"I see. An impressive feat o' the mind, if'n I must say so me'self. Nay an area o' magic I 'ave studied, not that I really study it. I receive Torag's blessin's as 'e sees fit. Thar be some member's o' the clergy who work with some alchemy, but I be more traditional with my worship o' Torag, n' focus on the forge."
He scraps together another bit of boar and mushroom bread to munch on while talking with the doctor. "At any rate, I must commend ye fer at least tryin' ta put a stop ta the fightin' earlier, even though we both failed in our attempts," Dolgrin chuckles to himself as he rubs his brow.
Relishing his food, taking delicate bites off the end of his fork--he brought his own cutlery as a precaution--the celebrations of the funeral seem to fade away, Quint's world shrinking to himself and his plate. He truly did miss the cuisine, the richness of the mushrooms, the tenderness of the meat--roasted for hours in a stone pit he'd wager--the tartness of a green fungus he recalls from his time here as a child. He remembers an incident when he'd stuffed his brother's shoes with the odiferous moss; Clostin had stuffed his feet into them in a rush to get to a job, and it was only when his feet started to burn that he'd noticed. Quint had been chastised mightily for that... Even that thought couldn't interrupt his enjoyment of the food, but Daelric half choking to death could
Quint snapped back to reality, starting to stand up to see if he could help, when a woman came rushing over with a tankard which seems to ease his distress. What on Golarion had happened there? He shakes his head, looking around to see what else he's missed. He screws his nose up at finding Dwunderbran only a short ways down the table, part of a group around a curious fellow whose arrival--if he recalls correctly--had been overshadowed by the Grantie Empresses'. He'd seen his kind before, but never actually spoken to one of the 'sand dwarves', he'd have to have a chat with him later, after the smell had faded. He cleans his lips with a handkerchief and relights his pipe, topping the bowl up a bit, before heading in the direction of the Empress.
Quint steps forward, presenting himself before Mineko and waiting to be acknowledge before speaking. He he heard some grumblings from his fellow dwarves about her impropriety, but he frankly was pleased to see others who knew how to behave. He hadn't thought to ever meet an Empress, and quite frankly he wasn't sure she was one, but he wasn't going to pass up the chance if it was true. "Empress Yamauchi, I am Quint Bonechisel, Craftsman and Archaeologist of Absalom, representing my father, Gondul Bonechisel at this memorial for the departed." he pauses for a moment to allow a response before continuing. "I am honored to speak with one of such noble blood, and thank you for granting me audience. I must profess a curiosity as to your presence, and the nature of your guardian. I have some interest in artifical creatures and machines, and hoped to inquire whether he was such a construct? Whether that is the case or not, he is a remarkable creature." he compliments the beast, looking Komainu-kun over with a profession eye. He certainly could see no tool marks or seams, and the veins of gold seemed to be part of the stone itself. Magic could perform some remarkable feats however, so he couldn't confidently say, one way or the other.
Rogath helps himself to a cigar as Dwunderbran passes them around and tenders his thanks.
In a lull in the conversation, he says, "I heard there was a roaring brawl going on here before her entrance." (no need to indicate which "her" he's referring to) "What sparked that? It was in full swing by the time I happened to arrive."
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A look of consternation grips Dwunderbran's face as one of the offered stogies seems to float itself down the table to Kal'tos. His jaw sets firm and the look he shoots the scholar is one of pure, unadulterated disgust. Not wishing to cause another ruckus so soon, however, he seems to master his emotions for a change, instead focusing on the question posed to the table by the Varisian Pilgrim. Reclining as far as his seat will allow, and owing to the intervention of Daelric's much needed restorative efforts on his lower back, the broad and well muscled dwarf locks the fingers of both hands behind his head as he casually enjoys the fragrance and rich taste of his Shadeleaf.
"T'were nae a brawl a'truly, it weren't. Ya see tha' Skuldafn boy-o what's sittin' square 'n tha middle o' tha' table yonder? Vigar be 'is name. 'E did profess 'e wanted us fer ta honor 'is da' right kingly-like, ye grab me? Dwarf-proper-like, even, aye?" He leans forward now, fully invested in the absolutely, undeniably truthful account of what transpired moments prior as he continues the story around the girth of his stogie. "Nie, meself an' Magnus—tha white haired bleeder aside me 'ere—we be dwarves proved, ye grab me? But tha lad Daelric, ye see, 'e 'ad been overindulged on 'is Ma's teet. Nie, 'e wants fer ta bed the good Forgemaster Maven Brewbane an' name 'imself a man, but she'll nae lie wiff a whelp what ain't drank ner rubbed knuckles fierce yet, aye? So we 'ad a good tussle wiff tha boy-o, an' some o' tha other stoutfolk obliged me an' Magnus a'tryin' ta initiate tha Stonelordling proper-like." Dwunderbran nods with a grin, recalling the details with crystal clarity.
"Ah'll be admittin', ah did lose me stones fer a moment when 'e got too close ta 'Soldda Ironbloom—she be me wife-ta-be, ya grab me? But we 'ammered tha' all out, an' nie we're a'brothered true!"
Dakún spread his arms out in a welcoming gesture upon seeing more dwarves coming to share a drink, a tale, and celebrate the memory of the late patron of the Skuldafn clan. “All are welcome to sit, share tales, and offer toasts to righteous departed.” He then took the offered hand of Edrukk and met his gaze and held it in study for nearly a minute. It was clear that he did not seem to mean anything by it and it was merely his habit to stare longer than non-Pahmet were comfortable with. “Fortunes be upon you Edrukk Od'lgun. Have you also studied with the Janiczár’s o' Dongun H'ld?” He questioned, having noticed the black powder weapon the other dwarf carried with him.
Edrukk shakes the foreign dwarf's hand by way of introduction. In response to his question, he says "No, I hadn't heard of any places to study such things, 'cept locally. I'd be interested to see what things they're doin' differ'ntly than us."
When the offer of tobacco comes around, he politely declines, having made a habit of not smoking due to his often close proximity to large quantities of black powder.
Talon slumps down on a bench dejected, "Can't blame 'em for not wanting to try it." He thinks to himself,"Call it 'Mout', 'Meer' or 'Stead' it's still just swill. Swill it may be but I'm not about to let good booze go to waste. There's principal involved!" He upends the cask and shakes it to drain the last few drops into his tankard. "I hope that's not the end of the wake." He thinks wistfully,"Only the one brawl and that lastin' less than half a minute. More of a scuffle really. Now it's just a bunch of highbrow townies sippin' their drinks with a pinky out talkin' about arcane gobbledygook."
Angrin grunts in supressed laughter at Dwunderbran's story. Clearly his memory was blessed by the gods, to so misremember the events of the brawl. "Yer wife to be, eh? Somethin's odd 'bout this funeral, though. First there's the lad o'er there," he nods to Daelric, "with his declarations o' angelness, now ye're sayin' ye met yer wife-t'-be... It's like it's a proper matchmakin' or somethin'." Angrin chortles quietly, then lowers his voice. "Who d'ye think got stuck wit' Empress Granite'head o'er there? I'm thinkin' the blood obsessed one o'er there." He nods to Logem, grinning.
His words make him pause, though, and wonder what exactly the usual process of courtship was for dwarves in the higher areas. In Varrok's Deep, there was little more than a quick exchange of pleasantries by the couple, followed by their families giving their permissions (largely a formality, except when the two families despised each other, which was rare) and the two were wedded. Somehow, he got the oddest feeling it was slightly more formal on the surface, but then, Dwunderbran seemed to defy that. Of course he probably also defies a lot of things…
Shakes his head at Dwunders misremembrance then decidea its not worth a other brawl. Aye something like that. And Talon that looks like a mighty chewy beer ye got there with them wood chips in it. Come have some mead and whiskey.
He looks over to Angrin. Aye tis very odd and more. And as for Miss Granite Arse how can she come in here to a funeral and set up court tis not decent and its insulting to the dead. She acts like she's better than Vigar when she's naught but a refugee like so many others. I have half a mind to go over their.
Angrin shrugs noncommittally at Magnus' words. "They jus' have different ways than ye. Hell, even me own ways are different than yers. I mean, me own folk bathe, unlike him." He nods at Dwunderbran, though he smiles faintly as he does so. "Although, I'm gettin' the feelin' he's rather... unusual. But anyways, a couple up here smoke, somethin' that'd kill 'em quickly in th' Darklands. Well, assumin' they tried t' do so on duty... A couple o' our folk do it when they're safer, back in their homes." He frowns a little, considering something. "All I'm sayin' is, ye've got to learn to know tha' not everyone's the same way as ye. They are here, an' I'm assumin' they're tryin' their very best to honor th' dead their way. Per'aps that's not our way, and per'aps they'd better try to learn, but it goes both ways, aye?"
Angrin nods, agreeing with himself, then smiles a little. "Ne'er the less, they do be a trifle too solemn. Bit o'er serious, if I must be honest." The laid-back trapsmith leans back in his chair, taking another sip of his ale. He surely couldn't be the only one to think of these things? He'd had a lot of time alone in the Darklands, though that was a place that didn't usually conduce itself to deep thought. Nevertheless, he'd always thought that the folk up-surface (a term that covered pretty much every dwarf other than the duergar (who didn't count) and those who lived in Varrok's Deep, were a bit odd. They wore fancier clothes than needed, they were given to more complexities than were necessary. He'd never thought less of them, though (except that one time with the black-bearded bastard, but he doesn't think about that), for all their strangeness, they were his kin. Even if they willingly put chokingly horrific scents on them that practically begged to be tracked by every monster with half a nose. His grin broadens slightly as he rubs his beard, still wondering about that.
Nods a bit. I know about smoking in the Darklands. I was Gladdringgar once a champion I went deeper than any dwarf has been and made it back to boot. But I know what ye mean I spent time in deeps too defending them and teaching beardlings. But this this is still disdisgraceful. I bet you she wouldn't stand ifin it was her father being given back to the stone.
Magnus just shakes his head at all that is wrong with the world the dead human god, runelords, devils, lichkings, and all the rest. If she's the best of the people they had over there no wonder they fell. A leader should be able to lead she looks like she might break if faced with anything more complicated than what to wear. Look at the way she looks around its not taking in strange sights its a lack of nerve.
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Dakún seemed genuinely surprised by the answer Odolgun provided. His bushy straw blond eyebrows lifted as he pulled on one of the long strands of his mustachio. He shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was, but to hear the dwarves and men at the Gunworks in Dongun Hold and Alkenstar city talk of it, they all but controlled the export of black powder weapons. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interreupted by the passing of the cigars before him. Putting his index finger and his thumb together, he made the negative gesture that was common amongst the Pahmet, but quickly realized that his distant kin hear did not understand. “I appreciate your offered gift, but I cann’t accept it.” He said simply while meeting Dwunderbran’s gaze. There was no religious or social code that caused him to refuse the tobacco, merely an aversion to it, though if they wished to believe otherwise he would make no attempt to correct them. The men of Osirion and Katapesh tended to smoke various substances, but his people had never taken it up. There was enough difficulties in ventilating smoke from the forges and the kitchens, none saw a reason to add more. Too many of the Pahmet died at the young age of two hundred from tar lung and the black cough as it was.
Returning his attention to Edrukk he took a swallow from his tankard of stout before providing the dwarf a proper answer, his accent becoming slightly more pronounced as he delved deeper into the abundance of alcohol present. “Dongun Hold and its human neighbor Alkenstar are l’cated on the continent of Garund, a bastion o’ civilization upon the inh’spitable Mana Wastes. The dwarves o’ Dongun Hold have made the claim that they invented black powder and the firearms that utilize the v’latile substance. A knowledge they passed on to their human neighbors o’ Alkenstar. During my time at Dongun Hold I was instructed in the use and repair o’ their black powder weap’ns.” Despite his words, there was no evidence of a firearm on the Sand Dwarf's person, in fact, he carried no weapon at all to this funeral feast, wearing only a simple white cotton robe which was cinched by a snakeskin belt that held a few items like a drinking horn hanging from it.
“I believe they have much to teach, f’r I have seen their wonders… Built into the very cliffs on which the city rests is a weap’n o’ massive proportions they call The Great Maw o’ Rovagug. I was hold it takes well over a dozen men to reload.” The Sand Dwarf said, his voice becoming grave as he more quietly uttered “I must have faith that it will be enough should the Fire-bleeder turn t’ward the wastes.”
The cloud of gathering smoke that gathered about the sitting area as multiple dwarves lit up and enjoyed the cigars soon became too much of an irritation to the bronze skinned Dakún. His eyes narrowed in vexation as he looked over to the oblivious smokers. Suppressing a cough, Dakún focused on Edrukk again. “Accept my pard’ns, but I seek to relieve myself. Too much soup and stout.”
Provided Edrukk had no objections, Dakún would rise to his feet once more and exit the cloud of smoke. True to his word he sought out the lavatory, choosing to lighten his bowels before returning to the funeral celebration.
Oy', 'ave these lot ne'er seen a noble afore? Dwunderbran turns and watches the discussion about the Empress in question. "Oy', 'ave ye lot ne'er seen a noble afore?" Dwunderbran had lived for nearly two decades sailing out of Kerse; he had seen Molthune, Ustalav, and Lastwall long enough to know how thick the places were with society's upper crust. He shakes his head at the notion of someone having never dealt with them before. "'Ey're nae different, aye? Nobles be nobles no matter 'ow strange 'ey look. Nose in tha clouds, 'cause 'eir great-great-great-great-great-gran da' did somethin' worth fer ta be mentionin' an' convinced a right lot o' folks tha' 'is blood be meanin' more than 'eir blood. 'Tis the same wiff our kin an' ken, just be more familiar ta us is all." Releasing an impressive smoke ring, Dwunderbran turns to look at the Empress and her entourage again.
Angrin puts his palm over his face. Magnus seemed determined to dislike the Eastern dwarves, and nothing Angrin could say would change his mind. "Bloody Hell, man. I thought ye might be a bit more understandin' than that... Well, it's yer choice, I suppose." He sits back, taking a drink from his tankard again. "Well, not that I can't see where yer comin' from. Lookin' at her ye might think she was as stony as her little pet... Nah, e'en the pet moves more'n her!" He grins, then muses aloud. "That must be terrible an' uncomfortable... T'stay like that for as long as she must." He shakes his head, setting the thought aside.
"If'n ye'll excuse me for a moment, I'm gonna go get me some grub..." Angrin stands and goes to find some food. Surveying his options, he frowns slightly. Not too many familiar dishes here... though he does recognize that mushroom stew, which he grabs a bowl of. Looking suspiciously at the large chunk of meat next to it, he sniffs slightly, then rips of a piece and tosses it in his mouth. Chewing, he declares. "Eh, this stuff's not bad!" and grabs a plate of it. He wonders at how rarely his own family had meat when they had eaten together... Just weren't very many domesticated animals that they could use for such things down there. Lizards, sometimes, but mostly they had to eat scorched meat of aberrations or magical beasts that lived beneath the surface. Shoving the thought aside, he returns to his place, just in time to see the sand dwarf leave. "Huh. Odd fellow." He mutters idly, before looking at Edrukk with what might be described as a "jaundiced eye". He still hasn't forgotten the firearm-wielder's words, it seems.
Its not that I don't feel for her loss the loss of any of our people is a great blow. And I know what it is to lose a parent to early but still there's something you just don't do. Ah well lets leave her alone and get on with honoring the dead. More whiskey?
He listens to Dwunderbran. No I haven't dealt much with other races and me father were a clan head that don't make my blood better than yours. The StoneLord up there doesn't think his blood is better than yours. Nay he sits at the high seat cause we put him and those before him there cause we think he will do a better job than us. And be just and fair. So no I have never seen the like before.
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Maven's thoughts drift as her eyes take a moment to survey the room. The motley collection of Dwarves had surged to fill the hall beyond what she had dared to imagine. She'd never been in the presence of so many at one time, not even at her birth or at her initiation to the clergy. the drone of voices, laughs, clanging tankards, and shuffling feet would have made her nervous before, in contrast to the rhythmic clanging of a hammer. Somehow, today, she had managed to stay her feet, speak her mind, and even keep from chatting about forgework. Now, with the arrival of those even stranger than her known kin, she had surprised herself in even remaining in the hall. The chaos of so many different voices, different airs, different smells and colors were usually just unsettling to her.
Any other time, I woulda already been back at the anvil by now. Don't care to think about the dead much, and I don't like gettin' surrounded by a buncha lads drunk off their rockers and makin' passes. Thought fer sure that Vulgarbeard woulda jumped the first set o' hips he could focus on...thank Torag he's set 'is sights on someone. She stifles off a shudder at the reflexive mental image as she glances briefly at Isoldda.
Instead turning her attention to the room, she scans the various tables, listening to the air fill with the embellishing of stories, the gulping of alcohol, and the chuckling guffaws exchanged in random bursts. She felt the familiar uneasiness again, either absent or unnoticed before, as her various muscles began to tense. Not now, she told herself, No. Ye've made a good showin' of yerself, don't ye dare cower out now. It's fine, it's safe, it's just yer kinsmen, near or far. Ain't a bit of harm gonna come yer way in here. Just...go sit and have a bite ta eat, take yer mind off it all.
Sees Maven appearing to be lost in a daze he waves at her and motions for her to come to his table and sit at the open space beside him. When she just stares off for another moment he gets up and walks over to her. Come on girl we finally got Dwunderbran calmed down and everything is relaxed. You look peakish come have a bit of a bite and get off your feet then you. Will feel better. And if anyone bothers you tellem I will plant mah hammer in between their eyes. The SkyBreakers might be all but gone but as long as I'm left none will harm ye at our table our hearth. No I have something to attend too. Have a seat and I will return shortly.
He looks over at her high arsedness the granite empress and sighs he knows his duty.
After a moment he gathers himself and walks over there. Greetings to ye. I am here on behalf of the priests of Kols. We wish to offer our condolences on the loss of our kin for all dwarves are of one stone as Father made us. And I heard what you said about respecting customs and if ye mean it ye will stop holding court over the body of Vigars father its down right rude. He hasn't said anything as he is a great dwarf and far more tolerant than the likes of I but that don't change the truth. If you wish to talk to folk then do so come down off your throne and mingle for we are all one blood here. All grieving for our dead. But don't make this funeral in to a powerplay it will earn you no friends. Having said what he felt Kol would want him to say he turns without waiting for a response and walks back to his table rejoining the rest.
Angrin looks at Dwunderbran, nodding. "Oh, aye. E'en in the Deep, we've got a family o' poncy folk who think they're better'n the rest o' us, on account of 'em being from up closer to the surface. They came down a couple generations ago, when the drow were bein' more aggressive than me grandfather's folk were used to. They came down to help, an' still think o' themselves as the 'saviors o' the Deep'. Ha! They're the only ones who demand more'n they need in imports an' whatnot." He lowers his voice, muttering. "Damned Steelbreakers." He sighs, settling back in his chair. "At least they supply a fair number o' bodies for the defense o' the deep, when it matters most." Angrin sighs, drinking deeply, then digging in.
When Magnus gets up, he sighs, though. The damned fool had no real idea what he was doing... A diplomat, he certainly was not. Hopefully, the Stonelord'd set him straight, though he looked particularly busy at this time with the clerics of Torag and the like surrounding him. Angrin's eyes fall on Grima briefly, with passing interest as the deep dwarf wonders who the Skuldafn relation is, but he returns his attention to his plate, setting the thought aside for another time.
"Mm... This is some good stuff!" He grunts, nodding his head in appreciation. "Say what ye like 'bout the funeral, but the food's great... Wonder who made it..." Angrin muses idly through his mouthful of food. Perhaps he should learn another craft? That might give him something to do in the meantime... Until he finds something actually important to do.
And Talon that looks like a mighty chewy beer ye got there with them wood chips in it. Come have some mead and whiskey.
"Ay lad, thanks. I'll take a whiskey. I'm done with mixing my liquor for tonight."
He looks over to Angrin. Aye tis very odd and more. And as for Miss Granite Arse how can she come in here to a funeral and set up court tis not decent and its insulting to the dead. She acts like she's better than Vigar when she's naught but a refugee like so many others. I have half a mind to go over their.
"Don't let it bother you lad. The fancy clothes and manner are just another kind of armor after all. Some of us fight the Drow or Orcs. Apparently her battles are closer to home, mores the pity."
It takes a moment for Maven to register Magnus's invitation, but she hesitantly steps around the seated table, finding a spot as far opposite Dwunderbran as possible, doing her best not to grimace at the still-pungent aroma of his natural pheromones.
"ye know, lad...erm...I know yer proud of all that, well...that musky charm ye seem ta value, but ye ever think jus' a little groomin' might go a long way?"
Oh no. I did NOT just say that...clear me a spot, High Father, I'm on me way...
It takes a moment for Maven to register Magnus's invitation, but she hesitantly steps around the seated table, finding a spot as far opposite Dwunderbran as possible, doing her best not to grimace at the still-pungent aroma of his natural pheromones.
"ye know, lad...erm...I know yer proud of all that, well...that musky charm ye seem ta value, but ye ever think jus' a little groomin' might go a long way?"
Oh no. I did NOT just say that...clear me a spot, High Father, I'm on me way...
"You're still thinkin' his musky charm is natural?" Talon asks with mild curiosity, "With all the water that was dropped on him during the scuffle I rather doubt it. I'd wager he has a civet cat stashed away in that vulgar beard of his just to make a personal statement!"
As Kal'Tos finishes his cigar while using mage hand to refill his tankard of stout. Perhaps his scent is considered manly and sophisticated is his hold?
"He told me that he's a sailor. If a crewmate of mine smelled like that he'd be ridin' a long length of rope behind the ship.""
"Well, if ye have to sail at sea, maybe all the winds carry away the odor? Never sailed meself, but maybe as long as ye stay upwind..."
Maven chuckles slightly at the next image to pop into her head. "Bet ye don't get many pirates chasin' ye with that scent trailin' yer boat."
Angrin grunts in supressed laughter at Dwunderbran's story. Clearly his memory was blessed by the gods, to so misremember the events of the brawl. "Yer wife to be, eh? Somethin's odd 'bout this funeral, though. First there's the lad o'er there," he nods to Daelric, "with his declarations o' angelness, now ye're sayin' ye met yer wife-t'-be... It's like it's a proper matchmakin' or somethin'."
As Angrin returns to the table with his food, Rogath places a deck of well-used cards with elaborate designs on the back, on the table between himself and the other dwarf. "It is certainly an unusual collection of attendees. I have traveled much since first walking under the sky, and I don't think I have ever seen the like. It makes me curious what the import of this event may be." Tapping the deck thoughtfully, he continues, "Would you care to partake in a reading, to see what may unfold?" He glances around the table at the other dwarves, a motion which makes the beads in his beard clink (not that it's very audible over the general noise level). "Or anyone else?
Daelric finally gets up off of the floor, the coughing has now subsided and he has returned to his previous state. He turns around to look at the table for some more water when he see's the cigar's being handed around. He quietly leaves the area to go and start his mopping up, hoping that no-one will offer him one of the things.
While he is mopping he walks around the area in a circular motion and eventually gets to where Dolgrin and Dr Logem are before realising just how much he has cleaned, "That's better, all clean now. The mess shouldn't have been made in the first place, but it was my fault after all so I had to clean it." He seems to be talking to himself and admiring his work at the same time. He then rings the mop in the bucket and takes it back to one of the servants, where he thanks the man profusely for the use of his equipment and goes back to Dolgrin and Dr Logem, where he looks to Logem, "Greetings, I thank-you for your assistance in trying to stop the brawl earlier. I would have prefered not to join in, unfortunately certain situations arose. May I join you both?"
Observing the unusual deck, Maven feels something ping in her mind at the pilgrim's mention of strange gatherings and readings of fate. Why DID I decide to show here? Still don't know why I'm not at me forge...
She quickly glances around the table, and when other eyes seem to be on other things, she briefly pulls her holy symbol from her shirt, sparing a moment to contemplate the tiny iron hammer before tucking it away. Go on girl, see what his silly cards say. Ye have Torag at yer back, what's the worst could happen?
Exhaling a nervous breath, Maven sits forward in her seat, making eye contact with Rogath for the first time. "I'll partake then. Day's been curious and excitin' enough, can't hurt to have some forewarnin' of who's startin' the next funeral brawl, aye?"
Still wish I had me hammer 'n tongs in hand, though...
Angrin arches a brow, confused. "A readin'? Of what?" He looks at the cards closely, frowning. "Oh! That's one o' those Harrowin' decks yeah?" He (vaguely) remembers hearing about the things. Something about the surfacers to the northwest knowing the future from them? "Huh. Interestin'. Ne'er seen one o' those before. How accurate are they?" Then, figuring he has nothing really to lose. "Ah, well, may as well. In fer a copper, in fer some gold."
However, as soon as he says this, Angrin wonders whether it was a good idea. Knowing the future didn't exactly hurt the dwarves when Torag had given them the prophecy that had led to the Quest for the Sky, but he had seen the unfortunate duergar who were all that remained of those who had stayed behind... With mortals it is perhaps less likely to be quite so... dramatic, but still. Ah, well. He is in now, and might as well stick with it. Rogath's words about travel and the sky stay with him, though, and he keeps them in mind as the dwarf makes his reading.
Daelric looks around the room and then notices Maven and another dwarf with a strange set of cards, "Excuse me one moment, brother." With that he heads over to Maven and sits down beside her, "Sister." He nods at her, then looks at the strange cards, "What are they?"
Walks back to his table and sees the deck of cards. Are those Harrow cards? I heard of them but haven't ever seen them. Is it true what they say?
He seats himself beside Maven and will volunteer if no one else will. If someone else does he watches rapt with fascination.
Kal'Tos peers over his glasses in interest at the cards I would take great interest in viewing such a reading
Daelric looks confused at the cards, "Harrow ... What is that? I will take a reading too please." It is obvious that Daelric has no idea what he has asked for, but he seems quite happy to see his decision through to the end.
Giving a final sniff of dismissal, Komainu-Kun round back to the Empress before laying supine at her feet. The shared connection between the two however conveys worry and concern. You must never allow yourself to be alone with that one Empress. Despite what he may say, the blood on his hands is not from altruism. He is a killer. You have seen through his veneer and he hates you for it.
Reaching down, the Empress runs a hand along the creatures spine, earning a growling purr in response. Oh Komainu-Kun, how could I ever be alone. You would always protect me.
Back arching the Foo-Lion raises his massive stone head and looks the Empress dead in the eye. Even I was unable to protect your Father, Empress. By the celestial lords I will protect you, but I cannot swear that you are far from harm in my presence. I have protected your line since the your people first bonded to the land, but even I have failed before... that much I do remember. Shaking his head, causing the stone fur to ripple, the Foo-Lion stretches out at the Empresses feet. Bonding to your line has also linked me to your life force. There are no more heirs. If you die, then I am unsure what will happen to me. Even now the memories I had from when your father held the mantle have drifted away from me like cherry blossoms on the wind. Once I was timeless. Now I am unsure what I am. But I will always protect you. But you must heed my advice. Do not think you are invincible because I am by your side. Your people may think you are, but we both know that it is not so.
Nodding solemnly, the Empress turned back to her attendant, Kaori. This was the first time that she had spoken of such things with her protector and it made her uncomfortable to be confronted by such truths. Yet if it did not come from Komainu-Kun who would it come from? He shared her soul. He knew her better then she knew herself. He was wise to urge caution.
I think it's about time I paid my respects. Sure beats sitting around watching others talk, that's for sure.
Giving Magnus a glance, Rin stands up swiftly, tall and proud as he takes a deep breath and watches all those around him converse.
Lifting his oversized sword with both hands, he drags it around the table, making the deafeningly loud and gut wrenching high pitched tone once more.
Ignoring the reactions of those around him, he stands as close to Hraggir's stone coffin as possible, and mutters a few words, kneeling down for a few moments before flicking his wrists and swinging his 7ft Bastard Sword high into the air....positioning himself under it, keeping the weapon balanced directly above his head.
As he holds position, he stands then looks up, following the bladed edge of his weapon to its very tip, at which point he smiles, staring upward towards the ceiling.
The sky I'm imagining is much greater than that of this finely crafted ceiling. I bet you're in a finer place lad, and I wish you all the best.
Mah r'spcs t'y br'va.
F'y'see, wi'mush laike wuhn'uvah.
Wi dr'nk 'n smoak 'n y'naimm
seh'l'brayt'ng y'lyf n faym.
Y'mei slip nowh br'va.
Jus'res 'n lei,
f'yer luhvd ba'menny
frm nw'n fuh'eh'vr mohr.
As his swords teeter's above him, Rin just stands there, holding his posture.
Giggling softly, the Watashi-boku covered her hand to stifle a laugh. Taking a single breath, Kaori Inoue dropped her head down regaining her composure before turning back to her Empress. Watashi wa, komainu-kun no anata no kōgō ni sorera o oshiemashou ka? She asked softly to the silk enwrapped empress.
Shall I tell them of Komainu-Kun, your Empress?
The Empress lost for a moment while staring at the stone lion looked up at her Watashi-boki and gave a nod while uttering, Hai.
Turning back to the two dwarven women who were in the middle of discussing the celestial Poo Dog, Inoue blushed slightly. The Empress of Crystal and Stone wishes you to know that her honored protector is known as Komainu-Kun. He is known as a Lion. Foo Lions have traditionally been known to ward off evil spirits. Honored Komainu-Kun has been the protector to the Yamauchi's since their people first arose from the earth and claimed Mount Yogan as their own.
Just as Inoue had finished explaing Komaniu-Kun's presence to the women, the dwarf known as Quint Bonechisel stepped forward and greeted the Empress. Wareware no purotekuta wa subarashī kami no seishindearu koto o, kono otoko o oshietekudasai. Kare wa wareware no soba de tochi o aruku kamo shirenainode, kare wa ishi no bodi o satsuei shihe imasu. Kare wa daichi ni mi o ketsugō shi, kare no namae ni sorera o shuchō suru hōhō no, wareware no saisho no ō no kare o oshietekudasai. Kare wa chikyū no rei ni tamashī o rinku sa rete irunode, chikyū ga watashitachi o mamotte kita dono yō ni kare ni iu.
Tell this man that our protector is a great Kami spirit. He has taken the body of stone so that he might walk the land by our side. Tell him of our first king, of how he bonded himself to the earth and claimed them to his name. Tell him how he linked his soul to the spirits of the earth and so the earth has protected us.
Bowing again, Inoue turned back to the dwarf archaeologist while gesturing to the stone lion. You must forgive me. Many of the words do not translate properly. While my Empress can speak both the language of our land and of our herriage. There are some concepts that are easier to explain in one then the other. It is honorable of you to represent your father at this funeral, and just as you honor him, so too do we honor you. Gesturing to the Foo Lion who rests at the Empresses feet, alert and still, Inoue opens her mouth to speak and then pauses to consider her words carefully. Honored Komainu-Kun is celestial spirit who inhabits a body of stone so that he might walk the land by the side of our Empress. He has been at the side of each head of the Yamauchi line since our clan first claimed Mount Yogan as its domain. Our first King was said to be a powerful dwarf lord and he bonded himself to the land. It was from that connection that Komainu came into being. Since that first day as the mantle of leadership has passed from the eldest Yamauchi to the next, so too has the guardianship by Komainu-Kun. Some of our oldest tales say that Komainu-Kun did not always hold this form. While he has always been formed from stone such as this, in other tales he was a great dragon, or a rampaging boar. The one similarity that remains is that he always a resembles a great marble statue, formed by the finest of craftsmen. Raising a hand to forestalls the next question, Inoue smiles. I know what you are going to ask? Why not ask him then? Eyes twinkling, Inoue shrugs. Each time the mantle is passed Komainu-Kuns memories fade. His strength is tied to the divine mantle that is held by the Emperor or Empress.
Dr. Logem shrugs at Dolgrin's thanks and sighs. "I could have ended it much easier, if I had brought with me some of my chemicals. One little injection and they would have been sedated. I did not expect to have to try and stop a brawl, however, so those supplies were left at my home. Perhaps I should start taking them everwhere I go, much like my mutagens."
Dr. Logem picks his fork back up and begins eating, his hunger having yet to be sated. He pauses momentarily to take a drink, only to find that his goblet is empty. Looking at the empty space that should be filled with an alcohol of some sort, Dr. Logem makes a clicking sound with his mouth, causing his familiar to pop its head out from the back of his coat. He holds his goblet to the creature and mutters, "Refill. Something strong." The creature nods and grabs his goblet before flying away to appease its master.
Dolgrin nods a greeting to Daelric before he wanders off, then resumes his dinner with Logem.
"Nay, lad, I dinnae think ta 'ave ta be stoppin' a fight, either. Guess that's just 'ow these things go sometimes."
Dolgrin spots Magnus move over to the Empress'...section...and say something before walking off. It appeared, by his body language, that it wasn't a very pleasant message he delivered. But Dolgrin paid it no mind.
"So, 'ow did ye know Hraggir?" he asks Dr. Logem between bites.
"A Foo Lion." he murmurs to himself as he catches the last of the empresses explanation to the two dwarven woman. He watches the empress politely as she speaks her reply, shifting his attention to her translator once the girl starts to speak. He found the whole arrangement unusual, especially since she seemed to understand him--a fact she confirmed shortly thereafter--but nobility were a strange lot sometimes, and being from such a distant land only compounded the issue.
"A celestial guardian?" he murmurs again as Inoue exdplains, shuffling forward slightly and reaching up to pat at his forehead as he turns his attention to Komainu-kun again. He appears momentarily surprised as he finds only his well groomed hair beneath his fingers, before his features settle into the look of fascination they had previously held, his arm lowering to fiddle with his pocketwatch. "and you can communicate with him? That is quite remarkable indeed."
He straightens up, realizing he had been leaning closer to the great marble creature, and perhaps infringing on the empresses' space. "May I join you Empress Yamauchi? Tian Xia has always seemed such a foreign place. I have not had the opportunity to study it previously, but I understand it is rich in culture and history. I am an Archaeologist as I said... a student of history. I study ancient cultures by the ruins and marvels they leave behind. I would be very interested in learning more of your people."
The request was mostly genuine; he hadn't particularly had an inclination to go haring off to the other side of the world in the past when the Inner Sea held so much still to be uncovered. Now with Ydersius terrorizing Garund perhaps he had found another avenue to direct his attentions down; his father would certainly be pleased that he was considering getting out and about again. Making inroads with royalty never hurt either, even a deposed one.
As Magnus delivers his message Quint opens his mouth to respond to the man and correct his uneducated assumptions before he simply walks away. It takes him a few moments to master himself--the fussy dwarf visibly angered--and close his mouth again when the dwarf leaves.
Turning back to the empress he bows his head. "Please forgive the rudeness of my kin. The dwarves of the five kings mountains can be very insular, and... unaware of the proprieties other cultures hold." he bites his tongue to stop himself short of speaking ill of his kin. It wouldn't do to cold them backwards yokels without a hint of class, not before the empress anyway... He opens his mouth to say more but shuts it again, deciding against saying more.
"Who?" Dr. Logem says after swallowing a bite of meat. He doesn't seem to recognize the name, despite being at a feast in the dwarf-in-question's honor.
Moments later, his familiar returns with a full goblet of the Ironbloom Stout that Dr. Logem tasted earlier. Taking a hold of the goblet, Dr. Logem drinks deeply from it, enjoying the ale's strong taste and aroma. Meanwhile, his familiar dives back into his coat, shuffles around, and disappears again.
Rogath looks at all the people suddenly interested in his cards. Never fails, he thinks. They always draw a crowd. He begins by turning the deck face up, and fanning the cards so that their faces are partially visible. A parade of half-seen images peeks out - monsters and men, buildings and beasts, trees and tortures.
Addressing himself to Daelric at first, he begins "This is a deck of Harrow cards. Some say they're an amusing pasttime. Some even use them for gambling. But in the right hands, they're far more than that." Nodding to Maven next, he continues, "In the right hands, they can provide glimpses of the past and the future, what was, is, and may yet be." Now including Angrin and Magnus in his gaze as he sweeps it around the group and finishes fanning the cards, the fortune teller proclaims "Some believe the future is set, and all are bound by it in chains harder than the purest adamantine, yet the Age of Prophecy has long since past and no one's fate is certain. Some believe there is no future, aside from that we make ourselves every moment to the next, but who is not influenced by things beyond their control?" He inclines his head to Ka'Tos as he begins setting out six face-down piles of nine cards each. "I have read the cards and found truth therein. Sometimes it is clear as the purest diamond. Sometimes it is as obscure as the oldest runes. It is my art to reveal what can be revealed, to pull back the curtain for a peek at what may come. It is you, all of you, who must judge the truth in the results."
With that, he sets his hands flat on the table to either side of the decks, framing the piles. "To begin, we need a question. A single subject that all who participate would like to ask about." He looks around again, waiting for someone to speak up. Shouldn't take long in this crowd.
In response to Dakún, Edrukk says, "Aye, sounds like an aw'some device indeed. I dunno where the supply officer gets the stuff from, maybe it originally comes form that area. Hard to keep track with one supply line closin' and another openin'. I'd like ta go there and learn a thing or two 'bout gunsmithin'."
After the scholar leaves, Edrukk watches the harrow card reading.
A question, that all would ask? Not hard ta guess the one thing we're all askin. Maven glances around the table at the beards being stroked, the eyes pondering, and arms folding in thought. Her eyes settle on Rogath with as straight a face as she can manage, given the weight of her query.
"With the world under siege as 'tis, what fate awaits our home?"
Raising his left arm, Dwunderbran gives his armpit a quick sniff. Looking around the table, he shrugs. A glimmer of his personal brand of charming creeps back into his eyes as he turns his affront of a mouth to speak once more to Maven. "As ah told tha' angel wiff tha keg o' angel juice afore, if'n ye want fer ta bathe me, ole Dwunderbran'll oblige ye, lassie!"
As the cards come out, Dwunderbran scoffs and rolls his eyes, clearly not impressed with the whole concept of Harrow Decks and their prophetic claims. "Ye might as well ask me bluster blower fer all tha good a stack o' cards'll do ye. Ah tell ye nie ye can be gleanin' more from me brown loggery than 'at mess o' gypsy jabbin'." No longer interested in the topic of discussion, Dwunderbran rises unceremoniously to his feet, grumbling as he makes his way to the nearest table yet bearing food fit to be eaten, "...soddin', blasted mockery is wha' it be..." An assortment of meats and marbled cheddar finds its way onto the dwarf's plate. "...blightin' gypsy dwarf'n a soddin' pair o' clergymen 'at nae drink atween a dwarf what floats me stogies wiff nary a twitch o' 'is finners..." At the rear of an assortment of liquors provided for the less discerning dwarf, Dwunderbran finds a squat bottle with a worn label barely clinging on: Skaveling Shine. "...what've we 'ere, then?"
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Shocked, Dolgrin replies, "Hraggir Skuldafn. Master o' Coin fer all o' Highhelm?"
Did this guy just wander in here at random?"
Daelric looks from Rogath with a fascinated look and goes to answer his question, but Maven answers first. He looks to Maven and smiles, "You took the question right out of my mouth." He looks back to Rogath, "Can your cards answer this important question?"
Angrin nods agreeably with the clergyfolk's questions. That was a sort of important question after all. But... "Weren't ye wonderin' what th' significance o' the funeral was? Is that not a good 'nough question?" Maybe it is too vague. Angrin nods slightly, agreeing with himself. He runs a hand through his beard, then admits. "Per'aps the two are related? O' course, I dunno. The second question's pretty important." Nevertheless, Angrin muses silently, the first one is of more immediate interest. And this, might be more accurate, unless this surface-dwarf is Torag in disguise. Which seems dubious.
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"With the world under siege as 'tis, what fate awaits our home?"
Rogath nods to Maven. "Home. Always a topic dear to us." He taps one of the piles of cards in front of him, then stacks up the other five and places them out of the way. To Daelric, he says "We shall ask them and see."
Fanning out the one remaining pile so all nine face-down cards are accessible, he tells the group "There are six suits in this deck. Home is associated with the suit of Shields, so we will begin with that one. Everyone, choose a card."
As each dwarf indicates a card, Rogath flips it over and describes it.
"The Survivor. In defending your home, you have come through where others have failed."
"The Sickness. A plague has fallen upon your home. Whether it is a literal disease or a figurative one, I cannot say."
"The Brass Dwarf. Your home was in danger, yet you yourself were safe."
"The Mountain Man. Your home was threatened by an implacable power, against which you could do nothing."
"The Waxworks. You were unable to protect your home, although you wanted to with all your heart."
Once everyone has picked a card, Rogath collects them back up and begins to shuffle the deck together. "Now that you each know your Role, we can try to answer the question." He closes his eyes briefly and his lips move in a silent prayer to Desna, before he begins dealing out the Spread.
At the mention of Daelric's home being under the influence of a plague his face grows sorrowful and a tear even appears in his eyes. He quickly wipes them away, "Janderhoff has been silent, I wish with all my heart that my family is safe."
Kal'Tos studies the spread for a few moments. the waxworks, yes. Tragedy is a misfortune that has effected most all of us I think in these dark times.