Lord of the Thousand Streams, Regent of the Rivers, the Great Host
太平盛世 - 丰水是福
Peace and prosperity - Fortune is water in abundance.
Sphere: Fengshui Fuyou
It is said to be where all rivers ultimately begin - it is the true source of fresh water, the world spring. At the sphere's centre is a colossal caldera, home to a great, cyan pool that branches into a network of countless rivers and streams, flowing into all parts of the universe. In between the criss-crossing web of water, small patches of land verdant and fertile peek up from underneath the waves. It is unknown, even to Shengshi, where the water that passes through Fengshui Fuyou eventually ends up. Shengshi himself reasons that, eventually, it all ends up back in the world spring, somehow. It is pretty certain, though, that much of the river water flows into Galbar.
The waters bring along all manner of nutritious soils and clays, colouring the water earthen and dark and feeding the surrounding vegetation. On Galbar, this occasionally leads to powerful growth spurts in river valleys and algae blooms in lakes and seas. In an entropic manner, the rivers in Fengshui Fuyou will occasionally flood and cover the entire sphere in dark, muddy water that drowns all non-aquatic life and levels all land. However, in time, the floods always retreat and life blossoms anew, just as lively and verdant as before, if not even more so. This phenomenon is, however, deeply despised by Shengshi, as he abhors entropy, opting rather for calm, collected stability.
Upon the widest river in the network exists a single, huge junk ship, upon which a wooden castle has been built. This is the Jiangzhou, home of Shengshi. When he is not working to bring life to river basins around the world, he returns home to invite both the godly and the mortal to great feasts and parties, or sits by himself playing his harp or writing poetry. The decks of the colossal ship are manned by sizeable water globules that take care of the logistical work by carrying around items on top of them, scrubbing the floor in the meantime. It should be noted that these globules always are moving - the second they stop, they collapse into a puddle that shortly after drips off the closest side of the boat. The boat has neither sails, oars nor any kind of rudder - it relies entirely on the streams to carry it to wherever the rivers eventually lead. No matter how tumulteous the waters the ship sails, the ship will never tip over. At least, it hasn't happened yet.
While the realm of Fengshui Fuyou is located very close to Galbar itself, almost parallel, it is elevated slightly above the middle realm, as water has to flow downwards. Yet, it is certainly no heavenly realm. It is definitely closer to the Middle Sphere than its Celestial neighbours, but it shares a close border with the So'E, home of the Rain Goddess Li'Kalla, from which it receives a great deal of mist and rain.
Furthermore, the mysterious world spring itself has complex, intricate connections to a handful of other celestial spheres, one of which is the Horizon Grotto. Kirron's "work" in the Grotto feeds the world spring unmeasurable volumes of water, a gift for which Shengshi is more than grateful. The sphere's proximity to Galbar means it has a rather direct influence on the Middle Sphere, and Galbar has a powerful influence on it.
Additionally, as water flows downwards, it is very plausible that spheres above Fengshui Fuyou can access the world spring through the simple coincidence of sphere alignment - however, it is nigh impossible for Fengshui Fuyou to randomly connect to the spheres above it.
Portfolio: Rivers
As perhaps one of the most crucial sources of drinking water for all land-dwelling life, the presence of rivers, or a lack thereof, leaves a profound mark on the surrounding ecosystem that cannot be ignored. Shengshi has the ability to influence the twists and turns of these rivers, to slow some flows and speed up others, and to clean streams of filth. This power also allows him to carve rivers much easier. However, his abilities do not affect waters salty and still. As such, his influences does not extend to the lakes and seas of Galbar.
The control of water gives Shengshi a direct influence over life along his rivers. This power is, however, limited to sustaining or destroying ecosystems through the control of water. Furthermore, the river lord's subjects, those who dwell within his rivers, not only understand their liege's words and can make themselves understood, but also obey his commands without questions. This applies to the fish, reptiles and amphibians that dwell in Shengshi's rivers.
Additionally, Shengshi’s form and portfolio gives him certain slightly less magnificent powers.
Among these powers is his ability to swim incredibly fast. While his upper half indeed is humanoid, his serpentine lower half gives him incredible alacrity in the water.
Persona
Lawful Good. Shengshi wishes only to please as many as possible, and for everyone to please one another. He only ever deviates from this intent when his guests overstep their boundaries.
Shengshi, much like the rivers he sails, wishes life to flow along uninterrupted. As such, he values peace and stability over all. He has a poetic soul, often finding inspiration in the patterns of water and the life underneath. He amateurishly expresses these inspirations in the form of music and poetry.
In his own eyes, Shengshi sees himself as playing the role of a host at an ever-lasting feast. Shengshi loves and welcomes all living things that settle on his rivers’ basins, and his greatest wish for his “guests”, to put it that way, is to provide for their every need. As such, he makes certain to clean his rivers regularly so his guests may only drink deep in the purest waters in existence. He keeps his guests comfortable and warm through water temperature management, and makes certain that they sleep soundly to the sounds of calm, docile streams. All executed to the best of his ability as a gracious host. In coherence with his obsession with being a host, he expresses generousity at an almost fanatical level, constantly bombarding his friends with gifts.
Shengshi can be described as respectful and kind to both mortals and gods. He holds firmly the belief that conflict is to be avoided at all costs, and will do everything in his power to satisfy his guests in hopes that conflict will remain at a minimum. Although Shengshi upholds a strict code of honesty, he will always be very careful not to speak the truth if it could cause conflict. As such, like the rivers twist and turn around obstacles, his words will twist and shape into excuses and agreements that avoid him putting someone else, or himself, in a poor light.
However, as a host, he of course demands similar attitudes towards him, and those that fail to act as such are deemed “uninvited”, so to speak. He does not actually -say- what he demands, however. To punish the wicked offenders Shengshi will, to the best of his ability, strive to politely ask these unwanted guests to leave his domains, whether that be his sphere or his river valleys. How he does this varies depending on the severity of the guest’s faux pas, but he will never directly ask someone to leave. Naturally, this only applies to those who are actually on Shengshi’s domain. When Shengshi himself acts the guest, he will hold his host in the highest respect, sometimes going so far as to portray himself as a mere demigod in comparison.
His ambition is to one day end conflict between mortals and have friend and foe feast together at great banquets, and have countries that once despised one another before engage in trade and collective progress towards a great future. He understands that this is a daunting task, but firmly believes water can be the tool that unites all life under a banner of peace and prosperity.
Appearance
Shengshi’s torso is humanoid in appearance, with well-toned features, apart from a slightly rounded pot-belly. From top to tail, Shengshi stands roughly eight feel tall. White, leathery skin covers most of his chest, abdomen and face, but the rest of his body boasts a coat of glistening, crimson scales. From his stomach and downwards, his body curves and twists into a long, serpentine tail, white as marble on the front and red as the dawn on the back. The tail is adorned with glistening fins and completed by a small, pointed tuft of hair at the very tip.
In coherence with his serpentine body, Shengshi’s face likewise displays both humanoid and draconic features. His lower and upper jaws stick a little more out in front, and his high, sharp cheekbones give his cheeks a stretched look about them. His nose flattens out right below the bridge, appearing almost feline. The nose gives way to a wide, fanged mouth dressed in a black mustache, which hangs from his upper lip like two blackened jungle vines, reaching his throat.
His eyes, ringed with black lines, slant somewhat upwards at the outer edges, roofed with two black eyebrows that each stretch far out on each side of his face. His pupils take the colour of the last river he looked into, so he strives to keep all his rivers as clean as possible so his eyes glisten like a lake in the moon’s glow. His pointed ears grow upwards and curve slightly towards the top, much like a pair of short sabres. From the top of Shengshi’s skull sprout two long antlers in the middle of a long mane of black hair, that itself hangs down to his shoulders. Theme song: Guzheng: "Spring River Flower Moon Night" 古筝 - 春江花月夜 chinese dragon man by Randommonkies
Yeah, permanent portals are probably more convenient - and cooler. Could make for some interesting RP too, as mortals hear the legends of [divine sphere name] Gate and try to seek it out, and then we get "guy tried to climb Olympus and got zapped by Zeus"-scenarios.
H) Ten Hammersworn Light Infantry were recruited from the adult population.
X+E) Kadol, Joron the Younger and ten units of the light infantry were sent to the western mountains to find Godrim Thunderhowler, and then search for the sorcerer-king.
The Great Hall - now furnished with tables and stools for every dwarf - hosted an atmosphere quite unsure about its own identity: On one hand, this was the first protein rich meal the dwarves had eaten in a long time - Makkar's crew had brought back enough fish for a proper meal, as well as some for drying and preserving - but on the other hand, the shivering miner currently crying over his bowl of fish soup, surrounded by many a supportive brother and sister, carried with him a message of a subject so fearsome that the room's enthusiasm had decided to take its business somewhere else. There were no jigs; there was no song; joy and laughs did not belong. The councillor long table was not much better, even as Erima showed a display of what could almost pass for gratitude in Herim's direction, who accepted it with all the patience of a fisherman awaiting his catch. Makkar and the actual fishermen had also received praise, though the warning from the west had cut it short. There was no mistaking that the fish had helped considerably, though. While no one in the great hall technically smiled, each and every dwarf and dwarfling could not help but reveal a shine of joy in their eyes at the taste of grain bread and boiled fish. This, at least, kept the air of despair from completely permeating the room.
Osman shoved the last spoonful of soup into his mouth, licking the beard surrounding his lips to make sure he had not missed any droplets. The black-haired dwarf's brow hung low, casting shade over his brown eyes. Makkar, spoon sticking out of his mouth, glanced over.
"Wha' o' uh mai'h, fo'ma'?" he began before swallowing and pulling the spoon out to repeat himself clearly: "What's on your mind, foreman?" Osman looked up and pulled at his mustache in a pensive manner. He tried to speak, cleared his throat a little and tried again.
"Anyone got any idea of how we're going to get rid of that gods-damned chicken?" Most of the councillors abruptly stopped eating, some looking at Osman in an insulted manner, as if he had just ruined their meal. Golaq Gold of the Gold Union let out a sigh.
"Look, foreman, you gotta bring this up now? We were havin' such a nice meal and here you come and talk about that cursed thing... Can't we save it for-..."
"Save your whining, Golaq," Quana interjected. "The foreman raises an important point. We ought to discuss it sooner rather than later." Golaq leaned back with a curt groan and picked his teeth with a rather long fishbone. Igura Water straightened her back somewhat and looked towards Osman. "Well, foreman, as your closest advisor on logistics surrounding a potential trek to the west, the last shipment brought with it news that the paths are getting slipperier." The others looked to her. "You mean to say that there is ice on the Westroad?" Erima Rock said with a smile. Igura nodded. "The reports convey as much." More and more councillors smiled. The winter was slowly loosening its grasp on the valley. "However," Igura added, "this will make the trek harder. Considering we, unfortunately, had to eat a good few leather shoes, we cannot provide proper footwear to all." Osman knocked gently on the table. "We won't need everyone. Ra'ol, what's the current state of the Whitepeak Bastion?" Ra'ol looked over to Osman and then down in his lap, sweat forming on his forehead.
"Well, uh, we... We..." He let out a sigh. "It's nowhere near finished, foreman. There are four walls, a poor excuse for a barracks and a single tower. Are we lucky, it may withstand a single swoop from the flying menace. We-..."
"And that's enough whimpering for now," Osman said and waved a hand. Ra'ol deflated in his chair. "Chin up, Ra'ol. We won't let it swoop by. Find that lad, wossname, Cadood?"
"Kadol, foreman," Joron corrected. Osman snapped his fingers. "Yes, that one. Kadol!" The foreman's shout made the entire hall quiet down. The sound of what was likely a wooden stool falling over and then swiftly being picked up again echoed from the Steel Union long tables. After a few minutes, the young dwarf shuffled up to the councillor table and raised his right fist in the air. Despite the fervor of his salute, the dwarf's face betrayed nervous grimaces. Osman nodded.
"Son, you're our best authority on subjects regarding this Grimgor Thunderbowler."
"Godrim Thunderhowler," Joron corrected, spitting the name out as if it was poison.
"I know what I said," Osman snapped at Joron before turning back to Kadol. "We're currently having a little discussion about that blasted sky-chicken and we're wondering if he ever told you anything about how to defeat it. Anything at all." Kadol folded his hands and looked down. A moment passed, followed by another moment. Finally, Kadol remembered something.
"He... He said it can be driven back by howling!"
"-Godrim's- howling, likely," Joron said sourly. Kadol deflated, but his eyes glistened as another memory came to light.
"I-it can be stopped by magic!"
"Which we most definitely have loads of and absolutely can utilise to its utmost potential at this very moment. Just ask Roka how that Thunderhorn is coming along," Erima snarked. Roka, who once again was filling in for Khyber Tin, hung her head. "She's not wrong," she muttered in defeat. Kadol hung his head as well. Osman, who looked about as calm and patient as a starving hound in a slaughterhouse, slammed his fist on the table so hard that a few soupbowls went flying.
"Rock, cut the filth!" Erima smirked and leaned back in her chair. Osman turned back to Kadol. "Son, is there really nothing else? No hints? No details? No ancient history?"
"History, he says," Joron muttered sourly. Osman shot him a look that could pierce armour.
Kadol shook his head in defeat. "I'm... I'm sorry, foreman. I have nothing." Osman ran a hand through his beard. "Well, that narrows the options..." he muttered. Herim leaned over and whispered something. Osman looked up.
"You are aware that Godrim hasn't been seen for days, yes?" Kadol nodded solemnly. Osman nodded too.
"Quana!" The dwarf quickened and looked to Osman. Meanwhile, Kadol bowed and turned towards the tables again. Osman pointed at him.
"We're not done with you yet, son. Quana, how many axes and shields can you prepare in three days?" Quana's eyes widened and she pulled out a stick of charcoal and began writing some numbers on the back of her hand. "Uh, if we work overtime, we can probably ready about six axes and nine shields, if we keep them out of Gold union claws."
"Oh, you wish we'd take the time to bejewel your shoddy work." Golaq said with a smirk and a roll of his eyes.
"What did you just say to me?!" Quana spat and rocketed up from her stool. Osman slammed his fist into the table again, causing yet another flight of the soupbowls. Joron caught one in the air just before it would have fallen to its doom on the stone floor.
"Golaq, enough with the filth! Quana, sit down and focus!" Quana sat back down and shot the smirking Golaq a deathstare. "Alright, cut the last three shields and focus on making the axes as good as you can. How many shields and axes do we already have in store?" Quana wrote down some more numbers on her hand, rubbing some away and correcting them.
"Uh, I'm guessing here, but I'd say we probably have at least four shields and twenty axes of varying sizes." Osman nodded. "How many of those are of a good combat size?" Quana raised an eyebrow and then formed a grin on her lips. "I'd say about ten of them are." Osman nodded again.
"Very good. Take those four shields and four of the best axes. Have six more of each produces in three days. Then I want you to find the ten best warriors we have and suit them up properly for a trek west." Quana grinned from ear to ear and saluted. She shot up from her seat and ran over to the Steel Union table, barking orders like some militant hound. The other councillors were looking expectantly at Osman, who turned back to Joron.
"Logmaster, can you recite your books on command?"
"They're called logs, foreman, and yes, I can," Joron replied in an annoyed manner.
"Good. What was that one about the sorcerer-king?" Joron's eyes widened. He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a scroll. After unrolling it, he rolled it back together and stuffed it back in his bag, digging some more. He suddenly slapped his forehead as if he had forgotten something, and pulled out a green copper disk instead. He scanned it quickly and muttered angrily to himself, calling over a white-robed member of his union, who after hearing his orders, sprinted out of the great hall.
"On command..." Osman snarked.
"It's not like I carry around every scroll and logdisk at all times, foreman!" Joron snapped. After roughly fifteen minutes or so, the white-robed dwarf returned, panting loudly. Joron waved him away and began to read:
"To the sorcerer-king of those hills the howling winds called In grasping greed he crossed the mountains and found his doom. Lured by promises of might, by the ice king's deceit he was enthralled and so the greatest runesmith was forever bound in an icy tomb."
Osman nodded. "That's the one. Son! You got a weapon of choice?" Kadol quickened and hesitated. "I... I know how to use the spear, foreman!" There was a snicker among the councillors.
"The spear? A little dull, don't you think, foreman?" Joron said. "It's so very... How to put this... Normal. Every Hammersworn knows how to use a spear. It's just run and stab." Kadol deflated. Osman rubbed his chin.
"Aye, it's no hammer and a bit of a hassle to drag around, but suppose it'll have to do. Son, your orders are as follows." Osman stood up and clapped his hands so loudly that the resulting echo caused some snow to fall off the roof of the great hall - at least, Osman liked to think so. The other dwarves turned to the councillor table - some stood up to see what all the commotion was about. Osman climbed up onto the table, greatly inconveniencing whomever had to clean it afterwards, and spoke as loudly as he could:
"Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters! All hear your foreman's words! It is a grim day with yet more grim news sent by the gods to test us! That foul menace of the skies has returned! As of now, we have no way of defeating it." Many of the dwarflings in the crowd clung to their parents and began to cry. The adults themselves looked at each other with fear in horror. "However," Osman continued, "not all is lost." Osman pointed to Kadol, who froze and slowly turned to the crowd.
"Our son has taken upon him a great responsibility. He will take ten of our bravest and venture beyond the mine - beyond the Valley of Tusks, in search of Godrim Thunderhowler. They will get him to help us defeat the feathered demon for good!" A cheer erupted from the crowd. Kadol began to sweat and looked back at Osman.
"And not only that!" Osman continued. Kadol swallowed and the councillors looked at Osman in confusion and awe. "After he has had a word with Godrim, he will proceed into the unknown mountains to the west to find - the sorcerer-king!" Another cheer erupted. Kadol was almost on his knees at this point. "The sorcerer-king will teach us the ways of runesmithing so that we may complete the Thunderhorn and forever be safe from the Abductor!" A group of dwarves came over to the councillor table, picked up the floored Kadol and proceeded to toss him up and down, chanting, "saviour!" and "hero!" Osman stepped down from the stool. Joron Scroll stood up. "Foreman, a request."
"Awfully blunt today. What is it?" Joron scowled at the comment, but continued. "I would like for my son, Joron, to accompany Kadol on his quest. He will act as the Copper Union's eyes and ears and write down all that the travellers may discover on the other side of the Valley of Tusks." Osman ran a thinking hand through his beard and nodded. "So be it. You have my permission." Joron nodded back.
Kadol was light as a feather to the roughly twenty dwarves taking turns at tossing him up and down; however, the young dwarf felt heavier than ever. He felt as though a mountain of responsibility had been dropped on top of his shoulders. He whispered desperate prayers to every god he knew, even the cruel ones. He knew he would need their blessing now more than ever.
Hey, folks! Hope you don't mind if I check out this discussion. I just really love this concept and, from reading the posts in IC, its manifestation in this thread. I really like the idea of spheres and the leaking of divine magic into the mortal world. I really like the thought of a hierarchy in the pantheon as a result of the layers of spheres. Got a tiny question about foci: Would there also be a limit to the number of foci that a divinity can possess? Will portfolios remain much the same?
A) Makkar and the Union of Earth were once again tasked with leaving the Hovel to go south in search of good fishing spots. C) With food now being a slightly less immediate problem, the dwarves started constructing additional, bigger forges to allow for more effective smelting of iron. G) At Erima Rock's request, Herim gathered dwarves from the Union of Glass and the Union of Phosphorous and travelled towards the River Darr to dig for glassand and limestone.
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."
D) With less than a quarter of the Hammersworn remaining in the Hovel, mainly the sick and the children, work was instead focused on teaching the young ones good work morals and proper techniques. Great classes in metalworking and etiquette were arranged by the foreman and the Union representatives who remained in the Hovel, these being Joron, Herim, Golaq, Erima, Ra'ol, Daven and Khyber. X) The expedition uncovered some strange creatures in the hamlet.
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.
A+E) The bulk of the Hammersworn trekked south in search of food to bring back to the Hovel. In doing so, they took most of the remaining food with them as supplies. X) Due to outbreak of disease, some of the longhouses were quarantined off. Estimated sick population: 28, 5%.
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.
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