[center][h1]The Ironborne Legion[/h1][/center]

A) Improve Food

[hider=A tale of fellow kin and beast below the mountain]
Ultor, a dwarf who has seen many legends live and die. Having lived long enough to be recognized as a Runebeard: a Dwarf of unprecedented skill in his own craft, he is now confronted with a small remainder of his once prideful legacy- the Ironborne Legion. What lied before him as he took his morning watch, atop a small look-out outcrop a bit further along the mountains ridge- was his people. 

Where once he had witnessed endless columns of battle ready dwarves carrying shields and weapons all clad in dutiful family lineage, now that was all but worn out and useless. Simply due to tradition do they still wear it- even when they border on pure inefficiency. He chose to look down on his own hammer, the Drakkenhammer. 

He could see its scars, he saw before him how they had appeared and before him now flashed images of him and his trusty kin fighting back countless hordes of Deep-Ghouls, protecting the wagon which now stands as nothing but a nuisance.

He turned, looked up towards the towering peaks; Hazan-Khar. He thought “To live and die a dwarf- rather to live and die as steel. My legacy to my people will be this mountain, and it will become a mighty citadel.”

Suddenly a wind blew, catching Ultor off guard, as if even the mountain spoke back to him. If it agreed with or distasted his vow bothered Ultor naught for he vowed once more, with the mountain as his witness. “I will live and die as Iron and before me, on my dying bed, will be you; the great, the powerful Hazan-Khar- Lord of these Lands.”

Suddenly, however, there came cheers of joy from the settlement of dwarves who seemed to become more and more restless. It would seem that the commotion grew greater and greater to the point where even the farmers took off their time by the crops. Soon every dwarf in this unworthy slum gathered by the great mouth of Hazan-khar, Ultor was no different.

From the gaping jaws of the Lord of mountains came but five dwarves, at first Ultor became weary, however military protocol quickly kicked in and he came aware as to the fact that these were but messengers. 

“My lord Drakkenhammer! We bear important news from Mjoll- We’ve discovered the tunnel wagon!”

The crowd roared to life, it seemed that the dwarves’ spirit came to be rejuvenated time upon time again in these times, something Ultor had great joy in witnessing. “What terrific news!” Even Ultor caught himself letting out a small laugh! “When would you say these warriors will return?” 

“My lord Ultor, I’d say they’d arrive within short notice, it wasn’t as far away as we’d previously thought-“

“Ultor, my lord, he means that they will arrive soon!” 

Ultor turned to the crowd with hammer in hand, held up high. “You heard that lads and lassies? Soon our dwarvish might may yet form mountains!” A fountain of cheering and joy spewed out from the gathering, however Ultor had one last assurance to make before anything else. “I am all too aware we are still unable to use any of the materials found within this great rock- however, we are still far from independent! Without working farms and diminishing food supplies only the worst may come if we fail to prepare!”

He turned to silence, but suddenly continued before his kinsmen had lost their interest. “The Blacksmiths must fashion together new farms in image of the first, and we, the Boars, must capture the remaining beasts within the forest for meat- who knows, maybe they will become faithful war beasts!”

By now Ultor had found himself lowering his own hammer, maybe due to fatigue, but certainly not out of a loss of faith. “Listen here Boars; the hunting will begin as soon as you’ve all understood your roles…”

Ultor paused and gathered his fellow Boars next to the entrance to the deep caverns- the Mouth of Hazan-khar.

“We will encircle the forest, when the moon shows itself on the heavenly play will we strike- whilst the sun still stands. With the remaining might found within us we will pin the beasts within the forest.” 

“After two hours pass, when half the Blacksmiths will have finished creating a small holding pen fashioned from the remaining wood we gathered from the forest, Higmar will create an exit for the beasts to flee from, when we hear their hooves and paws shake the earth we will have to rush, or if we do not funnel them into the pens with our own bodies we will not be able to successfully capture whatever animals find themselves our way.”

Ultor gazed into the kindled eyes of his most trusted, his lieutenants. 

“If anyone falls victim to assault, then they will not be allowed to fall victim to the claws- they will be saved! I’ll even ride a bear myself should it threaten my lads, aye?”

“Aye!”

“Aye, Ultor!”

“I’d do anything for a feast, aye!”

Ultor smiled, one of the few occasions he removed his serious façade.

“Let’s greet our friend Mjoll with a fine welcome, aye!”
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[hider=Summary of A tale of fellow kin and beast below the mountain]
Ultor, the dwarven leader and former Warmaster of the Ironborne Legion swears to Hazan-Khar, the lord mountain, that he will claim it's graceful walls as his own- and it's heavenly resources; the same. However, the wind quickly blows heavily; An omen. 

Be it good or bad, it did not stop Ultor from finishing his vow, and thus he continued. 

However, his peaceful watch over his people was abruptly ended when great cheers came from the 'slum' below- it was 5 dwarves, they had returned ahead of the main force!

In the spur of the moment Ultor gathered his people to perform the last task in terms of food gathering and formulated a great plan.

Half the blacksmiths would replicate the current terrace farm- these would result in greater access to wheat.

The second half would assist Ultors' Boars in capturing beasts of any kinds from the forest by crafting holding pens fashioned from the remaining wood in their supplies.

He once again vowed, that if one of his fellow kin were to be threatened, he'd take on a bear if necessary.
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