Dwarves!

[Huscarl]

Dwarves!
OOC: http://roleplayerguild.com/showthrea...1-Dwarves!-OOC

Once upon a time there was a family of dwarves living beneath a small mountain. The mountain was located at the edge of a great, old forest, and the dwarves living beneath it went by the name of Thunderstone. The Thunderstones were an old and respected family with blood ties to some of the greatest clans in dwarven history, and thus they had prospered throughout the ages. In the centre of their realm lay a great hall where the dwarves would meet on important occations. The hall was built around a great central hearth, the ceiling blackened by centuries of smoke from the fire. Hundreds of dwarves could fit into it if necessary, crowded on benches around tables all along the great trench of a hearth. The great hall stood unused most of the year as everyday life went idly by, but today was different. Today, a feast was being held in the hall of the Thunderstones. The feast was being held in the honor of seven brave souls who had decided to undertake a journey to the Mountain of Soot, found at the very edge of the map, in order to claim the golden treasure within it for the glory of their family. So songs were being sung. Speeches were being held. Mead was definately being drunk. And the dwarves rejoiced in the celebration, for they knew what lay ahead of them.

Or, rather, they thought they did.

Algomin the Whitebeard rose from his seat. He was the family elder of the Thunderstones, a dwarf of the staggering age of 297. He was a widower, his wife having died nearly thirty years passed, but he was not looked down upon for this. The Whitebeard was loved and respected by all dwarves bearing the name of Thunderstone. He held his mug high, a sign to the musicians to pause and let him speak. As the music faded, he turned towards the seven adventurers and spoke.

Travel now ye will,
Through woodland over plain and hill,
To mountain where a serpent lies,
On a pile of gold.

Dwarves remember this,
When hope fades into the abyss,
Even though dwarven friend dies,
Our saying of old.

From earth we once came,
And to the earth we shall return,
But in the hall of legends we,
Thunderstones remain.

Once finished, he emptied his cup. The rest of the dwarves did the same, as was customary. When the mug was drained, he saluted the seven adventurers and sat back down. The sound of drum soon began to fill the silence, echoing through the great hall like the beating of an enormous heart. It was soon accompanied by flute and pipe, setting the mood of the piece about to be played, and then by the fiddle. The night had just begun. Grahame sat on the corner of the table where the adventurers sat together. He had eaten with them and shared mead with them, but had otherwise stayed silent. He did not care for all the excitement and attention - to him this was just another ranging in need of doing. He would see his partymembers safely to the mountain and back, but that was all he needed to do as far as he was concerned. He would not befriend them if he could avoid it. Friendships tended to end in disappointment, according to his experience. People betrayed each other or misunderstood each other or disagreed on all sorts of different matters. The best solution to the problem was to avoid it entirely, he'd found. He suddenly realized that somebody was trying to tell him something, and immedietly looked to see who it was and what he or she could possibly want.

[Sylvaky]

Thunderstones. Though the name had lasted many generations, proceeding the numbers that the extended family now held, it seemed an appropriate name. The way the sounds of celebration echoed off the stone walls and though it didn't sound quite like thunder, the earth shook just the same. It was a joyous shake, as though the mountain itself was dancing in joy and proclaiming it's desire for the seven souls to embark on their quest. The young Brynn was counted among their numbers. She was overjoyed at the chance to set her name in stone for eternity, to be the subject of songs and stories told to children for generations to come. There was, however; a nervousness that she couldn't shake. She felt at home in the forest surrounding the mountain they called home but she had never been exposed for more than a week. She was expected to live on the surface during the quest, vulnerable, exposed, like a nerve. Even so, she could not allow herself to be the weak link. She had a fierce desire that rivaled a hungry wolf stalking prey. The gold and glory was her pray and in turn, her siblings were her pack.

Brynn raised her mug in time with the elder and emptied it in a few large swallows and slammed her mug down in celebration. She flutes and drums started up, her fingers itched to reach for her harp which at the moment, was not with her. She had left it with her pack in the small room she occupied. To her left, Grahame was nearly triple her age but still had at least another century left of life. He had stayed silent during the celebration thus far. Brynn thought to lighten his spirits as she thought that perhaps he too was feeling the sharp edge of nervousness. "Weird, isn't it?" she started, grasping at what she thought peculiar, "No one has ever gotten the treasure. Has anyone even tried? If so, what happened to them?" She pondered aloud, nudging him lightly with her elbow. She poured herself another mug of mead, sipping casually at it. She had only started to feel the affects. A slight light headed sensation had come over her but not enough to distract her from what went on around her. She planned to take it easy on the drinks as she wanted her wits about her for the starting of their journey. It would do no good to run into a bear and not be able to aim straight or stand steadily enough to trust a spear.

"I mean, what are we actually getting ourselves into?" Brynn pressed. She leaned back in her chair, fingering a braid in her hair. She looked at Grahame as though seeing him for the first time. He seemed to be made from clay attached to wire, that was what it looked like but she knew that he, whether his resolve or body, was hard as steel and stone. He had extensive knowledge of the world beyond their mountain and would serve as a guide. Brynn felt herself becoming envious of the fellow dwarf. She thought that she had been well prepared in terms of exposure to the surface but her experience was little more than a stroll compared to Grahame.

[Keepvogel]

"we aren't getting ourselves into anything until we are sure it is quite safe. Or at least, safe enough anyway." said Ysgor in a deep voice, rumbling with age. He sat across from Brynn and Grahame. He had spoken to save Brynn the embarassment of not receiving an answer to her question. Though Ysgor wasn't quite sure, he thought that was a real possibility, as Grahame didn't seem to be one for making friends very easily. Still, Ysgor liked what he had seen from the older scout thus far. Silent for the larger part of the evening, Ysgor had seen how Grahame kept a constant eye on his surroundings, even here in the hall, surrounded by friends. That was a useful ability in the wild and spoke of great experience.

Of Brynn Ysgor was less sure. Merely a girl by his standards, she looked capable enough with her wolf skin draped across her chair and her steady brown eyes. But Ysgor noted several well hidden signs of nervousness. A fidget here, a questioning glance at other members of the table. Turning to Grahame for conversation confirmed it. Still, Ysgor was confident she would soon shed her nervousness, as travelling isn't half as exciting as you expect most of the time. Based on the worn smooth grip of her staff, stowed in a bin together with his own and others at the entrance to the hall, Ysgor was quite sure that even in somewhat more 'exciting' situations Brynn would be very able to defend herself. But Ysgor still planned to keep an eye on her. On everyone, for that matter. As the oldest member of the group, he felt responsible for their healthy return.

As Ysgor thought that, he turned his eyes to the other members of the group. Only with some of them had he done more than share names and pleasantries. He knew all their names now. His work as ambassador had ingrained an affinity for remembering names in him. He saw a muscled dwarf, by the name of Doif, and the youngster Vidar, sitting across from him. Vidar was even younger than Brynn, and though officially grown, Ysgor wasn't sure he would keep a cool head under pressure. Well, they'd find out soon enough. The last two, Amos and Brand, were further back and somewhat blurry, due to the combined effect of his older eyes and the alcohol of his drink, which was admittedly quite a bit stronger than the mead most drank.

"But anyway, do you like the mead?" Ysgor asked. "My son and me brewed it especially for tonight. A sort of goodbye present from my son to all of us, so to say."
He smiled. He had seen Brynn drink several huge mugs of the beautiful dark brown liquid already. "Don't get too drunk, we'll need you able to walk tomorrow." he continued with a slight smile on his face.

[Knighthawk]

Sure as the mountain is tall, beer leads to bruises. Such was the case when some people said the wrong ting at the right time or the right thing at the wrong time. Someone made a remark that they hoped Brands bad luck only ended in women and not adventure. Brand slowly got up from his seat and walked away to the back of the hall to fidgit with something. Soon enough he returned with wooden sparring gear and the fight was on. Brand's flail was little more than a bucket with a rope leading to a handle he swung in two hands compared to the insulting cur who had a barrel lid for a shield with a bung mallet as his weapon, back and forth they traded blows for several minutes until Brand took the handle with both hands to start stabbing with the butt of the handle in the middle again then again in the same place until the blows broke the knuckles behind the shield. The other dropped the shield as brand walked away back to the table to pick a mead as red as his beard and resume drinking as if it never happened. One thing was for certain, never talk about that mans family.

[Rtron]

Vidar set down his ale and watched the fight Well, obviously that man should not have said anything Vidar thought as he watched the man walk away cradling his hand and Brand sit down and begin drinking his mead,before turning towards Brynn,Grahame, and Ysgor. "If this was safe then it wouldn't be an adventure would it?" Vidar said cheerfully. He was sitting in chain mail with clothes beneath that ready to leap into action if the need appeared. Taking another gulp of a brown mead he was fond of Vidar continued his line of thought "The way I see it, at the very least we will see orcs, hopefully not elves, and definitely a dragon. Along with other assorted dangers that come with this kind of quest." Vidar took another drink.

"When we slay the dragon, I just want to get my hands on some of those scales, teeth, claws and anything else that can be used created into a weapon or armour." Vidar said with a gleam in his eye.Ohhhh the things I can do with Dragon scales Vidar thought. "Even if it is the last thing I do before I return to the earth I'm going to slay that dragon." Vidar said finishing off his drink. "Now if you will excuse me I'm going to go get more mead." He said before walking off somewhat drunkenly. You know the good thing about being a dwarf is that even if you get a headache in the morning from all this drinking it doesn't last long Then, watching another dwarf stumble extremely drunkenly then collapse dead asleep Or maybe that's just me Vidar thought as he walked towards the barrels of mead with his tankard.

[Huscarl]

The young girl on his right asked him something and, to Grahames great relief, was answered by another dwarf at the table. Ysgor was his name, aye, now he remembered. An old dwarf, and a brewer. Question was, why was he partaking in this journey? Was the old greybeard looking for the last shards of an adventrous youth, or was he perhaps hoping to die gloriously and be reunited with his late wide in the afterlife? Grahame didn't like any of the alternatives, but if he had to choose, it'd be the prior. He himself was doing this because the Whitebeard had asked him to, and you just didn't say no to him. Algomin Thunderstone had told Grahame enough wise words in his days to fill a book, and Grahame had tried his best to take them all to heart. The old greybeard asked of him if he liked the mead. Brewed especially for today, it seemed. Uh, he grunted approvingly and took a swallow of the sweet stuff for emphasis. He almost choked on the mead, though, as he witnessed how two dwarves suddenly took to not only quarreling but fighting during the celebration. Luckily for them, the musicians had enough composure to keep on playing regardless, distracting the Whitebeard. If the old dwarf had seen those two hot-heads... Grahame thought it best not to dwell on the subject. Thinking of what could have been didn't do anybody any good anyway. Instead he listened to the conversation of the dwarves around him. One dwarf in particular caught his interest, a youngling whose name he had not yet learned who would be travelling with him to the mountain. He was speaking boldly about the whole affair, but it wasn't so much what he said but how he said it that caught Grahames attention: not *if* we kill the dragon, but *when*. To actually kill a dragon. Grahame knew of nobody alive who could claim such a feat. The closest one was Gale the Thunderhead, who'd once slain a giant in single combat. But a dragon... that was another thing entire. Then again, the lad was still practically a boy and knew not of what he was speaking. He was probably drunk as well.

Then, with a final toast to his fellow adventurers in general and to the Whitebeard in particular, Grahame left the table and made his way to his chamber. He'd decided he would need some serious sleep before the journey; he doubted they'd get much of that in the forest that lay ahead of them.

[Keepvogel]

Catching sight of a dwarf nursing bleeding and broken knuckles as he passed by, Ysgor grumbled in disdain. Fighting during a celebration, what idiots. He would have had words with them if he'd seen the fight. He was glad at least one of them learned his lesson. His opponent would only be encouraged when his rash behavior went unpunished however.

Too bad he didn't have time to pursue the matter anymore before the morrow. Ysgor sat back and enjoyed the joyful sounds the musicians produced. He had brief eye-contact with old Algomin. Though they rarely spoke when others were near, Ysgor knew he could count the old dwarf a friend. Well, older dwarf. Not like Ysgor himself was anywhere near young. Algomin and Ysgor raised their cups to each other in a silent goodbye, then they both drained it's contents. Ysgor stood and swept his gaze for a final time across the party members, noting Grahame had already gone to bed. How had he missed that? Oh well.

He addressed a few final words to his companions: "Friends, I will now seek my bed, to get what rest I can before tomorrow. This trip isn't going to be easy, so I suggest you don't tarry to long in doing the same. I will see you all in the morning."

[Halvtand]

Kohn had had a party. he didn't really understand why, but for some reason he'd been chosen as babysitter for a group of halfwits who'd steal the treasure from under a dragon. He'd laughed hard at the very idea, then he'd picked up a mug... couldn't remember much more than that. Ysgor wanted to go to bed, but the night was still young, or was it day? No matter. He grabbed a big piece of grilled meat and dug in. The meat had been on for hours on low heat and was almost as soft as bread. Elfish bread, mind you, not that hard stuff you'd get down in the caves. He ate it all and felt at peace with the world as he refilled his mug from one of the big barrels that were placed handily nearby, what a mistake t place it so conveniently.

"Must you drink until you're stupid?" Asked Hymer, another soldier in Kohn's group.
"To do what I'm about to in the morning? No question." He answered and emptied half of his mug in one go.
"While we're on the subject... I'm going to get me some treasure, mind to take a few coins of me in an honest game of the dice?"
A small table was commandeered and many dwarves gathered around it. Kohn took two six-sided dice in his hand, shook them hard and threw them down at the table. "Ten, try to beat that!" He said while handing the dice to his opponent who also shook them fiercely before letting them go.
The dice bounced off the table and continued down on the table.
"Out of the way! Out of the way!" Kohn and Hymer yelled. "Dice coming through, out of the way!"