Dolgrin almost spits some ale at Kal'Tos' comment, and begins snickering with a mouthful of ale and watches for Rin's reaction.
While the second mourner, Grima might not have been there. Dressed in simple mourning attire over serviceable full plate armor of heavy infantry, he did not appear as a Skuldafn prince even while sitting at the table of honor. He could be a distant cousin or nephew, certainly not the youngest son of the great Hraggir Skuldafn, unless you knew him like the dwarves of Drun-Morogh. Then he was Grima, the disappointment of Skuldafn, unskilled and untalented. Fit to stand guard and bring glory to his name only in a worthy death.
His older brother Vigar focused all of the attention on himself. After 64 years within the dark shadow of his brother, Grima accepted and preferred it. But he had vision last night of his father and awoke with a strange, shifting mark on his hand. The mark usually resembled Kols' hammer but sometimes he imagined more complicated shapes. Between his vision and the finish of his father's legacy, Grima was numb. He went through the funerary motions behind his brother. No one sought his opinion, so it was just as well.
He watched the mourners seek his brother's personal attention. Bending the traditions with the great power of charisma, his brother dispensed with the formalities protecting him from his fanatics. Of course, how could his great flame of leadership survive without the appreciation of followers?
Then, Grima's calculating mind cleared the emotional cloud of last night and the week and started working on the performance of Halsiig Halfhammer. The throngs around his brother or even his brother's fond memories of their father who loved them very differently did not distracted him. What was this spectacle of the kalistocrat? Was it an offer or a dare? Would his brother take the bait? What was the game here?
Daelric looks to Isoldda with a sorrowful expression, "Aye, sometimes the price for a broken oath is painful. I just hope that you manage to keep all future oaths, no matter the difficulty. I suppose you have an oath you are upholding at the moment anyway, a guard to Vigar is a very impressive and important position! I offer you my congratulations and respect for achieving such a position, I am sure your father would be proud."
Daelric then looks to Kal'Tos, then to Rin, "Ah ... that is a worrying thought." With that he seems to try and avoid Rins eyes.
Rins face twists with incredulity.
Speek f'y'self lahddy!
The blonde Dwarf pours himself a drink and downs it yet again with one long, uninterrupted gulp.
Ah tayke proide fro'mah her'tidge. Glayne woz'mi fa'ver, suhn of Vangarohff and Pondo, whyall Espari woz'mi mo'ver, dall'ta ov Khyrer 'n Rodahd! Bohf fam'lees proide thm'selves ohn loiltee 'n strenff. Ah'kin naimm e'vry rahlaysion bach'fyve gn'rasions 'f'ye'lyk.
"Harder'n usual, e'en. Then we heard o' the master o' coin's death, too. Hasn't been a good month, fer us. On the other hand, we're still holdin' out, so that's good."
"Ye've my sympathies, boy-o. When 'at firin' rock what smacked Kyonin right fierce a'fell, 'twas bad enough, aye? Wave, 'quake, an' fire aplenty an' nary a nation fer ta do shyte 'bout it. Ah'd hoped tha darkies'd stick ta killin' elves. Dinnae 'spect 'em ta press afiercely at me kin and ken, aye?" Scant seats away, a particular assembly of dwarves seem to be painfully oblivious to their proximity to Dwunderbran and his newfound place at the table.
"...take a seat, let us just hope that Vulgerbeard doesn't come over and start a fight, there is no need for violence that can be avoided."
Dwunderbran chuckles under his breath before flashing a twinkle eyed grin to Angrin, Hyrin, and Talon alike. "Would ye lissin' 'at 'em? 'Alf pissin' 'emselves over me shadow, ye grab me?" The wild eyed dwarf then leans close and whispers low to the trio of dwarves around him, "Cannae let 'em go on 'bout me unpunished, aye? Lessee if we can widen 'eir piss stainin' a bit."
Gripping the table's side with both hands, Dwunderbran leans back away from the line of seated dwarves to peer down to the assembly of clergymen and drinkers beyond. An obviously irritated yell pierces the steady din of mourning, remembering, and celebrating, though it is evidently aimed towards the Stonelord of Kols, Daelric. "" The mad dwarf lets his glare linger a moment longer before leaning forward once more to present company, a barely-suppressed grunt of laughter sputtering from his nose as his stout frame visibly shakes.
Daelric stands up, turns to look at Vulgarbeard and bows, "If you can hear what I am saying m'lord, then you know that I do not wish to create any unnecessary violence. Only stop such violence, especially at such a celebration as this, where we are celebrating life, not death." Daelric does not raise his voice, as Vulgarbeard could hear him fine before. He raises his head again and sits down again, with his back facing Vulgarbeard, feeling the glare on him. He quietly gulps then and looks a little nervous.
"I speak as the one who can be understod by all, whereas you speak in a tongue that vaguely resembles true dwarven speach. Given your argumentative state, I will assume that you are simply drunk and not inbred to boot." Kal'Tos continues to drink using mage hand during the conversation.
Angrin nods grimly at Dwunderbran's words on the drow. "Aye, they been more active since the bloody quakes got so bad when the comet hit. An' don' get me started on the f%@!ing nasties down there. Can't e'en go a mile without steppin' in one's slime trail." A dark expression comes over his face, and tension radiates off of him like heat from a magma forge. It melts away slowly as Vulgarbeard engages in some mocking fun at the Stonelord's expense, and he sighs softly, repressing a small grin. Well, at least there was some entertainment available.
Looks over at Dwunderbran. Oh this cannot stand. He will not threaten my new brother with no recourse.
Looks back over to Daelric and grins. Don't worry my brother I will stand at your side. That may not have been the wisest thing to do but at least it will be fun.
He takes in the pained and paniced expression on Daelric's face and chuckles as he looms to Miss Ironbloom. Yes and while he protects those who are seeking to keep their oaths I witness Oaths and seek out and bring to Kols justice those who break them.
He looks around the table as sighs. Perhaps it is time I told my tale. As those of you who follow The Gladdringgar know the object is to go deeper than anyone else to make your mark. It is about proving yourself competent at surviving by yourself and to prove you are fearless. This is a tale of how I found fear in the dark depths.
He takes a long pull of mead and takes a steadying breath. I was renowned in The Gladdringgar for delving deeper and farther out than anyone else. One day I decided to see just how deep I could go. I gathered up enough food to last a week and set off. As I passed through the lower reaches I foraged to find myself food to make my supplies last. I passed the deepest of our halls. Passed the last dug out and abandoned veins of Adamite. Soon I found caverns and chutes and this that had never known the touch of dwarf. I made passage marks here and there both to show I had passed by and so I would know the way back. Soon it was getting hard to forage and my supples were getting low. Must have been gone a week and a half at that point going nearly straight down fast as my legs could carry me. I came upon this huge cavern in its roof miles above me head twinkled glowing stones like stars in the sky up top. Onky a thousand times the beauty. And there in the center say ten fifteen miles in was a glowing pillar of stone. Never seen the like.
With that he pulls out a small carved bit of stone etched into a ball with lines and knots carvedtthroughout its surface. He holds it under the table in shadow and it glows just a bit for those who wish to look. And I was like that's where I make me mark. So I made my way over there. Now near to the base of this thing were pools of shadow laying think like water the light from the pillar didn't make them vanish nor did the light from me fire. So I avoided them and climb up this thing. Spent three days carving my mark in it on those ropes. Its so big if you made your way there you could see it from the entrance. And I took this bit of stone as me proof. No one has ever been able to say what kind it is but near to a hundred years later it glows still. Well as I'm starting to work my way down it happens. My pitons have worn through my rope. Shouldnt have spent three days hanging from it swing and working I guess. And I fallinto one of those shadows. Cept its not a shadow. I know now it was a natural gate to somewhere in the plane of shadow. And there's this thing there. You see how pale I am and I do not have no red eyes so I'm not an albino. There is no reason for a dwarf who does not have a hundred and twenety five yet to be all white. The place it leeched the color outta me and was taking my life. It tells me its going to drink from the sorrow around me like a well spring and when I'm dry pull itself through and suck the life and light from this world like marrow from a bone. Then it touched me and i havent been warm since. Priests tell me I missing part of my soul. Anyways I passed out. I woke up being found by one of our patrols in the lower halls. The stone in my pocket and this mark upon me. My kin folk and clan started dying and I have been trying to figure out away to stop this thing ever since.
Magnus lifts his braided beard out of the way and pulls his shirt down a bit there in his hairy bear like chest is an area with out hair. It looks almost like marble rather than flesh its so pale the patch is in the shape of a clawed hand and it rests right iver his heart.
Grima surveys the hall looking for Halsiig the kalistocrat. Where is he now after his performance? Who else does he speak with? Are they allies or potential customers?
Like a soldier planning a mission, Grima looks for his target and the best terrain. Normally, Grima could move around the hall unmolested like a leper, but today even his social 'leprosy' would not shield him for those who want to express their sympathies to the Skuldafn family hoping to reach the ears of his brother. He watches the celebrants and their groups weighing the best course to potentially meet the kalistocrat or at least drop some eaves on him.
After Vulgarbeard's commotion, Daelric watches Magnus' anger rise and before he can say anything to try and settle the mood, Magnus jumps up and shouts right back at him. Even though Daelric fears a fight even more now, you can see he is feeling more secure knowing that if Vulgerbeard did start a fight for some reason, he would not be alone and then fight would end quickly with low chances of injuries to the other mourners. As Magnus sits down again Daelric nods and whispers to him, "Thank-you my friend, hopefully that will be enough to dissuade him."
Then Magnus begins his tale, Daelric had only ever heard little pieces of it before, so he was glued to the story. At the mention of the rock Daelric looks at the glowing stone in fascination and gets into the story even more. It is when Magnus starts telling how his clan started dying that Daelric's fascinated expression changes to one of sorrowful determination, "I will definitely help you to avenge your family and put a stop to this curse." When Magnus shows his chest and the claw shaped "scar" that is when Daelric's face turns again, this time to one of horror.
The horror is then replaced with amazement as Daelric finally notices Kal'Tos' trick, "He is drinking ... but not holding the cup!" "How are you doing that?"
Dolgrin gets a nervous look on his face when the two dwarves start yelling back and forth. By Torag's Hammer, not again! I was only joking with Daelric... Once Magnus begins his story, Dolgrin relaxes and listens intently.
Afterwards, he is obviously deep in thought. "Are ye certain ye were on 'nother plane o' existence thar lad? I only ask 'cause while I don't know much about the planes, I do know about other things, like thar be some undead beasties that can curse a person in nasty ways."
"This" Kal'Tos gestures to his mug "is a simple application of the arcane sciences, for this a small use of transmutation. Handy isn't it."
"Very handy, are there any limitations? Sounds like you could do battle without actually having to get into any danger?"
Daelric looks from Kal'Tos to Magnus and finally to Dolgrin, "Other planes ... undead beasties? Neither sound very pleasant, By Torag's beard, what if it is an Undead creature from another plane?! Is that possible?" Daelric then thinks of another question for Magnus about his story so turns back to face him again, "This piece of your soul that is missing, do you think the creature ate it or is using it? Has anyone else been to the cavern and experienced anything similar?"
He nods thankfully at Daelric and looks over to Kal'Tos.
Just because he does not speak well does not give you the right to insult him like that. We are all Dwarves here sons of stone. We are carved from the one earth as one family and should act like it. I can understand his speaking just fine. And if you have a problem with it then help him work on his speech so he speak clearer. How do you know he wasn't hurt some how to cause that in honorable defense of our people. Perhaps you would make fun of someone who lost an arm to an ork. Or perhaps Torag craved him that way who are you to insult the Fathers work.
Dolgrin replies, "I don't see why such a thin' wouldn't be possible. But, Magnus, 'ave ye tried at the House o' Torag? No offense to Kols, but the Father 'as a much larger follwin' 'n as such more resources ta look into this sort o' thin'."
"Unfortunately I have not figured out how to apply it more than a few feet away from me, or with any kind of weight involved. Though other applications can allow me to deal damage at range."
Nods to Dolgrin. Yes I have and I was laughed out of the temple. They told me that my clan had fallen on bad times and the grief was getting to me. That shadows didn't do things like that. And that me paleness and white hair was a mark of worrying to much. As for the mark they said it was a mere scar. Its like the dam thing was clouding their eyes and laughing at me.
He shakes his head. Its why I had given up before Daelric here gave me hope again.
Daelric finishes his water and piece of bread, "Should I have another, I am quite full ... but if I don't it may seem rude. I think I can manage just one more piece ... well time to see if that's true." Daelric reaches forwards for another loaf of bread, but this time also gets some cheese as well as some boar. He takes a knife and starts to cut up the cheese and boar into fine slices, then cuts the bread and makes himself a boar and cheese sandwich. He sits quietly nibbling on his sandwich while Dolgrin and Magnus speak, "Hmmm, friends should always believe each other and help them out if at all possible. You would think the priests would be curious about your condition and try their best to help you, even if it was just to increase there own knowledge of diseases and curses."
Daelric then turns to Kal'Tos, "So it couldn't be used in combat too effectively ... What if you were to hold a shield in front of you and have a bow next to you that you are controlling, could you have the bow loose an arrow at your enemies while protected behind a shield?"
Unfortunately I do not believe that would work, though other forms of the sciences could allow a shield to levitate in front of you for a few moments. I believe I could use it to pour a potion down someone's throat or raise a scroll to read from.
[Dwunderbran chuckles under his breath before flashing a twinkle eyed grin to Angrin, Hyrin, and Talon alike. "Would ye lissin' 'at 'em? 'Alf pissin' 'emselves over me shadow, ye grab me?" The wild eyed dwarf then leans close and whispers low to the trio of dwarves around him, "Cannae let 'em go on 'bout me unpunished, aye? Lessee if we can widen 'eir piss stainin' a bit."
Gripping the table's side with both hands, Dwunderbran leans back away from the line of seated dwarves to peer down to the assembly of clergymen and drinkers beyond. An obviously irritated yell pierces the steady din of mourning, remembering, and celebrating, though it is evidently aimed towards the Stonelord of Kols, Daelric. "" The mad dwarf lets his glare linger a moment longer before leaning forward once more to present company, a barely-suppressed grunt of laughter sputtering from his nose as his stout frame visibly shakes.
Talon laughs, "You have ears like a bat my friend. You'd be a useful one to have out on the trail. Still, we should probably wait for the clergy to leave," nodding meaningfully towards the dais, "before getting to the celebratory brawling don't you think?" Hoping to distract the exuberant dwarf he asks, "So you're a sailor then? I've heard tales of great monsters living in deep water, have you seen any of them?"
I believe their minds were muddled by the creature.
He turns to Kal'Tos. Yes but could you say have a preaimed and braced crossbow hide around a corner and use it to pull the trigger? Or perhaps pull a peg that was propping up something instead of havin a visible line? Those things require very little force perhaps they would work.
"If'n that be so, 'n why 'adn't it muddled mine? Must be somethin' more obscure lad."
"I think if I was close enough things like that could work. It is amazing what the arcane sciences allow one to acomplish."
Talon laughs, "You have ears like a bat my friend. You'd be a useful one to have out on the trail. Still, we should probably wait for the clergy to leave," nodding meaningfully towards the dais, "before getting to the celebratory brawling don't you think?" Hoping to distract the exuberant dwarf he asks, "So you're a sailor then? I've heard tales of great monsters living in deep water, have you seen any of them?"
"Aye, ah sailed tha' blue piss-stain of a puddle they call tha Inner Sea fer nigh on nineteen rolls o' years, aye? Made me fortune, squandered it, made meself another one an' pissed it away twice as fast, aye?" Dwunderbran chortles at the last bit, then stops to ponder the question about the beasties. "Nay, cannae say as we ever crossed 'er planks wiff a beasty what deserves distinction. Tangled long an' hard wiff a mess o' merrow off the coast'a Molthune, aye? An' ah swears ah done seen wunna them dragons what has clouds fer scales, but me laddies ne'er believed me words were true."
Swiveling to his side to peer up at Vigar's dais, Dwunderbran smiles and shoots a coy look to Talon. "As fer tha churl an' 'is new bubby, sod tha clergymen, aye? Customs afore sense, ah always say!"
Hyrin extricates herself from the mounting tension as Dwunderbran nearly chokes to death on a poorly carved shank of honeyed ham; a result of stuffing his face while in the clutches of a purple faced, silent laughter. Seeing the girl rise wordlessly with a polite smile as she turns to leave cuts short Dwunderbran's thrill, however, and he barely manages to squeak out, "Ach! Whur' ya goin' missy?" between chokes, food, and breath. A targetless scowl forms quickly as a moment of sulking overtakes him. The tone and tension shifts again, however, as Dwunderbran offers a nudge from his monstrous elbows to both Angrin and Talon. "Ah 'ave it on an authority as high as me thruster's long—an' tha' be a mountain only tha bravest lass'll climb, true as me axe arm—tha' the guest o' honor'd appreciate a gaggle of dwarves honorin' 'is passed da' wi' a ruckus fit fer ta be namin' ole Hraggir a King, ya grab me? Jes' don' go wettin' yer breeches on me." He leans in close at this, and another broad, devious smile plays across his face with enough mirth to make a Kyonin refugee snicker. "Watch me aft side laddies—Ah'm gon' ta pick a fight."
Rising to straddle his bench, he wheels about to renew his assail to the other dwarven party anew, streams of spittle and food accompanying his seemingly harsh words. "" Finishing his medley of insults, Dwunderbran reaches for the remains of a mostly-eaten roast boar and pitches the entire dish across the way in Magnus' direction. Turning to the dais the feigned-rage gripped dwarf winks at the dead Skuldafn's heir before bellowing loudly across the tables, "" in anticipation of the brawl that will no doubt follow suit.
Angrin looks at Dwunderbran, mildly alarmed. He had no real wish to brawl yet, so soon after arriving, and carefully moves out of the way of the dwarves he believes most likely to follow Vulgarbeard's example. Fading back into the shadows for the time being, he watches with a small smile on his face. Whoever said that funerals were no fun, anyways?
Getting sprayed in the side of his head with drool and foodstuffs (and furiously bad breath), Dolgrin takes a small reflexive moment to wipe it away, as he turns and sees Dwunderbran reaching for a tray of food. Wide eyed, he begins trying to get out of the way of the dwarf and his apparent target.
"Damnit lad! First ye try 'n ruin me shop with yer antics, now yer lookin' to make a mess o' Hraggir's wake!? I don't think the Stonelord was meanin' to give ye permission earlier!"
All the same, Dolgrin reaches into the pack under his cloak and puts his armor's helmet on. If this is going to turn into a brawl, let them bust their knuckles on this! The helm itself matches the rest of his armor in style, with a golden hammer easily identifiable as Torag's holy symbol emblazoned on the brow.
"No, no. Not been to Varisia myself. The Thasilonians were certainly an interesting group though, their decline into savagery and dark magics, their runes amongst them. I did some research, but I've mostly kept busy in Garund, and occasionally southern Avistan." he replis amiably to Grunyar's question. "I had always intended to get to them eventually of course, but that is both easier, and more dangerous now with history walking right out of it's pages." he offers with an amused smile.
Angrin's introduction earns him a pause just a little bit too long and a brief condescending look before he responds. "Quint Chiselbone, of Absalom. Student in history, and dabbler in magic." he glances towards Grunyar to see if the nervous fellow will introduce himself.
Yes yes, w-walking right out of the history books alright. Grunyar replies with a lost look. Fear and hate dancing behind his eyes as the seconds stretch into an awkward silence. With a sharp noise the mug in his hands cracks under the pressure of his grip.
The noise seems to scare the young dwarf who jumps in his seat looking at his surroundings as if lost. He quickly returns to his usual disquiet self.
Grunyar! Yes, my name is Grunyar. I work as a steelworker at the Gun Works. Nice to meet you. After a couple of seconds. Dabbler you say? Yes yes. I dabble a little bit too, sometimes, when I can. The knowledgeable people never seem to have the time...
And sometimes its hard being by yourself... He mumbles under his breath.
Quint sighs as Angrin leaves to other conversations, making no attempt to follow him. He pulls out a pipe and thumbs tobaccos into it, cocking an ear to the singing before lighting his pipe with a simple bit of magic.
"And Father wonders why I avoid Highhelm." he mutters under his breath, turning back to Grunyar as the dwarf introduces himself. He puffs away at his pipe until he has a good head of smoke going. "Ahh firearms." he nods, simply quirking an eyebrow as the man breaks his mug. "I've had the chance to see a few, but never handled one myself. They're dreadfully-" he begins to say until a commotion from further down the table draws his attention. He stands and looks at the fellow scholar, already starting to move away. "May I suggest we relocate this discussion elsewhere."
Lost with the ghosts of his past and present Grunyar failed to noticed the change in the mood of the hall until the fuse was already lit. It caught him by surprise. As his eyes widened his right hand quickly moved under the table to cock his pistol.
Yes, relocate. Thats a good ideia, good ideia! he says while following Angrin's example and moving to fade with the shadows at the corner of the room, near the exits.
And if you know little about firearms Mister Bonechisel, keep in mind that the most important thing about them is always... who drew first. he wisper as he goes.
Damn this people. Should have brought my armor.
Talon shakes his head ruthfully, "Not so easy to distract this one. Not sure I'd have picked him as a brawling partner, but with than against!"
Smashing one mailed hand into the other he exclaims gleefully, "No better way to honor a noble dwarf than with an epic brawl, eh?"
Looks at Dwunderbran in a rage for a moment after being hit by half a roast boar. PopsThen he smiles and gets up. Poping the top off an empty keg of mead and casts create water in it twice to fill it. The takes it up and walks over to Dwunderbran. Here lass have a bath you stink almost as bad as yer insults. You orc kissin goblin humping donkeys arse. He upends the keg over Dwunderbran soaking him.
There now you atleast smell better and perhaps the lasses won't flee from ye for fear of the constant smell of piss rising from ye. Now sit down and shudup before I tie ye to a chair and gag ye with your piss stained small clothes. I told ye we weren't looking fer a fight but by Kol I will end one if you start it.
Turns and marches back to his table picking up the boar and slinging it against the wall before taking his seat.
Now where we folks and someone pass me some more mead if ye will.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Dwunderbran seems as awash with incredulity as water when Magnus begins his return trip to his seat. To many in the room, the soaked dwarf seems as if seething with anger, a brief calm before the torrential storm that is about to be unleashed. To those closer—namely, Talon—the maddened grin spreading beneath his incongruously braided and styled mustache is and widening eyes beneath the roll of his prominent, thickly furred brows are barely visible; he was enjoying this.
He whispers low enough for his partners in crime to hear, not realizing Angrin has abandoned him to his fate, "Best be gon' easy on tha Stonelordling, aye? Don' thin' he's been initiated in such'n affair afore."
Magnus has no sooner regained his position at the table than when, without warning or retort, a flash of burnished metal, red hair, and dripping dwarf sails into the paler dwarf's side with a crazed 'whoop' of glee. As the two tumble past the table and onto the floor, Bjornsson's unintended folly comes to fruition: sloughs of reeking, fetid clumps—a wretched result of the resulting mix of water with Dwunderbran's filth as it flees the dwarf's beard and garments—are flung about the gathering, the majority of which fall and spray onto the dwarf with whom Dwunderbran is now hopelessly entangled with. In the brief moments before all present can regain their bearings, Dwunderbran hefts his mighty weapon over his head: a greasy cut of lamb, whose jutting bone the dwarf is using as a handle.
Edrukk makes sure to keep his distance from the brawl. Don't wanna hafta report this to my superiors.
The throngs of conversation abuzz around Maven seem to blend into one seamless hum, her focus blurring. What the devil...haven't touched an ale...why'm I dizzy?
She rubs her eyes as mention of tunnels and sailing and magic and fights fly by. Letting go of her cup, Maven fights to keep from swaying or tipping, laying a hand of the table to steady it. She makes her best effort to at least smile, nod, and look focused when spoke of, or to, but nothing can seem to stop the dizziness. When she spies Magnus and Dwanderbran Tumble to the floor in a fistfight, she starts to hear hammer peals in place of punches, and the sparks of a forge fly in place of spittle or blood.
Sparks...hammers...fists don't ring, and spit doesn't spark...What's happenin' to me?
She barely registers the sweat on her brow as her sight seems to fade, but something stays her from panic. A sensation, a familiar presence, and an almost tangible feeling of urgency and importance seems to poke at her mind. The shadows turn to darkness, and the darkness seems to coalesce into a stone; boulder or mountain, she could not discern. It was dark, with veins of red metal, and a fierce gleam in the rock itself.
Out of the darkness, a hammer struck the rock. Again, and again, a ghostly hammer pounded away at the earthen mound, ringing in her ears. With a pause, the hammer lifted itself high above, then raced towards the stone with a sense of unstoppable force. the impact of the hammer shattered the stone in a burst of rock and metal, the thunderous blast shaking her from her vision.
Perfectly at rest moments before, Maven now gasped for air, panting from exhaustion that even days of smithing did not induce. All she could do was breathe and grip the table as her face rained sweat.
Footsteps echo along the way towards Skuldafn meadhall. Walking in a regal posture, hands clasped firmly behind his back, Logem Lokumlektad - "Spearlured", for those knowledgable with the old translations - heads towards the funeral, fashionably late but hopefully not having missed the celebration. He wears his usual uniform - a immaculately white overcoat, black pants and matching black rubber boots. Appearing to be entering the middle stage of his life, Dr. Logem's well-combed black hair is beginning to recede, while his double-braided beard shows signs of graying. Despite this, his muscular figure shows vitality and youth have not left the dwarf just yet, though his umber eyes, hidden behind his spectacles, tell an entirely different story.
Ah, celebrations. These northerners will celebrate anything. Celebrate one's birth! Celebrate one's death! Celebrate the ending of one's celebration! It's really quite amazing that they get anything done. Still, the mead is good, the food better, and watching some of the embarassing things some of them do can be all too worth it. I wonder who exactly died this time? Must be someone of importance.
Reaching the meadhall's massive stone door, Dr. Logem stops, momentarily listening to the rucus happening within. Sighing to himself, he can easily guess at what's going on inside. He then looks over to one of the guards and gives them a curt nod, signaling he wishes to enter. As they push the doors open, Dr. Logem is greeted by the smell of delicious food, hearty alcohols, and sweaty, smelly dwarves, as well as the sight and sounds of a 'friendly' brawl.
"Well, isn't this a sight? I suppose I've arrived just in time!" Dr. Logem chuckles to himself and pulls out two vials. The first vial, filled with a dull gray liquid, he pops open with his thumb and quaffs as fast as the thick, sluggish liquid will allow. Although no visible effect can be seen, Dr. Logem's face momentarily shows that he knows it is working. The second vial, filled with a glowing greed liquid that bubbles slightly, is given a quick shake. Immediately, the liquid begins churning furiously. Popping open the vial with his thumb as he did with the previous vial, Dr. Logem quickly drinks the now-foaming liquid. Immediately, his chest, arms, and legs begin to bulge with increased musculature. Hideous looking veins can be seen popping up along his neck, and his eyes bulge ever so slightly. His skin seems to grow thicker and tougher, despite being covered with numerous veins.
With a hideous grin, Dr. Logem walks slowly and deliberately right into the brawl and grabs the two miscreants by whatever he can get a grasp of. He then lifts them up off the ground without so much as beating an eye lash. "Now now, play nicely. Don't make me put you two in time out!" His Dwarvish is spoken with a slight accent, despite his attempts over the past sixty years of living amongst Highhelm to correct it. His voice is strong, steady, and commanding, and he speaks as if talking to dwarven toddlers.
Daelric is talking to his new companions when both he and Magnus are hit in the head with a plate of boar. He turns to see who threw it ... Vulgarbeard, he should have guessed. As Daelric gets up to try and stop anything else happening Magnus rises starts reciting some incantations and picks up a barrel and pours the contents over Vulgarbeard.
Daelric follows Dolgrins lead, as he is putting on his helm, Daelric is reaching to his back and readying his shield onto his arm. He then rises and places himself in front of both Maven and Isoldda protectively. Daelric wears no helm. As Isoldda stands to join the fight I shake my head, "No need for you to join in and risk hurting yourself ..." Daelric then suddenly spies Maven sweating and grabbing of the table. Without even thinking he drops his shield with a loud clanging, which sounds like a very large coin falling to the floor and spinning on its rim before laying flat with the symbol of Kols facing upwards. He crouches down beside her and touches her arm, "Hey, are you alright? What's wrong Sister?" Daelric quickly looks up to Dolgrin and calls out loudly, loud enough for others in the room to hear too above the commotion of the brawl, "Dolgrin, help! Can you do anything? Sister Maven looks very unwell!"
Grima can't help be distracted from the food fight starting in front of him and now a giant referee. He makes no judgment about their actions thinking it normal fun for regular dwarves.
However, he wonders, did the kalistocrat instigate this diversion? What happens while the hall is now distracted?" He looks around the food circus for evidence to support his suspicions.
Angrin blinks in disgust and amusement as the good Doctor begins to swell, but barks a short, harsh laugh as the dwarf picks up the pair with deliberate slowness. How had he managed that? Drinking potions, he assumed, but...that was startling to see, especially the second potion. Although, Angrin notes dryly, he probably wasn't going to make any friends, especially if they were going to have fun brawling.
By Calistria's garters, I'm getting tired of all this ruckus that hothead keeps causing!
With a look of determination, Dolgrin takes a couple deliberate steps towards the brawl as if he has intentions of ending it, when he hears Daelric's panicked shout. The concern on his face is evident, and he glances back at the fight, and she's that it appears to be well in hand .
He then moves back to Maven's side, his hand glowing a faint blue radiance. He places two fingers onto her forehead, and the glow moves from his hand and over her body for a brief moment, a wave of positive energy flowing like water.
"Sistar Brewbane, do ye feel any better? What 'appened? Did the fightin' panic ye?"
Easing her breathing after a few moments, Maven's eyes seem to regain focus after a concentrated effort and tightly shut eyelids. As she tries to sit up straight, she lurches forward as her hands hold fast to the table in their vice-like grip. gritting her teeth, She braces herself, planting her feet as firmly on the stone as she can, and begins to pull herself from the table with all her might. After several seconds, her fingers finally slip free, almost pitching her backwards off her seat, and they tremble slightly as she laces them together; pushing them outward produces a series of strikingly loud popping noises and another gasp as the shock causes feeling to return to her hands.
"I...I'm alright, I think..." She murmurs, sweating less profusely now. She grimaces as she starts to stretch, popping her joints all over as if she'd been frozen for decades. "Dunno what happened there. Heard hammer blows and saw sparks...musta...musta been missin' the forge is all..."
Once her limbs regain their full range of movement again, she reaches for her cup of water while wiping away a virtual deluge of sweat droplets from her face.
Torag...I hope that was a vision from ye...
He pulls free when he hears the shout about Maven.
Are ye sure your alright lass? Well drink that water and I will get ye a bite.
Ignoring Dwunderbran as there is a dwarf in need he goes to the food table and brings back a tray ladened with different foods.
I did not know what ye would like so I got a bit of everything. You jus rest and let me look ye over.
If she will permit he checks her eyes for signs of shock.
A concerned look is still played across Daelric's face, but when Dolgrin's hand glows blue and help to revive Maven he lets out a sigh of relief. At the popping noises coming from Mavens hands Daelric looks to her once again, "That doesn't sound healthy, also I have never heard anyone having those symptoms from missing their forge. Are you sure you are quite well?" With that Daelric then bends down and picks up his shield and goes to strap it to his arm to protect the two ladies from the fight. That's when he hears it, a strong commanding voice, he turns around quickly to see what is going on and gasps in disbelief. A dwarf with huge muscles holding both Vulgarbeard and Magnus up, at the same time ... with only a hand for each! Daelric is speechless, but still readies himself just in case the fight continues. He stand in front of both Maven and Isoldda expecting a blow to come to him any second.
Wriggling in a half-grunt, half-trill of dwarven battlerage, Dwunderbran's squirming is subdued as he sees his chosen sparring partner strolling away with indifference. His brows reach heights heretofore unseen as he swivels around in dismay to regard the alchemically augmented fellow holding him up by his belt straps. Much to Logem's surprise, sadness is the mask that takes hold of the feisty dwarf's face. He exhales a sorrowful sigh before switching his mighty lamb riblet to his left hand. He absentmindedly proffers the food just shy of Logem's mustache as if he intends to feed the vein-swollen brute still holding onto him, though he seems to have no interest in waiting for the other dwarf's reaction.
"Me worst fears 'ave been made truer an' ah could be guessin'. Drow bleedin' up'n from e'ery hole what sprung our cit'del; big'ns marchin' unchecked astride Varisia wiff a spell-bandyin' runelordling; corpses what nae inten' ta lay still scootin' 'cross Ust'lav; greenies an' humans gettin' cozey 'tweenst tha sheets; an' now this be tha gravest blow ah ever did lay me peepers on." You think the dwarf may be on the verge of tears. "Me kinsmen're nae longer dwarves true. Their stones've shriveled up dryer'n a puddle in Kyonin. Frolickin' instead o' fightin', consortin' wiff pointy-ears wha' looked down'n we lot fer long as'n we been diggin'. Wha' 'appened ta tha pride o' me peoples, aye? Now'n they be dishonorin' the rememberin' o' a dwarf great an' true by runnin' from a scrap'n tha hall." Eyes cast down to contemplate the floor of the meadhall before he continues, still in sadness, "We be losin' our homes one after'n other an' ah can see why. These thrusterless flower pickin' sots 'er nay fit ta walk 'er ancestor's halls. They cannae fight, they will nae drink, an' they'd rather prattle an' hug 'bout their infirmities instead'a grippin' 'eir manhood an' stand up fer 'emselves!"
Dwunderbran's depressing epiphany seems, at the very least, to hold promise that his rambunctiousness will recede, though as ever the dwarf lives to disappoint. His left arm, still offering the cut of lamb to the beefy form of Dr. Logem, begins to tremble in unison with the rest of the dwarf's frame. "Nay! Ah will nae be join'n 'em fer a rub o' their tw*ts! " .
Hearing Dwunderbran call out his insults at himself and his kinsmen seems to strike a nerve in Dolgrin, and his look of concern solidifies to stone. He stands and walks steadily towards the dangling dwarf with even steps, speaking a cold lecture as he does.
"Ye come ta this 'ere 'all, causin' one disruption after 'nother, 'n 'cause tha rest o' us are tryin' ta be sociable with our kinsmen, ye got tha nerve ta insult us, 'n worse yet! Ye insult the Father's work in creatin' us! That, lad, I nay can tolerate!"
Now standing directly in front of Dwunderbran, he grabs hold of his filth covered armor and spins him round to look him in the eye as he finishes his speech. Then, before Dwunderbran can respond, he leans back and delivers a vicious looking head butt with his helmet that appears to even rattle Dolgrin.
If that didn't knock him out, then at least Kordin will greet me at Torag's mead hall...
"Aye, I still be a dwarf true," Edrukk says, responding to Dwunderbran, "But now ain't the time t' be fightin' wit' each other. Y' be fightin' each other and yer right, losin' th' holds below. Givin' ol' Edrukk Odolgun and 'is boys more work than need be, eh? Just sit down an' enjoy the food'n'ale before us provided by the mem'ry o' ol' Skuldafn."