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The Great Hall trembled with the thunder of a thousand voices as the dwarves of Thrillem sang the Song of Farewells for their chosen heroes. The song was ancient, recounting all the previous times that heroes had been sent to the surface on glorious quests of revenge or conquest. It was staggering to Alberich to think that, at the end of that long and epic poem, his name and those of his fellow chosen would be added to it. He felt a stab of grief as he realized that his mate would not be mentioned, even in passing. The Song of Farewells had no room for casualties during minor raids. Alberich sniffed, stifling a sob. This was no time to show weakness. This was their night - the eve of adventure.

And what a night it was. The tables seemed endless, stretching into the distance in the cavernous Hall, bulging with a treasure of food and drink. Tens of thousands of candles burned bright, bathing the Hall in a warm, orange light. As far as Alberich could tell, every dwarf in Thrillem had brought their musical instruments, too. When the music started, its echoes would ring through the Deep Places for weeks to come. He glanced at his horn, placed at his feet, longing for the moment when he would join in the fanfare. What a night to be alive! His wedding had been grand, but it seemed a small and private thing compared to this.

The Greybeards, elders of Thrillem, sat at the dais above, smiling down on the proceedings. Somewhere up there were the old and wise dwarves who had decided on sending him and his companions in search of the Fist. Alberich could not fathom how or why they had noticed him among such excellent dwarves, but they had. Not only that, they had chosen him over scores of others, brave warriors and champions of the mines. It was a tremendous honor, but a heavy burden, too. He vowed to make his ancestors proud. To make his mate proud, in death. No matter the cost.

Alberich looked to his side, at the other chosen ones standing next to him. He had never met any of them before, but they were soon going to be his only friends and allies once they reached the surface world. Who were they, and what were they like? He could only guess, but he hoped he would prove himself to them. He wanted nothing more than to be a good companion. He wanted to be useful. As the song came to a close, he watched as the entire population of Thrillem raised their cups, goblets and mugs in their honor. In his honor. He raised his in return, trying to meet the gazes of the crowd before him but drowning in the sheer number of faces.

The dwarves roared as one. All hail the champions! All hail the heroes of Thrillem! Ancestors guide their path! Hail!

Alberich roared in return, raising his cup to his people. Hail!

@Red Wizard

Thorfinn Erikson

Thorfinn was drinking and singing along with the songs of his people. Enjoying the brief moment of joy before venturing into the deep darkness of the mountain. He had brought his lute along which he was playing along with the other dwarves. His voice joined in with the other’s singing. It sounded quite loud and seemed much louder than the others. He had said his goodbyes to his wife, children, and grandchildren. He knew that this mission would be quite dangerous so he wanted to say goodbye to his family. For the time being he was enjoying being merry with his fellow dwarves. Thorfinn was discussing with the other older dwarfs about past adventures. Reminiscing about the time when he was younger when he fought and killed a hundred or so drow elves. Of course, there was some exasperation in his story, but nevertheless, it was a good story.

Thorfinn raised his mug of beer joining in on the choirs of cheers for their ancestors. The older dwarf excused himself before walking over towards the other chosen heroes. “This is quite a fest don’t you think? Good mead and even better friends to share it with.” He took a seat finally being where he was supposed to be.

Yalmastr Redforge stood in front of the mirror, her beard in her hands as she studied her face. The face that had cost her so much - a marriage and the life of one of her students. Not to mention the enmity his clan, the Trollhoods, who made a big production whenever their paths crossed. The whole spitting, the cursing her name, the turning of backs, it was ridiculous and too time consuming. Especially at the start of practice! Why seek her out when it came time for weapons training when there were others?

"After all this time, do you think you're going to suddenly sprout a beard, Yal?"
"It's not that!" she denied, feeling her cheeks burning. "Everyone knows I'm.... beardless. Why should I wear this to the Great Hall? What's the point of it all?"

"Oh, my dear," Branae sighs, rushing over from the doorway to give her daughter a hug. "If you don't wear the beard, they'll stop singing, stop the feast, and everyone will be yelling at everyone else. And you'd still be leaving tomorrow but with a bunch of angry long-beards knotting and twisting their chin hairs and calling out doom and misfortune on you, and that's not good for anyone."

She paused, leaning back to study her daughter. "So, for the good of your group, and for the good of Thrillem, wear the beard, listen to the old songs, nod when the long-beards speak their nonsense, meet the people you're going on the road with, and eat your fill. I mean that, you never know on the road where your next meal will come from, so eat when you can."

"I've never been away from Thrillem before," Yal said, shaking her head. "Why didn't they pick anyone who's been outside to do this?"

"Our long-beards have spoken," Branae sighs, stroking her whiskers. "The fact they're all rock headed loons who couldn't tell quartz from granite is besides the point."
A chuckle escaped Yal.
"Oh dear, you're developing a sense of humor," her mother sighed mockingly. "Tongues will be wagging, I wager."
"I am not!" Yal stomped her foot, but feeling her mouth quirk.
"Best cover that up if you're trying to hide that," Branae smiled. "Your father and the others want to see you before you go."
"But they're dead!"
"So? At least they won't talk your ears off."

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Yal eyed Thorfinn as he spoke.
"Yeah, grand feast," she managed, fighting the urge to scratch under her false beard. Why did it have to itch so? "I'm Yal, Yal Redforge. You are...?"

Alpi Arius Argaven

Alpi sat quietly, his head bowed in contemplation as he tried to slow his breathing. Before him lay a wooden bust of his brother. It had been carefully realized in a roughly hewn stump of sequoia. The features were stern and angular, perfectly replicated from the stylistic reliefs found within the hall of Argaven. He meditated on the life of his brother and the fear and confusion he must have experienced in his time upland. Two years trapped on the surface, at the mercy of the sun and stars.

“It’s time my love.”

Alpi’s breathing calmed at the voice of his wife. She laid her hand on his shoulder and he dropped his head onto it. He looked up into her hazel speckled eyes and smiled softly.

“Aye. Would not be so hard to leave if you were to walk by my side.”

She returned his smile.

“And what shall the children do then? Who shall provide for them?

“My father and mother have always been hospitable.”

Nykia smirked and helped Alpi to his feet. She ran her fingers through his sideburns and gripped them. They looked at each other for a moment, sharing a breath. She kissed him deeply then pulled away and stared at him once more.

“Return to me, Alpi. Come home with your brother. Come home with the Fist. Come home with the whole sky upon your back. Just come home.” She placed her forehead against his. “That be an order my love.”

He kissed her and smiled.

“As you wish.”

She opened the door and Alpi stepped alone into the hall of Argaven. Long rows of benches and tables full of his family lined the walls of the hall. They cheered at his entrance and descended into a low chant led by his father. It would be a traditional Karhider farewell and though Alpi had been to dozens before, this would be the first dedicated to him. His mother approached him, they touched their foreheads and held a large pipe carved from a single piece of bone. He held it high so the hall could see, then lowered and lit it. One by one his family members came forth, took a pull from the pipe and blew the smoke in Alpi’s face. It was an ancient custom and every breath was believed to contain the spirit of those who gave it. Thus as Alpi made his way upland he would be protected by the spiritual breath of his people. His actions would not be his own and every step he took, he took with the support of his people. It was a comforting thought and Alpi knew he would have precious little comfort once on the surface.

As his final cousin finished their breath his father, leader of the chant, came forth, took a pull of the pipe and blew his breath onto Alpi. He turned to face the hall and raised a hand. At once the chant ceased. The ritual was done, and now they would escort him to the grand hall of Thrillem. His father called forth his strongest cousins and they hoisted Alpi upon a palanquin and as his children ran forth to lead the procession the hall of Argaven emptied out into the tunnels of the Dwarven Hold.

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Alpi sat awkwardly on the dais raised away from the rest of his family and clan. He had already drunk a considerable amount to ease his nerves but it had instead left him feeling ill-tempered. Among him were the other Dwarfs chosen for the quest. He didn’t recognize them and knew that none were Karhiders or spent much time up in the upper reaches of the hold. He rose slightly unsteadily to his feet and stumbled about till he was closer to the other. Eyeing them he raised his drinking horn and offered a toast.

“Come forth my Thrillems! Come forth! Let us raise our horns and bend a knee. Offer a toast for these heroes three. Chosen by thee in unanimous decree. Heroes all! For they seek an heirloom to free, from a danger we guarantee and who will on their return find a mountain home filled with glee.”