Lothar was quite overwhelmed by the enthusiasm and zeal of his people's songs; and the uncharismatic Dwarf realised he'd lost the attention of his conversational companions.
Welcome friend, Thorin of the Tharnhammer clan. I am sorry, I do not know your name friend. Thorin thrusts his hand into Ogrim's greeting him heartily.
Ogrim clasps the offered hand gladly. "Ogrim of Clan Orecrusher. My mother's kin were Tharnhammers. Pleasure to meet you Thorin."
Indicating the signers, he adds, "Ale adds much to one's courage, not so much to one's talent. though."
I have tried mercenary work with the humans. They do enjoy getting into trouble.
Grimdahl rolls his eyes. "Oh Gods yes - the way they change sides all the time! Sometimes I wonder... 'can you not keep the same allegiance for two years?!' Earth and Stone...!"
The prospect of a whole keg sounds good; he likes the way Bali thinks. Throwing an arm around his young cousin, they wander off in search of more ale.
Aye to Dammerhall! I would follow any who enters the tunnels to see that great hall. Forget not the name Thorin Tharnhammer if ye seek to find the gates of Dammerhall. Thorin smiles at the nostalgic songs, laughing to himself at how common his dream was among his own people, though Thorin did not fool himself enough to think that a measly party could take back that great hall or restore it to what it was. Still a dwarven keep full of dwarves, that's a dream worth dreaming.
Ogrim clasps the offered hand gladly. "Ogrim of Clan Orecrusher. My mother's kin were Tharnhammers. Pleasure to meet you Thorin."
Hearing the comment Garnak walks over and looks at Ogrim.
Ogrim of Clan Orecrusher, how is your clan now? Have you set about integration with the human world?
He asks, setting his ale down on a nearby table.
As the songs are sung and the stories are told, Kalderin circles the edge of the gathering. Finally deciding that he should probably find a seat. Smiling as he passes Thorin Tharnhammer's table, The gates of Dammerhall. I'll drink to that. To Magnar. To Dammerhall. And to Dreams. He raises his mug briefly and then tosses it back.
Overhearing Kalderin's toast, Pravic turns to greet his kin.
Aye, to Torag as well. To hear you speak of dreams ye'd think the hope of reclaiming Dammerhall were already lost, and we're here to lament our failing strength as much as the passing of our great patriarch. I hope I only mis-understand yer thoughts as ye speak em, for I pity the hopeless soul who only thinks of Dammerhall as dreams, and not a jewel waiting desperately to be reclaimed by her rightful heirs.
Pravic begins to get a little flustered, and a touch louder as he gets started-
Has anyone considered that perhaps Torag may have allowed Dammerhall be taken? For his creation to be pushed out, just to see if we had the stones and the stubborness to take it back? He created the world in 'is forge, through heat and fire, formed blow by perfect blow of his holy hammer.
Pravic's volume increases as he just keeps rolling-
How do ye refine the steel that makes our armor superior to anything not crafted by dwarven hands? Ye melt it, clean out the dross, and ye melt it again. Ye beat it into submission, ye bend it to yer will, with patience only a dwarf can know, and relentlessness only a dwarf possesses.
A holy fire has erupted in the veins and heart of the paladin, he is speaking to more than just those in front of him. Kalderin most likely never meant to imply the dream was impossible, but at this point the choice of words was simply the catalyst to the fire in the paladin's heart-
We are dwarves! Forged by fire, molded by the creator! Mountains crumble and blow away ere a dwarf would budge. We 'ave dug to depths unknown for treasures the world has ne'er seen, laid waste to beasts that would lay waste to entire human cities! We bend the very stone foundation of this world to our whims! The hopeless and worried souls dream of an age lost to all but memory and fireside tales. But why should it just be a dream? There is no force that can stop a single dwarf, let alone an army!
Reginald's venerable yet strong voice speaks on the heels of Pravic, Fine words, Pavic Stoneblood, but what you propose has been said before. Cries of home and hearth and victory in Torag's glorious name have kindled the fires of many Dwarves. They are all dead now. Do you have some knowledge that will provide success where others have met only failure?
Hearing the comment Garnak walks over and looks at Ogrim.
Ogrim of Clan Orecrusher, how is your clan now? Have you set about integration with the human world?
He asks, setting his ale down on a nearby table.
"My clan is mostly gone. The years have not been kind to the Orecrushers and the few others that remain are scattered about both the human and dwarven lands. I myself was raised by the church and even there we humans taking up the Forge God. I don't know if it is good or ill, but it is different.
Has anyone considered that perhaps Torag may have allowed Dammerhall be taken? For his creation to be pushed out, just to see if we had the stones and the stubborness to take it back? He created the world in 'is forge, through heat and fire, formed blow by perfect blow of his holy hammer.
"I would take care before I spoke for Torag and I would be even more cautious before I ascribed such evil deeds to him. There are other powers in this world that actually do mean us harm. It might be best to focus on them."
"We are dwarves! Forged by fire, molded by the creator! Mountains crumble and blow away ere a dwarf would budge. We 'ave dug to depths unknown for treasures the world has ne'er seen, laid waste to beasts that would lay waste to entire human cities! We bend the very stone foundation of this world to our whims! The hopeless and worried souls dream of an age lost to all but memory and fireside tales. But why should it just be a dream? There is no force that can stop a single dwarf, let alone an army!"
"Finally," the leather-clad dwarf breathes. Fifteen years ago, he swore an oath to Magnar that he would guide the dwarves back to Dammerhall; but he lacks the eloquence and force of personality to lead. His saving grace is that he is aware of these failings and so has never tried. Perhaps this Paladin will make a suitable leader.
Grimdahl walks up alongside Pravid and claps him on the shoulder. "Well said! By Oak, Ash and Holly, better to die on your feet than live on your knees!" The druidic oath sounds strange on dwarvish lips; another reminder that he has lived elsewhere.
"Fine words, Pavic Stoneblood, but what you propose has been said before. Cries of home and hearth and victory in Torag's glorious name have kindled the fires of many Dwarves. They are all dead now. Do you have some knowledge that will provide success where others have met only failure?"
He looks at Master T'jener. Grimdahl hugely respects the venerable dwarf, who - as trusted right hand of Magnar Tharnhammer - was present when he swore his oath. Perhaps Reginald has forgotten? It was, after all, over ten years ago. He offers his own counsel: "We die anyway. No place for us above ground, humans'll see to that. Won't fight us, just outbreed us. Below ground, danger - yes. Hope too, though. More than if we stay. What other knowledge do we need?"
Aware that he lacks eloquence, he falls silent.
After that short talk with Igmar, Davros continues pacing the hall, exchanging greetings and embraces with friends and family that have not seen him for months.
"Where have you been this time? Did you fight any drow? How long are you staying?" are some the most asked questions.
As usually, Davros offers them only apologetic shrugs and smiles, because, as they well know, he is not at liberty to say most of things he has seen and done. Movements of scouts are not often advertised in these dangerous times.
Without a conscious thought, his eyes start analyzing the hall and looking for potential threats. There is always a small chance that someone would want to embarrass the dwarven community by disrupting this important event. But so far, everything seems in order.
He cannot help but hear parts of some conversations.
As usual, when Tharnhammers gather there is always a lot of talk about reclaiming Dammerhall. I really hope that one of these days, it will amount to something more than nostalgic and wishful thinking.
He looks at Master T'jener. Grimdahl hugely respects the venerable dwarf, who - as trusted right hand of Magnar Tharnhammer - was present when he swore his oath. Perhaps Reginald has forgotten? It was, after all, over ten years ago. He offers his own counsel: "We die anyway. No place for us above ground, humans'll see to that. Won't fight us, just outbreed us. Below ground, danger - yes. Hope too, though. More than if we stay. What other knowledge do we need?"
Aware that he lacks eloquence, he falls silent.
Plans, Grimdahl Tarnhammer. And some other way into the halls of our fathers that previous efforts have not tried. All the great Bridges have colapsed. All the main gates are sealed. This was determined within a few years of the Fall, when I was still at my gentle mother's skirts. To fulfill your oath, we need a new way. A new plan. Perhaps, and forgive me for saying it, perhaps we need a little of the human's sideways thinking.
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Late to the proceedings Myth steps into the hall hesitantly. What would these dwarves think of him. A bastard He makes his way to the kegs and picks up a stein. Once filled he takes in the sight.
Never in all his years has he seen this many dwarves in one place. His father told him tales of great halls filled with riotous, ale swilling, warriors of old. But this is real, not just a story. Here were his people, bold and proud. He never really thought how much he was missing, being so far from any other dwarves.
Hearing the songs go quiet for a time, he called to mind an old funeral song he read in a history book. Taking a chance he begins to sing.
We little knew that morning
Torag was to call your name.
In life we loved you dearly,
in death we do the same.
It broke our hearts to lose you,
You did not go alone.
For part of us went with you
The day Torag called you home.
You left us beautiful memories,
Your love is still our guide,
And though we cannot see you,
You are always at our side.
Our family chain is broken,
and nothing seems the same,
But as Torag calls us one by one,
The chain will link again.
He takes a big gulp of ale and hopes no one laughs at his poor performance. He picks a seat and heads for it. Once there he begins listening to those around him. Hoping to find a kindred spirit amongst those collected here.
He looks at Master T'jener. Grimdahl hugely respects the venerable dwarf, who - as trusted right hand of Magnar Tharnhammer - was present when he swore his oath. Perhaps Reginald has forgotten? It was, after all, over ten years ago. He offers his own counsel: "We die anyway. No place for us above ground, humans'll see to that. Won't fight us, just outbreed us. Below ground, danger - yes. Hope too, though. More than if we stay. What other knowledge do we need?"
Aware that he lacks eloquence, he falls silent.
Plans, Grimdahl Tarnhammer. And some other way into the halls of our fathers that previous efforts have not tried. All the great Bridges have colapsed. All the main gates are sealed. This was determined within a few years of the Fall, when I was still at my gentle mother's skirts. To fulfill your oath, we need a new way. A new plan. Perhaps, and forgive me for saying it, perhaps we need a little of the human's sideways thinking.
Pravic allows some of his heated volume to die down, but none of his passion. He takes care to speak with respect to his elder-
With all due respect to a dwarf of yer station Master T'jener, yerself already sounds defeated too. Ye said it yerself, plain as day, all the ways are closed, blocked and sealed. Ye sound as if without a map and a guide we've no hope of e'er seeing the old gates of Dammerhall. Well to me knowledge, such a thing does not exist.
Still speaking to the venerable dwarf, Pravic raises his voice slightly, so more ears will hear, careful to not disrespect him. His volume increases again as he rolls through the monologue-
Sealed tunnels? What is a wall of stone to a city of dwarves but an opportunity to start fresh? When has a dwarf e'er looked at a prize and said, "eh, there is a hole in the way, might as well give up". Aye, many of our kin have gone before us to try to open a way to the old city, and none have e'er returned. But I ask ye, If it be Torag's will, we can open a way, if'n we just have the resolve to ne'er give up the search. Each time a dwarf sets out for Dammerhall, our kin get closer to finding a way. Tunnels don't dig themselves, ye gotta pick up a shovel. They way won't open itself, ye gotta be ready to spill some blood, or give up yer own. For yer kin beside ye, for Magnar, for Dammerhall, for Torag, for every dwarf that e'er lived and has yet to draw breath!
His piece spoken, Pravic stands up on a table, hoping he has caught the ear of as many of his kin as possible in the giant room. Lifting his mug high in the air, he bellows for all to hear,
"I would take care before I spoke for Torag and I would be even more cautious before I ascribed such evil deeds to him. There are other powers in this world that actually do mean us harm. It might be best to focus on them."
Speaking quieter now and only to Ogrim, again with respect to his elder within the order-
I too am a champion for Torag. Do not doubt me loyalty to his cause, and do not doubt the will of Torag to see his people strengthened beyond all measure. Strength beyond measure requires a test beyond measure, and dwarves with the stubbornness to ne'er back down.
Sealed tunnels? What is a wall of stone to a city of dwarves but an opportunity to start fresh? When has a dwarf e'er looked at a prize and said, "eh, there is a hole in the way, might as well give up". Aye, many of our kin have gone before us to try to open a way to the old city, and none have e'er returned. But I ask ye, All of ye! When has death e'er stopped a dwarf?! If it be Torag's will, we can open a way, if'n we just have the resolve to ne'er give up the search. Each time a dwarf sets out for Dammerhall, our kin get closer to finding a way. Tunnels don't dig themselves, ye gotta pick up a shovel. They way won't open itself, ye gotta be ready to spill some blood, or give up yer own. For yer kin beside ye, for Magnar, for Dammerhall, for Torag, for every dwarf that e'er lived and has yet to draw breath!
Davros doesnt feel comfortable speaking in front of the crowd, but he wasnt able to bite down on his tongue anymore..
"And yet, where has that stubbornness gotten us? Our numbers lessen, we live like refugees in human settlements.. Our kind needs wisdom, needs to listen to the words of elders like Master T'jener. Because hotblooded approach will only get more dwarves killed without resting their eyes on the halls of mighty Dammerhall."
"We need a plan and in the mean time, we have to let our scouts and explorers find more clues, before mounting a foolhardy expedition.."
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A smile crosses Myth's face as he hears this dwarf speak. Tho logic and reason will win the day, when your in the dark a fire is what you need.
Here, here. Well said. Perhaps he is not a stranger to these people but rather a lost son. With no one singing Myth recalled another old funeral song. Again he begins to sing this time he clears his throat first.
Torag saw that he was getting tired,
A cure was not to be.
So He put His arms around him
and whispered, "Come with Me."
With tearful eyes, we watched him suffer,
And saw him fade away.
Although we loved him dearly,
We could not make him stay.
A golden heart stopped beating,
Hard working hands to rest.
Torag broke our hearts to prove to us
He only takes "the best".
With this he finishes his first round of ale and goes in search of the next.
Reginald drinks for the toast, as is proper before saying, Your words burn with the passion of youth. with a knowing smile. But that does not diminish the truth behind your rhetoric. Dwarves should be as you say.
Have I grown soft? Are the flames of youth finally dead in me?
"We need a plan and in the mean time, we have to let our scouts and explorers find more clues, before mounting a foolhardy expedition.."[/b]
Ye would have us sit and wait, and wait, and wait, while our numbers continue to dwindle anyways, and the strenth of our fathers melts into the stone, whence it came. I cannot accept that.
Aye, we need a plan, but waiting around for some miracle bit of information that we haven't been able to find in the last 200 years doesn't get us any closer to reclaiming our home. It makes us soft as we sit idle, forcing us to depend more and more on the humans and other races above the surface.
Torag didn't wait for the world to spring out of nothing, he created it. We cannot wait for Dammerhall to open itself to us, we must go open it ourselves. Action is the only way. I for one would rather die going the wrong way, than die waiting for the way to miraculously open itself.
EDIT
Pravic nods and smiles in deference to the old dwarf, tipping his mug to him as he does, To wisdom before folly, and faith before fear
Kalderin chuckles as he hears the fire in Pravic's voice. And I am the one you disparage for dreaming? He lets out a hearty laugh to show that there is not a hard feeling to be found on this day.
There is a reason we Dwarves do not move very fast. Some say it is our short legs... He winks at Pravic, But I say it is because we are always looking back. Every step we take honors our ancestors, and our past. And we are always looking forward. Every action we take is for the future of our kind. It is not easy thing to do with only two eyes.
We are not like these other races that live in the moment. Fleeting. We are Dwarves. We are forever. The past and the future. Magnar saw to that with his actions, as we aspire to do every day.
He raises his mug, For the past. For Magnar. It is his night and his memory that we are here. For the future that we all build. And I say again... He turns to Pravic, For Dreams. Not fleeting whims, like that of a human. But the Dreams of a Dwarf.
As he talks he makes his way back to the kegs and refills his mug. Seems like some of us need a bit more ale. Maybe some a bit less. Another hearty laugh. Either way, this is the best funeral I've attended in a long time.
Ye would have us sit and wait, and wait, and wait, while our numbers continue to dwindle anyways, and the strenth of our fathers melts into the stone, whence it came. I cannot accept that.
Aye, we need a plan, but waiting around for some miracle bit of information that we haven't been able to find in the last 200 years doesn't get us any closer to reclaiming our home. It makes us soft as we sit idle, forcing us to depend more and more on the humans and other races above the surface.
Torag didn't wait for the world to spring out of nothing, he created it. We cannot wait for Dammerhall to open itself to us, we must go open it ourselves. Action is the only way. I for one would rather die going the wrong way, than die waiting for the way to miraculously open itself.
"Someone much wiser then me once said that if you give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe."
"Time that we use planning and preparing ourselves for this glorious mission will save dwarven lives. And as you said it yourself, our numbers dwindle.."
"Come now brother, I can see that your heart is in the right place! Let us drink and sing tonight, and tomorrow we will talk in depth"
Holy crap this is fun...
Impassioned by the heated exchange, Igmar steps up beside Pravic,
”Aye! Ye can count me among the dwarves that be with ye!”He boasts, giving Pravic a hearty clap on the back. ”We need to take back our hallowed halls so that we can finally drive the black menace back into the holes from whence they came!” His mention of the Drow sends his blood boiling…
“Dwarves may be slow, aye, and we may have made similar boasts in the past, but I’ll be damned if we’re going waste away on the surface while creatures of the deep desecrate the stones of our ancestors. Iffen we set our mind to something, we don’t rest until it gets done!”
”Aye, we must give our due respect to the council of our elders, but a plan is what we need. We may be dwarves, but we are not blind as to not see when we’re being unwise. A dull pick breaks no stone. A change of course is what we need!” His eyes narrow as he surveys the room, ”But is there a dwarf here among us that will put our boots to march. That will have the songs of our ancestors ringing in the halls of Dammerhall once more?” He looks down at his hands, unclenched and, he realizes, desperately lacking a full tankard of ale, ”Of that, I cannot be certain. But have no doubt, I would be honored to be the one to shepherd their descent into darkness.”
Plans, Grimdahl Tarnhammer. And some other way into the halls of our fathers that previous efforts have not tried. All the great Bridges have colapsed. All the main gates are sealed. This was determined within a few years of the Fall, when I was still at my gentle mother's skirts. To fulfill your oath, we need a new way. A new plan. Perhaps, and forgive me for saying it, perhaps we need a little of the human's sideways thinking.
Grimdahl chuckles at the venerable dwarf's words, breaking the tension. "Two things I've learned from humans: first, have the wit to admit you're wrong; second, have the wit to ask for help when you need it..."
The shabbily-dressed druid bows low. "I meant no disrespect to you, Master T'jener, and you're right. We will need maps and a plan. I'm certainly not the hotheaded youngster I was, but I fear more for our race if we don't try than if we do. That said, we all need to think it through. Earth and stone move slow but sure. We should emulate that."
All this talking has left Grimdahl lightheaded - and thirsty. He wanders away to see if his cousin Bali has left any of the keg for him.
Reginald acknowledges the apologies with a bow. Passion has its place, especially tonight of all nights. We celebrate Magnar's passing! How could we not dream of home! However, I caution and advise planning so that the good passion of our youth is not squandered. I have seen many such things begin with a rousing speech and too much ale. I myself have joined such expeditions in my youth.
Shortly after the Fall there was a fire-haired dwarf named Darnak Ironskull who traveled between holds and gathered a force of nearly 1,000 youths. He preached retribution, glory, and the right of blood to the Mithral Throne.
We marched off. He and I alone marched back, and I don't remember most of it. Only that we melted before the dangers of the Dark like wax before a forge.
As was said, we are dwindling. We cannot afford 1000 youths anymore.
I would rather extinguish the flame of the Dwarven race clawing, hacking, and throwing ourselves against those that have taken our kingdom from us than planning, plotting, and hiding amongst the race of men. You are right, we need a better idea than simply walking into Dammerhall - I know that better than most.
But the fact remains that the gods, OUR gods, not the gods of men, blessed me with the fires of vengeance in my heart. It is they that cast such ominous tidings on this age. We are dwarves. For better or for worse, let us make the very earth quake with our retribution. If such a thing destroys us, so be it. It is better than the wasting death that we suffer these days. And vengeance will come. It is the only route to regrowth if there even is one.
He speaks matter of factly though largely without anger. His voice is pleasant though forceful and he stands as he speaks.
And I would rather use that flame to melt the stone that bars our way. Vengence without focus can only bring sorrow. I am not against trying once again, as I did 200 years ago. I prefer not to limp back, as I did 200 years ago. I prefer victory and reclamation.
We may want things to be one way, but we often find that they are the other way. While I would prefer to see Dwarvenkind strong once again and will give my life in such an endeavor, it is the fight - the enacting of retribution - that I NEED. We may plan, and I do not advocate for rash action, but if we do nothing we are dead anyway. Let us die with our hands bloodied from combat, not from the wasting sickness of inactivity forgotten and meaningless under human feet.
Reginald finally feels that they have arrived at a consensus, though they are emphasizing different aspects. He approaches Garnak Tarnhammer and holds out a hand. Then we agree, my lord, though we be advocating different aspects of the same goal.
He still remembered the old Garnak. The flamboyant youth that raised a small army to do a reclamation of his own. He had been dashed against the challenges of the Dark just as Reginald had and in spite of their age difference, he recognizes a similarity of spirit. A Flame and an Ember are one fire, after all.
Pravic listens patiently as the venerable dwarves continue the discussion he started. At Reginald's last statement, he pipes up.
Aye brothers, on that we all agree. The method with which we execute the dream Pravic nods to Kalderin of reclamation is better suited for a different setting, and me heart is renewed with vigor knowing that I am not alone. For now it seems we can enjoy the rest of the night in celebration of a mighty dwarf whom Torag has reclaimed as his own. In true dwarven funeral fashion, we have had our fight, now let us have our song! To Magnar!
Thorin falls to his chair weeping openly at the conversation flooding the room. "Torag take me into thy forge for I am flawed! How can I be satisfied to only lay eyes upon a gate when my kin wish to retake the city for all of your people. I swear this day before you and all of my kin, if I am to see a gate of Dammerhall, it hall be but the first step to enter those halls and unseal the gates that all dwarves may be welcome one more to rebuild a holy citadel to you Torag."
The aged dwarf falls to quiet weeping in his chair, salted tears ruining his ale.
Wreathed in cigar smoke, hat brim pulled low over his eyes, Grimdahl watches the continued discussion from afar. He clasps another tankard, but isn't drinking - at least, not much.
Instead, he thinks on what T'jener said about humans. What would they do? He considers: they wouldn't raise an army, or march straight on Dammerhall. Instead, they'd pick a small, selected group to take back a part of the Underdark. Small successes would breed larger ones. Eventually, they would reach their goal.
He shivers, suddenly glad that the humans don't have darkvision... We should try their method, though. Damn sure our ways haven't led us to glory.
He nods at T'jener. He hopes that the elder can dissuade the hotter heads. Lacking skill with words, he says nothing of his ideas in public; he will share with anyone who asks, and will seek out T'jener later to discuss them in private. Now however is a time for singing, drinking, remembering and greeting - a dwarfish funeral, in other words.
Listening to the rhetoric being thrown around, Ogrim tosses his hat into the arena.
"The struggle is nobel, but is this cause truly worth the price. How many lives have been lost trying to reclaim the past? More than were lost when Dammerhall first fell, I would wager. How much greater would we now be if we had simply swallowed our pride and let the damned place go? How many other cities might still stand? I don't know, but sometimes I think that our stubbornness is more a cause of our problems than a solution."
Ogrim tugs his beard in frustration.
"I will say that we stand on the brink. Our young not longer know what it truly means to be a dwarf and that is as much our failing as theirs. Our people need reclaim their heritage. We need a symbol. I don't know if Dammerhall is that symbol, but it is a symbol. I don't know if it worth the price of retaking, or if it will even matter if we do, but I agree that we must do something. If we do nothing, then we are lost for certain. Retake Dammerhall, restore a High King to the throne, and perhaps we have a future.'
Reginald thinks for a moment. As far as I know, the Mithral Throne is the only symbol not controlled by a surviving Hold and strong enough a symbol to matter to all Dwarves. Others, such as the Giantsbane Hall of House Joten, where Thor himself slew the first Giant, are strong, aye, but not enough to gather all tribes and even contested by some. Others still, such as the Kingsmoot Caverns, are neutral ground or lost. A powerful symbol, but inconsequential for the purpose of uniting the Clans. Our best surviving opportunity is Dammerhall. It still provokes a strong enough responce, even among the youth, to unite us.
Bali watches in bewilderment. Am I a Dwarf? Yes, of course, but do I really know what it is to stand in one of our great halls and bask in the wonders of our works? Surely taking Dammerhall would make me a true Dwarf in the eyes of my elders.
It is sad, Bali says aloud, not meaning to.
Seeing that the conversation has dissolved into a philosophical debate, Davros slowly lost interest for farther participation.
Off course, they will now continue with boasting and wishful thinking. Why did I even think than reasonable thoughts will not be ignored as always.. At least their hearts are in the right place..
"Yes, tonight, lets drink and sing, and somehow, in the days to come, using both bravery and wisdom, dwarves will restore the glory of Dammerhall!!"
And in the mean time I'll continue looking for practical clues..
Davros continued with his stroll through the hall, never resting too much at one place. It was always best to use every opportunity to talk with friends because he never knew how long he will be staying..
Lothar shared the old Dwarf's caution. Left to their own devices, many of the brash, foolhardy Dwarves would throw themselves against Dammerhall; and die in the process. It was all very well to spout on about "Glory of Old"- but it seemed very clear to Lothar that citing tradition and dying in a last blaze of glory was not only counter-productive; but irresponsible.
Those that remained had a duty to secure their holdings for future Dwarfkind. And Grimdahl was not alone in thinking that it was time to begin to think like the Humans did. To innovate, to measure utility rather than tradition.
Lothar wished he was eloquent enough to voice these thoughts in a manner more akin to the Paladins and nobles among the group, debating furiously. He had always been more comfortable conversing in smaller groups, for in truth the young Dwarf was an introvert. He muttered softly to himself, speaking his thoughts aloud.
If the Humans outbreed us... we should make an alliance. Invite Gnomes... Oreads... perhaps even Halflings, to join us in a new kingdom...
A curious group walked into the bustling hall, heads low despite the murmurs in the room. It was a group consisting of both men and women, some of them covered in elaborate runic tattoos while others had hands stained by chemicals. They stopped meters before the bier while two men and a woman stepped forward to talk with the ones leading the ceremony.
Once those two departed the others in the party, almost all of them younger than the three that moved to the front, split up and spread out over the room, finding places where they could sit down and join the feast.
Bjaern stepped up to where he heard an old man, probably closing in on the one who's return to the stone they were celebrating. What was even more, he had spotted Garnak. The man was a completely different sorts but he was family, "Cousin, good to see you on such a sad day. I could not help but overhear bits of your conversation just now and while I think you exaggerate on the trampling, you know me and my kin have found a place of our own, I do agree that a place of our own can only be a good thing. If you make another foray I'd be honored to join you, though I do think we need to plan beforehand." He gave the man a careful look, knowing his next suggestion could meet rejection, "I could ask around, see if new entrance to the darklands has been found through one of the human run mines or quarries."
Hearing another mumbling things about opposing humans with some mixed kingdoms instantly attracted Bjaern's attention, "And paint ourselves an enemy of the human nations? I doubt that would be the smartest thing we could. I know many here loath the humans but do remember our current predicament is not their doing. If anything I believe we would benefit from it if we could build stable trade deals with the human nations. Assuming we have a place to trade from at all of course."
Reginald looks the Cousin over twice almost invoulentarily. Almost. This one was a necessary bi-product of Dwarves mixing with humans. Doesn't mean he had to like it. At least his tattoos were appropriately themed. Stones below, what would happen if he marched in with dryads or something!
Dolgrin spoke the words in the chant with the rest of the people, mourning the passing of Magnar Tharnhammer with them. He gazed upon the late dwarven patriarch with respect and admiration.
To lose one so soon after bringing the Hammerfist craft back to the Tharnhammers. At least his armor is well made and well kept. Yes... there is the Hammerfist mark... It has lasted long, if only I can make something by mine own hands that can offer as much.
The rugged forge-scarred dwarf then made his way through the feast, the din of the voices of the celebrants reverbrating throughout the hall. He seems to gravitate towards a group that seems to contain a few of the surviving Tharnhammer family, perhaps from the desire burning in his blood to be a storied craftsmsn for a Lord of the Dwarves.
"If there will be a return to Dammerhall, then I offer my services as a master of the forge, not only to help prepare for the journey, but to join it and, Torag willing, relight the forge-fires of Dammerhall."
Impassioned by the heated exchange, Igmar steps up beside Pravic,
”Aye! Ye can count me among the dwarves that be with ye!”He boasts, giving Pravic a hearty clap on the back. ”We need to take back our hallowed halls so that we can finally drive the black menace back into the holes from whence they came!”
Pravic Smiles and clasps hands with Igmar, And an honor it would be to fight beside ye when we go. Truely it is a matter of when, and not if. As wise Master T'jener has said, planning is necessary, and now is a time for celebrating.
"If there will be a return to Dammerhall, then I offer my services as a master of the forge, not only to help prepare for the journey, but to join it and, Torag willing, relight the forge-fires of Dammerhall."
Pravic's eyes light up at the mention of a master smith. Ye know, good dwarf, I've always dreamed of me own set of true dwarven armor, adamantine made, full plate, armor befitting a holy warrior of Torag. I only dream to one day be worthy to wear such armor, created by a master of the forge. Pravic Tharnhammer is me name, though I've been called Stoneblood since I joined the order. Pravic extends his hand in greeting to the smith.
It is sad, Bali says aloud, not meaning to.
Hearing Bali's lament, Pravic offers a smile, though missing completely the thoughts in her head as he responds,
Aye, such is the lot of us mortals, to always be left behind when the beloved among us leave. I cannot offer ye more than a warm smile, a full mug, and the promise that Magnar has taken is rightful place among our honored ancestors in Torag's illustrious hall. We mourn his passing, and celebrate his legacy. Speaking just low enough for Bali to hear, And those of us who share his blood mourn a little more, though others may not see, because it is not just A patriarch we have lost, but OUR patriarch.
Raising his mug to Bali, To Magnar, To the Tharnhammer line, and to Faith in holy things we cannot see.
Reginald looks the Cousin over twice almost invoulentarily. Almost. This one was a necessary bi-product of Dwarves mixing with humans. Doesn't mean he had to like it. At least his tattoos were appropriately themed. Stones below, what would happen if he marched in with dryads or something!
Grimdahl smiles at T'jener's obvious discomfort. A dwarf is still a dwarf, even if he's forsworn metal armour, or covered in tattoos. He thinks that Magnar understood this, that they had to change - or die. Wisdom is where you find it. Besides, some of the old ways were wrong: pride, xenophobia. Foolishness. He says nothing of this. No point in arguing here, now.
He likes Bjaern: the younger dwarf has an outgoing personality that makes him easy to talk with. Not that he sees much of him, what with one thing and another. "How now, cousin - what news from the big cities?"
Edit - fixed the alias. Stupid phone!
Reginald watches the debate on Dammerhall slowly break up. Eventually he resumes his place by the casket and swiftly deals with several pressing "emergencies" from the T'jener funeral workers. Everything was an emergency to the young ones. The rear-left ale stockpile had been reduced down to just a dozen Kegs! The world is over!
Bah. He had it resupplied back to 50 before the floor level Kegs were under any threat of use.
Everything is sorted in no time and Reginald is again free to stand by his old friend and remember Youth.
"Nothing new really. The humans are still impatient, want their buildings done yesterday. They're building a huge temple to Abaddar now, family design. I myself am responsible for the entry hall, I'm quite happy with it. Also hired a great sculptor for it, a human lass. Her teacher was a Dwarf though, so guess they still can't do it without us."
He pauses for a moment, which is long enough for a piece of roast auroch to lift off from the table and start floating in his direction, "I hear that there has been a murder spree in the cities in the east, mainly targeted Gnomes and Halflings. Turned out it were some fey behind. Haven't heard any other truly extraordinary news recently." Then again, the news he considered mundane might be extraordinary to the others as most didn't mingle with the humans as readily as his family did.
Thorin dries his tears rising to his feet and approaches the casket once more. He kneels before it and whispers,
"As you go to see our ancestors, please take my humble request. Bring us the means to unify this family. Let there be none that consider themselves outcasts. We are all dwarves born and forged of Torag's hammer. Let this family unite, that we can can be the first ember of hope for dwarves all over this dark world. In Torag's name I ask this of you Magnar and all the ancestors of the Tharnhammer clan."
Reginald watches Thorin, but can't hear him over the background noise of the funeral.
Nurin slowly approaches the body of Magnar. He nods to Reginald. "How did he die? Alone or were others with him?" He shifts uncomfortably.
"We should have been there. I am a Jarnthane, sworn as weapon bearers and seconds to the king's family. But we have lost our place and our honor. Our oathes were broken." Nurin shakes his head in sorrow. Most of the Jarnthanes perished in Dammerhall along side the king's family. The few that survived were dishonored after one of them abandoned their charge and fled with his axe. Now they are a scattered and broken house with few members still claiming the name.
Nurin looks at Reginald with a melancholy fury. "I should have been here. I would have stood beside him to the end. If there is ever another Tharnhammer worthy of the name, I will be there.
He died peacefully with his honor going before him, if not all his Thanes.
He listens as the boy laments his family's dishonor, but frowns when he proclaims redemption.
You will first learn your place, boy. Prove that Jarnthane blood doesn't run like water by serving the Tanhammers as a lower house should. Honor is earned, and you have none left.
However, I won't deny you the right to address Magnar on behalf of your house, in memory of what your family used to mean to me.
Pravic bristles from a few tables over upon hearing the name of Jarnthane. He was familiar with the name and the general distaste it brought, though could never bring himself to openly curse the clan. It just wasn't his style.
Turning to see as Master T'jener scold the dwarf, Pravic recognized him as one who appreciated his battle song earlier in the evening.
By his words, he sounds as if he has the desire to see his family's name restored. Actions, and time, will tell.