Sorala has the vague sensation of being shook, perhaps by a tremor, interrupting her musings about mushrooms. She turns to the staff and says, "Where was I? First you get the spores? Yes, that's it. First, you get the spores. Then you grow the mushrooms. Then you get the " Cackling to herself, she looks around for mushrooms, only to see a dwarf. "So it goes. Never around when you need them."
As Vallen explains what happened to Sorala, Sharpeyes grins.
"Os yw hi wedi gwneud yr hyn yr wyf yn meddwl ei bod wedi, efallai ei bod yn cael ei meddiannu am sawl diwrnod. Efallai ei fod yn wahanol pan ddaw hi nôl. Neu efallai ei bod wedi mynd yn wallgof." She shakes her head, as if at the antics of a child, and shrugs towards Gwenci.
"Rwy'n gwasanaethu fel amddiffynnydd o'n ogofau. Blaidd wedi dweud wrthyf am sicrhau diogelwch y ddau hyn, ond byddaf yn ymladd ochr yn ochr â'ch ddynion os oes angen," Rhyfelwr says.
Gwenci thinks for a moment and then shrugs. "Yr hyn na allaf ei wneud yw cwestiwn yn haws i'w ateb. Beth ydych chi'n ei angen, ar wahân i fwyd, cysgod, diogelwch ac amddiffyn?"
R - I serve as a defender of our caves. Blaidd has instructed me to ensure the safety of these two, but I will fight alongside your men if needed.
G - What can't I do is an easier question to answer. What do you need, other than food, shelter, safety and protection?
=======================
Manari smiles at Istiel, and as the warrior is leaving, she calls to her. "আপনি এই পরী সঙ্গে দেখা এবং তাদের সঙ্গে কথা বলার সুযোগ আছে, আমাদের লক্ষ্য রাখবেন. তারা আমাদের সাহায্য দিতে পারে."
She sighs and looks around them. "This is not a good way to live," she adds in Taldan.
======================
While Bern comes to meet the others at the old sycamore, he is preoccupied. When the rest of the group is assembled, he sighs.
"I will stay with my father," he says. "I know Deeshka and the others will do the best that they can, but I must be here if ... if anything changes."
Vallen gives a long sigh as Sharpeyes explains the possible results of Sorala's current state. "Methu fforddio cost o golli Sorala. Hope hi nid ffôl ... ymennydd benywaidd, ond yn aml yn gweld ... AH .." He is about to use a dwarven idiom about not seeing the gold due to all the iron, but he can't think of a proper translation. He uses a human phrase instaed. "yn aml yn gweld unrhyw goedwig, ond yn gweld coed."
Vallen gives Rhyfelw an appreciative nod. "Unrhyw fraich gref gwerthfawrogi. Os bydd tâl yn diogelu dau rhain fodd bynnag, yn rhoi dyletswydd yn gyntaf. Mewn ychydig ddyddiau glaives yn barod. Bydd angen i chi ddod â nhw i Blaidd."
The priest strokes his beard in thought for a few moments, before settling on what to tell Gwenci. "Wanted ydych yn gweithio gyda Sorala. Edrychwch ar ein mapiau, gwybodaeth record. A all nid ar hyn o bryd. Pan mae hi'n ôl, yn ei helpu. Yn awr, yn helpu eraill i ddysgu ein hiaith."
To R- "Any strong arm appreciated. If charge protect these two though, put duty first. In few days glaives be ready. Will need you bring them to Blaidd."
To G- "Wanted you work with Sorala. Check our maps, record knowledge. Can not at moment. When she back, help her. At now, help others learn our tongue"
Istiel stops as Manari calls out to her, turning around to acknowledge her request. "আমরা একটি নতুন বাড়ি খুঁজে পেতে হবে. একটি ঘন এক. Ladara গান যোগ্য."
She nods, beginning to walk away. "Nor a good place to die. Farewell sister."
----
The elf sits up and stretches as Bern informs them he will not be joining the group. "Look after Gair. This village needs him." She remarks before setting off with the others to leave.
As the group gathers, Cueta swings her bill over her shoulders. "Well then, lets find our people some more safe land to forage. Kal'Tos, you're quite the woodsman. Would you like to take point?"
Survival check to navigate
Kal'Tos leads the small group out of the camp, setting a blistering pace for a Dwarf. He barely pauses to maintain his direction as the group heads farther away from Newspring.
"When you spend several years travelling between small mining villages in the mountains, often alone, you pick up a few things about navigation, Cueta."
Tomag follows along, a tired look on his face. "That's a good thing to hear," he says. "The last thing I would wish upon any of us is to be lost in this place."
Cueta smiles, walking next Tomag, watching the priest of cities make his way through the wilderness better than any Ijo warrior. "Aye, no one will be lost today. This journey will be quick and to the point, if I know Kal'Tos. When we've tamed this land, and our hills are blanketed with villages, and those villages are blanketed with fat screaming children, I'll probably be old or in the dead book, but that one will be as spry as ever, wanding around his domain at a breakneck pace."
Silent for a second, Cueta grins again and yells up to the trailblazer. "Kal'Tos, have you thought of what you will do when these hills are blanketed with little dwarven boys and girls? You should show them your skills, turn them into proper woodsmen. A legion of dwarves, little babes that will grow into powerful bears, forces for Newspring's protection. We could call them... 'Cub Scouts.'"
"Alas Cueta, much of my speed in traversing these woods is due to the gifts Abadar has seen fit to bless me with.
If Abadar blesses me to live to such an age, I will likely return to wondering from village to village, aiding them with the many blessings a cleric of Abadar can bring for a few days before moving on to help others in need. Among the more rustic parts of my homeland there are dwarves who put my skills as a woodsman to shame. Have you ever seen a dwarven mountain ranger patrol on an orc hunt?"
Tomag kind of starts at the mention of an "orc hunt." He coughs into a hand, trying to hide his gaffe as best he can.
Istiel takes up the rear, making no comment or even seeming to acknowledge the first in many conversations the group will have. That sea rat couldn't stop blabbering if her mouth was sewn shut. He muses, if their last journey was any indication of Cueta's talkativeness.
She had to admire Kal'tos savvy for the wilderness. For a dwarf, he knew how to get around in the forest, and it was something she could respect. The elf nearly snorts in amusement when she sees the look on Tomag's face after Kal'tos mentions orc hunts, but covers it up by clearing her throat.
It ends up they both make awkward eye contact while coughing, and Istiel turns her head away from the half-orcs gaze, becoming extremely interested in a particularly large oak tree.
Tomag signs heavily. "Oh lady Sarenrae, how I long for a bright and sunny day, to wipe this stress away," he thinks to himself as he silently follows after Vallen and Cueta.
Kal'Tos doesn't expand on his story realizing that the Half-orc may not appreciate tales of glorious hunts of orc raiding parties.
He keeps the pace brisk, trying to cover the same amount of ground he would in a normal day, even though they left well after daybreak.
The ground grows more rugged as the group heads northeast. They pass through the rotten valley and find the land is better beyond it, but by that time, the sun is hidden behind the western hills, and night is closing in.
As the night closes in, Vallen checks on Sorala to make sure she's still breathing or hasn't turned into a demon. Finding her in the same spot as before, he sighs, shaking his head.
The priest gathers one of his blankets and puts it over her shoulders so she doesn't freeze if there is another frost. "I hope you find whatever you're looking for..." He mumbles, leaving her be and returning to the forge for some late-night last minute details.
Istiel is extremely prickly as they move through the rotten lands, hating
the stench and the odd flora. She makes no verbal comment though, other than looking very sour.
When the sun begins to dip below the hills, she signals for the rest of the group to stop. "Let us find shelter."
She works with the Kal'tos to secure adequate shelter for the evening.
When they reach a good spot to camp Kal'Tos reinvigorates them with the healing touch of Abadar.
channel positive energy
He then focuses specifically on Cueta, who doesn't appear to have fully healed from the fight against the undead. cure light wounds
"We stay here tonight, One awake at all times, fully armed and armoured. No fire, it might give away our position."
survival to set up camp
As Cueta moves through rotten valley, she takes the increased time she has from slowing to Tomag's pace to look closely at her surroundings, in an effort to deduce what is happening with the valley.
------
At camp that evening, Cueta sighs as Kal'Tos mentions no fires. "Aye, Kal'Tos, I'm afraid you're right. I look forward to the day when these lands are safe enough for a campfire. I'll take first watch, while there is still light for my eyes to see by."
Istiel settles in, placing her shortbow across her lap. "I will take first and second watch. Kal'tos third. Tomag fourth. Cueta Fifth."
perception check while on watch
"That is agreeable to me"
Tomag looks vageuly embarassed that he is slowing everyone down, but feels the risk is too great to remove his armor. "Sorry," he apologizes, "But after the other night, I'm still worried about being unprepared in this place."
"Tomag, I don't think any of us was prepared for this place, we are merely doing the best we can."
The half-orc nods, sighing. "I know. I just..." he trails off.
The night passes quietly on the far side of the rotten valley.
In Newspring, there are screams. The sick are having bad dreams, as it turns out, that make for a restless night for all. Whatever relief the people feel that there were no further attacks in the night is soured by the reminder that two of those who had come to be seen as leaders were laid low by a sickness that has no apparent cause or cure.
The morning comes with a breeze from the south that quickly turns the day hot and hazy.
Day 28
Day 28
As the first rays of sunlight shine upon Newspring, Vallen is instantly awake, and a smile creeps across his face. His sleep was uninterrupted, and the screams from those unlucky few that shared his affliction had not pierced his veil of dreams.
His dreams were filled with thoughts of the mountainhomes, the Forge of Torag, and happy memories of study in the vast statue gardens or mural walls that outlined much of Dwarven history.
Today I will bless the forge we have worked so hard to construct. Is the first thought to enter his mind, the smile not leaving his face. He immediately sits up, throwing off his blankets and clasping his holy symbol. Today I will bring the warmth of Torag's flame to Newspring.
He stands up, facing the direction of the forge, unbraided beard majestically blowing in the southern wind. Today begins a new era of industry. His icey blue eyes sparkle with intensity.
Vallen quickly sets to work braiding his beard in his typical tight double-knot, and makes sure his robes are immaculate and clean. His ceremonial anvil had already been moved over to the forge the day before, and he informed all of the dwarves, and anyone who would listen, really, that he would be holding prayer and blessing Newspring's forge.
------
On his way to the river Vallen carries a jug and some food with him, stopping by Sorala to check on her status. The priest sighs as he witnesses the blanket wrapped around her head, and her hotly debating whether or not the sun exists with... someone? He places down the jug next to her and mutters a prayer, filing it with water. Some boiled tubers and the scrawniest looking charred rabbit he has ever seen is set next to it on a cloth, and he leaves the woman with a single glance backwards, hoping she is sane enough to drink and eat at least. His stomach rumbles in protest at leaving food behind that may not even be eaten... but he presses on.
------
Arriving at the forge, the dwarf says his greeting to the hobgoblins, but is clearly on a mission and has no time to chat. He informs them of the morning's blessings but does not chase them away, welcoming them to attend. In fact, he requests Sharpeyes to stay close, as today will be her first as an apprentice.
He carefully fills the burner of the forge with charcoal, giving Sharpeyes a brief and animated lecture on the placement of coals, proper spacing, and the important of air-flow over the fire. He even breaks out the chalkboard, drawing detailed diagrams while waiting for his contingent to gather. "Swyddi mwyaf o prentis - cadwch tân. Creadur tân. Mae'n rhaid i chi fwydo. Ond nid dros y porthiant. Nid yw o dan bwyd anifeiliaid. Cadwch yn iach. Strong. Mae'n rhaid i ddisgyblu fel anifail. Ond yn rhoi parch. Forge fflamau poethach nag unrhyw dân. Beryglus. Ond byddwch yn meistroli! Dim ofn! Gyda'n gilydd, rydym yn defnyddio tân i wneud gwaith gwych. Tân o beth, mae'n gwneud y gwaith. Tân amarch, gall defnyddio i gyd. All. Gwylio dros tân nes dim mwy o waith. Wedyn yn gwneud gorffwys tân."
As the dwarves and anyone else gathers, Vallen stands before them, his grey robes fluttering in the wind- beard pinned down by the shining silver clasps on his chest. He takes a deep breath, unhooking his holy book from the chain at his waist, and opening up the text. He knows it by heart, but reading it from the book makes it all the more official. There is no nervousness or trepidation in his voice or mannerisms.
"Thank you all for coming. Today we will bless this forge in the name of Torag. Soon, the sweet symphony of hammer and anvil, grindwheel and blade, lathe and shaft, shall echo from this point throughout Newspring, signaling the beginning of a new era of progress for its people. Let us pray to the Father of Creation and his family, and seek their blessing for this newly minted forge."
Vallen clears his throat, taking off his holy symbol and dragging it over the book so it hangs from the pages. He begins to read from his metal-bounded, leather lacquered holy book. "At the dawn of our world, Torag took the churning lump of rock, water, and lava in with his great gaze, and he devised a plan. A Grand Plan that encompassed the breadth of this rocky world. He would see it edges smoothed, He would see the valleys filled, and He would create a perfect planet, He would creature a sculpture the gods had never seen before. While his Grand Plan was formed in an instant, Torag labored at his forge for millenia, perfecting every facete of his world, delicately carving every tunnel with his warhammer Kaglemros, every blow on the surface so precise, so skilled, but a pebble moved each time. As the blows rained on the surface, Torag struck his mighty hammer against a mountain to flatten it, and lo! Sparks flew for miles below ground as the mountain pushed aside rock! These holy sparks infused the rock around them, and the stone came to life, fire in their bellies and the desire for creation in their hearts, inherited from their father! The dwarves were born from the sparks of Torag's hammer, and so too shall life in Newspring flourish from Torag's spark!"
He walks to the forge, one hand outstretched, the other holding his book aloft. "Torag! A servant asks for your blessing! Channel through me the spark of life, so this fire may warm the hearts of the community, and the tools produced here ensure our survival!" Finishing his prayer, Vallen casts Spark, the divine spark igniting the charcoal in a glorious blaze. He pumps the bellows for a few moments, before instructing Sharpeyes to take over.
The priest's eyes begins to tear a little as the flame sets in, the charcoal burning a bright red flame as the forge begins to warm and coke starts to form soon after. He wipes a sleeve over his eyes to clear the joyous tears, and swallows to clear his throat.
"Now let us thank Angradd, Bolka, Dranngvit, Folgrit, Kols, Magrim, Thrudd, and Grunndinnar. All of Torag's family watches over us, in many aspects of our lives. And lastly, we must not fall to the toils of Droskar, and always find beauty, pride, and creativity in our work, lest The Dark Smith take the joy from our lives. As the forge warms, let us sing our hymns..."
The entire blessing goes on for another hour, and Vallen heats up iron from the ogre's chain for the first round of smithing on the ceremonial anvil. He takes a moment to appreciate how good having a hammer in his hand feels as he strikes the first blow on the orange-hot metal, sparks flying in all directions....
And so the day goes- Vallen, Horn'tos, and Sharpeyes work throughout the day to repair tools, create new tools, and meet the demands of Newspring. Tomorrow, we begin making glaives for the hobgoblins. But today is Torag's day. Today, the needs of the community come first...
Vallen even includes Gwenci in the matter due to Sorala's absence, instructing him to perform a few tasks fixing tools that did not require use of the forge.
Blinking as if she has emerged from a trance, Sorala finds a blanket wrapped around her head, and a jug of water and a rabbit and tubers on a plate beside her. Head pounding, her stomach crawls with hunger, and she reaches for the rabbit before Garrack's voice comes into her head, filled with the deep rumbling undertones of thunder. Force your hunger out of your mind, fill your stomach with tea, if need be. That rabbit's place is to teach you two things - one, self-control. And two, fetishes. Today, you learn how to harness the power of this world. First, you must open the carcass. It would be easier with a knife, but you'll have to use your fingers today. Start with the breastbone...
Sorala's fingers dig into the rabbit's chest, and she pries the ribcage open (unaware that the creature had already been field dressed for cooking). She removes the skin and meat from the creature's torso, and then adds the meat to her iron pot. With a twist, the historian pops the skin and head from the rabbit. Gooood, Garrack says, tones of summer flowers lilting on his voice. The head contains much magic, its power offering increased clarity, sensory perception, and lucid dreams. Now, go find some long grass. We'll need to create a twine of sorts. There is meaning in how the head is displayed as well...
And so the day goes, and by nightfall the tiger oak is decorated with bones and skin and tubers, tied together in complex shapes with grass and daubed with mud, while the rabbit meat sits forgotten in the tea cauldron.
Cueta wakes with a shiver, cold but happy to have passed the night peacefully. Munching on a cold breakfast of monkey jerky and washing it down with springwater, the woman rubs her sleepy eyes and takes in the morning mist spread throughout the forest. Gathering her pack, Cueta readies for a day of fear and anticipation, mentally willing herself into a fighting mood, knowing that they are leaving the safety of their territory soon.
Tomag wakes with the dawn and begins his morning ritual as normal. The warm sun strengthens the Sarenraen, and his smile begins to regain its usual brightness. Once his prayer for the morning is complete, he packs his things and makes ready to continue the day's work.
Istiel stirs from her meditation around the time Cueta takes over the morning watch, the elf opening her eyes to look over the sleep forms of Kal'tos and Tomag. She had been reviewing her memories of the forest and the hunt, and gets an idea in her head.
As they begin to walk , she speaks. "When exploration is complete, we should hunt as a group. Track an elk, or deer. Bring back a feast."
"We shall see, I was hoping to look for signs of the native elves before returning."
Survival to navigate
Perception
Istiel's lips turn down ever-so-slightly at the mention of the elves, but keeps her thoughts to herself.
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The goblins listen to Vallen's introduction to fire, Gwenci smirking but Sharpeyes listens carefully. When he begins his invocation to consecrate the forge, Gwenci attempts to translate, but for whatever reason, the speech is too difficult for him to grasp.
============
Is that really Ingwe's voice that Sorala hears, laughing? The big half-orc is nowhere in sight, but it sounds just like him.
============
Everyone sees lots of things as they look around. Trees, leaves, moss, brush, hills rising up, similar to the other hills you've explored, they are cut by deep valleys and crowned by bald peaks that give the opportunity to survey the land around. To the east, the land is flat, covered with thick forest, and to the west the hills continue to rise.
As the group moves into the new territory, however, Kal'Tos spots a warm, familiar glitter in a stream bed. There is gold here.
After a long day of metalworking, repairing tools, and making new ones, Vallen is exhausted but happy. As the day winds down he assists Sharpeyes in spreading out the coals for them to cool, scraping off and tossing away clinkers, and collecting the unburnt coke for future iron welding projects. The dwarf praises the hobgoblin for her work, and think she will make a fine apprentice. Tomorrow they will begin work on the glaives, and he will get her first taste of metalworking.
The sooty priest makes his way back to Sorala to check on her status, and is horrified by what he sees. The waste of their precious food outrages him, and he sits before the half-elf, smelling of smoke and burnt metal. "What's happening to you, Sorala? Sharpeyes said you were... changing. If this is the result of the changes...." He trails off, noticing that she is still not listening, and is disturbingly quiet now.
With a deep sigh, Vallen gets up. He collects the jug full of water, which has a few dead insects floating in it now, and leaves with a glance back. I will give her one more day... after that, it will be clear she has lost her mind.
Istiel peers over the land from the hilltop, looking at the forested flats to the east. The flats.. bugbears are likely in that forest.
Cueta grins as the elf mentions a great hunt. "Aye - it has been a long time, since I led our water expeditions in the in Shackles, that I have taken a proper hunt. I'd like that greatly." When Kal'Tos mentions the elves, Cueta scratches her head, trying to recall what she had heard the goblins say. "The elves are to the west, if I recall what the goblins told us?" "I'd like to explore the Rotten Valley too - perhaps if we take some time to search it, we can figure out what is happening there? It is worrisome to me that it exists so close to Newspring."
------
As the others break to look at the gold, Cueta takes her map kit and climbs a nearby tree, to get the best vantage of the land that she can, and makes a quick sketch of the outlying area.
The day is clear, a good day for exploring, a great day for fishing. The foragers have a run of bad luck. A field of wild onions gone to rot, berries that turn out to be inedible, and a ridiculously clever squirrel that evades numerous traps and makes off with triple its weight in nuts.
============
Sharpeyes is picking up the skills of the forge reasonably well. She's no dwarf, of course, but she's intent on learning and what she lacks in natural talent she makes up for by following Vallen's instructions to the letter.
Gwenci, having nothing better to do, joins them at the forge and is the complete opposite. He barely seems to pay attention to the instructions, pesters Gaross and Horn'Tos endlessly with questions in his extremely limited Taldan, and generally annoys everyone as much as possible. Still, at the end of the day, it's hard to say whether he or Sharpeyes has learned more.
Rhyfelwr speaks not a word of Taldan, but he is quite conversant in the universal language of combat. He joins the fighters at the beach for their morning spar, and is more than capable of holding his own against most of Newspring's soldiery. Even Melilla's tireless savagery breaks harmlessly against his defense. Finally, Edmund Thayer is able to beat him, but only just, and the two of them settle into a dialogue of grunts and gestures.
===========
At the end of another long day's pummeling, Vada finally snaps, and lands a solid hit, knocking Melilla on her backside. She lays back and laughs.
"I think you're getting it," she says.
===========
Garrack speaks to Sorala of the essence of magic, something that had always eluded her before. In a moment of relative awareness, she notices that the statue of her husband is now holding a tiny, perfectly carved representation of his spellbook. It's lips are moving, and though she cannot hear the incantations, she finds that she knows them.
Kal'Tos continues the exploration. looking for signs of anything that could be dangerous for Newspring's foragers.
survival to navigate
Tomag assists Kal'Tos, eyes peeled for anything of note.
Day 28
Sorala sits, head in her hands, hunger knawing at the pit of her stomach, her mouth dry, headache settled into her skull like the hammering of a hundred forgemasters, while Garrack's voice floats over her, dulcet tones of pleasure running up her spine. "Good, love, you are getting the hang of things. There are many ways to draw magic from the world. Fetishes, totems, spellbooks - they are all symbols, really. Arrange the right symbols, invest enough faith in them, and you draw secrets from the earth, make animals your friends, and bring the displeasure of the land down on your enemies."
Looking up, the historian notices a pair of large, fat black birds have settled into the upper branches of the tiger oak, heads cocked, eyeing Sorala with hungry, alien eyes. One of the birds lets out a long, high pitched caw that tumbles around Sorala's head.
"And that is what we're going to talk about today, love. Displeasure. Anger. Hatred. These are your defenses against those that would hurt you. Not a stick, Sorala. Just. Just don't. If something comes at you, you must bring the very psyche of this land to bear against a the threat. You may need to bring this land to bear against itself..."
Sorala watches as more black birds land in the trees, the caws getting more shrill, reverberating around the tiger oak. Wings flapping, feathers ruffled, the birds hop from branch to branch, mouths open, heads swiveling, eyes rolling in their sockets.
"If you don't, love, this new world has not a care about chewing you up. Look what happened to me, Sorala - it took my life, my love, my face from me!"
Cawcawcaw. Hundreds now, blanketing the tree like ants. Sorala doubles over, Garrack's voice pounding in her head, reverberating with the sound of thunder and wind.
And Sorala does, to see the statue's calm polished limestone veneer is gone, and below it, muscle, red and raw and exposed to the world, crawling with maggots and the swarming of flies. Collapsing to the ground, Sorala hugs her knees to her chest, and for the first time gives into her anger and grief. She sobs, loud and long and it turns into a wail of fury, fury at herself for being weak, fury at this New World for taking her husband, and fury at Garrack for leaving her hungry, scared, alone. And so she goes, screaming at the birds, and the tiger oak, and the sky, screaming through the pain in her throat and the cracking of her voice, screaming, screaming, screaming.
Cueta smiles and smells the morning air. The day is clear, a good day for exploring, a great day for fishing. Oh, if only I was fishing. This will do though. Lifting her pack, the woman sets off after Kal'Tos, keeping an eye out but unconcerned. What could go wrong on such a fine day?
Vallen wakes up in the morning, in an extremely pleasant mood despite the dull protest of his stomach and having to tighten his belt a little more than before.
He makes his way to check on Sorala, and can clearly hear the sound of her crying and screaming as he makes his way through a thicket. Frowning, the dwarf increases his pace to a quick jog, coming up to the tree.
"Sorala! What is happening??! Are you hurt?" A few crows are milling around, and one makes off with a piece of rabbit it knocked off the tree.Vallen shoos the few remaining birds away with some gestures and harsh words, coming upon the doubled over Sorala, her voice raspy and weak.
He places firm hands on her shoulders and pulls her up into a sitting position, glancing over her body for wounds before focusing on her bloodshot, puffy eyes. "Sorala! Can you hear me? What is going on with you?!" He shakes her lightly, trying to get any kind of recognition out of her.
--------
After speakign to Sorala, Vallen busies himself starting to make a glaive. His tools are crude, the metal is sub-par, and he hasn't made a weapon in years, but through inspiration given to him by Torag and sheer dwarven stubbornness he manages to mix enough coke in with the smelted iron to produce a springy, blade-worthy steel.
This is quickly beaten into the rough shape of glaive blade. During this time he instructs Sharpeyes in proper smithing techniques, and is pleased to see her follow his words to the letter, keeping her back straight, swinging the hammer with her arms, not her back...
Gwenci is a minor annoyance, but what is on Vallen's mind is his ability to absorb knowledge with little effort is almost frightening. I will get that one working with Sorala as soon as possible... his mind needs to be preoccupied.
Istiel trudges along with the others, silent and sure. She takes time to look at their surroundings, looking for... something, but she doesn't know what. One never knows when they will find The Brightening.... it could be the perfect pebble, the most beautiful tree...
Istiel trudges along with the others, silent and sure. She takes time to look at their surroundings, looking for... something, but she doesn't know what. One never knows when they will find The Brightening.... it could be the perfect pebble, the most beautiful tree...
[dice=Survival Dwarf Aid]1d20+6
[dice=Perception]1d20+6
Sorala looks into Vallen's eyes and blinks, then lets out a scream of utter fury right into the dwarf's face, her breath smelling of rotting leaves, before collapsing back to the ground and hugging her knees.
Vallen staggers back, coughing and cover his mouth. He looks at Sorala, fearfully, and starts to quickly make his way towards the forge. She's truly mad. We may have to restrain her... then.. I don't know.... Perhaps Ingwe could do something for her? She's doing... strange things Torag, don't let us lose her too...
The explorers have another productive day. Though only the one stream bed seems to have gold, there are several deposits. Late in the afternoon, the group finds a series of shallow caves that have been lived in. There are hearthstones and stains of smoke on the ceilings, but little else, and it does not seem that they have been used in recent years.
============
At the forge, the hobgoblins help Vallen, and in the evening, Rhyfelwr returns from his day with Edmund Thayer. He sits with the other two as they eat their nuts and berries, and speaks softly. "Os bydd y corachod yn dychwelyd, mae'n rhaid i ni fod yn barod i hedfan adref yn gyflym. Mae ganddynt ychydig filwyr gwir yma."
"Rwy'n credu eu gorau wedi mynd y tu hwnt i'r pydredd," Sharpeyes says, glancing towards Vallen.
"Dim ond fod yn barod. Rydych yn fy cyfrifoldeb," Rhyfelwr says.
S-I think their best have gone beyond the rot.
R-Just be ready. You're my responsibility.
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Drawn by the scream, maybe, Ingwe appears as Vallen leaves Sorala. He seems to ignore her, but studies the bones and totems she has hung from the tree branches.
"Beware the dead, half-breed," he says. "Things are different for those who have no life to lose." He looks at Sorala and chuckles.
Vallen is melting down some of the ogre's chain for tomorrow, occasionally stirring the iron with a steel rod he made earlier in the day. The dwarf mixes in coke and powdered limestone, attempting to make more steel for tomorrow's work, his foot working the bellows to keep the fire very hot. Throughout the process he chants under his breath to Torag, whispering blessings onthe molten iron and praising his god.
He looks over his shoulder as Rhyfelwr and Edmund Thayer return, giving the noble man a nod. "Welcome to the New World's humble Forge of Torag, Edmund."
He listens to the hobgoblin's conversation, frowning to himself slightly. "Yr ydych yn siarad gwir. Os gorachod ymosod grym llawn, efallai y byddwn yn syrthio. Ond rydym yn syrthio amddiffyn cartref. Nid yw rhoi'r bai i chi am ffoi. Nid yw hyn yn eich cartref."
The dwarf smells the air- the burning, pungent steel is exactly the right composition he wants. He pulls a lever and opens a cleverly designed chute, tipping the smelting box and allowing the small batch of steel to run into ingot molds he carved himself.
He looks back to Edmund. "They say if the elves return, we're in trouble. I don't disagree, but I am no general... the fortifications you have constructed are what I would have suggested. The walls are almost done, but from what I have heard from Blaidd... the elves possess terrible magics."
Istiel looks at the caves curiously. She peers at the smoke on the ceiling, the hearthstones... and is surprised to see it has not been used in many years. Perhaps the bugbears? "Excellent. We stay here tonight." She comments, glad to have a place to rest where their backs are protected.