Glenda shifts her attention to Snorri's poem and says, "Quite so, sire. We leave behind these monuments so that we can remember the contributions of those who have come before and emulate the best in them. When the body is gone, the legend remains. So it is even with Dammerhall. Though the city is fallen, the echoes of its stories still resonate through us like the beating of its hammers in the dark, and push our footsteps forward to match them. Our ancestors have left us signs pointing the way, and hoping that we will build upon what they made before for us."
Dagmar is not surprised to hear the priestesses views on death. It was afterall a similar view to her own, and that Folgrit inspired in Dagmar to open her business.
But even so, the reminders of death, while on this particular mission, have Dagmar remembering the last time she saw her sons. So eager to find Dammerhall or more details on what happened to their father's expedition.
Dagmar quickly distracts herself with trying to decipher the order of each others births. Dagmar is easily the oldest one here, with the possible exception of Hogun. She just can't place his age. They Greyingots usual greying of the hair more an indication of kin rather than just age.
Nalnera she knows to be the youngest, Blimey, I'm more than double her age, and Snorri the next oldest, though still young at only 84.
A small bit of doubt crosses her mind, not for the first time. Dagmar you old fool, can you really keep up with all these young pups? That's 40 years you got on anyone else here. Which has Dagmar's mind circling back to Glenda's conversation. It is not hurt and weakness of me own that has me so worried. But of being a burden on the others...Bah! Enough of this rubbish talk yer as healthy as a horse and as stubbern as a mule, ain't gonna be any burden. Old fool indeed.
Dagmar chuckles at herself then tries to focus on Dasur's words. Wait, dinna he ask about deep gnomes? When did they start discussin birthin' of gelatinous cubes?
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Falling quiet when Ukrim goes to listen to Dasur. Word little bugger that one. He reminds me of an old man at the tavern. He would get so deep into his cups and just drone on for hours about anything. It didn't matter who was listening.
Frowning at the growl in her head Look child hail your future king! Oh stop it you bitter old thing. He has done nothing to you.
Falling a few steps further back never the less and visibly jumping. Hahahaha! Pressing a hand over her mouth for a moment then letting it fall. "Sorry. I got lost in my head and was not paying attention."
"I am here because my elder brother was unable to join this venture. My family earned a place in this and we deserve that honor."
Offering Ukrim a grin, "Besides having a spare never hurt anyone."
Falling silent for a moment and just staring at him, "What about you?"
Dasur stops as Ukrim lays a hand on his shoulder, momentarily shocked out of his monologue. "Oh. Yes, of course. I did answer your question about the Svirfneblin, yes?"
He shrugs at the comparison to a teacher, brushing off the compliment. "There is always more to learn, but feel free to ask and I will tell you what I know."
Dasur falls silent again, listening carefully to the conversation between Snorri and Glenda for some time "It is more than our ancestors pointing the way. The stone itself knows where we go if one puts their ear to the ground and eye to its grain. They say stone has a memory spanning forever, but what if the memory is backwards and forwards?" He comments cryptically, acting as if he did not really pose a question to be answered, but rather an aesop to be considered.
"Aye, ye did." Ukrim says, keeping a small grin upon his face. He had come to like the rambling man, he was a breadth of knowledge and the similarities to the spirits that had helped teach him was striking. At least long night around the campfire might not be boring, with a wealth of tales to tell and knowledge to be shared.
------------
When Nalnera jumps, Ukrim laughs for only a moment and quickly stifles his laughter. It isn't a mocking laugh that escapes him, a quick and jovial thing. "Sorry, sorry. Ah can be mighty quiet 'ere 'n' thare. Wis pairt o' th' training."
He kept in step with her as she spoke to him, nodding but keeping vigilant of the area around them. The road would connect them to civilization but it didn't mean that they had not become unsafe over that time. The darkness could hide many threats. His concern didn't keep him from returning that smile though.
"It's guid tae hae ye alang, a'm sure yer fowk wull be ferr proud o' whit we achieve doon 'ere in th' mirk." Ukrim said with confidence in his voice. When asked about his own reasons for being here, he looked up into the dark for just a moment in recollection.
"A'm th' fifth son o' six bairns, mah sister bein' th' oldest. Ah volunteered tae learn th' ways o' th' ancient dwarven monks, tae baith ease mah family's hardship 'n' tae give whit ah cuid back tae mah fellow kin." Looking back at her, his grin widened just a bit further. "If Ah kin be honest as weel, ah dinnae hae much tae inherit. Mah fowks wur loyal retainers o' th' Tharnhammers, Ah dinnae hae much tae lose 'n' ainlie mair tae gain."
"Th' ithers though..." He murmurs quietly, his expression growing a bit more solemn as he looks between his companions. ...some o' thaim hae lost something, someone. Ah admire thair bravery."
His expression remains somber for only a moment longer before he lifts up his hands. The knuckles are scarred and rough looking, dangerous even. "Sae Ah will repay thair courage wi' mah own 'n' hulp keep this caravan safe, keep oor future king safe." He gave a quick nod to the royal heir up near the front.
Smiling at Ukrim while he talks but offering the same respect and letting him finish before speaking again, "You have the same bravery as anyone else you know. We are all in this together. You wanted to be here just like the others." I am not supposed to be here though. Yes you are.
He laughed for a moment when she afforded him the same degree of respect, looking on at the others as they made their way. "That kin be true, ta. Juist think o' th' stories we'll tell whin we git back tae oor families." The optimism that the young monk gave off was almost infectious, before he looks back at Nalnera and furrows his brow.
He shrugs it off though after a moment, smiling. "Ah hawp we fin' some o' oor kind's ruins. A'd loue tae study thair architecture mair, huv a go tae replicate it again."
Watching Ukrim's face shift with a small smile, "I would rather learn what happened. I have.." Frowning, "Would we have to replicate it. Should we not build it better. Move on to the new instead of trapped in the past."
Trapped? 'twas lost, sae much o'it 'twas lost. Oor homes ur influenced by humanity's titch, we've lost whit made us...us." Ukrim murmurs, shaking his head slightly. "Mah monastery wis designed in th' ancient days bit it pales in comparison tae oor auld holdings, tae lang lost Dallhammer."
"A'm waantin' tae rediscover th' auld techniques, fin' th' wey we created sic wonders. Wha knows whit secrets sic simple stoneworking kin 'ide. Ah an' a' wantae learn whit happened that dark day, whit happened tae steal oor heritage fae us."
Crossing her arms over her chest while Ukrim talk, "I meant why should we replicate the building itself. I understand it is our history and everyone wants to know what happened. The point of studying history is to learn from it and do better."
"Well... Ukrim thought for a moment, a hand running through the thick beard upon his face. "...Ah dinnae think th' architecture wis whit wis responsible. Ah dae see whaur ye'r comin' fae though, we need tae relearn oor history 'n' mak' better choices. We need tae learn whit happened."
The young monk would smile at Nalnera, nodding respectfully towards her. "Ah will keep that in mynd, Nalnera. Thank ye."
"I think... many people think they are afraid of death, and it affects them. But death isn't really what people are afraid of. They're afraid of hurt and they're afraid of being weak. They fear age not because of death, but because they fear the loss of self-sufficiency and the ability to do the things they love. They fear injury and sickness because it is so painful and debilitating. So... we create elaborate schemes to isolate ourselves from this, to show our bravery in the face of death, but it's misplaced. Death is when all of that ends. So what we, the living, need to do is work to alleviate the suffering of the living. Those who are still here - who haven't yet crossed the veil and gone beyond all those worries and hurts - they need us to help them so that they can live with dignity and solace, instead of dying in pain and squalor."
"So it's not that I have a fascination with death. I have a love of life. And helping people to understand the relation between those was how I was called to the priesthood."
"A sentiment I can appreciate." Though not a sentiment he could agree with. Death was, in Hogun's experience, an ugly thing. A thief that had stolen that which he treasured most.
It was not, however, a subject worth arguing over. His pain was a private matter.
Snorri's sentiment held greater resonance for Hogun. With his wife's departure, the future of their daughter weighed on his shoulders alone. It was up to him to secure that future for her in his wife's stead.
To that end, he paid careful attention to the lore doled out by their sage, Dasur Deepborn. There was much to learn from him.
Nodding, "Sorry. I am told I can be a little pushy sometimes. Falling quiet for a moment while walking beside him. In the span of half a minuet she looks back and forth between Ukrim and the ground four times. Stop being a child!
Lifting her gazes back up, "Umm, What do those marks mean?"
The road continues for a few miles, gently curving to the south and east. This particular section of the highway narrows to a single ten foot wide path flanked by eight foot embankments crowned by large stalagmites. It seems that the engineers must have carved their way through the stone here to maintain the height of the vault.
A strange sight presents itself around the next bend. So far, the Gnome King's Highway has stayed largely debris-free, but here there is an obstruction. A large, broken wagon wheel sits in the middle of the road. It appears to be made of a strange, fibrous white material almost as hard as wood and banded in crudely-worked iron.
The sudden slowing of the wagon and murmurs from his companions at an anomaly in the road causes Dasur to look up from the book he was reading. "Eh?" Mutters the wizard, turning and climbing up on his knees to look forward at the road.
The strange, circular object piques his interest, and he hops from the back of the cart to saunter forward for a look. Leaning on his staff with both hands, Dasur eyes quickly scan over the wheel. "This is no surface wood." He mumbles, before turning to look over his shoulder at the rest of the assembled dwarfs. "Mushroom "wood". Carpenter's mycelium, I've heard it called. Carved from an Underdark mushroom the size of one of our 100-year oaks, at least."
His staff moves forward, knocking the white wheel and producing a dull, subdued thump. "They fell the mushrooms, cut it into sections, and dry them out over years, just as we dry our firewood. Much rarer than darkwood on the surface. Without proper treatment the humidity above ground makes it rot. Hm... actually, aging timber to construct sailing ships would have been a more appropriate metaphor."
The wizard's staff then taps the iron next. "This could be Duergar craft. There is no art, love, or inspiration in it. Just crudely beaten metal." His mouth thins out into a line, running a hand over his single-braided beard, staring at the wheel. "But... Ah."
He looks up, starting to glance about. "Where is the rest of the cart?"
"Mah marks?" Ukrim would murmur, confused for a moment before it finally clicked. "Mah tattoos! Aye, Ah received thaim as pairt o' mah training." A look of pride spread across Ukrim's face as he brushed his beard down, showing off the circling tattoos that disappeared into the orange of his beard.
"It's meant tae symbolize th' wheel, yin o' oor simplest bit maist important tools. Each tattoo represents a different level o' mastery ower one's ki. Whin yin haes th' tattoos Ah hae, it means they're raedy tae lea th' monastery." Ukrim proudly claims, unashamed of his accomplishments so far. "O' coorse, yin haes tae be released tae lea bit that is a wee detail na yin needs tae ken..." He thinks to himself.
He was just about to begin explaining the symbolism behind it all when there is the disturbance from the front. There is almost a look of embarassment, his cheeks burning bright, when he speaks back to her.
"I...I shuid go check that oot." He mumbles out, moving quickly up towards the front to see what was going on. "Ah cannae let a bonny lassie distract me lik' that. Focus, Ukrim, ye hae a greater purpose 'ere."
"Ye'r richt Dasur. This isnae wood at a'." Ukrim had heard of the fungal forests in stories, old tales of the Azathyr and the strangeness deep within it. Yet there is something unsettling towards him, why would a wheel be out road?
Ukrim's eyes would catch the sight of the wagon up upon the embankment, his cheerful demeanor sobering up quite quickly as his fists clenched. Moving carefully up to Snorri, Ukrim whispered to him and the others in Dwarven.
"Миний үржлийн хойд дэнж дээр нь морин тэрэг байдаг. Би үүнийг судалж болно."
Slowly and quietly, Ukrim would begin to approach the wagon and see what laid within. He kept silent as he moved, trying to hear and see any ambush that may await him.
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Sighing as her conversation leaves before finishing his explanation. Curiosity pulls her forward. Your future husband thinks Shut up! Glaring down at the ground and fighting a slight blush.
There might Be quiet be a fight. Quiet! Fine but if you die I will still haunt you. Biting her lip hard and reaching down to her hip to grasp her weapon.
At Hogun's words, Snorri's face hardens. Readying his axe and shield, he instantly assumes a more commanding demeanor.
"За за, гэхдээ болгоомжтой байх нь саад хориг байж болох юм. Та толбот байгаа бол буцааж бидэнд унах болно.
Hodun, Dasur зайнд түүнийг хамрах болно. миний талд Та бусдад бэлэн сүх, зогсож байна."
Hodun, Dasur, cover him from range. You others, axes ready, stand by my side."
He stands still as a coiled spring, ready to leap into action.
The wagon is a wreck, although most of the damage seems to have been caused by its journey from the road to this position. One of the axles has been snapped and a sideboard has collapsed. Strangely, bits of thick web cling to the wagon. A fair amount of blood has been spilled on the drivers seat. It has only just started to dry.
"Giant 'shrooms ya say? I wonder if they good fer eat'n. Got a lovely Beef n'Shroom gravy recipe. 'Corse probably needin' one that's not been all dried out and used for wagon parts."
-
Dagmar hefts her axe and moves to stand near Snorri. Dagmar calls to the spirit of flame in her mind, wanting to ensure her edge if this is any sort of ambush. Are you there old friend? His answering response causes the flame behind Dagmar's eyes to glow a bit brighter, the smell of smoke that always seems to surround Dagmar to intensify slightly. Dagmar smiles at the warmth that envelops her body, signaling her friendly spirit guide is in fact, there.
Dagmar calls the spirits to show her any hidden magic. Dagmar uses her now enhanced vision to look around, searching for signs of recent or hidden magical signatures.
Ukrim examines over the wagon, a frown on his face as he looks over the damage. The fresh blood sends a chill down the monk's spine as he turns and makes his way back to the others as quietly as he can.
Ukrim would emerge from behind the embankment, gracefully moving down the slope towards the others. When he closed the distance, he would speak Dwarven in a hushed tone to those gathered near the front.
"вагон нь сүйрлээс ба тууз хамрагдсан байна. Энэ нь хэсэг хугацаанд гарч байгаа хэдий ч жолоочийн талд цус ч шинэ юм шиг харагдаж байна. далд шинэ хүмүүсийн хувьд, нүдээ нээлттэй, тааз дээр байх. дайсан хаанаас ч ирж болно."
Turning towards Snorri, the monk bows his head and continues to speak. "та хүсвэл, эзэн минь би өмнө Скаутын болно. Таны тушаалууд нь юу вэ?"
"Webs?" says Glenda. "Drow ambush, perhaps?"
Dasur's caterpillar-like brows furrow into a fuzzy grimmace as Snorri begins to give orders. "Aye." he murmers, moving to stand within line of sight of Ukrim.
The wizard reaches into his shirt and grasps his amulet in preparation to cast spells. He watches the embankment with a frown frozen on his face.
The reemergence of Ukrim caused him to nod slowly to no one in particular, fingers slipping off of the amulet and dropping to his side.
Dasur's lips thin after Ukrim's report, and he looks at the ground in thought for a moment. "This is unfortunate, though ultimately not our concern nor goal. I suggest we thank Magrim it was not us and continue our journey."
"However-" He turns to advise Snorri on available options, ultimately defering to his leadership. " If the blood was fresh, the attacker could still be dragging its prey off and left a trail to follow."
Relaxing from his battle stance, Snorri cracks half a smile at Glenda's hypothesis.
"Well, maybe we'll be lucky and it'll only be giant spiders."
Looking at Ukrim, Dasur and the others, he speaks again, his tone grimmer and determined. "We're on a road connecting deep gnomes' settlements, I reckon' the driver of this cart would be gnomish as well. Rescuin' them would be a good action and good diplomacy as well. Wouldn't want to leave anyone to be eaten by spiders. That said... we can hardly afford bein' late. I'd say we look for them for half a day, but I'd like to hear your advice."
"If Dammerhall's gonna rise again, the roads better be safe," says Glenda after a bit of thought. "Otherwise nobody will be able to follow after us once we've started rebuilding."
"I am certain this is a good excuse to be however late as necessary."Glaring at the ground, "No one deserves to die, alone and afraid, like that."
"I believe both Glenda and I are train'd in healing arts, may perhaps if'n one o' us can be findin' a closer age of the blood, we'd have a better estimate of when the attack occurred. Given they said it still seemed fresh." Dagmar nods up the hill towards the rest. "Might give us better idea if we lookin' for survivors or just body recovery."
"One would have require more sense of urgency, than the other, but equally necessary. Might also needin' to take whatever critter done it back too, or proof of it at least. Especially if'n all we gets a body. Prove it wasn't us."
Glenda nods approvingly at Nalnera's moral stance. "Aye, what kind of great dwarven venture are we starting if we care naught about the welfare of our neighbors?"
"I was hoping you'd say so. Dammerhall has been sealed two centuries, a couple of days won't harm it, but whoever was on this cart won't have much time left."
He stops a second to think before adding something.
"Dwarves of the past were known to be close-minded, xenophobic and untrusting. I don't say we welcome every bloody treehugger elf, or even dark elves, the Stone forbids, but looking at these days in exile, in human lands... Having the trust of other nations would be good. And if we wanna get famous and respected, we might as well start with this."
"Caution, however. Be steady, be vigilant, whatever attacked the cart is probably around. Ukrim, scout ahead but keep close, if anything goes south I want you to fall back to us. United we stand, divided we fall."
Ukrim stays silent as the others discuss their next course of action and as the details slowly come in, a firm smile spreads across his face.
"Aye, thae ur th' guid ones." He thinks to himself for a moment, looking towards their king-to-be. The dwarf's words seem to make him stand taller as he gives a nod, looking down the dark road in the distance.
"As ye wish, m' laird. Ah will be as quick 'n' as quiet as a fox." He turns and makes his way down the road and up upon the northern embankment. Ukrim's feet carry him quietly and deftly, as he moves from one side to the other, always looking for the next threat.
The brevy of comments and philosophy are silently absorbed by Dasur. He simply nods as a consensus is reached, seemingly unperturbed that it runs counter to his own idea of noninterference.
Dasur holds up a hand to Ukrim before he sets off, the digits wiggly dipping into his spell pouch. A small piece of cured leather, no bigger than a fingernail, is extracted and held between the wizard's thumb and forefinger.
"ປະຈໍາຕະກູນ" Is firmly uttered in Draconic, and the leather disintegrates with a bright purple flash. His hand claps onto Ukrim's shoulder dramatically and the monk can feel ethereal force sheathing his body. "Armor for the unarmored." A quick nod follows, signaling Ukrim should go.
The wizard turns his gaze to Dagmar, expression unchanging and voice a monotonous drawl. "I recall you mentioning you can hunt and forage. Cam you also track game? If there is a trail of blood or any such signs to follow, it will lead us directly to the victim."
"Not so much a forager, as I ken recognize good cuts o' meat off most any animal, but I do have a passin' knowledge of most edible plants and such. Things good few seasoning, ya know?"
"Done a wee bit o' hunting. Not completely lost in the wilds, but probably not the best of trackers, I can giver a good shot though."
Before you can leave, a feminine voice calls out of the darkness in lightly-accented Dwarven.
"I know what happened here. If you promise to not harm me, I will tell you."
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Snorri's lips tighten and his brow furrows, but his voice is steady and clear.
"You have my word that none of us will strike first. Don't think we'll walk into a trap, though. Why don't you come forward?"
She fears we'd attack her first. Some kind of Dark creature? A double-damned Drow?
Taking her hand off the axe and letting them hang at her side, "We only want to know what happened so that we can avoid the same fate. Please come out and tell us what happened here."
Dasur glances about as the voice calls out, slowly turning in a full circle looking for the source. "Well. We are just travelers. Harming anyone is not in our best interest. Enlighten us, please, Voice from the Stone."
Ukrim stops before he heads of and looks carefully through the darkness. "How cuid ah hae missed thaim?" He thinks quietly to himself, moving around the group with a protective motion. He does draw out his sling, just in case the voice in the darkness proves to otherwise be unfriendly or his sire commands him to strike it down.
A figure slips out from the shadows, shorter than the assembled dwarves. No skin shows from under her leather armor and a black cloak is pulled up to hide her face. She has a crossbow pointed at Ukrim. "Why don't you tell your man to put down his sling so we can talk? You're dwarves, right? You're supposed to be trustworthy."
Dasur looks to Ukrim and makes a lowering motion with his hand before looking back to the supposedly gnomish figure. "If you lower the crossbow he will do the same. Ukrim is one of our many guards, and just doing his job. Which brings me to my point- this must be important. If you suspected us of treachery you would not be risking yourself 7-to-1."
The wizard shifts, putting two hands on his staff and casually leaning against it. "I am Dasur. Tell us what you saw and perhaps we can earn this trustworthiness you attribute our kind."
Snorri motions Ukrim to stand down while stepping in the direction of the woman.
"Yes, but you should lower the crossbow as well. No good talking ever started with weapons. Should I assume you to be one of the svirfneblin, the deep gnomes? And how should we address you? I am Snorri Tharnhammer. On my honour, you will receive from us only what you bring. Friendship for friendship, violence for violence. I'm hoping you'll go for the first."
Ukrim will stare daggers at the woman for a moment's time, looking at the others before putting it away calmly. After all, he was far more deadly with his bare fists than any sling.
He remains silent for now, moving to the side of his king and to try and be in the way of any attack that could be launched against the others.
So temperamental. You will have your Shut up! If I bash my head on a rock I do not have to listen to you. And it is sounding tempting! Holding her breath until Ukrim has lowered his weapon then slowly exhaling. Looking over at the woman, "Will you lower your weapon. Then we can talk. We only want to help."
"Aye, we be dwarves, and aye we are trustworthy, for those deserving. But I ne'er been one to do business with someone whose face I can'nae see. Trust is learned lil' miss." Dagmar uses her firm, yet friendly "mom"-voice, while both lowering her weapon axe head down and taking a small step forward to be just in front, and to the side, of Snorri should there be any treachery. "Lower the weapon and the cloak, and we can talk proper-like." Dagmar leans on the pommel of her axe.
The figure waits until Ukrim puts away his sling before she lowers her crossbow. She hesitates for a moment before pulling down her hood. Beneath is the face of a svirfneblin woman. She is beautiful in an alien way: greyish-beige skin, pale grey eyes, and hairless but for a pair of long black eyebrows that point off the side of her face like antennae. "My name is Iverna Already-Has-Your-Knife, but my friends call me Knivey Ivy. Where are you headed?"
Ukrim watches the svirfneblin woman pull back her hood and he quirks his head just a little bit. He had never met one of the deep gnomes before and he could see the similarities between her and the gnomes on the surface. She was beautiful if strange and Ukrim's wariness became curiosity but he quickly remembers the task at hand.
"We're lookin fur th' village o' Kladdenvalt bit we're lookin tae save ony bides we kin fae that attack. Whaur ur oor enemies?" He seems eager to get on with tracking the attackers of the wagon, to have a chance to prove his worth to the potential allies of the soon-to-be newly arisen Dwarven kingdom.
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Looking the svirfneblin up and down with a look of curiosity. She is so pale. And you could lead her like a horse by those eyebrows Biting her tongue You are a bad person.
Shifting on her feet and ignoring the cackle in her mind. Keeping her voice as even as she can, "You said you knew what happened here. Could you tell us?"
"The place's called Fasturvalt, not Kladdenvalt." Stranger as she may be, lying is not becoming. I'm not telling why we're heading there, though.
"Or at least we were heading there until we stumbled across this grisly scene. Care to shed some light?"