The concept of throwing knives wasn't new to Rukdug; In the past he had seen them be employed by and against his kind on the field of battle to various degrees of success. He had even used them occasionally himself. Figuring out the secrets of the throwing star might have taken him longer than he would have liked, but attributed the delay on both the various problems that had arisen for Riverforge as a whole, as well as its outlandish design.

The joy of figuring out one of the puzzles of this new land with the discovery of a new short to mid ranged weapon was like-wised short lived.

With the loss of the hunting parties sent out to gather goats and the return of three of his people with a message, the Warchief found himself in a situation where there was only one way forward. Of there were choices to be made for sure, but following them to their logical conclusions made it clear that at best it would simply continue this siege as is... and they simply weren't in a position to do so. They could mine, but they had no way of processing the ore they dug up since whatever was besieging them was making any party he sent out of the fortress disappear... or into the mines for that matter.

Since he couldn't organize the fortress to be productive, that left far to many idle orcs trapped within its walls... talking and thinking about the situation. Boredom and hopelessness were dangerous viruses that had lead to the downfall of Warchiefs in the past, a path he had no intention of following. This meant that he was going to have to do the most stupidly brave thing he had ever done in his life; Go down to the river and meet with those that had been besieging them alone. He was going armed, less because he believed it would do him any good if this indeed turned out to be an ambush but because he knew that there were dangerous animals that roamed the land.

However, before he left he gathered together all his captains and gave them a very clear instructions; Until he returned, with the exception of those positions that were vital to Riverforge staying alive such as guard duty or tending to the boars, all idle orcs were to undergo military training. They had grown somewhat soft since making the trip across the sea and since they were currently unable or unwilling to make the fortress more operational, they were going to be reminded of their militant roots. He left exactly how the training was going to be organized to his captains, but he stressed that he wanted everyone kept so busy that they wouldn't have time to sit down and mope.

Children would be given a somewhat more basic form of training, largely to see what they already knew while helping them develop the basic skills needed to survive in combat should the time come, as well as to help them understand where their people had come from; They were going to be blessed with choices about who they were going to be that their parents and ancestors never had, free to become something that wasn't just another gear of the Dark One's war machine... but they would still understand how to defend themselves and fight to secure their place in the world.

With instructions given, Rukdug went down to the river alone. His one solace was that he suspected that if the beings he was going to meet had actually wanted him dead they would have killed him in his sleep by now.

Summary below:


In the great hall of Whitepeak Bastion:

---

Finally, Kadol thought. It was finally his time to follow the iron shipment home and get to eat something other than mouldy bark bread and bat bone broth. Still, however, he felt that his respite could not last too long - his gaze turned west, towards the mines. He recalled the words of Godrim Thunderhowler that day on the mountain.

---

"The Golumnar clan?" Kadol scratched his bandaged head. "You mean the Children of the Mountain, right? The Golungyr?" Godrim shook his head, his transparent beard dancing in the wind despite its apparent incorporeality.

"Nae, lad. Ye heard me right 'n ye heard nothin' wrong. The Children o' the Mountain were, well, mere children to the Clan, ye see. Before Holek the Last, ye see, there was-..."

"Wait, what?" Kadol interjected. "Who's this 'Holek the Last'? Is he related to Holek the Misled?" Godrim raised an eyebrow and scratched his head.

"Holek the Misled? Lad, I know but one Holek, 'n he was the last. There is no such dwarf as-..." The ghost's face froze, and slowly began to contort into a furious frown. "Popomel," he snapped. Kadol raised a brow.

"What? What did Popomel do?" Godrim stomped through the snow towards Kadol. The ghost then passed by him and slammed his fist into the mountain wall with a raging roar. The resulting quake caused a panicking ruckus from inside the mine, and bells of alarm clanged almost as hard as tools of the miners slamming against the ground as their owners sprinted for the exit. Kadol stood frozen in fear at the ghost, who turned to the young dwarf with eyes like bonfires.

"That cursed filth, my lad, is the reason we're still down here..."

The ghost pointed to the far off peaks to the east, and Kadol followed his finger with his eyes and gazed upon the mighty Ancestor Mountains.

"... And not up there."

In the Hovel:

---

Osman walked down the soot-shaded, snow-clad streets of the Hovel. The Hovel, he thought and spat. Such a disgusting name for something so magnificent. The smithies around him were filled to the brim with dwarves working every fiber of their being into their craft. So many as six were manning the bellows, blowing air on the coals until they nearly melted the forge itself; lines stretched out the doorways with eager workers carrying lignite and iron ore to feed the fires of industry; so many as four hammers were working one piece of metal. Everyone was overjoyed at the return of their most vital metal.

Almost everyone.

An old dwarf collapsed in the middle of the line. The dwarf in front of him and the one behind him dropped the resources in their arms and each grabbed one of the fallen one's arms, but only one could muster the strength to lift. It seemed one of helpers also was too weak. Osman eyebrows hung low like cliff over his two bloodshot eyes, and the broad, muscled dwarf treaded over through the blackened snow, grabbed each of the fallen and, mustering all his strength, heaved them both at once back on their feet. They looked upon Osman in deep gratitude, but Osman recoiled somewhat. The two dwarves, one male and one female, had skin pale as the snow, and eyes encircled by black rings. The male's beard grew in patches, and much of it was missing. Upon seeing Osman's reaction, the two instinctively hid their faces in their hands, allowing Osman to see their loose clothes brush against their arms that to the eye seemed but skin and bones. Osman stepped back and took a look around. More had turned to see the noise, and Osman saw the many faces of his people - some were healthy, but many showed signs of disease and hunger. The foreman blinked and cleared his throat. He commanded the dwarves to get back to work and stormed towards the great hall.

The council meeting had yet to begin. It seemed to be supper, with some representatives sitting in their respective seats eating bark cakes and cave mushroom stew. The present representatives were Makkar Stone, Ra'ol Cave, and a coughing Khyber Tin, who was being spoonfed stew by his apprentice Roka. At the arrival of the Foreman, Makkar gave a quiet nod; Ra'ol, who looked to have grown considerably thinner during his mission to construct Whitepeak Bastion, gave a sharp grunt; Khyber gave Osman an intense look and, with the help of Roka, came to a standing position.

"Good foreman... How's winter treating you?" Osman sat down on his chair in the middle of the hall and a servant came over with a bowl of stew and a bark biscuit. Osman slurped the stew and coughed at the flavour - Khyber made a grin of all too few teeth. Makkar shot the hacking foreman a glance before going back to, seemingly, scratching lines on the wooden table with a sharp rock. Ra'ol leaned against a wooden beam, his arms crossed over his chest. After finally seizing control over his breathing again, Osman took another cringing sip.

"As well as it's treating everyone else, I reckon," Osman replied. Khyber scoffed loudly, causing Roka to jump and spill soup on the floor. "Bah, don't waste precious food, you klutz! We have little enough already! Give me another biscuit." Khyber spat. Roka gave a shivering nod and put some more bark biscuits into the lukewarm stew for them to soften. Osman felt his appetite slowly fade and he put his bowl on the nearby table. A quiet moment passed, occasionally interrupted by Khyber's lips smacking together over a limp bark biscuit. Osman turned to Ra'ol.

"Ra'ol Cave, I didn't hear your report as you returned this morning. How went the construction?" Ra'ol turned to Osman and rolled his shoulders. He walked over to his chair, sat down and breathed gently in.

"Aye, I'm afraid I didn't have the time. My sisters, brothers, daughters and sons were all exhausted from the journey back home and I had to see them fed and rested." He smiled and gave Osman a nod. Osman gave an uncertain nod.

"I see. It is just important to stick to protocol. Our council cannot function unless we are all up to date on-..."

"Yes, I get it, foreman. I will see to it next time. This time was an exception, I swear."

"I am just saying-..."

"Do you know what you cast us into, foreman?!" Ra'ol roared, springing up to his feet, his eyes matching his fiery hair. Osman recoiled, his eyes wide with surprise. "Not a minute passed that we did not look to the sky. Our sons and daughters cried themselves to sleep every night, thinking of the Abductor. We even found our sister Meghen Slab hiding in the iron mines. Later, we found Grem Wood and Egor Stone doing the same. We had to have twenty sentries at all times to ensure desertion didn't happen - that is almost a third of our Union!" The following silence was only broken by Ra'ol's heavy breathing. Osman's jaw made small movements, as if formulating words that had no sound to back them up.

"Additionally, the... The number of frostbites and work accidents were devastating, foreman. We... We won't be able to do much for a while, I'm afraid." Tears formed in the dwarf's tired eyes. "Forgive us." Ra'ol pounded his chest weakly with his fist, which Osman now saw was missing a finger, and the dwarf walked out, looking utterly defeated. Osman fell back into his chair. Makkar hid his face as he wiped his eyes, and Khyber merely stared into the empty room, while Roka sat crying beside him. Even as the other council members made their way into the great hall, the atmosphere remained just as somber. As Osman said the words and the meeting was opened, the reports from left and right made it clear that, even though the dwarves' pursuit of iron ore had finally began to bear fruits, other resources grew ever scarcer.

"With the furnaces working iron all day, we simply cannot begin development of the Thunderhorn, good foreman," said Erima Rock.

"Disease is spreading in many of the longhouses, foreman. We must designate a single longhouse for quarantine," proposed Joron Scroll.

"The roads to the west mine remain too uneven and irregular for proper transport of ore, good foreman. They must be improved posthaste," said Quana Forge.

Osman sat in the chair with his face in his hands. He felt a surge in his belly - his stew had not gone down easily, and the biscuits wouldn't do his body much good either. He let out a shivering sigh and turned to Makkar Stone, who looked back at him with his tired, racoon-ringed eyes.

"Makkar Stone of the Union of Earth, step forward." The dwarf stood up and stepped forward. He saluted by placing his flat palm on his chest. "Yes, good foreman?" he muttered. Osman grunted.

"How much food do we have left in our barns?"

"What barns?"

"Our storages, whatever. How much food, Makkar?" Osman snapped.

"You know as well as all of us how much we have left. We eat bark and bones. If we don't do something soon, we will have to make porridge from sawdust and steak from boot soles. After that, soup from our rags and pine needle tea. We have conserved all there is to conserve, foreman. We've eaten bread until the only crumbs were left, and used the crumbs to bake crackers. We must sent a large expedition to the south in search of more food."

Osman looked around the hall. Yes, every Union had their own case to make and their own points to be heard, but it was clear none had gone to sleep on a full belly in weeks.

"So be it. Every Union will dispense as many dwarves as they can. Makkar Stone, you know the surface lands the best, so I charge you with leading our people to a source of food. Bring it back here to us, and you shall be honoured beyond-!"

"I do not do this for honour, foreman. I do this for our people - and done, it shall be. By all the gods and ancestors on the Golumnar, my fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters, I swear it." The dwarf saluted again and was met with the first cheer the Hovel had heard in weeks. Makkar walked out of the great hall with a crowd in tow, and from the outside, orders were barked left and right. A few of the councillors remained, among them Joron Scroll, who looked to Osman.

"A wise order, good foreman. Poorly formulated, but wise. However, there is still the question of what to do with the sick."

"With almost the entirety of the Hovel going south to look for food, many longhouses will be empty. We will put them in the warmest one and make sure they get as much food as we can spare."

Joron nodded. "As you wish, foreman. Herim Glass, walk with me, will you? We must discuss division of rations." Herim, who had stood beside Osman, nodded and followed Joron out of the great hall.

Osman put his face in his hands again. From the outside, voices calling for sleds and thick clothes. Many hundred prayers were spoken that night - the riverlands to the south were unknown territory to most Hammersworn. A mere thought was all that guided this mission, but desperation nonetheless led Makkar to lead almost three hundred dwarves onto the uncharted plains - and perhaps even beyond the Darr.

The news of some being watching them from the woods certainly spooked the already paranoid leader, as now she would have to content with outsiders as well as though who would want her position as mage-queen. Uxu took a night to think of a response to the situation that would plague her, knowing that she could not simply ignore something like this as it could be a prelude to an attack that could force another migration. The blue-skin sighed before she summoned all fifteen of her Kooch Hor Mages, and seated firmly within her confines of her tent-home. Her eyes went over each of them, making sure that none of them seemed to be plotting her destruction at this moment. Uxu seemed content that none of them seemed to want to blow her sky high and over the mountains.

“My mages, we have a problem, a git problem,” Uxu stated, giving a brief pause as the mages looked between each other nervously, almost as if they had a hidden plot that had been discovered, “Joz found that he had been watched by some git who had been watching him and another while dueling, I think, and he made the mistake of casting an explosion as a warning shot.” Uxu sighed as the mages cackled among one another, everyone loved to here of the absurdity of using an explosion as a warning simply because, who actually thinks to do that? Ambercast even let out a light laugh at the situation before she grew serious once more.

“I will be leading an investigation to make try and find the git that has jeopardized the tribe’s safety,” she said, standing from her chair, staff in hand as she walked up to the mages who stoically stood. “Any questions?”

“Ugh, ye, waz diz git look like?” One of them asked.

Uxu stopped for a moment to think, her words coming out with uncertainty as her memory over what exactly Joz had reported eluded her, “I think Joz said that the git was tall an’ lanky. But it had a bow, so if you see something very tall with a bow, that’s probably it.” She stepped towards the flap of the tent before hitting her staff against the ground. “Now, we got to do this quick an’ easy so that none of the others think that we’re gone. We will leave immediately, and Feg, led Joz know that he is in charge until we finish our exploration, and since I want him busy, see if he can get some shepherds for those goat. I don’t want them cooped up in their pin all the time.

---

It was early in the morning that Joz had been trying to gather up those who did not use explosion to move goats around all the time out of the sheer fun of it, of course this put off his morning sermon, but he had to obey Uxu. Though talks of shepherding and taming the goats quickly devolved into little more of blowing them sky high, which was responded in kind with a blast that didn’t actually cause any damage, but just made everyone cough from some conjured soot.
“Listen you gits! We gots to make sure dem goats are happy an’ fat! If we can get them t’ listen t’ us then we can let them out of their pens during the days so they can at more grass and get bigger! An’ heere is my plan”

…

Three hours had passed since Joz relayed his plan to the shepherds, what ended up happening was a bunch of goblins running and jumping onto the lead male’s back only to be bucked off or wacked in the face with horns, sending them flying off. It was pretty funny to watch actually, as they just kept going, much like a human would try and break a stead only to fail horribly and receive a kick to the face. In fact, the goblins were placing bets of food and laughing all about it, though it was only up to time if the goats would ever be domesticated or not.

When Rukdug approached the gate, the guards on duty looked at him in wide eyes as he ordered them to let him through. Nonetheless, his determination crushed any sort of protests before they could even be uttered, and so the orcs merely stepped aside as their chieftain stepped out from the safety of Riverforge and began walking down the river alone. The peaceful greenery and the sound of flowing water might have lulled him into a sense of safety if the stakes weren't so high; the birds were still singing, after all. He followed the river around a bend and found himself no longer even within sight of the wall that protected Riverforge, and then he heard the sound of wolves from an alarmingly short distance away.

The ghostly howl of wolves caused Rukdug to pause slightly, cautiously glancing around to see if he could spy any hiding places that such creatures could have been lurking in. If anything was in his immediate vicinity, he didn't see it. As a precaution, he pulled his sword away from his side and grasped one of his javelins in the other, prepared to defend himself if the need arose as he continued his walk, unafraid but with care none the less. He only made it about another twenty strides before the sound of breaking twigs and rustling leaves alerted him to the presence of something emerging from nearby foliage, and then there was suddenly a wolf and its rider before him in broad daylight.

The wolf itself looked vicious, albeit obedient enough. Its back had a saddle of some kind, but what was most interesting was the rider: a small, porcine-faced goblin. It wore black clothes and had a hood and mask, though both were pulled down. At least a willingness to expose their faces showed some degree of good faith, but the sudden emergence of another half dozen mounted ninjas was enough to alleviate any comfort. Upon seeing Rukdug's grip upon his sword and javelin, they similarly rested their hands on the handles of their sheathed blades. They made eye contact and regarded him in silence for a moment before one spurred its wolf onward and came closer. The slavering beast came to a stop at about fifteen yards away from Rukdug, and then the ninja's eyes darted to the orc's weapons. "Those won't do you any good," he finally said.

"Maybe." Rukdug answered back, through he clearly made no effort to put his weapons away. "I confess that if you had wanted me dead you would have had me killed in my sleep. But one can't help but feel a little on edge when one is surrounded by wolves." Glancing between the lead goblin (or at least the one who was speaking for them) and his companions, he sighed a little as he returned the sword back to his side. The javelin was stuck into the ground by his side though, still within easy reach if the need should arise. "So you're the ones who have been making my people disappear." This wasn't a question; It was a statement of fact.

The goblin looked bemused at the mention of the wolves, and a few of ones farther back sniggered or snorted. "These are simple mounts, docile beasts. If they set you on edge, I hope you never see the monsters that the oni train for battle. And as in for your people, we haven't killed them. Their return can perhaps be arranged, if you prove agreeable."

The sniggers and snorts caused Rukdug to narrow his eyes a little, the insult clearly registered but managing to keep control of his pride. "Yes, in your message you have mentioned the Oni before, through you didn't exactly go into detail about what they actually were. As for returning my people..." For the first time in the conversation, he not only stood relaxed, but with a strange sense of confidence. "We both know it's in your best interest to return them. You've got an enemy to fight and from the sounds of it, you really don't have the time or man power to waste on trying to wipe us out with your hit and run tactics..."

The goblin had been abrasive before, but he was quickly becoming irritated and more hostile. "We'll get to telling you about the oni and our conditions for returning your people, but first, you can rest assured that we'd storm your settlement and kill you all within a night if we wanted! Our master alone could cut through a few dozen of your brutes-" "And yet..." Rukdug interrupted "You didn't. You've had plenty of opportunity, but you haven't. So clearly you're not interested in trying to kill us all. So how about we take open warfare off the table and talk this out like we were going to do from the beginning without all the hot air?"

"I'm not interested? Ha! I advocated for removing you the day that your kind set foot in these river canyons, but you have Master Ful to thank for your safety. He was content to wait and see what you would do, but the eruption of the volcano has spurred him into action...and your meddling with the oni blood demanded that I act with my soldiers! We did not have the time to wait and learn passively about your kind, so I took the matter into my own hands and interrogated your people. Since you do not seem to serve our enemy, you are at least spared my wrath. But if you are to remain upon our lands, you shall show respect! I expect that Master Ful will want to meet you in person, and when he comes, you will show fealty! Then, I'm sure he will permit you to stay here, and perhaps in time he will take some of you under his wing. In the meantime, there remains the pressing issue of an oni invasion..."

Rukdug let the goblin rant and rave, clearly not impressed by his display and demand for respect. However, when it seemed like he was finally winding down, Rukdug deemed it time to speak. "What happens between myself and this Master Ful will happen between us. However, I am curious... how many of your actions here were done with his knowledge or blessing? Breaking the chain of command can be rather... risky to one's health. Even more so when doing so was because you went against a direct order."

"Your tampering with the oni blood was enough to justify all of my actions," the goblin replied without wavering. "When he comes, you will show him the respect and veneration that befits a spirit, and you will pledge to send warriors to aid us in the war against the oni. That is the price that I demand for freeing your people and agreeing to a peace. We will not simply let you squat upon our temple's land without paying respects to the Master, and we likewise won't suffer you to remain here in safety without contributing to the war effort. Were it not for the other temples between here and the Fire Mountain, there would doubtless already be rampaging oni in these hills. I shall not allow my brothers to sacrifice their lives for your people if you won't help to defend the land you live upon from monstrous demons." By the end of his monologue, spittle was flying from the goblin's mouth. It was clear that he'd been wanting to say this for a long time.

Rukdug looked at the 'leader' of this band of goblins with a little of anger and disgust, his arms crossed over his chest as he let the little wretch speak. However, when he reached the end... "We have recently escaped the bondage of being slaves to one dark master who cared nothing for our lives. We have no intention of serving another. However... considering what we discovered about this... oni blood you called it?... before you deemed fit to interfere, it is likely that we have a common enemy that needs to be dealt with. We would have been in a better position to help deal with it without your little siege, but we've never backed away from a fight. So how about you get off of your wolf, show some respect and actually REQUEST our aid rather than demand it."

Though the goblin's size was certainly small, his pride was not. "We are in the position of power here! Do you need a display of force to see that, brute? We do not request aid from those that we suffer to sit upon the lands we've controlled for centuries! If only to delude yourself into thinking it was a choice and mend a bruised ego, you can think of this as a trade: the lives of your people that I hold prisoner and the land you built your hovels upon, in exchange for your military support. It's a better trade than you could have hoped for, and the alternative is death. Your fealty to Master Ful and the other great spirits can come after you accept my terms and contribute the warriors."

"As I said, what happens between your Master Ful and myself will be handled between us. But I can accept this arrangement. Our people returned and no more interference from you in our affairs in exchange for a military alliance... However, while I would welcome insight into our new enemy, my forces will be under orcish leadership, not yours." This seemed like a sticking point that he wasn't going to let go of any time soon. "I want my people back by the end of the day. We have a war to prepare for."

Surprisingly, the goblin capitulated. "Lead the warriors yourself, for all I care. I care little for what you do to oppose the oni tyrants, merely that you do something. It is simply a matter of principle that if you will dwell in these hills, you will help to defend them. And as in for your people, on my word they will be returned before the next sunrise. And as in for insight..."

The goblin first went on to introduce himself as Saizo; through interrogation of the kidnapped orcs he had already come to know much about Rukdug, so no introductions were needed on that end. And as in for the nature of the oni, he told Rukdug a great many things. Few of them were pleasant to hear: the oni were monstrous demons normally confined to the netherworld, where the most fearsome and brutal of their kind carved out kingdoms and ruled through terror and brute force. They were chaotic and violent and anything under their control was bound to exist forever in turmoil; fortunately for the oni, that mattered little since they were almost immortal. One could kill their body, but it would just quickly decay into ash and firestone, and then their spirit would live on and eventually form a new body if unmolested. Killing them permanently required some sort of magic, but fortunately the ninjas had their ways and Master Ful might be able to help Rukdug's people in that regard.

As far as what the oni looked like and what to expect in combat, Saizo described them as having horns and cruel, snarling visages. Some had green skin, some red, and some black; the different breeds varied in their viciousness and in the type of magic that they could use. Saizo also went on to say that he imagined the Mustaqilun found the remnants of massive, black wolf-like bones in the caverns below Riverforge. Those belonged to horrific beasts of the netherworld that were mere pets of the oni; the beasts' masters were huge, hulking brutes. The most fearsome of them were the kings and their most loyal soldiers, who use dark magic to craft burning red blades and armor from the blood of other fallen oni. Though many oni could be called stupid, they have a low cunning guided by cruelty and innately wield great strength and magical powers, so they are to be feared. In fact, Saizo claims that they've been the sworn enemies of the ninjas for hundreds of years, and that they seem to hold an especially great hatred for goblins.

Rukdug seemed content to listen in silence, absorbing all the information that Saizo was giving... but he did raise one question that he felt needed to be asked. Why the goblins had been so frightened when they had uncovered the firestones (or oni blood as they called it)? While the efforts of his shaman had clearly uncovered its demonic nature, he suspected that there was more to the demonic stones if the goblins felt the need to act despite orders not to. Saizo answered by giving Rukdug a condescending look as though he thought the orc was a great fool, but at least he held back on the insults this time. Aside from the obvious issue that the orcs apparently did not look so different from some of the black kuro-oni and that it was alarming to see them use magic in an attempt to work the oni blood, they also ran the very real risk of falling under the influence of the oni kings. Meddling with things so closely related to the underworld was sure to eventually draw the attention of the oni, and they were especially capable of slowly and subtly tempting the greedy to fall under their corruption. All manner of mortals had been known to succumb to such forces before, Saizo claimed. Rukdug nodded his head, offering a surprising thank you for the goblins for actually informing him of this. While it might have been a moot point due to him burying the firestones under tons of rock that likely destroyed them , being able to support his decision to do so and inform his people why they shouldn't mess with the blood in the future seemed like a good idea. After all, there was going to be a -lot- of oni blood spilled in the near future...

"By the way... I believe we recently found the bones of at least two of your people in the back of a beast's lair. As a sign of good will and how we will be working together from here on out, I am happy to have them returned to you to do what you will with them."

And then it was Saizo who was surprisingly thankful. "I shall gladly accept this...gift from you. Though they would have been fools to find themselves dead at the hands of a mountain beast, we will nonetheless be able to have Master Ful consecrate their remains to ensure that their spirits are never taken by oni."

"Very well then... I will leave them by the river here for you to collect tomorrow. Until then, it seems that we have a war to prepare for."

Attolia: Turn 7

Caelis was disturbed by the spirit's aggressive nature and questioned it's... offer to slay all their enemies. However, at the time, there were more pressing matters than the Warrior Spirit. Perhaps, they would attempt to exorcise the spirit in the coming months, but it became increasingly clear that the settlement had to move on. They had stayed for too long. Far too long. Thus, Caelis for now sought to establish friendly relations with the spirit. He gathered 30 of the best archers among the Attolians and went to speak with the Spirit. "Hail Honored Guest and Forebearer of our people! We seek your wisdom and guidance in these foreign and dangerous lands. I have with me, some of our best archers who seek to learn from you to improve their own ability to fell our foes with grace and fury. Will you not allow them to join you in your training and teach us youth the art and mastery of the bow that you so valiantly wield? These 30 will be willing to learn as your disciples and help carry on the tradition and wisdom that you have gifted upon us.

---

Without a doubt, some of the Attolians were uneasy about the situation. However, this unfortunate situation had some silver lining to it. Now there was no doubt that these spirits did exist and that they had to be taken seriously. What now followed was to address the situation. The shamans felt the brooding shadow of a hostile spirit, rising from the ground. Clearly, it was displeased by something that the Attolians had done. To Caelis, there was one of two possible reasons. One, the Attolians treaded upon hallowed ground and have overstayed for too long, drawing the ire of the spirit. Two, perhaps... the gold that they had taken was cursed? Such random fortunes and windfalls are rarely gifted without some sort of strings attached. The idea continued to bug Caelis, but ultimately he decided to take action against the two possibilities.

After the next Communion, Caelis called upon the shamen and the best riders of the Attolians to his tent. There he spoke "Our people have been blessed with many fortunes as of late. For this reason, I believe we have overstayed our welcome to these lands and must give our due regard to the spirits who have blessed us. I ask of you all to do two things. First is to ride north and explore the area for a fitting place for our people to migrate to once more. Perhaps, we will find a place that is fitting for us to call home and fully settle. These are still harsh lands that we only prosper in thanks to our experience in the deserts. However, that does not mean that the desert is a proper place for our people to call home. The second thing I would like to request is that the shamen take the time to thank the lands and the spirits of this place with a ritual and an offering. You have at your disposal 50 pounds of gold to thank the spirits and express our gratitude at the great fortune that they have bestowed upon us. Perhaps, the gold will settle and appease the dark spirit that you have seen in your dreams. Regardless, this will be our departing gift to our generous hosts for we are mere guests, passing by on our journey.

I will oversee operations with the rest of the Attolians to prepare to migrate once more... perhaps we will have fortune in training some of the domesticated Aurouchs to be draft animals."

---

Summary:

Event 1: The Attolians attempt to get on the Warrior Spirit's good side by having 30 of their best archers train under her and carry on her wisdom and traditions.

Event 2: The Attolians seek to address the issue with the Malevolent Spirit by doing 2 things. 1. Send out riders north to find a new land for the Attolians to migrate to. 2. The shamen are to perform a ritual/offering to the spirits and are given 50 pounds of gold to appease and thank the spirits of these lands for their generosity and hospitality. After all, the Attolians are only guests to these lands.

General Action: The rest of the Attolians are to prepare to migrate once more and try to train some of the domesticated Aurochs so that they can be used as draft animals and help transport people, supplies, and equipment.

Water is the greatest equaliser in the desert. The meekest troll who discovers an untapped oasis can rise higher than any vulture can soar. Water holds untold power for the desert dwellers, even the richest sand troll can still die of thirst if unprepared, and something has tipped the balance amongst those remorseless desert dunes.

For months, rumours had passed across the migration paths, dangerous words telling of precious oasis that were now nothing more than barren sand. Even more worryingly the rumours were growing in frequency. Increasing numbers of tribes, parched of throats and weather-beaten were moving from their old oasis northwards towards more fertile grounds. They came in small numbers at first telling stories of loved ones now lost to rival tribes, to thirst beyond their incredible endurance, or more disconcertingly the “Marru” that stalk the fireside stories of the tribes.

Malak scoffed at first at these tall tales as he took in those that he could, and sacrificed those he couldn't to the merciless sands of his home. What started as a trickle of starving refugees soon turned into a torrent of trolls. The water had stopped bubbling to the surface in their lands, but the deluge of people it had created concerned the normally stoic tribefolk of the Ekon.

They had been named “Danna” by those they took in, “Patrons” or “Givers” in the old Trollish tongue, when really they had just had the foresight to move first. The Sand Shapers had spoken to the people of the Ekon long ago and predicted a “Flood of Tears”. Senwe, the Chief Sand Shaper, had stood before the tribe telling them of how the ancestors had whispered in his dreams and how they told them to move before the tears engulfed them.

That was but a year ago now, but it felt like a lifetime for Malak as he watched tribe upon tribe of Trolls trudge towards his make-shift camp through the shifting sands. Many former enemies and old allies had been brought together as refugees to his lands. They had packed up their meagre possession onto their camels and sand-skimmers and travelled northwards much as the Ekon had done not so long ago.

“I've never seen so many hollow eyes.” Breathed Csini in hushed tones. “The Javyn, the Nuenvan, Balashi all humbled by the sands...”

Malak placed a comforting arm around his first wife.

“The ancestors will guide us. As they have always done and no Marru will face the gods, or our warriors.”

And Hiwcantar hung between the land of the living and the land of the dead, and he had strange visions that left him lost and confused, waking in delirium before falling back into the trappings of unconsciousness. Reality morphed around him in ways that could not be comprehended by his human mind, and any attempt to shine the light of reason or understanding upon them was repulsed. It was like a fish which, no sooner caught in one's hands, managed to morph and slip away. And when caught again - why the very same one! - it would once again make good its escape, and so on in an endless, eternal, mind-numbing and frustrating cycle. And most infuriating of all was that Hiwcantar knew none of it was real, could fathom no reason why he should continue in these useless attempts - and yet there seemed to be an importance to it all that was beyond him and he could not stop even if he wished. Shadows eluded him, eyes watched him that disappeared as soon as he tried to see them, voices and murmurs enveloped him but he could neither hear nor understand anything that was spoken.

As for Tara, she did not sleep at all that night, but somehow knew that if she did the nightmares would not have returned. She had faced the Kunshu without fear, banishing his accursed presence from her mind in the name of GREAT Cantar, and she felt that she had been made more powerful for it. He had claimed that there was a bit more power to her name now, but she did not feel any newfound strength or magical might. She was simply cold and increasingly nervous, as were Sruga and the other warriors, as she waited for any sign of Hiwcantar's recovery. And all that time she felt eyes upon her; it was that Oni that had tried to kidnap her, lurking somewhere still. He had not died, his spirit remained close by, and he would return. Somehow, she felt all of that in her gut. Scared, she shuffled closer to her father and placed her two small hands in his. Despite the crisp mountain air, he was warm.

It was some days before Hiwcantar's eyes opened truly. By then his warriors had almost lost all hope of his survival, though they had moved to a well-hidden cave and had come to venture out into the nearby area from time to time in pursuit of game; there was little to be found, so they often resorted to digging through the ashes to forage for nuts or edible roots. Inside the cave they could safely light a fire and protect themselves from the cold mountain air - indeed, they found themselves to grow cold exceedingly fast, for they were accustomed to the warmth of the lowlands south. Tara's hand was still in Hiwcantar's when he sat up, though she had fallen asleep. Her hand was warm and Hiwcantar could not help but feel strengthened by her mere touch and presence. Bringing her to him carefully, he hugged her and kissed her brow. She awakened and was for a few moments unaware of her father's conscious state. But then her eyes settled on him and she cried out in joy and relief and threw her arms about his neck. Awake and full of joy, Tara's aura seemed all the more powerful. Sruga ran to the chief and attempted to take his hand, but Tara turned her head towards him and there was such a look in her eyes as shook the heart of even so formidable a warrior. He pulled back and did not touch the Hiwcantar, allowing Tara to revel completely in the moment of her father's return from the gaping maw of death. The other warriors gathered around also and expressed happiness and relief at Hiwcantar's return, though they too received warning glances from Tara if they wandered too close to the seated man. Food was brought to him and Tara helped him eat. His face would harbour scars and his chest and shoulders also, but it appeared that he was through the worst of it and would live. By the next day he was walking again, though it would be some time yet before he could exert true effort. Despite this, he insisted that he was well enough for them to continue their journey.
'GREAT Cantar waits for me at the pinnacle. I must commune with him there.' Tara was now more inseparable from him than ever she had been, and wherever he walked she could be seen holding onto the cloth of his cloak and following closely. He was not able to carry her on his shoulder as he had been wont to do for many months now, but she was satisfied with nearness and jealously protected her unique proximity to him. The warriors had grown accustomed already to at no point be closer to the chief than she, not to offer him food directly, but to give it to her that she may give it to him. On one occasion the warrior Guldandar brought Hiwcantar's spear to him. When he glanced at Tara he found there to be such seething fury there as shocked and infuriated him, and he shouted at the girl despite himself - for he was his father's son and was heir to the same fury and battle-crazy. He looked to her greenish eyes and saw his rage reflected as truly as if he had been gazing into a puddle's reflective surface. Tara seemed unfazed by the big man's shouting, but the fury in her eyes swiftly disappeared when Hiwcantar looked her way.

Leaving the relative safety of the cave, the company continued on its way - but now there was a certain tension that did not exist before, and all the warriors gave the little Tara wary glances and thought her even queerer than they had perceived her to be before. As time passed they had seen distant lights and heard strange sounds like the howling of wolves. But their experience days ago with the bandit army and that dark-robed sorcerer with red eyes had made them wary, so they took great pains to continue on their journey undetected. As it were, Hiwcantar's injury made it easier for them to justify a slower pace. Throughout all of that time Tara still sensed the presence of that skulking mongrel that had maimed her father, but the oni did not dare manifest before her until they had already journeyed the better part of a day from that cave. While the group rested in the shade beneath a small cliff overhang, she could see the demon's dusky silhouette in a nearby patch of light. He looked at her, holding a certain threat to his very presence despite how he looked like nothing more than a smoky simulacrum of that hideous monster they had slain, and then he spoke, "Little namanari, you coming closer to Him. But you in His land now and gots to be lookin' outl! Places under rule of oni kings are dangerous. Violent, full of turmoil and strife."

She could have stared holes into the oni's spirit as it spoke. Some of the warriors looked strangely at her and traced her gaze, but it was clear that they could neither see nor hear the oni. "Lots of oni around these parts. Not nice wild ones like me; they drive us away. No, oni kings and their armies. They do bad things to your friends if they find you, then they take you to Him. So gotta listen to me and hide! I gots to be the one that takes you to Him. That way He give me the reward! Maybe He even let your friends live, too." But Tara only scowled and wished she could cause the demon to disappear. She turned to her father and spoke in a whisper, then gestured to where the oni's spirit was. Hiwcantar looked and frowned, but he could see nothing. He whispered to Tara and she turned to the oni.
'My father says that when they come, he will slay them like he did you. He says you should go and rethink things. He says you will be better off if you lived by your wild ways and had nothing to do with kings. He asks what this reward you are after is.' The other warriors stared at Tara in confusion, but Hiwcantar assured them with a smile and they were content to give Tara the odd look now and again.
The oni snorted in what sounded like amusement when Tara spoke of slaying oni, but then he became incensed at the rest of what she had to say. "Tell the dumb little human that he dumb! Tramping around all loud in oni land. Gonna be me bashin' the other oni that find you, coz he sure ain't big enough or mean enough. An' tell the dumb little human that I don't got friends! Eat too much to share. Friends only get in way an' eat my food." Whatever the reward was, he didn't say. Tara had a faint idea that the oni himself might not even know what to expect for a supposed reward. Tara whispered to Hiwcantar who stood up and spoke directly to the unseen spirit.
'If you speak the truth, oni, then I would have you lead us to this Him. All of us.' The warriors all looked around and their confusion was clear. Sruga tightened his grip on his spear and suddenly seemed very uncomfortable, as if having finally realised that there were unseen spirits here.
"Dumb little human is smart! Tell him I show the way." the ghostly demon answered. Tara tightened her grip on her father's arm and told him what the oni spirit said, and they ventured forth. To any observer it now seemed like Tara was taking the lead, but the other warriors did not look at her. They looked instead at where her gaze was fixated, and they shivered. For all its supposed eagerness, the oni did not press them to pick up the pace. Instead it crept silently through the woods, taking them along unseen goat paths and through hidden mountain passes. Every now and then one of the warriors saw a strange disturbance, like leaves crunching beneath nothing or branches swaying when there was no wind, and so they knew that Tara spoke the truth about this unseen spirit. After several hours Tara came to an abrupt stop, though. The wooded mountain was seemingly tranquil and the same as anywhere else, yet the oni had warned Tara that this was a very dangerous part. Upon closer inspection, the ap-Cantar indeed could see something odd in the distance.



There were some stones arrayed about in ritual circles, and from tree branches there were several great loops that resembled the archways of doors. To Tara's discerning green eyes, they were portals to another world. "Gots to go around here," the oni spirit cautioned them. "Here His priests build gateways to let in the nasty little ko-oni. Dirty, nasty, little things! Greedy, fat, little treacherous worms..." his ramblings continued, but soon devolved into little more than mumbles. Tara gestured to the portals and told the others what they were, warning them against approaching them and telling them they had to go around the area. A part of her, for a few brief moments, considered allowing the crazy Guldandar to wander in, but she restrained herself and rid herself of the strange thought. She continued after the oni's spirit.
'You never did tell me your name, oni,' she suddenly said.
"What your name?" he asked, probably thinking himself clever with that deflection. Tara had been thinking for some time on what He had said about names and had been regretting letting Him know hers so easily. She did not wish to reveal anything to this oni or any other.
'I am the one whom my father calls dearest.' She said, 'and what are you called?'
"Da one that bashes little humans and nasty ko-oni and mean tengu!"
'Truly? You must be truly powerful then. How is it that one such as you was slain by puny humans? I would surely have heard of you if you were anything more than nothing...'
"You dumb little humans don't know 'bout much! I'm big and strong Ryoka, and I bashed all the nasty tengu on my mountain! Scared 'em away good. That's why oni kings leave me alone." Tara smiled inwardly, feeling a sense of accomplishment at having eased his name from him.
'Ah, Ryoka. I have heard of you. He did mention you when I spoke to Him. I don't think He likes you very much... are you sure he will reward you when we get to Him? What is to say he won't betray you once He has what He wants?' She allowed her words to linger for a few moments, then added, 'I could, of course, tell Him that you are a... good friend of mine, truly worthy of reward.'
Ryoka scratched his head, and a few of the warriors behind Tara let out gasps as they saw a faint blur in the air. He was becoming noticeably more corporeal. After thinking for a few seconds, the oni finally answered, "Yeah, you better tell 'im that. Then maybe he give me a sword and send some other oni to help me bash one of the kings. Once I take over that dumb king's army, then you can say you got an oni king for friend!"
They walked on for some time, but then there was suddenly the sound of howling wolves. This time it was much closer than it had been before. Ryoka turned around and growled. "Ko-oni," he spat. When Tara turned back around, Ryoka's hazy form was nowhere to be seen. But meanwhile, the sound of the wolves was growing closer.
'Demons,' Tara said, gesturing towards the swiftly approaching sounds. The warriors fanned out around the injured Hiwcantar, hefting their spears and gripping their wicker shields.
'Sound like wolves to me...' Sruga said. Tara did not respond. She looked anxiously to her father and wondered if there was some safe place they could escape to. In his current state he could neither run nor climb a tree. The look in his eyes told her, however, that even if he could do either of those things he would not. If anything, his hold on his spear tightened and he seemed to be bringing himself to battle readiness. She gripped him tightly and he looked at her. She shook her head, but he only smiled.
'We are ap-Cantar, dearest.'
In the distant underbrush, huge black shapes darted. The panting and braying of the wolves was louder now, but there was another sound too--cruel cackling. A monstrous beast suddenly exploded out before the assembled warriors, but it was not the red-eyed wolf, its smoky aura, and its sulfur-scented breath that caught their attention so much as the green-skinned, pot-bellied creature that rode it. It had a fat and bent nose, unkempt crimson hair, tiny fangs, and dull red eyes. And it spoke. "Whadda we have here?" the goblin called out. More of its friends suddenly appeared, but even from behind them the ap-Cantar could hear rustling and other telltale signs of riders circling around.
"A bit scrawny, but you'll do. Give us all your treasures and we'll feed you to our king! Otherwise, our wolves will finally get a snack." Hiwcantar hefted his spear slowly and looked directly at the demon that had spoken.
'I will lead you to our treasures if you can best my champion in combat. But if you cannot, then you will be dead, and your friends will scurry back home and tell your king of the terrible creature that took your life. This is my champion,' and he gestured to Guldandar, 'only four days ago he wrestled an oni to the ground and caused it to disintegrate into red stone. Were I to unleash him on you, you would all perish. But I am feeling merciful today.'
"Miserable wretch, there is no winning for you. You're weak and tired, we outnumber and surround you. But worry not! I envy your fate, human. All the horrors you'll see and the fun you'll have in the underworld; do you know what awaits our kind when we die? Nothing!" The goblin sneered, brandishing a dagger and driving a heel into the wolf. The beast made to leap, but then there was suddenly a deafening roar.

"HWARGH!"

A familiar oni leaped from behind the goblin, and in one fell swing of a tree limb made club, Ryoka smashed the wolf and its rider. The other goblins panicked and spun to face this new assailant; if the wolves had smelled Ryoka as his body reformed, they clearly hadn't realized that he was an enemy. The wild oni swung his club and struck another goblin before it could react, sending the little thing flying off its mount. He roared, "Nasty little ko-oni!" The ap-Cantar warriors were taken aback by the sudden appearance of the oni and were not certain whether he was friend or foe.
'Help him!' Came Tara's cry, and the warriors leapt to the oni's assistance, screaming the ap-Cantar war cry. Guldandar's spear skewered a goblin even as Sruga swung his own into the skull of the wolf he rode. The melee did not last long and could hardly be called a fight, for the goblins found themselves surprised, ambushed, and fighting for an escape rather than victory. When the last of them had fled, the warriors turned looked at the oni warily. How they had managed to down him before they could only guess.
'Let's keep going before they return in greater number,' Hiwcantar declared, gesturing for Ryoka to lead on.
The oni kicked one of the monstrous wolves that laid dead on the ground. The thing's corpse (and those of the goblins, too) began to disintegrate not unlike Ryoka's own body had a few days prior. They didn't stay long enough to see, but by the end of the hour, there remained nothing of the fell wolves besides charred bones. "King gonna be mad that his pets dead. Oni gonna be mad that I bashed 'em all. They all gonna come, and they gonna find us again. Not gonna be able to get away, 'cuz you humans stink, and they can also smell the namanari's mark."
'You promised to bring us before Him, and we shall hold you to that. Here, we shall take of their dust and bones and smear ourselves with it, and that shall be disguise enough.' And so saying Hiwcantar bent to where the remains of a wolf and his rider were and began smearing his arms and legs and chest with it. At the last he smeared it even across his face. His warriors did likewise and Tara, scrunching up her nose, did the same. 'Now let us tarry here no longer. Unless you know of a way to avoid them, our plan remains unchanged and our destination is one.'
"Quiet dumb little human, 'fore I bash you. Better think of smart things to say for when their king comes, 'coz he gonna be mad!" For all his hubris and threats, the oni more or less obeyed and began walking once more, albeit at a faster pace now. He didn't seem overly concerned with subtlety any longer, and after a time they came across yet another unusual sight. In the distance there were strange robed men chanting and channeling some foul magic in the middle of a ritual circle that was just outside the mouth of a dark cave.
"Priests openin' more portals. But this one not gonna be for nasty little ko-oni. Could just bash 'em and keep goin'. Or could wait and see who comes out. Maybe smart words can get 'em to go fight that king that's huntin' us." Hiwcantar had taken Ryoka's words to heart and had in fact been wondering about what this "mark" on Tara was.
'Tell me about the mark. Would those priests be able to sense it? If we tell them we are taking the marked one to Him but are being tracked by enemies, will they aid us?'
"Hmph! They smell it, yup! Then they try take her to Him. Hmm, maybe the oni king be afraid to attack His priests. Maybe should travel with them." Pursing his lips and furrowing his brows, Hiwcantar gestured for his warriors to fan about him and Tara.
'Oni, you shall walk ahead of us. I shall speak.' And so saying they headed out into the open and Hiwcantar hailed the group. 'His soldiers salute His priests! We carry one marked by Him with us, but have been assailed by a king. We seek refuge with you from them that we may see His marked one to Him.' The group came to a halt and Hiwcantar gripped his spear. This gamble could see them all slaughtered or worse... but it did not seem like they would be avoiding danger now anyhow.
The two robed priests lowered their hands and turned away from their work. As Hiwcantar came close, he was overpowered by the smell of sulfur; these men reeked of the underworld, their visages grey and their eyes a sickly and almost glowing green. One of them held extended a hand towards Tara and a stream of twisted energy streamed from it, and to the ap-Cantar's horrified surprise, a fainter stream of dark magic emanated from Tara and came to meet it. The priest seemed satisfied and nodded. "She has His mark, and the makings of a powerful witch."

The other one had been eyeing Sruga, however. "This one looks like those prisoners that Akane and his rabble brought from the riverlands."

The first priest retorted, "The Master's servants come from many places, and humble beginnings."

"No, look at their starved bodies and the sorry state of their equipment. They all look fit only for thralldom or sacrifices." He turned to Hiwcantar and stepped closer. "I hardly even sense the power of the oni coming from you. You must have bound yourself to a weak and pathetic king, and I doubt he would care if a servant as paltry as you were to go missing."

Ryoka suddenly pushed past Hiwcantar and came to lean over that suspicious priest, and the human visibly quivered as the oni's hulk now towered over him. "He mine! Dumb little humans like gold. That one sold his soul for a lump the size of his fist."

The more amicable of the priests laughed at that. "They say Akane agreed to serve the Master for only half his weight in gold!"

'Oh but Akane's brought in far more than that now. We were with him on that raid,' Hiwcantar said, putting two and two together, 'but when we found that this one was marked we separated from him. That's when we found ourselves preyed upon by a king. We haven't eaten well at all these past few days, harried as we were by him. But give me a few days and a few good meals, and you'll see who's only fit for sacrifice or thralldom.'

The skeptic cast an eye toward Hiwcantar and listened, but he seemed much more preoccupied by Ryoka. "And you went with Akane, too? I thought the sorcerer let his mad brother command oni; you know that he has no fondness for your kind."

"Told 'em I'd bash 'im if he didn't let me come," Ryoka retorted in his usual line of thinking. The priest laughed and obviously took it for a joke, but that was beginning to draw the ire from Ryoka. Hiwcantar intervened smoothly.
'He does enjoy a good joke - I mean, I didn't really sell my soul for a lump of gold the size of a fist, he just likes to tease me about this entire affair. But no, that's why we separated from Akane see, we wanted our here oni to see this marked girl we had found so that he can get the reward for finding her. Then we'll have a proper king. Can't blame a man for being selfish now and again can you?'
The hostile priest regarded Ryoka in a new light. "I didn't care for gold; I entered His service because He promised power. But you already have magic. Why would you want to be a king and have to deal with all the wretched politics?"

"You presume too much, Hisa-"

"Don't tell them my name!"

"-we serve the Kunshu himself and are above the kings' petty squabbling. Now we must do as the man asks and bring the namanari to Him; this summoning ritual can wait."

Ryoka of course had to rub this in. "Dumb Hisa! Shut up and do what that smart one says! And don't question an oni!" Hisa grit his teeth and reddened at the oni's words but maintained his silence as the group began to move away from the ritual circle. The chief attempted to joke slightly with Hisa, but the cultist did not seem interested in doing anything other than let his anger simmer. Led by the two demon-worshipers, the party made their way out of the forest and back onto a dirt path. Countless footprints had been pounded into the ash-covered ground, and few of them were in the shape of a man's feet. It was not long before they came across a trio of oni unlike any that the they had seen so far; the creatures were of great stature, perhaps a man and a half high, but lean and long-limbed. Their flesh and eyes were black as tar, and long white hair and horns protruded from their helmets. And over their bodies they wore heavy plated armor that seemed to simmer in a dim light as if drenched and weighed down by magic, and upon their waists each one carried many scabbards for equally many massive swords. "Kuro-oni," Ryoka explained. "And these ones samurai! Strong enough to serve some king permanently!" Hiwcantar considered the armoured demons with awe - he had seen the armour worn by the rabble before and thought it some absurd fashion, but now he could see that it was in fact some kind of hardened material - leather perhaps? Some odd rock? He could not be certain. Now that he paused to consider it, the bandits before sharpened blocks of the stuff, not at all dissimilar to what these Kuro-oni had sheathed at their sides. Perhaps it would be good to get their hands on these oddities and take them home for closer inspection. As these mighty "kuro" demons passed by with their great strides and the ragged company of humans (and Ryoka) stepped off the path in respect, the samurai cast only a few fleeting sideward glances. It seemed as though the presence of the two priests and Ryoka was enough to cast away any suspicion that might have been raised by a warband of humans; but then again, it seemed equally likely that the demons would think it impossible for any enemy to make it this far, or for any enemy to even attempt to enter the Kunshu's domain to begin with. But the ap-Cantar were just such foes, willing to march into the jaws of hell if it meant they could spit in the eye of a foe or make light of death's attempts to snare them. The march deeper and deeper into this hellish domain of demons continued, and with each step the ap-Cantar gripped their weapons ever tighter and Hiwcantar's mind wondered at how such a foe could be brought low. 'GREAT Cantar,' he murmurred under his breath, 'lend us your strength, bestow your blessings, make us into the stuff the worthy are made of.' They soon came to the foot of one final mountain.



But this was the king of all the mountains here, crowned in fire. The red-hot blood of the earth seeped from the top and ran down the edges of the tower, but their destination was not up there. The tiny dirt path joined into a proper road that had been paved with packed ash and the charred bones left behind by ancient wars, and this road meandered a short ways along the side of the volcano before it brought them to a great wound gouged into the rock. Their party, alongside a steady trickle of demons and bandits and other dark travelers, marched into the opening of the cave. Ignoring the stifling heat and the foul smell and the demons and sorcerers that were everywhere inside that mountain, they slowly advanced through the twisting tunnels. With every passing moment they ventured deeper and deeper into the depths, heading toward the magma chamber at the very heart of this mountain.



The ap-Cantar and their unwitting entourage walked and took this all in with fear and awe. Now an oni king walked past, now a cultist followed them with his gaze. The deeper in they walked the more blistering the heat became. Though used to the desert heat on the their bare feet, from time to time one of the warriors would hop from one foot to the other in a futile attempt to avoid the burning pain. Only Tara seemed utterly unaffected by this, wherever she set her step there was a hissing and smoking and the ground seemed to soften. At one point their party stopped and they heard furious shouting. The cultists looked up ahead, and Hiwcantar looked with them. There, immediately recognisable, was the terrifying demon-priest who had led the bandit horde of slavers. Akane, as they had come to know his name, seemed embroiled into a quarrel with a demon so large and so heavily armored that they could presume this it was one of the oni kings. It was nearly roaring, with dark spittle flying from its mouth, but to his credit the sorcerer seemed unfazed. "Even if twenty of them are worth only a single tengu, I've brought hundreds to serve the Kunshu. They will suffice," they heard him say. But for fear of being recognized, they did not stare and they similarly did not linger about to listen for any longer. It wasn't much farther until they finally came to a great door that was guarded by a samurai on either side.

The demonic warriors stared silently, the glow of their red eyes enough to tell any sane man that they were not to enter that doorway without permission. But it seemed that Ryoka was no sane man, and he wanted his reward. So the wild oni trotted forward, and when they thought him too close, both of the samurai brought their hands upon the hilts of their sheathed blades and prepared to draw. Ryoka likewise gripped his club and brandished it. It looked as if he was genuinely contemplating 'bashing' his way through yet another situation. Then Hiwcantar's voice rose. 'We come bearing one who is marked to Him, seeking the promised reward. Let us pass that we may claim what is our right to claim.'

"You speak for this rabble?" one of them asked Hiwcantar without taking its eyes off of Ryoka.
'I would never presume to speak for the great king Ryoka, for the might of his fist and the severity of his punishment speak for themselves - but I am more well-versed in the diplomatic arts, yes, so that is what I do.'

"King?" the other asked, looking more closely at Ryoka before breaking into laughter. "You're no king, just a mongrel, wild aka-oni th-"

Ryoka struck so fast that his club was a blur, but when his club fell upon the laughing samurai it crushed the arrogant fool's head. Even as that samurai's still and lifeless body began to crumble and disintegrate, Ryoka still brought down his club over and over to pound it into a pulp. Meanwhile, the other guard watched with mild interest. "He was too slow to draw. A pathetic display," the kuro-oni mused. Hiwcantar scratched his head under his large hat and pursed his lips. 'What can I say, King Ryoka does not like being questioned, and a good pounding opens many doors.' He turned back to the guard even as Ryoka continued to spit and bash at the ashen remains of the other samurai. 'So, can we go through now?'

The warrior glanced down to what remained of his peer. "You and your 'king' can pass; I will not stop you, and until he can reform, neither will that fool." Nodding, Hiwcantar waved his warriors on and walked with Tara through the door. Ryoka seemed to finally awaken from whatever frenzy had gripped him and shoved the door open for them. And before them they saw the heart from whence their woes had spewed and the woes of all who called the mighty Tala home!

Vlath sat with his fellow tribe leaders for some time, discussing the possible plans that could be enacted to defeat this enemy. Grash had called for them to fortify the settlement and be ready for the impending assault while Mex had claimed an ambush would be the best course of action. After some debate Vlath had silenced the two of them with a growl and a threat [colour=DarkGray] "This settlement is in ruins, the shelters we have erected are pitiful and are not worth fortifying. The wisest course of action would be to leave across the river and find a new home to fortify, one near to the forest would serve us well." the voidcaller decreed as Grash settled into silence with a low growl and Mexi merely stared between the other chieftains. Now both were completely settled he continued " The bridge across the river will be guarded at all times, as will the river itself. Once all members of the covenant are safely across I will ask that the champions of the void in their greatness would act as our defenders from the river itself, waiting below the waves to strike out at any foe foolish enough to cross. If they attempt to cross the bridge will have to be destroyed. If they attempts to defile the Holy Stones before facing us we may have to retaliate, until we know this enemies location Silentpaw scouts will remain on the east side of the river while our warriors prepare themselves on the west side. Are there any questions?" Vlath said, concluding the speech with a question that was more to show he was allowing other ideas yet none came.

The other chieftains simply nodded and with a wave of his hand Vlath dismissed them from his tent before adding "We will begin the migration as soon as your people are ready. Bloodfang I would have you wait behind."

Grash Bloodfang turned to Vlath with some curiosity before asking "What do you wish from me Voidcaller?" he asked.

Vlath responded "When we have destroyed this enemy, you will take this old landing site and turn it into a fortress against not only enemies from the west but also those from the sea. Do not fail me in this war or I will do it myself Grash." there was a tone of finality in the Voidcallers voice, while Grash had been the first to suggest the fortification of Wolfhelm (or Seagard as Vlath would insist on calling the conceptual fortress) he was giving this task to Grash as serious order, not a idle mission to be done at his leisure.

"It will be done,Voidcaller." Grash said with a bow before he himself left the tent after his fellow chieftains.

After his meeting was done Vlath made a sigh and began to pray to the Gods yet again, requesting he allow the void beasts to obey his commands so he may conquer this enemy.

It was difficult to carry the ships inland, and it wasn't before long that the the land became too difficult to carry what ships they took from the shore. Soon enough, though, they were close to the mountain and in a wooded area. However they came upon a sign of other civilization in this new land among the trees. It was a wooden totem, either recently made or tended to often. Whichever it was, it meant they weren't the only ones in this new land, and that there were a people nearby.

So came the decision to be made, one that the eldest among them had to choose. During there rest a ways away from the totem, there was a discussion on whether or not to push on despite the sculpture, whether just to ignore or find its makers, or to move to a different area away from the totem in order to avoid conflict, at least until they were settled. In the end, they chose to move the tribe further north and east, remaining in the foothills until they came upon more even ground with few trees, with a stream nearby deep enough to reach their knees. Yes this would do.

The first thing they did upon choosing this place to settle was send some ogres back to the boats they left behind, the intent to bring them here in order to have those ready to make shelter. At the same time another group would look for stones of varying shapes and sizes from the area, all while those that remained did what they could to clear ground. Even children that were thought old enough could help with the latter task. Finally, it came time to name their new home.

After some debate it was decided. Well, if you can call only one suggestion a debate.

Tahzrahn.

Rukdug wasn't happy; He honestly couldn't remember the last time that he had been happy. He wasn't blind to the grumblings of those who lived under his command and in truth he shared some of their concerns and spites... but backtracking was a sign of indecision and the fact that his victory of getting his people back alive was being seen as a weakness of rulership vexed him. The cost of getting his people back and to no longer be hindered by those bloody goblin bastards was to take part in a war against an enemy they knew next to nothing about... apart from what they had witnessed about the firestones themselves and what the goblins had told them.

The seemingly 'immortal' nature of the oni had actually made Rukdug pause in thought as he had walked back to Riverforge after his meeting with Saizo and his ilk. An enemy who treated death as a minor inconvenience rather than as a major concern was somewhat new... but all problems had a solution and the Dark One himself had taught his crazed zealots of his cult something that might just do the trick. It was a well known fact that the cursed weapons of the Cult of Darkness hacked into the soul as readily as they did flesh and blood. The point had been to seed dread into even the bravest of hearts since even the soul would not be free of harm if one stood against the Dark One and wounds to the soul were beyond almost all mortal means to heal.

Since the oni's 'immortality' seemed to come from their souls surviving the deaths of their physical shells, a means to harm their souls directly would easily give his orcs the upper hand in battle. Of course, the fact that any members of the Cult of Darkness that had been with their people before the exodus from their former home had been purged because... well, they were crazy zealots who were standing between his people and life was a problem, but not yet a crippling one. He understood the nature of orcs in the old days, so it was with confidence that Rukdug offered up a major reward for the orc or orcs that managed to recreate the cursed weapon enchantments of the Cult of Darkness for usage by the Mustaqilun.

Of course, knowing the enchantments was pointless if one didn't have weapons to use them for. Now that they were no longer going to be hindered by goblins, Rukdug also pushed to get the forges up and operational so that they could finally start working the metal that their mining efforts had managed to gather so far. They were going to be marching for war one way or the other.

..............................................

The arrival of the bird like Master Ful was quickly brought to Rukdug's attention and he went to meet with the lord of the goblins. He didn't bow back, but it wasn't out of being rude; Orcs only bowed to those who were above them and clearly Ful was showing him respect due to this being his stronghold, as was proper. Apologizing for the actions and behavior of his subordinate was a nice touch, but as the conversation continued Rukdug saw what Ful wanted. He wanted solders and he wanted them now... The main issue being that they simply weren't ready to mobilize for war just yet. They needed to create and sort out equipment, develop their secret weapon against the oni -and- he needed to get the unrest that had been creeping through his fortress under control.

However... there might be a way to take care of several of those problems at once. Or at the very least, relieve them a little.

"I will be frank with you Ful. Your subordinate Saizo has caused us quite a few problems. Yes, preventing us from being enslaved to a new master might have been all well and good, but his actions have not only caused us major delays in establishing our mining and production facilitates, but also has caused a great deal of bad blood and distrust between my people and yours. Even as we speak we are working to undo the damage he has done, but I can think of a... compromise that will benefit us both in the long run." He wasn't used to being diplomatic, but it was clear that Rukdug was trying... and that he had a fairly good idea regardless.

"From the ores we uncovered before Saizo started to disrupt out mining efforts, we can produce bronze weapons and armor. While I'm certain we could find better metals to work in time, it's clear that you want us fighting the oni as soon as possible. You and your goblins clearly have access to iron... a sizeable tribute of raw iron would not only ease some of the anger of my people, but it would also ensure that your allies would be better equipped on the battlefield."

"There is also the issue that my people haven't actually encountered the oni themselves, where as your followers have clearly wronged them. There is a simple solution to this though; Right now I am prepared to organize and send a small warband of orcs under one of my captains with you to find these oni and size them up. While I'm sure they would be more than able to pull their weight in a fight if need be, I intend for them to be more of a scouting force. Not only get an idea of where the oni actually are, but also get an idea of how they fight and thus what tactics and weapons would be best suited to counter them. It would also help ease tenses since it would give both of our peoples a common enemy."

Rukdug fully intended to send a hand picked task force under one of his captains to not only see the Oni first hand to confirm that they were real, but all the other things he said as well. What he was failed to mention was that the orcs he had in mind for sending were the more... rebellious of his people. He had a mental list of orcs who had been rather vocal in their opinions on his leadership, as well as those he reasonably suspected of instigating unrest in order to make their own power plays. The captain he had in mind to lead this mission was firmly in the latter category and sending him served two purposes; If he was successful, than the oni would be confirmed to be real and thus many of the grumblings would cease. If he got himself killed while out in the field, than he was simply no longer a threat to launch a coup. Either way Rukdug won.

"I'll have them selected and ready to leave within the next two hours."

Summary below:


In the Hovel

---

Osman sat in the empty great hall commonly used for council meetings, staring into the dying embers in the centre hearth. These last few days, he had begun feeling considerably weaker. The rations had grown much smaller of late, and he was getting tired of eating bark. However, his starving body was not the source of his despair. Herim had come to him earlier with grim news - the infected seemed to be getting worse. One of the older dwarves was likely soon to meet her ancestors. He felt a cold spike through his body at the thought, and he ran a shaking hand through his black beard. At that moment, Joron Scroll stepped in through the door and dusted the snow off himself using a small brush. The old, scrawny scholar looked like a mere set of sticks arranged into the shape of a dwarf, but Osman was at least glad to see the dwarf still had some energy left.

“Foreman,” Joron said curtly. “I thought I’d find you here.” Osman beckoned him over and threw a log on the embers. At first, Joron shook his head; however, right thereafter, he came over anyway and sat down.

“That’s the spirit, Joron. No need to be so cold. You have the council meetings for that,” Osman snickered. Joron did not return the snicker, but voiced a single sarcastic “ha”. Osman frowned and looked back into the flames.

“I actually came bearing a message, foreman,” Joron said. “Herim would like you know that bark is no longer on the menu. We will officially have to turn to our leather goods for sustenance.” Osman put his face in his hands and let out a long groan. Joron scratched his white-bearded chin and stood back up with the help of a walking stick. He gave Osman a partial bow and headed toward the door.

“Do you think me a poor leader, Logmaster?” Osman voiced through his hands. Joron stopped and turned around, running his idle hand through his beard to add to his inquisitive expression.

“Not poor, Osman. I agree that retrieving our families’ livelihood was important. However, one does not have to be a magister to see that you occasionally make… Less than ideal choices.” Osman deflated in his chair. Joron continued, “I understand you, however. We all make poor decisions under stress, myself included. My imprisonment was a just punishment and gave me time to think - I realised that Popomel was right about the gods’ disgust of sin, and sin, I did.” Joron lowered his head. “To kill your parent, sibling or child - the most grievous sin. I pray I never misinterpret the will of the gods in such a manner again.” The air grew thick and greasy with shame. “As such, while I frankly despise you for what you did to me, I respect it and agree with it. However, one right does not right all the wrongs, and to answer your question, foreman, you are not a poor leader; you are a less-than-ideal leader who struggles with stress.” Osman, now having deflated to the point where he technically sat on the floor leaning against the chair, gave Joron a look that could best be described as a confused scowl. Joron nodded and headed to the door. In the doorway, the dwarf turned, his white beard dancing in the wind.

“By the way, another convoy from the Whitepeak Mine has returned. Get your bum off the floor and do something other than sulk for once.” The dwarf then stepped out and slammed the door shut. Osman sat still for a few minutes. He regretted asking Joron of all people for feedback. However, there was some solace in actually hearing some for the first time in weeks. He got back on his feet and stepped outside.

After a few minutes, Osman had gathered every Hammersworn in the Hovel. He scanned the crowd and saw that it consisted almost exclusively of dwarflings too young to venture out of the village. It had been a while since Osman had spoken to children, and speaking to a whole mass at once was going to be tough - already some had begun splitting from the crowd to play in the snow. Osman opened his mouth.

"Sons and daughters! Hear your foreman's words!" Many of the children started crying at the sudden booming voice. In the back, Erima was snickering while Joron placed his face in his palm. Herim and Golaq tried their best to shepherd the kids back in line, while Daven sat down with the crying ones and began singing them songs. Osman let out a long, drawn-out groan. Meanwhile, Daven looked up at Osman and smiled warmly.

"They are not yet workers, good foreman. You cannot ask a seed to sprout fruits. First, it must be nurtured and grow." The old dwarf patted an adjacent little girl on the head and stood up. "Let us do exactly that." Osman raised an eyebrow. "What, tell them to sprout fruits?" he muttered. Daven chuckled softly. "No, let us instead take this time to teach them about what it means to be Hammersworn. Let our fathers, mothers, sisters and brothers teach our sons and daughters a little bit about their respective unions; let the children learn about the thoughts and morals of their mothers and fathers; let them forget their rumbling bellies for a while. What say you, foreman?" Osman pondered for a bit. He then saw that some of the children began screaming and crying again. Daven swiftly shuffled over and saw to the issue. "Fine! I'll allow it. Spread the message on. I'll prepare some words on the virtue of shutting the HELL up!" His shouting caused more children to weep in fear. Daven let out another warming laughter. "Naturally, foreman," he said. "I'll tell everyone to prepare some words on the morals of our people."

Outside the strange hamlet to the south:

---

Makkar wrapped the furs around him ever closer. He was starting to regret telling the group not to light fires as to not draw any more attention that what, for all they knew, they'd already drawn. However, it was, in his eyes, paramount that they not be caught unprepared should the hamlet be home to creatures of malicious intent. He blew some warm, steamy air into his palms and rubbed them rapidly together. Oh, how he longed for a fire right about now. He looked up and saw Quana Forge shuffle over. She put an index finger to her left nostril and snorted loudly. She then turned to Makkar and scratched her nose.

"So... What do we do, then? It's been an hour since we agreed to wait. I don't know about you, but I'm not really enjoying this whole... Sitting in the snow and waiting-situation." Makkar frowned and stood up. "Aye, neither am I. Tell the others I've made my decision. We'll form a small crew of our, uh, kindest looking and go over to ask for shelter and supper. Can't be that hard, right?" Quana nodded slowly. "Uh-huh," she mumbled, "and what if they're more bloodthirsty than world-eyes at a Bronze Union sermon?" Makkar shrugged and gave a sigh. "The alternative is pretty clear, ain't it? Go tell them now." Quana nodded and shuffled off. Makkar pulled some icicles out of his beard, grimacing at every tug.

Mere minutes later, the whole expedition crew had gathered. Forth stepped four dwarves, all of whom had been deemed the prettiest, kindest-looking, or just the least smelly. The first of them was a young-looking lad of the Copper Union, judging from the green tattoo on his face, who was smiling from ear to ear in spite of the weather; the second was also quite young, an appraiser from the Silver Union, whose beautiful golden hair looked even paler against the snow; the third was one Makkar knew - Gomril Ash, alchemeister of the Union of Phosphorous. He had always looked the docile dwarf, almost comparable to a doe; finally, the fourth, a dwarf of the Glass Union, one who had probably used the last of the tea flowers in his ration to make some form of perfume - Makkar agreed he smelled quite nice. He then nodded and pointed to the hamlet. "Alright. You four will come with me and act as bodyguards and support should an argument arise with the host. The rest of you - find whatever you can use as a weapon and wait until I give the signal - which will be a waving torch. If no such signal is given by nightfall, you will keep moving south in search of food - is that clear?" The crew nodded, though most looked rather annoyed or angry at the thought of being left in the cold. Makkar nodded back and beckoned his band of four. Together, they shuffled through the snow towards the hamlet.

Nothing happened as they stepped out from the trees, climbed over the first fence, and began making their way through the fields. As they came up on the second inner fence, they drew close to one of the hovels around the great hall. From inside there was the murmuring of voices and the crying of a child, and a few moments later, they saw a squat figure wearing a heavy cloak step out from inside with an axe in hand.

Makkar stopped in his steps at the sight of the weapon. He held his hand on the hammer on his belt and extended a palm forward. He nodded at his companions, who proceeded to take similar precautions. For a second, Makkar wondered what to say? Did this creature even speak his language? How would he react to Makkar and his crew looking almost ready to strike at him? He tried to look a little less threatening, and proceeded to make his greeting.

"Blessings on your soil and fertility for you crops, stranger!"

A cold wind had blown to the dwarves' backs and straight into the stranger's face, so he'd held up an arm to keep the worst of it out of his eyes and hold down the hood of his cloak. And then he'd stepped to the side towards a pile of firewood as if to split it, seemingly completely oblivious to the nearby dwarves thanks to that oversized hood obscuring his vision, and then Makkar had suddenly spoken. The short person jumped nearly half his height into the air when he suddenly became aware of the dwarves with a start, and the axe slipped out from his hands. His panicked yelp seemed to echo as loud as thunder through the quiet little hamlet.

Makkar nearly jumped at the creature's reaction, and whether due to the weather or the situation, he was frozen for a split second. That second was all it took for the golden haired Silver unionist to open her mouth as well.
"No, no, no! Don't scream, please! We don't mean any harm! Honest to Ognius!" She tried to make her point by taking out her knife and dropping it in the snow, though it seemed her companions didn't follow her motion.

For his part the stranger didn't immediately stoop down to take up his hatchet again, but he definitely glanced to make sure that it was still there. "Wut're you lot doin' here?" the halfling stammered, and then a few moments later they could hear the doors of other huts opening. Soon there were other faces peeking at them from around corners, and one or two calls of, 'Shirrif! Shirrif!'

"Oh, thank the gods, you can understand us," the Silver unionist said. She tried to move a little closer. "I'm Agnez Coin," she said. Makkar and his companions eyed her up and down in disbelief and looked at each other. Agnez went on: "We are the Hammersworn dwarves, and we come from the mountains to the north. A terrible winter has struck our home, and we were sent out to bring back food and resources for our people. While it is terribly rude to ask such of you, good stranger, we ask merely that we be allowed to stay the night in your village - just so we can rest like we haven't in months for a single night. We will be on our way by dawn." Makkar grabbed Agnez by the shoulder and pulled her back to whisper her something. In the meanwhile, the Copper union kid and Gomril Ash kept surveying the settlement. The Glass Unionist kept rubbing his hands together and blowing on them in a desperate attempt to prevent the loss of another finger.

"But what are you?" the halfling asked in confusion. "An' what's that one sayin' over there?!"

Makkar put his hand on Agnez's head and rubbed it perhaps a little too violently. She suddenly looked furious. "Nothing to worry about, friend. Just needed to make it clear who's doing the negotiations here." Makkar gave a quick laugh which gathered little support from the rest of his crew. He muttered to himself before looking back at the halfling, taking note of the tiny creature's stature. "We're dwarves, good stranger! You know... Dwarves? Looking at you, actually, you ought to recognise a cousin when you see one, you know!" Makkar eyed the halfling up and down. "See the winter's left little to eat for your kind, too, aye."

By this point a rough-looking halfling in an obnoxious bright red coat had staggered out of the main hall and made his way halfway over to the assembled crowd. In one hand he'd carried a club and in the other a bottle, but to the credit of the drunken 'shirrif' he'd dropped the bottle into the snow as soon as he'd seen the dwarves, and at that point he quickened his pace. Embolded by his presence, some of the onlookers from the other huts started to follow their way closer to the commotion.

Makkar met the approaching stranger with as broad a grin as he could manage. He placed his palm on his chest and tipped his torso gently forward. "Ah, you must be the local foreman. Good harvests and full larders to you, good stranger. I am Makkar Stone, representative on the Union Council and ambassador for the Hammersworn Dwarves!" His companions frowned at him. Agnez mouthed something that looked like "ambassador" and Makkar tried to give her a well-hidden kick in the shin, but just ended up widening his stance somewhat awkwardly. The sheriff hardly seemed to notice, at least.

The first timid halfling that they'd spoken to backed up a little bit so as to visibly defer to the red-coated one. And then after a few very moments of awkward hesitation, he grabbed his hatchet once more and stepped a short ways away to start splitting the wood that he'd first outside to split...naturally, he kept one eye on the dwarves all the while. As for the sheriff, he approached closer than any of his fellows dared, but even his alcohol-fueled bravery made him stop at a few yards distance. "Well you seem frien'lier than most 'round these parts, not like we get many strangers!" He hiccuped before finishing, "That is, 'less you came for my coat! If that's the case you'll only pry 'er from me bloody hands!"

Makkar cleared his throat and looked for a good response. The lad from the Copper Union stepped forth and lifted his left palm in greeting. "While your coat is absolutely magnificent, good stranger--"

The whole crowd of halflings laughed at that line, the sheriff included. The young dwarf recoiled and gave an awkward, hacking laugh as well. Makkar pushed him back gently in a shooing manner and cleared his throat. "Aye, aye, we can all agree that it's, uh, somewhat nice. However, we did indeed not come to nab your jacket, good stranger. You see, our situation is a grim one, and we wish not bother you for too long, so..." Makkar cleared his throat, but it turned into a cough, followed by a loud sneeze. Gomril Ash sighed and looked at the sheriff. "To summarise what our 'diplomat' is going to say: we've travelled far, we're tired, and we're wondering if you good strangers have some shelter and supper to spare for the night. We-" Makkar, having regained control of his breathing, coughing and sneezing, gave him a glare and continued for him: "We don't have much to give in return, but we have good tools to trade, and should our relationship grow closer, come summer we will give back what you've given us tenfold!"

That statement seemed perfectly punctuated by the load crack of that first halfling splitting a log in half. The sheriff looked over irritably and shouted, "By golly Rory we're tryin' to talk over here, quit that!" Then he turned back to the dwarves and answered, "Too cold out here to talk, and not my job to figure out what to do with you anyways. My boss'll sort that out. The chieftain's prob'ly wonderin' what's causing all this rile anyways, so we'd best go see 'im right now." The halfling gestured toward the greathall on top of the hill and made as if to lead them there.

"Ah, very good," Makkar said and followed along for a few steps until he saw that Gomril, Agnez and Copper Union lad remained. Makkar looked at them funnily. "What're you doing? It's impolite not to follow along when you're invited in, y'know." Agnez crossed her arms over her chest. "We should tell the others first," she said. "We can't leave them out here in the cold while we're in there." Makkar rubbed his temples and let out a groan. "We -first- go in to negotiate -then- tell the others -after- we get permission? You got it?" Agnez stood as frozen in the snow, her determination manifesting in the form of a scowl.

The sheriff, meanwhile, seemed willing to break up the argument. "Wait now, there's more of ye out there? What, a dozen? Bring 'em all in here. No choice about the matter. We got the space and food, and Chief'll want to see all of you. Look you up an' down, make sure he trusts you much as I do. Then if he don't think you're liars or bandit scouts, he'll treat you fairly. But cross 'im the wrong way an' he'll crack all your skulls like treenuts! Ha!"

Makkar groaned again and nodded. "Fine, bring me a torch and-..." Makkar flinched at the halfling's final sentence, and he turned to his companions. They, too, seemed to have gotten the threatening undertones, too, but at the same time, they looked starved and freezing. The Glass Union dwarf had resorted to sticking his freezing hands under Gomril's beard. "... And I'll summon them," Makkar continued. The dwarf received a torch and stepped a little distance away from the hamlet until he estimated that he was within line of sight of the rest of the expedition crew. He waved the torch from side to side for a good half-minute. Following his actions was nothing but wind and an occasional cough from the Copper Union lad. Then, ever so quietly, came the familiar cracking noise of dwarven boots breaking through ice and snow. It grew louder and louder until dark shapes formed in the winds that soon turned into the familiar hairy shapes of the Hammersworn. Makkar spoke, "These good strangers have invited us inside for food and warmth. We will be on our best behaviour while we're here, is that clear?" While nobody said anything, most seemed to at least not protest. Dwarves were known for their courtesy, after all. Or, well, that would depend on the union, and probably situation, and... Makkar decided to leave the thought.

And while Makkar had summoned his fellows out in the field with the impatiently shivering sheriff not far to his side, the red-coated halfling had taken aside one of the hamlet's folk and murmured something to him before the lad had ran off to the great hall ahead of everyone else. If they were to take the sheriff in good faith, that fellow was probably telling the chief to expect company, or something of the sort...but otherwise it could well have been an order to prepare some sort of trap. Agnez, Gomril and the Copper Union lad all gave the runner a suspicious stare. Agnez picked up her knife from the snow, dried and sheathed it. Then when the others had come close enough for him to make our their faces, the sheriff let Makkar give his address before he likewise spoke to the oncomers, "Yeah, we bid all you folk welcome to Heel's Hundred. The Chief's expectin' us in his hall, and we'd best not keep 'im waitin'." He certainly noticed Agnez gather her knife and seemed to note that all the dwarves had weapons, but he didn't seem perturbed and said nothing of it. Now that the dwarves looked closer, most of the halflings had at least some tool that would service as a weapon, if not for similar small knives or clubs. They were smaller and thinner, but in such numbers the halflings would definitely have the advantage should any violence break out. Makkar murmured a prayer to every god he knew in hopes that this would not happen. It was evident on the faces of his people that no one felt easy about the situation - however, empty stomachs and tired legs on top of no food in sight beyond this hamlet led most to ignore the potential dangers.

As he led them at a fairly brisk pace from the fields back into the hamlet proper and up to the hill, the sheriff heard a few stomachs grumble. "Suzy's cookin' will give you lot good spirits! Maybe she'll even put some meat in the soup tonight since you lot 'ave come to give us company!" Makkar faked a laugh and felt cold sweat form on his forehead. He called Quana over. The tall dwarf came stomping through the snow, her hand resting firmly on the shaft of her hammer. "I don't like this, Makkar," she whispered. "Don't like it one bit. We can still turn back and keep moving south. One more day on empty stomachs won't hurt." Makkar grit his teeth. "I'm starting to think you're right. Gods' curses, why did I listen to that little-..."

The little sheriff suddenly came to a stop at the base of the hill. "Aha! There she is!" he called out, stooping to reclaim the bottle he'd dropped earlier. The jovial halfling took a few great gulps then held it out for Makkar. "Warms you right up!" Makkar scowled at the bottle. "What is it? Blackberry wine?" He grabbed the bottle and gave the top a good sniff, though his stuffed nose yielded little information about the contents and more than he'd wanted about the sheriff's oral hygiene. Reluctantly, Makkar took a small nip of the contents out of courtesy. It was a dark beer, nothing that would have normally been terribly impressive to a dwarf, but a long ways better than the swill they'd been brewing at the Hovel for the past few months. Makkar felt his heart skip a beat at the flavour and took another, much larger swig before handing the bottle back. "Thank you, friend. That... That really did warm something up, aye." The short moment of joy was switfly broken by Quana poking at Makkar's shoulder, looking very concerned when he turned to look at her. Makkar's nostalgic smile turned back to a cold, hard expression that mirrored both terror and desperation.

The hill that the great hall sat upon was not a terribly steep or tall one, so it wasn't long with the sheriff's quick pace before they passed the few crude fortifications and were suddenly at the doors. There were two absolutely massive doors to the hall, each one of what looked to be terribly heavy oak, and they were both completely shut. The sheriff spat. "Gah, did that fool really have to close it behind him..." He mumbled something about keeping the heat in, and then he grabbed one of the doors and started heaving. He started to make progress, but cast a glance over to the dwarves. Obviously he didn't want to ask for their help, but he was struggling. Probably too much of the beer. Makkar and the dwarves all seemed to visually compare the huge door and the tiny sheriff trying to open it. While Makkar was not the sharpest axe on the rack, it did not take a magister to deduct that whatever was inside the great hall was far bigger than any of these halflings, and suddenly the slightly more menacing word choices the sheriff had made began to make more and more sense.

"Uh, quick question, good stranger, uh... What livestock do you keep here?" Makkar asked while slowly reaching for his hammer.

"Ah, I never introduced myself did I? Sheriff Wilret, I am," he answered as he stopped pulling on the door to take another sip of beer. "Uh, got a couple sows down in the barn...somehow Heel hasn't eaten 'em all yet..."

Right on cue, the great door suddenly swung open. Wilret leaped back before it knocked him over, and there standing in the doorway was the biggest creature any of the dwarves had ever seen before. He wore clothes and had a full beard and a head full of hair, but if weren't for that, he might as well have been a mountain of flesh.



The sight of the creature made the entire flock of dwarves jump back. Half then proceeded to pull their weapons and scream, while the other half stood frozen in fear. The sheriff fell into the snow and rolled around laughing. "Surprise! Payback for that witty remark 'bout my coat, yeah?" he asked between gasps. None of the dwarves heard him over the battle roars and panicked howling. At this point, some of the dwarves began to run back down the hill, screaming their lungs out. Makkar and Quana stood at the front of the group. Quana let out a warcry and pointed her hammer at the giant - or rather, at the giant's toes - while Makkar stood frozen and, seemingly, praying. Chief 'Heel', as the sheriff had called him earlier, looked over the closest ones at his doorstep and cast his gaze down to Wilret and the fleeing dwarves. He suddenly looked furious. "Wilret you dumb sot! Stop playin' this joke! And go bring back those ones running. Right now!"

The sheriff scrambled back onto his feet and chased after the dwarves that had fled, and then the ogre looked down to Makkar and Quana. "Welcome to my hall! Come on in, Suzy's cooking us a stew." Quana, looking like she'd just witnessed a miracle, slowly lowered her hammer and looked up towards the giant's face which, due to the angle, was hidden behind its beard. "You... You mean it, g-.. Good stranger?" she whimpered. "Yup!" he answered simply. He didn't seem at all bothered by how they clutched onto their weapons, but in fairness, to him it was probably like they were mere children brandishing toothpicks.

He turned around and began to walk into the hall, but slowly and with a heavy limp. He hardly even moved his left leg so much as dragged it on with his right. Quana let out a joyous chuckle and slapped the still-praying Makkar so hard on the back that the dwarf fell forward and landed face and beard first in the snow. This knocked the dwarf back into reality and he rocketed back up to his feet and shot glances in all directions, brandishing his hammer profusely. Quana sighed and punched him again to calm him down, shaking her fist afterwards and murmuring, "Gods, that felt good...". Makkar clutched his now bloody nose and gave Quana a glare, which she returned with a smirk. "N'aw, don't worry about it. It'll be fine after some rest." Makkar keeled his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You could lose your seat on the council for that, y'know," he grumbled. "We're not in a meeting right now, are we?" Quana snickered. "Come on now. Oi! Urdo! Gather up the wimps who ran. Everyone! Follow along, now." With that, the group of dwarves slowly began to realise the reality of the situation. After the last of the stragglers had been rounded up, the dwarves were at last inside a warm hall again. After a small entryway with more than few bear pelts and stag antlers to be seen as decorations, there was a room with a huge heart off to the side of a long table. At the head on the far end was a giant chair that must have been Heel's throne, since it was the only one big enough to fit even half his bulk. He practically had an entire raised table to himself over there. Closer to the middle were a few halflings playing cards and drinking, at least two or three of which wore the same red coat that Wilret had. Judging by their state of stupor, they seemed to take their work even less seriously than Wilret. Or perhaps they simply weren't on shift. They hardly even looked up from their game as the dwarves entered.

With a groan, Heel eventually made his way to the raised table and took his place, then started rubbing at his left heel through a thick fur boot. "Messed that one up a long time ago, so I let the little ones in red run around for me," he explained in good humor. "Chief Heel Hardhand. Just call me Heel." Makkar stepped forth and beckoned over Quana Forge. He put his palm on his chest and bowed, while Quana raised her fist over her head and shouted, "Gods' and ancestors' blessings!" Makkar straightened himself back up. "I am Makkar Stone of the Hammersworn Dwarven Council, and this is Quana Forge, also a representative on the council. It is truly a great honour to be allowed into your hall, good chieftain Heel." Makkar nodded in respect. Some of the dwarves behind him raised their folded hands to the giant; some cried tears of joy. "We will not trouble you for long," Makkar continued, "but we have travelled far and through harsh weather on the quest to bring food from the south back to our village. You see, we come from the valley of Darr, the forests between the Golumnar and the Eastpeaks - and many moons ago, now, our fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters all suffered a terrible catastrophe that left us unprepared for a winter unmatched in cold cruelty. We ask therefore merely three favours, if we are worthy of receiving your aid, good chieftain Heel." Makkar knelt down before the giant. Quana first looked at him funny, but when the dwarves in the group behind her knelt down one by one, she eventually succumbed to group pressure. "We ask for one night of rest; we ask for one night's supper; and we ask if you know of somewhere we can find food to bring home to our people. Know that, come spring, the forges 'neath Golumnar will once again bloom with flames and sparks, and all you may request of tools, weapons or the like shall be yours."

Some of their diction seemed to go over the ogre's head, but for his part they could tell that he was listening closely, and watching even closer. Some felt a little bit uneasy at how he seemed to be staring at their every mannerism. Anyways, he didn't immediately answer when they finished. He sat there in silent contemplation for a long several moments before gesturing to the table and chairs. "Sit, I give you the first two," he said. As they shuffled over, he was quiet again before he at last began a long ramble, "You see these tiny folk all around? The halflings? I care for them quite a bit. They toil on a hundred cropfields out there to keep me fed and Suzy is the best cook in the world. All I do is sit here and give 'em some direction, so it's only fair I also do my best to protect them."

He reached down for a keg that rested next to his chair, cracked it open, and then chugged enough to knock out or kill a smaller creature. "You made a few of them nervous, y'know. Fought and whispered among one another. Heard you gave Rory a good scare, and the weapons also didn't help ease them. All this village has got is me and these sheriffs to drive off the wild animals and any would-be raiders, so you know that we gotta stay quiet and low. Don't want others to find out we're here an' start thinkin' of us as an easy target."

They weren't especially comfortable at where the conversation was now steering, but at least they had the savory smell of a delicious stew wafting in from the kitchen to ease their nerves. Heel became quiet once again, but this time he didn't look to be thinking so much as waiting for some response from them.

Makkar grunted and ran a hand through his beard. "The weapons, good chieftain, are mere tools against possible threats. We've been walking through ice and snow for a long time, and it's been even longer since we saw something without a beard... Well, something that isn't a woman or a child, anyway. Our judgment was clouded, for certain. We all swear on every god and ancestor, on our fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters, that we have no intention of harming your, uh, subjects. We will naturally also keep your village a dear secret to all others."

"Subjects! Ha!" He let out a bellowing laugh and slammed a fist on his table hard enough to made the wood creak. "I'm hardly a master now, just the biggest one here and the thing that they turn to for safety. I was once practically a king, though! Never been so miserable in my life. See, I come from the ogre territories in the mountains south. Never knew there were any other mountains in the far north; just thought it was grass and the sea, honest. Don't know why anybody would live so far up there where it must be even colder...but anyways, back to the story. I know how this world works, because they kept me in a cage and made me fight beasts and other ogres, sometimes to the death. I became a crowd favorite. Usually just used my fists, didn't need anything more. I was king of the arena, never lost a match, until the day one sot sliced open my heel so bad I could hardly walk. But by that point the crowd loved me too much and they couldn't just kill me and throw my body in the river. So they set me free and gave me a sack of gold for all the profit I'd brought them, and then I bought the freedom of all these halflings or their fathers, and we marched up here and have never looked back to that shitty place since."

He only paused to take another massive drink. "Been a long time since I've seen a forge," he finally continued, and then he looked at Makkar so intently that his giant eyes might well have bored holes through the dwarf. "You do a lot of promising. More than most, but I've never seen your kind before. Fair enough, I believe you, Makkar Stone. Just know that we've come too far to give up what we have now."

His rambling only ended when a tiny halfling girl, probably the one called Suzy, peeked out from the kitchen and announced that the stew was ready. With a few assistants, she brought out a great pot and started serving the assembled dwarves and halflings. Then they took some for themselves, and then they finally brought the entire pot with all the remaining contents (as well as a giant spoon) to Heel's table. The dwarves all collectively dug into their stew as if it was a mountain wall hiding a vein of gold. Makkar paused after a few spoonfuls and nodded at Heel. "Of course," he said. "A dwarf's honour is his life - to betray a friend is to betray family. The gods condemn treachery above all. My people will never forget this, good chieftain. We owe you our lives." Quana shoved another spoonful of soup into her mouth before whispering to Makkar, "So, how long did you conjure up -that- entry speech?" She flashed him a smirk. "Shut up and eat your stew, Quana..." he muttered.

Heel grunted through a mouthful as if he'd suddenly realized something. All the eyes turned to him as he swallowed, and then he announced, "Say, you came through the grasslands to get here? Must have. You're lucky you made it through alive." Makkar looked up from his stew again. "Aye, we did. The storm was bad, aye. Gods and ancestors walked along us on those cold nights."

"No, no, it's not the weather that I'd figured might nearly kill you. It's the natives. Arpaho, they call themselves. Surprised you didn't run into any; they wander all over the grasslands. Big, horned things. Some bigger than me. Know how to treat them and they can be agreeable though; I know a few of them that sometimes come here to trade."

Makkar chocked and coughed for a while. Meanwhile, Quana licked her bowl clean and looked up. "Big, horned things, you say? Nuh-uh, didn't see anything like that. Think we would've remembered if they're bigger than you, though. Can you tell us anything else about them?" she inquired. "Also, is there more stew?"

Heel narrowed his eyes at her second question and looked greedily down toward his own pot, but finally seemed to succumb to good manners. Although very reluctantly, he gestured her over and spooned some of his own stew into her bowl. Meanwhile, he rambled, "They seem pretty dumb to me. Arpaho will tell you that they've lived in those plains forever, yet you can look and see that they still run around with stone tools. They never build houses or settle down to farm and grow their food. They herd some big animals that look sorta like them but walk around on four legs instead of two; those beasts are pack animals used to carry their tents and supplies around. They run all around the plains in small tribes and families, looking for their favorite kind of grass. You'd think that all the grass would taste the same, but there's only one kind that the Arpaho will touch, and they know all the spots where it grows. So they run all over, circling around to their favorite grazing places and then moving on to others so that the grass has time to grow back. If you ever see the Arpaho, here's the one thing you've got to do: don't stare right at 'em. You can look off to the side and watch them out of the corner of your eye, but the moment your face points towards them, they'll charge. It's a sign of aggression among them to point their horns straight at one another, and I that they look at our noses sticking out from our faces and take 'em to be our horns. Dumb, like I told you."

Quana happily took her newly filled bowl and began slurping its contents loudly. Makkar, in the meantime, had stopped coughing and looked at Heel with a mixture of fear and disbelief on his face. "Well, that's bad. Quana, relay the message on not to look big things in the eyes from now on. Oh, except the good chieftain Heel, of course." He grinned at Heel. "Do they often come up north, by the way?"

Heel shrugged. "Not sure where they go. Don't get around to talking to them much; they smell bad, aren't nearly so polite as your kind, and have all those strange customs. If they didn't bring that sweet golden stuff around with them, I'd tell them to stay away from this forest for good and not even bother coming to trade."

"Sweet golden stuff?" Makkar inquired. More of the dwarves had moved in closer to listen. "None left to share," the ogre said, "Suzy mixed the last of it into my oatmeal this morning." Something about the ogre's tone was different and he seemed to be a little disingenuous with that claim, but perhaps it was best not to push it. "Oh, well, perhaps another time, then," Makkar proposed with a grin, followed by a yawn. Quana punched his shoulder lightly. "Oi, stay awake. Rude to fall asleep by the table, you clod." Makkar snapped to and nodded. "There was one more thing, good chieftain - one regarding the third favour. Is there somewhere close by we can procure food from? Perhaps through trade or work? All options are on the table, as far as we're concerned."

"Far be it from me to tell you not to look for those grasses that the Arpaho like to eat and harvest some of it for yourselves, but they might object. Beyond that you could...fish? Look for berries in the woods around here?" he shrugged after offering those suggestions. "Hardly anything in the grasslands or this forest, though. The only real food around here is our winter stores. I wouldn't feel loathe about trading some of the halflings' grain to you in exchange for the promise that you'll bring them some of those tools from your forges that you mentioned. It's been years since their bronze tools broke and we've hardly got any way to make new ones, so they've been stuck with flint and wooden tools. But I bet you could make good bronze, yes?"

Many of the dwarves stood up and cheered. Quana and Makkar, while looking very excited themselves, did their best to calm down the warm-spirited dwarves. Makkar then nodded at Quana, who beckoned a large, chestnut-bearded dwarf over from the crowd. Even after days in the snow, this one seemed to have permanent stains of soot and ash in his beard and on his clothes: a true Steel Union smith. The dwarf pulled out a large axe from a holster on his back and handed it to Quana, who stepped on top of the bench she was sitting on and held the axe up for all to see.

"This is Hammersworn steel - one of the few of its kind after the Calamity! Urdo here spent weeks getting the layers of the axe head just right. Provided it does not rust, this axe will last for a lifetime with proper maintenance." She lowered her arm and proceeded to extend her hands holding the axe shaft first out to the nearest halfling. "Consider this the start of many great things to come."

And as that steel hatchet's head glistened in the light of the hearth's crackling fire, Heel squinted at its shine for a few moments before waving a hand dismissively. "Too shiny," he declared, "Looks pretty, yes, but your strange 'steel' must be a soft treasure metal like silver or gold. What we need is good bronze!"

All the dwarves raised their eyebrows collectively at the giant, and then burst into a deafening chorus of laughter and cackling. Quana herself had to wipe a tear or two off her face. Makkar stood up and tried to quiet everyone down as to not be insulting to their host; however, it seemed he had little luck quelling the well-spirited collective guffaw. Once the laughter finally began to die down enough, Quana shouted, "You mean you'd rather take bronze over steel?! Not even a world-eyes would do something so stupid!" She continued to laugh until she was interrupted by a snowball hitting the back of her head. She turned around in a raging fury. "Alright, who threw that?!" From the back of the crowd, she saw two dwarves from the Union of Phosphorous sprint towards the door. Quana let out a warcry, left the axe on the table, jumped off her chair and charged after them. The drunken sheriffs at the other end of the table, thus far having kept so much to themselves that it'd have been easy to forget their presence altogether, looked over and collectively winced at Quana's remark. Then when the fight began to break out they descended into the dwarves' midst to break it up, albeit not without getting in a few good punches of their own that hardly seemed necessary.

For his part Heel gritted his teeth at being called stupid by Quana, but as one of the red-coated halflings threw her down, he sat back in his chair and seemed to feel a bit better about the whole ordeal. He overlooked the slight and answered, "Bronze is a mighty metal. The Gordok Kingdom mastered it long ago, and that's what let them conquer half a dozen other ogre tribes!" That history lesson was punctuated by him scooping up one of the last bits of stew from his ridiculously huge helping that'd been half the batch. "What's 'steel' ever done?" Makkar gave the floored Quana a quick glare, while she was busy trying to get the halfling off of her. He was about to speak when the young lad from the Copper Union stepped up and gave the ogre a deep bow. "Forgive my elder sister, good chieftain, for she has not been this happy for many, many weeks, perhaps over a moon. None of us have, and for that, we are ever grateful." The young lad remained bowing. "However, while she was quite improper in the delivery of her statement, the claim stands true: Steel compared to bronze is like stone compared to bone. A plow made from steel will reap a thousand more fields than one made from bronze. While the process to make it is perhaps more sophisticated, the main component of steel, iron, can be found almost anywhere. My parents and siblings of the Bronze Union know all of their metal's strengths and weaknesses, and they can tell you that, in terms of strength, it pales in comparison to steel." The present unionists of Bronze all nodded to support the lad's claim.

"So prove it to me," the chieftain rumbled as he he offered an outstretched hand to catch the (comparatively) tiny axe. Makkar, who was closer to the axe, grabbed it and handed it to the lad, who then handed it to the giant. "Introduce yourself, lad!" Makkar whispered loudly. The lad straightened up and added, "Oh, terribly sorry for not introducing myself, by the way. I am Joron the Younger, son of Logmaster Joron Scroll." Makkar raised an eyebrow, as did many of the others. He did not know Joron had a son; although, thinking about it more, he found it hard to imagine that old heap of bones and beard thought of anything other than his logs and the gods.

The ogre nodded to acknowledge Joron, but kept his eyes and attention fixated upon the axe. When he turned it over in his hands, he pushed a finger into the edge. Nothing. Then he rubbed it up the edge and a few droplets of blood fell down as a bit of skin broke. He looked towards the sheriff that even now was continuing to restrain a struggling Quana. Halfway out of mercy for her, he beckoned for his henchman to stop. "Get me a log of firewood."

The halfling vanished to some other room to procure it, and when he returned he laid it upon the table before Heel. The ogre effortlessly used the axe to cleave the log clean in half, but considering his bulk and strength, he likely could've done as much with an axe of paper. Still, he examined how clean and smoothly the axe had made its way through the log, noted how the axe had neither warped nor lost its edge, and then he seemed satisfied. "Ha! You speak truth. Today I learn."

He made an attempt to wipe off the remaining blood on it, then passed the thing back to Joron. "This 'steel' will do just fine towards upholding your part of the bargain, even if the farmers out there might gripe about wanting the familiarity of bronze."

There came another collective cheer from the dwarves. Quana, who had gotten to her feet again with a furious glare, was once again knocked to the ground by a couple of dwarves hopping and skipping around on the floor in a festive jig. Luckily Makkar was ready to hold Quana back by the time she tracked down the culprit. The dancers soon inspired more to join, and soon, nearly every dwarf was on the floor kicking, jumping and clapping in celebration. Those that had yet to join the dancers instead broke out into song. Quana felt her anger subside at the unfamiliarity of this warm, cozy atmosphere and shortly after, she was also dancing and singing. The chieftain looked mildly entertained at the spectacle. A few of the sheriffs joined in with the dwarves, even if they were too intoxicated to understand what they were doing. The dwarves looked happy to have more join.

The jig ran on for quite a while, but one by one, the dwarves felt their exhausted bodies give in to fatigue. Quana let out a loud yawn, wiped some sweat off her forehead, and sat down next to Makkar. Some of the sheriffs were already making themselves comfortable laying down on the benches or in odd corners by the wall nearest the fire; judging by the furs and blankets strewn around, they all had their favorite spots. "Well I'll let you, uh..." Heel tried to remember what they were called, just barely managing to recall,"...dwarves get your rest. Find a spot, anywhere's fine. I'll find Suzy and ask her to bring more furs." Makkar echoed Quana's yawn and nodded. "We truly appreciate it, good chieftain." Makkar stood up and turned to the rest of the dwarves. "Alright, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters - grab some furs and lay down wherever." The dwarves lined up to get some furs and, pretty much, laid down wherever. Makkar reserved a good spot on the bench he had been sitting on by leaving his hammer there. However, when he came back with his newly acquired sleeping furs, he found his hammer on the ground and a snoring Quana on the bench. He muttered angrily to himself and rolled out his furs next to his hammer, where he then proceeded to lay down.

---

“They could be anyone my Chief. They could be primitive hunters we would crush in moments or tribal folks hired by a continent spanning empire.” Teshi words trailed off. He'd reported his findings, but the information was sparse. The assembled crowd of trollfolk chatted amongst themselves at Teshi's words each adding their own perspectives and observations to their friends and any who stood beside them.

Malak thought deeply as he idly drew patterns with his finger in the sand. A subtle nod signalled that he'd heard Teshi' advice as he crouched down. The bottom of his robes stroked the sands around him which had been disturbed by the feet of the growing village.

“The Great Howler shouts over all other ancestors, the future is unguided for now.” The trollfolk shuffled awkwardly as the Sand Shaman began speaking. Their type had a dark reputation over the ancestors and the world around them that many found distasteful. “The song of Honoured Lwita pound through the lands of the other-side but we are surprised that She of the Bloodied Teeth sleeps soundly through this. I do not believe now is a time for war, my Chief.”

Another nod towards Senwe showed the chiefs understanding as he gazed across the hollow eyes of the crowd that had come to see council being held. There were few in Hunzuu who didn't know about the humans by now, for as the humans watched from a distance the people of Hunzuu watched back. Trepidation had spread through the tents quicker than any wind or disease could. Not only were the humans not desert-dwellers but they weren't Sand Trolls!

Looking across the dishevelled crowd, Malak saw so many people who had been displaced so recently. Their faces still haunted by the memories of friends and family who hadn't survived the perilous Flood of Tears. He knew that the Sand Trolls were refugees seeking comfort and stability, not warriors craving battles and glory.

“Our people are in no state to fight.” The crowd hushed at Malak's whispered words, straining to hear what they would do. “Sand Shaper Senwe, gather your wits and a canvas. Discover who these humans are and what they want of this land, but do not mention the Flood of Tears for we must not show weakness.” Senwe nodded at the Chief requests.

“Teshi, I have other plans for you.” Malak stood up to address the jostling crowd around that had formed around the council.

“We, the Ekon-Danna, wish to provide for all who have decided to joined us. Each of you has travelled far and suffered much to pledge yourselves to my tribe, now we wish to provide stability to you all. To do this we must ask that you provide your time and labour towards our goals.” The assembled crowd, unsure what exactly this meant, began murmuring at the Chiefs words as he raised himself up and gestured to Teshi.

“Where water flows, Life grows.” Silent nods and disquiet mumbling rumbled through the crowd. “Teshi will be organising the use of our water supplies. We shall create greener lands with artifice and innovation with which we can graze our livestock upon.”

“You heard the chief. Be prepared for some hard labour!”

---

The days passed as the finest minds of Hunzuu begun pondering the task of artificially irrigating lands around the sprawling camp and stakes were placed to mark out areas of interest from larger-scale livestock pens. But as the harsh sun began its long descent below the horizon and into the ancestor-world, a trio of figures traipsed from the tangle of tents and trolls that was Hunzuu bearing three totems the same size as themselves. Each sandstone totems was carved with a frightening face on on side of them, this alongside their weight made them troublesome to carry and the trio's walk was awkward and slow.

They travelled a short distance to where the Humans had last been seen coming from and reverently placed the totems, each giving off a dull thud as it impacted against the packed sands. Two of the figures, warriors by the way they held themselves, unrolled a thick canvas they had been carrying and began attaching it to the top of the totems they had placed.

“Oh, She of the Bloodied Teeth,” the third figure chanted to his totem which he had placed as the furthest from where the humans would arrive from. “Take this offering of my blood, so that you might sleep undisturbed throughout these talks.” With those words he pulled a flint dagger from his robes and cut a long line through his palm. As the blood flowed, the figure slathered his crimson life across the totems teeth before his wounds sealed the shallow wound. He bowed and moved to the second totem, holstering his dagger once more.

“Honoured Kushi of the Bubbling Spring,” the harsher tones had faded from his voice as he approached the second totem. “Bless these fine lands we now find ourselves in.” He drew a water pouch from his robes and continued “and spit your bounty across these talks with these unknown others we find in our paths.” He sloshed a handful of water into the totems mouth, checking some of the water remained in the totems carved mouth before putting the water skin back and moving to the third totem. As he reached the third totem the two warriors had finished fastening the canvas atop all three sandstone pillars and had lain a crudely woven reed mat across the floor to rest on.

“Lwita, you who have guarded our tribes since time began,” the third figure continued “we seek to tarry in your domain of wind and words for a time.” With a wave of his hand the third figure signalled to the two warriors. The pair began to howl and blow on the final totem as the third continued. “May our words and actions honour you and your kin.”

With the area sanctified properly Senwe slumped down onto the reed mat beside the two warriors who had finished howling. Chunks of goats cheese and flasks of water were handed between the trio as they began sharing stories and waited for the humans to arrive, hopefully in peace.

The tracks going east certainly did intrigue Uxu, however, she knew that if she were gone for too long then there would be talks of where she had gone and whether she had abandoned the tribe or not. Though, she would admit that there was not much she actually liked about governing a ravenous group of goblins, especially ones that could destroy what she wanted to set in motion. She let out a sigh before turning to her guard, they were definitely a formidable bunch, considering they could blast better than the average of their tribe. Uxu looked into the treeline for a split few moments before her mind came to a conclusion of what to do.

“We shall press on, I will not risk the unknown to our tribe. And if they be baddies, then we gets to blow them sky high!”

The guard laughed at the prospect, gathering around their leader before Uxu pointed her staff in the direction they were going. The group set off once more, following those few trails that they had spotted. At least their intent was clear, to discover the new land and its apparent inhabitants. Whether the Dekaan was willing to share this land was a different story, however, especially with how their people had to escape from the yoke of other species who tried to snuff out their religion and their glorious booms!

Perhaps now it was time to subjugate others and force them to follow their religion!

Maybe that way was a bit overly aggressive, but the idea still made Uxu smile.

---

With the goats being freed from their pens, Joz was content to let his plan ride the test of time and let the shepherds do their own things while probably getting themselves killed. Such was the day in the life of a goblin these days. However, Joz, being the savvy priest that he was, was not very content with the state of his worship, considering they had not proper temple that he may actually hold a sermon from nor was he collecting any tithes which would probably go to the Mage-Queen anyways. Granted, they had just settled in this land and no one was exactly wealthy, so Joz figured that he would give everyone a pass on the tithes for the time being.

Instead, Joz wanted a proper place of worship and now they actually had the wood to support such a task. He just needed some sort of architect to take on the task of building him a spire so that he may shout to the masses what the explosions were saying. There were not many master builders in their society but there was one that he had known of, Stieq, otherwise known as Uxu’s little crush.

Having been responsible for the pens that their goats now reside in at night, Joz supposed that he would be a sensible lad to go to about a building situation. Having located him at his own personal home, Joz knocked on the door only to hear crashing from the inside, some curses and children crying. Eventually, the door opened to the form of Stieq how seemed pretty tired.

“Kids?”

“Kids,” he confirmed with a nod, the builder scratched the side of his face before giving the priest a perplexed look. “What may I have the, ugh, honor of the High Priest comin’ t’ mah door?”

“Let’s say I has a task for ya. A big one that you cans sign yer name on and be granted an eternal boom in yer honour?,” the priest began, sounding more like a salesman than a dignified preacher of a religion.

“Sounds interestin’.”

“I needs ya to build me a spire, one to where I can preach to all of the peoples here!”

Steiq scratched his chin for a few moments, before looking back inside to see the likes of two goblin children running around and casting small bouts of explosions at each other. Without hesitation the builder held a hand, “Well mistah high priest, looks like ya got yaself a deal!”

Joz grined and took Stieq’s hand and shook it fervantly before looking past Stieq to his children, one looking remarkably like Uxu though he did not remember hearing about the mage-queen even being pregnant to begin with. For the time being he shrugged it off before he went about his daily duties to allow Stieq to gather whatever resources he needed, as well as a crew, in order to begin building the spire.

Progress was good on clearing the land, the main topic of conversation being the large versions of animals they found or heard among the trees. An example would be the comparatively, and so freakishly, large bears they bore witness to from time to time on their trek across the land. However, with them now being in the lower foothills where the land rolled less, they felt safer and more comfortable than if they would've if they settled in dense woodland.

However, another problem arose as they cleared and gathered stones and other debris from the area. Hunger. What they needed now was to secure steady sources of food. While many tried talking at once when the issue was brought to light, a few times arguments and even a few near fights. It went on for near an hour before an ogre stepped forward, this one getting up there in his years but not yet old enough to be too weak to work, "The ships... Them Imperials forced us onto them and sent us off, that is clear." His voice, while not yelling, boomed forth and seemed to draw the attention of those near quickly, which brought more attention from the others, "Take apart the ships, see if they had the decency to put supplies below the shallow decks, not just leave is with what was strapped down above.."

Some ogres looked suspicious, others annoyed, but the looks they exchanged showed that they at least thought it worth it to check. Besides, they would need to take the decks off for the wood anyways. But the old ogre, whom now many recognized as Golth, was not done speaking, "Some others need to look all around us. In threes we form groups and send them east and west, see what food we can find, grow, and hunt." To this some grumbled, more walking and travel, but it needed to be done. And now Golth, having spoken his thoughts, returned to his wife and son as they continued gathering and adding to the piles of build supplies.

Summary below:



While it is disputable whether it experienced the worst, the Valley of Darr did indeed occasionally experience hellishly cold winters that lasted longer than even the most sadistic and bloodthirsty of gods could possibly allow. Even though months had passed since the trees put on their cloaks of snow and the rivers retreated under their frozen blankets, the sheets of snow that spanned the plains and woods of the valley showed no signs of shrinking. What had once been the dense, vibrant woods around the Hovel had given way to empty land and tree stumps due to an ever-growing need for firewood. While the dwarves grew ever more desperate by the day, they had still not resorted to burning coal in their hearths - especially not that brown muck they were pulling out of the mountain daily by the ton. However, with the treeline receding away like the hair on a graybeard's head, other options began to seem less appealing. However, the firewood could still be rationed further - unlike the grain of the south.

The meeting hall was vivid with debate and discussion, joining together in a chaotic cacophony of voices that actually had been sorely missed by all during this long period of rumbling bellies and a growing need for belts and suspenders. Osman had yet to come and Herim Glass had sent a runner for him. In the meantime, Herim knew that it was customary for the foreman's closest councillor to initiate the meeting and act as moderator until the foreman themself arrived. As such, the old, graying dwarf stepped over to the foreman's seat and turned to the crowd. He adjusted his cracked monocle and straighted up his pointed woolen hat. The crowds noticed him and began to quiet down. Herim gave an appreciative nod and greeted all the present dwarves with the usual opening speech of the Hammersworn meetings.

"Brothers, sisters, sons and daughters," he continued, "as our foreman has yet to arrive, I, Herim Glass of the Glass Union, will act in accordance with the laws of our people and open the meeting in his stead. Bring your hardships before us, your family, and we will together strive to solve it." Herim then slowly sat down in the chair. The first to stand up was Khyber Tin. The ancient dwarf tried his best to waddle over to the centre of the room, succeeding mainly due to the help from his apprentice Roka and an additional assistant. He raised his head and looked emptily in Herim's general direction with a pair of milky eyes. The disease had been cruel to all those affected, but few had lost more than the Saint Candidate, Herim believed. For such a wonderful crafter to lose the most vital tools to the continuation of his life's work - indeed a tragedy beset upon him by the cruelest of gods. However, even a cursed fortune could not halt the Hammermaster's determination, and it was evident from his expression that his spirit was as strong as it had ever been.

"Elder Calendarmaster Herim Glass. It is about time that we got to complain to a dwarf of wisdom for once." There was a gentle hum of snickering in the crowd. Herim remained unphased. "You flatter me, Hammermaster. What do you wish to share with us?" The old dwarf pushed away his assistants and, with some effort, pulled out the worn hammer hanging from his belt. "This is... My hammer. It has been slammed against more... More metal than any of its cousins. Ever since the... The Calamity, it has had a bit of a... A dryspell, if ye will." Another hum of laughter came from the crowd. Roka grimaced and gently punched her own head. Khyber did not seem to have noticed. "This dryspell is largely due... To a failure... In-... In-in-in..." He snapped his fingers for a moment. Roka stepped over and whispered something to him. "Infrastructure!" Khyber blurted out. Herim ran his hand through his beard and raised a brow. "In which sector of the infrastructure do you believe there to be an error, good Hammermaster? I do believe I know which one you mean, but-..." "That would be the smelting... Smelting..." "Ah, the smelting sector, yes," Herim interjected and ran his hand once more through his bear in a pensive manner. Khyber nodded and barked at his assistants to bring over a chair. Once they had, he sat himself down in the middle of the room, awaiting the acting foreman's decision. Herim looked over to Quana and Ra'ol and beckoned them forth. "What are your thoughts on building a smaller version of the old Heartforge, sister and brother?" Ra'ol and Quana looked at each other in disbelief and then back at Herim. "Not to be rude, Elder Calendarmaster, but-..." "Have you lost it?" Quana spat out before Ra'ol could finish his sentence. Herim frowned slightly. Ra'ol punched Quana's shoulder, who looked back with a betrayed look on her face. "No, I haven't lost it quite yet, Quana," Herim said dryly. "Had you paid more attention instead of thinking about hammering metal all day, you might've noticed that I said a -smaller- version, not the actual forgehall. What we need are bigger, better forges, and we need them swiftly - I agree with the Hammermaster's sentiment: At this rate, our supply of materials will outgrow our ability to store them, and we need to start production of the tools we promised Heel's Hundred. Furthermore, if we bring them good tools, we may be able to forge a trading relationship with them. Finally, we need this if we are ever to complete that bloody Thunderhorn. Now, can it be done or not?" Herim patted his brow with the hem of his robes. Quana and Ra'ol looked at each other again and discussed for a little bit. Finally, Ra'ol turned back to Herim. "It will take time, but if we can find enough good clay and stone, we should be able to construct some larger forges a little closer to the mountain wall. I'll have my sisters draw up a blueprint swiftly. We'll take inventory of materials and come back to you tomorrow." Herim nodded. Quana nodded, too. "I'll have my sisters and brothers produce tools and scrap broken forges for materials," Quana said. "So be it. You'll go on ahead. I'll make sure the foreman knows when he, uh, hopefully arrives." As Herim finished his sentence, the door burst open to reveal a snow-covered Osman and another dwarf stomping in. Osman threw his fur cloak off him and, accidentally, on top of the runner, who flailed around like a dwarfling under a bedsheet. The foreman sprinted over to his chair, which Herim already had vacated, and sat down. "Apologies, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters - I was delayed. Now, where were we?" Herim gave Osman a quick update and the foreman nodded. "Yes, yes, very good. What else needs doing?" Ra'ol sighed and walked towards the door with the rest of his Union. Quana followed suit. Erima Rock looked around and stood up.

"Good foreman, good day. Worry not, I will not take up too much of your time, unlike you did with ours." Osman gave her a scowl as she wiped some sweat off his forehead. "Get to the point, Rock." Erima snickered and bowed. "Ah, yes, forgive me for digressing. It has long been a subject of debate within the Phosphorous Union that have received the short end of the re-industrialisation stick, if you will. You see, unlike you cavedwellers..." There was a collective hiss from the Steel and Mithril Unions. "... My and many other unions simply cannot bear to work such an unrefined material as iron. It is not in our culture nor in our teachings to stick our fingers in a forge or grab around the shaft of a hammer. Moreover, it is no secret that the Glass Union also shares a similar sentiment." Osman looked at Herim, who gave a curt nod. "While I think the Magister's attitude is unbecoming of her, it is true that many within my Union echo her wishes," he confirmed. Osman scowled back at Erima. "What do you propose then, Magister?" Erima reached for her satchel and rummaged around for a split second before pulling out a small vial filled with a gray dust. "This, foreman, is glassand." She then pulled out a vial filled with a white liquid. The vial's insides had crusts of white, as well. "This, foreman, is lime. Together, they combine to form glass - a key material in the construction of the most necessary tools and equipment for research and alchemy." "I know how glass is made, Rock," Osman said sourly. "Good, that saves us another fifteen minutes. I urge you to let me take an expedition out to search for materials, foreman." Erima bowed curtly. Osman looked at her, then at Herim, then back at Erima. "Very well," Osman began. Erima looked up, smirking from ear to ear. "But you will remain. Herim will go in your stead. You'll stay here and ration supplies." Erima deflated. "Why? What have I done to upset you?" Osman gave her a confused look. "I, uh... You are aware that you're being an arse to your foreman, right?" Erima scowled sourly. "What, can't take a joke? Are you always this spineless?" She turned on her heel and left the hall cursing. There came a collective sigh from the Union of Phosphorous. One member stepped forward and apologised, "Deepest apologies, foreman. She truly misses her laboratory. She has not been herself for a while." Osman waved a dismissive hand. "It does not matter. Those who speak filth will get their due. Unions of Glass and Phosphorous - prepare for an expedition." The respective unions began to move towards the door. Herim stopped halfway there and turned. "Ah! Right, I almost forgot." He hobbled over to Osman as fast as he could and gave him a piece of parchment. Osman examined it. "This is the current rationing, foreman. I pray spring comes sooner rather than later." Osman swallowed nervously. "Me, too, friend. Good luck on your expedition." Herim nodded and left.

"Makkar!" Osman shouted. Makkar, who had seemed to fall asleep in his chair, rocketed to his feet and stepped forward, saluting as he walked. "You mentioned you encountered fishing grounds on the way to Heel's Hundred, is that correct?" "That's correct, foreman, but they weren't too lively-..." Osman waved a dismissive hand. "We have no time to discuss whether they are lively or not - was there fish?" Makkar gave a slow, concerned nod. Osman clapped his hands. "Good. Gather your quickest and head down south. Check under any sort of ice if there is fish to be eaten." Makkar gave a quiet sigh and saluted. "Yes, foreman. We'll do our best..." "That's my brother. Now go." Makkar pulled his Union along and left. Khyber and the remaining representatives and spectators gave Osman and the list a curious look. Osman also eyed the list and swiftly pocketed it. "Anything else?" he asked.

Igura Water of the Union of Silver stood up. "Good foreman, would you be so kind as to share the information on that paper with us?" Osman shook his head. "Not yet. Got to fill our larders before I do." Igura furrowed her brow. "But without transparency-..." Osman shook his head again. "Trust me when I say this - we better all pray Makkar and his companions make it back with a big catch." The crowd grew increasingly worried. Kadol, who had remained after the Steel Union had left, stepped closer to the centre of the room. Osman caught him in his gaze and beckoned him over. "Got anything to add, son?" Kadol straightened his back, but remained looking at the ground. "I... When I was in the mines, I spoke with Godrim Thunderhowler." Osman and several dwarves in the crowd raised their eyebrows. Joron Scroll stepped closer to the centre. "Well, what did he tell you, my son?" Joron said. Kadol looked at Joron and grimaced. "Perhaps it's better if I say this at another time." Osman and Joron both frowned at Kadol. "Son, withholding information from the foreman is a grave offense." Igura raised a hand. "From the -foreman-," Osman snapped. She lowered her hand with a frown. Kadol kept looking down while he spoke. "He told me of our people's origins... From the time of the Children." Joron ordered every Copper Union member to take notes. The other dwarves leaned in to listen.

"Ye see, lad, the Golumnar Clan is godkin, meanin' they're descended from the gods 'emselves. Thousands a' years ago, the Golumnar Clan ruled atop the Golumnar in the city o' Koz-Ûmdar. Their technology might'a not been as great as tha' of the Children, but they had the power a' runesmithin'. With that, they rivaled even the gods in power. The children lived in awe, 'n Holek the Last wanted to build a staircase to the heavens to join them at the top. However, had it not been for that traitor Popomel-..."

"TRAITOR?!" The entire hall turned to Joron, whose face was red with rage. Kadol shrunk with fear. "That's... That's what he said..." Osman looked at Joron, who turned to Osman with such speed that his cloak slapped the closest three dwarves across the face. "Foreman, this ghost is clearly one spawned by the cruel gods to misguide us and cause inner turmoil. We must send a force over and exorcise it." "No!" shouted Kadol. Joron turned slowly towards the youngling. "Do you side with this demon of heresy, you fool? He must have already turned you. Foreman, I request permission to convert this young one back to the true faith." Osman stood up and waved a hand. "He was never yours to begin with, Joron. Now calm down before I have to jail you again." Joron hissed and sat down. Osman let out a long sigh. "You are certain that he said this, son?" Kadol nodded. "This and more." Osman ran a pensive hand through his beard. "Giants, beardless dwarves, lying ghosts and bloodthirsty birds... The gods are toying with us. Keep the miners away from Godrim for now. We will talk more of him later. Meeting dismissed."

Attolia

Dark Spirits were coming after the Attolians and led by a spirit that had been wronged by Salvdal. What was the proper solution to the situation? Should he punish Salvdal in an attempt to placate the spirit? Caelis doubted that it would really atone for much unless Salvdal willingly punished himself and held himself accountable. Caelis had to take decisive action. He called Salvdal and order him, a shaman, and the former Lady Shaphira (being sent to make sure that Salvdal does not try to flee from his responsibilities and/or further betray the Attolians) to set off and find the remains of the gazelle to properly bury it and give it the respect that it is due. They needed to buy time to stand up against something that was simply... malevolent. If the shaman lost its guide, then it would buy the Attolians time.

Caelis then left his tent to address the Attolians. "We have stayed our welcome from these lands, and as always like any good guest, we must make our leave. I and the shamans will stay behind to give our final regards to the local spirits. We will see you to the north!"

With that, the Attolians began to migrate once more to the north. However, they only had a day's lead. Caelis had to buy time at the very least as he joined the remaining shamans and joined them in a small communion with the local spirits. He asked them for one final favor. To stir and hide any trace of the Attolians so that they could not be followed. Thus, come night, the communion would end and they would head north as well. By day tomorrow, they will know if the spirits answered their prayers.

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Summary:

1. Salvdal, a shaman, and Lady Saphira are sent to find the remains of the gazelle and give it a proper burial with the respects that it deserves.

2. The majority of the Attolians begin to migrate north.

3. Caelis and the remaining shamans ask the local spirits to hide their presence and make it impossible for the Attolians to be followed.

Seated in his makeshift throne, Rukdug looked between the shaman and the miner who seemed intent to rip each other apart in order to prove their own claims to be true with... well, mixed feelings. On the one hand, it felt good to see the bloodthirsty ambitions of his people alive and well but on the other... actually allowing them to murder each other at this stage would be counter productive to his long term goals.

However, an alternative was easy to see. "If we were still slaves of the Dark One and finding orcs to replace either of you in your duties would be as easy as finding flies on a rotten corpse, I likely wouldn't have thought twice about sending you both into the combat pit to let you prove your points in a battle to the death. However, because of our decision to break free of his control we no longer benefit from having access to the endless hordes of orcs to call upon, throwing either of your lives away for pride and ego would be wasteful..."

Pausing a moment to let that message sink in, he quickly continued "Thankfully, there is an easy way to determine if either of you can truly recreate the cursed works of the Cult of Darkness. Myself and a fair number of orcs within this fortress have born witness to the effects of the Cult's cursed weapons in action. What we're going to do is have the both of you use your methods to create your own versions of the curse, than we're going to have you both give glancing wounds to a couple of runty piglets; Nothing that by itself would be fatal... and watch to see what happens. If either of you have the correct method, we'll see the results easily enough."

........................................................

While having access to charcoal kilns was a good start, the fact of the matter was that unless a larger, more steady supply of wood was found they simply weren't going to be able to supply them with enough wood to industrialize properly. This wasn't an impossible task however... and he had just the Captain for the job.

"Nyorgha, I have a task for you that will be vital to the future of Riverforge." Rukdug watched as Nyorgha the Liberator stood at attention, clearly getting the point that this was serious and needed to be treated as such. "We need wood and we need a steady supply of it to get our metal works operational and thus get us prepared for war. Thankfully, I know exactly where we can find such a supply of it we can take advantage of. Do you remember when we landed at the mouth of the river leading inland, where there appeared to be a forest growing on the opposite bank?"

After a moment of thought, Nyorgha offered a nod in affirmative acknowledgement. "Good. I am giving you free reign to select a sizeable band of those you will need to follow you back there to establish a stronghold that's main task is to harvest and supply lumber to Riverforge. Having a fortified outpost that can give us control of the river is an added bonus, but your task will be to establish this outpost and get it operational. That will mean devising means to transporting lumber to Riverforge over a river and land route in a healthy steady supply. Do you understand what I am asking of you?"

"Yes Warchief." was the quick and sharp reply, all mirth and signs of friendship the two orcs may have had replaced by professionalism at the importance of the task ahead.

"Good. May the spirits watch over you Nyorgha."

.....................................................



Pak couldn't help but feel like Ie thought he was an idiot who barely understood the concepts of stealth or an ambush. However, while the bird's seemingly condescending nature 'ruffled his feathers' as it were (a turn of phase that Pak didn't find amusing in the slightest), he quickly decided that the best way to ease his unsettled pride would be to not only prove the bird man wrong, but also show him up a bit.

"If we were going up against any old band of bandits, even one led by one of these Oni, this wouldn't be a bad plan. However, from what you've told us... this 'Bandit King' has not only been actively fighting you and your goblin followers for decades, but has proven to be either strong enough, cunning enough or lucky enough to have remained a constant thorn in your side for all these years. If he isn't a complete shrak head he'll have learned enough from past attempts you've made on him to recognize one of your ambush sites before he steps into the trap..."

A grin appeared on Pak's face as he got to the point. "When the prey you're hunting figures out how to avoid or work around the traps you're using, it's time to develop a new kind of trap. Since he has fashioned himself into a bandit king, let us take advantage of his greed to override his caution."

"Since you have a good idea of where his army is marching and of the local area, what we need is... a camp site. Namely, somewhere that could only be safely approached from one direction from that wouldn't be too hard for their scouts to sniff out. Maybe a little mountain nook with rock walls blocking all but one path or some forest clearing with enough trees, plants or bogland to make travel possible. I don't really care of the exact nature of the area, just that there is only one safe way in... or out. My warband will set up a camp in it since I doubt that this Bandit King or any of his followers have seen an orcish camp before... and if we fill it with enough hunted game or shiny trinkets while seemingly having minimum protection they'll think it's an easy target."

He paused for a moment, considering the plan before asking Ie "I'm not sure to the full extent of your illusions and magic, but if you or your goblins could whip something up to make it look like the camp is occupied without us having to actually have anyone in it, that would make this a whole lot easier and less bloody."

Either way, he continued on. "With a rich and lightly defended target filled with supplies and loot a plenty, the bandits will do what bandits always do in such situations... raid and pillage. Since the promise of spoils will likely cause them to focus on the camp and bickering and fighting each other for the greatest personal reward for a minor amount of work, I doubt they'll be paying much attention to keeping the one path into the trap protected from an armed and organized force. Once we've secured that entrance, we can just slowly push in and cut them down while they're trapped like fish in a barrel. Depending on where we set this up, we could use the environment to our advantage like being able to rain down rocks, rockslides or other ranged things down from above. I can't make any promises for the King himself, but if nothing else this plan will make him a King without an army."