can we get to 10k not that im demanding it
you magical prophetic bastard, cease your magics this instant! I didn't want or ask for this!
Winning Vote(s):
From Turn 21:
[X] Plan All the Griffon Stuff
-[X] [Simple] Warded Aeries: [Cost: (2 -1) =1 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc. 3 actions
--[X] At QM discretion, use up to T3 materials freely on this project where appropriate. Small amounts of T4 Elder Frostwyrm Hide may also be used.
-[X] Boon from the Sky: [Cost: Start Request, [Difficult] Plated Skies Pt. 1:] A bundle of his crest feathers. In exchange, he expects a suit of armour.
-[X] The Grand Conclave/Rhunkalbrogg: [Cost: 1 action] 1 Action.
--[X] Optional Write-in: An Adamant bar and blueprint of an Adamant Furnace, and a shard of Voidstone.
-[X] [Simple] Vent Venting Pt. ?: [Cost: 2 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc.
--[X] Religious Donation: Gain 2 progress. if taken no action input required, but can add actions to overflow if desired. Lose rights to the land itself, Temple of Valaya will pay and provide material.
-[X] [Simple] Cave Clearing Pt. 1: [Cost: 3 actions]
--[X] Petition the Hold: [Cost: variable favours] Gain 1 progress per 10 favour, can be taken multiple times to autocompletion. 30 Favor.
-[X] Dragon Ogre Autopsy: [Cost: 6 actions] Student of the Odd will proc. 1 Action.
--[X] Destructive Research: [Cost: 3 Shaggoth Corpses, 9 Dragon Ogre Corpses] Gain 2 Progress, can be taken multiple times. Three Times.
From the Botherhood:
-- [X] 3 progress in Voidstone Research, Cost: 6 points
-- [X] 3 Progress in The Secrets of Light, Cost: 6 points
113 A.P. (After Pillars)
At the end of Rhunkalbrogg, the great meeting hall doors are opened wide and a procession of legends exits the chamber. Thungni at their head, the column of Runelords behind him represents the apex of the Guild's skill and the majority of its higher knowledge base. A Runelord is an immense figure both politically and metaphorically as all dwarfs know. One worthy of respect and awe, for their skill and contribution to their hold and the greater realms.
But to Runesmiths they are so much more.
Figures of legend, masters, teachers, everything that a Runesmith is meant to be all bundled into one dwarf. The goal of most Runesmiths since the earliest days of their apprenticeship, though few ever realize it. But even ignoring all of that, a Runelord is still an incalculable treasure. For they are living libraries of Runic knowledge, the eldest know and hold more information in their minds than even the Hall of Records of the greatest Karaks
Combined.
And with Rhunkalbrogg's conclusion, that vast collection will now grow with the inclusion of new faces to begin the laborious process of rebuilding from the loss of the Incursion. When the last of the Runelords leaves, a group of robed messengers stream out after them and into the wider realms, each carrying a letter that will change the lives of those intended to receive them. Some are not destined for the new Runelords. Instead, they are Heralds for the Realms all over, whose duties are to proclaim the selection of new Runelords and ensure the records of every hold the realms over are informed and updated.
…
Lorna is drinking with friends in one of the quiet bars of Karaz a Karak when the messenger finds her. A dwarf in deep grey robes, the Rune of Thungni over his breast.
He walks up to her, much to the awe of the Runesmiths present in the bar and Lorna's own growing disbelief.
"Lorna, Daughter of Derna, Master Runesmith of Kraka Drak, and candidate of Snorri, son of Klaus. It is with great pleasure and expectation that the honoured House of Runelords has found you worthy to join their ranks. Thungni grant you wisdom and glory, bear your rank with honour and distinction for the sake of your ancestors and those who believed you worthy," the herald announces, loud enough for all present to hear. Not all of them are Runesmiths, but all know how momentous the occasion is, and cheer for her good fortune.
She says nothing for a moment, shocked beyond disbelief that her hero would bring
her name forward, let alone that she be
accepted.
Eventually, she closes her mouth, takes a deep breath, then hollers loud enough for every patron to hear.
"BARKEEP! THE NEXT FIVE ROUNDS FOR EVERY DWARF IN HERE ARE ON ME!" she shouts, immense joy on her usually shy features.
The bar erupts in a cacophony of joyous celebration.
…
All throughout Karaz A Karak, Runesmiths are told of their change in status, and the cheers and celebration that abound are heard wherever you walk. One of the benefits of hosting Rhunkalbrogg simultaneously with the Grand Conclave was making the lives of the messengers a bit easier, you suppose. Not always, but for this Conclave at least, you doubt there were that many Master Runesmiths who hadn't attended.
It does good to your soul, you must admit within the privacy of your own thoughts, to be reminded that for all the loss that has occurred there are just as many new beginnings.
"Stuck reminiscing?" Jorri says, looking up from his meal.
You look at your brother, then to the stump of his arm, before nodding.
Had to get that seen to.
"Aye, of my own election," you reply.
"A good celebration If I recall, the whole Clan came out to celebrate. First Runelord in our bloodline in centuries, remember the look on Da's face?"
A beaming grin blooms into the forefront of your mind. Pearly white teeth and eyes crinkled in mirth and pride. The face you like to remember compared to the quiet peacefulness on the deathbed. Klaus Drausson wasn't a dwarf of idleness, and the look of stillness did not suit him.
You were happy he got to see you fulfill your dream, that you proved him
right.
"Aye," you say, taking a long swig.
"I've got something. Just today actually, s'about Korri," Jorri continues.
You blink in surprise, before turning to him expectantly. Jorri wouldn't be this nonchalant if it was anything woeful, so that was one concern crossed off your list. Four more to go.
"He's fine, the hold unsealed itself a year ago and news has been slow going. But we found out he was out on a business venture all the way by Barak Varr when stuff kicked off. Found him there getting ready to head back and let him know. He sends his well wishes, sad he can't visit you physically, but he had to go make sure his family was alright ya see," Jorri explains.
"That's fine by me, I'm just happy the tosser came out of it unscathed. Thank you Jorri," you say with a relieved sigh.
"S'no problem brother."
Minutes pass.
"Snorri," Jorri says casually.
"Aye?"
"I want that prosthetic arm yer' making me able to transform into a weapon," Jorri says.
"...I can do an axe, more a hatchet really, a hammer would have space issues," you reply, taking a sip.
"Jorri Axe-hand. Has a nice ring to it don't you think? Or should I say, has a nice swi-"
"-Finish that pun and I'm making the arm out of copper," you warn, cutting him off without looking away from your drink.
Jorri wisely doesn't finish, and the two of you drink in companionable silence the rest of the night.
...
It is on the last day of your time here in Karaz a Karak that you make one final trip. Not even Yorri's fear of running into Alric Thungnisson can dissuade his burning curiosity. A work so mighty that Grungni Himself found it satisfactory, and more importantly to the very many Runesmiths who have come over the decades since its creation, a Rune said to be so majestic it can bring a Runesmith to tears.
The Throne of Power on whose surface, inscribed with all the skill the greatest crafter your people will ever know, burns
Azamar, The Rune of Eternity. Mayhaps you'll find some inspiration?
As the two of you get ever closer to the massive halls of the Throneroom, the number of dwarfs grows thicker than the hair of Grungni's beard. Eventually, you pass through the gates and enter an absolutely massive chamber that could only be where the Royal Clan of Karaz a Karak held court. You are among the massive crowd of dwarfen courtiers and petitioners eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Whitebeard and his Throne to enter and hold court.
It is perhaps half an hour in that Yorri excuses himself, off to "find a latrine worth the name in this place."
(Roll, Presence: 89 + 20[???] =109, DC 80)
(Crit Roll, Presence 2: 93 +20[???] =113, DC 80)
5/7
"You here for the Throne Rhunrikki?" a dwarf behind you asks.
You turn to see a pair of dwarfs, one man and one woman. Both are elders, that despite their looks, are certainly far older than they appear. The first thing you notice is the husband's glorious white beard, ending in a four-pronged fork so immaculate and symmetrical that it doubtlessly brings envy to the eye of many a dwarf. As you shake his hand, you notice the light, almost invisible, specks of dust underneath his fingers, the calluses on his hands from years of work.
"Aye, I do. What brings you out of the depths Elder?" you ask with a grin.
"Ah, this old Boki's wife demanded he pays his respects ya see," the dwarf chuckles even as the woman to his left smacks his arm.
"Hush now you old storyteller, he's here," the old miner's wife says chidingly.
Just as the matron said, the crowd begins to stir with excitement. The great time telling device, a gift from Morgrim, ringing loudly to mark the beginning of court. Like a well-oiled machine, the Herald announces an exact second after the ringing of the gong subsides, in time with the opening of the gallery doors.
In first is the Whitebeard, dressed in the royal robes of Karaz a Karak, but notably bereft of the Dragon Crown, which still remains solely his father's right to wear. In that most ancient treasure's stead, the crown prince wears a crown of Gromril and Oathgold, each tip on the crown's prongs was capped with the finest gems and metals from the Karaz Ankor. The Turquoise Emeralds of Izril, the Steel of Azul, the Sapphires of Eight Peaks, Brightstone from Brynduraz, and the Oathgold of Ekrund and many other holds besides. A show of unity and wealth.
But all of that fades away from your sight as four stout dwarfs march in bearing the most beautiful thing you've seen and perhaps ever will see in your life.
The Throne of Power, and burning brightly at its apex is Azamar, the Rune of Eternity.
...
A bold band crossing the treacherous slopes, three lead and a fourth guards the rear. Outposts become fortified, turning from trading posts and simple camps into villages and towns. Decades pass in seconds, the towns are emptied and the peaks are burrowed into with gusto and great foresight. Caves are made sound, galleries and halls carved from the ageless stone. Riches beyond measure are dug up from the earth. Yet always at the very tip, the four marched on.
Time passes.
Four becomes five, then six and then seven. Each contributes something for the benefit of all, each a pillar on whose back rests the weight of a people.
When they stop and turn back to look upon their work, their eyes see beyond what lays immediately before them, all the way to the beginning of their journey so long ago. From the rocky peaks that soared over the untamed jungle to the frozen poles of the farthest northern reaches, they have come to claim as their own. In the face of tragedy and loss, victory and hardship, they stare at what they, and those who followed them, have all helped build
An enduring people, born from stone.
A great many kingdoms, families and clans.
All united in a realm everlasting, seen and experienced from its earliest beginnings and likely until the end of the world inscribed on Gromril. A legacy so enduring, so strong, that even mountains are nought but piles of sand in the wind in comparison.
So long as a dwarf walks the mountains, Azamar the Eternal shall never go out.
…
"What a fool I was to believe I could ever come close…" you mutter, the vision and knowledge fading and falling through your mind like sand in a sieve.
This. This was the pinnacle of your profession's work, the windswept peak all of you would spend your lives trying to reach and always find yourselves just a touch away. Nothing, you could do would ever come close to the magnificence before you. The Hubris of thinking you had even an inkling of a chance to glean anything from this Rune was galling in hindsight.
You have not the knowledge, perhaps no one but Grungni and his son does either, to even begin to decipher Azamar's construction.
"Twelfth time I've heard that," the longbeard chortles, "Alric Thungnisson didn't even bother. I heard he simply said he wasn't capable and wouldn't be for a few thousand years more."
What could you say to that? When even the greatest living Runelord after Grungni and Thungni said it couldn't be done, what hope did you have?
"Bah!" the matronly dwarf replies, "a bit of adversity is good for the young. Gives them something to look to, toughens 'em up. Course the tricky part is finding something tough enough for them to struggle with, but ultimately overcome. Have to get them to dig through some rock before they find the vein after all."
"A dwarf doesn't keep digging a shaft in the hope for gold," the miner replies.
"That's why we go prospecting in the first place. Besides, I could go digging for emeralds, but I won't complain if I find rubies instead no?"
All the miner can do is grumble.
"And what about you lad? It seems a bit daft to do the impossible don't you think?" the miner says.
"That's rich coming from you," his wife snarks.
"I just have lofty expectations. I don't see how it's a problem if it was one of my most fetching qualities or so you've said," he sniffs back.
"It is when you apply it to your grandchildren," she counters.
"They're my grandchildren! I should expect more frankly, now that they know I could do it. The problem with the youth these days," he says with a shake of the head.
"The
problem is you not giving them the right sort of challenge," she says, seemingly retreading old ground from the way he huffs in response, "but I'm sure the youngster here doesn't want to hear this old row between us for the first time."
"Aye, I suppose so," he admits, before eyeing you appraisingly.
You are a Runelord, but by Grungni that look is enough to make you feel like you're barely past your second decade.
"Hmmm, well I suppose I'll offer you this bit of wisdom then youngster. No peak is unclimbable, after all, we've gone from Zorn all the way up to that young place up north, whatsit called?"
"Kraka Drakk dear, the hold with those wonderful stones,
and where this young lad is from. If you bothered to use those keen eyes on something other than your creations."
"That was it! Kraka Drakk, hmmph, well it's appropriate I suppose. And what's this about me using my eyes? I'll have you know I use them for more than my creations! Why I'm using them to behold your beauty once more my dear, for it only ever grows more striking I should have you know."
"Not in front of the children," she says with a roll of her eyes, "and you're going off on a tangent again. Honestly, if it wasn't for your brother we'd have gotten nowhere…" she says humorously, but tinted with grief.
It doesn't take a genius to understand the implication.
"My condolences Elder," you reply sincerely.
"Thank ye lad, but it's as fine as it can be. He went about it the way he would've wanted, axe in hand with a song on his lips."
"I'm certain he honoured the Ancestors," you say.
The old miner chuckles.
"Aye, I suppose that's true." he says with a hint of sadness before looking back at you," as I was saying. That bit of wisdom, I suppose I've taken enough of your time to give you a token too. Well then let me think…"
His wife gives you an apologetic stare, before pulling out a basket of stonebread from some nebulous space behind her. A mystery that all dwarf matrons will never divulge, despite your best efforts.
"Here you go beardling, I'm sure your mother would want you to be eating better than you are right now. Look at you, all skin and bones. Best to pad yourself out don't you think?" she says admonishingly, waiting for you to take the, far heavier than it looks, basket before smacking her husband on the arm and giving him a withering look.
"Fine fine. I wanted something special to give the boy, but here you are pushing me along! Hmmph, well sorry to say lad it's not the most unique gift, but maybe you can do something with it hmm? Or maybe not, and one of the other young folk I've handed a nugget or two figures it out, a dwarf should always have many investments after all. A wide portfolio is a stable portfolio!" he chortles as he hands you a fine silver necklace, five bright emblems dangling from it.
Taking it with your free hand, you lift the necklace to get a better look. The central charm is a stylized mountain, overlaid by the image of a hearth that bears the mundane Rune of Valaya. On its left, a finely made replica of miner's pick crossed with a smiths hammer over top of which Grungni's rune resides. The charm to its left is a hammer, a minuscule but masterfully etched Rune of Thungni on its face. On the other side of the central charm three crossed axes are covered by a mundane version of Grimnir's Rune, and the last charm is predictably a Cog hammer and wrench that bears Mogrim's Rune.
Wait.
You squint and look more closely at the chain, running your finger over the links before giving it an experimental sniff.
"What in Grungni's name…" you mutter, much to the amusement of the two dwarfs.
This isn't silver…
But, b- but its
chain! And you only know of one dwarf in recorded history that has the skill to make Gromril into a chain.
"That banner wasn't
terrible Gift Giver, so I suppose you're doing about as well as I could expect after I lowered my expectations three dozen times more than I usually do. An almost
tolerable foci, enough to channel all the other young ones' works through at least," the old miner says.
"Mmm, more a fan of the amulet myself, but I suppose I can see the appeal. Grand gestures were more your taste though," the matron chuckles.
You look up from the necklace in your hand with a question on your lips, but see that both dwarfs have disappeared. In their place, you see a confused Yorri making his way over to you.
"How in Grungni's name do you have a basket of Stonebread?"
You can only stare at him in befuddlement before replying, equally confused.
"I'm not too sure either, to be honest."
…
You and Yorri do not stay long, using your experience at inconspicuous movement to leave the throne room with more things than you had come in with.
During this time you hand Yorri the necklace, which he takes respectfully and examines for himself. Running his fingers over the chains and giving them a sniff before nodding.
"Well you're not daft," he said, "that's Gromril. Which means…"
"Aye," you say.
"That's three now lad! All you need is a souvenir from the others and you'll have a full set! Only know about….four dozen dwarfs who can say the same? Give or take, not everyone's willing to share that sort of knowledge. That's the kind of thing Clan's make heirlooms out of and put in their strongest vaults ya see," Yorri says nonchalantly.
You can only nod.
"Well well, what's this?" Yorri says, thumbing the back of Grungni's emblem, "is this….hmm well maybe? Nai, it can't be….but possibly..."
You stare at Yorri.
"Mmm, take this back, then smack the amulet with your hammer. Just like when you use that Wrath and Ruin you love so much." he lectures.
You take the amulet back with a small glare, "It's a useful ability, damnit. 'Sides, I still haven't found a way to throw around thunderbolts anyhow," you mutter as you pull out your hammer.
Following Yorri's advice, you tap the amulet with your hammer, and just as the metal connects, the Rune of Grungni begins glowing fiercely. A small whirlwind begins to form around you before you hastily shut off the Rune.
"By Grungni…" you mutter.
"It could very well be!" Yorri says happily slapping you on the back.
You can only glare at him.
...
You watch Jorri mull over the gifts for a minute before he hands them back to you, features resolute.
"You're too damn lucky Snorri, and this only confirms it. Now help me put your luggage onto the cart," he says with a strong and gruff nod before clambering up into the carriage.
You blink.
"Is that all you have to say? It's a literal Gift from the Ancestors! The implications, the presti-"
"Snorri," Jorri cuts in, head popping out of the wagon "to me, the fact that our clan, you, our grandniece, and my daughter
survived that mess is a Gift from the Ancestors. One I'm thankful for, and will always continue to be. That's a fine Basket and wonderful necklace, ones worthy of Winterhearth's most secure vaults aye, but as far as I'm concerned these two things are just the jam on my stonebread. Can't properly respect those gifts if there
was no Clan Winterhearth now could we?"
"That's surprisingly insightful of you."
"Oh it is, but it's also the only thing keeping me from throttling you over all your damn luck then storing those two artifacts in the most hidden and well-secured vault I can get my mitts on. Now, pick up the damn luggage and help me oh Brother of mine!" Jorri hollers from within the carriage.
"Alright, alright keep your pants on I'm coming!"
…
The journey back to Kraka Drakk is peaceful. The grand caravan that leaves Karaz a Karak grows smaller and smaller as dwarfs branch off to their own holds. Each time you pass the fork or junction in the Underway, more and more wagons head off on their own way until eventually the baggage train is almost entirely composed of wagons Jorri owns.
Your group makes a stop at one of the Under-inns, the last before you reach Kraka Drakk proper, to rest and give the animals more feed.
While your brother dealt with that, he sent you off to get a table and order some drinks for the two of you at the bar. It doesn't take long to get a seat despite the crowding, considering how close you are to Kraka Drakk at this point. The bartender proudly displayed an axe you had made on the wall behind his counter you see.
Runelord privileges.
For all your, rightful, criticism, you must admit that Jorri has made a name for himself. One of the larger businesses in the Karaz Ankor, he had a not-insignificant amount of pull in the Caravan subset of the greater Merchants Guild. You've been told, rather angrily, in the past that Jorri was currently in a very drawn-out legal battle over the remit of the Merchants Guild as opposed to the Messengers Guild. Most of it was of little consequence to you, but it boiled down to whether a dwarf passenger fell under the Merchants Guild's remit of transport or whether a Dwarf was considered "non-monetary trade goods," which fell under the purview of Messenger's guild.
You recall telling Jorri that this sounded like something that required a new guild altogether, but the withering glare he sent your way was enough to shut down that avenue of discussion.
The current legal troubles were stonefruit seeds compared to the legal hellscape that came with the founding of a new guild.
You are drawn out of your idle musing by a quiet knock on the table's surface. You look up expecting to see Jorri only to be thoroughly surprised by the respectfully bowed form of Brynna Gildedeyes. For a moment you simply boggle at the sight of the southern Runelord somehow being here before collecting yourself.
"Honoured Elder," she says, noticing that she has your attention, golden orbs looking up from the floor to stare at you.
"Brynna, this is surprising. Why are you here this far north?" You ask, already having a good idea why, but wanting to confirm regardless.
"When news reached Zorn about the call for Runesmiths in the north I jumped at the opportunity after certain circumstances changed in my home. I came to pay the proper respects before the others doubtlessly follow suit. To be frank, I did not expect the House to allow for so many of your candidates to be accepted and had I not already confirmed my situation through correspondence with His Highness, King Otrek of the Royal Clan Ironarm, I would have changed my choice in longterm lodgings," she explains.
"Sensible, though you couldn't have foreseen it happening," you agree, privately connecting a few dots and gaining a better understanding of her question from your first meeting.
"Five Runelords in one hold will be an interesting experience I suppose. Just as you said before, there will be new and novel opportunities here alongside the challenges. Your foresight is exceptional, Honoured Elder," she responds, dipping her head.
"Didn't expect it to play out like this frankly, but I suppose nothing ever really does in most cases. Well, I'm sure Otrek will be excited about having five Runelords living in his hold. It's a thing of great prestige to be sure."
"Hmm, talk of the Adamant Wyrm says much, but perhaps you have something more concrete for me?" she asks politely.
You glance around, looking for any sign of Jorri, before nodding.
"Well, I suppose I have some time. Jorri isn't here yet anyway," you grumble out.
(Local RER Crit revealed! Brynna Kargasdottir, the "Gilded-eyes", Runelord from Karak Zorn has joined Kraka Drakk. I rolled for this
before you got all 3 candidates in. :^I)
…
Brynna leaves your table with a bow when she sees Jorri heading over, and you nod in farewell.
Jorri watches her leave as he sits himself down across from you before turning to stare at you with a raised brow.
"Brynna Gildedeyes, a Runelord from Zorn. She's moving to Kraka Drakk, shes already made arrangements with Otrek about it. Wanted my opinion on the local politics," you explain, seemingly to his satisfaction.
"Bet she didn't expect to have four colleagues there," is all he says before grabbing his still cold tankard and taking a long swig.
"Nai, but neither did I frankly," you say.
"How old was she?"
"About a century and a bit younger than me, I'm still the eldest Runelord in the north somehow," you reply.
Jorri only nods.
"Politics?"
"She's from
Zorn Jorri. They don't really have radicals, more like Conservatives and the
really Conservative frankly. Not that it matters if she's got the skill," you reply.
"How do you think she'll handle your home's feathered friends?"
"Fifty-Fifty, Zornish don't tend to leave the plateau without good reason. So either she's an exception or she's capable of getting used to it."
"Young, bold, skilled…" Jorri mutters quietly.
You stare at him questioningly, but Jorri won't speak on it for the rest of the night.
…
When the Caravan finally arrives at Kraka Drakk's Underway station, the crowd that greets them cheers with raucous applause.
News travels fast, especially when it gives your people an excuse to drink.
Perhaps fittingly, whenever one of the new Runelords appears the crowd roars with approval. Among the most vocal cheers are the dwarfs of Clan Stoneplate who hoop and holler especially loud when Bara gets off her wagon, the matron choosing to let them enjoy the moment as much as she likely was.
You spot the approaching form of King Otrek and a cadre of reckoners, no doubt heading over to congratulate the new arrivals on their success. He spots you and raises an inquisitive brow, but you simply snort and nod towards the four dwarfs currently being handed mugs of fine ale. Figuring out your intent Otrek simply nods before continuing on to his destination.
You'll give these three their time in the spotlight, and Brynna a chance to see Otrek for herself, while stealthily sneaking off to head back to your workshop. Yorri in tow for no other reason than to critique your "piss poor ability sneak about," .
You had
work to do.
…
You are elbow-deep in the guts of a dragon ogre when the slimy touch of a troll tongue smacks itself against your cheek. Nearly making you drop the shaggoth heart you were trying to pry out.
You glare at Yorri.
"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he chortles, "now that I have your attention. Mayhaps you'd like to do a bit of eating, hmm? You've been in here a while now."
"It's only been," you look at the newly installed time teller, recently approved by the Engineers Guild after an enterprising youth attempted to recreate Morgrim's own invention. Took him about four centuries if you remember rightly, "seven months!"
Honestly, this was embarrassing forthe both of you. What was your Master, some beardling who couldn't handle a year of unimpeded research?
"I know, I know it's rather short, but unlike you, I need something more than stonebread to go with my ale you know! Roughing it is all well and good and every dwarf should be able to do it, but I'm in the mood for some fine Troll and gravel stew."
You sigh, "let me put this heart in its container and then we can go," knowing full well how annoying Yorri can get should he put his mind to it.
…
"Lightning, thunder. About what I expected really. Bones and skin are about on par with actual Drakk parts, a bit less in some respects though," you reply in
Secret Yorri Cypher 12, as your master scarfs down his fifth bowl of Troll stew.
"Figured. Anything esoteric?" he says in between bites.
"Suneater's hide is constantly emitting
static," you hiss to receive a grimace of understanding in return.
The
bane of fine beard maintenance, damn that scaly centaur. Even from beyond the grave, he proves irksome to your people.
"Brain though," you continue, piquing Yorri's interest, "got a feeling in the roots of my beard its something
special."
He snorts.
"You gonna hem and haw like you've been doing with that heart lad?" he says with a chuckle.
You don't have much to say about that.
.114 A.P.
Over the next few years, in between your numerous autopsies, you host members of the Brotherhood. During their visits, the exchange of information is done where Runes and theories are shared just as the Contract specified. The Runelords who come are those whose expertise best matches your requests, and they do their part to aid you.
On your end, you spend the majority of your time teaching them how to create your Master Rune of Purification and in return, they aid you with your own research and teaching you the agreed-upon Runes.
It isn't always a calm experience.
…
"You're dallying again!" Gorra barks from behind you, the footfalls of her pacing done at such a tempo as to try and throw you off your rhythm.
"Aye!" you shout back, using your well-honed experience to imperceptibly increase your hammer speed again until Gorra stops calling you a bumbling fool. The Rune will come out below your expectations, but your pride demands it be at least done to completion.
Gorra says nothing until the final hammer blow is struck, not even giving you a chance to look over your poor (for a Runelord) attempt at the Master Rune of Pyres, before chucking the hunk of Gromril you were writing on back into a forge, swiftly replacing it with another clean slate.
"Again!" she bellows, "are you a Runelord or a beardling who just grew his first white whisker?! COME ON KLAUSSON!"
You raise the hammer skyward and strike down.
This took you back.
.115 A.P.
"We in Izril have long studied crystals, gems and their formation, " Magda says as she eats the stew you'd made for lunch.
"In a similar vein we have some experience in the use and manipulation of light. A good way to test a gem's purity as any dwarf knows," Modi continues when Magda pauses to take a bite out of a soft yet chewy piece of marinated troll she's pulled out of her soup then stuffed inside a slice of stonebread.
You nod.
"With that in mind, many a beardling of Izril has always spent at least a decade or two tinkering with the use of light. My brother and I are no exception. You should start a pub and sell this by the by," Magda says.
"Magda's right on both accounts. We spent a good three-"
"-four-" Magda corrects in between bites.
"-four decades tinkering with a Rune we could use to manipulate light. Didn't lead anywhere really, too many issues with the interface," Modi finishes.
[Student of the Odd]
You rub your beard.
"I think I may have something for that," you say.
"Hmm, well let's sort out this
Voidstone business first and then we'll see what we can do with the Lights eh?"
....
You lift the goggles off your face, and blink out the stars in your vision. Peeling off the beard protector you are especially thankful when you see the black residue that would have ruined your beard is instead covering everywhere but.
Right, the others. Beardcare later in this rare instance...
"Ho-hows the shard?" you manage to slur out.
"S'alright! Structural integrity is untouched. Modi you Wazzock, get up and write this down!" Magda shouts.
She's met only by a groan.
Scoffing she hobbles over to a stray piece of stone and starts chiseling.
"Test 532, all signs corroborate S.K. theory of 'Higher Daemonic Post Mortem Terminal Structural Collapse Encapsulation Phenomena,' otherwise known as the energy of the True Death of Greater Daemonic entities being captured in the resulting formation of Obsidian from the accompanying exothermic explosion."
"I told you! My beard's never led me astray before!" you shout from your position, pinned under a table, "Now help me up Magda!"
Silence from both twins.
"…Magda?"
You are finally met by the sound of very light snoring.
"Grungni damnit, Moira's gonna tan my hide for this..." you mutter before falling unconscious.
....
The three of you spend the year recuperating by going over the sibling's knowledge of Runes of Lighting. While no practical experimentation can be done, Moira's thunderous glare killing the idea outright, you're confident enough in the theory that by the time Magda and Modi are well enough to leave you're able to make an altogether better version of your previous Rune of Reflection.
The Rune of Refraction as you've come to call it, allowed for far greater manipulation of incoming light. Combining or separating beams with a simple command, even the ability to alter the color of the light itself. Of course it was limited in other ways, the light emitted was not stronger than the light received, and trying to emit too much light in a concentrated beam did start compromising the Rune's ability.
As is, it's a neat way to make rather clever lighting setups and for making glowing toys and not much else. A solid proof of concept, and it does make you wonder just how much you could do with such a simple concept as light.
Hmmph. Thoughts better left for another time.
You have commissions and meetings to get through after all!
...
Hiring out the services of the Miners, Masons and Engineers Guilds is a simple affair. Though it takes a bit to plan out what exactly you want to be done with the area in question. You eventually settle on having a system to regulate the temperature of the caves. It meant you could keep the caves habitable in summer and maintain year-round habitation for the herds of the Herdsmans Guild as agreed upon. The area was large enough to feed most of the animals, but there was still far more cave system left to be used.
The Structure itself will require the evening out of the cave's natural formations, but as the walls are all that stop vents of superheated gas from blasting the meat off your bones, the crews and planners are confined to staying within the overall shape of the caves themselves. Which is fine by you, seeing as you still aren't too sure what you want to be done with the parts you can't turn into year-round grazing land At the very least you can get the area mapped out, the temperature issues dealt with, and the areas you have no idea what to do with sealed off just in case.
Still better than the grilling Moira gave you during your meeting with the Clergy of Valaya.
You're sure those springs you donated are the only reason she didn't throttle you this time.
Normally you're not one to leave things for others to do for you, but in this case the Guilds and Clergy can hire out the services of four different Runelords if they require the aid of Runes for the springs. In your case, you have other obligations to see fulfilled.
It's not every day you can apply Runes to the work of the Ancestors after all.
.117 A.P.
You walk through the halls of Kraka Drakk, around the foundry, past the merchant's and temple district until you reach your destination deep in the heart of the residential district.
A large hollow pillar of Brick and metal that leads all the way up to the very peak of Kraka Drakk and the Underway Terminal below.
A lift, powered by sets of massive water wheels, windmills and old fashioned Dwarfen muscle, whose purpose was meant to ferry dwarfs and griffons through the hold's three most distinct layers. The Lift is large enough to fit a decently sized group of dwarfs, and split into four separate sections that could move independently of each other. Even as you approach, you see dwarfs and Griffons entering and leaving the ornate entrances.
Every so often you see a clutching following after their parents wave a wing at a passing beardling. Their adult counterparts speaking with each other while their children played.
Here in the heart of the hold, the level of care and protectiveness both your peoples usually maintained fell away. In the safety of the mountain's core and among those who both spilled blood and bled for the other, there is a very clear lack of fear.
A pity it took so much death to bring it about, but you doubt the living would spit in the face of their sacrifice.
Shouldering the rope attached to your wagon, you walked into the lift, pressed the corresponding Gromril button, and waited patiently as the stone platform smoothly lifted you upwards.
…
As you ascend your mind wanders onto matters it doesn't usually trod.
But considering your destination it is perhaps appropriate to consider Griffons.
You look at the reliefs that line the inside of the lift, each image is a saga, a story writ into being. Individually, they tell of cooperation and glory. But as a whole, the artistry of it becomes more clear. Dawi imagery dominates the Underway terminal and the lower half of the elevator and is typical of the kind of imagery your people find appealing. Stories of the past and epic sagas regaling all who would look about the Ancestors. But as one ascends, the reliefs begin telling the greater story of Dwarf and Griffon interaction from the earliest beginnings. From the hidden troll hunting to Brokk's long and dangerous investigation and clue hunting. Culminating in their first meeting, where a stylized depiction of you and Brokk stand facing a rather oversized rendition of Ebonbeak to be honest. The pattern continues, showing the meeting between The Whitebeard and the King of the Skies, to the very graphic depiction of the Griffon ripping out his own heart, and to a copy of Grungni and Valaya's letter, prominently displayed for all to read. As the platform climbs higher and higher reliefs of cooperation and unity become more prevalent until at the very center of the journey the Lift stops before a massive Mural depicting the siege that dominates a hollowed-out chamber lit with Runes. The length of the journey is such that the Lift actually pausesfor a solid ten seconds at this juncture before moving upwards. Perhaps It could be smoothed out into a single continuous journey, and you don't doubt it was well within the Ancestor's capability to do so...
But Morgrim saw it fitting that whoever rode this creation would have the time to behold this piece of art, to know and truly see the bonds made in that crucible. A monument, and reminder in equal measure.
Your eyes do not turn away from the image, even as the platform begins smoothly ascending once more.
…
As below, so above.
Griffon iconography and imagery grows more and more everpresent as you climb higher and higher.
Where below it spoke of the Ancestors and the journey from Zorn, culminating into the siege, the reverse is shown from that point forward. Carvings of Griffons being armed and interacting with dwarfs fade away into the symbolic, yet jagged art they are rather fond of. Compared to the exacting precision and persistence of Dwarf artisanry, the claw marks are bestial and passionate. Yet still, you can see commonalities more than you do differences, at least in their purpose.
The imagery, you are told, exalts the pinnacles of their race. They have no written word in a manner your folk understand, using strong lines and powerful strikes to convey meaning and movement as a way to tell their stories. Thankfully, literal and interpreted Khazalid translations are helpfully provided on a thin line below each distinct image.
"She who Rides on Blizzard Winds, storm rider, lightning bearer, sundered thrice her kin's number in foes on the Darkest Day."
"He who Flies with Iron Wing, render of foes, warden of the peaks, girder of clutch of and kin, who saved the life of He who Girds the Many for the fifteenth time."
You snort at the translation of the latter name, written in fine print on the bottom corner of the mural.
Figures Dolgi would find himself here somehow.
All over the walls are so many more stories, each of individual griffons, living and dead, told in the marks and scratches on the stones.
But there, as you near the top of the mountain, the carvings shift from exultations and memories of individuals into the greatest stories and history of their people. Tales that tell of the Prince's grand hunts, of great beasts slain, and the first meeting of your two peoples. But carved in the largest space, and given the most prominence is the story of the King of the Skies, Lord of Air, the Living Thunder and his host of other titles.
The aptest description you can make, perhaps unsurprisingly, is that the King of the Skies is akin to an Ancestor in the myths and history of His people.
The stories tell of his deeds, the beasts he slew and the might he gained not only for himself but for his people in their consumption.
"From the Rolling Thunder, mastery of the lightning and storms," a scene of the King's silhouette falling, bolt in claw, down onto the crippled mass of Kholek.
"From the Burning Frost, dominion of wind and hail," written under a mural depicting a scene of the Griffon fighting Skozulladrakk alongside a series of marks that looked more like a meteor than Otrek frankly.
And as you reach your destination, a mural, carved with his own massive talons, depicts the King's first and perhaps most influential prey. The downed corpse of a massive troll dwarfed only by its progenitor, and standing atop its broken body, equally wounded, the depiction of the lightning-quick and passionate marks of a Griffon, the silhouette of something overtop its skull.
"From the Firstborn Scion of Greed, thought and reason."
You pull your wagon out of the lift and into the Aerie proper.
…
The construction is purely of Dwarfen make, but made with Griffons in mind, and marked by their habitation. Statues of titanic avians instead of the Ancestors, and pathways far wider than usual. "Homes" are more open than you're used to. Lacking doors, you can stare into the lit halls that lead into the greater system of caves and rooms that house entire lineages of Griffons. If you deigned to enter such a place, you'd find that more often than not the rooms were used to simply store a Griffon's accumulated treasures and trinkets near their nest. Pairs mate for life, and will not take another in the event of one's death. Sharing their treasures as a symbolic act of their union. The clutchings live within their parents' nest until they are of age, wherein they are given a portion of their parent's treasure and move out. Usually they simply hire the services of a Dwarf mason to tunnel into the earth and carve them out a cave of their own near to where their parents live. Unless invited, they will never enter that cave again.
For all of the Griffon's independence, they still are a community. Clutchlings are protected by any nearby adult, and order is maintained by the unwritten accord of the rest of the group bearing down on the offender.
The signs of the siege though, have perhaps dulled that territorial aggression. For the Griffon lineages, so you are told by Ebonbeak, have been congregating and acting together more communally. Closer to a Clan than they were a rough assemblage of individuals who shared an ancestor and tolerated the other's presences more than others.
Not your area of expertise though, for all that you kept making torques for them on the side.
You're certain that when Dolgi got his act together and became a Master he'd probably take over this task after you taught him the improved Rune of Speech.
But until then, you were the only source of continued communication between your people and theirs.
Precarious.
…
You are given a wide berth as you walk, a sign of respect amongst the Griffons. Territorial tendencies made them fiercely protective of their personal space near strangers and unwilling to give it up without good reason. That usually being deference or after a bit of posturing to cow one into place.
You glance around the massive cavern, spotting Morgrim's work on the innards of the peak. Not in any overt sense, but in the culmination of all the little parts and pieces your eyes spot. Pillars and walls that serve to keep the flow of bodies and traffic unimpeded, yet also make for spaces that would prove easy to defend by stout dwarfs or angry griffons should the need arise. The walls do not reach to the ceiling and in fact, a large amount of the space is simply air. Morgrim having taken into account your feathered allies ability to fly, all while opening space for more homes and future expansion. Leading out of the cavern, past a curtain wall that acts as another layer of defence, is the absolutely titanic opening out onto a sprawling complex of open-air platforms that even now the Griffons land on and launch from.
Griffon magic keeps the air breathable even this high up, more for your people's sake than theirs really, and stops any bad weather from assaulting the community within. Yet for all of that, Morgrim has made contingencies regardless. With the flick of a switch, a great portcullis can restrict access into the Aerie and turn the myriad of landing platforms into spike pits for any would-be invaders. In the cavern itself, several decorative pillars are collapsible and the structures laid out so that it was simple for the residents to get to the lift and into safety below while making it exceedingly difficult for attackers to do the same.
There were also traps of course.
Flame spewers, Quarreller positions, and hidden staircases that led to hidden bolt thrower emplacements all along the roof and upper half of the cavern. Made explicitly for drawfen allies to aid in the defence of this place.
The unspoken message is not hard to pick up on.
…
You finish your exploration of the Aerie and to no one's surprise find a perfect spot for your Rune Array.
Morgrim was no fool after all.
Situated just behind the portcullis and placed such that the entire outer area is perfectly within a potential Rune's area of effect, is a large central watchtower on the curtain wall.
Fitting that it was made to look like a Griffon, faced so that it was staring out the opening and at the open sky.
You stare at the bare grey stone, ready and waiting for the touch of a Runesmith to take it beyond its mundane nature into something
more. Already in your mind's eye you can see the finished array.
Disappointing Morgrim is not on the table today.
.118 A.P.
You tarp over the area, having gotten blessings from the King of the Sky the Griffons give you a wide berth as you work.
For days, then weeks, then months and finally years the sound of your chiselling becomes a constant for the denizens of The Stormpeak. You do not notice the changing of seasons, the passing of days nor the comings and goings of dwarf and Griffon. Only the Huskarls who have been assigned to come check on you every so often and deliver you food see you, and even then it is only during the short periods to take to rest and recuperate. It would not do for you to exhaust yourself and potentially ruin the array, no matter how infinitely small the chance of that happening is.
Here there can be no room for doubt, nor chance of failure.
The Rune takes shape.
…
The hammer rises, and falls swiftly after.
The chip of stone, the clink of Gromril hammerhead meeting the chisel and the repetition thereafter.
Over and over you strike the rockface.
You are a Runelord, a master of your craft and a figure of mighty deeds and legendary sagas.
But here?
Here you are a supplicant, working at the pleasure of the Ancestors. Perhaps not the Ancestor you imagined, but an Ancestor nonetheless. Morgrim the Clever, the Inventor, the Architect, the Eldest Son of Grimnir, Founder and Lord of Engineers and often overlooked for all that an Ancestor could be overlooked.
For all that he is associated with the intricacies of clever and sturdy engineering, Morgrim is still His Father's son. Drengi aside, it is perhaps His book that proves the ultimate testament that for all of Morgrim's genius in the profession He built from nothing, the Ancestor was one of the most knowledgeable individuals in the world in the art of not just killing His enemies, but not getting hurt doing so.
Whether by the intricate mechanisms of a finely tuned trap or the simplistic beauty of the Grudge Thrower, Morgrim is personally responsible for just as many terrible machines of war as He was cornerstones of dwarfen civilization.
So what could you possibly do that Morgrim already hasn't? Your traps pale in comparison, your ideas are but the babbling of a babe, and your experience practically non-existent compared to the Savant's mind that was applied in the construction of this place.
So you do none of that, and resolve to simply do what you can to its utmost limits.
Runes.
Very many Runes.
You could not improve on the work of Morgrim, but you swear on His Father's name that you will do all in your power that it will last long after you enter the Underearth.
Starting with the most potent defensive array you are aware of.
.122 A.P.
When the tarp falls, the Griffons of Stormpeak are greeted by the sight of fine Dwarfen Runes inscribed on the fine stone statue that overlooks their home.
The Ancestral Aegis hums, ever ready to shield those who gave so much in defence of their home, who had bled and struggled alongside them.
...let it be known to Him and His children that we recognize them as a people, different from us, but no less deserving of good intent and honourable treatment.
But the Gift Giver is not done. Throughout the Stormpeak he flits about like a summer breeze, following some unseen force that guides him from place to place wherein he inscribes the Dwarf Runes that have come to dominate the life of the denizens of Kraka Drakk.
In two years, every home is warded. In two years every vault is secured. In two years, the Gift Giver secures Stormpeak to the level it took him decades to raise Kraka Drakk to. Given that the Griffon's home is so much smaller and their population even more so, in comparison the feat is perhaps not as monstrously prodigious as it could be. But in other ways, it is far more important, for it sends a message to the Dwarfs of Kraka Drakk and perhaps the rest of the North of where Snorri the Gift Giver stands with Gromrilclad certainty.
These are our allies, and their home will be afforded all the protection I can offer.
Which in its own, minuscule way, says much about the sacrifice of the Branakroki* as it does the Runelord himself.
He would wake up to find four feathers on his bedside. Only having a moment to get a look before he is rightly smacked across the head by a pan and knocked back into unconsciousness by an irate High Priestess of Valaya whose younger colleagues watch in mute horror.
"What he gets for his damn tomfoolery. By Valaya he's actually trying to see if I'm going to kill him at this rate. Damn him if he wasn't responsible for my Grandson** becoming king, I actually would too…" she mutters before walking off, bumping into a thoroughly cowed Yorri who she simply glares at until she turns the corner.
…
GAIN:
Misc. Stuff:
- A length of Gromril Chain, a likely gift from Grungni Himself for no other Dwarf is capable of such skill and might. Yet for all it seems impossible, you feel like you must try. Rune Metal Side-branch Unlocked.
- A basket of woven metal, likely a gift from Valaya Herself, for it is so well made it boggles the mind. Two Runes burn on it whose purpose you know not… Research Unlocked.
- Aeries Warded! You have gone above and beyond the call of duty to turn the Stormpeak into a redoubt as well defended as the Karak it rests upon. Time will tell about the consequence of such an act, if any.
Standing
- +4 Standing, +10 Favour with the Brotherhood of Dron, new totals: Standing 3, Favours 10
- +3 Standing with Kraggi, new totals: Standing 3
- +2 Standing with Conservative Runesmiths, new totals: Standing 7
- +1 Standing with Radical Runesmiths, new totals: Standing 7
- Several New Contacts:
-- Runelords in Kraka Drakk
--- +12 Standing with Bara Steelplate, new totals: Standing 7
--- +12 Standing with Dwalin Thunderlung, new totals: Standing 7
--- +13 Standing with Lorna Hammerfall, new totals Standing 8
-- Runelords of the Far North
-- Senior Members of the Brotherhood
--- +6 Standing with Gorra Gromrileye, Runelord from Karak Varn, new total: Standing 1
--- +5 Standing with Bogrin Azurehammer, Runelord from Karak Eight Peaks, new totals: Standing 0
--- +6 Standing with Magda Copperlocks, Runelord from Karak Izril, new totals: Standing 1
--- +6 Standing with Modi Copperlocks, Runelord from Karak Izril, new totals: Standing 1
--- +5 Standing with Damin the Stoic, Runelord from Karaz a Karak, new totals: Standing 0
- Existing Standing and Favour Changes:
-- +1 Standing across Skarrenraz Ankor
-- + Standing with Brynna Gildedeyes, new totals: Standing 0, Favours 0
Research:
- Secrets of the Light Pt. 1 complete!
Light, so small a thing, such a simple thing, yet perhaps there is more to this ephemeral thing which makes gems gleam and gold glitter?
-- New Rune Unlocked! Rune of Refractions: Allows for very rudimentary manipulation of light that hits the Rune. Changing the direction, the colour, even splitting it into multiple weaker beams.
A nice trinket, fine perhaps for a toy, but it lacks the finesse or power to do much else.
-- Rune of Reflections rendered redundant.
- Dragon Ogre Autopsy complete!
Lightning and fury, ageless and hateful. Much of the corruption looks to be more spiritual than physical.
-- Rune Ingredients:
--- [T5] Suneater's Brain x1: The dead mind of one who saw the pact of the foulest kind be struck between primordial beast and dread thing beyond the veil of reality. The conscious and the evil has left, but the brain matter is potent regardless.
--- [T4] Dragon Ogre Shaggoth Heart x6
--- [T4] Dragon Ogre Shaggoth Brain x6
--- [T3] Dragon Ogre Shaggoth Blood x8
--- [T2] Dragon Ogre's Heart x15
--- [T2] Dragon Ogre's Blood x15
-- Structural Materials:
--- Dragon Ogre Skin, Bones and bits
--- Hide of the Suneater x1
- Voidstones complete!
The true death of a Greater Daemon, and the titanic explosion that comes from such an event held forever in stasis by that which is anathema to it.
-- Tier Revealed! [T4] Voidstone x7
* Branakroki - literal Khazalid for "Clever dark birds" if I'm not bungling my language?
** Reference to turn 3 Results for the keen-eyed. :^)
...
AN: Never again. Never again you hear me?! >:^I Interesting tidbits for those that would like to know. I imagine Griffon art to be very silhouette based in terms of imagery. Large jagged or swirling lines that accentuate features and convey movement, and would usperimpose silhouettes on top of each other to convey multiple meanings. What with lacking a written language and all that. Anyway enjoy the update and thanks for being so patient. As always C&C, but I won't see any till I wake up. I'm going to bed now. Nighty Night! :^)
