Maven's shudders seem to cease at the thought of fresh stone and ore. Though the mountains in the distance were but hazy points from here, the idea of new metals, solid rock and stone hearths seemed to return warmth to her blood as she took in the details of the strange inhabitants who now neighbored their camp. The thought of conflict with yet another kind of creature she'd never seen did only a bit to dampen her spirits further, if only because it meant she'd have plenty of work forging new weapons. Having forgework meant keeping a warm forge, which, she realized, was what was longing for the most. With the abundance of plans being tossed about, it was Rogath who inspired her to finally speak up.
"Shelter's been too long denied us, I say. We came t'Arcadia t'find mountains ta call home, and now we know they're there and full of everythin' we need. I know we can't jus' forget the Strix, but..."
She held her tongue, knowing that even if it was a good idea, it felt a bit selfish. She'd joined the clergy to do good for Dwarvenkind, not just suit herself; and yet, it felt as if she could hardly do otherwise and still answer to her own name with any dignity. She was an odd one, she knew, from an odd clan, but by Torag, she was still a Dwarf, and by Torag, she had to speak her mind for once.
"All I can say fer sure is...I miss Highhelm. I want t'see mountains again. I want to hear the echo of hammers in the deep. I want to feel the heat of a coal-fired forge and the warmth of a proper Dwarven hearth."
Exhaling sharply, Maven wrapped her arms her folded knees and rested her chin upon them as her eyes drifted westward.
"I want a new home."
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While the council of decision-makers among the settlers discuss their plan of action, there is a decidedly notable air of uncertainty in the future they are outlining. The surf nearby continues to crash loudly, the wind blows strong and yet the sun beats down bright and cheerfully from the clear azure skies. That they are here in springtime is one of the few points of solace they have, for as far north as they are, the approach of winter will bring with it challenges for survival as great as any beast or foreign race.
Unfortunately for the survivors, an accurate recollection of the Stryx's words enough that Quint could translate is far gone. With the days of travel following their encounter and Rogath's unfamiliarity with their language, repeating a verbatim statement is out of the realm of possibility, leaving them only with the option of re-engaging communication with the Stryx by seeking a second encounter with them.
Dakún Rabbúhamash at first kept to silence when the expedition recounted the tales and findings from the journey, chiming in only to provide an unmentioned detail or clarify the situation as he remembered it. His understanding of the ecosystem had proved to be the most advanced among those he had been scouting with and he was sure to provide descriptions and his names for the local fauna and flora encountered. He brought up the shield and sword recovered, though showed no real interest in possessing the items himself.
Though he had not been vocal about it, he had very much enjoyed his time away from the camp, even though it meant putting up with Dwunderbran's songs and odor. Being only one of four very different dwarves to explore the new lands made his variances in culture and appearance seem less important. Now that he was back among the survivors he felt his differences signaled him out, and made him a foreigner even amongst foreigners. Yet his contributions had found him a place on this makeshift council, though he was uncertain whether an exile such as himself was worthy. Eventually a proper government would need to be established, but until that time responsibility dictated that he not just sit on the council but also provide it with advice.
The news of the events at the camp had been shocking and he needed more time to digest all of it. When the conversation turned to the winged creature and it's similarities to a race on Avistan Dakún looked up. His mustachioed face was soon set in a frown when Logem spoke of capturing the creature and interogating it. Such methods would only lead to hostilites best avoided. The wisdom of his ancestors had much to say of such foolish endeavors.
““Brethren, the hills are filled with granite o’ a most excellent quality f’r building. Honored Torrúg himself would not wish f’r a better place to gather stone. Food will not be a pr’blem, at least not this seas’n. The eggs o’ the Morkanat and Starlings could provide a meal and the hills are dotted with a flat serrated-leaf shrub that has a minty flavor. It is not nutrient filled but it is a spice to flav’r a meal. The hawks and other birds give evidence to dense f’rests, but those lay where the winged being warned us not to go. The river will provide fresh water and perhaps even bounty as well. As I first reported hills sh’wed signs o’ rabbit, fox and other burrowing mammals. We encountered an oasis plentiful with life and gr’ves with fruit-bearing trees. The hills would seem a good place to set down a foundati’n.” He spoke with a slow care, but his enthusiasm slipped into his words nonetheless. He as eager as the rest to be away from the ocean's shore.
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They were in agreement, all of the time they had spent on the beach was good for settling in and getting a lay of the land, but it wasd time for dwarves to do what dwarves do best: square their shoulders against the task ahead and press onward. The council had spoken on the merits of moving, and soon word of that transition was on the lips of every dwarf in the camp. For the first time since landing, hope and excitement bubbled in the air and the settlers eagerly broke down their makeshift tents, readied their piles of salvage onto the sledges they had crafted days earlier, and prepared for the journey to better hills.
Over the course of the day as the camp breaks down, Quint and Mineko take time to ensure that the journal and its translations are safely kept out of the elements and away from anything that could damage these precious resources to the dwarves' survival. Rogath helped bolster the spirits of the settlers, speaking to the groups of survivors and letting them air any last grievances or worries to him before departure. Doctor Logem ensured that his tissue samples and other potential experiments were carefully stowed while his crew went about breaking down their tents and stashing the supplies they had been building up. Maven and Dakun worked together to help the dwarves who were worried about the journey take solace in words of faith and solidarity, sheltering them under the sturdy protections of stories of the Quest for Sky and the strength of their kins. Angrim worked with the other dwarves to break down supplies, and Dwunderbran...
Dwunderbran took it upon himself to get piss drunk and pass out on a sledge.
<< >>
The majority of the settlers begin to head west, leaving a skeleton crew of salvagers headed up the northern shore to comb the beach for wreckage from the ships. The plan is for them to follow way-markers set in the land and deliver the salvage to the new camp further inland when they're finished. The first day of travel takes the settlers on the same course that Rogath, Dakun, Angrin and Dwunderbran set off on a few days prior. Though slower going hauling the sledges and all of their supplies, the hundreds of settlers put their backs gladly into such a long sojourn. Venturing across the rough plains beyond the shore, they watch the clear skies with a hopeful head raised high.
Towards mid-day, they come across the same old mill stones. This time when they arrive there, approaching from a more northerly direction they discover a burrow that they hadn't noticed before in a low sloping hill. Probably once an animal den, this spacious shelter looked to have been used by a bear or other large animal as a den.
The settlers take some time enjoying the site and relaxing before taking off again, headed into the evening. With the sun setting ahead of them, the dwarves press onward and reach the derelict mill by nightfall. Here they come across a group of four grazing elk, an opportunity for the hunters among the settlers to approach before the bulk of their group and take down the four animals. An extra bounty of fresh game will provide the settlers with both a boost to their morale.
The group sets up camp on the outskirts of the old mill, building a fire to stave off the chill of the night and keep predators at bay. Some dwarves set out to explore the nearby surroundings and return with more Skald artifacts; old plowshares and other farming implements, as well as word of having found cattle bones and rotten old yokes and wagon wheels out in a pasture not far from the mill. Nothing significant to the settlers personally, but small reminders that this land has defeated others that came before them, and to not ever be complacent.
<< >>
The second day's journey brings the settlers across rough and broken hills littered with exposed granite. Many a time the settlers will stop and chisel away a small portion of the exposed rock to test it strength and composition and many come back with largely favorable results, finding much to appreciate in the strong Arcadian granite. Little do they know a bounty unlike any they had seen is coming beyond the horizon.
During the middle of the day, the settlers come upon an unusual site. Stopping the progress of the group, the forward scouts come back and report corpses up ahead. The settlers, concerned, break from their progress and settle down in wait of orders. The scouts take interested members of the leadership council ahead to the remains that were found, just over the nearby hill. Here, the dwarves come upon an unexpected sight.
A wagon lays demolished, having toppled down a nearby hill leaving a trail of strewn pottery shards in its wake. Stones not from the surrounding area are scattered with the pottery shards, soft in texture and a bright yellow in coloration -- not like gold, but like buttermilk. The noxious smell coming from the rocks is eggy and foul. The wagon looked to have been pulled by a pair of oxen, both of which have been dismembered by something. Their flesh has been rendered, organs strewn about and limbs shattered.
Most surprising of all are the corpses of the wagon drivers. Laying face down in the dirt, having been exposed to the sun for a few days, their flesh hard and swolen with gasses, the bristly beards of dwarves are unmistakable, but the dusky ash-colored skin of duergar is something not often seen on the surface. These duergar look to have been savaged by some kind of beast, having died with broad-bladed axes in hand, their leather armor torn apart as if it were fine silks.
But who were they, and where were they headed?
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Day 1
X
Notable1
Notable2
Notable3
Day 2
X
Non-Hostile3
X
X
Encounter Sub-Rolls
> safe haven
> animal +morale improvement
> detritus
> corpses
Arodus 10th Synopsis
- Goods Consumed: 1
- Goods Used: 0
+ Goods Salvaged: 2
+ Goods Produced: 0
Total: +1 Goods
Dwunderbran approaches the wreckage of the wagon brazenly, sparing a few moments of appraisal for both the wagon and the cargo it was transporting. He examines the craftsmanship of the thing, paying particular attention to the axle and bolts securing the undercarriage. As he plods his way steadily to the corpses of the gray dwarves sprawled out on the ground, he gets a closer work at the carnage. Thoughtfully rubbing his mighty red beard with a thick glove, he turns about to start offering the scene a more thorough scrutiny. The deep gashes and rends in the bodies of the fallen dwarves are unsettling, even to a battlehardened dwarf like Dwunderbran, and he surrenders his examination of their demise to look for any clues as to the culprits responsible for the deed. There is a creeping suspicion in the dwarf's gut that there might be more than a few black feathers in the vicinity.
During his circuit of the area, Dwunderbran kicks the duergar axes away from the corpses before calling out over his shoulder to any willing to listen, "We ort ta be takin' stock an' collectin' wha' be fit fer ta salvage, aye?"
Upon coming across the wreckage site, Dr. Logem lets the others move along first - after a few moments, during which, if there was an ambush, Dwunderbran would have been the one to spring it, Dr. Logem cautiously moves forward to examine the bodies.
"Aye. You lot handle that much - I'll see if I can figure out anything useful from our potential neighbors. Duergar, eh?"
Dr. Logem approaches the corpses to apply his medical know-how in figuring out how long they've been dead, and how exactly they died. While doing so, he casually checks for anything of value on their bodies - jewelry, alchemical goods, or even anything that might help him better find out who they are.
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As Dwunderbran heads around to the wreckage, the last few settlers who were advancing over the hills come to a halt as word of the discovery reaches them. Curious onlookers trickle in one by one, laden down with heavy backpacks and gear meant for the long road ahead. They do not venture too close to the mess of bodies and broken wood, preferring to stay back and let the experts of the council assess the situation.
Dwunderbran's initial assessment of the wreckage examines the condition of the wood its body was made out of and the metal shodding on the wagon wheels. The metal on the wheels is rusted, but not from disuse. It's the kind of rust lines that form from exposure to the elements, but the flats of the metal shodding are still clean and haven't corroded. Furthermore, the wood of the wagon looks new and hasn't yet grayed from exposure to the sun and rain. Most of it is well crafted, with dovetailed joints and square-headed metal nails that have only a little rust residue around them.
Based on this assessment, Dwunderbran imagines the wagon is a year old or so, and that it hasn't been out here for very long at all. Maybe a week, maybe less. Nothing amidst the wreckage indicates Stryx presence, or reveals the identity of possible attackers. Though as he's doing the circuit of the wagon, Dwunderbran's booted foot squishes down in an area of soft soil. It's here that he finds some evidence of what may have done this.
There are large animal tracks in the dirt all around the wagon, their claws sunk into the soil deeply. Though they appear to have not eaten the bodies...
As Dwunderbran looks in the direction of the corpses, he finds Doctor Logem hunched over them, picking up pieces of viscera and tugging at still-connected limbs to see how well their ligaments are holding up. All in the name of science of course, testing the durability of the carcass is part of the age identification process.
The corpses are mangled, and Logem's medical expertise is hardly called on to notice the claw marks that have ripped through their flesh. Using two fingers, Logem traces the length of one such mark and estimates the creature's claws had to be six inches long, about the size of a dagger. The condition of the bodies makes determining time of death difficult, especially with the weather. Rigor has set in, as well as rot, but the meat is still on the bone in places where it looks like birds have yet to strip. Some maggots on the underside, though not terribly many.
Fingernails have dirt under them, also a yellowish discoloration that is likewise seen around the mouth. Lungs have scarring on the inside, from smoke inhalation most likely. Judging from what remains of their clothing, these people were miners of some kind, and not particularly well-off ones either. Poor class, possibly servants of some kind?
The Doctor's final estimate puts the time of death somewhere within one or two weeks.
Rising up from the bodies, Logem walks over to the yellowish mineral that is strewn about on the ground. It doesn't take long for his knowledge of alchemy to help identify the stone, for as he picks one shard up its faintly caustic aroma is practically a formal introduction.
"Sulfur," Logem notes firmly.
They were mining sulfur.
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Sulfur is a trade good. 20 lbs of sulfur is worth 6 copper. Sulfur is used in the creation of fire-based alchemy products and gunpowder for firearms.
Word of the discovery reaches Maven's ears, much to her dismay. It seemed she was hearing about a lot of dead dwarves lately, and it wasn't getting any easier to stomach.
Merciful Torag, is there no end to it? Are we apt t'find nothin' but dead kin in this strange land?
As Logem and Dwunderbran stride up to the scene, Maven swallows her anxiety and forces her feet to move forward, determined to start facing up to her duties one way or another. She also secretly hoped the wagon's remains were repairable, or at least salvageable. Leaving the impromptu autopsy to Dr. Logem, she maneuvers around the opposite side of the wreckage, examining the damage and remaining material.
Quietly moving up next to the group, Mineko kept her arms inside of her kimono. It was cold in the mountains and the proximity from the ocean lent the range a damp chillness that no amount of layers could seem to suppress. Behind her, her boon companion and protector Komaninu padded up on stone wrought feet. Nodding in cold awareness to Doctor Logem, Mineko turned to face Maven and Dwunderbran. She did not however show her back to the Doctor. To do so would show disrespect, and while she did not approve of the dwarf, he had shown himself useful. Still, she could not shake an apprehension about him. So.. Dark-kin.. The princess muttered to herself. First an encounter with the winged creatures, and now our earth blighted kin. Shaking her head sadly, the young woman sniffed hesitantly at the chalky yellow and red powder. It will only be a matter of time until they learn we have arrived and they seemed to be actively mining the area. We should double the guards from here on out and see if we can backtrack them to wherever they came from.
Quint approaches with the others but hangs back a ways, taking in the scene as a whole while the others begin more detailed examinations. He is actually glad of the sulfurous stench as it serves to mask the stench of decay.
Duergar. He is glad to have his assumption proven correct about the nature of the dwarven brethren Halsiig had discovered. The fact that the Hammer belonged to their dark brethren and not a stray group involved in the Quest for Sky would make retrieving the Hammer a much simpler task. The quality of the wagon however suggested a more established position however. They would have to be cautious in their dealings.
He nods in agreement to Mineko's assessment. "Not to mention whatever felled them." he turns to the other council members. "Perhaps those who explored this region before would be willing to pursue this lead? It would be useful, perhaps even vital to know where they are mining and where they were taking it... If possible we should avoid detection by them as long as possible, although..." he looks back over the crowd of dwarven settlers trudging their way across the land. If they found the wreck they would undoubtedly be able to follow the trail of their passage...
"Dr. Logem. Do you know what may have felled these beings? Maven? Is the wagon salvagable? I don't know that we have much use for Sulfur right now, but we should always look to future need if we are to survive here."
The stout dwarf finally approaches the wagon himself, gesturing and intoning softly under his breath. By the time he has reached it he has finished the spell and slowly casts his gaze over the area, searching for anything the others may have missed.
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Rogath is one of the last to reach the wagon, as he was in the back of the group of dwarves at the time. He arrives just in time to catch Quint's final questions and the other leaders' answers. Thank you for that fortunately timed summary, my Lady.
As he gets within conversational distance of the others, he asks them "Can we tell where they came from? Even having a general direction that their mine may be in could provide us a point of contact." Always the explorer, he waves at the hill and continues, "Maybe there's a trail visible from up there. I'll go check it out before we go on."
As he passes the corpses (but not too close), he asks the Doctor "Is there any way to tell whether they were attacked fresh or as carrion? The other day, Dakún and I were talking about the importance of knowing what a creature may eat... and if these things want to eat live dwarves, that's a very different story from one where they'll only tear into already-dead bodies." He shakes his head sadly. "Not that either one is particularly pleasant."
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As the others begin their examination of the surrounding area, with Quint picking through the detritus of the wagon searching for signs of magic and Logem continuing his examination of the bodies, Rogath ambles up the nearby hill to see what can be seen. Getting to the rocky top of the hill, the pilgrim raises a hand to shield his eyes from the harsh light of day, scanning the rolling hillside. The scuff marks in the earth that Rogath had seen down by the wagon are indeed wagon tracks, indicating the vehicle's passage. It appears to have come from the west and was headed roughly southeast, and certainly not along any kind of road or terrain even fit for a wagon.
It is possible the wagon driver had become lost and was set upon by the beasts that took their lives. Though the truth behind why the errant wagon is all the way out here lies with the spirits of the dead, and they -- unfortunately -- seem silent on the matter.
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Per Rogath's question, your prior Heal check concludes that they died of their injuries. Troublingly, while the duergar look to have been rent to pieces by whatever killed them (and indeed with some bites) little of the dwarves was actually eaten, just strewn about.
Dakún Rabbúhamash kept to silence when the others examined the bodies and the wreckage. The smell of sulphur clung in the air, but he knew that this was a benefit, for with a few additional ingrediants the ability to produce fire-arms like the one he carried, or at the very least ammunition, could be possible. Diligently he worked alongside, but not with, each of the various experts in an attempt to come up with his own conclusions and then compare ideas.
He payed specific attention to the tracks, both of whatever creature killed these dwarves and to the wagon ruts in the ground. Knowing where they came from and where they were going were both vital pieces of information necessary for the expedition. These dwarves which held similarities to the corrupted Duegar might prove to be enemies, yet at the same time they might not. It was unwise to assume that because they shared the same skin coloring and features as the Duegar they knew that they too were blighted servants of Drozzar.
"We mustn't be too hasty my friends. While these fallen kin may share the appearence o' old enemies we cann't know f'r certain whether they are thralls o' Drozzar. Look ab've you and see as I do the Arcadian sun. These fallen dwarves walked beneath it. It is a behavior not comm'n to the Duegar my people know. We should be cautious, yes, alert, definitely, but let us not fall to old prejudices without validati'n o' their truth." Dakún spoke through the green scarf he wore around his face, his eyes moving slowly from one member of the council to another.
"I am unable to tell what killed them precisely, though it is quite obvious that they died due to their injuries, and precious little of them was actually eaten. Whatever killed them did it out of malicious intent, not for food. It makes me curious though, as to why carrion hasn't gotten around to the bodies yet. My guess is the presence of the sulfur, the smell of which might ward off creatures, though I cannot say that for sure. Either way, what we are dealing with is not a simple preditor vs prey matter, else the bodies would have been consumed."
He walks over to one of the pieces of sulfur and hefts it, smelling it, before shuddering and shaking his head. "Sulfur.. the smell of which brings back memories of the Mana Wastes. It could prove useful, however. We should see about getting the wagon fixed and take the sulfur with us. I know of a recipe used in making explosives out of it, which may come in handy for mining or defense."
Listening to Dakun, Dr. Logem silently nods in agreement, having nothing in particular to say on the matter, but wholly agreeing with the sand dwarf.
"I can fix the wagon." Maven blurts out without looking up from her work. She almost doesn't realize she's spoken as she examines the site for missing pieces, bent metal, and anything else still remotely salvageable. Though the vehicle has taken a serious beating, her eyes take on a focus usually reserved for her forge work, and she sets about gathering all the pieces she can and setting fragments of wood back into place as cleanly as possible; while wagons were far from her area of expertise, it wasn't hard to figure out where most of the big pieces seemed to fit.
By my braids, if I haven't any smithin' work then I'll take up carpentry. Got to build somethin' 'fore I lose my mind an' smash somethin' instead.
One she's gathered as much usable matter as she can, Maven begins fitting pieces of wood in place, and tracing her finger over the cracks with quiet prayers; the gaps disappear, leaving fully formed wood and steel again as she passes over them.
Sadly, not nearly all of the repairs are possible with a mere cantrip; Many fragments are too small to be of practical use, and some pieces are simply missing or beyond repair. Recalling the loads of salvaged flotsam from the ships, Maven turns her attention back to the council.
"Torag's done us a favor twice over now with the wagon and the spells; if we want this wagon for ourselves, ah won't mind puttin' some fresh wood and fresh work on it. I mean, unless..."
Her eyes drift anxiously between the wagon and her companions, and almost reflexively, her hands start to fidget as she mentally chides herself.
Oh good play, Maven. Just go on yer merry way, don't matter what they think. They're only the council and all.
"Unless someone's...got other plans, I mean."
Rogath nods to Dakún as he comes back down to meet with the others. "Aye, that is a very good point. Just because these are descended from those who did not seek the Sky when our ancestors did, does not mean they didn't do so at a later time." Looking around at the remnants of the bodies he adds, "There have been far too many burials lately, but I think it's time for two more. In such wide open land as this, it would only be Luck or the will of another god that we should stumble across their bodies. Until such time as we know more, we should treat them as kin and lay them to rest."
With a small smile for his fellow priest, who is clearly itching to do something productive, he adds, "And then we can take their wagon, and its cargo, with us when we go."
"Yes, that should be fine Maven. Do you think it would take long? We could leave a group of guards and labourers to assist and protect you on the journey back if you think it will take some time. I don't think we should delay the whole expedition just for this however."
He looks to Dr. Logem as he gives his findings, nodding slowly. "Perhaps their motive was hunter-prey. I note that there is no sign of whatever the duergar were using to pull the wagon. Or were they their own beasts of burden?" he hadn't been able to make much sense of the tracks around the region, but Dakun had. He looks to the sand-dwarf with a question in his eyes.
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As Dakun inspects the bodies, a number of terrible possibilities cross his mind. Any number of clawed demon could have rent the bodies apart as such, from a lowly blood demon all the way up to something like a fiendish Hezrou or a bestial Bar-Lgura. On the undead spectrum many types of ghoul or ghast could accomplish this task and possibly leave the remains behind, but there is no lingering ghoul stench. It wasn't likely zombies or skeletons, given the severity of the injuries. There's too many possibilities to narrow it down to any one entity.
When Dakun's attention turns to the ground for tracks, he follows the wagon ruts around and starts looking for signs of the beasts of burden that may have pulled the wagon, following hoof-marks to the corpses of the oxen that were mauled alongside their drivers and left to rot much as the duergar were. It's the clawed tracks that interest Dakun the most, the hard ones carved into the earth by the attackers. Placing his hand inside one of the tracks, Dakun estimates the size to be at least ten feet and weight to be close to a thousand pounds or more. Curiously, the tracks are of a biped, not a quadruped.
Unfortunately for Dakun, the ground is too hard for him to be able to follow the tracks anywhere beyond the attack site where they are the most prevalent.
As the investigation of the site continues, Mineko breaks away from the other settlers and approaches with Koimanu-kun. "Are we to stay here long? The others are asking if they can take rest." The princess-in-exile looks around the hills, then to the bodies on the ground with furrowed brows. "Is... it safe to, perhaps should be a better question."
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Dakún returns to the group of settlers and council members, a concerned look on his face, his lips drooping much like his mustachio. He thought about speaking in hushed tones only to those of the council, but decided that it would be best for all those of the expedition to hear this and prepare themselves for whatever dangers abound in this territory.
"I do not rec'gnize the tracks that this creature left, but whatever it was it walked on two legs and appears to have a height equal to that o' an Orge, yet fr'm the depressi'ns o' the clawed tracks it weighs more. Much more." Dakún Rabbúhamash looked again to the bodies of the Duegar.
"We should give them pr'per burial and w'rds. I can do so while others salvage the sulphur and repair this wag'n." Dakún Rabbúhamash offered. He got the sense that Maven would much rather work on fixing a cart, even if it meant using wood over iron, to performing a funeral, even a small and hurried one.
"Ah be reckonin're good lassy Maven 'ere'll be needin' a proper defendin' an' better company, savvy? Fer tha', ah cannae an' will nae be accompanyin' ye ta chase fer any o' tha ash-skinned folk, aye. Nay, ah'll be sittin' 'ere wiff ole Brewbane—best'n ta be makin' sure tha' she fixes tha wagon up an' a'proper." Dwunderbran casts a glance to the skies and a slow survey of the horizon. "An' if'n any blighters tha likes o' these're them what flew an' shrieked an' tossed goats? Best ta be leavin' yer best axes wiff tha vulnerable lot, ye grab me?" Dwunderbran offers a clap on the shoulders to both Dakún and Logem amidst a hearty, ""
Purpose stated, Dwunderbran trudges towards the wagon, where he begins offering his considerable acumen of all things wagon related to Maven Brewbane. It is likely going to be a long day for the Forgemaster—long, loud, and smelly.
"Excellent! Maven and Dwunder will remain here to repair the wagon. I'll see about getting some labourers and a few more dwarves to stay and escort the wagon."
"Now. What about tracking the uh...creature." he frowns at Dakun's description of a creature as large as and heavier than an ogre "and these duergar."
As the council seems to lean towards yet another burial, Maven looks away.
Not again...at this rate I may end up enjoyin' funerals 'fore the year is out. Ugh.
Dakun's volunteering for the unpleasant work does much to relieve her concern, but when the group abandoning her with the most malodorous and foul-mouthed Dwarf she's ever encountered, Maven tries to avoid making a face as she barely stifles the urge to gag at the thought of his assistance, and decides to let the others carry on while she goes back to work on the wagon.
Yer testin' me, ain't ya Father? Is that it? Temperin' me mettle and forgin' strong Dwarven bonds an' all that? If i wanted ta feel sick, I'd have just looked at the sky fer a minute...goin' to be a long afternoon...
The funeral rites were brief, but not rushed. While Dakún understood the importance of time in regard to tracking, the weight of his spiritual obligations took priority. These bodies were kin and in his mind their closeness in appearence to the Duegar put extra weight on the need for a blessing. Invoking the name of the Divine Judge of all dwarven souls Magrim would be necessary in thwarting any attempt by the twisted Drozzar to keep the fallen toiling in the land of the living beyond their deaths.
The Pahmet would later join the others of the expedition group and begin the process of following what little trail remained from the dwarves, searching the surrounding area for the clues necessary to not only bring them to the destination they sought, but also inform them of what they would likely find.
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After an hour of discussion with the settlers, now well into the afternoon following the burial and rites for the two duergar, it is eventually decided upon that for the overall security of the settlers more information would be needed about the duergar found dead with the wagon. A team consisting of Quint, Rogath, Dakun and Doctor Logem would follow the wagon trail to the northwest and its point of origin. Maven and Dwunderbran would remain behind with a handful of guards and a team of laborers to repair the wagon, while Mineko and her entourage leads the settlers the remaining day's worth of journey to the site chosen to settle.
The hundreds of dwarven settlers depart with Mineko to the north across the hills, while the expedition to follow the wagon heads northwest, leaving Maven, Dwunderbran and a handful of other dwarves largely alone at the attack site.
Dwunderbran and Maven, with the laborers and guards, begin the process of repairing the bustel wheel and rear axel of the wagon, requiring banding the splintered wood, hammering pins in to hold the fixed timbers in place, and jury-rigging a new spoke for the wheel. The task itself is arduous, but ultimately an uneventful one as Maven works alongside the laborers under the warm mid-day sun, all the way until it sinks past the horizon.
The night passes uneventually for the pair, and come morning the laborers are endeavoring to finish construction on the wagon. This process takes the entirety of the day, with wood being planed, a great deal of hammering and metalworking, in between breaks for rest and refreshment. The entire business gives Dwunderbran decidedly little to do, though his presence is a reassuring one for the laborers, who know his kraken-battling axes protect their very lives. The wagon is finished at the end of that evening, and plans are made to set out and catch up with the remaining settlers come first light.
It has been over a full day since either Maven or Dwunderbran had seen signs of their allies. Notably, it was also the first time since they'd set out for the new world that Maven had much in the realm of privacy. Fifty dwarven laborers and a handful of watchmen is a significant decrease in the number of bodies she'd been crammed into close-quarters with. For a time, the peace and quiet, the ability to focus on craft and little else comes as welcome respite.
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Travel across the hillside the next day is mercifully swift. Without the primary bulk of the settlers, Maven and Dwunderbran are able to make good time across the hills. The wagon rumbles along behind them, drawn by an alternating team of sturdy dwarves pulling it much like beasts of burden would. A temporary arrangement, they are assured. Without needing to move at the speed of the slowest of the settlers, Maven and Dwunderbran catch up within four hours of having set out, just before mid-day on the thirteenth of Arodus.
As they come over a rocky rise, looking down into a craggy, granite hillside dotted with old, stickbare oaks, they see the settlers spread out between a pair of crumbling rock cliff faces. Most have begun setting up their tents, guards are on patrol, and Mineko can be seen maneuvering between the tents, speaking to the settlers with Koimanu-kun at her side.
"A welcome sight," one of the craftsmen that had worked with Maven notes, motioning with a gloved hand toward the tents being put up. "Though, I'll be happier once we're under that hill with some stone over our heads." Looking back to Maven, the woodworker offers a mild smile, then sets down the hill towards the new base camp.
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Coming down into the camp, Dwunderbran and Maven are greeted by the smiling faces of the other settlers. Though as they pass by tents and supply piles, noticing that the beach scavengers had already met up with the settlers from their final scavenging assignment, it becomes increasingly clear that Rogath, Quint, Logem and Dakun have not returned yet...
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Away Team - Day 1
x
Potentially hostile A1
Away Team - Day 2
x
Notable A1
Weather A1
x
Settlers - Day 1
Non Hostile S1
Non Hostile S2
x catch up here)
Wagon Repair Team - Day 2
Non Hostile
x Potentially hostile (caught up here)
After making his rounds through the new campsite, forcing the affront that is his company on many who politely try and deflect him away, only to earn further attention and comradery from the foul smelling paragon of dwarfkind. Dwunderbran eventually manages to get around to checking on his own possessions and effects that had been left in the care of the advance expeditionary group. He is relieved to see that everything is mostly intact, especially the crate bearing what's left of his shadeleaf stogie supply. His intentions ultimately land him in the company of the guards and guards-in-training, though he elects to take a brief detour in Mineko's direction to ask how their trip ahead of the wagon team had gone. Perhaps surprisingly, his tone is a fair deal more respectful (for Dwunderbran, at least) in that he is not being intentionally obstinate about allowing her a right to an opinion or guidance over her western cousins. Apparently, those whom she guided to their new destination were very forthcoming with praises for the young empress.
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RPG Superstar 2014 Top 16
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A few hours after Dwunderbran and Maven's return with the wagon, camp has been set up in the rocky, hills region that will soon become the first permanent settlement the dwarves have had since landing. Tents have been erected, supplies begun to be offloaded from the sledges, and a large fire-pit has been dug to lighten the camp in the coming hours of darkness. Maven has been working with the settlers, assisting in minor repairs and enjoying a full lunch of cooked stag from the game that was caught a few nights prior.
That restful state is broken by screams coming from the north side of camp. Settlers moving in that direction are quick to find Angrin being dragged by two other dwarves down the hillside. Blood flows from a vicious gash up his right leg and across his chest and his left hand has been seriously injured, blood dripping from swolen gloved fingertips. Unmoving, it isn't readily clear whether he is even alive or dead.
Called to the sound of the chaos, Dwunderbran and Maven find one of the scouts that works with Angrin at his side. "There's creatures on the north side'v the camp!" The scout shouts in warning, "Huge-- huge birds. Big as horses, meaner'n a cornered mountain lion. They-- they came chargin' up over the hill and ambushed us!"
Shouts and cries can be heard nearby, and it sounds like the warriors who guard the northern edge of the camp from danger have come into battle with these beasts.
<< The Hills Camp | Cloudy, Strong Breeze, Cool | Mid-Day | Wealday, Arodus 13th, 4714 AR >>
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No. No no no NO! By Torag's hammer I'll not have another funeral tonight!
Maven's clerical instincts kick in and she immediately rushes for the bleeding Angrin, checking for signs of life and severity of injuries. As her eyes dart over the grievous wounds with a healer's focus, she puts her fingers to his neck, and exhales visibly when she feels the slightest thump.
"A pulse. Tough as the stone he is, and thank Torag for it."
She then clasps palms for a moment in a brief prayer, then lays a hand on Angrin's chest, shrinking the worst of the gashes and slowing the flow of blood with life-giving energy. Once she's satisfied death has been staved off, she points to Angrin's scout.
"You! Get him indoors!"
Standing from her now stable patient, she turns toward the sound of the battle, lifts Drowbreaker from her back and looks to Dwunderbran with a nod.
Time t'see if bird bones break as easy as Drow...
Wordless and honest, Dwunderbran sets off immediately where the scout indicates. He would need to earn his keep around here. Now that the open seas were behind them, what contributions he had dwindled significantly. All he has left are his arms, axes, and a predisposition to putting both to work. Even so, he's built something for himself amongst his fellow refugees that he is not ready to relinquish. For the first time in his life, his kin not only welcome, but look up to him. Letting them down isn't an option. No rallying speeches are forthcoming—his tongue is about as honeyed as a skin of vinegar. He won't knit wounds with the wave of a hand—indeed, his calloused sausages are more likely to break bones than set them. There's only one response he's capable of, and it's one expected from him. It is to let his axes sing.
Nie, dinnae let'm be dyin' on ye, sissy Maven! E's a good'n tha' Angrin!
Dwunderbran flashes across the camp as fast as his dwarven legs can carry him, the hafts of both Requiem and Lullaby gripped tightly in his hands as he goes. Whatever this new place, it seemed to have its fair share of grumpy, feathery bastards. The mighty Vulgarbeard intends to thin out that avian herd.
Standing before a small cluster of Tian dwarves, Princess Mineko nodded again to the aged, wizened dwarf craftsman who held a bit of salvaged stone in his hands. Over the last few weeks, the uncrowned Empress had become somewhat softer in her approaches to her people. She still stood for the empire, and the memory of their home, but what the people needed now was hope. Salvation seemed a distant prospect, but Mineko had thrown herself into hardening the resolve of her people. The coast was a wild and untamed land. It was full of wonders and questions, and questions were often left unanswered and turned to fear. Mineko knew that such things could not be allowed to fester unchecked.
Yes, Master Yamaumich.. Mineko said softly, examining the stone, though in truth she was unsure what she was looking at. This one agrees it does not carry the luster of jade, nor the beauty of marble. But it like our people is strong...
Suddenly screams broke through the air and a cold wind blew against the frail women's spine. Behind her, her celestial guardian and protection of the Granite Throne, Komainu-Kun stiffened in reaction. His nostrils flared, testing the air and the thousand foreign scents that this new land held.
Danger, your highness... Komainu grumbled with a soft bassato rumble.
The words were unneeded, but accepted with quite, calm reserve.
Turning back to the stone-smith, The last scion of the Yamauchi clan bowed slightly and looked towards the screams. Master Yamaumich.. We will discuss this later. Mineko stated, her voice growing quiet, but with a deep inner reserve, like fire hardened steel. Glancing back of her shoulder, Mineko gestured towards Koki Hayashi. Guardsman.. Mineko stated, her voice carrying with it the undertone of command. Take what guards we have. Post half to the inner camp. The other half is to reinforce in the direction of the attack. Draw the craftsman and noncombatants towards the fire. Go.. go now!
Pushing her way through the tents towards the sounds of the screams. Mineko flicked her wrist in a series of complex motions. It would be appropriate to pay homage to the gods for the blessings, but she hoped they would understand that time was of the essence. Her prayer complete, the slight woman felt a mantle of pressure descend upon her, and a moment later a similar disturbance appear around her protector. My thanks, ancestors... she thought, briefly inclining her head before moving towards the sounds of violence. In her heart she knew that this was only the first of many tests that awaited their stranded people on these forlorn shores, but she would never shirk from her duties.
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RPG Superstar 2014 Top 16
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Dwunderbran is the first to make it beyond the northern perimeter of the camp and over the ridge to see what is happening. From a distance, the scene looks grim. Two enormous bipedal birds with jagged beaks and dark reddish-brown plumage are fighting the entire northern defense squad with ferocious aggression. A third bird stands apart from the others on a low rise, watching the fighting while picking at its plumage.
Coming down off the rise, Dwunderbran is joined by Maven who follows him into a low-lying gulley between the hills where the fighting is taking place. The shouts and screams of the dwarves match their ragged condition. Several of them are injured, some more severely than others but it's hard to tell if all of the blood is theirs or if some of it was Angrin's.
The bird-creatures are vicious and fast, easily able to keep pace with a horse, and more than capable of running down dwarves who try to flee over the rough hills. Their shrieks, caws, and chirps are communicating a noise of bloodlust into the air.
<< | | : Axebeak Hills Encounter >>
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Maven's eyes go wide at the sight of the bloody battle, and her jaw drops at the sight of the giant birdlike monstrosities stomping after her kin.
"Slap me senseless, he was right...They're huge!"
Realizing with no small share of embarrassment that what she knows about birds is now completely moot and that the scout was talking complete sense, Maven starts to make a beeline for her kinsmen, but looks at the vicious beaks of the attackers and back to Drowbreaker. Thinking of caution first, she takes a moment to trace her fingers over the head of her hammer, bestowing a bit of Torag's own fortitude upon the weapon. She then moves closer to the massive avians in an effort to get into swinging range.
If I have my way, the whole camp'll be feasting on fowl tonight and buryin' no dead!
Reaching the crest of the hill, Mineko Yamauchi clad in her finery glanced towards the three giant avian beasts with a frowning glance. They were large was the first thought, followed shortly thereafter by a note of how sharp their beaks were. With a cry one launched itself at the nearest dwarf and the powerful blow managed to shatter the dwarfs shield. No.. this will not do.. The unordained empresses thought stoically. This one has not come all of this way only to see our remaining people shattered before carrion scavengers. With an imperious gesture, The empresses flicked her fingers and her kimono changed to a scarlet hue with white cherry blossoms falling to her hem. It was the color of blood.
Komainu-Kun! Deal with the beasts! Mineko commanded striding towards the clanging of steel and the squawking of furious beasts. I will rally the guards.
As Komainu explodes forward, throwing up bits of shale in his wake, Mineko points towards nearest of the beasts. Guards! Rally to the southern beast! Strike at its flanks and bring it down. The woman shouts, though at the last second a shrill warbling cry manages to overpower even the sound of the women's own voice, causing it to be lost in the moment.
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