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Corg Hornsplitter's page

7 posts. Alias of Song of Chiroptera.


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Absalom in Shadow (InnRoads): Part I - the Key

Corg: Drogan:

…

Corg's face becomes solemn but his eyes burn with a fire. "Aye, lad. Tis just o'er the main shelf above the billows."

And there, resting against the finely honed wall is the magnificent tome of Torag. The cover of forged steel engraved with the dwarfish runes of the faith, alchemically sealed pages bound with thick strips of leather and chain.

From behind Drogan, Corg gives a chuckle. "Have a care, lad. Tis one o' Brimmer's prized restorations."

(Brimmer Fizzleboom is the gnomish artificer that serves in the forge. He's an acerbic sort with a penchant for alchemical experiments)

"Tis the copy ah brought from Janderhoff. Been thru two crusades ah the Worldwound n' iss ne'er let me down." He watches as Drogan begins searching the pages and pulls up a pair of stools for them to use. "Wha's got your fancy, lad?"
Absalom in Shadow (InnRoads): Part I - the Key

Corg: Drogan:

…In Dwarfish...

Corg strokes his beard with its dark and greys and nods with a touch of somberness. He pulls his broad forearms from within his apron and places them crosswise in front of him. Tattoos meant to join when the forearms join depict the crossed warhammers of Citadel Janderhoff (link). ”Aye, lad. Tis been a long time since ah seen ‘er gates, bless mah soul.” He replaces his arms within front of his apron and continues. ”Spent the better part o’ century there, learnin’ mah trade n’ servin’ Torag. Then got called ta’ Lastwall...Vigil. Helped in the Crusades. Then made mah way south on Pilgrimage ta Kravenkus Citadel. It’s up north a here, sad place, that. Dwarves los’ their way.”

Corg works his shoulders and for the first time, Drogan notes that the dwarf in front of him is probably well into his 100s. But he’s far more hale and healthy than others you’ve seen of similar age.

Around his forge, the iconography of Torag is strong. From the smelter to the anvil to the billows. Even to the tattooed symbols around his fingers. They interchange with the dwarvish symbols of Friendship, Debt and Allegiance from finger to finger. He looks about the forge itself, the structure, and notes the circular build, the large central forge and the four anvils that satellite out from it. In Drogan’s past he’s seen clerics of Torag, and this Corg Hornsplitter fits the bill more than most he’s seen.

”Tell me, lad. How long since ya boots passed the Plummet Wall, eh?”

Spoiler:
Outside the Inner City of Highhelm are the low siege walls, the Second Wall and the Plummet Wall.
Absalom in Shadow

R E S T N O R M A L. P L U M B S T A Y S W I T H C E N T E R O F G R A V I T Y. C O M P A S S D E V I A T E S. N O R T H S H I F T S. T W O P O I N T S. He slides the compass across the table so she can get a clear look at the needle. It seems to spin lazily, but it bumps at two points, as though sticking momentarily, then spins only 5 degrees before bumping again.
Absalom in Shadow

A L L C O M P A S S E S L I K E T H I S. S T A R T E D F I R S T S H O T O N W A K E. The dwarf wipes clean the board and resumes writing, the chalk like the break of a gull pecking at a class shell. N E V E R S E E N I N M Y L I F E O N T H E WA T E R. H E A R D O F T H I S I N T H E N O R T H W H E N C O M P A S S D O E S N O T W O R K.

Absalom in Shadow

Scribble looks up at the elf, eyebrows arching.just below his left eye his cheek muscle twitches. But his gray, elderly eyes see that she's stretching the truth... And in no small part his patience. But he resists the urge to let his ire rise to the occasion. Instead he waves her forward to lay the charts on the table.

Besides, the mute dwarf's attention is still drawn to the compass in his right hand. The bad instrument is put on the table, and his gray eyes go from Zandra to the hand-sized compass. The elf can tell that despite her efforts to be a clever annoyance, the compass is filing the bill much better.

He draws a few words on the chalk board.

On the chart table, instead of pointing to true North, the needle spins on its handcrafted pin.

Zandra eyes go from the compass and crawl along the table to where Scribble taps a stubby finger.

S T A R T E D W I T H T H E C A N N O N S

In answer, the cannons let fly another salvo, rumbling the deck beneath their feet add they stab iron and fire into the Lydia's Wake.
Absalom in Shadow

The old dwarf spits on the deck at Cedrick's boots, slapping down the chalk skate he uses for communication down on the table. Then he proceeds to withdraw an ink well and quill from a pouch at his side. Thick fingers point at Zandra then to the charts in her hand then to the table, gray whiskers bristling with anticipation.
Absalom in Shadow

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