RHUNRIKKI STROLLAR (Warhammer Fantasy Golden Age Dwarf Runelord Quest)

[soulcake]

Spoiler

In the earliest days the Ancestors left the Southlands and the safety of Karak Zorn, forging a path of colonization that drew your peoples ever northwards. A time of colonization and great woe, for monsters of all size and shape stalked the lands, yet the Dawi prevailed; girded by Valaya's protection, armed with Grungni's craft and led by Valiant Grimnir's strategy your people carved their way along the great seams of gems and ore of the World's Edge; camps becoming homes, then fortresses, then finally the mighty Karaks. Izril, Azul, Eight Peaks, and many more minor Holds sprung up as your people made their way ever northwards. A people, a kingdom united in values and blood, from the Rubybeards, Copperlockes, Durazklad and Norgrimlings, great lineages would see themselves born in the fires of this great trek and tempered in its growth. Among this burgeoning kingdom and her many families, your line especially is held in great esteem, for you are the blood of Thungni, son of Grungni, the second Dwarf to ever learn the secret of the runes, who along with His Father spread them amongst your people to offer protection and destruction in equal measure. You are one of the lucky few who has the ability and privilege to partake in this sacred art, to live and die by its code as your master taught you and as you have taught your own apprentices.

Spoiler: Tough Stout Boy.

You are Snorri Klausson, a Runelord of the Karaz Ankor, descended from the line of Thungni and through him, Grungni, blessed by your

[ ]Relation: direct connection.
You can trace your lineage back from firstborn son to firstborn son. Named after Snorri, son of Grungni, brother of your great-great-grandfather, Thungni. (Gain: Direct bloodline descent from the Ancestor God of Runes. Heavy is the mountain of expectation, but great is the wealth within.)

[ ]Relation: close relation.
You trace your line from a daughter of Thungni, twice removed from the main line, the talent appearing was unexpected but not too odd. (Gain: A hill to a mountain is still quite a lot of earth though its bounty is meagre in comparison)

[X]Relation: distant bond.
You are, by the barest of definitions, a member of the clan of Thungni. Though dwarfs don't believe in the dilution of blood in such a sensem none expected you to do as well as you have. Especially compared to those of more direct descent. (Gain: A flat foundation, ripe for building something worthy of legend, but you'll have to haggle and bargain for the material.)

to the first two dwarfs to unlock the secrets of the runes.

But blood could only take you so far, ability must carry equal if not greater weight, especially so for you. Blood gave you the chance, but it does not make you a Runelord, blood does not bring the attention of a master. Especially not when your master is often your aunt or uncle, not when your master likely saw you dawdle as a babe in the security of the clan's home for years on end, then bumble as a beardling for even longer. No, your master

[ ]Master: Angkra Twenty Loops.
A Runelord of immense skill and mighty focus, a member of the Burudin, a daughter of Thungni. As an apprentice, the rune of protection she presented as her apprentice piece was so well crafted that her master supposedly called it acceptable(a true feat of skill as any dwarf will tell you.), as a journeyman she single-handedly created the Panoply of Gotrek. A masterwork set of armour so well made that Thane Gotrek Sharpeyes, a dwarf of such riches and exacting eye that even a Master Runesmith would find difficulty satisfying him, swore an oath to offer equal recompense lest he shame himself and his ancestors. An oath he, to this day, does not consider fulfilled. Upon attaining the rank of Master it took only a scant 5 decades for her to claim the venerable rank of Runelord. Under her, you were taught endurance and precision above all else. To the outside world, she was stoic and obstinate as the mountains themselves, in private you remember her kind smile and delicious stonebread. It was a reminder every day of the world's cruelty, that a woman so generous, had suffered so much. (Specialization: Armor and Talisman Runes, exacting precision and stonebread cookies.)

[ ]Master: Gottri Hammerspite.
As a beardling, Master Hammerspite broke his first hammer upon his master's anvil, an act that would define him. In the days since then, his hammering arm has gotten stronger far faster than his skill at making them. Which says much, considering kings pay fortunes for the things and Smednir himself once sniffed in approval at the sight of one. It was whispered amongst your fellow Apprentices that master Gottri's blows were so mightily furious that he broke a hammer for every twenty runes he made. Of course, that was a lie, you learned later from the Dwarf himself that it was actually every 17 runes. Shows what you know. So commonly did he break his hammers that Master Gottri became incredibly adept at making ever stronger hammers and ever more aware of the flaws he found in yours. You heard tales that Master Gottri himself took the field as a part of Grimnir's Throng, his bellowing call and thunderous blows rallying many a dwarf and smiting many a foe. Under him, your eye became keener than the truest axe edge, your metalworking the equal of any master blacksmith and your hammers second only to the Hammerspite himself. You equally remember running in fear as he began chortling in manic glee, the telltale sign that either the hammer he was using was bound to explode in a shower of magic and metal or the rune he was making would blind you for a week. (Specialization: Weapon and Banner Runes, hammers, blacksmithing.)

[X]Master: Yorri.
Master Yorri was odd, so odd in fact, that in comparison you were downright conservative. He bore no title, forsook all but his connection to the clan and was a recluse who rarely appeared for even the greatest of feasts. The fact that he took you on as an apprentice was considered an omen of things Great, or Terrible (you never knew with Master Yorri.) His reclusiveness extended to your instruction. Even now, when exchanging tales with your fellow masters from your days as apprentices do you even begin to uncover the oddities and differences in your instruction. But none could gainsay his results, for you were a Runelord and all must admit Yorri's beard was one of the longest they've ever seen. Still, there are parts that confuse you even now; you think you know why you had to cake that troll gut in the dough before frying it in oil then repeating the process seven times, but you still don't know why you had to raise a herd of goats. (Specialization: Esoteric/Exotic Runes, odd teachings, weird lessons and the taste for batter-fried troll gut.)

saw in you the spark of ability bright enough to be deemed worth their time cultivating, which considering they could have spent that time making runes of such awesome might and power as to be worth a king's whole treasury, was rather valuable.

You would prove them correct, a journeyman in 20 years, a master in 60 and the vaunted rank of Runelord in only a short 180 years? The Longbeards would tell you that it was far too fast for any dwarf to achieve, but it only took one tale of your deeds to make them grumble a tad bit quieter.

[ ]Deed: The Dazzling Doom of Kolstalarak the Vault Burner.
You joined a troupe of brave Dawi in their bid to slay cruel Kolstalarak the Vault Burner, a horrid drake who had rent a minor hold low and taken residence in the ruins of his rampage, holding the surviving dwarfs hostage as a meal for later. Through your runes, the dwarfs that day survived the great beast's scorching flame and sliced through his dread scales as if they were the shoddiest of apprentice work. For hours did that brave group hold the dragon's attention as you slowly clambered your way to the top of the beams that supported the great vaulted chamber it had made its lair in, then with a bellow worthy of Grimnir dropped from those lofty heights, Az in hand, and sundered the wyrm's head from its neck in a single strike. Your valour so inspired those brave Dawi, and the treasure you secured them so great (after returning what could be returned to those relatives that yet lived of course) that you earned their loyalty for that day forevermore and in return you girded them in the very remains of the beast the lot of you slew. This band of doughy warriors has served you with aplomb for decades, all of them you would gladly die for just as gladly as they would for you. (Gain: the allegiance of The Drakeslayers: unit of 80 heavily armoured Dwarf dragonslayers. Unbreakable, Unshakeable Loyalty, Rune Armor made from Gromril and Dragon parts.)

[ ]Deed: The Laborious Defense at the Peak Pass
You were part of an enterprising group of dwarfs who were setting up a large defensive rune array near the future Karak Kadrin. Your group specifically was tasked with examining and erecting defences around a large stone obelisk that Lord Grungni demanded to remain where you had found it. As you set about your assigned task of engraving various runes of protection around the growing curtain wall, the older smiths poked and prodded at the obelisk curiously, when suddenly the ghastly howl of demons was heard in the distance. A great horde of Slaaneshi hunters had broken the defensive perimeter, slaughtering the rangers and warriors that were meant to forewarn of an impending attack. To all of your horror, this happened right as many of the older runesmiths were well into the ritual taught to them by Lord Thungni, and they could not stop lest they and everyone in the camp were destroyed by the obelisk's violent explosion. With a grim determination about you, you taunted the demons heading towards your position, challenging them all to combat. Your bellowing voice and rage-inducing heckles drew a large enough horde to your position, relieving the defence around the obelisk itself. When the battle ended the survivors found you standing surrounded by hundreds of pulped bodies. Your armour dented, your hammer caked in gore, and your prospective masterwork, The Master Rune of Unyielding, etched on the banner blowing defiantly in the wind. Your work on the rune was enough to get the elder smiths to snort with approval in your general direction, and you found a few chances to get a peak and looksie at their work when they weren't looking *wink*
(Gain: The Master Rune of Unyielding: + Regeneration + Tireless + Steelskin, and progress to certain runes pertaining to magic and anti daemon runes.)

[X]Deed: The Gracious Gift of Ghastly Proportions.
In an act of foolishness that many, you included, would consider fit for a Beardling. You swore, well into your 40th tankard of ale, that you could create enough toys to gift every child in the Karak twice over before your oldest friend/ pain in the arse Korri Redmane could get one of his shoddy Masterwork axes out of that hovel he calls a workshop. When you woke the next day, head pounding and stomach grumbling, that oath stood out to you like an un-hammered nail in your mind. Though you swore it piss blind drunk and half out of spite, your conscience, your pride as a dwarf demanded you make good on your oath. In a feat that many of the members of the hold's craftsdwarfs speak of in awe to this very day, you created thousands of masterwork toys in the two months it took that Skrat eater Korri to make his masterwork axe. No sight was sweeter than the dumbfounded look on that tosser's face when you walked up to his clan's home and offered two sacks full of toys for the younglings to play with. Definitely not the look of wonderment and joy upon those young faces, innocent of the world's dangers, no sir. (Gain: Legendary deed: Gift Giver, DC reduction for requests and unique opportunities from Hold.)

AN: Hello it's me, I have made a dwarf quest my very first quest ever. A lot of it is inspired by several of the more prominent fantasy quests on both SB and SV, and the season of corporate greed and materialism we call Christmas/Holidays. Both Divided Loyalties and Drunken Dynasty especially, one for its meteoric growth and world building and the other for its stint as one of the older quests here. So you'll be playing as yer stout old boi Snorri as he trundles in the earliest days of the greatest empire in the Old World. A lot of the quest canon I've made to solidify the mechanics of runelore and the fluff to back it is drawn from a bunch of sources, some I've likely forgotten but I've sorta prodded both Boney and Torroar for minor input more recently. Anywho pls no posting for like a bit.

 

[soulcake]

Winning vote:

[X]Relation: distant bond.
[X]Master: Yorri.
[X]Deed: The Gracious Gift of Ghastly Proportions.

Click to shrink...

Note: All choices in this part synergize with each other to some degree, some more than others.
Master Yorri's odd ways and odd runes:
Along with your expected education, Master Yorri saw fit to have a dash of extra learning he believed any dwarf should have under their belt. Mostly in the form of runes, life advice and oddly enough a large library of troll related recipes. Gain:
- [Talismanic] Rune of Reflection: This rune allowed Master Yorri to bend the angle of any light that hit this rune towards a single point.
- [Talismanic] Rune of Sound: This rune allows the user to propagate sound in the direction it was facing.
- [Engineering/Talismanic] Rune of Animation: this rune allows you to animate golems.
- [Engineering/ Talismanic] Master Rune of Animation: Somehow Master Yorri knew of this most prized rune.
Rise living earth, stone and metal, the Ancestors call upon you to aid their people. The stuff of the Earth given motion. Strike like an avalanche, endure like the peaks you were hewn from...
- [Weapon] Master Rune of Currents: A rune that enhanced the weapon's speed, cutting ability and gave the user an enhanced ability to see openings in their foe's movements.
Like the howling wind at the mountain's peak, it may be diverted, shoved or ignored, but no weapon bearing this rune will ever truly be denied its course…
- A bunch of other minor weird runes.
- A Bunch of weird knowledge and life lessons.
- Troll-based Recipe book
- Student of the Odd: Researching Talismanic and Engineering Runes applies a free action's worth of progress every 3 actions.
Legendary Deed: Gift Giver
Good Snorri the Gift Giver worked like a dwarf possessed for two straight months and made toys that were like no other. Each and every one unique from the last, made with care and precision that boggled even the most critical longbeard. The sight of haggard dwarfs dragging bulk orders of wood, metal and stone to his workshop only to run back out for more was constant during his mad rush of inspired creation. So heavy was the traffic that it led to the hold's guilds growing in wealth by 15% from his actions alone, and led to new and more efficient ways of managing the foot traffic of the hold itself. To the beardlings however, Snorri's gifts were treasured and appreciated, heirlooms that have been passed down and held in high esteem. Holding a toy made by the Gift Giver is a sign of some minor prestige and a symbol of a shared past. While less famous than our people's ability to remember every slight, so too do the Dawi remember every gift and kindness and seek to repay it. Now these beardlings are grown, with families and careers of their own, but like any dwarf, they will never forget. If any aid can be rendered, if they are called, they will answer as best they can.
Gain:
- Productivity like no other: Every two actions spent on fulfilling requests will add one more free action of progress. Ex: A request takes 3 actions to complete, Snorri uses 2, it will instead count as 3.
- The Debt of the Young: Snorri will be shown greater deference by youth and elderly, the former for the debt owed, and the latter for the sheer skill of the act itself. Mostly Narrative but a chance to procc in some scenarios.
- +2* Standing with Both Radical and Conservative Runesmiths (Distant Relation + Deed itself compounded)

...​

The workshop is brightly lit, runes in strategic locations that maintain a consistent level of brightness throughout the chambers. The area itself is temporary, only a decade or two really, a more permanent version to be done once you've settled into your new home for the foreseeable future. In one corner, currently unpacked is a trunk full of paints, and woodworking equipment.

You swore you'd never do that madness with the toys again, but that didn't mean you would stop making toys forever. Just, not as much, Ancestors please never that many again. As it is, you've found a small hobby creating toys in your off time, then every month or so, covertly selling them off at the nearest temples of Valaya or local Foundling homes. It's good practice for the hands, what with the careful and precise movement, a good way to unwind after a hard day's work, and it's not like you could hoard toys in your house like some madman. It's good, practical sense, certainly not because you enjoy bringing cheer to beardlings, no sir.

Next to that however is another trunk full of Pots and Pans. You've grown used to Master Yorri's odd cooking that you've actually lost the taste for most regular dwarf cooking. That simply would not do, as Master Yorri once said, A preference is normal, but a specialty is a crutch, so you've taken the effort to make your meals yourself. It isn't a difficult thing to do, but you've found that you have a preference for baking, finding that baking had enough commonalities to runesmithing as to be understandable. It definitely wasn't because your stews tasted horrid or because you had grown a tad too isolationist as to not enjoy being surrounded by other dwarfs. No sir.

But right now, your thoughts were not even remotely near that part of the shop, instead, your entire being was centered around the forge, embers flying off the anvil head while you hammered away at the glowing metal. In your mind, the chant rises unbidden, centuries of routine coming into play once more.

Sing the hymn of Throkki the Bold, and on the third stanza strike the hammer with four times the force.

With steady hand and iron will lift the weapon skyward glinting in moonlit night and quench it in freshest snowmelt.

Hold it there for five heartbeats then raise it once more, strike eight times while the metal steams.

Let fire and steam fill your forge, then at dawn's light strike the last time and let the rune be sung onto the firmament.

Spoiler

The ancient chant fades slowly into the background of your mind as you gazed upon the rune glowing brightly on the surface of the axe head. The necessity of the chant for a dwarf of your skill was minimal to non-existent. As all runesmiths eventually learn, the chants were not truly necessary; they were but waystations, guideposts left by the ancestors to aid the bumbling beardlings of future generations get things right. The wording and rhythm of each individual chant passed on from one generation to the next with an exacting precision that only a runesmith would demand. Done over thousands of times in one's lifetime the rhythm became ingrained, the movements second nature and the chant less necessary. A chant for each and every rune, and there were plenty of runes, to be memorized, stored and brought out from the depths of the mind without erring; there were reasons why apprenticeships took decades for most. A necessity for your craft, for runesmiths rarely wrote anything down for a myriad of reasons, pride and paranoia only being the two most prominent.

The official reason is to keep our enemies from stealing our secrets, the real reason is that Runesmiths don't like sharing with just anyone beardling, Master Yorri's voice echoed from your mind.

And mind that troll liver, you're leaving it in the pan too long.

But enough wool-gathering.

You lower the axe gently down onto the wheeled weapon rack, the set of five now ready for the customer to pick up in three days' time. Then with an ease born from experiencing hundreds of winters, you take off the armoured apron with all its myriad of straps and layers in a manner of seconds, putting the runed piece of clothing away

[ ]Apprentice: Yourself.
You huff as you carefully slide the apparatus onto its rack. An apprentice would undoubtedly take too long and you'd be stuck waiting an extra four seconds for the beardling to catch up with you, but in comparison to lifting a good few dozen pounds of metal, four seconds didn't seem like such a bother. Not that you'd ever let the apprentice know that of course, no elder would be caught dead calling an apprentice useful unless they'd done something truly magnificent, and even then there'd be a criticism to go along with it. Bah! Despite anyone's claims otherwise, most dwarf masters enjoyed the free labour and chance to teach, rant and grumble at someone who took their word as law. (Gain: Freedom! Actions that would otherwise be done by your free labourers apprentices are instead left to you to do.)

[X]Apprentice: for your apprentice(s) to put away.
It'd be good for the beardlings to get more experience with proper maintenance and device care. A runesmith, nay, any good dwarf would never mistreat their tools! You carefully school your expression and make the effort to look unperturbed as you head to the door, taking your precious time to wait for them to put away the protective gear. You don't show even a hint of relaxation, doing the time-honoured tradition of looking incredibly grumbly and impatient as they rushed over to await further instruction. (Gain: opportunities or favour, with who or what depending on the apprentice's background and possible action bonuses. Lose: an action a turn is devoted to teaching. Beardlings/Plaitlings! These wide-eyed little relatives of yours depend on you to teach them the proper way to do things like a Runesmith ought to do! A Runelord with an apprentice is uncommon, but not so uncommon that it is considered odd! Triggers Apprentice sub vote:)

Patting yourself down a final time you huff in a manner approaching contentment and with a simple tap of your hammer, the runes on the door glow brightly. A solid wall grows a seam down the center before both sides slide away from the other. Opening the chamber to the outside for the brief moment it takes you to step past it before another smaller tap sends both sides crashing back into each other to fuse back into a solid edifice of granite and metal.

Nothing makes you happy the way seeing good, solid runework performing its function properly does.

Arms on your hips you gaze out across the whole of

[ ]Home: Karak Azul.
The forges never cease in the Iron Peak, the scent of charcoal and ore waft through the halls of the hold like the scent of bread in a baker's shop. The great roadways are clogged with the orderly traffic of dwarfs going about their day and the heavy carts that haul the earth's bounty up from the mines to be refined. The telltale sign of the runes that strengthen bridges, light the paths and keep the air clean is everywhere. This is no piece fresh out of the forges, Azul has been active for a good few centuries and it shows. With Izril to the south and Eight Peaks to the west, you lack for very little in terms of material, and though dwarfs are never one to put something for sale less than it was worth, the density of smiths and metalworkers in Azul means that quality worth a hefty pouch of coin in other holds is simply the base standard for any craftsdwarf worth their beard or plaits. A Runesmith will always have work in Azul, but it isn't particularly novel work. Often enough it's a blacksmith who seeks to have one of their pieces enchanted to be strengthened and improved in the way only the runes can achieve. Though there are rumblings about a colonizing convoy following the mountains northward coming from Izril in a few decades. Planning takes time as all dwarfs know. (Gain: The Iron Peak, the hold is established and well connected. There is always work for a Runesmith in a place so famed for its tools and crafts. The majority of requests will be weapon and armour-based. Few chances for unique rune events. Convoy heading northeast from Izril)

[ ]Home: Karaz a Karak.
Valaya, wife of Grungni, is very fond of this place and it is here where her husband rules, though he isn't currently present, off completing the founding of Karak Ungor. It is Snorri Whitebeard, heir apparent, who rules in his absence, as fair and just as any king could hope his eldest to be. Karaz A Karak's central location in the greater realm along with its status as the hold the ancestors are most often seen in has given it a bit of cultural traction as it were. While it's getting along fairly well there are a great many tasks yet to be done, work that requires a dwarf of your expertise along with the many other runesmiths who have taken up residence here. Anydwarf with half a brain can tell this place will be important to your people in the future, and you have a chance to be part of its foundation. Though you're likely to compete amongst your fellow runesmiths for the chance. Most of these beardlings will probably be no trouble and you're likely to get along with the runesmiths here, doesn't look good to argue when Valaya could stumble in on you competing over the number of grey hairs in your beard. Embarrassing yourself in front of an elder was one thing, some would say a right of passage in its own odd way, but one of the Ancestors? You could only shudder. (Gain: The Everpeak, the future Capital of your people (not that you know that yet) and currently in the midst of construction. While many of the basics are already built, several pieces of infrastructure are looking rather bereft of any runes. You and your fellow smiths are likely to tussle it out for the honour to do so, and in the act maybe gain the approval of the most important individuals of your race.)

[X]Home: Kraka Drakk.
The winter chill gives you another in the long list of reasons you're thankful for your beard and the runic enchantments on your clothes to keep you warm. Around you, dwarfs bustle about with purpose and dignity, following the traditional steps in which a hold is founded according to Valaya, a rather barebones town on the surface is where most of you are holed up until the main halls are built. Many of the families here are young by the standards for your people, only fullbeards really, with enough elders to keep everything proper and make sure things are done right. Many of the older runesmiths, your fellow Runelords included, who were part of the initial convoy have continued on further north. You've volunteered to stay here and keep an eye on things with plans to join your fellows up north in a century or two. Couldn't be having these youngin's bumbling about without proper guidance, a three-hundred-year-old in charge of anything outside his workshop was poppycock. Really, you're one of the oldest dwarfs in the entire settlement now, and with that comes a level of responsibility any self-respecting dwarf would shoulder for the sake of their people. You suppose it should settle down in a century or two when you get more longbeards coming up to knock some sense into these beardlings, but for the time being, you'll likely have far more work than even YOU can handle at once, and that says a lot. (Gain; The Dragon Hold, the potential future capital of the Norse dwarfs, right now it's a hovel of a town built at the site where a great Frost Wyrm was slain. Magic blows strongly compared to the south, but you're not likely to do anything to harness it while the hold is in its current state. Work is plentiful and material in short supply.)

and snort. There is work to be done, but first a small drink break.

Shoving your hand down into the pouch hanging off your belt, you pull out a piece of troll jerky and take a bite, chewing quietly as you walk towards the nearest Bar.

You made your own food, but Ancestors be damned if you'd ever try making your own Brew.

Snorri, what've you done Beardling? All you had to do was tap the barrel boy, how did this happen?! Ancestors preserve me and get the mop, we have to clean this up before Okri sees this mess and we're both shamed.

No good would come of it.

AN: Here it is folks, gonna be updating the front page with your goodies. The turns for realsies are coming real soon, so if there's any confusion about how legendary deed's buff works please save the question till then and see if my explanation in that post answers it. (who am I kidding I'll probably answer it anyway, do whatever?)

Anyone who's plan voting please put the choices of the plan inside an indent, and anyone who votes for that plan, just copy the plan name instead of the whole vote, just so I don't hurt my brain. Thank you. SIDE NOTE: Turns will probably be plan based mostly. Ill note if a decision should be made outside of a plan vote.

Spoiler: Plan vote Example

[ ] Plan: Big Beard
- [ ] choice
- [ ] choice
- [ ] choice

anyone who wants plan big beard just posts
[ ] Plan: Big Beard

to someone who knows how the tally system actually works please let me know if that actually does anything, I'm just following what was on some posts in other quests I follow. :^( Pls also let me know if you see any errors, unlike Snorri I am not a dwarf.

 

[soulcake]

Winning Vote

[X]Apprentice: for your apprentice(s) to put away.
[X]Home: Kraka Drakk.

Click to shrink...

Gain:
Apprentices: Free labour, Young dwarfs eager and willing to learn at your feet, paying for your time and their learning by doing odd jobs and small tasks you cant be arsed to do use to teach them the ways of your profession. A sacred task, necessary for dwarfen society to function.
Kraka Drakk: The Dragon Hold, a home in construction, yet to be carved into the mountain just yet. The land untamed, the resources untapped and the settlers unafraid. Many of the tasks will be related to infrastructure runes, enchanting tools and wards against the higher propensity of terrifying creatures as well as the forces Dum. No grobi though, or well, not as many as down south, hopefully it stays that way.
*DING DING* Deed Synergy! A Hold of the Indebted: You note that a large portion of the young families that are part of the settlement have come with their children, the thing of note however is that many of the children are playing with toys you remember making. The Enchanted Dancing Goat, the Grumbling Stone Doll, the Miniature Gob Lobber with little stuffed grobi for ammunition, and many more. Many of the hold's colonists are young dwarfs who remember their debts, and hearing you were heading north, chose to follow and settle down. What better way to repay you than make sure the hold you settle down in is a successful one?
*DING DING* Master Synergy! Master Yorri's book of odd places: A tome Master yorri penned, recording many of the oddest places he's visited over his many treks for inspiration as a journeyman. Several pages speak of odd places in the area you're in right now as well as a small letter that reads:

Snorri,

Bold of you to come north, I haven't been there since I was a journeyman off looking for new and exciting ways to cook troll and be inspired to make new runes. I remember leaving a few caches and markers about, nothing too large or ostentatious, but if you ever find yourself wanting to visit some of the places I wrote about in that there book I sent you, they'll help you out. Never did get much of a chance to explore them as much as I wanted to, but maybe they'll help you out.

Yours,
Yorri.

P.S. Season your pan more, it's shameful how poorly you keep your utensils, and I certainly taught you better. Can't fry troll steak on a pan that unseasoned.

...
​

Turning your head to glance at your charges for a moment, you take a moment and partake in the age-old sport Dwarfen Elders love to do.

Gazing at the Garazi(young ones) ominously and grumbling nonsensically.

Like all things dwarfs partake in, this age-old tradition is an art form passed down from elder to Garazi(young ones) the only way dwarfs know how to.

First-hand experience.

As your masters taught you, the art in the grumble is to make sure they know you're complaining about something, but be vague enough that they can't really be sure what it is you're complaining about, and of course, it can't be something they can actively fix. Can't have a good grumble if the problem gets fixed you see. Faced with this dilemma, any good young dwarf will work all the harder on what they can do to appease their elders, you should know since it worked on you back in those heady days of youth.

Your beard was so much shorter then.

The Apprentice, the young bright-eyed wisp of a dwarf whose future was to succeed (HA) their elders once the oldest of you succumbed to the ravages of time, further refining their art until they too became a crotchety old dwarf wondering why the youth were so foolish. For most clans, the apprentice was often the relative of their master or the child/grandchild of a very close friend, their chosen craft often the trade of their clan or at least very closely related to it. Every child of that clan followed this age-old practice, carrying on the traditional craft of the clan or some trade-related to it for as long as dwarfs have existed.

Not so with the runesmiths; each and every runesmith's apprentice, while related by blood due to the nature of rune magic, was chosen for their ability and ability alone. Many a runesmith's son or daughter more often than not became a smith or engineer than they followed in their parent's profession. Your father, Gazul guard him, was a smith all his life, but by chance, the blood ran true and you were found with the sacred ability out of all of your siblings. So while these beardlings were related to you, that relation was more often through Thungni than it was your own immediate family. Especially so in your case.

[ ]Number: 1.
The apprentice will take up 1 of your actions every turn for at least 8 turns, after which you may decide if they're ready to progress to a journeyman or they require a bit more time learning. After 3 turns an apprentice's specialties become apparent, the bonus will grow until it matures at the minimum turn. The Apprentice will have 2 specialties, one from your two specialties and roll for the second from the overall pool.

[X]Number: 2.
Two of these little beardlings will still only take up 1 of your actions, but will instead take a minimum of 12 turns instead of 8, many of the lessons will be the same, but the extra time is for more personalized teaching depending on the apprentices' personal deficiencies(no master will ever say an apprentice has talents or specialties, only areas they aren't good in, at least to their apprentice). Both will receive their specialties at turn 3 and mature after the minimum threshold.

The apprentices themselves. Well right now none of them were much to sniff at, beardlings fresh from Kumenouht. But it's likely as you train them, they'll find something they'd be marginally better at failing than others.

Ah, those heady days of youth.

Looking at your apprentice(s)

[ ]Apprentice: Yokin Cobalteyes
Yokin is a youth of some 30 winters, named for his admittedly piercing blue eyes. A precocious fellow, Yokin spent most of his youth preparing to take up the art of Masonry as his father did before you saw him. Looking back at the lineage, his great-great-great-grandmother, who would be of an age with your cousin's grandmother, married into his great-great-great-grandfather's clan as part of a dual marriage ceremony. There's talent here for sure, quiet, methodical, meticulous from what you can tell, which is a lot thank you very much. Good traits to have in any runesmith.

[X]Apprentice: Dolgi Embermane
A shy young lad you met before moving to Kraka Drakk, Dolgi is rather anxious about meeting new people, but there's a quiet earnestness about him that makes most Longbeards grumble just that tiny bit quieter about him. Can't fault the lad for not trying hard enough, he's just saddled with his youth they would say(not in earshot of him of course). you can see him growing up to be a fine dwarf if you can coax the lad out of his shell a tad more. It boggles the mind that he was apparently shier before his grandmother got to him. Still, for all his quiet demeanour you won't lose him in a crowd or snowstorm, the boy's hair is the brightest shade of ruby you've seen in a good 200 years.

[X]Apprentice: Fjolla Igunsdottir
A Firebrand like no other. Fjolla is but a child in your eyes, but a prodigy not seen since the Twenty Loops potentially. At only 25, it's very very rare for a dwarf so young to leave home, but after conferring with her clan's elders there can be no doubt. To not cultivate this young lass' talents would be a great shame. Another reason, maybe the biggest reason at all, that her parents allowed it at all is because you're the girl's great-granduncle through your brother Hroki, and they trust you implicitly to keep her safe. Well, they're right about one thing, a dwarf fights all the harder when their family is behind them. That, and not wanting to go into the Underearth when it was your time, only to get yelled at by Hroki's spirit when you got there is just one in a list of many.

[Yorri'd]Apprentice: Joll Todriksson
Joll reminds you of your own master. Odd, but there's an underlying method to his oddity. Were you anyone else, you'd say Joll was fit to be a ranger with all his skill (for a beardling) at keeping quiet. But you aren't just anyone, you were a runelord and a student of one of the oddest runesmiths walking about the whole Karaz Ankor. If you don't take him you're sure Master Yorri would, the man's told you so himself. You can't say for sure who'd do a better job at teaching the lad, on one hand, Master Yorri would understand him instantly, on the other hand, he'd likely make the boy a runesmith even odder than himself. Bah.

you see that the flush on their cheeks was now just as much from embarrassment as it was the cold biting air of the far north.

Your mind wanders as your body deftly avoids the hustling and bustling of hardworking dwarfs going about the task of getting the hold settled so that the lot of you could get under some good solid stone. Taking a bit of amusement from hearing them stumble about behind you, doing their best to mimic your technique. Your thoughts are interrupted by a flash of light from the sun glinting off a shield and into your eye. Of course, you don't stumble or curse, showing weakness in front of an apprentice was a beardling's mistake, but you do look up into that great blue expanse and narrow your eyes at that big ball of fire hanging high over your head.

You glare mightily at the sun, snorting at it angrily. So angrily in fact, that the beardlings in a good five-metre radius stiffened up out of reflex before running about their tasks all the harder. Meanwhile, the few elders that were present nodded in your direction before beginning to grumble as well. This too was a time-honoured tradition, because the only thing more effective than one grumbling elder was a whole group of grumbling elders. Let it never be said that dwarfs can't make something useful out of a bad situation, you glance back down as you walk ever closer to the second largest building in the camp, the bar of course, grumbling about the sun the whole time.

You much preferred the moon anyway.

A good source for grumbling about though, as no dwarf can dim the sun you see.

AN: No matter the location you would've gotten a synergy from any of the masters and deeds, I will say that you did get one of the more interesting ones. Anywho after this, the turn vote starts proper and I start rolling. As always C&C any errors, since I definitely missed something. Sometimes I wonder if yall would've gone full Santa if I didn't say anything about my Christmas inspiration, then again, a lot of it was pretty overt.

 

[soulcake]

Winning Vote

[X]Numer: 2.
[X]Apprentice: Dolgi Embermane
[X]Apprentice: Fjolla Stokkisdottir

Click to shrink...

You let out a small sigh of contentment, lowering your fifth mug of ale as you patiently wait for your apprentices to arrive with their own drinks.

The nature of dwarf drinking etiquette is a clear affair. Most commonly, the bartender follows the order of arrival, should a group arrive the bartender serves according to age but depending on the bar either of these rules is interchangeable in importance. The only constant, the only certainty across every bar in the Karaz Ankor was thus;

Apprentices last.

You internally grimace, remembering how, in your youth, there would be times you would have to wait for hours to get a single tankard of brew.

It created an odd culture of apprentices coming to drink during the quieter hours of the day, which conveniently meant the bartenders had steady business throughout the day, and ample opportunity to train their own apprentices.

Classic Dwarf ingenuity at play.

Hearing a quiet thump across your table, you raise an eye to look at your two young wards who had finally gotten their drinks.

Dolgi and his signature mane of ruby red hair sit in stark contrast to your grandniece and her pale blond tresses. In his hand, a foaming mug of ale, while Fjolla was nursing a tankard of cider.

No ale til she was a good solid thirty, you remember her mother quietly asking you.

Waiting for the both of them to finish quaffing down their drinks, but not before they could settle down to relax, you stand up suddenly and bark out a quick order.

"Well, I hope you enjoyed the break beardlings because it's time to train!"

You clamp down on the desire to chortle at their dismayed faces. Dolgi wiping a bit of foam that had landed on his brow from when he dropped his tankard in surprise.

"Yes Master." they say loud enough to be respectful but quiet enough to not distract the other patrons.

Good, they were learning from last time.

...​

"Hurry up beardlings!" you shout to the two huffing dwarfs behind you.

"Yes master!" the both of them shout in unison.

While you were wearing your normal outfit, both of your apprentices were trailing behind you in padded suits of leather and wool with a good ten kilos of gravel on their back for good measure. You'd let them get used to the weight before raising it. Two days ought to do it.

They should be thankful really, better than watching out for Master Yorri's patented Pocket Troll Tongue for 5 years straight.

POCKET TONGUE BEARDLING.

You internally shudder at the memory of that eternally slimy slab of meat suddenly smacking you across the face at the oddest moments.

You huff quietly to yourself, it'd probably be best to slow down a tad, wouldn't want the Garazi too tuckered out to not appreciate what you were about to show them.

But if they were walking slowly, they could think all the faster.

"Fjolla!" you shout back at them, "recite the Rule of Pride for me, up to it!"

"No more than one item may carry the same combination of runes?" she shouts back in confusion.

"Was that a question beardling? Don't know the rules of the career you're entering, do you? Why, old Hroki would be rolling in his grave if he were here to witness this!" You shout back.

Despite their best efforts, you can hear them whispering to each other despite being a good 7 meters ahead of them.

"Oh? Cavorting with your fellow apprentice? Well Dolgi, spit it out then!"

"Master, the Rune of Pride says for each creation to be unique, bu-but we saw you engrave the same three runes on five different axes."

You slow down and turn to look at them both, eyes narrowed.

Best to let them stew and think they did something foolish, never seen anything funnier than a beardling try and backtrack. But alas, the moment can't last forever.

"Why now, was that a question that was a quarter of the way to halfway decent coming from one of you? My, my, maybe the both of you will make your first rune in this century if you keep it up! Well, I will grace you both with the answer...after you recite all of the rules of the runes to me, in unison! Up to it!"

They begin shouting the second you finish turning your head back around. Already you can hear Dolgi stutter and force the two of them to restart.

More than enough time to get to where you were going, and more importantly to come up with an answer that would make sense to them.

…​

"- Nor do they copy other Runesmith's work except as an apprentice!" they finish together just as the both of them reach the bottom of the hill where you were waiting.

"Bah! I could've done that chant a good 5 minutes faster than the both of you! Let that be a lesson, coordination is key when working with more than just yourself, don't go in with the ingredients for a rune of warding when your partner was chiselling a rune of preservation, you understand?"

"Yes master!" they shout back.

"Bah! Now, you're question. Sit down and listen good beardlings, because this is important," you say seriously while directing them to a bare rock.

"The rule of pride is tricky and takes a fair bit of know-how to understand and navigate. For example, did you count the number of Runes of Light in your hold? Probably not, but you can be damn sure that there were far more light runes than there were runesmiths. Does that mean whoever chiselled all those runes broke the Third Rule? Yes and no. In the literal sense yes they did, but unless you're a puritan, most other runesmiths have as well. On the other hand, using up every combination of the light rune is a waste of ingredients and ironically ends up with you getting closer and closer to breaking the Third Rule with little to show for it. Imagine wasting a rune to light a latrine, just so you could say you didn't break the Third Rule. And only ever making one Rune of Light is about as useful as a babe in the mine. Utter nonsense. Now, before you ask, yes, the apprentice technically can go past that one use rule, but no dwarf in their right mind is gonna pay for an apprentice to do something. So do you see the issue?" you say, waiting for one of them to reply.

"It's a question of doing what's practical and what was told to us?" Fjolla replies, brows scrunched up in confusion.

Heh, there's the bit of Hroki she inherited. Not the brow thanks the Ancestors, Hroki could bludgeon a dwarf with that, no she had the same crinkle whenever she got confused.

"Not horrendous, but still worse than terrible," you praise her, "It's a question of what's good for the hold and what's good for honouring the ancestors. You do good by aiding the hold, all those Runes of Light pay off in the long run, less fuel wasted on torches, less dirt to clean, more consistency, things like that. But following the tenets of our guild honours the ancestors, and some would argue that is more important. Personally, I'm of the mind that helping the hold prosper also honours the ancestors, and a hold that lasts longer and grows more prosperous also honours the ancestors. So me redoing a Rune of Light dozens of times ends up honouring the ancestors in its own way. Now, not every runesmith believes that, and you'll learn over time that there are some smiths you can share that opinion with, and others its best to keep your trap shut to keep the peace. Understand?"

"Yes master!" they shout.

Feh.

"Now!" you say loudly, "that doesn't mean we can't find a way to follow the tenet in another way. The Rule of Pride as some runesmiths reckon is meant to remind us that our work is an art form, a divine gift used to aid our people passed down from Thungni and Grungni. Whose gift we can partake in by virtue of our blood relation. So, these smiths will strive to make true works of runic excellence, something neither of you will get to do for a century or three just yet, as a tribute to Thungni. In their eyes, this thereby lets them follow the tenets of the Rule of Pride, for they've now made a work of art they can be proud of. What does this mean?"

"There-There are multiple ways dwarfs see things?" Dolgi says, cheeks as bright as his fiery mane of hair.

"Bah! And a good many dwarf will argue their way is the only way. Thungni knows when this whole debacle will get settled. Either way, even if the puritans end up being right, I'm going into the Underearth head held high no matter what they say. Because no matter what, I can say with clean conscience that I helped our people, maybe not in the way they want it to be done, but it's not like I was throwing around Master Runes to beardlings. Now, onto a lighter topic. Look over there garazi, what do you see?"

"A Col master!"

"Not just any Col beardlings, that Col," you pause, standing up for effect, "will be the site of my future workshop, and where you will learn the sacred art passed down from Master to Apprentice all the way back from Thungni." you finish, spreading your arms wide in the direction of the picturesque scene before you.

With a gesture, the three of you begin walking down the path.

And it is quite a sight. A naturally formed path in the rock, three dwarfs wide, leads straight to an octagonal divot fifty feet across from end to end, surrounded by solid granite on all sides. Safe from wind, with a natural choke point and close to the hold. It's the perfect place to tunnel into and fortify the living Ancestors out of.

It will be a fine home.

And as if called by those very same Ancestors, the piercing cry of an eagle fills the air.

Then, with little warning, a rumble beneath your feet grows audible, becoming strong enough to shake the walls around you.

"Master?" Fjolla says, looking at you wide-eyed.

"It's a damn rock slide!" you curse, turning quickly to your wards, "Both of you ge-" you start to say before the roar grows deafening.

Thinking quickly, you leap atop the two of them, shielding their bodies with yours. By Grungni you'd make sure these two would live, even if it killed you. The next five minutes are spent in silent terror for you and audible terror for your two diminutive charges huddled under you. You make no sound as rocks the size of a fist impact against your body, keeping up a facade of stoicism for the two young ones to cling to as you ride out the worst of it.

When at last it ends, you raise your head and glare at the mountains, one part to watch for further activity and the other in anger.

Scare your apprentices will you mountain? Well, you'd show this place what for soon enough.

Speaking of charges, you glance down at the two huddled dwarfs, clinging to each other for dear life.

"Up now beardlings," you say softly, "the danger's passed, let's get out of-" you stop, looking up to sniff the air.

"Master?" Dolgi says quietly.

"Hush now beardling, I think I sniff...no. No, it can't be," you look back at the both of them, "both of you stand atop the hill and wait for my return, I'll be back in five minutes, I swear on my beard."

Satisfied by the seriousness of your oath, the two of them scramble back and do as they're told.

You meanwhile, push aside the rock and debris with the strength only age, a bit of anger and a hardy dwarfen diet can give until you reach the source of the smell.

Crouching low, you pick up a rock and sniff it, then take an even bigger sniff, then you give it a truly mighty whiff.

Yes, you're no miner but you're certain.

Gromril.

You're very difficult to hate now Mountain, but not even Gromril can make me like you.

Shoving aside more rocks, you see that the rockslide tore open a hole into a naturally formed cavern, and inside you see something that makes your eyes bug out and your mouth damn near hangs open.

That's a lot of Gromril.

Lifting a steel rod out of your pocket, you quietly activate the light rune at its tip, exposing more of the cavern and making sure you're not hallucinating.

It leaves you breathless.

A large, roughly octagonal, cavern some 100 feet across stared back at you. Bubbling quietly, a subterranean stream cuts across the whole area diagonally, glowing fungi growing along the banks, seams of silvery Gromril as thick as a dwarf was tall cover the walls, while giant brilliant geodes lie cracked open from the rockslide, their turquoise crystals reflecting the light of your rune torch in all directions. The natural beauty amazes even your exacting standards, what's more, your stupefied and potentially concussed mind notes how the silvery tint of the Gromril glints even more brilliantly with the blue light, looking as if energy is suffusing its entire being. It may be a trick of the light, but sometimes, in the very corner of your eyes, you see the metal glow brilliant silver and other times mayhaps even purest white.

Well.

Maybe your apprentices deserve a bit of stonebread, and you the hardest drink you can find.

...​

Due to an exploding crit, it was discovered that the former site of your future workshop was home to an extensive source of Gromril! Good thing you technically own the land! Kraka Drakk is likely to see a lot more traffic due to the newly christened, "Dragon's Hoard" drawing miners like...well miners to Gromril, not much compares to it really. Consequently, the dwarfs who followed you up north because of your deed feel a very strong sense of vindication.
Gain:
- Epiphany, The Rune Metal: It wasn't a concussion damn it, well it wasn't just a concussion, you know what you saw damn it!
- A Shiny Geode: Doesn't make up for the bruises, or the lost workshop space, or the frightened beardlings, but some days a miner digs up nothing but dirt.
- Epic Deed: The Dragon's Hoard.
They say Old Snorri's nose was so sensitive that he sniffed out a great seam of Gromril through 20 feet of granite just to help his hold.
- +2 to sniffing?

...​

You have (5 - 1) = 4 actions this turn:
General:
[ ] Find a new Workshop: Now that you're original site is the scene of a rather large Gromril find, you'll have to find a new place to set up shop. At least the funds you'll be receiving from the future Gromril mine helps ease the pain. [Cost: 1 action]
[ ] Odd Places 1/10: Look on Master Yorri's map and try and discover one of his marked locations. The locations will certainly be odd, but whether they'll be useful remains to be seen. [Cost: 1 action] Roll for usefulness.
[X] Teach your apprentices. [Cost: 1 Action] Locked in for 12 turns.

Requests:
[ ] [Simple]Rush Job: The discovery of a large seam of Gromril has left you with a surplus of requests to equip the miners of the hold with the proper gear to get at that motherlode as quickly as possible. [Cost: 2 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc.
[ ] [Simple]Rune. Those. Halls!: A goodly amount of the future main hall has been excavated and are in desperate need of a good runic...eh be-rune-ing? It needs runes alright? [Cost: 4 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc.

Research: Your career and your honour demand you hone your craft, and it's usually done through poking at runes and seeing what works.
[ ] The Secrets of Light?: That moment with the shield and sunray, the light of your torch glinting off the crystal, both sparked something in your mind. An ember that refused to be burned out. You've done permutations to the standard Rune of Light and a few on Master Yorri's Rune of Reflection, but maybe there could be more?[Cost: (8-2)=6 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc
[ ] The Movement of things: The Rune of Waking or Animation as some would call it is a rare rune. How Master Yorri knows both the regular and Master Rune could be explained by either a harrowing adventure full of terror, beasties and treasure or by something as mundane as asking a friend, you could never be sure with the man. Still, this was a rune that, to your frustration, you haven't had much chance to tinker with. Maybe just a peak? [Cost: 8 actions] Student of the Odd will proc.
[-] The Rune Metal: The miners say all the Gromril's as pure as anything they've ever seen, purer even, but no word of brilliant silver or pure white streaks. Coming back to the cave days later to see for yourself and you can't say they're lying either. But yet… but yet you can't, almost refuse to get the image out of your head. Maybe it's nothing, but maybe it may not be. [Cost: ???-1 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc. Locked due to lack of a proper workshop.

[-] Understand a Master Rune: The same idea as studying any rune in theory, in practice it takes a lot longer and there's often a large chance of explosions. [Cost: 16 actions] Locked due to lack of a proper workshop.

PLEASE VOTE BY PLAN:
How Turns Work
​

I've added it to the "Mechanics" Threadmark under Informational, but for the sake of convenience, I'll post it here too.

Turns:

1. A turn is 10 years long. Snorri's actions are limited, as, by Dwarf reckoning, nothing worth doing is done quickly. A turn consists of 5 actions you can take from a list with write-ins pending QM approval.
   1. Actions:
      Actions are the lifeblood of a turn, each turn you'll have 5 actions to use and must spend them accordingly. The action cost of something is exactly that, how many actions it will take to complete. So you can choose to take a turn or two to do something that takes 4 actions or do it in one turn.
      1. Action Bonuses: As you've seen. You can rack up bonuses to certain types of action. Productivity Like No Other for instance, means you get 3 actions worth of progress for every 2 you input to a request. Thereby saving you a theoretical action. Now, if you use one action in one turn and an action the turn after on a request, Productivity Like No Other will not proc mostly to symbolize you putting in the effort and because I don't wanna keep track of action inputs across turns.
      2. Overflow: In requests overflow simply improves your end product unless its part of a chain of actions with overflow at the end improving the whole chain. In research, overflow is more tricky. Depending on what you're doing it may carry over to future research actions or it may end up doing nothing at all.​
   2. Requests:
      Requests fall into two categories. Simple and Difficult. Both are done the same way, it's just that Simple requests for runed items where I won't let you pick which runes go on which item. Like, a simple request would be to fill an order of 100 runed pickaxes, I'm sure you don't want to pick a list of three runes for every last one yeah?
      
      
      Difficult requests are, more often than not, the singular custom pieces or sets of pieces. There's a bit of choice here. You can make the decision over which runes to use, you can choose not to and let me decide, or give a theme you want me to follow. These are often for individuals and characters, but not always.​
   3. Research(As an action):
      1. Rune Research:
         As a runelord of the Dwarfen Golden Age. You have a rune for almost any situation. That axe not cutting good enough? Rune. Is the armour not strong enough? Rune. Runes upon runes upon even more runes are at your disposal. For the sake of all our sanities and to minimize bookkeeping, it's all but assured you will have a rune for most mundane situations. Researching and creating new runes then will be more limited by virtue of you having most everything already than it is your ability to think of new things. This, of course, doesn't apply to Master Runes. Further, there are runic "tech trees" if you will that I have been cooking up for some time, and depending on how things go you may be able to progress down those paths as well.
         
         
         In short, unless it's a research option, you're likely to have a common rune for that problem already, and if you don't, you need to unlock the problem first before you can get to solve it.​
      2. Other Research:
         As a Runelord, you will always be looking for inspiration to devise new runes and sometimes solve problems in more mundane, less fun, ways than with runes. Any oddity or idea you may have will appear on here.
      3. Epiphanies:
         Epiphanies are moments in the quest where you realize something important about something. Some will simply be boosts to research, others will unlock entirely new tech trees. Epiphanies are triggered by certain actions you do and by rolls that I'm keeping track of in my master sheet.​

AN: Welp here we go, @CuttleFish2.0 's d3 was to decide which roll your +5 was added to, which ended up being your nat 100, thereby making an exploding crit, which then rolled 90. I'm not salty. Not at all. :^( C&C as always, jesus my plans are not dead, but definitely borked.

 

[soulcake]

Winning Vote:

[X] Plan exploit the Gromil
-[X] Find a new Workshop: Now that you're original site is the scene of a rather large Gromril find, you'll have to find a new place to set up shop, at least the funds you'll be receiving from the future Gromril mine helps ease the pain. [Cost: 1 action]
-[X] Teach your apprentices. [Cost: 1 Action] Locked in for 12 turns.
-[X] [Simple]Rush Job: The discovery of a large seam of Gromril has left you with a surplus of requests to equip the miners of the hold with the proper gear to get at that motherlode as quickly as possible. [Cost: 2 actions]Productivity Like No Other will proc.
--[X] 2 actions
-[X] [Simple]Rune. Those. Halls!: A goodly amount of the future main hall has been excavated and are in desperate need of a good runic...eh be-rune-ing? It needs runes alright? [Cost: 4 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc.
--[X] 1 Action.

Click to shrink...

The decade begins in a flurry of activity. The settling of a hold, an already hectic affair, compounded by the discovery of one of the largest seams of Gromril in the north so far creates an atmosphere of energized activity. This massive discovery would have split the workforce dedicated to settling the hold in two, for no dwarf in their right mind just leaves Gromril out and unmined. Thankfully, news of your discovery travels as quickly as only a Gromril find can, and over the coming years, dwarfs begin migrating to your little home in the north. Most are relatives of those already here, clan members called at request or by their own initiative. But a few clans begin moving north wholesale, the largest, Clan Hardpick, coming specifically to Kraka Drakk to help get at that sweetest of ores.

But of course, Gromril doesn't just attract miners.

They come, in their handfuls, journeymen and young masters begin making their way northward hoping to ply their trade in the now confirmed bounty of the north.

To your consternation, a few young master runesmiths, barely into their 3rd century, pass by your little temporary set up to pay respects when they arrive.

You don't like it.

Not because you're some antisocial secret hoarder, but simply because it's shameful to host company in a place like this! Damn hut will barely last the century before you need to do repairs, absolutely shameful.

So in those early months after your fortuitous mishap, you begin scouring the area looking for a new place to plant down your workshop.

In the end, you do find a new spot, a large set of crags jutting out from the cliff face just so, framing the crack in the mountainside like a doorframe. Behind that, a large seam, four dwarfs wide, makes its way into the rock, the light of the sun breaking through intermittently from holes in the ceiling, eventually leading up to a small cave entrance. Inside is far less beautiful than what you saw in The Dragon's Hoard, but that just means you didn't feel as bad when you set about fortifying it.

Hiring a few good architects, they draft a plan that suits your needs and soon enough a small crew of stout longbeards is toiling away in your chosen spot, building a home befitting a Runelord in the course of a year.

Behind a good four meters of hard, rune fortified, granite, is the entrance hall. A small thing, only 10 meters from floor to ceiling and 25 meters across, it serves its purpose as both a place to entertain guests and fortified killzone with aplomb. Branching out from the back of the room is one main hallway that branches out into three separate hallways, the west leads to your room, the east your charges, and continuing down the central hallway your workshop.

Consequently, the central path is also the most heavily fortified.

While the longbeard masons and woodworkers go about building, their bright-eyed young apprentices are busy hauling your furniture in and the scrap stone out with the vigour only a beardling being watched by dozens of elders can achieve.

They furnish every square foot save for your workshop, whose dimensions they carve out of the hard granite with extra attention. Leaving its furnishing and completion solely in your hands, as tradition and good sense demands.

So it is with the vigour of an elder denied his first choice, suffering a few bruises, and forced to live in a hut that will barely last two centuries, that you get about setting up your future place of work.

Runes of Light and Air, just as in the rest of the building, are set up first, clearing the air and giving the room a consistent level of brightness. Structural supports hardened with Runes of fortification, the main area marked with Runes of Warding and Preservation. But most importantly, the area where you will conduct your most sensitive research is warded with some of the most potent Runes of Protection for threats within and without.

Do you trust it to handle the potential magical feedback of experimenting with a Master Rune? Only if you were insane, but this area could handle most anything else.

You needed something special for this workshop to handle the awesome might of handling something as inherently powerful as a Master Rune.

With everything square away and room for expansion built into the base of the plan, you've got a fine workshop and home to go about doing your duties in, with room to build up over time.

Defence in depth my apprentice! POCKET TONGUE, HA HA!

In the privacy of your warded room, you shudder.

…​

It was good that you had your workshop squared away because it made the next few years bearable.

Taking up a request from the Hold's ruling council, you set about making enough runic pickaxes to get some good progress done on that Gromril mine. Now, the request did state they only needed enough picks and shovels to be handed to the oldest and most skilled miners, but by your reckoning, that number of picks and shovels split between building the hold and mining Gromril just wouldn't do.

So, with the intuition only the elderly could possess, you saw fit to double the order. Now, the tricky part, as you begin to explain to your charges, is that the Dwarfen contracts, in spirit, demanded equal compensation for the work done. But being a people who prided themselves on doing more with less, it was common enough for craftsmen to go beyond the bounds of the contract. This, of course, meant the craftsman had now arguably given something worth more than they were receiving, and to some this too would not do. The client, therefore while not honour-bound, was heavily incentivized to compensate the Craftsman for the extra work done. This happened often enough that it became a tradition to have a percentage of the commission in reserve for just such an occasion. It became so common, in fact, that reckoners began to account for it in their rulings, and eventually, the practice became a normal part of most traditional, and therefore proper, Dwarfen contracts.

Now, there were just as many craftsmen who adhered to the contract, both in word and in spirit, because by their reckoning all this faffing about with extra compensation was not what the client asked for. Such a division could be seen along trade lines, with artisans and specialty crafts, runesmiths included, often being the type to overdo things, while masons, cabinet makers and engineers tended to adhere to the latter. But more often than not it all came down to the orders themselves. After all, someone ordering a bag of nails at a certain length probably didn't want as much flair as a thane commissioning a tapestry for his wife.

As a runesmith, one was expected to navigate this array of social dynamics and create the best possible item they could make for their client. Because Dwarfen honour, a craftsman's pride and basic decency demanded no less.

When the Dwarfs who came to collect the hold's order arrived, the longbeard in charge simply ordered one of the apprentices to call for more carts and to get the extra compensation ready. Tales of your prodigious production capabilities were clearly no exaggeration as even the extra carts could not contain the sum total of the order. The Longbeard apologized for the inconvenience before bellowing for yet more carts.

…​

With the order out of the way, the rest of your efforts were spent setting up runes in the newly excavated portions of the hold. A rather standard affair all things considered, Runes of Light, Protection and Preservation were applied as needed, and you got the Main hall covered properly. The sight of you inscribing Runes while your apprentices were following the motions on clay tablets while wearing gloves that restricted their dexterity and forced to recite the Chant associated with that Rune became a common one. But much to your consternation the dwarfs of the hold had already moved along and excavated enough of the arterial hallways that there were clans now moving in and carving their homes out of the stone as well. Making yet more future work to be sure.

Bah, better to suffer too much success than not enough, but it was best to be exactly on schedule.

Your fault really, you'd admit that much, but it was also those beardlings fault for not taking your sheer productivity into account.

Shameful really, you did better in your day with only a half-sharpened chisel and a sheet of limestone of all things, yeuch. Terrible surface to inscribe on in your opinion, no rock should be that soft.

Still, with the hall completed, it made for a good place to celebrate your grandniece's coming of age.

It was a joyous occasion, her family coming north for the occasion rather than the other way around, thoughtful of them. Nothing quite like a young beardling offering their first piece of work to the Ancestors. It brings a wave of nostalgia rushing through you, now young Fjolla was garazi no more, she was now a young adult member of the clan, a Gnutrommi.

Still a beardling though, as you're sure to remind her when she wakes up the day after with a splitting hangover by dropping a sack of flour at her and Dolgi's feet for the day's training.

Baking stonebread while having gravel thrown at you! Just like Master Yorri taught you all those centuries ago.

Ah, youth.

…​

The decade ends with you finally under some good quality stone, and the hold both beginning to be settled in. As the homes and halls of the clans currently present have at last been built (if not en-rune just yet) and taken over by those respective clans. The hold's priority will be split between erecting the temples to the Ancestors more befitting of a prosperous Karak that this place is surely going to be and setting up the trades and services essential not only to a Karak's survival but for exploiting the wealth of Gromril in their reach. Selling ore is well and good, but selling the ingots is much better for the coffers as any dwarf will tell you. You're sure the coming decade will be full of tasks that need to be done that require a Runelord's attention.

Gain:
- Standard (for a Runelord) Workshop. Further protection is required for Snorri to feel comfortable poking about with something as sacred and potentially destructive as a Master Rune.
- Completed Rush Job + Overflow: Double the number of runic pickaxes requested. The Hold, with this excess of quality tools, has moved its timetable up by an appreciable amount. The Hold's completion timer has been moved up by 1 point of progress.
- 1 / 4 Actions on Rune. Those. Halls!
- Extra work unlocked for the hold. Ah, the problems of too much success.
- Extra work unlocked for your home. Some dwarfs would look at your home and think it was well defended. Nonsense! Look at this place, it doesn't even have a kill hole every two meters. Good as a home, but not good as a fortification. Defence. In. Depth.

AN: Sorry for the delay, I had to help my mom set up her pc to work from home. Pandemics and the like, you know how it is. Might take a quick little lunch break before I do some background rolls (that have a +5 applied to one of them btw thanks to @BungieONI )then post the turn. As always, C&C. Further, I've committed to my Canadian-ness and will henceforth be attempting to go full metric with my measurements.

 

[soulcake]

You take a hearty bite out of the piece of troll jerky. Chewing it thoughtfully as you digest the news you heard from a longbeard at the bar who heard it from a longbeard from a caravan of dwarfs from down south.

Apparently a great horde of daemons sought to assail Karaz A Karak early in the year. Luckily for your people, Valiant Grimnir was able to catch their horde passing through the mountains between Everpeak and Karak Brynduraz and met them in a righteous battle. There, the longbeards say in reverence, Grimnir slew his way through the great horde until at last he came upon their fel lord.

A Greater Daemon of the Changer, who called itself Ornytrix, the Fate Twister.

Bah.

Grimnir came upon the creature, but just as he struck the deathblow the foul beast replaced itself with one of its infernal minions. It did this enough times that Grimnir, in his fury, yelled so mightily as to cause the mountains themselves to quake in fear, and cause a rockslide of epic proportions.

When the mountains stood quiet, the throng looked up to see the whole of the horde buried under a great mountain of rubble and earth. But what's more, they saw on the western side of the pass a great glittering seam of multicolored jewels. The sight of their splendor being struck by the dawn's coming light was said to bring tears to the eyes of the Longbeards present.

After clearing the battlefield the newly christened Crystal Pass was found to have cut overland travel between Karak Brynduraz and Karaz a Karak by such a degree that it nearly matched the speed of travelling the Ungdrin Ankor. Several enterprising, read young and therefore foolish, dwarf merchants have even made the near mad decision to take the overland route, under heavy guard of course, to see the splendor of the jewelled cliff and drink a toast at the site of a great victory.

It gives you a grim sort of satisfaction.

No good comes from Daemons. Only ruin.

Only heartbreak.

But dark thoughts are for darker days than this.

With a shake of your head you look at your two charges. Both in heavy leather suits, padded to be uncomfortably hot, only worsened by the roaring flame you had going at the nearby forge.

"Dolgi, third line of the Rune of Stone!" you yell, startling the beardling out of his carving.

"From the earth do we come, from stone are we born and in stone we return!" he chants back at you, eyes still focused on the clay tablet before him, arm struggling to chisel the rune, what with the weight attached to his elbow.

"You're not intonating properly apprentice! 'From the earth do WE come,' not that sorry excuse of a 'we' I heard you mutter. Louder Dolgi! I want this room to shake apprentice!"

"YES MASTER!" he shouts.

You ignore him for a moment, letting him bellow his lungs out while turning to face the back of your other apprentice. Her hair drenched in sweat from the heat of an open forge empowered with a Rune of...the Forge.

Well it's an accurate name.

"Fjolla! I see you're slipping on your form again! 40 pounds of weight too much for you beardling? I can drop it back down to thirty if you'd like!" You yell to overcome the roar of the flame.

"No master! I'll do better master!" she shouts back, arm stiffening despite the weight chained at her elbow.

"Easy to do better when you're terrible beardling, easy to say you'll do better too! I want to see you do better. Hurry now! Another two minutes and then I start using the screecher! I'll not be so generous and warn you both next time as well!"

"Yes Master! Thank you Master!" they both yell.

From behind their hunched forms you grin, a quiet pride suffusing you. Only ten years into the apprenticeship and already on to the screecher. Your previous apprentices averaged at about twenty years before you felt comfortable releasing that particular bit of horror. If these two kept it up, you'd finally feel comfortable letting them inscribe a true Rune soon enough.

Speaking of.

You walk back near the entrance of the workshop and pull an orb from out of one of the shelves, its surface scribed with Master Yorri's Rune of Sound, the Rune of Amplification and lastly the Rune of Pitch.

How Master Yorri ever came up with these three runes you'll never know, but they're useful at this at least.

Just as the second minute ends, you activate the orb, immediately putting on a pair of earplugs.

Slowly, terribly the orb begins to hum, then the pitch begins to rise higher and higher, the volume increasing in lockstep with it.

Not enough to cause lasting damage, but enough to be an annoyance, enough to throw a dwarf off, but if your apprentices wanted to be runesmiths, they'd have to work just as well as if they were in complete silence.

You would accept no less.

Their ancestors would accept no less.

You can't say you're feeling particularly nostalgic about this part of your apprenticeship.

You have (5 - 1) = 4 actions this turn:
General:
[ ] Expanding the Workshop, Protection: You've got a workshop and a home fit for a Runelord, but in your mind's eye you see yet more things to do. Any research regarding the Master Runes will require a level of protection that your current facility simply doesn't have. The cost is irrelevant, it is the materials you need that are the true bottleneck. You've got the Gromril on hand now, but for the Rune you need, the blood of a dragon is required. For the dwarfs know of no natural creature so attuned to magic as the Drakk. [Cost: 2 actions, 1 vial of Dragon's Blood]
[ ] Expanding the Workshop, Defense: The natural formation of the stone is good for funnelling in any would-be invaders, but you've a few ideas that can make a bad time into a truly horrible time for your enemies. [Cost: 2 actions.]
[ ] Odd Places 1/10: Look on Master Yorri's map and try and discover one of his marked locations. The locations will certainly be odd, but whether they'll be useful will remain to be seen. [Cost: 1 action] Roll for usefulness.
[X] Teach your apprentices. [Cost: 1 Action] Locked in for 11 turns.

Requests: Fulfill Request from a client or the hold:
[ ] [Simple] Rune. Those. Halls!: A goodly amount of the future main hall has been excavated and are in desperate need of a good runic...eh be-rune-ing? It needs runes alright? A good enough start, but now there's arterial ways, clan homes and foundries to think about. [Cost: (4-1)=3 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc.

Research: Your career and your honour demand you hone your craft, and it's usually done through poking at runes and seeing what works.
[ ] The Secrets of Light?: That moment with the shield and sunray, the light of your torch glinting off the crystal, both sparked something in your mind. An ember that refused to be burned out. You've done permutations to the standard Rune of Light and a few on Master Yorri's Rune of Reflection, but maybe there could be more?[Cost: (8-2)=6 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc
[ ] The Movement of things: The Rune of Waking or Animation as some would call it is a rare rune. How Master Yorri knows both the regular and Master Rune could be explained by either a harrowing adventure full of terror, beasties and treasure or by something as mundane as asking a friend, you could never be sure with the man. Still, this was a rune that, to your frustration, you haven't had much chance to tinker with. Maybe just a peak? [Cost: 8 actions] Student of the Odd will proc.
[ ] The Rune Metal: The miners say all the Gromril's as pure as anything they've ever seen, purer even, but no word of brilliant silver or pure white streaks. Coming back to the cave days later to see for yourself and you can't say they're lying either. But yet… but yet you can't, almost refuse to get the image out of your head. Maybe it's nothing, but maybe it may not be. [Cost: ???-1 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc.
[-] Understand a Master Rune: The same idea as studying any rune in theory, in practice it takes a lot longer and there's often a large chance of explosions. [Cost: 16 actions] Locked due to lack of a proper workshop.

Orders: (No Action Cost)
[ ] Dragon's Blood: Seeing as you don't know the location of any dragons right now, the best you can do is get the word out that you need dragon's blood. It will take a bit of time to get here, but you'll have it eventually. Thankfully you just need any old dragon's blood and not an Elder Wyrm. [Cost: 2 Turns]

ORDERS!​

I am now introducing the last mechanic you guys should see in a while. Ordering supplies! Orders thankfully are pretty straightforward. If it's a material specific to a strong rune you need for a request or rune you're experimenting with I will note it in the cost, and it will consequently appear in the orders section of the turn/whenever you realize you'll need it.

Now you may ask, can we get it ourselves? Yes! You can totally go get it yourself, should you know a source for the stuff nearby. As the elder ice wyrm Kraka Drakk was named after is long dead and its materials long since used to make other shiny cool things, you can't find any natively in such a remote hold. Or well, YOU don't know of any drakki lurking about.

Order length is determined by two main things. Your circumstances, and the rarity of the item. In my master chart I've got a few things listed down as guidelines, but for your sake know there are only 4 tiers of rarity when ordering.

Tier 1: Mundane: bog-standard materials, stuff you don't have to worry about specifically getting at your age and level of wealth. Really you won't ever see these materials barring truly exceptional circumstances, but it's good to have a baseline.
Tier 2: Uncommon: This is specialist stuff, and the majority of orders will be this tier most likely, dragon's blood counts here and so does Gromril, but as you'll note. You rolled well and got a natural seam of the stuff so you don't worry about it. Will otherwise take 1-2 turns to arrive depending on the circumstances of your hold. Before you ask, yes I would've waived the dragon blood fee if you had chosen that other deed at the beginning.
Tier 3: Rare stuff: Often refined uncommon materials or hard to come by stuff. Pure Gromril, for instance, requires a master black/runesmith with a very specific set of gear. This will take 2- 4 turns to arrive. Less time if you're near a place like Karak Azul or immediately(within the turn, even though it would take years in-game time) if you have the native production here. Brightstone, Silverite or Ithilmar and stuff at that level of scarcity would count in this territory.
Tier 4: Truly Rare: This is rare material taken up 10 notches. Things like the blood of an Elder Wyrm(Star or Moon Dragon), The Claw of a Dragon Ogre Shaggoth, Carnosaur's Bilesac, stuff like that. It's gonna be 3 turns minimum for this stuff. Getting some examples this material immediately would require burning favours.

Technically the truly unique one-of-a-kind stuff would be on a level even further beyond, but you'll likely never be able to order it.

AN: Grimnir memes.
EDIT: Gunbad is called Karak Brynduraz in this time, and has been changed to reflect that.

Please Remember to Plan vote, and note how many actions you're applying to a task. Oh and C& C Thanks :^)

 

[soulcake]

Winning Vote:

[X] Plan Defense and Request
-[X] Expanding the Workshop, Defense:
-[X] [Simple] Rune. Those. Halls!:
-[X] Dragon's Blood:

Click to shrink...

…​

The settling of the hold continues apace, large parts of the surface dwellings have been cleared away as clans finish moving into the mountain, the main fortress longhouse still stands and will do so until a proper set of defences for the hold are constructed from good solid stone and metal.

The first few years of the decade see you spending the majority of your time at your workshop accompanied by a group of three longbeards. A mason, a carpenter and a warrior with a combined 900 years of experience between the three of them. Together the four of you devise and plan the construction of the workshop's defences over several months before you're finally satisfied with the work and the actual constructing can begin.

It is on a crisp spring morning that a gaggle of 40 dwarf Longbeards and their troupe of apprentices bear down on your home with gusto.

Working their way inwards, they begin by clearing the land a good 100 meters around the natural entrance to your home, flattening the ground and removing any sight blockers. You've further added a series of Runes of Light all over the ground itself, denying any advantage darkness could have given a theoretical foe. As for the entrance itself, the masons carve away at the rock in a specific pattern so that in the event of a siege you could make the natural outcroppings unstable enough that they collapse outwards, crushing anything trying to break through the newly installed rune-reinforced gates. The rubble itself only adds further blockages for your foe to get through.

On either side of the gate, behind the outcroppings, are a set of watchtowers, bolt throwers and murder holes placed to offer the greatest field of vision and overlapping arcs of fire as possible. The towers themselves are accessed through hallways carved into the walls of the natural pass, the ceilings of which are rigged to cave in as the defenders move behind sets of Gromril doors. This configuration repeated itself 8 times along the path, giving the defenders the most possible fall back points as you could fit into the area given.

The pass itself is also booby-trapped. Sections of the wall are able to be detonated at will thanks to a well placed Rune of Force, tightening the passage to a single dwarf's width, ordered as to elongate the path by creating a zig-zag pattern, further funnelling your foes. At each corner of this arrangement is the gilded visage of an Ancestor God, their mouths open in a snarl, and rigged to spit alchemical flame should a foe pass through it.

The ceiling of the pass, riddled with its natural skylights, is, of course, also rigged to blow, the falling rock meant to crush any would-be attacker as they make their way through the maze of fire and death.

When at last they reach the door to your workshop, the invaders will find a great door of granite and Gromril a meter thick emblazoned with Runes of Warding and Protection. Which, once they break through, opens into yet another door that is two meters thick, behind which your hosting area will have been converted into a killing field of Bolt Thrower Emplacements, Runes of Spite, and a reloadable mechanism that launches a ram head, capped in a piece of Brass coated Gromril bearing the snarling visage of Grimnir, towards the entrance.

It is beautiful.

Right now you cannot think of anything to add to such a magnificent array of destruction, but perhaps one day you will. As of right now, this is the best you can do but like any sensible dwarf, you've specified that room for expansion be taken into account when devising the plan.

Defence. In. Depth.

Your apprentices looked rather worried when they saw you chortling in glee at the sight of your completed defensive works.

…​

During the construction of the murder maze and when you weren't busy participating in said construction, you and your apprentices were in the halls of Kraka Drakk. You, inscribing runes and them, diligently listening and following your movements on a stone tablet as you spoke the chant of each Rune for their benefit. Every few dozen runes or so you would check in on their progress, critiquing their mistakes and pointing out their errors before returning to your work.

Of course, your apprentices had to carry all of those heavy tablets along with the reagents required for your own work as the three of you bustled about Kraka Drakk and put down several dozens of Runes throughout the hold.

This continued for years until at last the major public areas of Kraka Drakk were runed to a degree worthy of any place that called itself a Karak. You were certain that as the hold grew and swelled with more dwarfs that further work was to be done, but it would ultimately be negligible compared to the sheer volume of work you'd done in this timeframe. That, and hopefully a few more young master runesmiths would pick up the slack as well.

Didn't need a Runelord to light a hallway after all. Any runesmith above the rank of apprentice should be able to do that much at least, should being the key word there.

No shoddy runework where you lived, no sir. You'd run out any beardling traipsing around as a runesmith yourself if you caught even a whiff of poor craftsmanship.

The only places left that needed someone of your skill to get right, for now at least, were:

The Main Foundry District, mostly to manage the airflow and turn all the hot air from the forges to something useful like heating the Karak or what have you.

The Temple District, to inscribe the individual Ancestor Runes on each site. Thankfully the priesthoods would be taking up the brunt of the material cost, so the reagents necessary would be there for you to use.

Places like the Commercial district and Siege storage were well within the capability of younger runesmiths to do in your opinion.

You'd still check and make sure of course.

…​

"Dolgi, give this to Borri Kholbeard, that trader we met last week, while you're out for supplies." You say handing off a sealed letter to your apprentice.

"Yes Master," he intones seriously before heading off.

"And hurry up about it, when you get back Fjolla should be finished and then it'll be your turn," you shout after him as he leaves through the door.

Not even a 'Goodbye Master?'

Bah. Beardlings these days.

With Dolgi out, you walk back towards the workshop, where even now you can hear the quiet yet steady chanting of your other apprentice. Walking in silently as to not disturb her, you watch impassively as the beardling's hammer strikes the chisel to the tune of the chant.

Your eyes scan for even the slightest error, the most minute lag, the tiniest hiccup, and to your private satisfaction, you find none. Well, none you'd expect from an early apprentice. Plenty from the perspective of grading a senior apprentice.

Acceptable, though you'll never tell the girl until she's a master herself.

The Rune of Stone, something of special significance to not only your guild but your people as a whole. From stone, the Father of Mountains, the first rock of the world, was your race born from, by stone were you shrouded from the coming of fel magic and to stone where every dwarf will return. It should be no surprise then that the Rune of Stone is the first Rune an apprentice shall ever make, just as it was the First Rune discovered by Thungni. From here the journey truly begins, every step, every bruise, every lesson culminating into this one moment.

You remember your trial as clear as a stream of fresh snowmelt. The presence of everything fading away into nothingness, your mind, body and soul devoted to that single act of creation. The feeling of reaching into something greater than yourself and bringing back this most precious souvenir. An echo, a pale look at that most wonderful ideal. The moment you, no every Runesmith, knew they would chase that feeling until the ending of the world if they could.

Blessings to Thungni. Now, forever and always.

You are drawn from your own bout of internal reverence by the sound of the final verses of the chant, eyes focusing back onto the steady form of your apprentice as she strikes the final time and the telltale glow of a completed Rune brought into the world.

Perhaps it is a trick of the light, perhaps not, but out of the corner of your eye, you swear you see the eyes of the statue of Thungni you erected for his shrine glow in contentment.

Stepping behind him you place an arm on her shoulder, not even startling the girl as she stares reverently at the glowing rune on the surface of the breastplate.

You take a dramatic sniff and remark, "A bit shallow beardling, were you using a hammer or a hunk of limestone?"

"Yes Master, I understand Master. I'll strike harder Master," Fjolla says, eyes still fixed upon the rune. Your sage advice not seeming to dim her spirits in the slightest.

You understood all too well, not even Yorri's Pocket Troll Tongue took the joy away from you in that moment.

"Well then apprentice, get this place cleaned up! Dolgi will be back any time now, and any Runesmith worth their plaits doesn't leave a dirty workshop now do they?!"

"Yes master!" the youth says with a start, trance broken, she sets down the breastplate gently before scrambling off to work with heady vigour.

…​

The decade is a productive one. With Dwarfs settled, the main hold secured and your home defended you can say that your time was spent productively. Soon, you think, your apprentices will be more than just simple material jockeys and a source of entertainment, and will finally go about inscribing runes their very own. Maybe they may even contribu-

-HA! You can't even finish the thought, it's too hilarious.

...Maybe Fjolla, Dolgi in a year or two.

Three decades and already their first rune. A small surge of pride at the thought.

You were a fantastic teacher.

Gain:
- Defence. In. Depth. Your home is as fortified as can be right now unless a truly paradigm-shifting development occurs you're...still probably not doing anything until it's proven itself after a good half millennia of testing. Barring a catastrophe of course.
- Bedazzling Be-runed Karak. The main sections of Kraka Drakk are runed to a standard you deem well done, but work yet remains for a Karak is more than just its feasting hall and throne room.
- The work begins. Your apprentices have both forged their first true Rune. They're sad little things, but by the barest margins break into the barely acceptable category, Fjolla's though lands squarely in acceptable, which you will never dare tell her until she's a master but still. Either way, they're an achievement for any apprentice.
- Extra work unlocked for the hold. Temple and Foundry District both require the quality and touch only a Runelord can bring. Any specialist tasks are locked until their respective districts are complete.
- Work on some good solid Permanent defences is rumoured to be starting in a decade or two. You may have to put your foot down and push for Defence. In. Depth. be applied. Couldn't stand to live in a Karak that had a standard defensive setup in a place as inhospitable as this.

AN: C&C as always, and thanks to the people who helped me with some stuff, because of whom there are now five +5 bonuses to your RER's this coming turn. Also, let me know if you see any Imperial measurements. I'm serious about the Metric thing. I may have to change what my standard reward is if this keeps up. That or get more stingy idk. The turn should be up in a few hours, gonna go eat lunch.

 

[soulcake]

You watch with hawk-like attention as Fjolla inscribes the Rune of Warding into the necklace's centre. You sniff in neutral fashion. High praise indeed, for your apprentice has shown a great affinity to the talismanic runes. If you didn't know any better, you'd say the runework in front of you would have come from a 70 year old instead of the 40 something apprentice before you.

Of course, you don't say it out loud.

"Well, a bit short on the fifth line again Fjolla, watch for that girl. Only about as shallow as a stream on granite this time too. Congratulations apprentice, I cannot in good conscience call this work horribly shoddy, only shoddy. You can do better," you say, offering her a rare bit of slightly less critical commentary.

"Yes, Master."

Turning from her you look at Dolgi's work. The lad is quiet and steady, for his age, and has shown a knack for both weapon runes and engineering runes. Oftentimes you've caught him staring at the great ram suspended from the roof of your workshop in wonder, hands working on some imaginary machine subconsciously. He finishes carving the rune onto the glowing metal before quenching the axe in cold spring water.

"You've improved Dolgi. You only bungled the 6th, 9th and 12th line of the Rune of Fire this time. Maybe you'll get a barely acceptable rune by the time you reach your first century," you criticize evenly.

"Yes Master," the boy says, nodding seriously.

You'd give him this, compared to Fjolla's almost instinctive knack for talismanic runes, Dolgi got where he was through a level of diligence beyond his years. Fjolla is undoubtedly still more skilled, but you know Dolgi is also head and shoulders above the average apprentice. Natural ability combined with a drive to match his fellow apprentice's skill pushed the boy to strive for and reach levels above where he'd be expected to be.

"Tell you what apprentices, your progress has only slightly disappointed me today, so in celebration I'll let you two run loose for the night. Yelling at the both of you has left my throat parched, and I'm in the mood for some ale. Now clean up the workshop before you leave, I'm off to the pub," you say, turning away from them and heading towards the door.

"Yes, Master!" both shout behind you.

You need not hide your quiet grin turned away from them as you are, easily hearing the two of them mutter congratulations and offer pats on the back to the other as they work to clean up after their respective messes. A blessing that the two of them got along so well, you've seen fellow apprentices grow into jealous and bitter enemies when one showed more ability than the other. Never any of yours of course. You made sure that sort of nonsense never happened by picking individuals who would mesh well and by maintaining an impartial level of disappointment at all times.

A beardling's foolishness was expected. A teacher was equally expected to reign their nonsense in from time to time.

…
​

The world has a way to remind you that it isn't a peaceful place

The busy and festive mood of the dwarfs going about their day is broken by the sound of a horn in the distance. Not an enemy horn thankfully, but dwarf horns. Though when the sentries translate the frantic blowing to everyone in earshot the mood grows dark.

Trolls.

With the efficiency born from years of tragic experience, dwarfs hustle about in new ways. Priestesses of Valaya, told of the incoming wounded come out from the hold proper and towards the gate, their new apprentices, beardlings only just past their thirtieth winter, carrying bundles of gauze, baskets of herbs and casks healing brews in their arms. Dwarfs parting to let them pass as longbeards grumble darkly while many of the hold's young mothers clutch their babes tightly and husbands hold their families close. The hold is young, very young, its population if not more so. Families with maybe their first or even second child, but despite their youth they perform with aplomb, knowing full well that dwarf lives may be on the line.

As for you, currently nursing a mug of ale in hand, there is work to be done. Runes of Health and Fortitude, common sights in the temples of Valaya, would likely be needed and you quickly bark an order to your apprentices to return to the workshop and prepare the necessary reagents. Trolls. For all you enjoyed a good piece of jerky, you never forgot the terror a living troll could be for most dwarfs. Terribly acidic stomach acid capable of ruining most metals and melt the flesh off bones.

The scent of partially digested flesh disgusts you, the screams are far worse.

You grip the mug tighter.

If that wasn't enough, the infernal beasts had a regenerative ability that made them difficult to keep down. Runesmiths and trolls had a long history, their body parts made for potent reagents that Runesmiths have used to develop a large library of useful Runes.

The flesh sizzles as the rune axe cauterizes the cut, stopping the regeneration. Around you, screams of fury and the dying mix into a terrible cacophony that assaults the ear.

Your grip begins to splinter the wood.

Then the horn calls again and the doors open, drawing the gaze of all dwarfs present.

The sight is bittersweet.

Caravan carts, holes in the wood that could only come from troll acid evident on some while others bore signs of the wretched creatures' bite and claws. But what draws the most eyes are the occupants.

They are young.

Children, beardlings and young adults. All clutching onto each other, the wagons, anything solid. Some are sobbing, many bear the face only a dwarf could understand. That bone-deep hate and loathing for a wrong done against person, kin or home.

The Grudge.

The sight of so many young is only further compounded by the stark lack of elders and adult men. It does not take long for many to understand the context.

A desperate defence, a bellowed order, a reluctant acquiescence. The Elderly left to hold, to protect their charges, neither to perhaps ever see the other again. Some trolls manage to follow, husbands and fathers still with the caravan stay behind following in the footsteps of their elders. It is a familiar and bitter taste.

Immediately the priestesses and priests of Valaya swarm upon them, looking for wounds, holding onto babes as parents are put on stretchers and children comforted. Like a switch has been flipped, many other dwarfs come forward. Some are clansmen, uncles and aunts coming to house their nieces and nephews while their parents are being treated, others are strangers, simply doing what they can to help ease the obvious burden on the newcomers. Despite this scene of kindness the grim reminder sticks out like an unruly nail. For all your efforts, the world was not always safe for dwarfs to tread, and every action outside the safety of the mountains was one of calculated risk.

There will be a reckoning.

The Grudge will be avenged.

Vengeance will be had.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see warriors and longbeards moving off in the direction of the fortress, no doubt rallying to bring aid or at the very least bring back what they could of their brethren. Before you head off to your workshop the sight of something stops you dead in your tracks. A child quietly holding their mother's hand in one hand and a toy in the other. Not just any toy, but one of your toys. Not a sign of wear or tear on it, despite what was likely decades of active use.

You don't notice it, but the handle shatters in your hand, splinters flying in all directions and imbedding themselves into the hard frozen ground.

Well then.

WELL. THEN.

There was work to be done.

…​

A day passes, and a party is sent out. A band of silent rangers at the head while a throng marches behind. With the warriors are fresh wagons and carts, pulled by tough curmudgeonly goats laden with supplies and medical herbs. The sight of them leaving past the gate is a sombre one.

When night falls a week later their return is signalled by the sound of yet another horn. Sentries relay the message to guards who run back to the hold and the priests and priestesses of Valaya.

Wounded.

Again a band of dwarfs arrive through the gates. Their faces grim, but quiet relief in the eyes of some.

They have found survivors.

Hoary old Longbeards in partially melted armour stubbornly trying not to cry at the sight of their arriving children and grandchildren, tired but battle-ready fathers carrying axes in one hand and a wounded comrade bearing a shield in the other. Too many wounded for the carts to handle you're told. It is a good problem to have by comparison. Of the wounded, none succumb over the coming days, thank the Ancestors for small mercies. But they also bring with them 80 enshrouded bodies, some of the tarps lying flat in places where body parts ought to be.

The 80 dead, that they could find, are interred into the Underearth. Those are 80 lives lost before they could truly begin. 80 family members, 80 friends, 80 children. And the ones responsible are still out there, breathing and living their lives while good honest dwarfs lie dead.

It will not do.

…​

Gain:
- Apprentice Specialties! Fjolla has a double specialty for Talismanic Runes while Dolgi has specialties in Weapon and Engineering Runes.
- Apprentice Work! Both your shoddy little charges have progressed in skill enough that you deign to trust them with the most basic of tasks. Apprentices can now add 1 whole action worth or progress a turn to a Simple Request up to half of its main total cost rounded down you CANNOT complete a request with the apprentice action. So for instance, if you have a simple request that costs 3 actions, your apprentices could add (1.5 rounded down) = 1 whole actions worth of progress to it. If that action was at 2 actions you could not apply the apprentice action to complete it. You've unlocked this early because I've rolled very well on both their progress and interactions with each other in the background. Narratively this is work you can pass off to them, hauling supplies, setting up scaffolding, heating up ore, things like this. Still dont trust them to actually inscribe the runes of course.
- Grudge: Trolls. Actions toward settling this grudge gain +1 action worth of progress. +10 Bonus to rolls against Trolls.

You have (5 - 1) = 4 actions this turn:
General:
[ ] Expanding the Workshop, Protection: You've a workshop and a home fit for a Runelord, but in your mind's eye you see yet more things to do. Any research regarding the Master Runes will require a level of protection that your current facility simply doesn't have. The cost is irrelevant, it is the materials you need that are the true bottleneck. You've got the Gromril on handnow, but for the Rune you need, the blood of a dragon is required. For the dwarfs know of no natural creature so attuned to magic as the Drakk. [Cost: 2 actions, 1 vial of Dragon's Blood]
[ ] Odd Places 1/10: Look on Master Yorri's map and try and discover one of his marked locations. The locations will certainly be odd, but whether they'll be useful will remain to be seen. [Cost: 1 action] Roll for usefulness.
[X] Teach your apprentices. [Cost: 1 Action] Locked in for 10 turns.
[ ] Khazukan Kazakit-HA!: March out with the throng once more. Raise your war axe and slay them. Battle Turns

Requests: Denote which simple request will receive the Apprentice Action in your plan.
[ ] [Simple] Foundry Founding.: The Foundry district requires extra kinds of Runes to be placed alongside the standard Runes of Light and Air. Altered Runes of Heat and Purification to enhance standard Dawi ventilation, speeding along the movement of hot air out of the District to the rest of the hold while clearing it of soot and ash, things like that. The hold's burgeoning Blacksmiths and Engineering Guilds have also requested your aid in inscribing the Runes of Smednir and Morgrim in their respective guildhalls as well. [Cost: 2 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc.
[ ] [Simple] Altar Assembly: The Temple District houses shrines and Temples to all of the Ancestors. Though Morgrim, Smednir and Thungni's main shrines are located in their respective institution's guildhall and every runesmith's workshop they too are present alongside the Larger, more Trafficked temples to Grungni, Valaya and Grimnir. There is also, of course, the halls of the honoured head which serves a dual purpose as the Temple to Gazul. All have requested your aid in inscribing large versions of their patron's respective Runes. They will cover the cost in unique materials, having brought the necessary reagents for the Ancestor Runes as part of the founding convoy. Though Runesmiths hold a great sum of knowledge regarding runes, the priests are connected to the Runes of the Ancestors like only the faithful can be. [Cost: (2-1) =1 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc. Grudge has proc'd.


Research: Your career and your honour demand you hone your craft, and it's usually done through poking at runes and seeing what works.
[ ] The Secrets of Light?: That moment with the shield and sunray, the light of your torch glinting off the crystal, both sparked something in your mind. An ember that refused to be burned out. You've done permutations to the standard Rune of Light and a few on Master Yorri's Rune of Reflection, but maybe there could be more?[Cost: (8-2) =6 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc
[ ] The Movement of things: The Rune of Waking or Animation as some would call it is a rare rune. How Master Yorri knows both the regular and Master Rune could be explained by either a harrowing adventure full of terror, beasties and treasure or by something as mundane as asking a friend, you could never be sure with the man. Still, this was a rune that, to your frustration, you haven't had much chance to tinker with. Maybe just a peak? [Cost: 8 actions] Student of the Odd will proc.
[ ] The Rune Metal: The miners say all the Gromril's as pure as anything they've ever seen, purer even, but no word of brilliant silver or pure white streaks. Coming back to the cave days later to see for yourself and you can't say they're lying either. But yet… but yet you can't, almost refuse to get the image out of your head. Maybe it's nothing, but maybe it may not be. [Cost: ???-1 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc.
[-] Understand a Master Rune: The same idea as studying any rune in theory, in practice it takes a lot longer and there's often a large chance of explosions. [Cost: 16 actions] Locked due to lack of a proper workshop.

Orders:
[ ] Troll Parts: A horde of trolls is to the south, having assaulted and mauled a dwarf caravan. Already the hold and clans begin mustering arms. Donning armour, bearing weapons and swearing Grudges. A battle will be fierce, but hopefully, when the warriors return it will be in victory with a cartload of troll bits for you to store and use. Cannot be Taken with Khazukan Kazakit-HA![Cost: 1 Turns]
[X] Dragon's Blood: Seeing as you don't know the location of any dragons right now, the best you can do is get word out that you need dragon's blood. It will take a bit of time to get here, but you'll have it eventually. Thankfully you just need any old dragon's blood, and not an Elder Wyrm. [Cost: (2-1) =1 Turns]

Please remember to vote by Plan, and note how many actions you're applying to a task (also the Apprentice action). I'll have a 1-hour moratorium so you can discuss and ask questions regarding apprentice actions and the requests before you post your plans. Thanks :^) Also C&C

Questions:
- Will a normal action + apprentice action proc Productivity like No Other? A: Nope. 2 regular actions required.
- The grudge removed an action from Altar Assembly, can I put an apprentice action? A: No. You can consider being 1 action total in which case half of it rounded down is 0 or you can think of it as Snorri having already put in 1 action into it meaning the apprentice action cant complete it.
- Why does the battle turn cost nothing? A: By virtue of distance I can't justify a cost. Normally they would cost at least 1 action as these "go out and get it yourself" actions are the counterpart to requests. Action Cost and takes less time vs free but takes time.

 

[soulcake]

Winning Vote:

[X] Plan The Shine of Metal and Blood
-[X] Teach your apprentices. [Cost: 1 Action] Locked in for 10 turns.
-[X] Khazukan Kazakit-HA!: March out with the throng once more. Raise your war axe and slay them. Battle Turns
-[X] [Simple] Foundry Founding.: [Cost: 2 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc. 2 Actions and Apprentice action.
-[X] [Simple] Altar Assembly: [Cost: (2-1) =1 actions] Productivity Like No Other will proc. Grudge has proc'd. 1 Action.
-[X] The Rune Metal: [Cost: ???-1 Actions] Student of the Odd will proc. 1 Action

Click to shrink...

Turn results after. This battle is happening immediately after (relatively) the beginning of turn 3 in terms of timeframe.

...
​

It is settled in a manner of days, clan members assemble, armour is donned, weapons drawn and supplies squared away. There is no need to rush, an advance scout of Longbeard rangers quietly stalk the Trolls, leaving cairns and markers for the Throng to follow.

You leave an exhaustively detailed list of reagents and materials for your apprentices to gather for when you return. You tell them grimly that the work will not take long, and that they'd best hurry if they want to be done before you get back. Nothing short of a throng's worth of Trolls could truly challenge a Runelord of the Karaz Ankor with a throng at his back.

You walk into your room that night with grim purpose and do not dream when you sleep.

When you wake you do not walk to your Wutroth closet as per usual, instead you move towards the far end of the room, rune hammer in hand. With a tap, the wall parts to reveal your wargear sitting ready for you.

It is with a sombre reverence that you take up your war plate once more.

The boots are slid into.

The thunder of feet as dwarfs rush to meet their enemy. Yours are among them, but you run for a different purpose.

The greaves and legplate are strapped in with an ease borne of hard-fought experience.

The blade slides across your thigh, bouncing off of the Gromril, your boot kicks out and breaks a knee in response. With contemptuous ease, you sever the head with your axe. All of this in seconds, but seconds you cannot afford all the same. You have to find her.

The under-layer of soft padding is followed by a gleaming shirt of chainmail.

The blade tries to dig into your armpit but gets caught. You take swift advantage of the opening, dropping your axe and grabbing the blade with one hand. Keeping the enemy in place while the other hand is bringing down your hammer onto the daemon's head. Your eyes search in the haze of the melee.

You put on the Gromril chest plate, the Runes glowing as strong as the day they were forged.

The forge erupts as a daemon bursts through the wall. A blow strikes you in the chest, sending you flying through a building. The air is pushed out of your lungs as stone, metal, wood and bricks from the collapsed building fall on and around you. Then you see her. Plaits swinging freely, running to meet the towering hulk of the beast without a second glance.

Next are your gauntlets.

You struggle helplessly, trying to shove and push off hundreds of pounds of rock off of your body. Your eyes never leave the fight in front of you. Her axe swings are devastating, her shield all but impenetrable. You should know, seeing as you made them yourself. Tears prick your eyes, the struggle for freedom grows more desperate as you see her flag.

You pause here, looking down at the helmet. It's surface pristine, the horns were repaired only years after they were broken. You run a finger down the ivory.

Then it happens. A single misstep, the tiniest opening.

It is all the creature needs.

With a single swing it cuts a jagged line down her torso then kicks her into another building. Everything fades away and your vision runs red.

The ridges are pristine.

Hate and anger.

The horns are bleached white.

Blood pours down your face, you swing, an arm breaks. A scream, you don't know who, you don't care. Your axe haft is broken, your hammer missing. You use your fists.

The gold trim is immaculate.

It is a haze, the feeling of metal-clad fist breaking bones and bruising flesh are the only things you remember. Punching and screaming until there is only the sound of your breathing.

You put on the helm.

You run to where she lays, dashing your helmet against the stones. Gingerly propping her against a ruined wall and feeling utterly helpless. She says nothing, but her eyes are still painfully clear, still painfully alive, contrasting starkly against her deathly pale skin. She reaches up weakly, a bloody hand runs down your face, stopping just shy of your beard.

She always liked it best unbraided.

Her hand falls limp.

Your world fades.

The last article, a deep red cloak trimmed in white that she made for you still hangs on the stand. You stare at it blankly for who knows how long. Until finally, achingly slowly, you take it up and drape it over your back. Clasping it in place mechanically.

Bone deep grief, long faded, flares for just a second.

You pick up your weapons, axe remade, hammer rediscovered, and walk out.

The cloak does not keep out the cold as well as it used to.

Equipped:
[Armor] War Plate. Forged in joy, tempered in grief, worn in battle. [Master Rune of Gromril, Rune of Fortitude, Rune of Impact.]
[Weapon] Rune hammer. Good for hitting, good from crushing. [Master Rune of Conduction, Rune of Fire, Rune of Striking]
[Weapon] Rune axe. Good for cutting, for slicing. [Rune of Cleaving, Rune of Daemon Slaying, Rune of Fury.]
[Talisman] Ruby and Diamond Amulet. No magic shall harm me, girded in her gifts. [Rune of Spelleating, Rune of Spellbreaking, Rune of Warding. Combo: Conversion. The spell is broken, the spell is eaten, the power is used to shield you.]
[Banner] Ruby Cloak. Deep red silk, edged with purest down. A reminder of brighter, warmer days. Later engraved in grief. [Master Rune of Valaya, Rune of Sanctuary, Rune of Determination. Combo: Daemonward. You will not run, you will not hide, you will not fail again.]

…​

The assembled Thanes and ranking members of the hold rise with your entrance. Many of them nodded to you and your master wrought armour.

"Rhunrikki, the rangers have reported that the group of trolls that assaulted the caravan has merged with a horde of the creatures at a location a week's march to the southeast some dwarfs are calling 'The Dragon's Maw.' Best estimates have the horde at over half a thousand snow trolls, and around a hundred Ice trolls," one thane reports, finger pointed to an ivory marker put down on the map.

You nod, a slow exhale escaping your nose.

"Any theories as to why the beasties are grouped up like this?" A thane asks the group.

"No food sources nearby from what the rangers saw, at least not one big enough to sustain a group this size. No Warpstone either. Doesn't make a lick of sense." Another responds, shaking their head.

"Clearly there's something or someone keeping them in line, rangers reported no signs of the usual troll on troll violence. Just all of them standing there, that and the assault on the caravan mean something with enough of a brain for dishonourable tactics is in charge," An older Thane says, his sound logic and prodigious beard drawing nods and grunts of approval.

"So it seems," you finally decide to speak up, "we have over half a thousand trolls at the beck and call of an as-of-yet unseen master. With us being so far north we cannot ignore the possibility of Daemons, this sort of mischief is just the kind they'd dabble in," you finish gravely.

Murmurs erupt amongst the assembled thanes and masters.

"What of the throng?" you ask after waiting for the noise to die down.

"A thousand Warriors, four hundred Longbeards, six hundred quarrelers and a thousand miners can be spared in terms of general infantry Rhunrikki." A younger Thane answers.

"For artillery the Engineers Guild has, to my shame, only twenty Bolt Throwers and five Grudge Throwers to spare for the endeavour. We dare not strip the ones placed on the walls in case of attack while we are gone," the local Guild Master adds.

"And among the runesmiths, only twenty of us can be spared for the assault without compromising the hold's defences," you finish.

You look around at the assembled group of leaders, taking their histories, beards and knowledge into account before deciding that it is a waste of time and instead simply ask.

"Who is the ranking lord?"

They look at you oddly.

You look back, eyes narrowed.

A few Thanes nervously look down.

"Ah, going by the size of the contribution to the hold's prosperity, age, and experience," the young thane starts-

"As well as owning the Gromril Mine," another older thane adds in quietly.

"-You are by tradition, at least until a council of the eldest members of the hold decides the kingship, the ranking Lord, Rhunrikki." the youngster finishes.

You blink.

This is what you get for not paying enough attention to the local politics you suppose.

...​

Do you accept command of the Throng?

[ ] No: You don't have the intimate knowledge or know how to lead a throng. Leave this to the thanes to sort out. The Eldest Thane of the hold will lead the Throng.

[ ] Yes: By tradition, you would be the ranking lord, in charge of leading these stout dwarfs in battle. It is not one you will shirk.

Where will you be within the army?
Like Total War Warhammer a runesmith can "cast" runes of warding, protection or wrath and ruin by striking a rune. Not as effective as if you had an Anvil of Doom, but still potent if more limited in scope and range. Now, I'm not gonna elongate the battle by having you decide when to do that, Snorri knows at least that much. In mechanical terms, it'll be a bonus to army rolls. The closer to the front, the stronger the bonus but the more limited the placement of it, as opposed to free placement but weaker bonus if you end up in the reserve.

[ ] Vanguard: You will be at the forefront of the battle. A powerful symbol to rally around and where you can deal the most punishment. You'll be focused solely on murder blending your way forward like only a heavily armoured Dwarf with a Grudge can.

[ ] Centre: From here you can cast protective or offensive runes with greater ease but also be ready to serve as rapid reinforcement to the frontlines. You won't know what's happening with the battle everywhere as accurately.

[ ] Reserve: You will be held back as an offensive force, instead you will have the best possible view of the battlefield and the ongoing tactical situation as well as be able to reinforce as needed, though it will take time to get there.

AN: So begins the battle turns. Now, if you do decide to lead the throng you'll be given choices over overall strategy and order of battle, but I won't let you go full RTS. For one thing, Snorri doesn't have the know-how necessary to think that deeply and will trust the Thanes to know what they're doing. For another, that would be incredibly tedious for me to write.

From the player's perspective, you'll be allowed to use write-ins but they can't exceed let's say 80 words. Don't try to micromanage too much, give me a general plan with enough detail as to what units should be doing what and I'll accommodate you as best as I can.

Something like:
[Y] "Warriors will lead the vanguard with miners in reserve and longbeards to be held and deployed whenever an Ice troll is spotted. Quarrellers will focus down the regular trolls from the flanks while the Artillery will prioritize removing the ice trolls. Runesmiths will be interspersed throughout the army to provide support with an emphasis on taking down the Ice Trolls."

FAQ: Do you have an Anvil of DOOM? A. No, you're a footslogging runelord currently.
FAQ: Do you have a weapon solely for killing trolls? A. Snorri has his rune axe and rune hammer, which are armed to deal with the widest array of foes possible.

 

[soulcake]

The beast knew only hunger.

From birth to adolescence, to adulthood, the struggle was always the same.

Craving, aching for food, it wandered the frigid peaks in search of its next meal. Great shaggy cats, titanic birds, the rare mammoth carcass, its own kind, and other terrible beasts were ravenously consumed as it ate, and ate, and ate in an endless cycle of violence and feasting. From that cycle did the beast grow large and terrible. What once was a prime specimen of its kind grew into an even greater hulking monstrosity of fur, sinew and muscle.

Then the skies twisted and bore unnatural colour.

To the civilized races, it was a time of woe, a time of demons and strife.

To the beast, it was a time of change, growth, food.

Its first encounter with this new meal was a great pack of Red Ones, the stench of blood, offal and the bellows of rage drawing the beast from its hovel, roaring a challenge.

As one they turned, as one they charged at it, screaming exaltation to their lord.

And they died.

As it ate, change was wrought upon the beast, muscles bulged ever further, pale, bloodstained fur, grew darker than night and twisting boney horns sprouted from its head. Strength flowed into its body, flesh and power fueling further growth. When not even a bone remained, the beast looked up and saw something it could not eat.

A thing of brass and blood. A weapon. A sword.

The beast became the brute, and it marched on. Hunger growing for this newest meal.

…​

The brute wandered the north, hunting for more Red Ones. It knew now that power could come from eating them, feasting on their essence through their flesh. And in those early days, there were meals aplenty. For what seemed an age, the brute carried out the same cycle of violence and gorging as it always did, though each time the mind grew wiser as the body grew stronger. Crude tactics refined, weapons discarded as they broke or were replaced.

The brute was content to continue this forever.

But fate turned, as it often does.

On some distant day the brute came upon a new meal, the Blue Ones. A group of slithering couldnotbes and shouldnotbes led by a birdlike creature with a staff.

The Red Ones inside its mind screamed in hate, urging it forward, urging it to kill.

As if it needed encouragement.

It came upon them, bellowing and furious. The bird thing glanced at it contemptuously before firing a spell at it.

The brute was struck, a gaping hole in its chest where a heart once lay.

But still, the brute kept running towards them. Flesh reknit, a new heart was grown, battle was met and the brute killed.

The bird thing grew irate, firing even stronger blasts of eldritch nothingness.

The brute was struck, the flesh reknit, and the killing continued.

On and on this went until at last the brute sundered the bird thing's head from its body. Satisfied in its victory, it dropped its blade and began to feast as it usually did.

But this time was different.

Two opposing energies now swirled about its soul, the metaphysical clash making itself known upon mortal flesh. It felt limbs rip, morph and shift. The brute, in its panic, knew only that it needed to be stronger to survive, and so in desperation began to gorge even as its body began to unmake itself. As more and more of the Blue Ones were consumed, so too did the balance shift.

When at last the brute consumed the last daemon, the next change occurred. Thoughts, ideas, magick became known to it. A reality unknown finally within its grasp. New strength, different strength, but not without cost. One of its arms had grown feathered and spindly, giving it a lopsided appearance.

The brute did not care, flexing its gangly arm and finding delight as baleful magick responded to its engorged will.

The brute became the hunter.

…​

The hunter grew strong. With might and magic, it slew more and more daemons, Red and Blue and Pink and Green, feasting on their essence, growing stronger but diligently maintaining the balance within itself lest it is rent asunder by the opposing forces.

Over time it grew clever, using its powers to enslave its former kin, binding them to its will.

Slowly, oh so slowly did the hunter grow his band, hiding from prying eyes. Using its thralls to search and hunt for yet more food. Bringing it to its lair to consume at its leisure.

Then one day, through the eyes of its thralls, the hunter saw new prey.

Small, tiny things in armor of steel.

The cacophony of voices in its head screamed and screeched all manner of names.

Stout Folk, Mountainborn, Tiny ones, Stonesouled, Cave dwellers…

...Dwarfs…..

With a flex of its sorcerous will, a group breaks off from the band, heading to cut off this train of dwarfs. An ambush is set up, battle is met, food and plunder is brought back.

When the thralls finally brought the armoured bodies before it, the hunter tore off the metal shell and feasted.

Endurance, Stone, Defense, Desire and more; a heady cocktail of new tastes both mundane and mystical filled its being. Once it had filled its belly for the moment, the Hunter looked at the pile of steel it had so casually thrown aside. Slowly, methodically it walked over and gazed at this hard shiny material in a new light.

With one hand it picked up a larger piece of what was once a breastplate, and with the other, it grabbed a chain. With almost childlike wonder it gazed at the scraps then back at the uneaten mound of bodies. Gazing hungrily not at the flesh, but now at the master worked steel, the golden trinkets, the precious gems, all of it was now his.

Over the coming days, the hunter underwent another change. Crudely beaten plates of armour, chained to his person, the most precious parts of its loot held in a sack of torn cloth and skin.

He who was the hunter knew a new type of hunger, avarice it never knew it had.

SoMetHiNg eLsE ChaNgeS​

So died the Hunter, all hail The Lord of Avarice and Desire...

All hail…

The Greedy One.

…​

Over the din of crunching snow and trodding boots, you can hear beardlings muttering prayers to the ancestors, Elders grumbling while keeping a lookout. No one holds their weapon on their belt and hasn't for the past day.

No resistance, no skirmishes, not even a single whiff of the stench of Trolls during the throng's week-long march through the snow.

It bodes ill.

Thane Otrek Ironarm, the one chosen to lead the throng after you refused to take command, is well aware that an ambush is likely. And the night before, spread the order to have the column form up in a defensive stance for the rest of the journey come morning.

The supply wagons, artillery train, and runesmiths are pulled along into the center, surrounded on all sides by infantry. Quarrellers are closest, followed by a ring of miners and a comparatively thin wall of Warriors. A hundred Longbeards at each corner of the rough square formation the marching column has taken as the throng gets ever closer to its destination.

The Dragon's Maw.

The large mountain cave whose entrance was ringed with great shards of rock that gave the appearance of teeth, but what truly gave the place its name were the chasms full of vents that spewed superheated gas that ringed the eastern side of the mountain. Giving the appearance of a fierce dragon, smoke billowing out of its gaping mouth when seen from certain angles.

From your position, you can see the peak of the mountain and a cloud of smoke to the left.

You take a deeper inhale.

Yes, the sulphurous stench was faint, but it was there.

"HOLD!" Thane Ironarm bellows from the front, arm raised, and like clockwork, the entire throng stops. They watch their leader as he sends runners up and over the hill. They wait with bated breath as the runners return and report their findings.

"FORM UP DAWI!" the Thane orders, his subordinates echoing his command throughout the entire army. Soon enough, formations of doughty dwarf warriors form up the van, clansmen forming in sets of alternating squares running down the length of the battlefield. Behind this, lines of quarrellers are interspaced with miners to form a secondary line. As for the elders, a hundred of the grumbling Longbeards stand on the left flank, the remaining three hundred on the right.

"DAWI! Once we crest this hill the enemy shall stand before us. Prepare yourselves! VENGEANCE IS AT HAND!" Thane Ironarm bellows through his Rune inscribed horn.

"VENGEANCE. VENGEANCE," they scream back with the stomping of boots.

"Forward, MARCH!"

"Khazakan, Kazakit-HA!" the army chants over and over again as it trundles up and over the hill.

When you finally lay your eyes upon the enemy you are disturbed by the sight. Trolls litter the field below you, each and every one standing absolutely still in a disorganized mob. The chanting, however, does not stop, Longbeards picking up where some beardlings fall silent at the odd sight. Soon enough, the encouraging presence and yelling of the Old Grumblers bring the youth back to their senses.

(Rolling: 15+2 [sniffing])

You march until the entire throng has crested the hill, their bellowing yells echoing across the eerily silent plain below, accompanied only by the howling of the wind.

Then, just as the siege weapons begin to be unpacked, the trolls milling about the plain turn towards the throng in a single motion.

"HOLD STEADY DAWI, BE READY FOR MISCHIEF AT PLAY," Ironarm bellows.

Then suddenly a great thrum fills the air around you.

Magic.

A great tear in the sky opens, clouds swirling about it that crackles with multihued lightning. From it, a rain of molten metal bears down upon the throng's position.

(Roll, Runesmiths Vs. Fel Magic: 27 vs 84)

The young runesmiths interspersed around the Throng try to bring Runes of Spellbreaking to bear, but their talismans alone will not cover the whole of the throng from the effects of the metal shower.

Bah.

(Roll, Snorri Interrupt!: 87 +20[grudge] +30[Runelord] =137)

With a gentle tap, the amulet on your neck burns with brilliant blue light. The throng watches, transfixed, as the torrent of metal impacts against an otherwise unseen dome of energy, crackling bursts of light appearing on its surface where each drop lands, their energy broken down and siphoned to empower the rune further.

As the enemy caster ends the spell, the throng takes up a great cheer.

"STOP FAFFING ABOUT BEARDLINGS, THEY COME!" You bellow, hammer pointed at the now charging horde of trolls that are running towards your position.

(Roll, Dark Empowerment: 94 +15[???] =109)

You cannot reach them from where you are but can see the fel light of magic make their bodies bulge with unnatural strength. Their increased speed denying the artillery the chance to fire and forces the quarrelers to readjust and fire off a weak, uncoordinated volley.

(Roll, Quarrelers: 12)

That fails to stop them in any appreciable manner.

"SHIELDS!" Thane Ironarm shouts.

As one, the front ranks lift their shields to meet the oncoming charge. Around them, rune priests cast runes of protection to bolster their allies.

(Roll, Shields Vs Trolls: 55 +10[runes] =65 vs 58 +20[Dark Power] =78)

They hold back the tide of flesh for a second or two before they are overwhelmed by the dark strength of the enemy.

Before you can bring your own runes to bear, a lance of fell energy snaps out at Thane Ironarm from a hole in the sky.

(Roll, Distraction: 6 +10 =16)

You erase it with contemptuous ease before tapping your axe,

(Roll, Wrath and Ruin: 88 +50 =138)

and the enemy momentum buckles to a crawl under a sudden and immense pressure, the weight of mountains now on their backs and furious phantom blows striking their limbs. The power of your rune invalidating whatever extra strength they were given and then some.

(Roll, Dawi vs. Troll: 4 +10[Runes] +5[Lifted Spirits] =19 vs 4 - 10[Wrath and Ruin] =-6)

The battle, despite your best efforts, is an ugly affair. Groups of warriors, some wounded from the initial charge, battle the now sluggish, but unnaturally coordinated trolls. Dwarfs with broken legs hacking at the enemies' ankles while their clansmen struggle to strike them. More than once do you see overeager beardlings slash open a troll's belly, only to have an arm or leg swallowed by the torrent of stomach acid that spills out.

You decide to move forward, this cannot stand.

…​

The Greedy One raged from within its cavern, the horrible dwarf Runelord that denied much of its magic had ruined its plans. As it sat on its throne, it brooded and came to a single conclusion.

The Runelord had to be removed from the battle.

Then, and only then could it wipe out those accursed stunted things and claim their works for its own. With a muttered incantation the Greedy One pulled with its magic, drawing on yet more of the corrupting energy to enact its newest plan.

A portal opened.

The Greedy One grinned.

…​

You are marching your way towards the frontlines, part of the formations that are moving forward to relieve their brethren and allow them to fall back and recuperate when you feel it.

Not in the magical sense, because dwarfs are anathema to something so perfidious and tricksy as magic, but in the age-old sense of an Elder who knows when something is going too well.

A horn from the left flank bellows out a dreaded pattern.

Daemons.

Turning your head towards the relatively light left flank you can see a portal of unreality beginning to tear open, lesser Daemons coming out to partake in the slaughter.

The Longbeards, as one, charge to meet them, all too aware that their young relatives will not be able to stand against this unnatural foe. The charge of armoured dwarf elders is met by the rage-filled howls of demons.

(Roll, Longbeards Vs Daemons: 63 +10[Old Grumblers] =73 vs 77 +15[Bloody Strength] =92)

The thunder of boots

The runes on your cloak thrum to life unbidden, sensing the taint.

(Roll, Dealing with the Portal: 76 + 30[Runelord] + 20[Daemonward] =126)

And with a quiet hum, the growing portal stops to a standstill before slowly beginning to close. You barely take notice, too busy forcing your legs to make you go faster than you ever have, your hands clenching your weapons in a death grip.

(Roll, Angry Old Man vs some red boys: 76 +15[Old Grief] +15[Really Old Grumbler]= 106 vs 69 +15 =84)

You arrive like a bolt of lightning, the echoing clang of Gromril hitting daemonflesh your thunderclap. One after another, you smite daemons from the mortal plane and back to the cursed realm they came from.

…
​

(Roll: 41 +20 =61)

The next portal fizzles, ended by a trio of watchful runesmiths before it can even begin.

(Roll: 6 +20 =26)

The one after that explodes in a shower of energy that The Greedy One shields itself from with ease.

It was slowly growing wroth, the Khornate voices in its head demanding, no screaming, to stop using this foul magic and do the killing itself.

It was beginning to be swayed to their point of view.

But it must be clever, draw the Runelord away from its allies, stack the odds in its favour. Victory, the spoils, would never be his if the Runelord lived. Meticulously, the Greedy One began to cast.

…​

You shut the portal with a final, spiteful, blow of your hammer. Standing idly at the explosion of magic is eaten and converted by your amulet.

This cannot continue.

You look out over the battle, trying to make sense of the situation.

(Roll, intuition and perception: 66 + 2[sniffing])

Things seem to be, not fine, but not terrible. The front looks to be stabilized and the portals are being shut down before they can even truly begin by the now very watchful runesmiths. Enough time has passed that you hear the telltale thump and whistle of the artillery-

- explode in a shower of metal and wooden splinters that rocks the back lines of the Throng at the top of the hill where the artillery crews used to be.

Now in their place, you see yet another portal.

Bah!

But before you can even begin to jog over you hear the telltale ripping of reality once more. A portal appears in the midst of the right flank. The Ranks of Longbeards are already pulling back to make sure none are cut off by the arrival of yet more daemons.

Where do you go?

[ ] The rear.

[ ] The right.

AN: kudos to @BungieONI for getting closest to figuring out the enemy, and whoever guessed it was gonna totes be Krampus. I mean, a Runelord will not struggle against a horde of trolls, so I had to improvise. Anywho C&C and thanks for reading :^)