Glenda directs her spiritual weapon to make an end of the remaining enemy.
Glenda's spiritual weapon descends into the pit to attack the fallen dwarf.
Erebos looks up from his inspection of the dead fish thing. [b]"Gunar, if you will allow it, I can lift you off the ground enough to keep you from falling into Dasur's pit."
"I shall take what help is offered to me." mutters grudgingly Gunnar.
No matter how distasteful it may be, my revenge is not against him.
Held safely at the edge of Dasur's pit, Gunnar rains metal on the animate dwarven corpse. Tough as it is, it is still torn beyond its ability to remain intact.
Torvi will set about searching the fallen dwarves, for indications of their identities, as well as loot. She will also set about, with Glenda's help, in preparing them for dwarven funerary rites.
Torvi, with her knowledge of the annals of Dammerhall and a few gaps filled in by Gunnar, recognizes these three are members of the royal guard. Rather than a demonstration of uniformity, the royal guard was chosen from the best warriors who sought to serve, creating a flexible but eclectic group.
The one who fought without weapons was Thorven Ironfist, known for his ability to break stone as he walked across it.
The one with the massive hammer is Glenna Dalederon. Glenna wielded a massive hammer. She was a renowned breeder of sheep as well as a talented warrior.
The third was Wherat Hornblower. In life he was a skilled bard, driving his compatriots on with an instrument crafted from the horn of a great aurochs. Here, he seems to have been reduced to a simple pummeler.
"Sounds... familiar, somehow."
"I call dibs on the horn if we find it!"
Gunnar looks at the throne room, fearing what may be inside. Who may be inside, or at least whose body. But fear and pain cannot justify faltering in the line of duty.
"I shall look ahead, my liege. Surprise may won us the day."
Dranngvit, let my feet be silent and my eyes sharp, that swift death be upon our foes.
The south wall of the throne room, beyond the throne itself, lies in ruin. Beyond that, a massive space gapes.
"The scaly foes gather farther, beyond the opening in the rocks." reports Gunnar, returning to the group. "Decades in the past, our craft and ingenuity cultivated here, bringing the Sun through the deepest shadows, growing life from rocks like Torag grew dwarves from stone. Now, though, our foes take advantage of the architectures, wringing their contraptions to replicate the engine that lieth at our back, only larger by orders of magnitude. I can but assume that they labor to capture one further spirit of light- and from how they chose the location, I fear they intend to enslave the Sun itself."
"I saw naught of creatures other than the ones akin to that which lieth here, defeated, but they may be fiercer when surprise fadeth. From Stonesinger's vanquishing of the former, methinks fire to be an effective opposition to their dark crafts."
He scratches a rudimentary map of the field lying ahead in the dust of the throne room, focus keeping his mind from going over the memories of last being here.
"I know little of tactics other than the hunt, my liege, but were I to choose I would approach this as one. Those of us who can hide in the shadows -or through the dwimmer- may approach furtively, picking off those who may be at the side and vanquishing them as silently as we manage. Soon as we have taken enough to stave off encirclement, or should we be discovered, then securing the device would prevent them from attempting their deeds of darkness."
"The final step shall be their blood glistening in the sole sunlight ever touching Dammerhall."
Nodding, "Excellent work, Oathminder." Looking up from the map to the others, "I believe we have our plan in place. If there is any of you who object or have something to add to it, then please speak now. If not, we shall approach this just as Gunnar has described. I believe it to be a sound plan."
"Lead the way, my prince," says Garnet simply, ready to continue the fight once she has finished healing.
"I believe that between us, we can make the entire group invisible for nearly ten minutes, allowing all of us to sneak up as Gunnar suggests, even those not normally as nimble as the she-gnome."
"If it can be done then let it be done. Whatever aids our cause I am for." Once the invisibility has been cast - or possibly if it's been cast - Snorri will lead the way.
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When Gunnar returns Dasur is standing by one of the mighty pillars of the throne room, beaten antique helmet under the crook of his arm, with his forehead pressed against the smoothed stone. He stares blankly into the polished surface, his incalculable mind in many places at once.
As a minute passes he takes a step to the side, head sliding along the surface and leaving a trail of grease behind. This repeats until he has circumnavigated the entire pillar, and the wizard pulls his reddened head away with a disgruntled sigh.
"The Stone is silent." Dasur mumbles cryptically as he joins the others in their planning. "Zhashilgeax and I had not foreseen this in our initial prophetic viewings, either. This..." He gestures to the throne room. "Was supposed to be our final victory. I do not believe our calculations to be wrong in the moment they were completed, but instead that the future is changing. If we do not stop this endeavor, not only will our fates change, but the fates of all that depend upon our star."
It's anyone's guess what the wizard is talking about, but he seems resolute in the decision to go forward and stop whatever machinations are occurring beyond the throne.
Yet, he hesitates as the others prepare their spells for the assault.
"I ask for a small but important detour. First, should we not rightfully reclaim Dammerhall, as we set out to do?" Dasur points his obsidian staff to the throne. Even though darkness gapes behind it, the seat is formidable, and its imagery potent. "Snorri, we should drive out our enemies not with a Prince at our fore... but a King."
He gestures again at the throne. becoming eager. "Sit, and let us swear fealty under the eyes of the Stone, Torag, and our ancestors. Let us reclaim our home."
"Lead the way, my prince," says Garnet simply, ready to continue the fight once she has finished healing.
Noting Garn's condition, Glenda produces her small healing wand.
Snorri looks a bit trepidatious at the request. "Is it proper? Is it the right time? While a part of me wants nothing more than to return Dammerhall to its former glory, the other part of me feels as if we've unfinished business. And it is the latter that causes me to hesitate. This corruptable dark flame, the creature of fire chained in the other room. It leaves me... torn." He then looks to the others, "What say the rest of you?"
Nodding her thanks to Glenda, Garnet replied to Snorri, "Prince or King matters not to me, as long as I can charge into battle by your side, my liege. Yet Dasur speaks wisely, and perhaps being crowned as King will aid our efforts here. Do we have the proper regalia to have the ceremony now? This magical dwarven hammer could stand as a symbol of royal office, surely, but where can we find a crown?"
”If a group of dwarves can’t forge a crown of steel, gold, or stone…” she trails off.
Erebos steps forward. "Truly, Prince Snorri. Surely the powers of Law and your own Dwarven gods will stand stronger with a King driving invaders from his Kingdom than with an ambitious Prince who seeks to restore his power, at least in as much as I understand such Powers. We should remain quiet so as not to attract the attention of whatever lies beyond, but surely the nature of the crown is not as important as the devotion of your followers. Look at those gathered here. Your dwarven kin, a dwarf foundling, a wayward svirfneblin, and a dark elf himself, a being bred on the teat of Chaos, drawn to your stability and trustworthiness."[b] He kneels.
[b]"I will not deny that I have, on occasion, sought opportunity to betray you and your kin. Initially, I followed you in fear of your strength and your ability to end my life. But now, I bend my knee in true service of your Throne. Those beyond would seek to extend the power of darkness over the sun itself, to create a Throne of Night. But here, we have a thrown hewn by dwarves from living rock. Mount it, Snorri, and take your rightful place. Here beneath this mountain take the Throne of Dammerhall, and take the power of this place as your own..."
Glenda speaks up slowly. "The King is a symbol of the community—the bedrock of it," she says. "When the king has the favor of the gods, the community is blessed with responsible leadership, and prospers."
She removes her angelic helm and says, "What do you say, agent of the heavens? Is it right and just that Snorri should claim his heritage before we carry on? Or is it fit that we wait until Dammerhall and its environs are secure in full, before he makes claim to these depths? What would the gods have of us?"
"New traditions can be started along with the old. All traditions must start somewhere, of course." Dasur says to their future king as he takes his place next to Erebos, standing by the kneeling drow. "I can see future coronations behind a backdrop of black silk, a group of 7, including our most trusted Drow and Svirfneblin allies, being the first to swear, followed by a hunt, a journey for the crown jewels."
The wizard kneels down, laying his black staff gently on the floor in front of him. "Erebos speaks true. There is power in the throne, Snorri, even if it is metaphorical, and you should be the one to wield it against the Black Flame."
The drow's suggestion does tickle a thought in his mind, however. After seeing the vast enchantments wrought upon the defenses of Dammerhall, could the throne itself have real power?
With a flick of his fingers Dasur looks up, concentrating on the throne and any magical auras that may surround it. The massive waves of magical energy roling out from behind the throne make it difficult to tease apart individual auras, but the wizard is no bumbling apprentice.
"My eyes bore witness to the final days of thy ascendant, my liege. It still baffles my mind that, a day yet centuries after, I would see the bloodline of the High King reforged as thou ascendst to the throne of thy birthright. But this glorious seat hath remained vacant too long."
"A time for careful, artful regalia shalt come later. My wife was the better storyteller, but I recall the ancient legend of Queen Freya, from a time far enough that tales only carried here."
"There was a year when the winter on the surface was blowing so cold as to drive underground our foes from above the mountain, and they marched against this city in an army that had no equal. Freya's grandfather led the dwarven troops to face the foes, and so he met his demise. Freya's father led the dwarven troops to avenge his father, and on his corpse so he, too, fell. As news came, Freya chose not to rush to vengeance, not to fall again where her ascendants lain. She fashioneth for herself a crown from the hair of her shieldbrothers and shieldsisters, and side by side the Dwarves yielded not one inch, they were the rock upon which the foes' wave broke and splintered."
"I know not whether thou wouldst like a crown of hair, my liege, but I believed that some of that story's teaching is that little we can make in the forge can compare to the strength of the bonds thou hast with thy retainers, thy kin. We shalt be thy regalia."
A small voice in the back of Gunnar's head, in the meantime, is pondering his attitude.
Arst thou not rushing to vengeance, Gunnar? Wilt this day leave thee as a corpse on the stones of thy home as thou seekest the death Hilde spared thee from?
”Too much talking! Are we doing this thing, or not?”
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Taking a deep breath, Snorri looks upon them all with peace. "So then shall it be. And a crown or having to have one forged is not necessary. Oathminder has stated it true." He cuts his attention over at him and nods, "Well said, Oathminder," before addressing them all again. "There is no regalia dwarven made that could compare to what we have forged as companions in our efforts to reclaim Dammerhall. And seeing how I've rambled on for far too long," he shoots a quick glance and a wry grin over at Torvi before quickly continuing, "let this be done."
Snorri walks over to the throne and looks upon it a moment as if looking upon a long lost family member. With a glad heart he places his right hand upon the right arm of the chair, turns and takes a seat upon The Throne of Dammerhall, fitting himself perfectly within. With a feeling as if he's truly returned home, Snorri breaths deeply and states with absolute conviction, "For Dammerhall!"
Having knelt with bowed head as Snorri took the throne, Garnet surged to her feet and thrust her hammer above her head at the new king's words. she exclaimed in echo of her king's first proclamation as ruler.
As Snorri sat down on the throne of their ancestors, Torvi whispered a prayer to the dwarves gods and knelt on one knee out of respect to the new sovereign. When he raised the battlecry, she stood, and lifted her weapon, "For Dammerhall!"
"FOR DAMMERHALL!" bellows Gunnar, half in exhultance and half in grief, as he drops to one knee, arm tight against his chest.
Erebos drops to his knees, and prostrates himself, his forehead pushing against the cool stone of the floor. "For Dammerhall! May your foes be driven before you and all of your ancestral home be reclaimed from these foul foes."
Iverna touches her hand to lips and heart. "Let's get this done, let's get this trash out of here."
As Snorri sits upon the Throne, a strange stillness flows into the room. For a moment, you think that you are deafened so surprising is the stillness. A yellow light surrounds you, emanating from the throne, rolling over Snorri like a reflection of the sun on a high mountain lake, pouring into your eyes and your hearts. Erebos and Iverna, both born of darkness, recoil from the light, but your eyes are more accustomed to light, even though they haven't seen much of it lately.
The sudden silence and light surprise Dasur in equal measure, giving him a start from his kneeling position. Swinging his head up to stare at the glowing Snorri, he feels a wellspring of pride and hope fill his chest to near bursting. Struggling to even squint at the radiant image of their new king, the wizard slowly stands, wiping at his tearing eyes with a dusty finger.
"The Tharnhammer legacy, and Dammerhall, live once more. Lead on, My King!" He says while lifting his staff high above his head. Further protective magic bursts through the air and settles on the forms of Dammerhall's new protectors, encasing them in a shell.
"Let us go and use this boon to the greater benefit of our people and our task!"
”To battle!” says Garnet, eager to purge these halls of the black flame corruption.
Rising from the throne, Snorri draws his mighty greataxe and grins slyly. "Yes, let's, Torvi. And to battle it is!" he reaffirms, giving a firm nod as he immediately turns and heads toward the destination of combat.
You move into the massive chamber. So large you can't see across it. In fact, even those with extended darkvision can only see so far as the stairs. There is no light here. In fact, the room is permeated with magical darkness, and you can feel the hum of magic. You hear the burbling chants of the fish folk, their voices weaving through the magic in the room.
"A dark heart lies still. Only in an even darker future does it beat, its sound heralding the doom of the surface." Dasur says quietly as they enter the chamber.
"We are behind you, King Snorri. Let us know your will."
"If we could disperse this darkness then that would be of great benefit. But if not, then they are no better off than ourselves. In that regard we are at least on an even playing field. And as long as that is the case, those odds will always be in our favor as far as I'm concerned. Let us proceed as planned but do so with an even greater caution. The protections cast upon us will not last long; let us not let them go to waste." Snorri then leads the way forward.
Garnet marches along beside her king, ready to pummel into oblivion anything that stands in their way.
Torvi hefts her weapon and prepares to cross the breach into more conflict, and greater glory.
"At your word, my King!"
Gunnar frowns while gazing at the supernatural darkness which threatens to ruin his plans of ambushes. As the new King moves forward, Gunnar takes to the side, smearing mud on his armor and face in case the foes can see through the cloying blackness.
As you enter the farming chamber, the darkness shimmers in front of you. You find, suddenly, that there is a dwarf standing in front of you. He is dressed in gold and crimson, and wields a dwarven longhammer of his own. He leans on the shaft, not in a threatening way, but with a weariness that is evident.
"Children! How long it has been since living dwarves walked these halls. Welcome! Welcome to Dammerhall! Welcome!"
Gunnar freezes at the apparition. Be it ghost, possessed or figment, he stands ready to defend the King, loading the pelletbow with a ghost salt bullet.