Well, more like 'was the ruling Dreadlord' in that case. I don't think he's ruling anything mounted on his fancy stick like we left him.
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Warhammer Fantasy: A Dynasty of Dynamic Alcoholism
- Thread starter torroar
- Start date
- Mature
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- Tags
- warhammer warhammer fantasy fantasy intrigue happens male protagonist ck2 quest belief stronk count of cannons drunken wisdom foes in the shadows graf of guns (guns) if you have a question check the front page first it begins... mountain vietnam ogres paranoia rising unseen enemies everywhere use the search function before asking waifu wars wake the bull
He should be cast in bronze and sendt as a gift to the King of Caledor
- Location
- Africa
they don't have a king
- Pronouns
- He/Him
...should we worry about a vengeful sister any time soon?
I wonder how did elven prisoners of Eldyra's fleet, saved from Eternal Fortress, reacted to that. Their POV must have been wild. One day you and your group got pincer'ed by the likes of Dreadbringer and Caledor's Bane. Next a bunch of tree loving colonists and humans suddenly invade the ark you are in then save you.
Their High Prince or other equivalent, then.
It is just a bit silly that the asur Kingdoms have no Kings.
I'll blame it on translation discrepancy between elf-speak and imperial.
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Oh!
We finally reached max opinion with wife.
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- Location
- A Pit Of My Own Making
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Fairly certain we hit that IRL years ago
NCRTrooper
Wishing For A Nuclear Winter
- Location
- New York
- Pronouns
- He/Him
We only recently get that thanks to choosing the bond strengthening as one of the Anniversary boons, actually.
Magnus and Freddy's bromance is always brilliant
Almost as funny as the brivalry between Freddy and his brother.
- Location
- Canada
I maintain that is something fixable with a shirtless manly fistfight.
Truly the foundation of many a brolationship
DoDA Commission [CANON] Of Hearth, Home, and Ale
New
Commissioned By Timewarriors
It was not the most auspicious of places, when you got down to it. The entire coastline had been rearranged, the land itself scarred, and badly, by two separate Black Arks. All about the place were humongous pieces of shattered masonry, splintered wood, churned up sand, and the giblets and bits of the dead spilled all about the place. All evidence of not just an entire section of docks meant to service more than a hundred ships being shattered with immense force, but of the terrible battle afterwards. Even with so many days and so much work put into dragging the bodies aside to be taken off in wagons elsewhere, there were still a few splotches here and there, occasionally revealed as the sand shifted and provided a new meal for the crows. Beyond that was the city itself, 'Salkalten', a place at once similar and yet so totally unlike the largest of the settlements of the tribes of Norsca. Taller, for one thing. Stouter, in some places, yet much more fragile in others. Some buildings of stone, others of thatch, and so on. Not at all like a proper Kraka.
But that didn't matter.
None of it.
Because he had finally reached blessed, solid ground again, and he was loathe to forget to treasure it every day that they were off that damned Ark.
"By the Ancestors," Tyr Ottarsson groaned as he let himself sink partially into the sand, the dwarf happily crunching his hands into the stuff a few times to let it crust his skin as he dug his feet in, looking out upon the humongous metal vessels that had arrived recently. "Damn good to be here, and alive."
"Aye, tis a blessed day indeed," Vikram Thorgardsson cried out next to him, his best friend equally dedicated to their daily ritual.
Before them, the damned Black Ark was still being ransacked, but the great majority of the Norse Dwarfs did not care to spend another second on that accursed place. Some, those truly lost in the throes of Grimnir's fury, sought to try and break as much of the black stone as they could even though the fighting was for the most part well and truly over. But most of the Norse Dwarfs had been happy enough to be escorted off the place, even if it was alongside umgi and ogri, at least once they'd extracted a few good pounds of flesh out of their erstwhile pointy-eared captors. Before his enslavement, Tyr had never had a problem with elgi, personally, but it was well and good that they'd been able to take proper vengeance upon them. A good number of grudges had been struck out that day, ones that he'd nevertheless have to hold onto so they could be properly inscribed once they returned home and then actually struck out in the Book of Grudges for his clan and kraka.
Still, it made for a fine sight to watch as time went on.
"You think they'll find any more of those elgi to drag past us today?" Vikram asked eagerly, eyes peering expectantly at the Ark.
It had become a quickly favored pastime, that, watching their proud so-called 'masters' being hauled off and away for imprisonment elsewhere.
"I hope so, but they're finding fewer and fewer by the day," Tyr sighed, shaking his head, rubbing absentmindedly at his chin.
His almost bare chin.
His hand started to clench into a fist that he propped underneath it instead.
"Damn those Druchii," he muttered to himself, glancing over to see that Vikram too had had that near daily realization of what the elgi had taken from them.
Shaving a dwarf's beard was practically killing them, so of course they'd done it to try and break all of their spirits. It hadn't worked, of course, but it had certainly earned the Druchii quite a few grudges in the course of it, alongside all the other indignities and pains the dawi had suffered at their hands.
"Let's think of something else," Vikram suggested, jerking his chin towards the humongous metal ships now filling the other half of the harbor. "It's been a while now. What do you think of those ships?"
"I think that they made our ships look like a pile of twigs, is what I think, " Tyr snorted. "Not that I'll tell the shipwrights that when we return to our home."
Both of them shuddered at the thought of that. The longbeards back in the shipyards of Sjoktraken or Karak Ravnsvake were proud, and justifiably so, of the ships they crafted. Stout construction, proper timber, and a good eye were all one needed to properly master the seas. Or at least, that was what both of them had believed for most of their lives, until the Black Arks had come upon them. The most powerful bolt throwers they had did little more than break uselessly against the hide of those hideous monstrosities of architecture. The truesteel behemoths of the so-called Barak Varr, on the other hand? Those looked like they might have been able to take on the Black Arks all on their lonesome. Now that would have been a sight to see, Tyr had decided the second he'd witnessed them sailing in. He hadn't quite understood just why some of the umgi of this 'Ostland' were allowed to venture onto them, but then, apparently there was much more to the Cult of Morgrim this far south than any of the krakas knew – at least going by the strange umgi woman's demeanor and regard from the dwarfs. Like a Slayer, almost, but not quite.
"Oy, you two!" A gruff voice called for them, and both friends glanced over to see Ragga, the stern kvinn and erstwhile captain of one of the ships in the convoy that had been taken, wave at them.
She, too, had been shaved, her long grey braids shorn from her like an unfortunate goat. Unlike many of the dwarfs that had been captured, she had taken the matter in stride, and had stubbornly resolved to 'live twice as long to spite the bastards' so that her hair would eventually grow back to its original length and then some. Like the rest of the captured Norse dwarfs like Tyr and Vikram, she was no longer dressed in the meager rags that the Druchii had forced upon them all, but rather was wearing some of the donated equipment offered to them by the umgi of Salkalten and some of the dawi who lived there as well. The cinched shirts and pants might not have fit them well, and the quality could have been far better, umgi work for certain, but compared to the rags of a slave they felt like vestments fitting for royalty. There was some rumbling about some of the dawi of Barak Varr giving them some properly dwarf-made clothing and armor as well, but many Tyr knew were holding out hope that their old belongings might still be found on the Ark despite it being more than a year since their enslavement.
"Ahoy, captain," Tyr called back to her. "Is something amiss?"
"There will be if you don't get over here!" She grumped back, and both younger dwarfs glanced at each other before rising and quickly scurrying over to the longplait – shaved or not, there were enough wrinkled and weathered lines in the woman's face for her age to be evident. "Good. Now then, you know that absolute piss that the umgi have been offering us?"
Tyr and Vikram both grimaced in unison.
"Aye, captain," Tyr grunted. "It's not that I don't appreciate the hospitality offered, o' course, it's just…,"
"It tastes like piss," Vikram said more bluntly. "None of the richness or boldness of even the mead that the dumumgi make from time to time back home."
Both of them reared back slightly at the thoroughly disquieting sight of the old captain grinning toothily at them.
"Well, we're in luck, beardlings," she chuckled. "The good dawi of Barak Varr have elected to open up some of their stores to us, their beleaguered kin, and who better to see how good it really is down here in the warm south than you two?"
Tyr and Vikram did not even bother exchanging a look before they were nodding.
Even without the runes that burned upon his armor, the finery of his make, the royal hammerers keeping a gimlet eye on all potential threats, or anything else, it was known and recognizable to every dwarf there Norse or otherwise by his bearing alone.
"Know that you stand before King Alriknulf Grundadrakk of Barak Varr," one of the hammerers began, gesturing to the regal one before them. "And," the hammerer continued, much to Tyr and Vikram's shock, "Arthur von Hohenzollern, Prince of Ostland and son of Frederick von Hohenzollern, he who is Zakdrungi a Dum, Das Azul, and Unbaki a Thagi to the Karaz Ankor."
Now Tyr and Vikram's eyes were as wide as they could stretch, and Captain Ragga's as well behind them. Then the hammerer coughed rather heavily into a fist, and all three of them remembered themselves and bowed deeply to the one of royal blood before them. Then, with a bit more hesitation, they did the same to the apparent son of one worthy of rather impressive titles. He had never before met the dwarfs of the south, but dwarfs they were, and so despite his misgivings he found that he had to accept such lofty accolades for all that he knew the reasonings not. Besides which, now that they knew which one he was, it was easier to remember the black-armored warrior who had battered his way through the streets of the Black Ark with a troop of accompanying warriors dressed similarly. Who had also been the one to command the efforts to dispose of the many dead whether elgi or otherwise.
"Greetings," the umgi said to them, smiling politely, garbed in priestly black robes.
"Would that we could have come sooner," the King began gruffly, "Or that the elgi had not struck out at your people at all."
"A thought I had myself for many nights, King Grundadrakk," Captain Ragga hoarsely grunted before stepping forward and gesturing at Tyr and Vikram. "May I introduce Tyr Ottarsson and Vikram Thorgardsson."
At that, the craggy expression of distant royalty broke out into a smile.
"Ah!" King Grundadrakk chuffed. "The ones you spoke of. Apprentices to a true brewmaster these, eh?"
Tyr cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his head in embarrassment, suddenly hating the Druchii all the more for shaving him. He was nearly beardless, and now he was being introduced to a King!
"That's us, your highness!" Vikram said brightly before straightening with great pride. "We're apprenticed to Brewmaster Forseti of Clan Heidrog!"
Despite himself, Tyr felt himself straightening with that same pride.
"Greatest of the brewing clans in all the land," Captain Ragga stated, before pausing at the bemused eyebrow raise of the King. "Er, that is, in our lands, at least. Founded from the line of the Yinlinssons, they were."
"Ho ho," King Grundadrakk laughed, hands going to his hips. "Well, seeing as Clan Yinlinsson still lives in Karaz-a-Karak that should be an interesting conversation to be had. Especially as we've brought some of their brew with us," he gestured to the wide array of kegs stacked upon one of the benches, all of them as of yet untapped.
Tyr blinked and suddenly became aware of the weight of a great many pairs of eyes of thirsty Norse dwarfs staring over at them.
"And who better to judge the brews of your southern kin than those of you apprenticed to a Brewmaster of the krakas!" the King continued.
Tyr swallowed heavily.
To judge a brew, to name it good for all and sundry to drink, was a weighty thing to be levied upon them. Normally it was for a true Brewmaster to do, to judge drinks old and new, to be able to make sure from the very first taste of a tapped keg that the rest of it was safe for the rest of the dwarfs around to drink. But more than if it was safe, but if it was good to drink. Tyr and Vikram had seen it done a hundred times before during exchanges between the krakas at feasts and weddings and at the end of trade missions besides. It was often performative, yes, but the ritual of it was important, not to be trusted to mere apprentices! If they could not judge the drink correctly, then it would be a tacit failure on their part, as well as to those who instructed them! Yet here, now, they were being offered that opportunity. If they judged well, by the regard of their fellow dawi who would drink after, then it would be fine. If they declared the drink good, only to find that they had misjudged the tastes of their own people and therefore would call their own as future brewmasters themselves…it could be a disaster!
"I…thank you, King Grundadrakk! You honor us!" Vikram said with a wide smile even as Tyr's head whipped about to glare at his friend before he caught himself and looked to the king.
"T-thank you, King Grundadrakk, we are honored to be the first to drink of the brews of our southern kin," Tyr said quickly.
To that, the King simply nodded, a soft smile on his face almost completely hidden by his magnificent beard. Of course, even the beardlings amongst the dwarfs of Barak Varr had greater beards than Tyr could be said to possess at the moment. Either way, Tyr and Vikram found themselves escorted to the wall of kegs, and with great care and perhaps a bit more sweat than there should have been, carefully tapped them out and filled a mug each that was absolutely full of frothing ale. The very scent of it was incredible, a welcome change from the filth of the confines of the Ark or the too-light fruity essence in the air from what wafted from the wine glasses of the Druchii as they looked down upon their slaves. In an instant, the two were already cataloguing a great many clues as to the brew's origin and flavorings, and that was before they took their first deep pulls of the mugs.
Then Tyr blinked, and realized he'd drunk the entire mug.
"That…is a fine brew," Vikram rasped out, choked up from the sheer fulfillment that the ale had brought him, filling his belly with a warmth that might have been somewhat foreign but was far more familiar.
"A fine brew indeed," Tyr added. "The toasted notes…modest but proper hops…,"
"Smooth, that malty earthy…by Valaya, that's a damn fine drink."
"Excellent!" King Grundadrakk said, clapping his hands to draw eyes towards himself once more. "You have been deprived of a true drink and feast for too long, my northern kin! And though we are far from a proper karak, with the aid of young Arthur, we shall provide for you the next best approximation!"
Delicious scents filled the air after that, roasted birds stuffed with butter and garlic, mounds of hardy root vegetables, and more were carried in swiftly by determined looking strange folk that were not quite dwarfs themselves. Halflings, Tyr half-remembered, something he'd heard about from somewhere but had not yet ever seen. There were certainly none amongst the ranks of the slaves of the Black Ark, and certainly none in Norsca as far as he knew. Either way, the feast was in full swing, and it was the closest they'd been to home since their convoy of ships had been taken down on that dark night a year ago. After so long on the restrained rations offered to slaves, even to dwarfs, and not a single drop of alcohol to drink in that entire time, it was, in a word, glorious. The brews were different from the ales and meads of home, to be sure, but that difference in origin did nothing to diminish the taste of them, and the comforting invigoration that all the dwarfs felt as they filled themselves fully for the first time in too long.
It was towards the end of that feast, however, when Tyr found himself drifting close by to where the King held impromptu court with his thanes and hammerers while overlooking the Norse dwarfs, meeting with and discussing the greater notables amongst them. Some of them had nobler blood than others, and so of course met with the King first and foremost now, but others who were the closest representative of the northern guilds also had a place there. Which therefore included Tyr and Vikram, bereft of a proper Brewmaster to represent the Brewers Guilds. With enough ale and food, the strangeness of so many umgi also present and given places of honor and respect was something that the young dwarf was happy to live and let be. Besides which, something in particular caught his attention as he let the warm glow of stomach full of proper ale fill him. Yet his youth kept him from acting improperly, for despite the cheer in the air, the hammerers surrounding the king had yet to take more than a dozen pints for themselves, their grips on their runed weapons more firm and ready than ever.
"Master Tyr," the umgi prince, Arthur, called out to him, making him jump in place. "Is there something amiss?"
King Grundadrakk blinked, turning from his conversation so that his gaze could fall upon the apprentice in question.
"I…my apologies," Tyr flushed, his already flushed cheeks reddening further. "I just…,"
Realization sparked in the king's eye, and a rough laugh escaped the longbeard as he glanced down to the small keg sitting on a smaller table between himself and Arthur.
"Ah, of course," he chortled, thumping a heavy hand atop the keg. "How foolish of us not to offer you a drink of this fine brew amongst all the others."
"Ah, yes, my apologies," Arthur inclined his head to Tyr. "This is from my own personal store of Bugman's XXXXXX."
"Bugmans," Tyr said softly, brow furrowing. "I…do not know that name."
That, of all things, caused a great deal of coughing and sputtering on the dwarfs around him, those of Barak Varr.
"Not heard of the brews of Josef Bugman?! Truly?!" King Grundadrakk said, eyes wide and astonished.
"Well…perhaps the name might be a bit familiar," Tyr hedged, "I think when the one known as Thorgrim reached our holds some few decades ago it might have been mentioned, but…I've heard little else of it."
Grundadrakk stared at him, then down at the keg, then over to Arthur.
"Then please, have a drink!" The prince said with a soft smile as he filled a mug of it. "Bugman is universally renowned as the finest Brewmaster in the whole of the Karaz Ankor, as far as I know."
"Tis the truth, aye," Grundadrakk said, his sheer scrutiny and focus making Tyr hunch his shoulders a bit as the frothing mug was offered to him.
Already, the scent was different.
Stronger.
Better than the brews of Clan Yinlinsson offered up for the wider consumption of the feast.
"The best you say," Tyr said before tipping the mug back.
It was like being punched in the soul by Valaya herself.
"By the Ancestors!" He croaked out after he finished it, astonished and awed all the same, staggering to the side and needing to place a heavy hand onto the table just to stay upright.
All around him were approving grins and knowing looks shared amongst the dwarfs of the south.
"That was….incredible!" He finally managed to say after another moment to collect himself. "It's practically as good as Master Uldin's Brew!"
"I told you," Grundadrakk chuffed, "The best of…," his mirth faded into confusion. "I'm sorry?"
Now it was Tyr's turn to gawp, though only for a moment.
"Master Uldin?" He said, looking amongst them. "Uldin Frostcrown? The greatest Brewmaster in the world?"
Now there was a great deal more muttering from around him, and Tyr felt like he was no longer standing upon stout stone ground but the crunching sands of the beach once more.
"That is…to my knowledge," he said more rapidly. "Amongst the krakas, Uldin Frostcrown is the greatest Brewmaster ever, and…and this," he raised the empty mug, "Is a close – a match for it, even! I might need more to make sure, though…,"
"What's this about someone matching Uldin Frostcrown?" One of the other Norse dwarfs, especially drunk, belched out as they stumbled to their feet. "Can't be done!"
Prince Arthur looked at the king, and then hung his head as more and more of the Norse dwarfs heard of this potential besmirching of one of the most famous dwarfs in all of Norsca.
"It seems I might be using up a lot more from my stores than I initially planned," he said with a snorting laugh.
Tyr wasn't going to be complaining too much. It had been far too long since they'd been able to drink enough to actually get a hangover. Thankfully, they were protected from the sun's punishing rays by the wagon's cover, though not from the bumping and shaking of its wheels as it traveled. Nor from the pounding booms of the hooves of the horse drawing them along. The driver of the wagon was blessedly not whistling or singing, though, which Tyr was going to count as a win. Besides which, he was trying to marshal all his strength for what was to come. What he had drunkenly proposed, that Vikram had drunkenly added to, and the rest of their kind had proudly supported in its entirety. At the very least, they'd been loaned enough beer and ale for the journey to be in such a state as this in the first place.
"We're here, beardlings," the dwarf said gruffly, and Tyr nervously stood up, smoothing down his loaned tunic and pants, Vikram doing the same before they both exited the wagon into the painful light of the sun once more.
Not that it mattered as they were skewered in place by the uncompromising glare of a white-bearded dwarf who stood before what had to be the largest brewery that either of the two had ever laid eyes on, with the most heart-wrenchingly familiar sights, sounds, and scents. Not that they could marvel at that, thanks to the sheer presence of the dwarf before them, hands folded over his chest. There were other dwarfs present, all of them with their own clan crests woven into beards and plaits. Even having never seen him before, the symbol carved upon the barrels that Prince Arthur had provided was evident upon him, and that aside, something deep within Tyr and Vikram told them that they faced one who might – might – very well be an equal to Uldin Frostcrown himself.
"So. You're the beardlings from Norsca," the longbeard grunted.
"Master Bugman," Tyr and Vikram said in unison before bowing low.
"Well," the Brewmaster harrumphed. "Let's see about you then, hmm?"
It was not the most auspicious of places, when you got down to it. The entire coastline had been rearranged, the land itself scarred, and badly, by two separate Black Arks. All about the place were humongous pieces of shattered masonry, splintered wood, churned up sand, and the giblets and bits of the dead spilled all about the place. All evidence of not just an entire section of docks meant to service more than a hundred ships being shattered with immense force, but of the terrible battle afterwards. Even with so many days and so much work put into dragging the bodies aside to be taken off in wagons elsewhere, there were still a few splotches here and there, occasionally revealed as the sand shifted and provided a new meal for the crows. Beyond that was the city itself, 'Salkalten', a place at once similar and yet so totally unlike the largest of the settlements of the tribes of Norsca. Taller, for one thing. Stouter, in some places, yet much more fragile in others. Some buildings of stone, others of thatch, and so on. Not at all like a proper Kraka.
But that didn't matter.
None of it.
Because he had finally reached blessed, solid ground again, and he was loathe to forget to treasure it every day that they were off that damned Ark.
"By the Ancestors," Tyr Ottarsson groaned as he let himself sink partially into the sand, the dwarf happily crunching his hands into the stuff a few times to let it crust his skin as he dug his feet in, looking out upon the humongous metal vessels that had arrived recently. "Damn good to be here, and alive."
"Aye, tis a blessed day indeed," Vikram Thorgardsson cried out next to him, his best friend equally dedicated to their daily ritual.
Before them, the damned Black Ark was still being ransacked, but the great majority of the Norse Dwarfs did not care to spend another second on that accursed place. Some, those truly lost in the throes of Grimnir's fury, sought to try and break as much of the black stone as they could even though the fighting was for the most part well and truly over. But most of the Norse Dwarfs had been happy enough to be escorted off the place, even if it was alongside umgi and ogri, at least once they'd extracted a few good pounds of flesh out of their erstwhile pointy-eared captors. Before his enslavement, Tyr had never had a problem with elgi, personally, but it was well and good that they'd been able to take proper vengeance upon them. A good number of grudges had been struck out that day, ones that he'd nevertheless have to hold onto so they could be properly inscribed once they returned home and then actually struck out in the Book of Grudges for his clan and kraka.
Still, it made for a fine sight to watch as time went on.
"You think they'll find any more of those elgi to drag past us today?" Vikram asked eagerly, eyes peering expectantly at the Ark.
It had become a quickly favored pastime, that, watching their proud so-called 'masters' being hauled off and away for imprisonment elsewhere.
"I hope so, but they're finding fewer and fewer by the day," Tyr sighed, shaking his head, rubbing absentmindedly at his chin.
His almost bare chin.
His hand started to clench into a fist that he propped underneath it instead.
"Damn those Druchii," he muttered to himself, glancing over to see that Vikram too had had that near daily realization of what the elgi had taken from them.
Shaving a dwarf's beard was practically killing them, so of course they'd done it to try and break all of their spirits. It hadn't worked, of course, but it had certainly earned the Druchii quite a few grudges in the course of it, alongside all the other indignities and pains the dawi had suffered at their hands.
"Let's think of something else," Vikram suggested, jerking his chin towards the humongous metal ships now filling the other half of the harbor. "It's been a while now. What do you think of those ships?"
"I think that they made our ships look like a pile of twigs, is what I think, " Tyr snorted. "Not that I'll tell the shipwrights that when we return to our home."
Both of them shuddered at the thought of that. The longbeards back in the shipyards of Sjoktraken or Karak Ravnsvake were proud, and justifiably so, of the ships they crafted. Stout construction, proper timber, and a good eye were all one needed to properly master the seas. Or at least, that was what both of them had believed for most of their lives, until the Black Arks had come upon them. The most powerful bolt throwers they had did little more than break uselessly against the hide of those hideous monstrosities of architecture. The truesteel behemoths of the so-called Barak Varr, on the other hand? Those looked like they might have been able to take on the Black Arks all on their lonesome. Now that would have been a sight to see, Tyr had decided the second he'd witnessed them sailing in. He hadn't quite understood just why some of the umgi of this 'Ostland' were allowed to venture onto them, but then, apparently there was much more to the Cult of Morgrim this far south than any of the krakas knew – at least going by the strange umgi woman's demeanor and regard from the dwarfs. Like a Slayer, almost, but not quite.
"Oy, you two!" A gruff voice called for them, and both friends glanced over to see Ragga, the stern kvinn and erstwhile captain of one of the ships in the convoy that had been taken, wave at them.
She, too, had been shaved, her long grey braids shorn from her like an unfortunate goat. Unlike many of the dwarfs that had been captured, she had taken the matter in stride, and had stubbornly resolved to 'live twice as long to spite the bastards' so that her hair would eventually grow back to its original length and then some. Like the rest of the captured Norse dwarfs like Tyr and Vikram, she was no longer dressed in the meager rags that the Druchii had forced upon them all, but rather was wearing some of the donated equipment offered to them by the umgi of Salkalten and some of the dawi who lived there as well. The cinched shirts and pants might not have fit them well, and the quality could have been far better, umgi work for certain, but compared to the rags of a slave they felt like vestments fitting for royalty. There was some rumbling about some of the dawi of Barak Varr giving them some properly dwarf-made clothing and armor as well, but many Tyr knew were holding out hope that their old belongings might still be found on the Ark despite it being more than a year since their enslavement.
"Ahoy, captain," Tyr called back to her. "Is something amiss?"
"There will be if you don't get over here!" She grumped back, and both younger dwarfs glanced at each other before rising and quickly scurrying over to the longplait – shaved or not, there were enough wrinkled and weathered lines in the woman's face for her age to be evident. "Good. Now then, you know that absolute piss that the umgi have been offering us?"
Tyr and Vikram both grimaced in unison.
"Aye, captain," Tyr grunted. "It's not that I don't appreciate the hospitality offered, o' course, it's just…,"
"It tastes like piss," Vikram said more bluntly. "None of the richness or boldness of even the mead that the dumumgi make from time to time back home."
Both of them reared back slightly at the thoroughly disquieting sight of the old captain grinning toothily at them.
"Well, we're in luck, beardlings," she chuckled. "The good dawi of Barak Varr have elected to open up some of their stores to us, their beleaguered kin, and who better to see how good it really is down here in the warm south than you two?"
Tyr and Vikram did not even bother exchanging a look before they were nodding.
==================================================================
All their youthful exuberance and good old-fashioned interest in a fine drink were mightily dampened when they arrived at the large pavilions erected by the Barak Varr dawi. Stout wutroth poles held up expertly treated hides to banish cold and wind with ease, while within roaring fires blazed within finely forged braziers. Huge tables and benches had been brought forth, set up to create the closet approximation to a proper drinking hall that any of the Norse dawi had seen yet, which made sense when one considered that all of it had been provided by the their southern kin. It was a curious, somewhat standoffish exchange that they found within, all of the freed dwarfs interacting with their cousins of the south, for despite all the respect and anger on their behalf it was undeniable that a great many of the Norse dwarfs were shaved. Which, in turn, disturbed all of the dwarfs of Barak Varr, as well it should have to seen so many unfortunately bare chins and scalps where there should be bountiful hair. Thankfully, respect and sympathy won out over anything else, something that Tyr and Vikram found themselves quite appreciative of as they were shuffled forwards past umgi and dawi alike until they came upon a richly and masterfully armed and armored dwarf.
Even without the runes that burned upon his armor, the finery of his make, the royal hammerers keeping a gimlet eye on all potential threats, or anything else, it was known and recognizable to every dwarf there Norse or otherwise by his bearing alone.
"Know that you stand before King Alriknulf Grundadrakk of Barak Varr," one of the hammerers began, gesturing to the regal one before them. "And," the hammerer continued, much to Tyr and Vikram's shock, "Arthur von Hohenzollern, Prince of Ostland and son of Frederick von Hohenzollern, he who is Zakdrungi a Dum, Das Azul, and Unbaki a Thagi to the Karaz Ankor."
Now Tyr and Vikram's eyes were as wide as they could stretch, and Captain Ragga's as well behind them. Then the hammerer coughed rather heavily into a fist, and all three of them remembered themselves and bowed deeply to the one of royal blood before them. Then, with a bit more hesitation, they did the same to the apparent son of one worthy of rather impressive titles. He had never before met the dwarfs of the south, but dwarfs they were, and so despite his misgivings he found that he had to accept such lofty accolades for all that he knew the reasonings not. Besides which, now that they knew which one he was, it was easier to remember the black-armored warrior who had battered his way through the streets of the Black Ark with a troop of accompanying warriors dressed similarly. Who had also been the one to command the efforts to dispose of the many dead whether elgi or otherwise.
"Greetings," the umgi said to them, smiling politely, garbed in priestly black robes.
"Would that we could have come sooner," the King began gruffly, "Or that the elgi had not struck out at your people at all."
"A thought I had myself for many nights, King Grundadrakk," Captain Ragga hoarsely grunted before stepping forward and gesturing at Tyr and Vikram. "May I introduce Tyr Ottarsson and Vikram Thorgardsson."
At that, the craggy expression of distant royalty broke out into a smile.
"Ah!" King Grundadrakk chuffed. "The ones you spoke of. Apprentices to a true brewmaster these, eh?"
Tyr cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his head in embarrassment, suddenly hating the Druchii all the more for shaving him. He was nearly beardless, and now he was being introduced to a King!
"That's us, your highness!" Vikram said brightly before straightening with great pride. "We're apprenticed to Brewmaster Forseti of Clan Heidrog!"
Despite himself, Tyr felt himself straightening with that same pride.
"Greatest of the brewing clans in all the land," Captain Ragga stated, before pausing at the bemused eyebrow raise of the King. "Er, that is, in our lands, at least. Founded from the line of the Yinlinssons, they were."
"Ho ho," King Grundadrakk laughed, hands going to his hips. "Well, seeing as Clan Yinlinsson still lives in Karaz-a-Karak that should be an interesting conversation to be had. Especially as we've brought some of their brew with us," he gestured to the wide array of kegs stacked upon one of the benches, all of them as of yet untapped.
Tyr blinked and suddenly became aware of the weight of a great many pairs of eyes of thirsty Norse dwarfs staring over at them.
"And who better to judge the brews of your southern kin than those of you apprenticed to a Brewmaster of the krakas!" the King continued.
Tyr swallowed heavily.
To judge a brew, to name it good for all and sundry to drink, was a weighty thing to be levied upon them. Normally it was for a true Brewmaster to do, to judge drinks old and new, to be able to make sure from the very first taste of a tapped keg that the rest of it was safe for the rest of the dwarfs around to drink. But more than if it was safe, but if it was good to drink. Tyr and Vikram had seen it done a hundred times before during exchanges between the krakas at feasts and weddings and at the end of trade missions besides. It was often performative, yes, but the ritual of it was important, not to be trusted to mere apprentices! If they could not judge the drink correctly, then it would be a tacit failure on their part, as well as to those who instructed them! Yet here, now, they were being offered that opportunity. If they judged well, by the regard of their fellow dawi who would drink after, then it would be fine. If they declared the drink good, only to find that they had misjudged the tastes of their own people and therefore would call their own as future brewmasters themselves…it could be a disaster!
"I…thank you, King Grundadrakk! You honor us!" Vikram said with a wide smile even as Tyr's head whipped about to glare at his friend before he caught himself and looked to the king.
"T-thank you, King Grundadrakk, we are honored to be the first to drink of the brews of our southern kin," Tyr said quickly.
To that, the King simply nodded, a soft smile on his face almost completely hidden by his magnificent beard. Of course, even the beardlings amongst the dwarfs of Barak Varr had greater beards than Tyr could be said to possess at the moment. Either way, Tyr and Vikram found themselves escorted to the wall of kegs, and with great care and perhaps a bit more sweat than there should have been, carefully tapped them out and filled a mug each that was absolutely full of frothing ale. The very scent of it was incredible, a welcome change from the filth of the confines of the Ark or the too-light fruity essence in the air from what wafted from the wine glasses of the Druchii as they looked down upon their slaves. In an instant, the two were already cataloguing a great many clues as to the brew's origin and flavorings, and that was before they took their first deep pulls of the mugs.
Then Tyr blinked, and realized he'd drunk the entire mug.
"That…is a fine brew," Vikram rasped out, choked up from the sheer fulfillment that the ale had brought him, filling his belly with a warmth that might have been somewhat foreign but was far more familiar.
"A fine brew indeed," Tyr added. "The toasted notes…modest but proper hops…,"
"Smooth, that malty earthy…by Valaya, that's a damn fine drink."
"Excellent!" King Grundadrakk said, clapping his hands to draw eyes towards himself once more. "You have been deprived of a true drink and feast for too long, my northern kin! And though we are far from a proper karak, with the aid of young Arthur, we shall provide for you the next best approximation!"
Delicious scents filled the air after that, roasted birds stuffed with butter and garlic, mounds of hardy root vegetables, and more were carried in swiftly by determined looking strange folk that were not quite dwarfs themselves. Halflings, Tyr half-remembered, something he'd heard about from somewhere but had not yet ever seen. There were certainly none amongst the ranks of the slaves of the Black Ark, and certainly none in Norsca as far as he knew. Either way, the feast was in full swing, and it was the closest they'd been to home since their convoy of ships had been taken down on that dark night a year ago. After so long on the restrained rations offered to slaves, even to dwarfs, and not a single drop of alcohol to drink in that entire time, it was, in a word, glorious. The brews were different from the ales and meads of home, to be sure, but that difference in origin did nothing to diminish the taste of them, and the comforting invigoration that all the dwarfs felt as they filled themselves fully for the first time in too long.
It was towards the end of that feast, however, when Tyr found himself drifting close by to where the King held impromptu court with his thanes and hammerers while overlooking the Norse dwarfs, meeting with and discussing the greater notables amongst them. Some of them had nobler blood than others, and so of course met with the King first and foremost now, but others who were the closest representative of the northern guilds also had a place there. Which therefore included Tyr and Vikram, bereft of a proper Brewmaster to represent the Brewers Guilds. With enough ale and food, the strangeness of so many umgi also present and given places of honor and respect was something that the young dwarf was happy to live and let be. Besides which, something in particular caught his attention as he let the warm glow of stomach full of proper ale fill him. Yet his youth kept him from acting improperly, for despite the cheer in the air, the hammerers surrounding the king had yet to take more than a dozen pints for themselves, their grips on their runed weapons more firm and ready than ever.
"Master Tyr," the umgi prince, Arthur, called out to him, making him jump in place. "Is there something amiss?"
King Grundadrakk blinked, turning from his conversation so that his gaze could fall upon the apprentice in question.
"I…my apologies," Tyr flushed, his already flushed cheeks reddening further. "I just…,"
Realization sparked in the king's eye, and a rough laugh escaped the longbeard as he glanced down to the small keg sitting on a smaller table between himself and Arthur.
"Ah, of course," he chortled, thumping a heavy hand atop the keg. "How foolish of us not to offer you a drink of this fine brew amongst all the others."
"Ah, yes, my apologies," Arthur inclined his head to Tyr. "This is from my own personal store of Bugman's XXXXXX."
"Bugmans," Tyr said softly, brow furrowing. "I…do not know that name."
That, of all things, caused a great deal of coughing and sputtering on the dwarfs around him, those of Barak Varr.
"Not heard of the brews of Josef Bugman?! Truly?!" King Grundadrakk said, eyes wide and astonished.
"Well…perhaps the name might be a bit familiar," Tyr hedged, "I think when the one known as Thorgrim reached our holds some few decades ago it might have been mentioned, but…I've heard little else of it."
Grundadrakk stared at him, then down at the keg, then over to Arthur.
"Then please, have a drink!" The prince said with a soft smile as he filled a mug of it. "Bugman is universally renowned as the finest Brewmaster in the whole of the Karaz Ankor, as far as I know."
"Tis the truth, aye," Grundadrakk said, his sheer scrutiny and focus making Tyr hunch his shoulders a bit as the frothing mug was offered to him.
Already, the scent was different.
Stronger.
Better than the brews of Clan Yinlinsson offered up for the wider consumption of the feast.
"The best you say," Tyr said before tipping the mug back.
It was like being punched in the soul by Valaya herself.
"By the Ancestors!" He croaked out after he finished it, astonished and awed all the same, staggering to the side and needing to place a heavy hand onto the table just to stay upright.
All around him were approving grins and knowing looks shared amongst the dwarfs of the south.
"That was….incredible!" He finally managed to say after another moment to collect himself. "It's practically as good as Master Uldin's Brew!"
"I told you," Grundadrakk chuffed, "The best of…," his mirth faded into confusion. "I'm sorry?"
Now it was Tyr's turn to gawp, though only for a moment.
"Master Uldin?" He said, looking amongst them. "Uldin Frostcrown? The greatest Brewmaster in the world?"
Now there was a great deal more muttering from around him, and Tyr felt like he was no longer standing upon stout stone ground but the crunching sands of the beach once more.
"That is…to my knowledge," he said more rapidly. "Amongst the krakas, Uldin Frostcrown is the greatest Brewmaster ever, and…and this," he raised the empty mug, "Is a close – a match for it, even! I might need more to make sure, though…,"
"What's this about someone matching Uldin Frostcrown?" One of the other Norse dwarfs, especially drunk, belched out as they stumbled to their feet. "Can't be done!"
Prince Arthur looked at the king, and then hung his head as more and more of the Norse dwarfs heard of this potential besmirching of one of the most famous dwarfs in all of Norsca.
"It seems I might be using up a lot more from my stores than I initially planned," he said with a snorting laugh.
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"Urgh…my head…," Vikram mumbled as the cart continued to trundle along.
Tyr wasn't going to be complaining too much. It had been far too long since they'd been able to drink enough to actually get a hangover. Thankfully, they were protected from the sun's punishing rays by the wagon's cover, though not from the bumping and shaking of its wheels as it traveled. Nor from the pounding booms of the hooves of the horse drawing them along. The driver of the wagon was blessedly not whistling or singing, though, which Tyr was going to count as a win. Besides which, he was trying to marshal all his strength for what was to come. What he had drunkenly proposed, that Vikram had drunkenly added to, and the rest of their kind had proudly supported in its entirety. At the very least, they'd been loaned enough beer and ale for the journey to be in such a state as this in the first place.
"We're here, beardlings," the dwarf said gruffly, and Tyr nervously stood up, smoothing down his loaned tunic and pants, Vikram doing the same before they both exited the wagon into the painful light of the sun once more.
Not that it mattered as they were skewered in place by the uncompromising glare of a white-bearded dwarf who stood before what had to be the largest brewery that either of the two had ever laid eyes on, with the most heart-wrenchingly familiar sights, sounds, and scents. Not that they could marvel at that, thanks to the sheer presence of the dwarf before them, hands folded over his chest. There were other dwarfs present, all of them with their own clan crests woven into beards and plaits. Even having never seen him before, the symbol carved upon the barrels that Prince Arthur had provided was evident upon him, and that aside, something deep within Tyr and Vikram told them that they faced one who might – might – very well be an equal to Uldin Frostcrown himself.
"So. You're the beardlings from Norsca," the longbeard grunted.
"Master Bugman," Tyr and Vikram said in unison before bowing low.
"Well," the Brewmaster harrumphed. "Let's see about you then, hmm?"
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- Pronouns
- He/Him
A wonderful work.
Alcohol, the cause of, and solution to so many problems involving Ostland.
Alcohol, the cause of, and solution to so many problems involving Ostland.
Additionally, because of this commission, we now have a new mysterious Brewmaster of Norsca that is canon to DoDA!
The standoffish, gruff, somewhat isolated longbeard (but I repeat myself) Uldin Frostcrown, crafter of the finest brews known to the Norse Dwarf Krakas and the world entire!
...until, perhaps now.
Contact with the Norse holds has been very on and off, and when Thorgrim met with them the one time to see if they were even alive or not as part of his litany of grand deeds to become High King, it wasn't like he could regale them with literally everything. Or at least that every Norse dwarf would have heard about it, if they were just apprentice beardlings, that is.
The standoffish, gruff, somewhat isolated longbeard (but I repeat myself) Uldin Frostcrown, crafter of the finest brews known to the Norse Dwarf Krakas and the world entire!
...until, perhaps now.
Contact with the Norse holds has been very on and off, and when Thorgrim met with them the one time to see if they were even alive or not as part of his litany of grand deeds to become High King, it wasn't like he could regale them with literally everything. Or at least that every Norse dwarf would have heard about it, if they were just apprentice beardlings, that is.
Fixable? Shirtless manly fist fights are the POINT.
- Location
- USA
Thank you Torroar.
Thank you for commissioning!
Ah, it does my heart good to see them receiving proper hospitality for the first time in too long
Thors_Alumni
Proud member of Thors Class VII from Liberl
- Location
- Liberl Zemuria.
Wouldn't it be funny if Fredericks group when they are heading home through Norsca after escaping the Black Ark, run into the Northern Dwarves and establish contact with them and with news of what was happening back in the Karaz Ankor? It'd be an interesting time depending on what is happening with the northern dwarves. We know that Freddie and co will be in a hurry to get home due to the green Ork attack that was being prepared for by the other half of the empire. he doesn't know about the Beast tide that is now ongoing or about the third thing that happend that If forget the name of other than that it involved the moss in the caves.
That part has hopefully been dealt with and everyone other than remnants have moved on. A part of me is hoping that dragon lady has gone to help with the Dawi with the siege but anotehr part is hoping that she's still in the empire proper giving the Beasttide arial strafing runs.
That part has hopefully been dealt with and everyone other than remnants have moved on. A part of me is hoping that dragon lady has gone to help with the Dawi with the siege but anotehr part is hoping that she's still in the empire proper giving the Beasttide arial strafing runs.
- Location
- USA
Well cheer up Tyr and Vikram, it's not every day you get the attention and presumably testing of the greatest brew master in the world (title currently contesting).
Warmach1ne32
Machine of War and Quests
- Location
- Indonesia
When Keri is giving her Scouting report to Nat, this part looks like it is missing a sentence.
Ah, that's just a spacing issue. Fixed though, thanks!
Massgamer
Advance toward the Future
- Location
- The Future
Such a great sidestory, and showing of the cultural differences between the northern and southern dwarfs.
One thing I found very funny and interesting was how they have no context for halflings, since they are rare outside of the Empire in general.
@torroar random, but noted that there has been no halfling slaves among Black Arks, which makes sense since rare is the halfling that lives outside of Mootland in general, and more so in locations that the dark elves can raid.
Given their immunity to Dhar, does that make them viewed as valuable/rare slaves to precure? Like, I can see some dark elves using them as personal slave assistances for anything Dhar related.
One thing I found very funny and interesting was how they have no context for halflings, since they are rare outside of the Empire in general.
@torroar random, but noted that there has been no halfling slaves among Black Arks, which makes sense since rare is the halfling that lives outside of Mootland in general, and more so in locations that the dark elves can raid.
Given their immunity to Dhar, does that make them viewed as valuable/rare slaves to precure? Like, I can see some dark elves using them as personal slave assistances for anything Dhar related.