part they dont tell any save a scant handful of key parties is that this push is also part of a greater plan that the Elven prince concocted.
Years ago, when the war began to drag on and casualties mounted, Prince Malekith and his closest advisors had apparently consulted with the mages of both Saphery and Nagarythe to see if some other means of preventing the ritual could be devised. That alone had apparently been several years worth of work by the greatest surviving mages the elves had at their disposal, and the cost they gave the Prince to enact it, the specifics of which the Prince had kept close to his chest, was both ruinously expensive and scarce, but incredibly dangerous to gather.
Most notably, the heads of not only a specific Meargh, but the hearts and eyes of three other Hag Queens too.
Nevertheless, Malekith had not balked at the price, and had begun laying the groundwork for it almost immediately.
The next year's push was, in truth, securing the Waystone to be the site of the ritual, given that it was the only one that met the stringent criteria of Malekith's ritual.
It was, as the High King understands it, a massive counterspell centered around using one of the central Waystones the Fimir had corrupted as as a conduit to send a truly titanic amount of Qhaysh through their section of the network into the other controlled nexi to disrupt the ritual in a cataclysmic chain explosion. Ignoring the expense of the ritual itself, it would also destroy the Waystones and likely devastate the coast. A terrible cost, but compared to another portal to the Realm of Chaos, it was deemed the lesser of two evils.
It had taken years, decades, but now Malekith finally had all he needed.
Whitebeard was not asking you to aid in the war, or even defend the ritual site when the Fimir doubtlessly attacked it.
No.
He asked that you serve as a distraction.
Agents from both Malekith and his own forces had informed the High King that it seems the Fimir pay special attention to you and your movements. Not only because you had played a part in dealing the single greatest strategic loss in the war the Fimir had suffered, but because your presence demanded a very specific response from them compared to something like a dragon and the like. It meant that the Fimir kept their most durable forces in reserve at the beginning of a campaign, only committing them after their mages confirmed your location through whatever means they had available to them. The Slave Wyrms, the Netherborn, the armoured monster riders, and other terrible things that they had been creating were, in fact, partly devised as a response to you and your storm.
The High King and prince want to use that to their advantage, by having you threaten a different citadel to force the Fimir to split off these particular forces or risk losing another citadel.
In any other circumstance, you would not even consider refusing.
But something about this feels.
Hmph.
A strange feeling in your beard.
You will need to think regardless, better to give it time to age in your mind.
"You'll be marching out again next year I take it?" you murmur, looking up from the letter to stare at Karstah.
"Aye, if you'll allow it. Grimgal most certainly is." She confirms.
You nod.
━<><><><==><><><>━
The second party arrives two days later and unlike Karstah and Grimgal, sets a grim tone from the get go. A train of fifty wounded Hearth Guard returns home through the underground connection between the Hold and Khazagar, taking side and service tunnels that were away from prying and judging eyes to reach the Warrior's Halls where you and Karstah awaited them.
A stonefaced Rudil kneels before you, the wounded having limped or been helped by their fellows deeper into the hall or Temple of Valaya, while ten empty litters lay behind him as testaments to what happened.
The shame and anger radiating off of him is almost palpable. While a heavy cloud of Shyish clings to his and the others souls like burrs to cloth, it nevertheless cannot fully smother the ruby glow of Aqshy bubbling beneath.
Fury at both his foe and at himself most likely.
"It is her." He reports, voice flat. "The Meargh whose horde attacked Grom a few decades ago."
You nod, grimly glancing at the empty boards behind him. Mind already moving schedules around to account for this development.
"I see. We'll need to prepare for an excursio—" you begin to say, but stop to stare at Rudil.
Not because he has interrupted you, he would never allow himself to lose control in such a way.
But he doesn't need to.
Even without your new eye showing the tumultuous blaze of Winds over his soul—the gloom of the Shyish over him folding beneath the ruby light of Aqshy—you don't need it to tell what he's thinking, what he's no doubt feeling.
"You disagree," you finish, looking at your grandnephew expectantly.
Imperceptibly, grindingly slow, he nods once.
"I swear upon my Ancestors, and my Honour that I shall serve faithfully and defend the person and Honour of my Lord. Even at the cost of my own life. For—" Rudil recites haltingly, eyes looking up to stare at you in expectation.
"—my Honour is my Lord's Honour, their Shame is my Shame, and their Grudges are my Grudges. I shall not dishonour my Lord, lest I dishonour my Ancestors, and myself," you finish solemnly, a damning sense of understanding filling your gut..
It is one of the oaths that he swore when he first entered your service. An understanding and affirmation that in serving you as a retainer, that he is not only your emissary, but an extension of you in the eyes of society at large. His failure is your failure by proxy. And as he reminded you, his shame is your shame.
But just as his shame was your shame, the reverse was also the same. It was, generally at least, a reminder to the liege of the burden and responsibility they held.
Though in this case it is your grandnephew's way of telling you what he wants.
Rudil wishes, perhaps needs, to see this task done by his own hand.
In most circumstances, you would deny him this. Excercising your right as his Elder and granduncle to stop him from committing to foolish acts in this moment of grief and shame. More personally, because it would gall you to leave a kinsman to such a task alone.
But not now. Not anymore.
Because you know two things.
If you allow him to do this, there was a high chance that Rudil may well die in his quest.
But If you refuse him—
Valiant Grimnir, bereft of armour, his hair molded to a crimson crest. Marching northward to Doom for the sake of His people's Salvation.
Grednir Grunsson, once-King Consort of Kraka Grom. Who it was quietly said, left his arms and armour to his wife and daughter before marching off into the untamed Deeps, stopping only to stare at the commemorative statue of his son.
—you are more certain that you will all but guarantee his death.
So much as you would like not to, much as you want to walk alongside him as he faces this enemy.
You cannot.
Instead, you look back at Rudil and utter your choice.
"You will have the following year to prepare and to heal. After that, I will grant you leave to pursue this path. The others will hold her at bay until then. Ask no more of me lad."
Rudil nods again, shoulders sagging in relief, and you dismiss him soon after.
Both you and Karstah watch him go, back straightened in the face of this path forward.
For good and ill, Rudil's fate now rests solely in his hands.
━<><><><==><><><>━
That night Karstah asks for your leave to complete the helmet she's been working on, something you don't need to even think about before you nod and see her off.
You try and work, but your mind refuses to focus. So you get up and walk through your home, then when your feet remain stubbornly restless you don your red cloak and continue through Khazagar, walking until you exit the doors and stroll through the Khazid Okraz. Walking, walking and walking endlessly until you find yourself in a tavern, staring down at your reflection in a mug of ale.
You are a Living Ancestor. A survivor of the Great Catastrophe. A Dwarf who has seen what looked to be the end of the world and overcome it.
You are a Runelord, the one who has done what so many of your colleagues have failed to do and conquered Durin's Consternation.
These, and so many more deeds you conjure up in your mind.
And they, in the end, are meaningless to you at that moment.
All this power, all this experience, and you can do little to help your family lest they break from the shame of it. The pride and guilt of one Dawi doing what the Greedy One, two Greater Daemons, the prophet of a dark god, and so many other more terrible enemies have all failed to do...
Stop you.
You let yourself stew in the bitterness for a while, before at last you let out a long, tired sigh and gulp the tankard's contents down in two long swigs.
Wiping the froth from your beard, you get up and begin walking home.
That will be all the stewing and brooding over uselessness that you allow yourself.
A hand falls limp.
No more.
That's a path you've walked, you don't need or want to ever take it again.
━<><><>< 488 A.P. ><><><>━
Grunting, Rudil raises the axe and bats aside Dreng's weapon before rushing forward.
With a simple exhale the older Dwarf steps to the side and punches Rudil's head as he rushes forward, staggering him long enough that he can sweep his feet out from under his legs.
Dreng steps back and stares dispassionately as Rudil scrambles up to his feet, raising a hand to signal a timeout.
"Go have a break lad. Have a yell, dunk your head in some cool water, get a drink and some food in your belly, whatever you need to calm down. You haven't shaved your head and got down to your breeches, so stop fighting like you already have. She'll not be as kind as I am about correcting you."
You see Rudil's arms flex, the visible skin red from both the flush of exhaustion and the touch of Aqshy and Ghur on him, before he wills himself to nod and stiffly walk off.
"He needs to reassert control." Dreng says to you, watching your grandnephew. "Fury is only helpful when it's directed."
You nod in agreement.
"What of Karstah?"
A smidge of Aqshy, a twinge of Ghyran.
"She's on her way. Tries her best to be secretive about her plans, but I can guess what she's building half the time just from the way she fights." he answers honestly.
You hum in interest.
"Aye? Any recent examples?"
He snorts.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" he shakes his head in amusement. "Nai. I'll keep her secrets, even if I don't have to."
You nod.
Rare as it is for the two of you to talk, Dreng is one of the few who has both the age and frankness to speak to you on a more casual level, doing away with even the subtle signs of respect that other Dawi afford.
"Trained many like them then?" you probe.
Ulgu, hidden in the corners, twitches.
"Cousins, siblings, their sprogs and then the grandsprogs after that," he admits, the Quicksilver Wind hanging off his moustache like leftover ale.
"An old hat at it, then. Purposeful?"
"Just something that I ended up doing. Can't trust anyone else to do it right, you understand," he answers.
Hiding, no, obfuscation.
"Aye, It's not uncommon. A life lived for another, then for what they leave behind."
The other Dwarf nods sagely. Shyish, mixed with Aqshy, and Azyr, Reminiscing.
"There're worse things to do with what you're given."
You hum at that, noting the slight tinge of melancholy in his voice.
"Dreng," you say suddenly, the change in your tone making your fellow Living Ancestor turn to give you his undivided attention.
For all that you want to ask, for all you wish to poke at the hints and bombard him with the guesses and theories in your head as to why—
You instead choose to keep your mouth shut and your eyes forward. He does not see ghosts, nor does he have any ill intent and even without your eye you know that he takes his oath to keep Karstah safe. So the least he deserves is the privacy of his own thoughts. This eye has, more than anything, reminded you of the value of that privacy, of the sort of things an honest and right thinking being is entitled to.
"You have my thanks." you tell him sincerely, not needing to explain beyond that.
He grunts.
━<><><><==><><><>━
The strange feeling you had about Prince Malekith's scheme, it turns out, has some basis in truth.
You had already guessed that there was more behind his reasoning than just the war. Elven nobility, as Menlinwen had once told you, were fond of such multifaceted schemes and the like, and not even Malekith would be immune to such a thing.
In the running correspondence you kept with Myrion, the Archmage had unintentionally, or perhaps very intentionally, mentioned to you that there were now those among Tor Vernath and its ruling houses that had appeared at Bel Shanaar's court. Why, she could not say, but you've gotten the hang of reading Elgi double speak and intent you think, and can at least connect the threads she leaves behind into something resembling a picture.
A great deal of politicking cut short, there were those who had gotten tired and upset with Malekith's pace, and the cost of this campaign. Thus, they sought out the only other elf with influence whom their pride could stomach seeking aid from.
The Phoenix king.
Such an opportunity, you reckon, would not be left to moulder. Even if Bel Shanaar truly had no ill intent against Malekith as Myrion seems to insist upon to you, he was nevertheless a canny enough operator to check the lad's rise and steal some of his thunder if the opportunity arose.
At least that's what your read of the man tells you is the case, separated as it is by distance and medium.
Hard to pick out the truth from the litany of praise for the fellow that is so common in Myrion's letters, though checking in occasionally with Menlinwen does help in that regard.
From what you already knew, Bel Shanaar's election was either compromise, honest belief in the need for a king with his skillset, a means of curbing the idea of a hereditary line of Phoenix Kings, and effort to elect a more pliable king by the other princes or some combination of any and/or all of those points. Though that last group found, to their surprise perhaps, that the sailor from Tiranoc was not some lackwit they could ignore. He took advantage of every connection he had to shore up his position beyond the support of Tiranoc and Avelorn by allying or defanging the other Kingdoms depending on the circumstance.
From what Myrion's writings show, the lad has a talent in making friends of his enemies, or otherwise disarming them so fully that he could afford to ignore them. Everyone was to be made a friend or defanged and left to irrelevance. Over and over, as the Archmage constantly seemed so keen to say, Bel Shanaar had cemented his authority and removed every possible contender and rival of his position from contention.
All save one.
A single rival that could not be curbed or made to look weak. One that was, while polite and publicly deferential, unwilling to become his friend. One that had by all appearances seemed to snatch Cothique and Chrace and put them under his influence.
One that, at this moment, was now waging war alongside the High King. One that had been seen speaking to eclectic and unpopular mages from Saphery that Bel Shanaar had otherwise left out to dry for disregarding him or were beaten out by his allies. One that was speaking with and courting a foreign power and no doubt cementing allies among them and wealth for his own allies.
Bah.
This entire thought exercise was already getting into the very realm of politicking you do your best to stay away from, and until now had been all too happy to avoid after it first reared its ugly head when you and Myrion were writing to each other about Malekith.
But now your folk were involved in a way that was liable to get them stuck in a spat between power hungry dunderheads.
You ought to tell someone.
You ought to tell the High King.
You don't even know if it's true.
Bah.
Sometimes you hate your gut feelings.
━<><><><==><><><>━
Rudil rarely calls her, "aunt," for a variety of entirely understandable reasons.
The few times he did it was almost always said with an air of humour. The unusual conflict between their respective ages and positions on the family tree made the word something of a running joke between the two of them.
He hasn't said it at all this year, nor even shown an ounce of humour and good cheer that hasn't quickly been smothered by the air of grim, fatalistic certainty that has smothered his personality. His mind and focus has been near-totally pointed towards his self-appointed duty.
Single-handedly killing the Meargh.
Master Snorri reckons, and she agrees, that if Rudil did not attempt it he'd almost assuredly walk into the Temple of Grimnir and take up the Slayer's Oath alongside the many he has sworn as a Hearth Guard.
He must do this alone.
But Karstah refuses to let him go unhelped.
"Here," she says, pushing the chest in her hands forward towards him.
Rudil looks at her curiously, but nevertheless opens the box and takes a look inside.
After a moment of intense staring he pulls the helmet out of its case, revealing it to the world.
A more ornate version of the already unique red helmet that Rudil wears to denote his position. The vast majority of its structure, from the cheekplates to the dragon shaped ridge running along the top was made entirely of red-dyed Adamant. The only pieces that weren't were the horns on either side of the head and the ruby inset in the center of its brow ridge. The former were a pair of long, curling things that were taken from the largest member of the silver goat herd and polished until they gleamed under the light. The latter was a thumb-sized rhombus sourced from mines nearest to the old Winterhearth Hold, gleaming and golden and bearing the only Rune she had inscribed on it.
Glimmering gently on the jewel's center, its appearance in stark contrast to the terrible power contained within, was the Master Rune of Zon-Dum.
Or a variant of it technically speaking, using Brightstone and the gas sac of an Elder Frost Wyrm to alter the nature of the energy it would release. Another nod to the thoughts and feelings that were part of its inception.
It was meant for the Hearth Guard; a piece of equipment that would serve as part of the panoply for the Hearth Lord.
In her mind, it would not be right for anyone but the founding holder of that title to wear it first.
"Its name is Zonbak." Drawing Rudil's attention away from her creation back to her. "To activate the Rune, you need only yell 'Nar' and aim your head at whatever your target may be."
Actually saying the word out loud makes her feel some measure of embarrassment for making such a simple and uninspired play on words, but nothing else fits in her mind.
Daybreak begins with sunrise after all.
━<><><><==><><><>━
The day after Rudil's departure for Ornsmotek, you walk through Khazagar's feast halls as part of the long road to properly acclimating to the eye. But to your surprise you find Nain of all people seated at one of the tables, surrounded by a small crowd of his younger contemporaries.
Partly because curiosity overcomes you and partly because Chamon hangs especially thick over that table, you decide to investigate. With a flick of your hands you flip up your hood and move to somewhere more inconspicuous to watch and listen in on your once-apprentice and this cartful of Dwarfs he has gathered around himself.
"—Rune of Load Bearing isn't necessary. The Lifts are replica's of Morgrim's work, and while they won't match up on their own, the safety tolerances aren't one of the metrics I worry about. Speed, smoothness and wear and tear are the real culprits. Especially for the cordage. Better for that variant of the Rune of No Entry on the bearing surfaces."
Hmmph.
Talking shop so openly would normally be frowned upon, or at least worthy of critique. But here? Runesmiths need not be quite so reticent.
Though you suspect, eyes narrowing when you spot the various red pieces of fabric being worn by the Runesmiths with Nain, that these ones may not care quite as much if others overhear them.
You want to have very stern words with whoever it was among them that started this trend of aping the color of your cloak.
Reigning in your anger, you focus back on Nain's discussion, listening to them devolve into an argument and thought exercise about how to best direct foot traffic and how Runes can be incorporated into the solution. Thankfully for Nain, your opinion of him rises a notch as he correctly supports the efficiency and simplicity of a spoke and axle path. As things descend into the sort of inane chitter chatter of young Runesmiths nattering on about things they don't understand, as opposed to the inane nattering of Elders who know what they're talking about ya see, you find your attention drifting away from them and to the way the environmental Chamon drawn by their discussion harmlessly pushes against the invisible barrier of the nearly Wind-less volume of space around them.
That was the thing about a Runesmith's "Stilling Field", as you've begun to call it; they were unique to an individual Dwarf. The combination of the field's range, how effectively it repulsed the Winds, and the strength of its deadeninng effect on the few traces managed to pass through all differed from one Runesmith to another. It wasn't completely random of course, as the field's overall strength tended to have a positive correlation with a Dawi's age, but there was enough internal variance within similar age brackets that there was definitely something more at play. You just didn't know what it/they could be.
That in itself wasn't a worldshaking revelation though, a very similar idea was long theorized to be the case among many in the Guild given the mountain of evidence available. No, the actual surprise was their relationship with other Dawi and other fields.
Multiple Stilling Fields did not in fact interact with each other as you would have expected. Rather than coming together into a larger whole or something like that, they seemed to almost ignore eachother. Having no notable interaction beyond the stronger of the two taking precedence in the space where they intersected. Instead the fields seemed to most readily react to the souls of other Dawi, with the former imparting some measure of its repelling properties onto any Dwarf souls that were in its range while increasing numbers of the latter improved both the efficacy of the field itself.
Any further musing on the topic is waylaid when the other Dawi stand up from the table and begin shuffling off, offering farewells to those who remain until only Nain remains.
"I didn't seek them out if that's what you're wondering Master," your apprentice says, just loud enough for you to hear.
You incline your head and stand up from your hidey spot, walking over to sit down across from a placid looking Nain.
"Figured as much. I've bemoaned them enough that you ought to know better," you grumble goodnaturedly, "from the sounds of it things have been going well lad."
Nain nods in affirmation.
"Yes, they have. Though I have to say it doesn't seem like Elder Snerra's gotten that message."
You scoff, though not in disagreement.
"She's drinking from a different keg than the rest of us tis true, but that should only serve as a reminder that not even a Runelord is immune to foolishness."
"Aye Master, of course Master."
Bah.
"Hmmph. How did Tholinn's first commission go?"
Nain's beard twitches, not thrown off by your sudden segue at all, if anything he relishes the chance to boast about his student.
"The work? More than acceptable for his age. The interaction? Well…better than he was before. So about as stiff as a board still, but he didn't insult someone by accident. Dolgi's family and the dinners are doing good work helping him socially. Keeping him busy enough to get away from his Clan at the least."
You nod in agreement.
Met those folk once and—
Hmph.
—well you can see why Nain hopes to instill some sense of wanderlust and independence in his student before he becomes a Journeyman and he can no longer stand between Tholinn and the overbearing weight of his Clan.
"Good to hear lad, that's good to hear. You're doing good work with him. Better than my time with Jargrim, that's for certain."
Nain doesnt say anything, but the slight turn of his head and the little flash of Chamon on his soul, highlighting the slightly off-color gold that you see in every Runesmith, tells you that he is curious. Good sense and experience are all that stop him and all your other students from asking about their predecessors.
That small pang of loss, the one that always comes when you think of Jargrim and others, rears its ugly head. And you think about saying more, saying anything at all…
…perhaps in the future. Perhaps when you are a stronger man you can speak of them more freely.
When you say nothing more, Nain takes the dismissal in good order and he steers the conversation towards his plans for the Lift.
You are thankful for it.
━<><><>< 489 A.P. ><><><>━
She slew cousins and allies, his friends, and his kinsmen.
But she did not slay him, red-plated Donnarsson.
Forced him to retreat from the tunnels, back to the Hold that he lived in.
Who nursed within his breast a vengeful soul.
Rudil Red Plate returned a year later.
Knowing only one thing as he returned to the Eagle Deeps.
Entering alone, accompanied only by his hatred.
By the end either he or his quarry would know eternal sleep.
━<><><><==><><><>━
It is time.
You'd have preferred that a momentous a moment as this was happening under more happy and relaxed circumstances; with your heir at home and not on campaign, with your retainers not 11 members lesser, the foreign relations of your people and the elves not in the middle of a dispute between the latter's elite, and your grandnephew not embarked on a quest that ends in either his victory or death.
But the world has a way of ignoring your wishes.
You cannot delay any more than you already have though. Two years is the most you can afford, but any more and you're liable to fall behind or not give something its due attention.
Still, it wasn't all terrible.
After all, you've also spent these two years further acclimating to your new eye. Gaining a good enough grasp that you're confident to at last, try using it for its intended purpose.
Observing the creation of Runes.
Assuming that everything goes to plan and the eye does show you something—
Which you cannot guarantee without trying
—the truth of the matter is that observing just one forging is nowhere near enough data. No. Any Runesmith worthy of the name would require a certainty that only the observation of a sufficiently large, read staggeringly large, amount of forgings to accept.
Nevertheless, you have to start somewhere.
And start you shall.
With the first Rune Thungni taught, the first Rune that every Runesmith is taught.
The Rune of Stone.
Even if one of the driving forces behind the choice involved a healthy dose of narrative best fit there it is equally balanced by the practical considerations as well. After all, it is one of, if not the most inscribed Runes in existence. So much so that even several of its variants are well known to your Guild. There isn't one facet of this Rune that the Guild and its members do not know at least in passing, no change or alteration that a reasonably well learned Master cannot explain or intuit said reason behind.
Simply put, it's about as close to "understood" as a Rune can get without having Windsight.
So by using it as the basis for your experimentation into Windsight, it should be the easiest Rune to begin breaking down the mechanics of forging with.
In theory anyway.
You seal yourself in your sanctum, instructing your retainers to prevent anything short of an immediate and extreme threat to the Hold or news of equally significant personal or objective worth from interrupting you.
There is work to be done.
━<><><><==><><><>━
He came donning a helm made by the Runesmiths.
With a Rune that banished the darkness inscribed upon the crest.
Adamant form with an inset ruby, a work from out of myth.
Rudil did find his quarry, did find the hag queen's nest.
There they did meet in battle, and thus the Fimir felt fear.
But canny was the Matron, the shadows were her domain.
For though grim Rudil's helmet, her death was surely here—
—at the hour of his victory, she escaped and was not yet slain.
━<><><><==><><><>━
You have made the Rune of Stone countless times over your life. Why, If you were rendered blind, deaf and unable to feel at this very moment you're sure that you still had a fair shot of forging it properly.
Compared to the complexities of the Runes you now made and dealt with nowadays, it was— as Runes went —as simple as quarrying stone.
But now, as you let your body go through the motions of preparing the forge to begin inscribing the Rune of Stone, it feels both completely different and refreshingly familiar.
A different Dawi than the one you were stands before the forge. Wiser, older and with far greater experience behind him. A lord of Runes, a master of your craft, now able to see the very workings of your art that have until these past few years been denied to you.
Yet at the same time, you also step before the anvil with a hammer as plain as the very first your father gave you. The same chant in your mind as when you first learned it waits on your lips. You are, as you were then, as unaware of what's to come.
You raise the hammer, as you have done so many countless times before, and with the first syllable of the chant swing it down onto the waiting metal.
No peel of thunder greets you, no earth shattering light or vengeful magic strikes you.
Instead you forge the Rune, and bear witness as the magic both within and without reacts.
━<><><><==><><><>━
Thrice did she manage to evade him.
Within shadow and mist did she flee.
Unfaltering, Rudil marched ever deeper into the dark and into the dim.
With fury in his heart and the Rune on his brow a-gleam.
Again and again he followed, uncaring and unafraid.
The Matriarch sent monsters to best him, over and over again.
But vengeance would not be denied him, and Rudil was never long waylaid.
Every beast the Hag Queen sent against him, again and again were slain.
━<><><><==><><><>━
Your arm swings the hammer, repeating an action that you have done so often it's almost instinct. You chant the rite, so often repeaeted that you had long ago learned to not need it. You recreate a Rune so basic, so fundamental, that the wonder and sanctity of it has, understandably, dulled just that smidge more.
But here and now you feel that wonder return in full force, as strongly as the very first time you inscribed the very first Rune at all.
Because you see it.
You see it all.
When you first completed the Rune of Windsight you mused that whatever it showed could never match whatever expectation you built in your head. And, though it surprised you in some ways, that had largely held true.
This was not like that.
There can be no disappointment, because you are witness to impossibility. There could be no expectation, because there is no theory to work from. Suspicions and guesswork, at best. You enter blind, and are given vision for the first time.
There was an honest possibility in your mind that the moment you began forging the Rune the Winds would flood towards the Rune, or that some flash of aethyric power would erupt and render you blind and force you to put that claim about forging the Rune with half your senses gone to the test. But that, thankfully, does not come to pass. The Winds of Magic in your workshop do not react to the forging initially, or at least no more than they would to any other mundane smithing. Chamon twitches and moves towards you yes, bouncing off the repelling aura of the Stilling Field as expected.
But though you can only glimpse it for moments, you see that your soul and the magic within is alight with activity.
The veins of gold glow, multifaceted and multihued light rushing through them rhythmically like the energy that pulses from Barak Azamar.
Chamon gold, Ghyran emerald and Hyshian Diamond light pulsed to the beat of some unknown rhythm.
It is wondrous to behold.
━<><><><==><><><>━
Yet the souls of the fallen haunted him, the loss of his beloved kin.
Their ends and their graves did linger, the memory filling him with shame.
Thus the Haq Queen did seek to turn them against him, trap his mind in his own skin.
To shatter his will with memories of the hallowed dead, to turn them into Red-helm's bane.
But the Fimir did not know of honour, not know the sanctity of kin.
Did not know it only fueled Rudil's anger, only inflamed that burning rage.
And with a yell of purest fury, and strength borne from Will from within.
Rudil broke through the magic, axe swinging as he broke through her sorcerous cage.
Thus they met for a final battle, Gromril clashed 'gainst the living shadow.
The Witch Queen was certainly mighty, and the darkness was her domain.
She brought down the Dawi warrior, ready to deal mortal blow.
But Rudil screamed for sunrise, and in a realm that never knew it, Daybreak finally came.
━<><><><==><><><>━
As you continue the forging, transfixed upon what you see in your soul, you notice something else happening. The energy from your hands travels from you to the Rune. Along your hammer, through your hands, even the open air, as if the Rune is drawing from you. The mutlihued light, composed of all eight Winds though with Chamon, Ghyran and Hysh in the greatest quantity, enters the Rune and seemingly disappears from sight.
Dimly, as if you were recalling what you ate for dinner last night rather than making a connection that hinted to something more fundamental to your Craft, you realize that the chant and mindset you were taught to take when forging does indeed resonate with those Winds.
As the forging progresses, things finally begin changing around you as more and more of the Winds finally begin to move and react. Regardless of source or connection, and from farther and farther away, they are drawn towards your position. They jostle and push against eachother like you and your brothers jostled and fought to be first in line for your mother's stew—
the bitter herb she used always sank to the bottom if it got left alone ya see, and if you took a bowl from the topmost layers you wouldn't taste it as strongly. The idea of telling mother that had never crossed your minds, and if it did you'd no doubt be fighting over who had the unenviable task of criticizing her cooking.
—but the Stilling Field holds back the tide. forcing the Winds into neat and orderly trails that crawl their way towards you, or more accurately towards the Rune.
The energy crawls into you through your feet and you lose sight of the Winds at that point. But while you can't see the path they take, you know where it all ends up as the trails of energy that connect you to the Rune swell and grow in size.
The final and most drastic change happens near the end of the rite, at the point when the Rune comes to completion.
The Stilling Field that you project outwards, the barrier that held back the Winds that now swirl around you in an increasingly stronger and faster vortex begins to shrink and weaken. Milimeter by milimeter, until its barely thirty centimeters out and so weak that roughly half of the volume of magic gets through.
Then as you swing the hammer down the final time and the Rune glow as it activates for the first time you see the Rune draw in and absorb all of the Winds around you; leaving a volume of space utterly devoid of magic before nature takes its course and the vacuum is filled.
━<><><>< Khazalid Trivia ><><><>━
Riluzkuldrakk - Lit. "Brilliantly shining skull Dragon/Monster"/ The Bright Death
Zhufokri - Lit. "Current/Torrent Craftsman"/Mage/Wizard
━<><><><Gain ><><><>━
Snorri
- 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)
— The Winds of Magic appear as a layer of multi-colored trails and bands superimposed over reality. Snorri has begun to note and observe the general trends and start making accurate enough "calculations" to know how the Winds move and react even if he does not have his eye.
— Souls appear as translucent versions of the mortal's body with a few minor visual differences that likely reflect their self-perception.
---- Dwarf souls behave similarly to stone, in that they naturally resist passive connection to ambient Sevir. However, they are not fully immune, and some Winds do get through. Lastly, this passive barrier can be overcome with enough exposure or deliberate action.
---- Runesmith souls have golden channels running through them. They project a Stilling Field around them that repels most Winds, and deadens the movement of what small amounts of the Winds gets through. The shape, strength and efficacy of a Field is unique to each Runesmith, and while they do not react to each other, they are strengthened by and in turn strengthen nearby Dwarf souls. Dwarf Souls gain cumulative benefits from being under multiple Stilling Fields.
— Runes begin by drawing magic from the Runesmith, as the forging progresses the Runesmith's natural anti-magic aura shrinks and allows more magic through and into them before entering the Rune. At the moment a Rune is created, it sucks up all the nearby magic to fill its internal reservoir.
Karstah
- +1 [Tier ???] Whitebeard's Reward. (revealed pt. 4)
Retainers
- +15 Former Valkyrie Guard recruited, new totals: x25
- +8 Masons of Grungni recruited, new totals: x13
- Grungaldrin complete!
-- The Shadow Hag reveals itself after decades in hiding. Slaying 40 Ornsmotek warriors and 10 Hearth Guard by 487 A.P. She is slain singlehandedly two years later by Hearth Lord, Rudil Donnarsson who returns to Kraka Drakk with her head in tow.
-- Grudge against the Hag Queen avenged on behalf of Snorri Klausson by Rudil Donnarsson
-- +1 [Tier 4] Fimir Hag Queen's Eye
--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.
-- High King Snorri Whitebeard has a message for you. At some point in the future he will request that you march out and serve as a distraction while Malekith's mages enact a ritual to counter the Fimir's. When this happens is entirely dependent on Malekith completing his objectives. But it's likely to be soon.
-- +2 [Tier 4] Elder Wyrm's Blood, new totals: x12
-- -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.
- [Mid 488] The Lift Expansion, a work that has increasingly become associated with Nain, touches Khazagar. Your student had somehow wrangled the aid of a few extra Runesmiths to aid him. Not speeding up the timeline, but used to increase the scope.
- [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)
Rudil
- Legendary Deed, Shadow's Bane. -- I am the servant of Snorri Klausson. Bearer of the Rune helm Daybreak. The darkness will not avail you, Queen of the Fimir! Go back to the shadows!" - Rudil Rubybrow.
Alternately
-- Then one foggy Keg End's eve, the Gift Giver did say. "Rudil with your helm so bright, won't you strike out this Grudge tonight..."
-- Title, Rubybrow
━<><><><==><><><>━
AN: I think there's something sorta poignant and cosmically funny that the Dwarf Quest update happens during Hanukkah and not on Christmas given the discourse about the supposedly unintended parallels between Dwarves and Jewish stereotypes in Lord of the Ri—Uh, would you believe me if I told you I wanted to actually get all the crafting options revealed in this update? Yeah well blame magic. I hate magic, its nonsense. Anyway I hope it was worth the wait. Don't forget to C&C. Sorry everyone. :^(
Anyway have art, updated Snorri art to be precise.
Its nothing *wrong* perse. Its just that its likely a more risky plan than otherwise would be used because Malekith knows he is on a timer before the Phoenix King comes in and steals at least part of his glory in defeating the Fimir.
Love the picutres, the dragons expressions get me chuckling, with them going from left to right I cant belive i am doing this, 1000% maximium power and I am happy to be included
Its nothing *wrong* perse. Its just that its likely a more risky plan than otherwise would be used because Malekith knows he is on a timer before the Phoenix King comes in and steals at least part of his glory in defeating the Fimir.
Even knowing that I don't really see how we can do anything besides go along with it. Lots of dwarf blood is spilled every year of this war. Cutting it short saves a bunch.
Its nothing *wrong* perse. Its just that its likely a more risky plan than otherwise would be used because Malekith knows he is on a timer before the Phoenix King comes in and steals at least part of his glory in defeating the Fimir.
Basically malekith is using the existence of the timer to try to justify rushing, but in reality it's an entirely different timer he's worried about.
And, well, given what Malekith eventually got up to in canon I have suspicions that this ritual's downside may be more problematic than is being admitted.
Truthfully we'll probably need to go along with the plan anyway, but we should inform the High King of this so he's aware that Malekith is not the open friend he pretend to be. But that also has problems, for obvious reasons. This whole thing is a mess and was inevitable the moment Malekith got involved.
I can't believe Runesmiths have their own AT Fields, although I suppose this fits with the Angels forces of Chaos that assault the Geofront walls of Kraka Drakk every so often
