"OYE, DWUNDERBRAN!" Dr. Logem yells at the top of his lungs as he's throwing cargo to people to load onto boats, "You're the expert with these damnable boats, how much longer can it last against this thing?!"
His left limb hanging limp and effectively useless and gritting his teeth through the pain, Dwunderbran barely hears the Doctor's question over the din of death, dwarf, ship, storm, and tentacle. A fork of lightning plays across the sky and impacts the rapidly dwindling frame of Torag's Anvil, bringing brief illumination to the ship's integrity. Masts splintered, rigging snapped, hull breeched, deck ablaze—the chaos proved too much for him to wrap his head around, struggle with kraken tentacles notwithstanding. How long would the vessel last? Even as fine a ship as it were, the culminating result of years and months of dwarven toil and peerless craftsmanship, one could seldom account for weathering the assault of mythic creatures spawned from the depths to unfurl dwarven genocide upon expeditions. In all of his many years serving aboard the Wormdrink he had encountered nothing on the order of this. Dwunderbran had never seen anything like this before.
Much to Logem's dismay, and after a brief interlude between the question and answer involving the wild-eyed dwarf's surveying sweep of the ship's general state of well being, Dwunderbran merely turns to the doctor and shrugs one of his shoulders to convey wordlessly his answer. Yelling over the cacophony of a nearby dying dwarf—bones and flesh popping and squishing in the confines of an enormous, rubbery tentacle as the life explodes out of the two exposed ends of the poor sailor—Dwunderbran manages a more composed response before his attention returns to the matter at hand: "" Pressed for time and facing down a creature as legendary as it is full of malice, the idiot of a dwarf finds time to boast, his annoying guffaws managing to drown out the carnage that still visits The Anvil's crew. ""
Responding with a little more severity to the gravity of the situation, Dwunderbran strides a bit closer to where Vigar struggles against the kraken's assault, his question nearly drowned out by the Stonelord's subsequent battle cries and orders. "Ye goin' down with yer ship're be ye a'comin' wiff 'em what paddle away yonder?"
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As the ship lurches to the side in a way ships are not supposed to move, pulled by the weight of the earth elemental dragging a kraken into the deeps, Rogath begins reconsidering his focus. Vigar's hurt, but this ship isn't going to last much longer. With Luck, the fighters can do without me for a few. He touches the back of his hand, then turns away, bracing himself against another lurch of the ship.
Heading belowdecks, he calls out "Is anyone still down here?" It's easier to brace against the lurching of the boat and it's ever-increasing tilt inside, even if it means there's no quick way out if the worse should come. Lady Desna, let this ship of travelers hold together just a little longer... Just then, a very young dwarf - probably around 12 - comes running up to him and grabs his arm. "Rogath! Rogath! You have to come help!"
Peering at the boy in the dark, the fortuneteller responds "What is it, uh, Halzar?" Halzar and his brother Zalkar were the only twins on board the ill-fated ship, and they took great delight in confusing everyone. Rogath, being one of the few perceptive enough to (usually) be able to tell them apart and patient enough to put up with their antics, had become a great help to their mother after her husband had fallen to the wyrmling dragon's attack during the voyage. Now, however, there was no time for the careful study which usually let Rogath distinguish the twins, so he had to guess which tear-streaked boy this was.
"You have to come! Monah's stuck and we can't get her out!" the boy replied while tugging the adult further down the passageway. "Show me," is the reply as Rogath tries to avoid picturing the young widow crushed under a collapsed beam as so many on the top deck were.
Unfortunately, once the pair reach the galley where the boys' Monah is, the reality is even worse - not only is Lokara caught under a fallen wall, but the galley is on fire. "By the stars," Rogath mutters. I don't think I'm going to be able to save her. He looks down at the twin pulling him along, up to his brother futilely tugging on the debris trapping their mother, and then over at the flames flickering on the far side of the tilted room, and resolves ... but I have to try.
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RPG Superstar 2014 Top 4
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From the lifeboats in the storm-tossed sea, Torag's Anvil resembles little more than a dark silhouette in the fog, backlit by the bloom of flame. Sea spray crests over the tiny lifeboats and dwarves struggle to keep them from taking on water. Lifeboats from the other vessels fare no better, with some smashed to pieces and corpses tossed in the riotous surf. Swells ten feet high and larger toss the tiny boats around, and only some manage to remain afloat. Most are tossed over, their company hurled into the darkness of the sea in screams snuffed out by the blackness of the ocean depths.
Lightning continues to flash in the sky, striking the water and creating blossoms of illumination below the surface, revealing the shadows of massive, coiling tentacles that corkscrew and writhe just beneath the surface of the ocean. For those brave survivors that have abandoned their ships and made it this far, there is little hope to make it any further if that beast does not relent.
Aboard Torag's Anvil, Vigar turns his attention to Dwunderbran, blood running down his forehead from a vicious gash that has split his flesh open. "Lad," Vigar grumbles, staring up at three tentacles that slam down on the deck of the ship, pulling the bow down towards the waves. "I'm sorry fer casting yer name int'a the abyss... But I can'nae abandon this fight, not while even one more dwarf could be saved!" Vigar grips his axes tighter, rain sizzling off of their flaming blades.
"We fight, fer home, fer family," the stonelord's voice becomes more resolute, and with one axe hefted into the air he cries, "we fight for prosperity! We fight for our people's future!" He wishes he could call upon more healing energy to stanch his bleeding wounds, to soothe Dwunderbran's battered flesh. But there is no more left. Now, there is just righteous indignation.
Three more lightning strikes hit Torag's Hammer and the ship groans, then finally breaks. The spine of the ship shatters after so much stress and damage. The deck splinters apart like a snapped twig in the middle, sending the remaining masts tumbling down like falling timbers, dragging a tangled mesh of rigging and burned sails with them. As the spine of the ship breaks, the vessel is torn asunder nearly all the way, midship becoming a chasm of splintered wood revealing the interior layers of the ship. The lowest decks immediately begin to take on water. Furniture and supplies tumble out as the open holds take on water and Doctor Logem is nearly hurled overboard, able to grab ahold of the ship's railing at the last minute, legs dangling at the Abyss and rain hammering his face, loosening his grip.
Vigar's footing fails and he swings his axe down into the deck of the ship to anchor himself. Dwunderbran's paired swing is not so fortunate, and the fellow dwarf begins to fall away, only to find himself colliding with an earth elemental exploding up out of the water, clawing its way like a bear up the deck of the ship. Dwunderbran is able to catch on to Vigar's elemental, just in time to see an eye the size of a barn come rising up out of the deep.
Down below on the water, those who had evacuated see a most horrifying sight. The full girth of the kraken begins to rise up out of the water, a mottled form of deep blues and green with stripes of the most violent yellow along its squid-like frame. They can only see one of its eyes, as big as a cottage and blood red in color with an hour-glass shaped pupil.
Smaller tentacles, these ones hooked and barbed like some sort of scourge attach to the ship as it rises up out of the water. On Torag's Anvil, Vigar hoists himself up onto the aftcastle and raises his axes, screaming if utter defiance at the creature even as the ship falls to pieces around him.
But he and Dwunderbran would not be alone.
Out of the fog comes a burning fury, the prow of Kols' Hammer completely wreathed in flames. The ship moves at full speed on a collision course for the kraken, and the prow rams into the beast's side with a haunting wail of the terrible creature. Wood splinters, flesh tears and a purplish blood sprays out across the burning deck of the ship. The kraken is forces to release portions of Torag's Anvil to try and pry the vessel that had impaled it out.
Atop the aftcastle of Kols' Hammer a dwarf surrounded by flames screams with mad glee at the helm, cackling with all the madness of a sea captain who knows he is staring death in the face. His cries, while drowned out by the wind, carry their desperate tone and defiance to the other dwarves. One of the kraken's lashing tentacles silences his cries as it smashes down the length of the smaller ship.
"For Highhelm!" Vigar screams as his elemental deposits Dwunderbran beside him on the forecastle, "for Torag!" Then, like a madman Vigar leaps from the forecastle and lands atop the kraken using his axe like a climbing spike, screaming a raucous warcry as he draws the kraken's ire.
""
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* Somewhere during Dakun's edit of his post he porked the formatting on his dice roll. However, I happened to see the post prior to the formatting mistake, and it was indeed a success.
Well, crap.
Dangling off of the edge of the ship above the churning sea below, Dr. Logem's engorged arms hold himself fast to the ship's railing, the wind and rain doing naught to take him from it. Moments go by that seem like ages as he hangs there, closer to joining his brother and family in death than he has ever been in his long life.
Coming back to his senses after what seems like an eternity, Dr. Logem hauls himself upwards and plants his feet firmly on the deck, one hand still grasping the railing, almost to the point of the wood breaking underneath his grip. His glasses all but soaked in the rain, but are thankfully staying put on his head.
Dr. Logem's mouth is agape as he sees the suicide attack by the Kol's Hammer - silently, he approves of the man's last ditch attack, as futile as it may have been, and vows silently to keep the dwarf in his thoughts, and hopes that his sacrifice will not be in vain.
Though not inspired by any of the cries for home, family or Torag, Dr. Logem is none-the-less inspired by the sheer audacity of Vigar to slay this menace - A sadistic smile creeps upon Dr. Logem's face as he realizes the opportunity that has arisen. What better way to study a creature so magnificant - so exotic - so dangerous - than to study it in its natural habitat while it still lives? This is a once in a life time opportunity.. to study a Kraken, of all things!
Mind made up, despite the danger, Dr. Logem whistles loudly to his familiar, who quickly swoops in and lands on his shoulder, the poor creature holding on for its life as it feels much more vulnerable on the ground than in the air, weather such as it is or not. Sumetusen can feel the excitment, fear, eagerness, and hint of insanity flowing from its empathic link to its master - the creature gets swept up in the emotions itself, and quickly knows what its master has planned. Dr. Logem lets go of the safety of the railing and begins barreling across the deck, barely keeping his balance, and heading towards Vigar and Vulgarbeard.
"FOR KNOWLEDGE!" Dr. Logem roars loudly, letting go of his usual calm demeanor as he lets his wild side take him. His eyes bulging, his face filled with a wicked grin, Dr. Logem charges wildly towards the exposed Kraken, pulling out a simple obsidian scalpel as he does so. Just as Vigar jumped onto the Kraken and used his axe to hold on, Dr. Logem follows suit, jumping straight for the Kraken's eye, scalpel in hand. His familiar right behind him, swept up in the doctor's emotions and insanity all the same.
For what is knowledge worth if one is not willing to take risks in obtaining it?
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Dwunderbran finds more solace and inspiration in Vigar's words than he wagers the Stonelord will ever realize in what few moments the pair have for living. The Anvil's corpse further splintering around him, the wild dwarf is forced to surrender to the gravity of the situation; he wasn't coming home from this one. Having intended to live forever, it's not an easy admission, and it stalls the dwarf's typical bravado under a pall of soul crushing silence as the aftcastle thrusts higher into the air before lurching slowly downwards in the grasp of two massive tentacles. It is not until he spies the hulking form of Logem careening downwards toward the writhing terror with a raised scalpel that Dwunderbran regains his bearings and insanity. Nae, nae nae! Ah'll nay be put'n on me garters fer tha' nancy ta earn 'imself all tha songs! "" His words ring loudly, though there remains few ears to observe. Dwunderbran's legs tense as he prepares to propel his barrel like frame forward and over what remains of the aft's rails. Then he pauses.
The kraken's enormous eye narrows as it seizes the rapidly approaching form of Dr. Logem, his uninspiring warcry about as threatening as the comically undersized weapon he brandishes before the immense beast. Despite all of this, it perceives some apparent threat in the spectacled dwarf's approach, a massive tentacle rising from churning waters behind its considerable bulk to swat at the bulging dwarf and winged creature that accompanies him. Perhaps Logem knew something he did not, but Dwunderbran could swear he glimpsed fear in the monster's eyes for the briefest of moments. Would their gambit pay off? Had he a strategy beyond what seemed like meeting his fate on his own crazed terms?
The mizzenmast, aflame and mostly splintered at the base, begins to creak ominously behind Dwunderbran as what remains of the rigging and yardarms plummet violently into the roiling spray of foam and sea beneath. His eyes snap back to the raised tentacle, now lashing forward intending to end Logem's valiant plummet in one sickening crunch. The mizzenmast groans again as The Anvil continues to disappear beneath Dwunderbran. The gap between dwarf and tentacle is far too wide for him to make the jump, and he doubts that his battered state could manage a strike vicious enough to halt the kraken's blow. The mizzenmast lurches forward several inches...
The slope of the ship's aft makes finding purchase with footholds a difficult prospect, and Dwunderbran is forced to summon what little use remains of his left arm to secure position with Lullaby's half moon head. He braces his short legs against the leveling slant of the aftcastle's descent, pouring all of his might into a wide strike with Requiem that nearly severs entirely what little remains of the mizzenmast's girth. With scant seconds to spare, the mast works its way into a Dwunderbran-nudged free fall intended for the approaching tentacle's path. Dwunderbran leaps forward off of the railing and grabs onto the falling spire's length, convincing himself that his weight alone will hasten the fall enough to save Logem from the kraken's ire. Trudd, ah've nary prayed a'to ye afore, an' ah'll nay do it nie. "" His warcry, though no doubt aiming to be impressive, is cut off by the sudden intake of sea water.
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"Oh, come on, ye bloody idiots! He's oe'er there!" Angrin gestures to the far side of the ship, mentally (and verbally) cursing the other dwarves on the lifeboat. He could still save Kolgra, potentially, but the cowardly a#%%*&$#s were refusing to move the bloody boat! "Fine! I'll go do it meself, then!"
The deep dwarf declares sharply, standing and making the boat rock violently before he freezes, staring at the gradually raising kraken. That eye sends shivers violently up and down his spine, and he nearly falls over from the baleful glare. His stomach roils as Vigar begins to climb the bleeding monster! "Torag an' Desna smile on ye, me lord..." He pauses, arching a brow. Say, where was Rogath? The thought flies from his head, though, when he sees Logem (an odd fellow, claimed to practice medicine without magic), and the mad old Dwunderbran charge at the kraken. "Get it, lads! Ye're earnin' yerselves a good dozen mugs o' me finest brew with that!" It was the least he could do, he figures. And he'd be damned if he was gonna let anyone who survived this get on without a brew or six.
Wait! Never mind! He had to go rescue Kolgra- Angrin stared out at the water, desperately seeking the other dwarf's body, then growls, not noticing it. Then, in the flash of lighting that struck the water nearby, Angrin notices a dwarf flailing in the water, struggling to get to the boat. Mentally shrugging, he dives into the water, splashing helplessly for a few moments and coughing as a bit of the salty water gets into his mouth, before finally recalling his self-training in the small sea near the ancient city of Kazak-a-Karan in the Darklands. "Damn ye, Gozreh, why'd ye think it was *Cough* a good bloody idea to make *wheeze* an ocean where the bloody water moves?!" He cries as he begins to cut through the water with an ease that shocks even him. "Erm, ne'er mind! I'm glad!" He hastily shouts, grabbing the dwarf under the armpits, as he dodges a falling bit of flotsam from the Torag's Hammer. He begins to swim back towards the life boat, his powerful strokes sending him swiftly back to the relative safety of the boat.
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The blaze of the anvil, despite the rain and crashing waves, seems to grow more intense by the minute. As she turns back to observe the continuing battle, Maven grips the side of the lifeboat with impotent frustration. Why do I wish I was still there? And why do those damned fool men still flail about yards from that wretched beast's maw?!
Scanning her lifeboat reveals a hauntingly empty craft. Large enough for almost a dozen Dwarves, her current vessel floats high on the waters with a mere four, including herself. It's hard enough not to stare at the empty spaces, much less avoid thinking of how many Dwarves could have filled them. Unable to gaze at the burning ship, the empty boat, or the furious skies, the only solace left to her beleaguered mind lay in the waves as she slumps to the side of her seat. As her downcast gaze fights despair, however, something drifts across her vision. a shaft of lumber, no more than a foot and a half long, bobs in the dancing waves, the wide, cylindrical wooden head appearing above a crest every few seconds or so.
A...mallet?
Puzzled by the object in surroundings it should not be, Maven finds herself staring dumbfounded at the tool for several seconds before it drifts closer to the boat. Snatching it from the water and gripping it in hand seems to trigger recognition in her eyes. My TOOLS! I left them in my cabin! NO!!
Rapidly scanning the area around them reveals barrels and chests floating randomly about the boat, some upturned, some open, some splintered, but just a few intact, bobbing about, seemingly without a care in the world. She then turns to the boat, searching through the random bits of equipment scattered around the floor of the craft. Digging through arrows, boxes of snuff, random clothing, planks and nails, she grows irritated as her search nears the bottom of the boat. No...not that...no, that won't do...no, NO...grrrr...ah HAH!
Standing tall from her little excavation, Maven triumphantly grasps a coil of rope, snapped and frayed, but still close to thirty-five feet in length. She then starts darting from one end of the boat to the other, eyes searching every container in the open waters with hawklike scrutiny. The other Dwarves, confused and taken aback by her sudden activity, make every effort to duck out of the way each time she moves in an effort to keep the craft balanced.
Come on, where is it? come onnnn, Torag don't let me down now...
Suddenly, she gasps as she spots it. How anyone could pick out an insignia no more than a foot wide from that distance, half submerged amidst the waves, rain and lightning, her current companions are completely unsure, but there she spies it: a cracked tankard, embossed in bronze, on the front of a small wooden chest. the name seems to echo in her head as it plays across her lips.
"Brewbane."
Grasping the coil of rope in her right hand, Maven shuts her eyes a moment, running her other hand over the circular coil as she whispers under her breath. When she finishes, the rope seems to shudder a moment in her hands. Ensuring her grip is sound, she flings one end of the rope out over the water, grinning with glee as it breaks water barely a foot from the chest.
Intently pointing a finger at the wooden box so far away, she projects her voice in a command unfitting her usually meek personality. "LOOP AND KNOT."
The rope responds with another shudder as the far end swiftly snakes its way around the chest and loops itself into a steadfast knot, just to the side of the Brewbane insignia. She then pulls the rope hand over hand with the urgency of a protective mother as the box expands to fill her field of vision. The moment the chest comes up to the side of the craft, she drops the rope and lunges with both arms for the soaked wood and the brass handles, tearing it free from the waves and clutching it like a rescued child. As her three Dwarf crew grabs the rope and does their best to match her success with closer, larger containers, she takes a minute to inspect the contents, the most genuine relief of the trip warming her features as she checks each implement for waterlogging, rust, and damage. By Father's beard, as long as I have me tools, not much remains I can't rebuild.
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"DOCTOR LOGEM!!" Upon seeing the distruction of the Torag's Hammer, Kol yells frantically for his employer. "We need to go back! The Doctor could still be alive! We need to save him! WHO ELSE IS GOING TO PAY ME IF HE DIES?!" Luckily for those onboard the lifeboat, he's not the one in charge of rowing - one of the nurses, Rith, a big beefy woman, slaps him across the face, shutting him up.
"Enough! He can't have survived that.. you're not going to doom the rest of us! There are enough people surviving that someone will pay your sorry donkey-humping ass. Now shut up. Sit down. Or I will sing you a lullaby - with my fists." The nurse speaking looks like she'd be all too happy to punch something right now, so Kol shuts up and continues looking sadly at the sinking ship.
Meanwhile, the other nurses are busy continuing to grab anything they can get a hold of - one accidently grabs the dismembered arm of some poor dwarf. Shaking his - or her, it's hard to tell considering that the rest of the body is missing - hand, the nurse laughs and stows the limb in a bag she has on her person - a grisly souvenir as it would be.
The nurses all but forget about Dr. Logem's fate, focusing on their own agenda - he will be missed, but now is the time for looting, not mourning. There are goods to be taking!
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Quint spares a glance and a shudder for the mighty Kraken as it rises from beneath the waves, but quickly looks away as The Anvil breaks apart in it's grasp, pounded by lightning. He looks forward instead, trying to peer through the rain and the wind, to ignore the cries of dying and suffering dwarves, and find instead the shore of land he has still yet to see, to spy it's bulk or perhaps here the thunder of the surf against it's sands.
His attention is pulled from that task once again by a second almighty splintering, and a tremendous wail from the creature. As he glances back it takes him several moments to realize what he's seeing. The Hammer rammed the Kraken! He lets out a whoop of joy, even as the courageous dwarf responsible is blasted from Golarion. The blow may not have killed it, but surely it would have to retreat to the depths to lick it's wounds.
It's hard to tell who the figures are still on the deck besides Vigar, but the coat... surely that wasn't the doctor? He stares dumbfounded as the dwarf that must certainly be Logem--for that is surely his bizarre bird creature--leaps from the deck, seemingly unarmed. A moment later the mast plummets past him, apparently being ridden by another madman.
A mighty wave briefly obscures the scene, rocking and tossing the boat, reminding Quint of his and the others predicament. He looks at Mineko, then at Angrin as he leaps from the boat's side, swimming with impressive strokes through the water, before returning his vigil to the storm around him. Lightning strikes again and in the brief illumination he spies a rocky outcrop. "There! Land is there!" he shouts at the other dwarves, encouraging them to row with all their might. Angrin returns in time to hurl himself and his rescued dwarf aboard the boat as it starts to move with purpose through the storm. He drums out a beat on his thigh and intones a few arcane words, and a moment later sparks shoot from his outstretched hand, pointing the way towards land.
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Despondent and weary, Mineko Yamauchi hung her head in shame. The gods were cruel. It had been her place to stand by the side of the Dwarven Lord and challenge the beast of the sea. Her father would have done the same. Instead Mineko would have to live with the shame of knowing that she had fled while her people had died. It was hard, so very very hard for the woman to ensure. Even now she knew that she should not give up, to scan the seams and look for anything of use or try to save the others, but she nearly felt as if she could not go one. To some dwarves honor was a code, or a standard to live by. To the Granite Empress, honor was something to die for.
She had failed.
Next to her she faintly heard Quint yell for land. Komainu also seemed to see it and gave a loud roar of agreement. Meanwhile, Koki, still wet from his previous swim to save a blackened and burned dwarf, spied another, this one wearing a flaxen robe and wicker hat that marked him as of Tian descent. Like the Empress he felt shame at the loss of so many of his people, but he was not afraid. He used it, channeled it into something greater. He had followed his lords orders when he told her to travel with the young princess and protect her. He had done so willingly even at great cost to himself. He has lost both of his brothers, but even now he would not stop protecting his kin. With a roar, the dwarf jumped off the ship and swam furiously towards the floundering man. Grabbing him tightly, he made strong strokes back towards the life raft.
As this was going on, the others of the Empresses retinue did as they had before. They battled against the churning seas collecting everything they could lay hands on. Each of them felt the impact of the Empresses shame in their own ways. Most grieved, Kaori however was the exception to the rule. A noble handmaiden selected from one of the lesser clans to assist the Empress, Kaori ignored the events of the moment and focused on the task at hand. There would be time for grief later. Now she needed to do what she could to survive. Glancing at Cherryblossom the woman frowned as she finished collecting several barrels of flour. The mule seemed agitated and alert. It was as if it had a mind of its own.
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Unfortunately, once the pair reach the galley where the boys' Monah is, the reality is even worse - not only is Lokara caught under a fallen wall, but the galley is on fire. "By the stars," Rogath mutters. I don't think I'm going to be able to save her. He looks down at the twin pulling him along, up to his brother futilely tugging on the debris trapping their mother, and then over at the flames flickering on the far side of the tilted room, and resolves ... but I have to try.
Looking around the room, Rogath spots a long plank from what used to be a table, still mostly intact. With Luck, that should work as a lever. He grabs it, and with the help of the two boys gets one end stuck into the rubble that Lokara is caught under. "We'll get you out of there, just you wait," he reassures her as the collapsed wall creaks ominously. He begins to pull down on the lever, but he is not a particularly strong dwarf, and the debris is heavy. Despite the mechanical advantage of the lever, it doesn't move. Calling Halzar and Zalkar to him, he tells them "Boys, you're going to have to help me with this..." Quickly he outlines his plan, such as it is.
Grinning at each other, the mischevious young dwarves clamber up onto the board and prepare for their part. Rogath moves to their mother and takes hold of her arms. Desna, please let this work... "Alright boys, jump!"
As luck would have it, the ship tilted further while they were in the air, providing them just a touch more momentum as they landed on the plank. That, in turn, provided just enough extra force to free Lokara from the rubble, allowing Rogath to pull her out. Her sons start to cheer, until another blow against the ship knocks them over, falling just short of the fire. "Come on, lets get out of here while there's still time!
The foursome hurries up to the top deck, fighting the fragmenting ship as they go. They reach it just as the last boat is casting off, full of every dwarf they could cram on. "Wait for us!" Lokara calls out to them, but the frightened sailor trying to lower it without crashing into the side of the ship or the kraken just gives her a pitying look as he continues to lower it and calls back "There's no room left! Any more and we'd just tip over and we'd all drown!"
Rogath steps forward, pushing the boys before him. "At least take the boys. They're small, and they're just children." With a little more convincing, the sailor agrees to allow them on board, provided they sit very still. They embrace their mother one last time, and as they climb into the boat and find laps to sit in, Rogath calls after them "May Desna watch over you and lead you safely to shore."
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Just as the last boat is pushing away from the dying ship, a hush falls across the sailors and those remaining on board as the flaming Kols' Hammer emerges to crash into the Kracken. For a moment, neither Rogath nor Lokara move, and then the sharp crack of their own ship breaking apart startle them back into movement.
"We have to jump - it's our only way off," he starts.
"Are you sure? I can't swim," she responds.
"Neither can I," he says, with a wave that encompasses the deck which is far emptier than it was when he went below. "But there's nothing left here to stay for. We jump, and trust in the gods, or we stay and assuredly die. If Desna is kind, there will be something we can hold on to to help us float."
Lokara looks down at the dark, churning water doubtfully. "FOR KNOWLEDGE!"
"Huh?" Rogath looks up just in time to see an apparently unarmed dwarf leaping directly onto the Kracken, followed shortly by an axe-wielding one. What an odd battle cry... Under his breath, he mutters a brief prayer to both Torag and Desna for the ones still fighting the beast, then he grabs Lokara's hand, and jumps over the side.
He quickly loses hold of the woman as they both impact the water, and he starts flailing around as his waterlogged clothes quickly weight him down. He manages to stay on the surface briefly, before he starts slipping under. Lokara seems to be gone entirely.
Help me, Desna!
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Dakún emerged from the water with frantic splashing and a gasp for air. Water flooded his mouth as he tried to pull in a good breath of air. He would have drowned had it not been for the helping hands of two dwarves on the lifeboat he had cut free. They pulled him out of the water and said something, though their words were missed amidst the deafening sound of lightning crashing into and splintering the mighty flagship of the voyage. Drenched to the bone, Dakún stared in mute horror as Torag’s Anvil split in two, one half driving down into the churning waters of the Acadian ocean, while the other half was pulled into the greedy and hateful grasp of the monstrous Kraken. With its full form revealed, Dakún gazed on it and felt his insides quiver. Falling to his knees in the wave tossed life boat, he felt his stomach lurch. It turned up and down, around and around in constant waves which battered and crashed against one another, mimicking the dilemma at sea. Unable to fight back his nausea, the Pahmet thrust his head over the edge and vomited into the dark waves.
For a moment he thought he heard Vigar calling from the doomed half of Torag’s Anvil ensnared within the Kraken’s tentacles. He looked back for a moment, and began to look away when he caught sight of one of the other ships of the Voyage barrel head on into the side of the King of the Deep. The sound was like nothing he had ever heard before and the sudden violence of the Ocean caused a massive wave to rise ever higher and higher, gathering as it neared a cluster of lifeboats, the one he occupied included. There was nothing he could do for those on Torag’s Anvil now, but he could still help those who had taken to the lifeboats. Seizing a paddle, he began to row, but was shocked that he rowed against others in the boat.
“We need t’ go in tae d’ wave, elsewise we’ll all drown” One of the more knowledgeable dwarves of his little vessel screamed out. Given that there was no time to argue, Dakún trusted to his boatmates and paddled into the growing wave. Soon enough the little boat caught the swell and was propelled forward, crashing through the waters and nearly tipping over. All managed to stay in the vessel and soon the sinking fleet could only faintly be made out through the dense fog.
Dakún heard someone call out land, but he himself could not see it. He looked to the dwarves in his cramped life boat and wiped his mouth. They all looked lost and filled with despair. He knew he needed to give them a purpose. Provide them with something to do. “Friends, we must row t’ the others. We must bring our boats together and as one make landfall.” Dakún declared and to his surprise the other dwarves agreed readily with him and began taking up oars once more in an attempt to gather the lifeboats together.
Despite being a Sand Dwarf, this was not Dakún’s first voyage and he had learned a bit since this journey had begun. He knew that mangroves and mudflats both carried a distinct and powerful smell which floated well beyond the shores and into the sea. That seabirds gathered more densely near the shore and their cries could be heard over the crash of waves and the howl of the wind. He reached out with his sense and tried to pick up on these clues, but while he thought he heard the cries of birds it could have been the wind carrying the cries of his doomed brethren He thought he glimpsed shapes through the fog, but how could he be sure. Unwilling to sink into despair with the others he did something foolish. He offered the dwarves something his father had always warned him against - Hope. Trusting to the gods, he guessed and then boldly declared “Land! There is land in that direction!” Thrusting his hand out to where he thought he heard the sea birds, he let it waver back and forth as the boat rocked under him, allowing for a little lee-way and the possibility for other sharp eyes to help him out.
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RPG Superstar 2014 Top 4
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The slope of the ship's aft makes finding purchase with footholds a difficult prospect, and Dwunderbran is forced to summon what little use remains of his left arm to secure position with Lullaby's half moon head. He braces his short legs against the leveling slant of the aftcastle's descent, pouring all of his might into a wide strike with Requiem that nearly severs entirely what little remains of the mizzenmast's girth. With scant seconds to spare, the mast works its way into a Dwunderbran-nudged free fall intended for the approaching tentacle's path. Dwunderbran leaps forward off of the railing and grabs onto the falling spire's length, convincing himself that his weight alone will hasten the fall enough to save Logem from the kraken's ire. Trudd, ah've nary prayed a'to ye afore, an' ah'll nay do it nie. Sod off! "FOR THE N--" His warcry, though no doubt aiming to be impressive, is cut off by the sudden intake of sea water.
Chaos.
Chaos all around.
Rising high from the sea, backlit by the flashing of lightning in stormclouds and heralded by the clap of thunder, the body of the kraken is as terrifying as it is colossal. Clinging to the beast's girth by way of his axes, the stonelord vigar bellows the hymn of the dwarven expedition, using the rhythm of the tune to time his axe-blows as he climbs up the creature's hide.
But there came Doctor Logem, leaping across the sky with a scalpel held backhanded in a clenched fist. The surgeon collides with the kraken, his knowledge of the kraken's anatomical structure guiding his blow as he plunges the razor-sharp blade wrist deep into one of the kraken's gigantic eyes. An amber-colored jelly pulses forth, down Logem's arm and sprays across his face. The beast wails, a howling shriek that echoes across the water as its tentacles not preoccupied with trying to pull the prow of Kols' Hammer out of its belly thrash wildly.
As one of those tentacles comes up to dislodge Logem, a sudden scream comes from the water and the kraken is unaware that a hitch-hiker now clings to that appendage. Dwunderbran's axe bites deep into the tentacle, hacking halfway through the limb in a spray of blood. The severed end falls limp to the water with a tremendous crash, splashing down next to one of the dwarven lifeboats and creating a wave that throws it aside.
Logem withdraws his arm, only to plunge it in again, this time deeper into the kraken's occular socket. His scalpel carves a way through the soft, vulnerable orb. The kraken continues to cry in anguish, and as another tentacle rises to pry the doctor free it is grappled by an earth elemental that springs forth from the water like a dolphin, wrapping its sodden bulk around the limb and jerking it to the side. The elemental drags the kraken further onto the burning prow of the ship that impales it, tearing its insides open further.
"Lad! Finish it!" Vigar screams, winding back with one fiery axe before driving it into the back of the kraken's girth in a spray of sizzling blood. He distracts the beast just long enough, continuing to hack and cleave until one tentacle wraps around him and tears him free the way a man would pull a plump tick off of their leg. Vigar continues to chant, slamming his axes into the tentacles' trunk.
Then, without ceremony or appraisal, the kraken hurls Vigar against the side of Kols' hammer in a violent smash. The stonelord bounces off of the hull, and the kraken hauls more of its body up out of the water, laying back like a living island. For a time, Logem is totally submerged, able to see the flash of lightning overhead through the surface of the water.
Dwunderbran, above the surface now, sees the kraken's writhing maw between all of its tentacles; a saw-toothed hole in its body that bristles with hooked teeth and a jagged beak. Before he can even think of a way to come to Vigar's aid, the stonelord is dragged into the kraken's mouth, caught between a muscular action that slams hundreds of sword-sized teeth into his body, gnashing, grinding and shredding the paladin into a bloodied gravel of bone, flesh and rock.
Vigar's elemental, still present, disappears beneath the surface of the water while holding a tentacle, dragging part of the beast down and splitting it along its side as it pulls the prow of Kols' Hammer out of its body lengthwise. The kraken's body flips over, hauling Doctor Logem up out of the surf, where he is now shoulder-deep in the kraken's occular socket. With one final scream, one last howl of frustration and defiance he plunges his fist and scalpel through that socket and into the kraken's brain, thrashing his surgical tool around like he were whisking an egg.
The storm suddenly flares with activity, lightning criss-crosses the sky and bolts strike the ocean in bursts of superheated steam. Flashes of static electricity crackle in those billowing clouds and Doctor Logem is the first to experience something otherworldly as the kraken dies at his hand. It then spreads out like a tidal wave, an explosion of consciousness and psychic energy from this millennia-old beast.
The wave of psychic resonance follows the flow of static electricity, spreading out for nearly a quarter mile like ripples in a once still pond. The flashes of ligtning in the sky quell immediately, the rains stop and the winds calm, and with the calming winds so too does the surf cease its wild thrashing. But the fog, thick as clouds themselves, grow more dense and oppressive as they cut visibility down to a mere few feet outside of the lifeboats, gifted with patches of intermittent clarity between the billowing clouds that reveal fiery wreckage and corpses floating atop the now calm sea.
The kraken's body sinks down into the water, dragged by the mournful weight of Vigar's elemental companion, leaving Doctor Logem and Dwunderbran floating on flotsam...
...alone in the fog.
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Dwunderbran is surprised. Surprised that his eyes can yet open and surprised that the beast is truly defeated. A pang of regret shoots through him as sure as the throbbing pain that terrorizes every joint, socket, and bone in the dwarf's left arm. Valiant though the nature of his departure had been, Vigar Skuldafn had fallen. Swallowed and minced and dragged to the black depths with the corpse of his impossible foe, Vigar's legendary battle would likely live on in infamy for generations to come. Then again, even with the kraken laid low, the path ahead was uncertain.
A sputter of sea water from his exertion finds Dwunderbran laying on his back atop a particularly large chunk of what had been The Anvil's hull. He stops a moment to catch his breath before launching into an exhausting tirade shortly thereafter. ""
Finally donning on him that he is likely alone, Dwunderbran raises up on his right elbow to survey the surrounding carnage. Vigar, no doubt, was halfway to the sea's floor by now, but Dwunderbran wondered what fate had befell the doctor who secured their victory. His eyes glance around the roiling surface of the sea through the myriad wreckage that sprawled out in every direction around the rapidly disappearing vestiges of Torag's Anvil and all of its ruined glory. ""
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(Success)
Thunder. An unearthly wail. then silence, and an unnaturally foreboding sense of displacement. Whatever the disturbance was, Maven could feel it rushing toward her as the kraken finally crossed the threshold between life and death. Through the fog, she could hardly make out the sinking shapes, but she could perceive a sort of wave, not of water, but of something exploding outwards. As the nearly imperceptible area of psychic energy passes through her, it nearly staggers her, though whether from physical force or from the momentary dizziness it caused, she couldn't be certain. Steadying herself from the side of the boat, she rubs her eyes to clear her vision, scanning for Dwarf signs.
Naturally, one Dwarf is easier to find than the rest, and the unrelenting tirade of foul-mouthed taunting challenges she hears elicits rolled eyes from her as she guides her skeleton crew of dwarves to steer the boat closer. Eyeing the driftwood and debris floating by, it dawns on her that a solid breastplate and a giant hammer will do no one any favors in the water, and as the rambling grows louder, she sets Drowbreaker down in the center of the boat and works to unstrap her armor and lay the pieces in the boat. As the last piece clatters into the craft, she stretches and pops her neck before looking to the other Dwarves with a stern finger pointed at her now unequipped gear. "DO NOT lose these."
Emerging from the fog, the bedraggled warrior looks worse for wear, but otherwise intact, and Maven sighs as Dwunderbran Vulgarbeard appears, perched mightily atop the shattered fragment of shipwreckage, lazily bleeding and shouting at the wind. As they near the triumphant sod, Maven takes a deep breath. "Cannae say I've done lots of swimmin' afore, but I'm rather glad they gave us a lesson or two 'fore we left port, aye? Get us close!"
She splashes down into the water, propelling herself with clawing hands, thinking back to the introductory lesson she received weeks ago, and that she's only now practicing for the first time.Jus' like diggin' withou' a pick. Pull back an' it moves ye forward. Just tunnel through it an' come up fer air. Not so bad.
As she reaches an assailable point of flotsam and lifts herself up, Maven calls out to her soon-to-be rowing companion. "Oy, Vulgarbeard! If ye're done livin' up ta yer name fer one day, how's bout we move ye to a more seaworthy vessel, aye?"
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Moments pass by as no sign of Dr. Logem can be seen. Sumetusen, his familiar, flies around anxiously looking for its master. It knows its master is alive - through their empathic link, it can sense numerous emotions coming from Dr. Logem - excitement, joy, and a hint of insanity. It itself is giving out emotions of fear and anxiety, and knows its master can sense those himself. So why isn't he surfacing?
Seconds later, a dark shape looms just underneath the water. Dr. Logem bursts from the depths and the triumphant laughter of a madman echoes loud and far. In his blood-covered hand he clutches a large chunk of brain tissue; sacrificing his obsidian scalpel, Dr. Logem claimed an even better prize: Part of the Kraken's brain that he ripped from its being as he was being drug underneath the waves along with the beast's corpse.
With a mix of cough and laughter, Dr. Logem coughs up water from his lungs as he swims to a nearby piece of wreckage, prize in hand. He quickly clambers onto the wood and rolls over on his back and holds the chunk of bloody brain above him, dripping blood and water on his already-soaked beard.
A minute later, catching his breath and getting the last of the seawater from his lungs, Dr. Logem lets out yet another laugh, fell and terrible this time. Sumtusen landed near its master and nudged him lovingly, glad he is alright - and happy for its master's triumph.
Now all that leaves is for Dr. Logem to make it to shore - perhaps then, he can truly bask in his own triumph.
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Angrin pulls himself and the dwarf he rescued up onto the lifeboat, grunting with effort. Taking a look at the other dwarf, he blinks. "Oh! So that's where ye were, Rogath. Good t'see yer still alive." He grins briefly, wringing the water from his beard. "Are ye well, laddie? Well enough to do aught?"
He squints about through the storm, seeking another dwarf to save, but does not see one before he notices Vigar's death. He jerks, shocked to his core at the meaningless death of the dwarf lord. His mind goes back to his days as a beardling in Varrok's Deep, when his elder brother, Agor, had broken his axe, and needed materials to repair it. Unfortunately, there had been none available for a single warrior's personal weapon - he had been forced to replace it until more could be found. That was when the young Angrin had first heard the name Skuldafn - the master of coin had sent a shipment of ores and valuable materials to the Deep, some of which Agor had used to repair his axe. Numerous other incidents flash through his mind - when he had not been able to build the traps needed to defend the settlement in time for the next expected attack, the Skuldafn family had ensured that there were plenty of claw traps (Angrin had heard the surfacers call them bear traps) to use until the more permanent traps could be designed and implemented.
A small groan escapes his lips even as the sky clears and a psychic shock sends his emotions reeling further. "... No..." He takes a deep breath. In the Darklands, there was no time for mourning until the safety of the living was assured. "Alright! Let's get t' land, dwarves o' the Arcadian Expedition!" While aware that he was hardly the one to take charge, Angrin knows how important it is to have direction after such an event. His eyes narrow and he scans for the land in the general direction he believes the ships had been sailing. However, as he is unused to the life at sea and actually got himself rather turned around in his attempts to save some of the dwarves, he actually manages to orient himself to the east, where he notices something that might be called land? Well, it couldn't hurt to try. He points towards the "landmass" before it occurs to him that shouting that when he was not positive might lead to more confusion... "Oh bloody hell..."
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If only he'd thought to bring his drum with him... he'd loaded it onto the donkey with everything else in his haste, and hadn't thought that he might need it later on.
His lamentations on his lack of instrument do not last long however as the kraken's death throws blast and churn the water around it. He shudders as he looks back and seeing a thrashing tentacle pass through the spot they occupied only a few moments ago, splashing them all with spray. Lightning strikes and then something washes over the boat, sending Quint reeling. Alien thoughts cloud his head, seeming to taunt him with ancient memories. As awareness of the outside world returns--seemingly at the pace of a snail, Quint finds himself sprawled half over the prow of the boat, and quickly pushes himself back with a shudder. He'd been on ships before but he'd never learned to swim, and had no intention of doing so now.
But... what was that? Even now he can still feel those thoughts hiding somewhere in the back of his mind, waiting to be unlocked... He shudders again, but he's not quite sure why this time; fear of what might have taken root in his head, or... anticipation?
Angrin's yell finally snaps him back to reality proper. He looks to the dwarf in astonishment as he points in almost the opposite direction. Were his ears full of salt-water? They were headed for land already. "Nae, it's this way ye buffoon! Do ya want to get us all lost in this infernal fog?" he berates the man, glaring at the rowers, daring them to change direction. He turns to face forward again when he is sure they'll continue on, peering ahead into the fog, trying to find that outcropping he'd spotted again, but... with the sky clearing the sunlight turns the blanket of fog from obscuring into a near solid seeming wall around them. He clenches his fist in frustration at the cursed fog, before a large shape floating ahead and off to one side catches his view. "Someone, rope that flotsam, that's some good lumber, we'll need that before the day's through I'd wager." he commands the other dwarves, casting his gaze around the lifeboat for some rope.
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The fog seemed to obscure everything. Dwarves were calling out, mingling their voices into a chorus and more than a few started shouting out that they saw land. The problem was that too few of the directions coincided. Worry gripped at Dakún Rabbúhamash as the waves crashed all around the few boats that he had managed to gather together began to be charting their own courses, separating from one another when what they needed to do was stay together. The storm seemed to be going crazy, as wave after wave lifted the boats on high and javelins of energy blasted into the churning sea and created gouts of steam. An bolt of lightning struck the ocean less than five yards away from where Dakún pushed his oar, the static energy in the air causing his previously sagging moustache to stand on end.
Clutching the side of the tiny boat, the Sand Dwarf could only just barely see the death of the Kraken through the thick fog. Yet Dakún was able to feel the Kraken die. In his mind he heard it’s last roar, its psychic resonance crashing across his mental barriers and flooding his thoughts. Pain, anguish and fury hit him first, but as the psychic wave washed over and past him, lingering on the shores of his mind like so much driftwood were pieces of the creatures wholly alien memories and thoughts. A vast, unknown world beneath the waves appeared in Dakún’s minds-eye, as images of underwater mountains, strange monoliths, and bizarre sea life played out as if they were the quickly flipped pages of an illustrated book.
Seized by the power of the alien memories, Dakún stood up on the ocean tossed boat and dove into the waters, his white robes having had little time to dry. For over two minutes he believed himself the Kraken, his arms carrying him through the dark ocean waters. It was only when his body forced him to rise for a gasp of air that he came back to himself. The shock of knowing how to swim never hit him, so natural did it feel. Instead it was the sound of nearby splashing that caught his attention.
With powerful strokes through the water, Dakún propelled himself to the stranded dwarf, seeking to save at least one more dwarf from the jaws of an ocean death.
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At first Rogath is only barely aware - he'd swallowed enough seawater in his short time in the ocean to have come close to losing consciousness. But as Angrin lugs him up onto the boat, he begins coughing, trading water for precious life-giving air. At first all he can do is breathe, but as he begins to realize he's actually survived he begins to take in his surroundings, which include his concerned rescuer. "An-" he starts, and is interrupted by another cough. "An-" he tries again, with the same result. Finally, he manages to gasp out the whole "Angrin," just in time for the wave of energy from the kraken's death to sweep over him.
Every dwarf has their own reaction to the wave, but to Rogath, in his dazed state, it is a moment of REVELATION. For just a moment, he feels Desna's presence closer than ever before. Even as the feeling fades, a touch of it lingers with him, sharpening his senses and his connection to his deity. Attributing this to his close rescue, he reaches out and takes hold of Angrin's shoulder. Softly he says, "Thank you. May Desna ensure there is someone to rescue you in your hour of need, as you rescued me today." Then, louder and to the rest of the refugees as well, "Now lets get this boat to shore."
Jumping up onto a crate to ensure he has room, Rogath pushes up his wet sleeve and holds his right hand - the one with the odd mark on the back - out at chest-height. He closes his eyes, and slowly turns clockwise. Shortly he stops, pointing off into the distance as he sights down his extended arm. "North is that way. I'm certain of it." He looks off to his left, peering out into the rapidly brightening distance. "If north is that way, and the land is to the west, we should head over there." he says as he squints and motions to the west.
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RPG Superstar 2014 Top 4
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The last visible portions of Kols' Hammer and Torag's Anvil sink below the waves with the gurgle of air bubbles and the creak of stressed wood. Floatsam drifts across the choppy water; bits of netting, canvas tarp, burned sails, still sealed crates and barrels and the occasional bloodied corpse. Survivors of the wrecks struggle on their lifeboats, some clinging to lashed together rafts made of wood planks and barrels, fishing supplies out of the water as they float by. Some have taken to the grim task of hauling corpses out of the waves, stacking them like cordwood atop the supplies so that they might see proper burial.
No dwarf deserves to be buried at sea, where the stone is so distant.
Though the surf is rough, the skies filled with clouds and dense fog rises up off of the sea the survivors of Torag's Hammer seem undeterred. Shouting calls for order, for unity and for direction they unite the disparate boats and rafts of survivors, save those that they can and lead a valiant beachhead towards glimpses of rock through the billowing clouds of fog.
While many of Torag's Hammer worked to navigate on the rough seas, it is the most reaveled of them all -- fittingly, the shepherd of Desna -- who is the one that makes the last call for land among the many navigators. History may not recall Rogath Silvertarn as the dwarf who spotted Arcadia, but that truth in the explorer's heart remains as firm as his faith. Soon, Rogath isn't the only one to see through the fog. The lashes rafts and lifeboats come ploughing through a fog bank, beyond the supernatural storm summoned by the kraken and into the brilliance of golden rays of sunlight piercing through holes in the clouds like spears.
As the rowboats one by one break through the fog bank, the survivors of Vigar's expedition are treated to a sight unlike any they had bore witness to in the last few months. A coastline stretches out before them as far as the eye can see. Rocky beaches of pebbly gray sand that rises up to rolling hills covered with grass the richest shade of emerald green. Exposed buttes and boulders litter the countryside, and beyond the foothills rise dark pine forests and enormous, snow-capped mountains.
The cry of gulls carries over the waves, and white-bodied and black winged sea birds circle the rafts, letting out shrieking cries in rhythmic measure. They do not look like the sea birds of Avistan, their coloration and plumage of a different variety entirely. The land beyond, too, looks only passingly like Avistan. Mountains and hills are one thing, but all of the exposed granite jutting out of the hillsides, standing free as boulders and streaked through the mountains is a sight to behold.
Crisp spring air is cold against sea-dampened cheeks, but the sun has a welcoming warmth to it as it shines across the still fog-dappled waters. Cheers erupt from the liferafts, cheers and cries of relief in spite of everything that has been endured up until this point. Some dwarves openly weep, arms around one another as they see the fabled land before them in all of its resplendant beauty.
With land in sight the dwarves struggle against the pull of the tides, using discarded planks when they do not have oars, some even paddling with their hands. The rafts and boats surge across the water, sea spray glittering in the sunlight. Rogath's boat is the first one to strike land, the bottom of the vessel grinding against the rocky sand below the shallows. Dwarves throw themselves out of the boast, splashing into waist deep water to grab ahold of the sides and drag the vessel up onto the beach.
Others on makeshift rafts simply leap off, splashing, collapsing, getting back up and running again with arms outstretched. There are cheers, cries and exuberant sounds of relief all around. As Rogath's ship makes landfall, he can see dozens of other vessels coming out of the fog, and while the relief of having made it to land is evident on their faces, the shadow of grief from thsoe who have lost more than they ever had is as dark a cloud as the storm that hangs in the distance a mile off the coast.
Rogath's feet sink a little into the rocky beach, the ice cold water of the Arcadian shores soaks through his footwear and chills his skin. He lays eyes, now, on some two hundred dwarves coming to shore and not nearly enough supplies to care for them all. Getting to Arcadia was but the beginning...
Surviving would be the journey.
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Land. It almost seems to be a foreign word, struggling to find its place in her mind. She'd never really left the halls of Highhelm save for a few construction jobs already underway, and those still kept her underneath at least a partially built structure. Though not too averse to the water--sky notwithstanding--she can now hardly ignore the unmistakable surge of relief as her boat digs a groove into the sand and finds purchase.
Setting a foot down into the rocky sand proves to be the most revitalizing feeling of the whole journey, however. As her small crew pulls the craft further ashore, she turns her eye to her new surroundings, wide-eyed and speechless at the panoramic scenery. Even in her past forays to the surface, her environment was mostly mountain passes and lumberwork; standing now upon the threshold between earth and water, with no cavern roof over her head, Maven is quite simply awed.
Unfortunately, awe is quite often a dizzying sensation, and as her gaze absently drifts upward along the hills, she again gets an eyeful of sky, and her senses take in the endless expanse of blue before her conscious mind can stop her. As her vision starts to swell with the infinite distance of the horizon, her legs give out and her arms instinctively reach for the only thing they can find; sand.
No roof...no end to it...need ta find shelter...
Unable to will her mind off the ever-expanding sea above her head, Maven instead desperately focuses on the ground beneath her, shaking her head to clear her thoughts as she wills her legs to cooperate.
Just hafta think o' the mountains and the caves. Need ta...dig a tunnel, or find a cave or...anythin' ta break that sky up. Dunno how those sailors do it...one sea rockin the boat an another sea over their head...ohhhno...
The safest line of thought innocently turns into the worst possible mental image, and Maven can barely position herself in time to keep the vomit aimed at the sand instead of up in the air and on her clothes.
Thankful that the sand dwarf helped him to the boat, Dr. Logem pats the gruff man on the back and utters a word of thanks. After his stunt, he seems exhausted, the affects of his mutagen and adrenaline wearing off - a bit of a rest is needed until he's back to normal.
Luckily for him, that rest occurs as they make their way to shore. Having not a single clue on how to operate a boat or navigate to shore, Dr. Logem slacks off while the others row them to shore. Sumetusen, similarly beat, had retreated into his master's back to recuperate. As is he resting, Dr. Logem takes a moment to wrap his prize - a still-bloody piece of the Kraken's brain - in a small strip of sail that someone had salvaged. He wraps it up tightly in the cloth, hoping he could preserve it as soon as possible in the same liquid he kept his brother's parts in.
On that note, Dr. Logem looks around at the other lifeboats and rafts, looking for his hirelings. He first spots a mule along with the oriental dwarves - in a way, he's glad they survived.. he had yet to get around to proving that 'Empress' wrong. Sadly, her freakshow of a guardian survived as well - Dr. Logem is less than happy about that, but makes a mental note about the creature's combat capabilities, having seen it combat the Kraken earlier.
When they finally reach shore, Dr. Logem plops himself face-first on the dirt - even after his trip from Katapesh to the Five Kings Mountains, he had never longed to see solid ground so much before. At heart, even he is a normal dwarf in some aspects - loving firm ground over the unstable seas isn't something he can help. He notes the chemical composition of the beach he's on, and finds it in stark contrast to home. Though he's never been one to love playing in dirt like his fellows, he scoops up a handful of the pebbly grey stuff and sifts it in his hands before throwing chunks of it into the ocean. So this is home now, eh?
Later, after he lazes around for a short time, Dr. Logem walks around the survivors and looks again for his hirelings. Finally spotting his two half-retarded donkeys, Dr. Logem sneaks up on the group discussing amongst themselves - he's never been very sneaky, but he's able to sneak up on them regardless, their inattentiveness biting them in the ass. Quickly he jumps them, causing one of the women to scream, before laughing at the surprise of their employer still living. Kol in particular is joyous, as he was obviously worried about his employment status.
After a quick group hug, the Dr. Logem quickly takes on a professional air, and begins looking over his supplies, making a tally of everything to ensure nothing was lost. As he does so, he takes a portion of his brothers' preservative fluids, fills a flask with them, and deposits his new treasure into the container. No longer will he have to worry about it going bad.
For this alone, he's happier than he has been in a long, long while.
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Angrin stares at the shore as the boats approach it, eyes widening as he absorbs its majesty. Arcadia. A new land, with new challenges and threats. Perhaps here he could find some peace from what had happened in the Deep and in Avistan itself.
When the boats meet the shore, Angrin hops off, kneeling down and pressing his face into the sand. Solid ground, thank the Gods! He never was going back on the ocean, at least not for another century or so. Sitting up, he takes a long, quiet look around at the landing point, brown eyes absorbing the scene for his mind's digestion. He smiles faintly as he looks to Rogath, arching a brow. "So this is Arcadia, eh? Home, sweet home, I suppose." He says wryly, grinning through his now-sandy beard.
Angrin takes in a deep lungful of the air of the new continent, letting it out in an explosive sigh. What now? Vigar had - No. The deep dwarf shoves the image of the stonelord's death out of his mind, and an idea comes to him. The peaceful beaches of this new land might not be so peaceful after all... And anything might be lying in wait for the newcomers. "Ach. This'll... this'll need some addressin'." He looks around, then touches a nearby dwarf's shoulder, smiling in surprise as he recognizes him as one of the dwarves he had saved.
"'Scuse me, lad, but could ye do me a favor? Could ye gather a group o' some dwarves here?" He asks then lists all of the dwarves he thinks might come in handy. "Tell 'em to meet me by tha' rock o'er there, aye?" He points to a large rocky formation further up the beach. "Thank ye."
The deep dwarf turns to the Desnan priest then, smiling faintly. "I'd also appreciate it if ye came with me there." He starts off, stumping towards the rock he pointed to. As he goes, he explains his rationale to Rogath.
"We need the Empress, she ought t' know aught about leadin' folk. She - an' her servants - will be bloody useful here. Maven's th' only priestess o' Torag I know of here, an' our people migh' listen t' her words. Same wit' ye. The gods need a say in what we do." He pauses, then grins. "Plus, ye seem t' know directions better'n me, so ye've already proven yer wisdom, eh? The Doctor's an educated sort, he should be able t' figure things out, if there's any figurin' needed, aye? An' he killed the krakiwotsit, aye? So I figger the dwarves'll listen t' him. Quint's similar - he's a historian, if I remember meself correctly, an' so he might o' heard about somethin' more about Arcadia than the rest o' us. Dakún fought the kraken, an' he's a sand dwarf. Pahmet, did he call himself? Anyhoo, he did 'nuff in my book t' get an in on this meetin'. An' Dwunderbran... well, he knows about th' oceans an' about fightin'. Plus, we need t' keep an eye on him. Who knows what he'll do otherwise?" Angrin barks a harsh laugh, winking as he finally makes it to the rock.
He looks at it, debating whether or not to climb it, then decides against it. This would be difficult enough without giving the impression that he was trying to get too big for his boots, after all. Making a compromise, he unslings his backpack, tossing it to the sand with a thud, then leans back against the rock to wait.
As the dwarves he requested gradually show up, Angrin offers them each a polite nod and a tired smile. Dammit, he needed a chance to mourn and recover from the shock... But the survival of his kinsfolk came first. When the last dwarf arrives, he stands fully upright, and begins to speak.
"Alright! I'm no speechmaker or Kalistrian prophet, t' fill yer ears with sweet words o' leadership an' whatnot, but I figured we need this. Now, without Vigar..." Angrin's voice breaks, and he pauses, closing his eyes and shaking his head briefly. "Without Vigar, our people've no leadership. Arcadia's a new place, an' could be really dangerous. We don' know what's out there, an' we don' know what t' do next. All o' ye..." He lets his gaze flick around the group. "All o' ye tried to - an succeeded! - help out durin' that storm. So I figure yer all good enough t' help decide: What next?" He pauses.
"Now, here's what I think we need t' do. Most importantly, we need to set up defenses an' watches. As I said, no one knows what sort o' beasties lie in wait out there. Second, we need t' learn what sort o' beasties lie in wait out there, so we should send out scouts, preferably the type who knows how t' sneak an' how t' watch. Thirdly, we need t' keep morale high. I kin make some booze, if we have any o' the materials, but those may be in short supply here. Fourthly, shelter. Some o' our folks're none too fond o' the sky, aye?
"Finally - an' listen up 'cause this one's important -" The red-bearded dwarf looks at them, expression serious. "We need a leader. Our folk don' do well wi'out one. Sure, they kin survive, but thrive? Nah. We need leadership. Someone t' be the final decision t' any major bickerin', someone who kin determine what t' do with any finality." He hesitates, not wanting to seem like he's pushing for his own takeover, then is urged on by what he knows of how Varrok's Deep worked. "I say we choose one o' us t' be the final voice. Th' others kin advise an' whatnot. I am no' the best for this, but I know we need one. Arcadia migh' as well be th' Darklands fer all we know o' it, an' I know exactly how bad things kin go there without any o' the stuff I mentioned earlier."
Angin sits back, sighing. "Anyways... I'm sure ye know more 'bout it than me, but that's how I see it. I'm done. Is there anythin' ye fine folk think I missed?" He settles back, expression apologetic. Hopefully, he hadn't offended anyone or come across as being too big for his boots, as it were.
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Rogath may be the first to set foot on the beach but Quint is not far behind. He even helps to drag the boat up onto the beach. He simply stares out at the land before him. Inhospitable perhaps, but... "Beautiful..."
He walks up onto the beach, casting his gaze around for a good vantage point, and slowly trudges his way up to a nearby bluff, perhaps even the one he had spotted through the fog. He just stands there, slowly turning around, taking in the vista before him, before turning back to look outwards at the now calmed waters. Grief momentarily grips him and he falls to his knees, covering his face with both hands as he allows himself to briefly mourn his sister's passing. Of the three ships that brought them so far there is no sign but the flotsam being carried out to sea, or slowly washed towards shore.
The flotsam isn't the only thing coming to shore however, and after a few minutes that gives Quint the strength to stand again. There were dozens of boats emerging from the fog, laden down with dwarves and supplies. Their journey was not at an end, though less than a third of their number they had made it, and they would tame this wild land...
He had already started back down to the beach, having spotted the ship with his donkey coming in when he received Angrin's message. He cast his gaze around until he found the spot, thanked the messenger, and continued on down to meet his beast of burden and it's precious packsaddle. Of course he realized now how selfish he had been, but there was no use dwelling on the past. Ignoring it didn't make the ache of loss in his chest go away either but it did stop him from becoming paralyzed once more.
He led the beast up towards the meeting spot, seeing others start to arrive, and left the beast to graze and calm itself nearby on the lush grass. He smiles as he sees Mineko again, joining her, but not saying anything as Angrin started to speak. He mostly agreed with what the dwarf had to say, though he had a few thoughts of his own to add he didn't interrupt, waiting for a chance to speak.
"I have had some experience with large scale expeditions in the past, I was a member of the pathfinders, and joined the expedition to..." he trails off, his throat tightening and without thought he rubs absently at his shoulder. He clears his throat after a moment, snapping back to reality; he still could not talk of that... "I'm certainly not suggesting myself as leader, but I do have some understanding of the logistics of supplying a large group of people. We'll need to take an inventory of what we have available to us, and look to what the land can supply. There'll be a lot of flotsam washing up over the coming hours, and perhaps days if we're lucky, we should gather all of that which we can and add it to our stores."
"I suggest we make camp here for a few days, gather what we can from the area, and unless we find somewhere close by that seems defensible that we can fortify, we'll need to craft some manor of transportation for hauling goods. I hope we should have the expertise amongst us..." he says with a smile. If an expedition of dwarves couldn't craft anything you came to think of then it was a sorry lot indeed "To that end I also suggest taking a census of the survivors, that will give us a better understanding of what we can do, and who will be best for what jobs. If we can round up some people to help me, and find some dry parchment and writing tools then I should be able to handle both the inventory and census."
He closes his mouth then and is about to 'step down' and allow someone else to voice their opinion when he recalls the question of leadership. He glances towards Mineko, reaching up to clap a hand on her shoulder, before he recognizes the intent and lowers his arm again. "As to leadership, with both Vigar and Haalsig fallen to the Kraken I doubt there are many with more experience than the Empress Yamauchi. I know she is not of Highhelm, but I suspect that we will find many of our traditions and customs called into question in this new land, and I believe we must do what we need to survive. The Empress was raised for a position such as this, I doubt there is any more well suited to the task, and the burden than she." He meets the gaze of each dwarf present, before giving Mineko a--he hopes--reassuring smile. He may have just pushed her into the deep end, but he truly believed that she could handle it.
As Maven's innards begin to settle, and her mind starts to block out the swimming thoughts and emotions brought on by the neverending sky, she manages to register the impromptu summons from the messenger dwarf and nods before rising, one foot at a time.
Eyes down or forward, don't look up. Rocks, trees, sand, grass...just think abou' the caves...
The gathering of Dwarves brings a bit of relief to her eyes as Maven Spies some familiar profiles from the back of the small crowd. Seeing the stony, quadrupedal form of Komainu even brings a hint of a smile through the fading queasiness.
Mineko made it too...Angrin, Quint...seems like the lot of us funeral goers made it...Jus' like ye teach, eh Torag? Honor yer ancestors and they watch out for ye, don't they?
Relieved to have something new to think about, Maven begins to recount everything she can think of involved with constructing and supplying a forge. She nods as Angrin makes sound points, but Quint strikes a chord with his first suggestions, and as he finishes his nomination of Mineko for leadership, Maven steps forward.
"If there's things need buildin', I can probly help. Cannae say I've worked with wood as much as stone and iron, but perhaps I can manage with some helpers. One way or another though, we need proper tools. If ye can tally up our salvage and gather any implements for me, I can make sure they're all in usable condition 'fore we issue 'em out. Most of all, though, we're gonna need weapons for scouts, watch, and anyone with an arm to lift 'em."
Maven pauses a moment in her train of thought, glancing from the large rock that is the meeting's centerpiece, to the chopping waves behind them. Little chance o' findin' mountains on the sand...
"I'm thinkin' we should scout inland fer a good spot to set up. Stayin' in Highhelm all the while's left me a poor scout, so I say once we find some good hills away from the sea, we start diggin' afore this...sky--" She almost looks up to motion towards it, but snaps her head back down to the sand, "--Gets the best o' me again. Need somethin' over me head 'sides all the blue; it's like another sea up there."
As she stops to take a breath after her uncharacteristically forward suggestions, she rolls her shoulders and tilts her head back and forth absentmindedly. Then it hits her. Throughout the entire ordeal, adrenaline and focus held it off, but now with no threat of death looming, her body decides reminds her of the strain of her failed rescue, and every muscle suddenly cries out in anguish at the soreness. As the exhaustion catches up to her limbs, standing up straight becomes harder as they seconds pass.
"But most of all," She adds, wincing and moving to sit against a rock, "we just survived a Kraken, watched three ships sink, escaped a monsoon, and lost...so many kinsmen.
We need rest."
Maven closes her eyes and lets her arms slump, trying to calm her mind and nerves from the wracking muscle pain, and to avoid seeing the sky again. Joined the clergy to build things an' patch up me cousins--
She grimaces at her next thought.
--Not hold a funeral...
Clearing his throat loudly, Dr. Logem turns numerous heads as he gathers their attention while he walks to the center of the gathered dwarves. "Survived a Kraken? Nay, we did more than that! We sent that monstrosity back to the depths from which it came, minus its life! That beast dared to attack us dwarves and paid the price. We may have lost many - including the Stonelord - but we will endure, much as our beloved stone does - together, or not at all. And it is for that reason why I will not see some foreigner lead us. Someone who has proven to barely know our tried and tested traditions, while proving herself to be arrogant to the point that she won't even speak directly to someone of lesser blood? No.. that is not the kind of leader we need right now. We need someone who has proven themselves worthy of leadership, worthy of respect, and someone who knows what in Torag's name they're doing when faced with such a difficult time we're faced with. Someone who has traveled the world and survived to tell the tale. Someone, who, during the Kraken's attack, stayed aboard the failing vessel until the last moment so that he could save as many lives as possible, nearly losing his own in the process. For this, I nominate Rogath as our defacto leader - with, of course, a few of us offering their advice on their own specialties when required." Dr. Logem roughly puts his hand on Rogath's shoulder as he makes his speech, giving the Desnan priest a nod of approval.
"And with that, my fellow dwarves, we must work! We will have all the time in the world to mourn later! Rest will come once we are safe!" While Dr. Logem looks around at each of the gathered dwarves, his nurses are amongst the crowd, sowing their agreement among their fellow dwarves, attempting to get a bandwagon effect going in agreement to Dr. Logem's words. These dwarves are tired, scared, and distressed - what better way to get them moving in one direction than to have their own - or who they think are their own - gently nudge them in that direction?
They must learn to trust Dr. Logem - for only then can he control them as he seeks. If they figure it out by then, it will be too late.
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The crackle of shifting sand and pebbles beneath thick, heavy feet is a clarion announcement of the unfortunate truth that Dwunderbran Vulgarbeard has been invited to the private meeting. His left arm rests now in a hastily made sling consisting of long scraps of ship rigging tied around the back of his neck. Against all odds he seems to have located his box of stogies, as he is currently enjoying one of the things upon approach. He looks tired—singed, bruised, bloody, and worn down. Orange, bushy brows slant at pitiable angles; the creases and lines of his face seem more profound and twice as evident as they had before the three mighty vessels left port in Absalom. Arriving just behind the Doctor, he retrieves a second cigar from the bulky satchel hanging from his back. Unceremoniously gnawing an end off of it, he replaces his lit cigar with the unlit, and lights the second with the cherry of the first. He steps forward to Logem and presents the man with the gift. "Aye now, boy-o. Ye done be earnin' tha' thrice over, 'ere ah'll dance o'er tha waves atop tha Stonelordling's fall wiff garters fer me legs an' a doyly fer me cod piece, savvy?" The expression on his face, exhausted though it may be, states clearly he will not permit the victory cigar being refused.
Watching with what might seem like fleeting interest, Dwunderbran's gaze wanders the beaches and cliffs before turning inland to regard the mountains and towering pines beyond. His features soften and he listens more intently to the trapper's words as he begins discussing imperative courses of action to secure the survival of the expedition. His right hand wipes away a growing collection of snot at his nostrils before the dwarf sniffs deeply to swallow down the remainder of what his time spent in the cool sea water afforded him. Having found momentary reprieve from the assault of his running nose, he blurts out rudely "Fud an' water. Cannae be livin' truly afore we settle tha', aye? Watches an' scouts, aye-aye. Cannae say ah'd prefer ta be poked in me sleep by some beastie afore dawn. Hidin' from tha sky? It be as threatenin' as a minnow be deadly, lad. Best'n ta be usin' wha shelter tha boats can be givin' afore we be diggin' foundation, ye grab me?"
When the talk turns to nominating a leader, Dwunderbran's jaw sets and his brows furrow in apparent aggravation. Dranngvit's leakin' c*nt... here we go!
"Ah'll nae fall in line fer tha Eastling's reign. She wants fer ta rule her people, tha' be fine ta me. Bein' pampered by foreigners cannae qualify 'er fer ta lead people what ain't hers. An' ye know the rest o' 'em," Dwunderbran gestures a wide arc with his right arm to encompass the beach, "will nae line up fer ta bow an' scrape ta her fancy tune. An' ah nae be intendin' offense, yer highness. Jes' speakin' tha truth plain."
Though he finds little agreement with the thought of placing an emphasis on tools and roofs, her request for a moment of breath-catching strikes a chord with the much stinkier dwarf. After such a harrowing fight and the loss of so much, emotions would be aching as surely as muscles. Best to allow a moment to mourn and collect before cracking the whip. "Aye, rest'd do me an' tha rest good. Cannae fight nor forage a'proper when me legs an' back're beggin' fer a nap, aye? If'n we stretch 'erselves too far nie, we may all be breakin' afore night falls. Asides... too many be comin' ta terms wiff kin lost ta sea. Cannae say tha' they'll be eager fer a jaunt up the beach or intae tha woods."
"Nay! Ah've nae conquered storm an' fire an' tentacle fer some sods ta be bandyin' claims o' titles an' lordships afore tha pieces what be left o' poor Vigar've e'er reached tha seafloor, ye grab me? Ah've 'bout as much cause ta foller tha Desnan as ah do tha Empress' jackass." Dwunderbran furiously scratches the back of his head, as if the matted and damp mass of braid therein is to blame for his current disagreements with the assembly. His level of aggravation has drowned out once more and completely the waves of exhaustion that had crippled his usual charm. His frown deepens, and he continues shaking his head quickly. "Nay, nay, nay, nay, If'n we pick a sod what's not fit fer lickin' boots, let alone leadin' us, yer gonner brew a rebellion. When tha goin' be gettin' too rough, they'll waste nary a thought fer reasonin' afore they be stringin' ye up by yer manhood ta blame ye right proper wiff noose, axe, er fire. If'n we be fit fer ta name a leader, why then cannae we be fit fer ta decide in council? Mark me words: a leader true'll be made on account o' their own blusterin' ways. Ah swear now, tha first tw*t wiff stones crossed enough fer ta name 'imself King be gettin' me axe in 'is guts afore 'is subjects can sh*t 'emselves."
It had been no simple feat to bring the strange alchemist back to the life vessel. The waves were still crashing about them when he reached the self-proclaimed doctor and there was considerable pull in the current against the direction they needed to go. Adding to his struggle, Logem did not help with the swimming and instead merely cradled something in his hands the whole time. It seemed possible that Logem was injured, in shock, or simply did not know how to swim, so Dakún did not make an issue of it. Eventually, through he was exhausted and ached all over Dakún managed to reach one of the life vessels with doctor Logem. He waited for the other dwarves to pull the doctor up into the boat, before he too emerged from the water. He slumped against the edge and fought to keep his eyes open, the chilling cold of the waters seeping into his bones. It was a fight he lost, at least briefly. He must have drifted briefly off to sleep, for when he next opened his eyes the life boat was quickly approaching land and he found a rough wool blanket wrapped around him. Not wishing to be viewed as a burden, Dakún helped with one of the oars and was the first on his vessel to jump into the water and help guide the boat onto the shore. The rough stones and gravel beneath his feet brought a comfort he had not consciously realized he missed. There was something deep in his nature and perhaps the nature of all dwarves that longed for connection with rock and earth.
For some time Dakún did not have the chance to truly appreciate his new surroundings, too busy was he in helping secure the vessels, help with unloading the wounded or those still in shock, and make sure that everyone who had survived was still accounted for. It was only after the burden of responsibility was lifted at least temporarily from his shoulders that he was given a chance not only to grieve for the many lost at sea to the Kraken’s attack, but also to drink in the new found land of Arcadia – if that was indeed where they landed. He walked along the rocky beach, taking off his sandals so that he could feel the dark grey pebbles against his skin and between his toes. He looked all around, at the sky overhead, at the many formations of rocks that in his eyes seemed like beacons, welcoming them to this new land. The verdant green of the grass covered hills beyond the shore were like nothing he had ever seen. His experiences drew from the inhospitable lands of the barrier mountains, the deserts of Osirion and Katapesh, and the Mana Wastes of Alkenstar. These lands though foreign and almost alien to him, were also a welcome sight. They took on the dreamed of appearance of a paradise to the Pahmet. His eyes swept past the dark pines and fell upon the distant snow capped mountains. There they lingered for a long while before he heard the sound of approaching footfalls. Turning he saw a long dwarf approach him hesitantly. The dwarf gestured to a tall rock formation which stood out on the beach and spoke of a meeting. With a word of thanks for finding him, he followed the dwarf’s direction and came upon a gathering of several dwarves, all familiar enough faces from that funeral banquet that seemed so distant now. A cord of sadness struck him as he thought of Vigar and his unenviable fate. The visionary Stonelord would not receive the burial nor the celebration he deserved. On instinct he spoke aloud a prayer to the eldest of The Brothers, Magrim, to grant Vigar the peace and honor he deserved.
“Magrim, Overseer of the spirit realm, keeper of our ancestors and judge of their deeds. Look upon Vigar of clan Skuldafn, son of Hraggir and reunite him with his esteemed ancestors. Bring forth Vigar Skuldafn and all those he led who perished this day and take them into your treasured hall, keep them safe and bestow upon them our praise and gratitude, for their sacrifice has granted us few continued life and a chance to complete the expedition’s valued mission.” He did not realize the awkwardness of his words in that they were poken immediately following Angrin’s speech on the need for leadership, but soon suspected that perhaps his prayer was out of place with these Avistan dwarves. They did not seem as concerned as he for the final rest of those who had fallen. There were still large differences in his culture that kept him apart from the others. After his words he fell into silence, carefully listening to the words the other dwarves spoke. They wanted a leader, a plan, and advice. They were looking still to the living he realized and some he suspected had not yet fully processed the loss of so many lives. If advice was what they needed, then Dakún Rabbúhamash would seek to provide any guidance he could. He found need for words of wisdom and guidance again when the foul smelling Dwunderbran had finished speaking. A swim in the ocean had in no way improved the dwarf’s cleanliness or odor.
“Ancestors guide us true, my distant kin. We must not quarrel with one another for we are all o’ one clan now. Here, ‘n this distant continent acr’ss the measureless ocean we are all o’ us foreigners. Pi’neers, representing not just Highhelm, but all dwarf-kind. Highhelm, great sky citadel that it is, is not the first, nor will it be the last homeland o’ ‘ur people.” It was unfortunate that he was the one who spoke these words, himself being a Pahmet and very different from the dwarves of Highhelm but they needed to be spoken. Already there were murmurs of disagreement, that could easily become whispers of discord. “Caravans and travel I am not unfamiliar with. We have wisd’m in great supply amongst ‘ur gathered collective and while order and hierarchy must be established, perhaps now is not yet the time f’r such a structure to be set in stone? We as of yet have no other structures in stone, I would suggest this too can wait.” He had not intended it, but he actually agreed with Dwunderbran Vulgarbeards suggestion. A council until the caravan was settled made good sense.
Dakún Rabbúhamash looked to the exiled Empress for several long moments. He had never had the opportunity to actually speak to her and she had made no effort to seek him out. Perhaps what Quint said was true. Perhaps she should lead according to her noble station, for the gods had accorded her that right did they not? Or maybe they had stripped her of that right when her homeland fell? There was too much unknown of the situation unknown to him. This was a new land to them all. Perhaps it was a place for new beginnings. In his heart Dakún Rabbúhamash knew that he wished to begin again. He did not intend to continue to bear the stigma of an exile. When time presented itself Dakún determined he would need to consult the gods and the spirits of his ancestors for guidance to these great questions.
Stepping forward, his dark robes hung heavily about his body, still quiet visibly drenched. He ignored this and gestured to the rolling hills and to the snow capped mountains in the distance beyond. He saw great promise in a land untouched by the Rough Beast and it’s spawn. “I would advise we remain here f'r but a day, salvaging what we can and sending out scouts to the surrounding landscape. We should begin work on constructing wag'ns, wheelbarrows, and carts as this will make travel easier and m're efficient. Come morning however, it would be in the expeditions best interest to m've inland. The hills could pr've an ideal location f'r settlement and if not the mountains on the horiz'n look promising.”
Standing on the new shore, Rogath shades his eyes and peers out into the distance through what, to him, is very bright sunlight. Arcadia. We made it. Against all the odds. The Lady was definitely with us. Now how do we survive? Turning back to the boats, he spots Angrin just rising up from his own appreciation of solid ground. "Aye, there is no turning back from this landing. Not until we are so well established here as to have no need or desire to return home, because we are home."
He watches curiously as Angrin begins gathering the dwarves, and then with dawning understanding as the fortuneteller listens to the other's explaination. "A good idea." And then, with a grin to try and take any sting out of his words, he comments "Lets hope that your directing of dwarves goes better than your directing of boats!"
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During the other's speeches, he mostly remains quiet, pondering their words with his newfound clarity, although he does start in surprise when Logem nominates him as leader. Me? Really? I wonder what he's thinking...
Finally, as Dakún falls silent, Rogath steps forward to speak his mind. He is no trained speaker, and the Desnan church is not big on preachers, but he does know tricks of holding people's attention as he explains their fortunes, and he uses those now to convey his thoughts, varying his voice and body posture to match the message.
"I have been listening, and it seems to me, that everyone has some good ideas. We need to find shelter, but we need to figure out how long we can survive on what we have left or we may starve before we find that shelter. We need to leave this place soon, before wind and wave claim any more of us, but there is more that can be salvaged washing ashore each moment. We need to rest, and heal both the bodies battered by the sea and the souls seared by bloodshed and disaster. But we need to also find somewhere protected, safe from any enemies, so that that healing will not be interrupted."
Extending a hand in entreaty and lowering his voice, he continues, "We really know nothing about this land, except that there is no settlement visible from here. There may be a town just out of sight over the hills. There may already be dwarves here, perfectly willing to take in their distant kin." Now with fist clenched and rising voice: "Or we may be in the middle of a wilderness, with no intelligent beings within miles, filled with wild animals and mindless monsters, just waiting for unprepared dwarves to wander by."
"We must go on, and to do that we need closure on the journey, and a place to go on to." With a motion towards Dakún, he continues, "For the sake of our people, both those who lost their lives and those who survived the loss of their friends, we must stay here long enough to pray for the dead, and ask for the gods' blessings on those of us who survived. For the sake of our lives, we must ensure that nothing will attack us while we are scattered, disorganized, and distraught. For the sake of our future, in both the days immediately ahead and the years to come, we must take with us everything we need to survive, and as much extra as we can against future need." He looks to Angrin, almost in apology, and in a less forceful voice he says, "What we must not do, above all else, is impose a leader on the survivors. Many will look for someone to turn to, for guidance and direction. They will follow anyone who steps forward, anyone who seems to know what to do. But it's not for nothing that humans have the expression 'stubborn as a dwarf'. There are many of our people who will only follow a leader who has earned their respect. There are many, like Dwunderbran here, who will actively oppose anyone who attempts to dictate to them against their will. The last thing we can handle now is division. We must work together if any of us are to survive."
With a sigh, he relaxes his posture and actually gets to his point. "What we need now is not one leader, but a series of organizers. Someone to find hale dwarves stand watches. Someone else to find fast dwarves or quiet dwarves or perceptive dwarves to go see what is around us in this new land. Someone to take stock of what we have, and someone to organize anyone who can swim to bring in anything else they can. Someone to take charge of preparing to leave, and someone to take charge of caring for the ill. Each to their own strengths, with the shared goal of survival. As the situation changes, it will fall under different people's specialties. If something new arises, the one who can best handle it will organize people to deal with it. Over time, a true leader may emerge, or a formal council may be formed. Or both. Or neither. We don't need someone who can take charge for the next fifty years. We need several someones who can keep us alive for the next season, or the next year." Finally, he steps back.
With a heaving sigh, Mineko watch as her life raft pushed its way onto the rock strewn shore. Still recovering from the shock of watching so many of her people die in one cataclysmic moment. This land looked so different from her peoples fabled granite cliffs or the carved mounts from the Five-Kings range. It looked barren and hostile. The jagged cliffs and ice cold water reminded her of the more northern latitudes. Thinking back she could remember with a blazing pain the last moments before the Kraken had died. She remembered feeling the pulse of energy that had flooded into her. The experience combined with the death of so many of her retainers and followers had been soul crushing.
Sitting mutely in the boat, she watched with despondence as Quint had forced himself out of the craft and onto the pebble beach. Behind her she felt Komaninu-Kun nuzzle her reassuringly. She felt lost. Her clothes were stained. Her hair was a mess. She felt ragged and weak. The last year had not been easy on the young woman. There had been the expectations of her people and combined with the nightmare flight through the lightless depths she had felt out of her depth. Then once her people had found their sanctuary she had hoped that with the expedition she would have the chance to find a home for the imperial dwarfs. That dream too had been shattered.
All Mineko wanted to do was sleep. She wanted to give up. She wished that this had just been a nightmare and she would awaken and been greeted by her father and mother, her brothers and sisters. But she knew this was not the case. At the insistent nuzzling of her celestial protector, Mineko looked up. She sighed. It sounded tired. Pushing herself up, she nodded to herself and then breathed out slowly. There were still a handful of her people alive and as long as her people existed she had a responsibility to them. She knew that she could not forget that. But it was hard, oh it was hard. She wished that they did not look at her with hope, she wished that they would let her live her own life. But she knew no other path even if she could choose. Being a leader is what she had been born into.
Tiredly she exited the boat. Her geta seemed worn and she had lost her jade comb at some point. Closing her eyes she willed her kimono back into place. She pictured the image in her mind. Herons in flight. Black.. it needed to be black. She was in mourning as all of the dwarves should be. Sighing again she made her way towards the clump of dwarfs that were trying to give order to chaos.
As she approached the group she heard Angrin and Quint speaking about her. It seemed like there was some sort of discussion as to leadership. She cringed and Komaniu-Kun did so sympathetically. Straightening her hair, she squared her shoulders and tried to let the frustration bleed out of her. It was not very effective.
Reaching the group, Kaori stepped forward and opened her mouth to speak. No, not here, not now. Waving off the woman, Mineko looked at each in turn. This time she did not demand respect. She had spent months with the other dwarves aboard the massive ships and she had realized just how poorly an impression she had made. Things needed to change, and out of death perhaps I can cause that change.
Raising a hand to forestall the argument, Mineko nodded to the others. Softly, quietly and for the first time she spoke to the gathered dwarves. This one.. She paused, reconsidering her words. I.. have done each of you a disservice. Today I saw a side of each of you during battle. I hope you can.. Forgive? Was it possible for to ask another to forgive her? Shaking her head she sighed. I hope you can understand that how I was raised, is not how you were raised. I had.. have people that expect me to act a certain way. When they lost their homeland they looked to me for leadership. I was the only reminder of what they had left and I did my best to give them hope. Now.. She said forlornly glancing at the bodies of the dead and the groaning figures of the dying. Now.. few of my people are left and we are in a terribly dangerous situation. There was some talk of leadership. I agree that a strong leader is important. I will do what I must. I have done up to this point as been to protect and strengthen my people. But now we are stranded here, in a strange new land. Infighting is pointless. I saw each of you risk your lives to protect the handful that still survive. If you wish for me to lead us, I will do so, not as an empress.. but as an equal. Smiling softly, she gestured to herself and then back to the others. I was raised from birth to be a leader. While I doubt that calligraphy or knowledge of ancient bloodlines and noble traditions will be useful, I can be kind with my words, I was taught to bring strife to a closure and how to bring hope when times were bleak. I have led a caravan before when my people fled through the dark lands towards your people. While I am strange to you, ask any of my people. I have given everything I had for them, and I swear that I would do the same for each of you. Will you all stand with me?
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When Mineko joins the rest of them Quint look at her properly for the first time since they'd left the ship... hell even while they were still on the ship everything had been so chaotic with the storm leaving him half-blind... He hadn't realized what a heavy toll things had taken on her. He hoped that he was learning to understand her but he had not expected to see her like this.
Any attempt to cheer her up or offer her comfort would have to wait however, as more serious matters were at hand. As first Logem, and then the infernal Dwunderbran provide their wisdom on the matter Quint feels his blood begin to boil. The fools could not see past their own bruised pride. He had spent time with Mineko, and amongst the other cultures of her land, he knew there was more to her than the face she put forth; even he found the wall of formality grating at times, but as a block of stone hid the form within so was it with Mineko.
Was he mistaken or was Dwunderbran suggesting something akin to an adequate compromise; it almost sounded like democracy. Their goals seemed largely compatible as well, though he though any discussion of leaving the shore was premature. With a visible effort he mastered his temper, tamping down his frustration at the usual dwarvish stubborness and was about to speak when Mineko stepped forward. He watched in surprise as she waved her interpreter away, and as she spoke he couldn't help feeling a sense of... pride? He knew he had no claim to her, but he couldn't help it; he was glad to see her do away with the needless trappings and do what needed to be done. Perhaps now the others could see her as he had, could recognize her true qualities. He was smiling at her but he didn't care who saw it, and when she finished her speech he didn't bother to add his voice to hers, he couldn't hope to say more than she had that he hadn't voiced before. They still stood close by, and cautiously he reached his hand out towards hers as discretely as he could, brushing it with his fingers if she doesn't notice the offer sooner.
Angrin leans back on the rock as he watches and listens to his kinsfolk's various arguments and comments, squinting in the light. No offense to the Sun Goddess, but damn, could she not turn it down a bit? It was bright enough to blind a gruber, and they didn't even have eyes!
The trapsmith sighs quietly, wondering whether he truly lacked the capacity to share what he had thought up, as he runs a hand quietly through his beard. He should have known that this would occur. Harmony, not dissent, was what was needed now, and he'd gone and set off a debate. Bloody Hell. Angrin curses himself inwardly as the debate breaks out, nodding at the Sand Dwarf appreciatively when he does not contribute to the... fiasco. He grins tightly at Rogath's conclusion, nodding firmly, and opens his mouth to speak again when he freezes. Who the Hell- oh! The Empress.
...
Wait, what!? The Empress had spoken aloud? That... was unprecedented, surely. His brown eyes flick to the Minakaian dwarf, widening - Ow. Angrin blinks rapidly, trying to stop his eyes from stinging from the increasing light outside. Blood and bone, the sun was too bright! However, her words seem wise enough, and the fact that she asks for forgiveness with such clearly good intent touches Angrin, and he nods as (perhaps stunned) silence falls following her speech.
"Alright. Let's see. Yer Majesty, I think there's enough problems here without us bein' divided; o' course we'll forgive ye. Plus, ye were in a new place with new customs an' whatnot. So all's good 'tween us, aye?" He looks around the circle with a silent request in his eyes, for everyone to forgive her just as he has. "An' o' course. We all stand t'gether. That's why we're here, aye?" Angrin smiles reassuringly at her, then refocuses on the discussion.
"Alright. I'm gonna start off by sayin' that Dwunderbran an' Rogath've got the right o' it." He holds up a hand quietly, begging for the others not to interrupt. "I know I was the one to insist on a leader, but I... well, I misused the term. In any case, I think we should all make a... a council, like the smaller settlements have, aye? We're no' much bigger'n them right now, anyways..." His expression grows grim, almost pained. "Movin' on, I support the idea o' a council. My only concern is that we've eight dwarves here, aye? An' when four think one thing should happen, an' four think that somethin' else should happen, what d'we do? It's no' important now, anyhoo, 'cause we all seem t' agree on th' basics - we should stay here at least 'til tomorrer, an' then move inland. Now, I've heard a few suggestions fer gettin' food an' water an whatnot, an' I agree wit' those.
"But what I think is most important is this - we should not go inland wit'out scoutin' first, and we need t' set up some temporary defenses. I believe we should also hold some sort o' memorial service - with whatever we can manage, mind - t' get our expedition feelin' a bit better 'bout itself. With that said, shall we vote on what t' do? Or does anyone have some more suggestions?" Angrin smiles, hoping the others more or less agree to the council thing and move onwards to the main question - more the fool him for emphasizing the "leader," he supposes.
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Dakún had slipped out of his leather sandals and let the small grey pebbles of the beach roll under the bottom of his feet and gripped a few between his toes. He breathed in the salty air of the beach and the smell that lingered on the air just after a storm. It was exhilarating and so different from what he had experienced before. He had spent more than half a century in the mountains and desert of Eastern Garund. There was little similarity he could find between the continent of his birth and the wilderness of Arcadia’s Northern shore.
Sweeping his left hand over his meticulously shaven bronze head, he let his eyes travel upward to the sky overhead. Unlike many of those who had made the journey, the open sky held no terror for him. His eyes fixated on one of the local sea birds, following its path through the sky. At first he admired the bird, the way it flew on the currents, but soon his thoughts turned to an ideal wondering about its eggs and what they might taste like if fried in a copper pan. His hand fell to his stomach and he realized with sudden clarity that he was famished. He had not eaten since long before the Kalistocrat had first spotted land. The exertions of the battle with the Kraken and everything that had occurred afterward took a toll on his reserves.
Ignoring his hunger a little longer, he dipped his chin politely to Mineko. He realized it had taken much for the exiled Empress to swallow her pride and the pride of her distant culture to speak openly with the assembled group. He admired her courage in taking that step, but he wondered if it was the correct course of action. He knew very little about the dwarves of the Granite Kingdom in Tian Xia, but for her to ask those clearly below her own station to accept her leadership and treat her as an equal seemed to him a break of ancient tradition. Though Dakún understood why Mineko did as much, he was conflicted regarding her decision. Tradition was not a bad thing, in fact it was a sturdy pillar upon which society could rest, so long as it accepted innovation and adaption were inevitable and necessary.
When Angrin had finished speaking, Dakún Rabbúhamash looked to those gathered about and spoke once more. His eyes moved from face to face, scrutinizing them and attempting to read their intentions from the creases in their features, the sweat on their brows or the quickness of breathing. Though he was bound to this motley group of dwarven pioneers, he was not foolish enough to believe that all held the same noble intentions he did. Trust, even among kin, was not easily won.
“The simple solution to a situation resolving a four against four decision is to grant one o’ ‘ur number the authority to, after weighing the merits o’ each pr’posal, break the deadlock. It may pr’ve true as well that others among the settlers will seek a voice and granting additional authority to one o’ this number may serve to show solidarity and a single face when dealing with the population o’ the expedition.” His eyes stopped on Quint and studied him for several long moments before he spoke again. Even as he continued, he kept his eyes on the Archaeologist, a faint frown touching the corner of his lips. “I would recommend the Princess Yamauchi for this position as her station has prepared her to understand the cost o’ a rash decision and the wisdom to guide a people into the peril’us unknown. If not one from ‘ur own ranks, their remains the option o’ another, outside this circle, who would be brought in only to break ties. I however do not favor this method.”
Finally Dakún's gaze relented from its study of Quint, moving to flicker over each of the dwarves, pausing for ten seconds on Maven, before settling for the moment on Angrin.
"It was my intention to give further memorial and provide the honor and respect the fallen and the gods deserve. I hope that this is not out o' place." His eyes, beautiful jade stones set in a bronzed face of hard edges and sharp points, flickered to Maven again. "For generations my clan has served as temple guards within the great sanctuaries o' worship. I myself had the honor to serve at the Temple o' the Judge, Magrim the eldest of the Brothers, Overseer of the Afterlife. I am well versed in the rites." He had seen the Xenophobia in his own people and now saw it among those dwarves who had spoken out against Mineko. He would not have been surprised if he was included in their discrimination.
With a gesture to the formation of rocks they stood in the shadow of, the Pahmet cast his eyes over the stones, envisioning the project in his imagination. The image formed was not wholly formed out of his own creativity, but influenced by the subtle directions of the many spirits he felt around the shore. His connection to the spirit realm had always been strong and while he heard no audible words, he believed he could feel and interprete the wishes of the dead. This secret he held kept to himself. "I had further intended to put chisel to rock and stone and create fr'm this marker a fitting memorial to those who made the journey but could not set foot on this new land."
Bowing her head slightly at the support Quint and Dakun had showed her, Mineko nodded slowly. Behind her Kaori stood aghast while Komainu-Kun watched as silent as a shadow. Of all of the people present, only he truly understood the Empress, may she live forever. To speak to the others as equals had lessened the empress in some indescribable way. But he understood. The Empress showed herself to be still, confident and earnest. She was all of these things, but he also understood how important this moment was. Mineko understood that the western dwarves would never accept her peoples ways. Just as her people found them to be brutish and loud, they found the eastern dwarves to be odd and delicate. There were divides between the two cultures, huge and vast. Mineko was taking the first step to mend that, now while she had the chance before it was lost.
She was the Empress. She would always be the Empress to her people, but she needed to be something else to the expedition. She needed to be a voice of hope and compassion, leadership and pride. She needed to show them that her people work worth with theirs towards common goals. She needed to show them that each dwarf that had survived was a member of something new.
There is a saying in my lands. Mineko said quietly after Dakun had given the floor back to the slight woman. It is said that a broken sword cannot be mended. It must be reforged. Nodding to Maven, she looked at each of the seven other dwarfs slowly. Our expedition has been broken. We are the pieces that remain behind. We must forge ourselves together into something strong so that we can survive the trials ahead. Dakun, I think your desire to create a memorial is important. In the years ahead I see our people returning to this site to remember our landing and to give honor to the dead. Angrin, your ideas are also important. We need to prepare ourselves. In the days ahead some supplies will wash up on the beach, but it will not last and we need to find a safer, more defensible location for our people. Quint, in the last months your presence has been comforting and for that I thank you. Just as you have sought to learn about my people, I have learned about yours. That knowledge will be important. Rogath, your words have merit. One dwarf cannot do this alone. Only a foolish being would think that all of the trials ahead of us can be forseen. Each of us has knowledge and experience that will strengthen us in the time ahead. Dwunderbran. You.. you speak your mind. You do not mince your words. Too often people say what they think others wish to hear. Maven, your desire rather to build rather than destroy will guide us in the future. And Logem, I believe you know my feeling on the subject. At that Komainu growls lowly.
Waving to the beach where several casts of ale sit, having been recovered by the survivors, Mineko motions back to the group. Tonight, we should send out scouts. We will post guards and the remainder of the survivors will collect what they can from the beach as it washes ashore. We shall each share a drink for the dead. We will show them honor in our memory. In the morning we will hold a ceremony at Dakun's memorial. By then the scouts will have returned and we will have a better idea of what lies beyond this beach. Can we agree on this plan? And in the future when we must decide on a plan of action, would each of you be willing to accept my judgment should we as a group be unable to decide on the right course of action?
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RPG Superstar 2014 Top 4
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Mineko had asked the dwarves the unthinkable, to accept her as their leader and patron in this wild new land. Gone were the familiar trappings of home, gone was the beacon of solidarity that Vigar represented, gone was the promise of a return home should this endeavor prove fruitless. The dwarves of Highhelm and beyond were being asked not only to put behind them their ancestral home, but to accept a foreigner as their leader; a woman, no less.
There were no universal cheers, no rousing choirs of Princess being chanted. There were just the abject stares of two hundred wet, tired, and frightened dwarves gathered on a rocky beach amidst the debris of their former lives. The others had all given their input on the matters at hand, they had all agreed together about the plans Mineko was presenting to them. In that, even the disgruntled settlers could agree there was reason and logic.
But following the foreign Princess as their leader?
That would take time.
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A few hours after the plan of action had been decided, a group of ten able-bodied dwarves set out from the campsite, traveling light with the weapons they could carry and a day's worth of rations and water. They trekked south along the shortline, following the coast's jagged, rocky profile with the plan of circling the camp out to twelve miles and determining the lay of the land.
On their departure, activity within the camp was focused around survival. Doctor Logem had tasked his subordinates with breaking down some of the supply crates and gathering an inventory of goods saved from the sinking vessels. Some had even been requested to begin construction of survival gear and necessary tools for maintaining survival in this wilderness.
A team of nearly one-hundred dwarves marched up and down the beach, combing through the wrekage of the ships that is washing up throughout the day on the shore. The task is a more grim one that anticipated, as some of the salvaged gear they are finding has come off of waterlogged bodies of the dead, tangled up with the wreckage. But waterproofed barrels of food, ale, and other dry goods have proven to be invaluable discoveries.
When three of the dwarves haul up a still from the wreckage, Angrin pulls himself from helping some of the settlers put up makeshift tents to investigtate. The still is intact and gives Angrin a few ideas on how to spend some of the rest of his day...
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Canvas tents made from tarps designed to hold down equipment on the ships have cropped up one after another, built around a framework of salvaged scrap wood. Some are hung with fishing nets decorated with sea shells and smoothed stones collected from the shore. Within just a few hours, a small tent village has begun to form on the coastline. A few dwarves have dug out a central pit in the shore and laid out wet driftwood to dry in the sun in the hopes of having a bonfire come dark.
The sickening snap of dislocated joints popping back into place elicits a look of disgust from a few dwarves and a yowl from Dwunderbran, but Maven's medical prowess is what is necessary to set the warrior's injured arm back into working order. Not that Dwunderbran was going to tell her that he planned to haul some boats up onto shore afterward, she might not agree. The line of other injured dwarves seeking the cleric's medical attention has been great. The number of bumps, scrapes and bruises vastly outweighs more serious injuries, and that the dwarves are thankful for.
Further inland where the rocky beach gives way to scrub grass and windswept hills, a small team of dwarves go about the grim task of digging graves for the dead, and the piles of bodies pulled up from the salvaging operations has been stacked six feet high in places. Dozens of graves have already been dug and piled over with stones, dozens more left to be dug.
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The rhythmic thump of hand-drums carries through the tent village nestled along the rocky Arcadian coast. Sitting on a large, unfurled bolt of canvas, Quint Bonechisel takes some time to play a lively, upbeat tune on a salvaged pair of drums while he works with the survivors to catalogue and organize the supplies being brought back byt he salvage teams. The music, such a simple thing, provides a welcome distraction from the turmoil and toil. Even Doctor Logem's constant nattering and warnings of dire consequences in the face of failure or stagnation don't seem as needling with Quint's cheerful disposition, keen eye for quality salvage, and ear for music.
Several tents away in a large supply depot where organized salvage is stored, Angrin has been working for the last few hours to prepare a back of dwarven quick-brew, an "emergency" beer distilled from tubers and other root vegetables, prepared using a high-temperature quick-fermentation method. Practically boiling the ingredients in the still, Angrin -- much like the mad scientist Doctor Logem may -- is in the process of creating an abomination. Steam blasts out of vents on the side of the still, a roiling pop of boiling water rumbles inside the metal canister, and the nearby dwarves wince every time the sound of straining metal and wood can be heard.
Juxtaposed with the sound of the drums, the sound of a hammer and chisel is not quite matching tempo or rhythm. Set to work on the rock formation he had inspected earlier, Dakún Rabbúhamash has been toiling since the morning hours on etching memorial stones for the dead. So far two five foot high menhir have been chiseled with sacred runes and honors for the lost. Dakun is not alone in this endeavor, however, and the assistance of Rogath Silvertarn has been less physical and more spiritual. While Dakún's own religious beliefs are strongly inured in his being, Rogath helps balance that faith with contemporary religious traditions of those born and raised in Highhelm.
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The bandage being wound around Angrin's head would serve as a lesson. The demolished supply tent and stink of seawater and fermented turnips might be a more obvious one. The quick-fermenting beer was an explosive disaster, though thankfully no one was seriously hurt when the still erupted in a thundrous explosion. The dwarves would have to wait for freshly made ale, utilizing the stores they have now for such endeavors.
By evening, some of the scouts had returned from the northern and southern sides of the beach. It appeared that wreckage was washing up all along the coast, at least thirty-six miles of beach if the scouts estimates were accurate. By the time the sun was setting over the western mountains, scouts had come in with the sun at their backs, outlining a rough indication of the nearby terrain.
The scouts tell stories of high mountains all across the western horizon with rough terrain breaking up the distance between there and the beach. The scouts had seen many unfamiliar types of birds and some had even glimpsed red-furred, antlered animals similar to Avistani stags but with richer coat colorations and stark black markings. They speak of the terrain as lush, beautiful and untouched by the hands of man.
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By nightfall the salvage operations had come to a close, tents spread out for hundreds of feet in every direction; some containing dwarves and others supplies sheltered from the elements. Around the fire pit, the scouts retold their stories about the geography of the land, stories of the flora and fauna they found, stories of a land untouched by foreign hands.
Dakun and Rogath have finished construction on the menhir monuments to the dead, and the graves for those who washed ashore have been dug and filled. Thirty-seven graves now line the hill overlooking the beach, where the first dwarves to die in Arcadia have been laid to rest. Talk of a morning ceremony to honor the dead at Dakun's monument has been raised, while many more are worried about finding permanent shelter. The tents -- while servicable -- will not last a powerful storm or through more tempestuous seasons.
By the fire, Rogath can feel his Harrow deck heavier now in his hands. The future was as difficult to see as what lay beyond the horizon. Desna had guided him here, to this new land of experiences, and under the stars and waxing crescent moon overhead Rogath knew that, somewhere, Desna was watching he and the others.
Spirits are high at the camp, and the survivors all seem to have had many of their concerns assuaged over the course of the day. Even the discomfort of considering Mineko as their representative and leader seemed to have a lessened sting, though they had not yet been sold on her guidance. If things keep going well, perhaps, they will see her more as one of their own and less of a cloistered outsider.
All things considered, the day was a superb success.
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After the group had decided on a course of action, Dr. Logem had gotten busy working on his own project while periodically berating others into working harder and faster. Using some of the expeditions supplies, he went about working his own alchemical 'magic', creating additional medical supplies, alchemically preserving food, and making additional chemicals for his own private use. In the end, he was able to give back to the expedition roughly what he used, while also netting himself a private stock of goods and supplies.
His nurses spent the day tending the wounded and setting up Dr. Logem's own personal tent and alchemical laboratory, set up on a small hill with some small amount of distance from the main camp. Nearby are smaller tents lined with stretchers, acting as a small makeshift hospital where both he and Maven could tend to the wounded where needed. Dr. Logem outwardly appreciated Maven's assistance with tending to the wounded, as he had more important things to do in the immediate future - inwardly, however, he scoffed at her divine healing, knowing full well that it wouldn't sustain them in the long run. They'd need practical know-how to keep them alive, not faith and devotion.
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A deafening howl cuts through the campsite with the relocation of Dwunderbran's mangled arm.
"Sorry, Dwunderbran. Seems yer bones're as stubborn as you are, but that'll bout do it."
The sound of a stubborn bone being disciplined back into its intended duty is always a painful one, all the more so for the owner, and even Maven winces as she completes the motion. The roaring outcry of pain sounds as if it's as much an annoyance as actual agony, and her reaction to Dwunderbran's outcry is a mixture of empathy and bemusement, and she sends him on his way with little warnings, knowing they'll likely be unheeded anyway. Stubborn as they come, that one. But I guess we'll need some like him ta stiffen the backbones o' the rest when things get muddy.
Watching the salty one carry off his stench, Maven sighs and slumps down her chair a bit to recount the day's work. eight puncture wounds, twelve broken ribs, sixteen dislocated limbs, cuts and scrapes innumerable, and no END to the splinters, fer Torag's sake...need to ask Logem to mix up some more ointments and antiseptics. No clue what kinda infections this land may throw at us.
Rolling her stiff shoulders, she reaches up to rub her eyes and glances around the campsite at the multitude of able bodied kinsmen, and stops at the sight of the mass grave. But then, s'pose I should be thankin' ye for each one what got up and walked away, aye?
Feeling the need to stretch her legs, Maven stands and twists her hips about and rolls her neck, hoping to wake up sleeping muscles and get the blood flowing, and strolls about the encampment, grateful for a chance to get away from all the depressing injuries and check up on her cousins. Her timing proves fortuitous as parties of scouts return while the sun starts to embrace the horizon. A quick chat reveals much just from their early explorations, including the most important word in Maven's ears: mountains.
Where there's mountains, there's caves. Where there's caves, there's ore. And where there's ore, there's forge work to be done. Cannae wait to get me hands on fresh stone and metal again and get me kinsmen outfitted proper. Maybe they'll be spendin' more time buildin' a kingdom and less time...gettin...--
Her thoughts trail off as Maven's tour of the site brings into view Dakun's memorial in stone. Still hard at work in the early evening, Maven can spy Dakun chiseling away, stopping to confer with none other than Rogath Silvertarn, seemingly to confirm the accuracy of his depictions. Maven had already caught word that Dakun had offered a makeshift funeral ceremony, and though she'd said nothing at the time, she was quietly thankful he had volunteered. Of all the clerical duties in which she'd trained, those involving the dead still left a disquieting unease in her, and she gratefully shied away from the topic when Dakun volunteered. Now though, with his stonework reaching its final stages, she felt more than a bit guilty at having shirked one of her duties. It took almost a minute of eyeing the chisel at work, fidgeting with her hands and biting her lip to get her feet to move towards the religiously diverse duo and speak.
"Dakun, erm...hafta thank ye, lad, for doin' the memorial services and whatnot. It's, ah...well...the dead still leave me a bit squeamish, to be honest, so...you and Rogath both, I mean, I appreciate ye steppin' up to it as such."
Dakún had been working with a fervor at the memorial, letting no detail go without the proper respect, each name rune dutifully chiseled and honored. At Rogath’s suggestion, he used the names given to the gods common in Highhelm, though they were not so different from those of his homeland. As was his way, the Three Brothers were given the greatest share of praise and devotion. This was only natural as both Magrim and Angradd were responsible for determining the destiny of dwarven spirits and Torag was the father of the mortal dwarven race. Though he made an effort to use the Avistan rune’s for the dwarven gods, he attached titles common among the Pahmet to each deity. Angradd was refered to as the Unquenched Fire, rather than the Forge-Fire and Magrim was lavished with titles like The Judge and The Overseer of the dwarven Afterlife. Perhaps the biggest difference that was detectable was the great reverence given to Magrim. It was clear that Dakún accorded him a place on the Pantheon side by side with his younger brother Torag.
Dakún had taken to wearing a vivid green facial scarf when he began to work, though he pulled it down from his mouth when he stepped away from the monument and turned to address the clearly uncomfortable Maven. He carefully set down his chisel and hammer on an overturned bucket. The bucket had two small holes in it that had rendered it useless for storing water, but it served well enough as a work bench and occasional stool. Wiping his palms against one another, he then pressed both hands to his chest and spoke.
“You do not need to offer me such thanks, but I accept them as they are received. I held concern that you would believe me to be intruding upon y’ur own d’main, I am relieved to know that I haven’t.” Dakún let his eyes sweep away from the face of the older dwarf to look past her to the make-shift medical tents that had been sent up. Her tracks in the grey pebble strewn sand clearly marked her as having come from that direction. “The Pahmet clans have a deep and time-honored c’nnection with the dead and the spirits o’ ‘ur ancest’rs. They are in ‘ur daily prayers and their tombs are visited monthly. Vigil is maintained to ensure that Drozzar’s rotting grasp does not keep them fr’m their earned rest fr’m mortal toil. You are a teacher o’ creation and a speaker for Torrúg, it is y’ur role to care for those still breathing and to tend to the mortal creations o’ the Forge Father.” Though he clearly selected his words so not to offend, he expressed himself sincerely. He lowered his eyes for a moment, then returned them to Maven’s face, though he did not meet the Priestess’s eyes.
“The traditions o’ the Pahmet clans is not so different fr’m those o’ the Five Kings Mountains and it is clear that both traditions are drawn from the same base ore.” He paused for a moment and looked to Rogath, paused again and then finally added. [b] “I must confess we have little contact with any parallel to teacher Rogath’s faith o’ Des-na, though in my own travel am’ng the caravans South o’ the Barrier Mountains I encountered the Badawi nomads who offered prayers to a goddess they called Dezznah, she took the form of a Keleshite w’man with the l’wer torso o’ a silver camel that glowed like the moon. They claimed her the sister to their Sun goddess Sarenrae” The look in his jade green eyes clearly expressed that he was perplexed about the worship to so unusual and free-spirited a deity.
Quint is rather pleased with the outcome of the meeting and approaches the day's tasks with a careful optimism. The ache of loss remains with him but it fades for a time beneath the feeling of moving forward, and the possibility of helping to shape these dwarves into something greater, something new, rather than seeing them continue to live in the stuffy remnants of ancient glories. He finds the work of organizing their supplies less arduous than he had thought it might be. They seem to have a decent cache of supplies salvaged from the ships, enough for them to survive for some time if they are frugal, and still to prepare for forging ahead. More continues to wash in and be dragged up to the central piles.
Taking a census of the surviving dwarves proves more difficult however. With most of the survivors tasked with coming the beach he finds the task larger than he can accomplish in the afternoon he has available and so retreats to his tent in the central camp. After refreshing himself he exits the tent with a strange collection of items; two round frames holding stretched hides, a long wooden tube shaped like an stretched hourglass carved with intricate designs of a strange draconic creature which glint with gold leaf, and a length of brightly coloured orange chord.
He lays a scrap of cloth on the ground in front of him, kneeling on it and laying out the pieces, picking up the disks and the chord, beginning to thread it between the two. He continues to weave the chord in a zigzag pattern between the two disks, before placing the tube between the pair; a final tightening on the chord and a little more threading finishes the construction. He sets the completed object, a strange drum of foreign design on his shoulder, gripping the ends of the chords and gives an experimental tap, pausing to breath on the hide heads of the drum before beginning to play.
It is only some time later that he realizes he has gathered a small audience to his performance. He looks slightly embarrassed as he lowers the drum from his shoulder and gives them a kneeling bow, before pushing to his feet.
His steps carry him eventually to the stone monument and he can't help but examine the quality of the carvings before taking in the content. The work is fine indeed, and despite the size of the task Dakun's hand appears to have remained steady throughout. It is only when he finds his sister's and her husband's name that he has to choke back a momentary surge of emotion, turning the would-be sob into a coughing fit instead.
Turning to the craftsman he finds him in conversation with Maven; another member of their new council and wanders closer to make an effort at joining the conversation. He should learn what he can about his fellow counselors, if for no other reason than to suss out which he may count on to support Mineko and himself. He felt relatively confident about Rogath and Dakun, the pair relative outsiders to the more traditional highhelm values; Maven however he knew little about apart from her position as a cleric of Torag, and an apparent aversion to open spaces.
"Lady Luck hails from the north as I understand it." Quint interjects, taking the topic of Desna as an opportunity to join the conversation. "That is quite an interesting representation however. Religion has never much caught my attention, but I believe she is normally associated with butterflies, not camels; the moon sounds right though."
"That is some fine work you've done Dakun. I take it from your tools that you are a worker of stone by trade?" he asks.
Having stormed off from the meeting in a bit of a huff, most of the remaining dwarves in the expeditionary force are treated to the sight of Dwunderbran stomping up and down the forming tent-town and salvage operation muttering, grumbling, and occasionally cursing aloud. It would seem the wild haired dwarf was not well pleased with the overall direction of things. The only concession his free spirit managed to grapple from the ordeal was abandoning the fool notion of ordaining a ruler. This development was likely for the best given his temperament. It is uncertain what the uncouth lout might have been capable of if faced with a circle of relative strangers demanding his obedience to another; let alone a foreigner that cut as much a dwarven figure as an elfling.
Ire and discontent having now almost completely strangled his senses, it takes the ex-pirate a moment to realize the guarded gestures and gripped weapon hafts as he tears a path to and fro before them. His reputation preceded him, and given his enraged state, it was likely the surviving warriors of Torag's Anvil were expecting him to resort to his usual violent unruliness. It would not be so this day.
" Whatt're ye starin' at ye bleedin' churls!? Sod it! Get'n yer arses o'er 'ere afore ah be takin' offense at ye wettin' yerselves, huehuehue!" Having elicited his usual response of consternation bordering on abject fear, Dwunderbran forces the issue a bit more personally on the gaping mass of would-be fighting men. He quickly finds the oldest and most stoic of those arrayed before him—a spear-toting veteran of several drow incursions in the lower holds of Highhelm. Seeing a the glimmer of experience in the older dwarf's eyes, Dwunderbran tasks him with gathering up a contingent of battle-hardened dwarves to meet whatever dangers this new land might hurl at them...
...It is a motley crew that assembles on the beach before him. Some too old, some too young, and many too foolish for the task they're volunteering for. The expedition would need protecting, though. All of the salvaged wreckage and soothing words in the world would count for naught if something crept out of the wilderness and caught them all with their pants down. Dwunderbran would not abide that. The dwarves were going to survive, if he had to beat common sense into each and every one of them...
Despite earnest intentions and as much exertion as his body would allow, the ruin of his left limb works to Dwunderbran's disadvantage. He is forced to hand off his duties to the aforementioned veteran spear-wielder, Helk Thardnof, as he makes his way to the de facto triage tent under the care of his fellow councilor and resident priest of Torag—Maven Brewbane. The scream that issues forth from the tent is horrific; enough so that several bearing minor injuries begin eyeing the tent warily from their spot in line.
The remainder of the evening sees more exertion from Dwunderbran than is advisable. Trusting Helk to tend to the lads chosen for protecting their landing site, Dwunderbran turns his attention back to the sea that scorned them so. He is spotted later with a handful of the more savvy sailors that had survived The Anvil's destruction out beyond the crashing waves of the tide, rowing southwards in a pair of boats with poles and nets at the ready. It is some time before they return, laden with fish, salvage, and exhaustion. Nevertheless, Dwunderbran finds the endurance to heave the boats further inland—often uphill—where he sequesters the vessels in what seems a well concealed outcropping along one of the more easily accessible cliff faces beyond. It is not until returning to the beach that Dwunderbran realizes his clever hiding spot lay in plain sight for all to see from the shoreline. Too tired to care, he resigns himself to overseeing the assignments on guard duty for the night.
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RPG Superstar 2014 Top 4
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As the night passes on, the survivors of the incident at sea settle down for their first full night in a wholly new land. The stars here shine just as brightly as they do back in Avistan and Garuna, back in the Inner Sea that these few folk may never see again. Barring powerful magic or the construction of new ocean-worthy vessels, the settlers left here on the beach will never see their old home again.
While the stars above have not changed much in this new land, the climate is strikingly different. While the air is crisp and cool from the springtime the scent of the ocean is one that most dwarves aren't familiar with. There is also the horizon, while obscured by the dark of night, shows jagged peaks of mountain ranged under moonlight that have never been charted. The sense of being on a great, unexplored precipice has never felt so strong.
Amidst the sound of the lapping shore and crashing waves, the settlers bed down for the night, having established a watch rotation for their stalwart guards who dutifully observe the perimeter of the beach camp. At the center of the camp, the bonfire burns brightly, sending a coiling finger of smoke up into the night air, embers carried aloft by the hot air flicker and sputter a brilliant shade of fiery orange against the dark canopy of night.
But embers fade.
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The crash of waves rouses Logem from his sleep, eyes snapping open and pupils dilating. There is a momentary sense of panic as he rouses with eyes focused on the shore, a sensation of his heart racing in his chest. Had he woken from a nightmare? If so, it was one he could not recall. Wiping cold sweat from his brow, Logem rises from his bedroll and out of his makeshift tent to hear the sounds of the surf much louder than they were the night before. The waves crash with violent purpose and a strong wind blows hard across the beach.
Upshore, a few dwarven children chase a piece of one of the tents torn off by the wind in the night. The cool breeze plays at the doctor's hair, batters his cheeks and causes his eyes to water. That's the presumed reason, at any rate.
At the center of camp, several of the settlers pile wood on the bonfire to keep it burning, most of it driftwood from the wreckage that was not used in the construction of simple shelters. From beyond the camp, the perimeter watch are rotating their shifts, and the horizon of Arcadia behind them looks far, far grayer than before.
"Doctor," one of Logem's underlings addresses, handing a steaming tin mug of coffee over, "found some coffee beans in the food stores. Thought you could use a brew t'get your thinkin' bits working." Logem's vision is trained on the distant hills, shrouded now in morning fog. Something in his subconscious shudders fretfully, a primal sense of fear that wasn't there the day before and makes no sense to be there now.
But there it is, churning in the dark of his mind. Whatever it knows, it isn't sharing.
Maybe it's the persistent fear of looking upward at the sky, or maybe it's the fact that her assumed 'vision' from Torag has left a nagging rhythm in the back of her thoughts, or perhaps that her recent experiences have simply been more traumatic then she cared to admit.
Either way, Maven's head is pounding, and unlike the ringing of a forge hammer, it is not music to her ears. Even rising out of her cot to stand and stretch seems to be more of a challenge than usual in the face of her uncooperative eyes and stubborn limbs. Once she actually gets a semblance of motor control, she places a hand under her chin and pulls right, then left, emitting several sickeningly dull pops all the way down her neck. The sudden increase of blood flow is almost staggering as the rest of her body finally gets the message.
"Whoch, there we go. Bloody hells why'm ah sleepin' so bad lately?"
With her vision clearing, Maven shakes off the rest of her sleepiness, throws open the flap of her tent, and immediately regrets it. The brisk wind is cold, and even though the sun is barely rising amidst a cloudy sky, it is far brighter a sight than she's accustomed to greeting upon waking. Her regrets hold only briefly, however, and she exhales, relaxing disturbed nerves and thoughts as the golden orb creeps above the horizon, gradually warming her from head to toe.
"S'like a forge just bein' fed its first coals..."
As she closes her eyes to absorb the warmth and the breeze, her mind recognizes the rumbling sound, not as the imagined roaring of a fire, but as the rumbling of a belly. Fed... As her eyes pop open, her hand reflexively goes to her stomach.
"Oh. Right. Breakfast."
Quint finds his sleep restful and undisturbed. While things may not quite be going as he would like they seem to be making reasonable progress under the current circumstances. Mineko has been awarded some measure of additional authority, and everyone seems to be accepting his own as well. Given what has happened he is quite optimistic in fact, not one to dwell on the past for long... or at least, not the recent past.
He wakens with a smile, though that fades somewhat as he notices the worrying way his tent is wobbling in the stiff breeze. He dresses himself quickly and as warmly as he can, before heading out into the brisk morning air.
After wandering around in the cool for a time, taking stock of who was up and what sort of a condition the camp was in, he returns to the central bonfire to warm himself. He gives the doctor--who appears to be sipping some kind of warm drink--an appraising look. He had missed his and Mineko's initial clashing at the funeral, and so found himself somewhat in the dark about the seeming mistrust between the pair.
"You look troubled this morning Doctor. I hope it is only the weather weighing upon you. If it continues it shall be enough to darken anyone's disposition." he says, approaching the man, unable to help a curious sniff as he draws nearer. "Is that coffee? Alas I did not have the foresight to bring any on this expedition myself, but such is the situation we find ourselves in." his shoulders rise and fall in a dismissive gesture. "I heard some talk last night of some of the other councilors heading out to explore the hills to the west. Any thoughts?"
Taking a sip of his steaming mug of deliciousness and sitting in a comfy folding chair that one of his nurses found while warming his bare feet with a small pile of warm blackfire clay, Dr. Logem returns Quint's appraising look as the latter addresses him. After the bard is done talking, Dr. Logem lowers his mug down and responds. "Troubled? Not at all!" Dr. Logem chooses not to share his subconcious fear right now, until he has had time to think on it. "My morning brew just hasn't kicked in yet. I'm not much of a morning person. Litast, one of my nurses, discovered it in some of the cargo we salvaged. Can't say I'm too fond of the weather, though. Come, sit - this block of blackfire clay should last another half hour at the least. Just be careful not to touch it - it's quite hot." Dr. Logem motions to a nearby crate - the nurses have apparently been unable to find additional folding chairs for now.
He takes another sip of his coffee, his signet ring plainly visible on the hand holding the mug, before continuing. "It is good that they should go exploring. We know little about this land. I for one would like to know of what kind of flora and fauna are present - for purely medicinal reasons. I would care to join them on their exploratory errands, but alas, I have other work that requires my attention. Medical supplies do not make themselves, after all."
"Do you know who will be going on this expedition?"
Angrin awakes to a pounding headache. While this is not in and of itself an unusual occurrence, the fact that he would swear he hadn't had enough to drink to give him a hangover was. He lifted a hand to touch his forehead, grumbling. "Ohh... Me head. Wha' the bloody... Oh, right." He'd tried his old uncle Argoth's recipe for quick-fermenting booze. "Ouch... That's the last time I use the recipes of someone who earned the name 'mad' in their time... Yeesh." He laughs quietly to himself, standing up and blinking at the sunlight. Though it was dim now, the slight fire to the east told him that the light was going to get brighter soon. He sighs, shaking his fist vaguely at the sky, then sighs, when his stomach growls. "Oh. Food. Aye, that's important. I should go get meself some o' that..."
Angrin rises, shielding his eyes with his hand as he makes his way around the camp's parameter, checking to see that the bear traps he had placed were unsprung and undamaged, and resetting or picking up those that were either, respectively. Finally, he makes his way inwards, towards the bonfire. On his way, he notices Maven, who he greets with a brief nod. "Oh, yer up. I'd say 'good mornin'' but I don' think that's right to do." He grins faintly, then shakes his head with a sigh. "This place smells a bit odd, don' ye think?" The trapsmith comments wryly as he walks with the priestess towards the closest place wherefrom he can detect the smell of some sort of food.
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