"Aye, 'e prob'ly can, but best not take the chance o' somethin' crazy 'appenin', aye?"
Turning to Daelric, he replies, "'N I definitely wouldn't mind, come by tha forge at Torag's temple later 'n we can discuss it."
Maven's eyes narrow almost reflexively, glancing sidelong at Dolgrin. "Aye...that we can."
Daelric looks at Angrin and goes to reply but Dolgrin gets there first and all Daelric can do is nod in agreement. Then the matter of the Armour and Shield come up, "Well we have already discussed the prospect and charge for having a Stone Shield made with Kols symbol engraved or embossed upon it. I would also like a set of Stone Plate to go with it, with the same symbol on both the front and back of the chest piece. It would be for front-line encounters as well as any trips and to show my devotion to Kols. I will come by the temple after the celebrations have ended and you have had a night to think on it, I am sure you both have many idea's flowing through your head's already about how to do it and how to make them master pieces." Daelric smiles at them both.
Noticing that Maven has no weapon he plucks his war-axe from his belt with a practiced easy and spins it in his hand catching it by the handle near the blade. He then offers the weapon to Maven so that she can defend herself, should the worst happen. Then he draws his Pick off of his back and readies himself for anyone foolish enough to try and get to the Stone-Lord.
"Bloody 'ell, lad!" Dolgrin says as he sees Daelric draw weapons, "We shouldn't be needin' those, it's just a bar brawl y'know!"
Reluctantly, Maven grips the axe hilt, uncertainty creeping across her features. "Axes don't suit me much, but 'spose jus' havin' it should defuse a few problems."
It's no Drowbreaker, but I'll have to make due. Jus' hope these louts don't decide to drag Lord Skuldafn into the festivities...
"Aye, he's got the right o' it. Don' be bringin' out weapons here... It's a bloody good way to start feuding in earnest." Angrin sounds flatly astonished that Daelric does not already know this. "Don' ye be goin' an' makin' it worse 'n it is!" His voice is harshly reprimanding, and he looks from Maven to Daelric. "That bloody thing will make ye a threat, ye hear? A far greater threat than the brawl itself." Surely these two knew that already? The use of weapons for a brawl would bring out other weapons, and perhaps provoke actual bloodshed, something no one wanted. "Ye, especially, priestess o' Torag. Our people don' need any blood spilled."
He gets racked back into a hold and can't seem to squrim free as he has no leverage. His only response is to call for help. Help Daelric she's tyring to let the smelly one rub his cockleshells on me help brother.
The depths of Dwunderbran's reverie must be profound, for not even when Dolgrin lodges his fingers into the larger dwarf's nostrils to snap the appendage back into place does he yield a reaction apart from the awful crunch. Even as the clergymen attempt to form a wall in front of the raised table where the Skuldafn family and honored guests sit, his mouth remains agape and gaze holds fast to the tangled pair of dwarves on the ground just in front of him. It is not until Magnus calls for aid that he again masters his senses. Spraying another torrent of blood from his nostrils in a bloody trumpet of zeal, he calls out brazenly, ""
And just as quickly as the reprieve came, it is gone. Dwunderbran comes lurching down the hall once more to rejoin the chaos he has wrought.
Daelric looks at Angrin wide eyed and horrorfied, " ... Make it WORSE?! Is that even possible?" With that Daelrtic quickly showves the Pick into his belt and turns to face Maven, "Perhaps you should hold onto that for now, just put it in your belt for now."
Daelric seems a little more at ease now, until he hears Magnus' screams for help, he hands Maven his shield, "Please hold onto this, I will be back in a moment, it could protect you." That that he runs as fast as his legs can take him and slips on the stew by Vulgarbeards feet, but makes it seem as if he had slid on purpose. He quickly stands just before hitting Magnus in the face with his big metal covered boot and gently places his hand on Isoldda's shoulder and then whispers into her ear, "Please let him go, I think Dwunderbran would like to have a fight with him again." With that he winks at her, "He may even reward you later for letting him have him."
Daelric then nods at Magnus as if to say that he should be free soon and he waits anxiously to see if he is released. If he is, then Daelric will run back to Maven as fast as he can to get his shield back. If not ... well he hasn't thought of that yet.
Unfortunately for the Stonelord, his actions are misinterpreted by the vulgar bearded one, who crashes into Daelric's back like a rabid wolverine; fists, feet, and teeth gnashing and flailing about like a dwarf sized tornado of immutable rage. ""
Daelric trying to help his new brother and give Dwunderbran a better time so that he wouldn't try going for the dais suddenly gets bull rushed in the back, followed by being punched, kicked and bitten by the most awful smelling man who ever did walk the deep roads. He slips forwards and lands on the floor with his chin, a huge crack is heard followed by a loud groan of pain. Daelric slowly turns over under the weight of Dwunderbran (which is a feat within itself) and goes to speak, " I wasn..." He is stopped dead by a fist to the mouth, he tries again. "I washn'ae tryin' ta..." Another punch, this time with another bone crunching crack, "I washn'ae tryin' ta take 'er! Ya can..." This time a foot in the ribs, "Ooof!" Daelric kicks up a little blood, "Ya can 'ave her!" That causes Dwunderbran to stop for a few seconds, "I wash tryin' ta help ma new bruva!" That obviously is still no good for Dwunderbran as he yet again punches him in the face and decides to kick him for the fun too.
Realising his case is hopeless, Daelric using his arms feels around for something to use ... "What's this?" A tankard finds it way rolling to his hand, he grips it tightly and hits it on the floor, "GET OFF!" With that he closes his eyes tightly and brings the tankard up to Dwunderbran's newly fixed nose but he manages to adjust his head in time and it catches him in the side of the face, with an earth cracking crunch. The tankard, not even dented after the hard impact has left an indentation in the side of Dwunderbran's face and jaw! It must be as hard as Adamantine! But they don't make Adamantine tankards, do they? The hit is enough to get Dwunderbran to roll off of him and he gets up and runs back to safety with Maven and Dolgrin, tankard still in hand.
Wide eyed, Dolgrin yells at Daelric, "Are ye mad?"
Seeing the no doubt confused look on the paladin's face, Dolgrin continues, "Ye drew 'is anger 'n attention then come back 'ere!? The spot we are tryin' ta keep calm!? Sorry lad, but ye've committed yerself now! Get back in there!" Dolgrin punctuates his lecture by turning Daelric around and pushes him back towards the fray.
Realising that Dolgrin is making complete sense he hangs his head in shame, "Make sure that no-one gets through though, okay?" With that he lets Dolgrin push him, not resisting at all. He quickly runs back into the fight, but not directly to Dwunderbran, he wants to keep away from him, but most importantly he doesn't want to risk him charging over to Maven and Dolgrin, like Dolgrin mentioned.
Daelric is still griping the tankard tightly and is looking about nervously.
Seeing a bastion of calm amidst the chaos Quint starts to drift towards the dais, and the armored men of religion, or at least so it seems from the number of holy symbols. He shakes his head as one goes sprinting back into the fray engaging the madman who started this all.
"May I seek shelter here?" he asks Dolgrin hopefully. "I'm afraid I have no taste for such... activities. It's pure madness..."
If he is allowed in he present himself again to the Stonelord, giving a deep bow, before taking up a position behind the front rank. Angrin earns a glare, the earlier incident with the tankard clearly not forgotten, but he has no desire to bring the 'festivities' over here and so focuses on anyone approaching, slinging arcane magics their way to momentarily disorient and confuse them, hopefully dissuading them from approaching further.
Maven shifts the axe in her grip for a moment, considering the scene, and nods, slipping the axe handle into a belt loop to hang. "Aye, he's got a point, lads. Wavin' weapons about at wild men like this's almost sure ta ring out as a challenge."
She then turns to the newcomer and gives a polite nod, trying not to take her focus off the chaos for more than a moment, lest a tankard--or a barrel--fly her way. "Aye, cousin, I've no hate for a good brawl once in awhile, but these lot are holdin' back nothin but their weapons."
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The trumpeting of Horagai's preceded her arrival into the great stone halls. The blasting of the conch shell horns reverberating and echoing as two servants in the Yamauchi clan stepped forward in the brightly dyed hempen ropes bound with straw belts. Unlike the brass horns of the west, there was an organic sound to the Horagai's. Like her they were a remnant of her peoples lost culture. The blasts from the shell instruments caused the room to go silent. The dwarves who had been in mid fight suddenly froze. Each set of eyes stared at the spectacle unfolding before them.
Capturing the attention of each dwarf, Kaori Inoue the Watashi-boku to the Granite Empress stepped into the cavernous hall. Tall and thin with hair the color of recently tilled soil the hand maiden and herald of the Empresses was draped in a silk kimono of black with white mountain peaks painted upon the bottom hem of waited as the conch horns died to a silence.
The Empress had arrived.
T H E G R A N I T E E M P R E S S: M I N E K O Y A M A U C H I
Gliding into the room, Empress Yamauchi, small even by dwarven standards stood upon a set of darkwood getas. Elegantly draped in a tightly bound white silk kimono painted with scenes of mountain peaks, falling cherry blossoms and bars of wind, the Empress carried herself with the calm assurance of royalty. Instinctively she knew that she was an outsider here. She would have but one chance to make an impression. In her wisdom she knew not to waste it. Gliding forward, the Empress was flanked by on her left by a creature that resembled a white marble statue. Veins of gold ran along the creatures body as it padded next to the empress. To her right was her Uruwashii, Koki Hayashi who was prominently marked with a tattoo of the Yamauchi clan upon his cheek, armored in four-mirror armor with a Sashimono depicting a single white peak mounted to his back. Behind her trailed her Kaseifu, Motomi Himura carrying a large silk umbrella that towered over the Empress; unnecessary in the dwarven halls, but likely because of tradition. Also behind her was a small wizened dwarf of elderly years. Bound in a linen robe with the house symbol of the Yamauchi's on his breast the dwarf seemed small and unnoticeable.
In the Meadhall of Clan Skuldafn dwarven voices began to whisper and point quitely. News had reached the clans recently that their dwarven kin from the east had been forced from their ancestral homes, but aside from a few odd encounters with the Yamauchi servants this was the first public appearance that the Empress had made. Moving forward like a breeze on the wind the Empresses kimono rustled as she made short steps towards the honorary altar for Hraggir Skuldafn. Nearing the alter Mineko flicked her wrist in the direction of her handmaiden and called upon her celestial power. Sōgi no teikyō no tame no o ka o junbi shimasu.
Prepare the incense for the funeral offering.
Nodding wordlessly, Kaori Inoue knelt before the altar and placed before it a small black block of incense. Carefully lighting it, the handmaiden waved her hands through the trails of smoke, causing them to momentarily form in the dwarven symbol for "honor".
Moving forward through the throng of dwarves, Mineko had to force herself to not scrunch up her nose in disgust. Mead and Ale were everywhere. On the tables, on the floors, on the mourners. This was so very different then the rituals and customs she was used to. Had his people completed the matsugo-no-mizu? Did they even practice such things? This looked like no funeral she had ever seen before. Still as guests of the High-King it was her duty to show all respect. She would not question their beliefs. Reaching the altar, the Empress gave a shallow bow. She was not beholden to this man. He had done no great works on behalf of her clan, but he was spoken of by the High-King with a measure of respect. He had dedicated his life towards bettering his people and for that he deserved her recognition. Bowing her heads briefly, she raised her arms out at her side and then clapped them together to draw to her the attention of the kami. Let them know that she had shown honor to this man and that they should do the same.
Having completed her obeisance, the Empress turned and made her way to the left side of the hall, trailed by her entourage. Again calling upon her celestial endowments she instructed her Watashi-boku. Karera wa keizoku suru kanōsei ga aru koto o tsutaeru. Tonikaku, kono izureka de chōshū o nozomu koto o karera ni shiraseru koto wa sō suru kamo shiremasen.
Tell them that they may continue. Tell them that any who wish an audience with this one may do so.
As the Empress relayed her instructions, she gave a single flowing hand signal to her Kaseifu. Wordlessly the maid, carefully seated the silk umbrella over the Empress and then placed a small darkwood folding stool out so that the Empress might sit. Floating down into the chair, The Granite Empress sat with a rigid back while keeping her face as smooth as the side of a mountain cliff. Nodding again to her Watashi-boku the dwarf in the black kimono stepped forward and addressed the hall.
Wide eyed and slack jawed, Dolgrin had never before seen such a sight as what was now before him. As the lady and her entourage, he reflexively moves so that she may honor the Skuldafn's. Once they move to take their seat, Dolgrin looks about the room, a look of complete befuddledness on his face.
Angrin arches a brow at the sudden arrival of royalty, but nods his head gruffly in polite bow of respect to her. He tilts his head slightly, wondering what the hell a Granite Empress was, but presumably something important.
He lowers his voice to ask Quint. "Say, did we e'er get us an Empire?" His voice is cautious, surprised. He'd never heard of one, but one never knew what far reaches the dwarf race would achieve whilst the members of the Deep kept the drow, duergar, and so on from consuming the High King's Kingdom.
After waiting for an answer, he goes to the the dwarf in the black kimono, to ask politely. "Erm... Excuse me rudeness, but where's the Granite Empress from?" Somehow, the overly formal address by the newcomers has infected him, making him slightly more polite than usual. After all, clearly these folks weren't from around here... "An' why does she accept audiences?" He speaks in Dwarven, hoping they haven't stopped understanding that.
Daelric stops along with everyone else when this woman with the loud noise comes in, "Thank-you Torag, Kols for bringing her here and putting a stop to this madness." With that Daelric slowly starts to head back towards Maven and Dolgrin, hoping that Dwunderbran had forgotten everything that had just happened, but he could guess better than that. So instead of heading back to them, he tries to find a spot between Dwunderbran and the new woman, ready to intercept anything that may get thrown in her direction by mistake. Diving if he has to, he will stop it any way he can, which will most likely be catching it on the chest-plate.
"Ain't nothin' I e'er heard of."
Seeing the Stonelord shoved back and apparently attempting to scurry past him, Dwunderbran smirks and chuckles. Swollen fingers reach over a nearby table to grasp an ivory stein in his right hand and a squat, wooden mug in his left. Stalking after Daelric down the massive aisle that runs the length of the great hall, Dwunderbran's smirk deepens into a familiar smile as he begins twirling his chosen weapons in hands with practiced ease. He seems nearly ready to charge as the strange instruments thunder outside of the meadhall and the grand doors burst open to accommodate the exotic procession of dwarves and other things that follows.
Dwunderbran remains motionless during the entire ordeal, his eyes glued to the foreigners in dumbstruck awe. Though he had encountered Tian men abroad during his exploits, never had he fathomed that there were a clan of dwarves that far east. Seeing them here, speaking that same, odd language was strange bordering on unsettling to the uncouth rabble-rouser. As the assembly concludes their offering in Hraggir's memory and finds their seats, Dwunderbran's eyes remain attached to this "Granite Empress". Wha' a strange'n. Cannae be imaginin' tryin' ta walk in tha' getup. What'n tha soddin' hells is goin' on 'ere? Dwunderbran notes Angrin approaching the empress' gathering with waning interest before his gaze swivels back around to where Daelric remains. His grin returns. Stein and mug gripped before him as if he toted dwarven forged steel, he bellows out an unintelligible cry and barrels towards the young Stonelord with renewed vigor.
Seeing the exotic new arrivals, Dr. Logem decides enough is enough. With such pompous attitudes that these foreigners exhibit, it would just not do to continue this insane brawl, not that Dr. Logem was particularly wanting it to continue anyways. The beefy dwarf reaches into his coat and pulls out a small crystal vial filled with an equally clear liquid. Grabbing the corded stopper with his mouth, he yanks it open and drinks it all in one go. His face contorts with an image of disgust, as apparently the liquid tastes awful. Immediately, however, his throbbing veins recede, his muscles shrink, and his eyes no longer bulge. He seems to regain his original air of regaltry, though he himself is still covered in fish stew.
Looking down at himself and seeing the mess he's in, Dr. Logem lets out a quick, sharp whistle meant for his familiar, who is busy enjoying itself by dumping ale on peoples' heads. The creature's head snaps towards Dr. Logem before it drops its final payload and quickly zips over to its master and lands delicately on his shoulder. Dr. Logem then gives a curt nod to his familiar, who speaks a few enchanted words and draws a symbol in the air with th tip of its oversized head. As quickly as it had soiled him, the fish stew covering Dr. Logem disappears. His hair and beard straighten, and his appearance becomes as immaculate as it had been before he had entered in the first place. Smiling to his familiar, he whispers a word to it and the creature dives back into his coat, shuffling around momentarily before seemingly vanishing.
Dr. Logem proceeds by walking amongst the chaos of the brawl, picking himself up an abandoned goblet and filling it with alcohol an abandoned barrel marked as "Ironbloom Stout". Putting the liquid up to his nose, he seems to almost taste the mixture with his nose, identifying its different ingredients and its proportions. "This'll do. Quite the mixture! Might have to see about reproducing it sometime." Dr. Logem nods to himself at his assessment and moves towards the newcomers, walking by those still covered in food and drink as if he himself had not been apart of the brawl.
Luckily for him, he is not in the warpath of the renewed Vulgarbeard. Dr. Logem decides to take the long way around towards the foreigners, avoiding the insane rabblerouser's targets. When he finally makes his way there, he gives a small bow to the apparent leader of the newcomers, and raises his glass to their honor. He stands a few feet away from Angrin, whom he regards as if nothing had happened. "Evening, your Highness. Dr. Logem at your service. I am unaware of a Dwarven culture such as yours, so I'll second this miscreant's," he jerks his head towards Angrin, "question of where do you hail from?"
Oh by the Nine. LOOK OOT DAELRIC.
He takes advantage of the distraction to wiggle free and runs after Dwunderbran. Get back here you bragart your nah done with meh yet. He attempts a flying tackle at Dwunders legs tying to knock him from his feet.
Daelric heard his name and turned around just in time to see Magnus trip Dwunderbran, who was charging at it. It would have been good, if the momentum had not carried him straight into Daelrics chest. It was as expected, however he did not expect to have the smelly man bull rush him with stein and mug! Daelric's chin now had a gash down it from where he had hit the floor, his face cut up and bleeding and now he had a red ring around one eye and a bleeding ear as both drinking vessel crash into his head. Daelric holds his own tankard up, the painful tankard and hits Dwunderbran back, right on the top of the head as if trying to get him to the floor and knock him out. He even starts to wobble a little, but manages to shake off all feelings of dizziness, he bends down and grabs Dwunderbran by a foot and a hand and pulls him with Magnus, away from the alien lady.
As he finally drags him back, there is a sudden jerk as Dwunderbran yanks his body free of Daelric's grip and as Daelric starts to step back he starts to lose his balance on the floor once again, "Uh, oh ..." He knew what was coming.
Quint is as surprised as anyone else, but is pleased by the distraction halting the fighting. He backs out of the way of the procession, allowing the Empress to present herself to the Stonelord, watching as she retreats to a corner away from the fighting. Now there was some proper behaviour.
"I'm afraid I'm not overly familiar with Tian Xia's cultures. The place has any number of empires, I'd even heard there were some attempts at recgicide, so perhaps that is why she's here." he offers what he knows. He hadn't been an active pathfinder ever since the incident in the Mwangi, but he still kept in touch, and rumors of turmoil in some place called Minkai had made their way through the network back to him.
His rummaging through his mental vault and assessing of the empress is interrupted by the resumption of hostilities. He is thoroughly unsurprised to see it is the fool Dwunderbran again, his heavy brows furrowing in annoyance. Why had they not dispatched the empty-headed scum yet? Surely he could not be allowed to continue to disrupt this celebration. The scholarly dwarf glances up to the stone faced Stonelord, brows still furrowed in consternation.
Kal'Tos sees the fight breaking out and casts mage armour to protect himself. "It wouldn't be a true dwarf party without a good fight. Though normally more respect is shown to the stout. He uses mage hand to throw an empty tankard at Dwunderbran. He then notices the new entourage and thinks. Foreigner's, interesting, perhaps they have understandings of the sciences that we do not. He begins to look at the various members of the entourage trying to indentify a scholar or wizard among them.
Glancing at the Empress, who remains quietly seated with a rigid back as her Kaseifu waves a silk painted fan in her direction, the regal woman nods and flicks her hand in another gesture. Anata wa, Inoue o susumu koto ga dekiru. Karera ga shiritai no ka o tsutaeru.
You may proceed, Inoue. Tell them what they wish to know.
Bowing deeply the Empress, the Watashi-boku then turns and gives a much more shallow bow, boarding on a nod to the red haired dwarf and the one who wears spectacles. As the Watashi-boku Begins to speak, Empress Yamauchi flicks her hand in a series of patterns and the wizened dwarf Tokuzo Akiyama, her Itamae steps forward and from his robes draws a small cup and a white bottle painted with a winters scene. Carefully pouring the liquid into the cup the elderly dwarf takes a single sip and waits before withdrawing another cup and pouring a full measure of liquid into it. Handing it reverently to Mineko the dwarf takes a single step back.
Quietly sipping plum wine with one hand while the other runs its way along the animated statues curling golden hair, the Empress listens as Kaori Inoue begins to speak.
The Granite Empress Yamauchi, who may the kami's bless. She begins slowly looking each of the dwarves over. Hails from the Lands of the Dragon, Minkai, on the continent of Tian Xia far to the east. Like the dwarves of Five King Mountain who share the land with the people of Druma, so it was with ours. The Human Empire known as Minkai held the Jade Throne, while our people held the Granite Throne.
Quietly nodding from atop her stool, The Empress gestures again to her Watashi-boku.
The Empress wishes to know from what lands do you hail? Are you vassals of the Five Kings or come from other lands? The Empress states that is new to this place and wishes to know more of her dwarven cousins from the west.
Eye twitching ever so slightly at the level of pompousness displayed by this new arrival, Dr. Logem answers her question in kind, staring directly into the Empress's eyes with such intensity that he might just burn a hole in her head.
"I am as much of a native here as you are, your Highness. I am from far south, in a magic-forsaken area known simply as the Mana Wastes. However, despite the distances involved, the customs between my homeland and the Five Kings Mountains are similar enough that even I was able to know that one usually speaks directly to the person speaking to them, and not through some intermediary. Even the King would not be exempt from this custom."
Dr. Logem does his best to supress the shuddering caused by his annoyance as he speaks to the Empress, and his eyes never leave hers. Despite his annoyance at such arrogance, he speaks with a calm and steady voice.
"Jade Throne an' the Granite Throne, eh?" Angrin nods, having no real idea what was being discussed. Druma and the Five Kings Mountains he did understand, and he nods again, this time fully understanding "Aha. I get it now. That seems to be the way o' things with our people, aye?" Privately relieved that the odd dwarves do indeed understand Dwarven, he runs his fingers through his rough, tangled beard, repressing a wince at the memories. "An' I suppose I'm a vassal o' the Five Kings, tho' I ne'er met any o' them meself. I'm from Varrok's Deep. Deepest settlement in the entire bloody-" He paused, wondering whether these odd folk objected to such mild cursing. "Five Kings Mountains. Lots o' drow, lots o' duergar, an' lots o' aberrations." He scowls. The entire Darklands seemed to rally against the dwarves. "Anyways, I can't speak for the others, though. Probably a fair few are from the Five Kings Mountains, aye."
Maven's attention is held quite rapt by the procession that enters, and bewildered by the alien nature of the foreign customs, she stands in stark silence, eyes taking in every detail of these cousins from distant lands.
Never seen anythin' like this afore...only heard a whisper now and then 'bout Dwarves in the east...but...an empress?"
As she scans over the empress's entourage, the tiniest gasp escapes her as her gaze comes to rest on the marble creature, eyes following the streams of gold that flowed like rivers through its surface. Seemingly entranced by the prospect of such a creature, she fails to realize she has begun to think aloud in an awestruck whisper.
"Solid marble...veins of gold...yet it walks and breathes...a creature of living stone...the way the stone stretches like muscle as it moves..."
Face nearly frozen in awe of a work of art such as she never imagined, her practiced eye for stonework begins to examine more closely the joints, ripples, and other features of the marvellous creature, unaware that her feet have carried her closer to it.
"Can't be just forgework...even engineering can't make such supple movements...no steam...arcana...must be magic in its making...Torag? Never 'eard of anything like this in 'is works..."
Completely oblivious to the sounds of questioning and introduction, Maven barely realizes her own hand is outstretched towards the head of the creature, a nearly unnoticeable tremble of trepidation having traveled from her voice now to her fingers as she reaches, almost reverently, to touch its skin.
As the Watashi-boku begins to speak, Empress Yamauchi stares at the spectacled dwarf, her gaze never breaking his. Taking a single sip of her plumb wine Mineko gives a curt gesture to Inoue, before laying her right hand back on the mane of Komainu-Kun curls around into a fist ever so slightly. Jijo, kare wa watashitachi ni hanasu koto o eranda, watashitachide wanai koto o kare ni dowāfu o omoidasaseru. Kare o omoidasaseru, wareware wa kare ga wareware no hitobito no reigi sahō o shijhe kitai shihe inai koto o gaijin to shieu. Kono itsu wa kanojo ni hitoshī dake ni hanasu to, kare wa ōsama no yō ni mienai koto o kare ni shiraseru. Birudā ya katanakaji nado no watashitachi no rekishi no ta no o oshietekudasai.
Handmaiden, remind the dwarf that he chose to speak to us and we not to him. Remind him that as a gaijin that we do not expect him to know of our peoples etiquette. Tell him that this one speaks only to her equals and he does not look like a king. Tell the other of our history as builders and swordsmiths.
Frowning, the Watashi-boku carefully considered her Empresses commands. Some words in Minkaian did not translate properly into Dwarven and speaking for the Empress carried with it great responsibility. After a short pause the Watashi-boku Gives another deep bow to the Empress and opens her mouth to speak. The Granite Empress reminds you that you choose to speak to us, not we to you. She forgives you for not understanding our peoples etiquette and does not take it as a slight against her honor. Furthermore she wishes you to know that when she met with High-King Borogrim the Hale, it was then, and only then that she spoke to another not of the blood. It was as honor demanded. Just as honor demands you speak to me, of the lesser blood, rather then the Empress most high.
Turning to the red haired dwarf, Inoue gave a small smile. My Empress wishes you to know that our people while different still hold similar values. In our lands, humans from all over Tian Xia came to Himeji our ancestral dwarven citadel built atop the towering Mount Yogan. It was said that the finest architects, stonemasons and swordsmiths could be found in our halls. Many of the great works of Tian Xia were built by our people. And it was a mark of great respect for a samurai to carry a dwarven forged katana.
_______________
The attendant delivered the drinking horn filled with fermented honey mead and root beer when the Empress arrived. An even stranger dwarf from an even stranger land. Father, you continue to amaze me.
As his guests began to converse with the empress or at least her entourage, Grima again collected Dakun's gaze while he sipped from his drinking horn. He nodded again in appreciation and returned the horn via attendant. Grima will seek him out another day.
Thankfully, the empress's arrival extinguished most of the tedious brawl. Grima returned to his subtle search for the kalistocrat keeping an ear to the conversation with the empress.
Talon gives off dashing about catching streams of mead and stands puffing with the cask of mead cradled protectively to his chest. Glaring at Dr. Logem's back he grumbles to himself, "Can't believe you dare call yourself a dwarf ya great bleedin' oaf. Wastin' all that good mead with your flying lizard bird. And don't think I don't know that was you either. I know an animal companion when I see one, even if it is some sort of weird abomination of a real creature." He stomps indignantly over to the nearest table and starts fishing splinters out the salvaged mead.
Marla stays well away from the fracas between the Dwarves in the feasting hall, retreating from them to a corner, taking her axe with her. Let me out, girl. I'll show 'em how it's done!
Shut up, Uncle.
...
She hides from the others for a while, but the Empress' incredible arrival makes her step forward. "What... Oh my... I remember tales of... How I would love to chart her ancestral chronicle. So much I could learn."
Maven stops short as key words reach her ears, snapping back to awareness as her mind registers mention of the word swordsmith. Her eyes light up with expectation, but worry crosses her face at the remaining discourse.
"Wait. You speak in past tense..." She quickly scans the faces of each visitor in turn, with a gathering sense of dread.
"Something's happened ta your home too, 'asn't it?" Even as no diplomat, now that she clearly knew who she was speaking with, and what she had heard, something turned in the pit of her stomach. "An empress wouldn't cross oceans for a mere funeral..."
Daelric begins toppling backwards before him while Dwunderbran rises to his feet in a frenzy. A flurry of cups in the direction of Magnus forces the older dwarf back several paces, though the intention behind the assault is soon evident as little more than a distraction. Wheeling around to face the young Stonelord, cackling all the while, Dwunderbran's right arm extends taut behind him as he bounds forward with a small crow hop, seemingly intent on bringing the ivory stein down hard on Daelric's brow. It causes the younger dwarf to flinch reflexively, though the expected blow never comes. Instead, Vulgarbeard's laughter increases in volume with an accompanying clang and clop of stein and mug on the floor. Reaching down and grasping Daelric's forearm with his left hand, Dwunderbran hoists the boy to his feet and gives him a firm, reassuring smack on the back, though the fetid gale of his continuous laugh has lessened none. Turning to Magnus, he offers a similarly warm gesture, clapping his right hand on the pale dwarf's shoulder with a couple of vice like squeezes.
"Now tha' twere a ruckus fit fer a king, ye grab me? Ole Hraggir's a'watchin' wiff a smile, ah'm sure o' it! Ah reckon we be needin' a swig o' stout afore ah lose enough blood fer ta put me ta bed, aye? Asides, it do be seemin' tha rest o' tha room be more interested in plyin' their manhood on tha silk-swaddled lass than bustin' 'eir knuckles." Dwunderbran shifts his weight and hands to fold his elbows around the napes of both men's necks, his meaty hands resting limply over their shoulders as he attempts to guide them to the waiting keg of Battle Stout. Now that the fighting has subdued, the extent of injuries visited on Dwunderbran seem substantial indeed. It is a wonder bordering on miraculous that the man is even standing after such a beating.
Edrukk, refusing to bow and cow before some apparent foreign power, looks back to the buffet table.
Unspoiled by the fight, what a miracle! And I've room fer dessert!
Edrukk makes his way over to the table, deliberately not engaging the new spectacle before the mourning ceremony.
At least it's better'n a brawl with Dander-brain, he muses.
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.
Having dozed off for a while, Rin awakes, replying to what he last overheard as if still in conversation, unaware of the topic change.
Aye, 'f peepuhl wan' t' thro snaiyd r'marks mah'wei, dat'b up't' thehm, bu'we cahnt ahl speek prym'n'prohpuh kin'we? 'sides, aye speek jus'fyn!
Rin pours himself a third cup of Ale and drinks it a little slower this time, but watches as Magnus plays with his stone under the table.
Tha' sa'naice trinkih ye'ave theh. Ah din' cash ye'naimm lahddy. Mainn's Rihn 'f ye din l'rehdy hier. Ah tuh ave'a stoh' 'f mi'yoan. Fer'tho'sa'yah hoo wan'lis'n, 'n wun drunk'n n'ght, 'n Oguh smash'diz wei 'nto ah puhb ah'woz'n, n' frew mi fru a'wahl, claym' tha' mah'Arntees, Uhnkoll’s, Nehfew’s, Suhn’s bes'frend woz kault sneekeh'tuh'iz 'ouseold, plehsin tihn “pock'prods”...(kaltrohps) 'n 'very chehr 'n's 'ouseold. Als' claym' ah hayt'll Ohgers n'gayn plehsuhr frarm thar m's'frchoon.
's fuhni, ah din'ven meiit n'Ohger tyl'thi'spoynt, buh'naow tha'fahmerly r'len'lessly huhnt'smi daown, spor'nyng 'ndead 'n umbershing mi whernev' ah leht'mi gaard daown.
Tehllin' ye woht, 'f ah geht mi'ands on'em, ah'll tai ahll tre'o'vem t'geh'ver wi'mah lohng'n'strohng Dredds, n'levem anging ohva ah clihf 'til thay lern thir'lassuhn.
Rin grins widely, but his eyes suggest truth behind his threat.
Daelric definitely winces from the incoming blow and slips down faster as a result. Then the most unexpected thing happens, Dwunderbran reaches down and helps him up! "The fight must be over, that's good." Daelric takes Dwunderbran's hand and even helps Magnus up off the floor, unfortuntately for Daelric and Magnus, this means that Dwunderbran has now put his arms around our shoulders and we are both being assaulted by his body stench at close range.
Daelric listens to Dwunderbran, "I am not interested in the silken woman, and you can have Isoldda. I find myself more attracted to and interested in Sister Maven. I bet she can swing a hammer with ease and make the stone cry from beauty." Daelric then sits down with Dwunderbran and Magnus, but when Dwunderbran offers him a tankard of Stout he kindly refuses, "I have had my fill of Stout I am afraid, I will get some water soon though. How is your nose now?"
"Aye, we're all kinsfolk here, it seems." Angrin nods with a small smile. "An' we're better off for it. But... Is it true that yer homeland's no more?" He sounds sincerely sad for such an event. Varrok's Deep itself had existed on that edge for as long as he could recall. Perhaps there had once been a time, before the Quest for the Sky, when Varrok's Deep hadn't been under assault, but since then... Well, he was no historian, so he really didn't know. "I hope yer findin' yerselves a warm welcome here, whether or not that's the case."
Kal'Tos nods sagely at Angrin's words it is a sad fact that the story of Varrak's deep is all to common for our race.
Since Dwunder seems to have abated his fighting Magnus gets back up and starts brushing himself off. Then sighs and casts create water of his head to rinse himslef clean. He then returns to his table before turning to Stubs.
I would love to hear your story. And I'm sure Marla would to she is a chronicler for our race.
Ah'kin r'peet wot ah jus'sed 'f ya'laike, buh thes nah't'mutch 'lse t'tel ya. Cept f'meibe wh'ah louk 's ah'doo, fr'nd.
Rin takes another slow sip from his tankard.
Dolgrin slowly composes himself, as it is obvious someone important, very important it would seem, has entered the room and some measure of decorum is demanded. However, as soon as that thought enters his head, another manages to wriggle it's way in as well.
Dwunderbran...
Dolgrin, having managed to avoid most of the food fight and other filth, gives a few cursory brushes to his armor, then stomps over to Dwunderbran, who seems to finally be done with his rough housing.
"'Ave ye 'ad yer fill o' nonsense, now lad? 'Cause now thar be someone of what appears ta be royal blood in 'ere n' we can't be 'avin' any more brawlin' like this is some low class tavern, ye 'ear me!?"
Well my friend I figured there was more to it than that. No need to be modest. But I caught what you said.
He looks at the foreign dwarf and shakes his head.
She comes in here like the StoneLord himself last of a fallen hold and she wants to grant us audiences? I bet she has never lifted a hammer in anger let alone the forge. She should be seeking and audience with our lord not given them to us. She's no better than any of us. He keeps shaking his head then grabs a flagon of the mead he favors and looks over at the other clergymen. I suppose we should go pay our respects to her mightyness and give her our condolences for her loss. But all dwarves are equal ifin she won't speak to us proper like I'm walkin off.
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Dwunderbran seems a bit confused as Magnus wanders off and away from the proffered Battle Stout, and equally vexed by Stonelord Daelric's refusal to partake in the peace offering. Rather than make another fuss, and likely owing to the soreness and ache rushing to replace what adrenaline had numbed, he simply shrugs his broad shoulders and tosses back his own drink. Not ceasing until the contents have been drained entirely, he replaces the tankard under the keg's spigot and tops it off again. Caked blood still clings to his mustache and beard, though the stout seems to have done an admirable job in washing his lips clean. His response to Daelric seems almost perfunctory, lacking the usual eagerness that has, thus far, clung fiercely to the dwarf's words and mannerisms. "Me sniffer be fine, boy-o. An' ah'm sure tha' Sissy Maven'd be right honored ta welcome yer manhood intae her caverns." Dwunderbran's eyes seize 'Soldda briefly, though he seems hesitant to jockey for position among the ever growing throng of dwarves paying their respects and mockeries to the recently arrived Granite Empress. Seeing Dolgrin's advance, Dwunderbran rises to his feet with some difficulty, taking short sips of his drink as he comes to terms with how exhausted he is.
Lacking the fervor exhibited before, Dwunderbran's response to Dolgrin carries with it an exasperated pace and slight disinterest: "Sod off, ye nancy boot licker. Ah've nary a glance fer ta be sparin' a clutch o' dwarves from far East. Sides, if'n 'ey were as high as 'ey be reckonin' 'emselves, 'ey would nae be cowerin' 'neath Borogrim's roof, ye grab me? Nay, nay... 'ey be as downright fooked as the lot o' us, aye?" Though the vulgarity laden words seem to preach a certain disdain, the tone and expression on Dwunderbran's face is one of sadness and pity. For all of his maddened gruffness, his demeanor betrays the fact that here, in this meadhall and under the watchful gaze of Grundinnar, gathered an array of displaced and destitute dwarves—whether they realized it or not. The world above and below descended into oblivion, and Dwunderbran feared Highhelm would fare no better. These troubled times; did they spell the end for his kind?
Dwunderbran lightly taps Dolgrin on the arm with his right forehand before gesturing to a table near Vigar's rise not being washed over in a tide of curious dwarves. There sat another unique dwarf, though he had approached with decidedly less commotion than the Minkai exiles. "Ah've nae seen a sand dwarf'n nigh a decade. Poor ole Samir..." Dwunderbran shakes his head in a brief fit of dulled melancholy as he recalls an old friend's fate. "Sucked dryer'n a fancy noble 'n a brothel by a swarm o' stirges, 'e was."
Another swig, and Dwunderbran tops off his drink again, fetching another pair of nearby tankards to fill before pushing one into Dolgrin's chest. Holding his drink and a spare one before him, he speaks, "Les' go an' say hullo, shall we? Been a while since ah prattled wiff a 'Sirian." Dwunderbran begins walking calmly across the room in Dakún's direction, a slight hobble now creeping into his step.
Dolgrin takes the offered tankard, thanking Torag that the fighting appears to be over. He walks with Dwunderbran over to the mentioned table, then says to the dwarf seated there, "Greetin's lad, my name is Dolgrin, priest o' Torag. This be Dwunderbran Vulgarbeard. Mind if'n we join ye?"
Looks over at Dwunderbrans proffered booze and takes a mighty swig.
Thank ye. Now call me old one more time and we will really fight.
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When the trumpeting of those conch shells announced the arrival of the so called Granite Empress and her train of followers, Dakún Rabbúhamash could not help but break his gaze with Grima and look over to where the extravagant group of Eastern dwarves paraded into the large mead hall. It seemed he was not the only foreigner present in Highhelm. It seemed that these distant kin were a nobility of some sort, with title and the pomp that usually goes with it. Their entrance was a striking contrast to his own, but that was to be expected. He had no title, no lands, and great humility. While he served as an ambassador of his people, his role was unofficial and without ceremony – a mantle he appointed on himself at the urging of the ancestor spirit.
Catching himself in a moment of disrespect, he forced himself to look once more upon Grima Skulfadn. His gaze had not been long departed and it seemed too that Grima had been momentarily distracted (for good reason) by the colorful entrance. When Grima’s dwarven attendant came before him once again, Dakún returned the empty tankard and retrieved his drinking horn with a word of thanks. “Extend my gratitude f’r the hospitality offered and the thanks of the Rabbúhamash clan. The brother’s blessings upon the Skulfadn line” Dakún had been thankful for the moment, but understood that it had now passed and departed Grima’s attentions. He did not travel far, keeping to the quieter tables near the dias where he sat alone, though he made no special effort to keep apart from his Northern kin. They were not so different from the Dwarves of Dongun Hold, with the exception of the recently arrived procession of the ‘Granite Empress’. While these Northerners with a noticeable accent, the words they uttered were definitely of the Dwarven language, but what the silk robed dwarven princess spoke had no similarity to the ancestor tongue that he could place.
While a part of him was thrilled at the arrival of these Dwarves from the Eastern Continent of Tian Xia, at the same time he felt a shimmer of resentment at the pomposity of their presentation. They seemed to offer up a suitable ritual and gift to the departed soul, but their presence and manner afterword seemed to focus all attention upon them and not as was proper on the members, both fallen and still living, of the Skulfadn line. By force of will Dakún silenced any umbrage he felt and comforted himself in the truth that the festive entrance had served to diminish and then ultimately end the riotous fracus.
As he sat alone he let his eyes wander over the varied dwarves celebrating, feasting, or paying homage to the dead or the newly arrived royalty. Though he knew he would not do it, for to have ones head covered before the gods was a insult, in the crowded and festive hall of the Skulfan’s a small part of him wished to pull the hood of his white cotton robe up over his head. Even after these many years away from the Pahmet fighting the natural xenophobia of his upbringing proved to require constant struggle. He distracted himself by gracefully rising from his table and fetching two bowls of mushroom soup, both clearly prepared in a different manner. Returning to his table in silence, he set both bowls down before him and sampled the flavors of a spoonful of the first bowl, before moving onto the second. Since he first arrived in Dungun Hold and Alkenstar, Dakún had fancied himself something of a gastronome and he was eager to indulge that predilection for fine cuisine.
The Pahmet looked up from his spoonful of soup far before the two approaching dwarves neared his table. With the racket in the room it was unlikely that he could have heard them walking towards him and his vision had been previously focused on the twin bowls before him. It was almost as if he sensed their intent. His jade colored eyes moved slowly and meticulously between Dwunderbran and Dolgrin. Both dwarves were heavily armored in what appeared to be expensive and expertly crafted metal plate. His gaze drifted with admiration along the golden filigree and rune work on Dolgrin’s armor and the twin rams heraldry of Dwunderbrand’s plate. His people were not without their own heavily armored warriors, but it was rare in the Brazen Mountains and the desert beyond. In Highhelm and Dungun Hold, heavy plate armor seemed more common, being worn even as formal attire. At the two strangers choice of armor the similarities in their appearance ended. Where Dolgrin’s beard and hair were pulled into neat braids, Dwunderbran was a mess of tangled hair, clasps, and foodstuffs.
“Fortunes be up’n you both.” The Sand Dwarf said in what appeared to be a well practiced, likely formal greeting. To them his accent was likely apparent in his deep voice. “I would not dishonor The Judge by withh’lding hospitality during a feast f’r the honored dead. I welcome you to sit and join me. I am h’nored. A teacher of Torrúg is ever welcome at my side.” He set his spoon down and gestured with his hands for Dolgrin and Dwunderbrand both to sit, doing his best to ignore the foul stench that poured off of Vulgarbeard like slime slipped beneath a trail of slugs.
“Sit and join me in a toast to the mem’ry o’ the righteous dead. I am Dakún Rabbúhamash, Son o’ Yav-Urak, who in turn was Son o’ Yavalu "The Skarn-Sw’rd"”