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PostPosted: Aug 11th, '10, 23:44 
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Joined: Aug 3rd, '10, 16:24
Posts: 30
Location: The kingdom of Lego
A long long time ago...

In a cave, deep within the mountains, at the end of the mines, where the rough stone had yet to meet the greed of dwarves, and still attained the riches of the earth untouched, a small band of dwarves were facing each their section of wall, swinging their picks in a steady rythm, searching for what the entire world would cry out for... And pay accordingly.

*Clonk! Clonk!... Clonk! Clonk!... Clonk! Clonk!... Clonk! Clink!*
A shard of the prized Mithral vein sprang from the body and rolled down by the feet of the dwarf.
Honald Troff bent down his old back and picked it up in his rough hand. Dirty and sweaty from a long days work, it felt wonderful to hold the small piece of valuable metal in his palm.
"Oi'd say lad, this be a foine piece o met'l. Wort'y o a 'ard days work."
The elder sons of Honald, Doín and Reom looked over towards their father.
"Harh! Aye! Tha it be fathar, let's be fer grappin a wee bit mor' b'fer we be fer 'eadin bac' ehh?" Said the youngest of the two sons, Reom.
"Nay lad, it be too dangarous out 'ere, Rabians be all ovar em cav's 'n' we be nay fer stayin b'hin da othars." Said the father as he attempted to reason with the youth. However, others of the 20-dwarf large group heard him and refused to leave.
"Honald, we all be fer kno'in tha ye fam'ly be 'avin enuf ta eat all day long! Thou it be nay da sam' fer da all o us! Som o us be 'avin mor' wee ones ta feed 'n' less ta pay fer em food fer! Oi say we be stayin' 'n' makin thisn day da best in our loives!" The inspirational words of the respected Himgald Shardfist was more than enough to convince the small band of dwarves to risk their lives for the riches of the earth... Nothing that the old head of the Troff clan would say could sway the others.

For an hour or more, the dwarves kept on digging and digging, taking as much as they could carry and more. When each and everyone was too tired to carry on digging, the dwarves decided singlemindedly to turn around and head back to Morisen.
"Jest ye pray tha' ye dun 'ave em farkin Rabians scoutin our arses by nauw Himgald... Or els' oi'll rip off ye blast'd lips 'n' stick 'em up ye arse, ye dun be fer lettin nuffin but shoite outta em anyway!" Growlingly the Troffs set off, having set their load lighter than most, fearing an ambush where they would be trapped if carring a heavy load.
"Blast'd ye Troff! Oi tol' ye a thous'n toimes! We be jest foine! Ther 'ave nay been any blast'd rabian-groups strong enuf ta tak' on twenty dworfs in thisn tunnels fer d'cades!"


-------------------------

The still young Rugnar Troff was at the home of the Farders, far off family of the Troffs.
Rugnar strared at the soon twenty year old Garthen, himself being close to adulthood and thus not partícularly fond of such infants and their baby-selves.
He turned around, shouting over his shoulder something unclear... he didn't care if they really heard him or not... he needed to walk a bit... take a beer or wrestle a bit at a bar... He had been in a particularly bad mood the last two days since his father and two elder brothers left for a mining expedition.
Funded by the Troffs and lead by the Troffs, and he wasn't even allowed to go along! Too young they said, too foolhardy.
And they were right, everybody knew that, everybody but Rugnar.
Rugnar was by all standards a son to be proud of, but he lacked wisdom to a fault, and so he was too brave and took too much pride in details for his own good, even for a dwarf.
He slammed the door shut behind him. Then turned to the left down the street and headed for the nearest bar. It had been two days since the others left and he was getting restless.

-----------------

A third of the way home had already been passed, everybody had high spirits after the successfull expedition, they just needed those last few miles of tunnels before they would be home... It was the safest part of the journey, the closer they got to Morisen, the less chance there'd be to run into maruding Rabians.
They were in the middle of setting up camp for now... The position was easily defendable, having a river on one side for fresh water, and only three tunnels leading in, a few sentries and they could sleep safe and sound.

Eleven tents sat at the bank of the underground river. Two sleeping in each tent and 3 of the tents would then be filled with the cargo... Four would be having guard-duty at a time, one at each tunnel and one to walk between them to check on them and make sure they would not fall asleep.
That tactic was common practice among cave-travelers and had been so for many generations, it was safe and easily maintained.
The group rested for six hours. Gaining as much strength as they could before taking the long march.

"Oy! Clamp up em tents 'n' tak ye stuff! We be fer 'eadin out!" Morothrom Alemug shouted over the camp when the time came. He was a short dwarf, but what he lacked in height he had in brute force. Even for his short stature he was stronger and tougher than most dwarves.. However, it was not enough to stop half a dozen crossbow bolts.
He thrashed into the ground, a crushing sound coming as his potatoe-nose was smashed between his weight and the rocks.
Several more arrows flew in immediately after and shouts of high-pitched voices echoed through the cave. The Rabians were attacking, a group of about a dozen orcs and twice the amount of goblins came rushing into the camp...

---------------------

Rugnar slammed his empty mug into the table, talking loudly with Mattam Igran. A trader of sorts, which delt in pelts and skins to the dwarves, coming into Morisen from time to time to sell what he's found or bought on the topside. It was the first time the two of them met, but not long after they had joined the same table of a game of dice before they had found eachothers entertainment for the evening; Talking about the lovely girls beard over at the table about a stonethrow away.

A few hours later, the bar was empting out quickly, and the bouncers were making sure the rest followed orderly.
On the way out, Rugnar and Mattam stopped to chat with two of the dwarven girls. One thing followed another and Rugnar would know what to do for rest of the evening.

------------------------------

*Clonk! Clonk! Clonk! Clonk!* The heavy breath of Doïn made his heart pump even faster; Would they hear them? Would they come after me?
It had been a massacre, the entire camp came out of their tents staring oddly at the chaos that was quickly rolling in over them. Only a handful even managed to grap their weapons before they were cut down and even fewer managed to slay a foe.
Doïn had seen his father slew an orc, but then jumped by two goblins from behind and more had followed. Without a doubt his father had died... And all the others too.
He had seen Himgald and Reom battle near the supply tents, but it was impossible that either of them had survived.

Doîn ran in pure panic, his fear fueling him with strength and speed... Yet he wasn't aware of that, nor was he aware of the two arrows shoulder in his right shoulder, nor the blood tringling down his back from the wounds.

He rounded a corner and ran straight into a wall of iron... That wall was a dwarven militia patrol, patrolling the outer tunnels of Morisen; He had made it!

---------------------------

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!* Rugnar flew up from the bed, and accidentially pushed Brynhilda out over the edge in the sudden move. The girl he'd met outside the bar the night before flew into a rage at him for being so brutish, even if it was by accident.
Rugnar pushed her aside after a moment of screaming... The knocks on the room door kept on, so he went to open. It was Harin Troff, his grand-cousin.
"Rugnar! Ye got ta com' ta em templ'! Somfing terribl''s 'appen'd!"
"Roight roight... oi'll be ther'."

A few moments later, he walked into the temple, accompanied by Harin.
For a few moments, Rugnar didn't believe what he saw... Surely Doïn must just have slipped on the stones and hit his head a bit! He couldn't be lying there on the bunk and bleeding THAT much! he couldn't, it was his brother!
He stared onto Doîn, but he was too late... all too late.. The priests had done what they could, but the healing they performed was not enough to prevent his body for giving up from blood loss.
The priests told him what had happened... Doîn had had just enough strength to summon his youngest brother and tell the priests his last tale.
They also gave him something which Doîn had instructed them to hand to him; A beautiful pipe, crafted in stone with carvings along both sides, picturing dwarves and mountain-ranges. It was a beautiful artifact that had gone through the Troff family for generations. Also, he was given a small scroll which had been in the posession of Doîn, what it said, none but Rugnar has ever read since.

Rugnar mourned for four weeks where he would not drink, eat or sleep... It wasn't til the Gartherns and Harin began to forcefeed him that he realized that he had to move on. Had to avenge his father.

This was more than 50 years ago.

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Watching a Red Slaad burst from Kincaids innards is very worthy of my time.


Last edited by Du Silence on Aug 12th, '10, 20:18, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Aug 12th, '10, 07:22 
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Location: TOOOOLSET!!
10k gp to start with for family background.

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PostPosted: Aug 12th, '10, 20:17 
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Location: The kingdom of Lego
Looking for bones

A four week period where his body had been weakened and he had done nothing but sleep and cry; the dwarf that is Rugnar, saw that the world still turned as it had always done... Almost every member of his family, save for his mother had been taken by the dreadfully failed mission to gain riches almost a month ago.
Yet, still the dwarves of Morisen would drink at the taverns, they would bargain prices at the markets and stalls. They would leave and enter the city gates on their daily business and everything was as normal... for everyone but him.

His father had owned a large trade of valuable metals, exporting them to the trading partners of the dwarven kingdom. It was a fruitfull business and his father had been among the more lucky, or better of its members.
Yet now, there was no other direct heir to the trading company than him.
He looked to the stone walls of the hall, cursing his unfortunate fate to have been left alone to take up what had never been his to own; It has always been the elder brother of his Reom, whom had been the heir, and never had the young Rugnar given it a thought that it may one day become his.
He was in schock, but still oddly happy for this turn of events. However, each time he felt joy he would supress it out of shame of showing such feelings in a time of remorse.
He walked back into the house, having stared emptily at the street for a long time, unknown how long to even himself.

-------------------------

Harin was sitting at the table, looking over the papers of the latest transactions. His thick brown brows were shot up onto the middle of his forehead as Rugnar stepped in.
"Hail ter ye Rugnar! Bloody grand ta see ye outta bed! Oi'd gott'n worried fer ye 'ealth!" He shouted and ran towards his kin, spreading his arms for an embrace.
"We be 'avin work ta do lad... Me fathars bones 'n' tha o Reoms cannay be left on da col' floor o som blast'd cave!" He shot forth a palm, gesturing for Harin to stop, and so he did...
For about an hour they discussed possible ways to gather the remains of Rugnars family.
"... Wha bout Grynhill? 'ow be she?" Asked Harin with as much care as he could muster.
"'aven't left da hous' ye lad... she nevar sleeps, thou' didnay stop her from takin car' o me. Da Forgefather bless her." Rugnar snapped in remark, letting out a clear signal of the subject being untouchable at the moment.
Harin sighed heavily and let the subject go for that time.

---------------

Three days later a rescue team had been amassed, consisting of hired dwarves, as many of them as possible being soldiers or having served the armed forces. However, each head costed dearly to the savings left by his father. Rugnar hoped that these expenses might be covered if the cargo of Mithral was found aswell.
All in all a good 40 dwarves were hired by the last remaining Troff of direct descent. The cost of this force was massive, and most, even many of the lesser nobles, would frown at the amount of wage that was due to be paid.

"Travel throu' da nort'n main tunnel, then onc' ye hit da cross-cave, split inta teams of four 'n' 'ead down eac' section. When ye be 'ittin 'nothar split o tunnels, pick one 'n' trav'l down it fer a day. Ifn ye be foindin nuffin turn bac' 'n' try da next road, continu' loik' tha til ye be runnin outta tunnels ta trav'l 'n' then r'turn!" Rugnar Troffs instructions were brief, but effective, even though he wouldn't admit it, it was Harin that had invented the base of the tactic.
Harin was standing to the left of Rugnar, and Grynhill to the right. She was still in dire need of sleep and it had become threatening to her health.
That was one of the reasons for Rugnars flaunting with the family funds, he could not bare if also his mother was to perish so soon after.

The dwarves turned towards the given direction and began the march, unlike the mining party that had left under the rule of Honald these dwarves were equipped with arms and armor, prepared for fighting and not just mining. They were ready for combat.

If Rugnar had known what people saw when he sent off the group, he would have been proud, but he never caught even the sense of it, not even when he turned around and his mother smiled oddly to him; He took himself out as a leader, and a good one at that... Rugnar felt nothing of the kind.

-------------------------------

Harin shouted at the papers strewn over the table... He could barely believe how little of the savings were left after only 32 days since the death of Honald Troff.
"This'n cannay be roight! Rugnar! Ifn ye dun be foindin som fer gettin' mor' gol' we all be fer endin on da streets!"
"... Oi kno'." Mumbled Rugnar.
"Rugnar! Blast'd 'ells! Ye dun be jest fer shruggin it off loik' tha 'n' prayin ta da Forgefathar fer givin ye bac' ye fathars Mithral! Honald woul' nevar 'ave been fer doin sech recklessness! He-!"
Harins mouth stopped in the middle of a word, the loud slam that came from the heavy fist of the strong dwarf, Rugnar was more than enough to make it run coldly down his back, without any kind of trouble Rugnar could pummel him to death, he was far stronger and bigger than him.
"... Dun ye evar be fer sayin ye fink wha me fathar'd du..." Rugnar snerred in a low voice, almost hissing out the words through grinding teeth. His face had turned almost red, matching the color of his beard.
Without a word Harin nodded... Then sat down for a few moments, Rugnar sighed and looked down into the floor, closing his eyes... His thoughts drifted to his fathers memory and to the so-far unlucky search teams.
He stood there for some time, and it wasn't til he heard the heavy boots of Harin on the wooden floor that he realized he wasn't alone... Of course he wasn't. He heard Harin speak... What was it he said? "Farewell Rugnar"?...

-------------------------

It took a whole day for Rugnar to find Harin again; he found him at the Hot Pot, a murky tavern at the outskirts of the city, Harin was more than drunk, not even noticing Rugnar standing in the door.
Rugnar stared at Harin for a good deal of time before approching his family member and long-time friend. It wasn't til they were only a couple of feet apart that Harin noticed his prescence.
"Curs' ye Troff... Curs' ye 'n' ye blast'd stupid 'ead... *Hiccup!*"
*Rugnar stared at Harin for a long time not saying a word and Harin returned the look with a glare filled with contempt.
"Tha's roight!... Ye wee arse... oi've... oi've dropp'd down da nam' o Troff! Nevar woul' oi be fer answarin ta ye 'n' ye bleedin stupid d'mands! Harh! Ye'll be sinkin ye fathars ship 'n' takin ye whol' fam'ly wit' ye!... But oi dun' be one o em anymoor! Oi'll be sittin hoigh 'n' moighty; laughin!"
The last thing Rugnar remembers is his clenched fist on the way towards Harins grinning teeth. The rest is black, until he lies on the floor held down by four dwarves... Harin lying across the table some distance away, blooding flowing from his mouth. His body twitching.

-----------------------------

Rugnar woke up with a terrible headache, he'd been drinking heavily, to forget and simply get the troubles of this dark time out of his mind for simply just an evening.
A young dwarf stood over him in his bed, about 20 years younger than Rugnar, he was shaking his right shoulder.
"Wak' ye mastar Troff. Wak' up."

It took Rugnar a long time to get up and get ready... the boy didn't know why, but two dwarves carrying arms wanted to talk to him. A dark sensation filled Rugnars heart, he feared that he had killed Harin and that they would now arrest him, excecute or banish him as punishment.

When he came out, the two dwarves looked up at him, both of them were grinning towards him, and Rugnar was more than surprised to see this.
"Wha be thisn? Why cannay oi rest in me 'ouse?" Rugnar muttered somewhat fearing of the answer, but too curious to simply ignore their prescence.
"Grand news mastar Troff! We've found wha ye be lookin fer!"
Time stopped for Rugnar, as the words rumbled into place in his head... What could they mean?... His father! Of course!
"Wher' be he!?" Shouted Rugnar, turning the attention of almost anyone on the street to himself and the two armed dwarves.
"Nauw nauw... first da payment, 'n' we be wantin a bonus fer bein da ones ta foind 'im..." Growled the biggest of the two.
Rugnar eyed them, he'd seen it coming, somewhere subconciously... The first that spoke to him was little, but very broad, he had two scars on his face, crossing over on his right cheek... The other one, the one wanting a bonus was taller, but less broad... yet he also seemed to have seen combat. It was too dangerous to get on their bad side if they were to lead him through long dark tunnels filled with Rabians. He had to oblige as much as he hated the thought of being blackmailed... Not to mention, he wasn't even sure he could pay them the already promised wage.
"A'roight... ye'll get da coins onc' oi've seen da soite wher' he be fallin 'n' we be saf' bac' a' Morisen wit' all we be foindin ther'."
The two dwarves nodded eagerly.
They left Morisen immediately.

--------------------------

They traveled for the greater part of the day, finally reaching the destroyed camp... in the meantime the other dwarves of the group, which had settled there to defend the site greeted them.
"Harh! Oi see tha Muggins band 'as join'd ye 'swell?" Said Hobl Sawteeth, the biggest of the two goons to have guided Rugnar to the site.
Uryn Hardtoe answered "Aye, 'ey came rumbling in about a days wort' aftar ye left fer Morisen."

Rugnar looked over the camp... even though the honor of Hobl and his friend seemed dubious at best, the others seemed to have more... Nothing was changed about the tents and corpses that were there when they had arrived... Rugnar walked around, opening each tent to take a look into it.
The first tent was empty, and aside from the back of it having been ripped to shreads there was nothing of worth... two sleeping madrasses.
The second tent almost had Rugnar loose his appetite as he saw a dwarf with an arrow through the eye, a small lizard crawling into his mouth the moment the light of Rugnars torch lit the interior of the tent... He didn't recognise the dwarf and sighed happily, atleast his father hadn't died from a single arrow. He looked up at the tent and saw the hole from which the arrow had entered, along with about five more holes... he looked to the floor around the dwarf and found five arrows stuck into the ground, he picked one up. Looking over the arrowhead he noticed the crude composition and concluded it was Rabians work. Clenching the arrow in his fist he walked over to the next tent.
He opened it and saw another grotesque scence, two dead dwarves... one of them missed a leg which seemed to have been sawed off. Quickly he continued on, looking around the campsite once more he saw the leg a yard or so away...
He came to a tent, where there were two dwarves infront... one of them he recognised; It was Hingald Shardfist, he still held a mining pick in his hand, there was blood on it he saw. The other dwarf had no head, but the body looked oddly familiar.
He stepped over the headless body and looked into the tent, it was filled with bags, most of them opened, but it seemed they were left intact... He cast a glance down into one of them and snorted happily. It contained the Mithral that the group had been mining... His financial situation was once more stable and a heavy burden lifted from his heart.

He walked over towards the lake, where he saw that another body had been nailed to a large piece of driftwood. He squinted when he saw the familiar face... The face of his father. The front of his shirt was ripped open, and it looked like pieces of meat had been stripped from his chest and stomach. The belly had been slit and the guts lay on the cold cavern floor, a dreadful stench engulfed anyone who stepped close.
But worse still, they had cut out large chunks of his beard and seemingly they had put it into his open stomach. Rugnar was boiling with rage and sorrow.

----------------------------

It was a whole week later when the ritual of passing for his father and the rest of the mining team was conducted. With the amount of money that Rugnar had earned by finding the Mithral he had no problems with the finances and could conduct business as usual.
The Ritual was very rich, Rugnar had used most of the coin he had earned in funding this... He had seen Harin there, but the mere sight of him filled him with contempt... Now Harin looked poor, wrecked and miserable, not the Harin he remembered.
He only gave Harin a short amount of attention, before looking back to the remains of his father and the many others.
There had been three bodies with no head nor ways to safely determin their identity... thus, the three families had met and each picked a body at what they had thought was their kin; The three families were as follows, the Troffs looking for Reom, the Hornblowers looking for Samantha and the Rockhollows looking for Hammer. Rugnar never did get rid of the feeling that he wasn't exactly sure which one of them was his brother... it was a sickening feeling.

But everything was going to be alright now.

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Watching a Red Slaad burst from Kincaids innards is very worthy of my time.


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PostPosted: Aug 12th, '10, 21:44 
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Location: The kingdom of Lego
And time passed by

It had been many years since the burial ceremony of Honald Troff and his two eldest sons.
Rugnar Troff was the last remaining of Honalds offspring and had thus been the sole heir for the trading company built by generations of Troffs before him.
For fifty years Rugnar had run the company by his own hand, and was now considered a capable trader and organiser by most dwarves in the trade and neighborhood.
His mother, Grynhill Troff, had passed away fourty-five-years before, before she could find a wife for Rugnar, as such he had devoted his entire time to the functions of the company.
The business was hard though, and he was all alone for many years... It was stressfull and as a result his redish-brown hair and beard turned white.
The times had been both good and bad, but never had they been worse for his trade than now... Trade was brisk in these days as the Legions of the Dead had taken many lives. Thus the items and arms which had been in the posession of those fallen had in time found their way back to society, overflowing a already small market for Mithral, gold, iron, copper, bronze, adamantium, etc.
Finances were bad these days and Rugnars company was endangered as he had a many resources stocked in warehouses. He was stuck with the products for now, and had been so for quite some time.
Meanwhile expenses were the same, guards for the storehouses and scouts to look for buyers in the surfacer lands.
To make matters worse, the underground routes were threatened by the Duegars whom had made several daring raids on caravans the last few months, then fleeing as best they could before the armed forces of Morisen could catch them.
Rugnar had at one point been accompaning one such caravan through the underground tunnels, and had through a fight with the duegars managed to grap a hammer from one of them and killed a couple of duegars with it. Though, the danger was never great, the dwarven guards that Rugnar had hired for the caravan was more than a match for the attackers. The hammer was old and the head broke from the shaft when coliding with the head of the second duegar. However, by the use of this hammer they had given him a nickname; Dalgrund, dwarven for Old Hammer.

"Oi'm tellin ye Dalgrund, thisn cannay keep up... ther be nay bus'ness fer met'ls thes'n days." Said Hammar Deepwell, a financial advisor whom Rugnar had taken in as the company grew.
"Oi kno'... Oi kno'... thou oi cannay giv' up wha 'as been da loif-loine o da Troffs fer so long... ye kno' tha."
"Aye, tha' oi du... but ye cannay let yeself b'com bankrupt eithar. Best ta sell da lot o it nauw 'n' sav' da gol' fer bettar toimes."
"...*Snorts*"

---------------------------

A month later, Rugnar sold everything to one of the Noble Families of Morisen, being glad to be rid of the stock at first, he quickly fell into dismay at this... his days become empty and boring... There was nothing to do for him. He had enough money, the profit from the sale of a full stock of metals and the entire company was huge. He could buy whatever he wanted, but there wasn't really anything buyable he wanted.

As a month or so passed, he heard many tales at the bars, at two occasions he caught a glimpse of the famed Hanar Harkelen. At both occasions Rugnar felt his blood dump through his veins, he couldn't explain why, but the longer he walked around in boredom the more obvious it become to him that it was a calling of some sort... He wasn't meant to sit by a desk and do paperwork, nor discuss prices with salesmen and buyers... His physique was excellent still, and he was in a good age, not to mention he was stronger and taller than most. Perhaps he should become a warrior of his people?
The longer this thought rumbled through his head, the more appealing it become, and he began to long to hear the great stories of the heroes of old aswell as of those of the present age.
By a months time, he had settled his mind... He used most of the remainder of the profit from the sale on arms and armor, equipping himself properly. He then traveled.
Equipped with vengance against the Rabians and fine arms and armor he felt he could take on anything.

Many things happened, but one day, he and his young friend Garthen Farder traveled to the Starseer Academy. But that is another tale.

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PostPosted: Aug 24th, '10, 15:53 
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There was Mi'thrim Stonefoot, Champion of Gurnaur Dothraan Forgefather and of Morinsen, standing before the Rugnar Troff who had slain golems made of glittering rock that stood several times higher than him. A glint and kindle sparked by hidden tinder shone through the Champion's eyes as he watched Rugnar stand unafraid, or filled with courage, to stand against such monstrosities that made their home in the deep mines of the Eastern Kingdom. The hum of the Earth and the spark of the Forgefather ran through his heart as he asked Rugnar...
"And by the hard glitter that comes together to make the hardest of gems, so can they be broken by one thing. Do ye know what that is?...
I know this is damned hard for our people to ever admit in words. Look, however, at how they made the great halls by the sweat of our brows, the mines under Earthmodr by the strength of our arms, the crafts of masonry by our care of the stone, armor and weapons by the drive of our Forgefadr, and the cutting of gems by the precision and perseverance of our people. All of these foundations are based on one thing. Love creates the greatest of wonders and the worst of enemies. There are many different kinds of love and it depends on how you use it. It is love that bands our people together, our families, our fadrs, modrs, brodrs, and sistrs. It is also love, twisted love, that creates the legions of the damned and the relentless suffering of the innocent. The goal is to find the deepest of love, just like finding the richest, rarest of ores. The dedication in finding Mithril is the same dedication our Maker has to us. Finding Mithril is just as subtle as finding His love for us. It is only then that you see Truth: true... beauty. Only then, can you Stand and Defend for what is Right.

Rugnar of the Troff clan, under the Granden, Golden Halls o' Morinsen...
Is love in yer heart to Defend your country, your people, your faith..
Even to Defend those whom are not of kin, but share the goodness of heart in a will to build a new world of glory?"

"Fer kin.. fer fam'ly, fer friend 'n lov'd ones... a'ways."

"Those who have seen the Forge Almighty and have directly heard its hum look upon us now."
And so the sacred rite begins, performing a circled seal with every name in a certain direction, finished with a rune sent from the current Teacher.

"By Sallaar Krafunsen, The Warmother...
By Brannin Morinsen, The Vigilant...
By Baurnus Ordaff, The Guardian...
By Brodebar Menthek...
By Ronsford Grensvik...
By Hanar Harkelen...

I, Mi'thrim Stonefoot, grant you passage into the sacred Rite of the Defender.

Always remember, the only way to truly learn everything is to be a step above your own Master. That, being nearly impossible because ye don't know everything about them, comes with the following stategy: Find how ye yourself can meld the teachings to fit your own mind, body, and soul. The method that you'll be learning is the Way of Stonefoot."

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"Even if the morrow is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return
To become the dew that quenches the land
To spare the sands, the seas, the skies
I offer thee this silent sacrifice."


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PostPosted: Sep 3rd, '10, 15:22 
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Training day

It had been long since Rugnar Troff had been inside the caves where Mithrim had blessed him with the tutorship.
The greatest honor that had befallen Rugnar ever, well, almost the greatest to ever befall the Troffs.
However, he had had a bad start, just a day after tragedy had befallen the family... And due to the turbolent days when he was a young dwarf, Rugnar has learnt to treassure family as much as he could. So nautrally he saw himself in Morison for quite a while, overseeing the troubles in the Troff clan, and trying to manage it as best he could while he was there.
Days grew into weeks and soon a month, he had spent a long time troubling himself with his family before he finally realized that he had to get training.
And so, he left for the human lands, going towards Solinar.

The rumbling of the footsteps of gigantic beasts echoed through the slim corridors of the abandoned gem mine.
Everything stood so clear, each word said, every heartbeat... He knew that he would have to work hard to live up to the expectations of Mitrim, but he also knew that it would be worth it. A leg, two... both arms in the same trade, it would be worth it to give honor to his clans name.
A swing of the axe followed by the other wasn't enough... as strange as it would've sounded to him a two months time ago, he needed to get pummeled in order to get proper training in what he was about to enter.

Rugnar Troff had now returned to his training.

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PostPosted: Sep 5th, '10, 17:13 
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PostPosted: Sep 17th, '10, 16:11 
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Wood and Stone

The tree shuddered, shook and quaked as if the circle of birds having gathered around its crown would have caused such.
The humming of a thousand wingbeats would reach the ears of the four down on the ground, Michael, Sydiara, Garthen and Rugnar, little were they to know what would become of this day.

So did the scene unfold for some time, however, the sound of the wings from the birds would disappear as they took flight to remote places. However, it was more than clear to Rugnar that there was still a strange sound... something odd about it, as if there was a wind as strong as a hurricane.
However, there was no doubt. There was not the slightest bit of wind that would explain the howling of the wind that reached his ears, likewise did the others feel this, hear it.
It was however, a mystery to them all, just until Garthen took his powers into use, for some reason, one which Rugnar couldn't explain for the life of his beard, Garthen had always had a strange connection to plants and animals. And it payed off, however troublesome news it was. Something was amiss with the lady Gaia, the chosen diety of Rugnars kin; Garthen.
After a short discussion of this they made haste for the Shrine near the Crossroads, where they would once more find themselves staring into unsolved mysteries:
Strangely enough nothing could be done there, it was strange and Rugnar has a hard time recalling exactly what happened, however, a strange sound came from Garthen when he touched the shrine; first he spoke, but them he... screamed? No that wasn't it, he did something far more terrifying, he emitted a sound, horrid sound, one that sounded as if knives were cutting along the edges of your brain, and it made the ears of all who heard it bleed. A surprise to all, it stopped just as sudden as it had come, and Garthen seemed to have been unharmed by this contact with the shrine.

Yet more debate and discussion as to what to do ended when they made their way to the Phoenix Island, a strange and magical place, far to the North, off the coast of Nhezeker.
Once they arrived however, they were schocked to see... too see something missing, it was swallowed, or rather bits of the island was, bits and pieces, growing by each passing moment... Darkness filled the place where it had been before, strange as it may have seemed, they had little time to wonder and stare, for as soon as they came off the boat, there were demons, however, they were of the weaker kind and all four found themselves alive and well.
Though one would have thought it a wise choice to leave, and perhaps she was right, for Sydiara she left them there at the island after due warning.

Yet the darkness remained, along with the three. The boat was still there, luring them towards safety, but Garthens unmatched conviction to help the great mother was enough to sway anyone in his prescence, and so they stayed.
But there were not as alone as they thought, as they made their way through the demons, a voice interrupted them, from this formless darkness something spoke to them.
They saw only the blackness of the void though, and yet, it was to their minds as if there was a form in the darkness, limbs streatching out of nothingness, given it form, life, identity, but only as soon would they have spotted this as it disappeared, and other shapes penetrated their minds.
Illusions, things without exsistence waved around them, the enviroment would change and the plants attack them, hordes of enemies spring forth only to vanish after a while... It was pure madness that sorrounded the three, something undescripable.
The voice persisted, telling them to come, luring them with secrets, power, glory and riches, if only they would step into the darkness.
Luckily none of them were so foolish, and in hopes of finding whatever small thing which would end this curse on the land, they moved around the island, the odd visuals of this form in the darkness would persist and so would the other illusions, futhermore the three had to battle demons, it was strainious and they found no clue to how to end this curse.
It was then, when Rugnar got too close to the darkness that a tentacle with a hand of sorts, would spring from the darkness and wrap itself around his helmet, pulling and trying to get him inside the thick wall of nothingness. Had it not been for the training of his master, Mithrim Rugnar would would have been pulled inside this malevolent nothingness to what fate none could know, but with the skills passed to him through the training of the famed hero, Rugnar held his stance and managed to chop off the hand. Giving himself freedom once again.
At the same time, Garthen had gone to the other end of the Island, and had it not been for Michael Rugnar would have been lost in the lightless enviroment.

Once they found Garthen, he was in a conversation with the formless shape inside the veil. It was confusing, terrifying and one of the last of Rugnars line was so close to the wall, Rugnar couldn't help but charge in to get his friend away from it.
And that was a stroke of luck, for at the same time the same tentacles that had grapped Rugnar would take hold of Garthen. The three of them managed to get free with much effort though.
Now there was no doubt, this had to end before that thing could consume unlucky souls that were less strong than the three.

Again they would force their way over to the other side of the Isle, though strangely enough, Rugnar felt a unfamilar itching at his bottom... And the same sensation had manifested itself. It wasn't til later he would discover why.

The three entered the cave-complex beneath the island, they searched for some time, before they stumbled upon what would appear to be the core of the problem; A strange man, rotting he seemed, yet not so... his eyes were missing and odd tentacles sprang out instead of eyes. His form a strange and disfigured being, his mind fragile and shattered, insane.
What happened from there was unclear to Rugnar... Later he has been told that he was no longer man, Rugnar himself, for a period being beast.
Nothing would have convinced him of that, if it was not for the tail that was present just above his bottom, and it still is.

As for what else had happened during this odd time... Rugnar holds for himself. However, he does seem to try and avoid big open spaces.

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Watching a Red Slaad burst from Kincaids innards is very worthy of my time.


Last edited by Du Silence on Oct 1st, '10, 15:26, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Sep 24th, '10, 09:04 
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A tail for trouble

Rugnar Troff tossed himself around in his sleep, sweating and shaking.
The dreams had haunted him often enough since that day at Phoenix Island.
Always it would be the same, a big empty black space, with him in the middle... Yet it was not empty, he just couldn't see what else was there, til it was too late.
A grotesque face, or lack of the same would scare him, and he would wake up... In his dreams he knew that, he knew it was not real, but always they would frighten him, scare him like a child afraid of the monster beneath the bed.
However, unlike the child, he would know no comfort from his fear, a child would seek its parents protection, but whom could Rugnar seek for protection? None he felt in his darkest moments... However, prayers would always surpress the fear for a while.

"FARK!" Rugnar would shout and sit up in the bed, only to look around the small room that was his bedchamber, and find nothing. He removed the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, still shaking.
And so, still shivering from the instinctive fear of the unknown which seemed to have plauged him ever since he went to get Michael out of that darkness, he would walk over to the small shrine by the northern wall of his chamber, and start praying. His voice at first shaking, but slowly gaining comfort and strength as he'd bless the Forgefather and his fathers name.

"Rkza'kkh h'z rku'a, oa fhu zzukark h'z rkza'kkha kha rui'kha'r h'z akr rhanzza."
"Ga kho fann zu'a h'z nak oulz ouiz rhanzza' ga a'znarr a' khaaz knuzo."
"Hu'uz ouiz 'hra h'z rkza'kkh, h'z nak ru ga kha rkza'kkh ud ro h'rarkuzr ga kzh'kaz ouiz ga'adak h'z kuuzfaan, duz a zzho ku oui."

As he had finished, he stood up... And as a newer ritual to him, he would tug at his tail to, in a faint hope perhaps, pull it off. So far it had gone all wrong, and only at one point had he gone to the extremes of chopping it off, but it would have grown out again by the next morning. However, this time was different... As he grapped for the tail, he held only air between his fingers. He widened his eyes and tried again, and again... Nothing, nothing was attatched to his bottom, the piggish tail wasn't there.
Frantically happy he looked around, to see if he had dropped it somewhere, and right he was, for in the middle of his bed, lay the tail of a hog, all by itself.
With almost unspeakable joy, he went to grap the tail and throw it away... However, he changed his mind just before, and so he started the fireplace.
Soon the smell of burnt meat would fill the small room, but to no worry of Rugnar, for to him, it was the smell of victory, he was rid of the curse he aquired on that dreadfull island.

And so, the tailless Rugnar Troff would go back to bed, blessing the name of the Forgefather in his heart and mind.
However, optimism and joy would be replaced by fear and panic as the dreams haunted his sleep agian, night after night. These monsters, of the like he had never heard before would appear before him, he would always escape, but only barely. The horrors continued.

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Last edited by Du Silence on Oct 1st, '10, 15:27, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Sep 25th, '10, 11:18 
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PostPosted: Oct 1st, '10, 15:50 
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To their memory

The night was cold, the wind had crept even within the great halls of Morisen, of the dwarven stonefortress which was built so long ago.
The stone had seen countless lives come and pass, an eternity of time echoed from stonewall to stonewall, and if the eye of ones mind was set to it, and accordingly blessed by nature to this, it would be almost visible. Almost.

It was this night, and with the pressing knowledge of history having put its markings all around him, that Rugnar Troff opened the small stone-box.
Inside, there were rings made of gold. Their precious bodies were uncarved and smooth as the skin of a newborn. Yet for all their purity, Rugnar intended to choose one more, and spoil its pure surface.

__________________________________________________

Long ago, he had sat at the fireplace, the flames licking over the wood that fed it, and giving warmth to the eight dwarves around it, there were his mother, Grynhill, his father Honald, his brothers Reom and Doín, both their sons Thoro son of Doín and Ægir son of Reom, there was Garthen and then there was Rugnar, the eldest of the children and the youngest of his brothers.
Thoro, Ægir and Garthen would sit closest to the fireplace, sharing a thick brown-bear skin. The others would sit in their respective chairs, a common placeable in most dwarven homes. The largest would be Honalds, then came the chair of the eldest son, then the mother and following that the younger siblings in order of their birth.
It was while Rugnar sat in this smallest of chairs present, that he listened to his father tell the tale of Glorin Morisen. He had heard it countless times before, but for some reason, on that late evening, his attention was caught by the tale of Glorins shield; Of the rings fastened to his shield to tell the tale of one of the most magnificent of his race.

Upon rehearing this for perhaps the hundreth time, he swore to himself that he would do something like this, and bind to himself rings of memory.

____________________________________________________________

He took yet another ring from the box of stone, watched its smooth surface, his eyes caressing the pure metallic form before he picked up the fine diamond-steel knife, a prized posession once given to his grandfather for heroic deeds at the frontlines against the Duegar.
He would slide the point of the blade across the untouched golden ring, carving the tiniest of lines. He then would lift the blade once more, to place it down next to the line and carve in a new direction, this motion was repeated a twenty or so times. While the runes took form, the names, places and so much more would be manifested in these dwarven runes. Their meaning and words hidden to any who wouldn't know the story behind them, else they would just be a line of seperated names.

The ring was now adorned with fine runes of his own hand. It was ready to join the others.
He lifted his beard, to touch the finest of its fabric, the beard which was shielded from sun and harsh weather by the outlying layers. The beard closest to his heart, and in that, he would put the ring, woven with steady fingers into the fabric of the beard, the ring would be tied.
To rest there as a reminder for himself, and as an honor to the memories of whom or what should not be forgotten.
This was the fifteenth ring.

The nature of the memories enclosed in their golden caskets would remain a secret to anyone save for himself, he thought, and let his beard fall back into place. Hiding the golden rings in his beard once more.
With that, he blew out the candles and left the desk, having once more closed the stone-box and hid it away, once more.

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PostPosted: Oct 12th, '10, 14:07 
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Ball and chain

"... May I present miss Olgar Middenhall!"
The servant stepped aside while tilting his torso in a bow, his left arm cast onto his back and his right pointing with a flat palm towards the door entrance, all in an elegant bow and sweep of the feet to bring him away from the sphere of attention of the assembled.
Rugnar cast a glance to his left, slightly uncomfortable in this situation, it had never been his thing, these official rites. He rested his eyes on the empty spot between Ægir and Thoro, for his inner eye he imagined Garthen stand there, cheekily grinning at him as always, god he missed that guy.
He hadn't been able to find him for this ceremony, what a fault, for all this time he had tried to arrange for this to happen to him and suddenly he was in the center of this thing.
He looked to his right and saw some his family on his mothers side, they were all assembled unlike the fathers side, along with the younger generations, there were missing quite a few actually. However, it had its explanations, he had tried to get as many of them as possible out of Morinsen to experience the world, and a lot of them had answered his call, others had seen him as almost a blaphemious maniac.
His eyes finally went back to the door infront of them all, to see this Olgar, miss Middenhall.

He had only met her a couple of times, but her father had been a trading partner for quite a few years before Rugnar put away the merchantile world, and turned to adventuring. They had become friends almost instantly upon meeting and had spent many good hours at many different taverns lately, as they traveled and discussed the oppotunity for setting up sales and business in different parts of the lands they walked through.
To Rugnar that was all a game, but apparently it was far more to sir Middenhall. Rugnar had understood that the moment he asked Rugnar to meet his daughter.
It was risky business, but none the less it was what had given the Middenhalls their wealth. High risk, high gain.
A marriage between a traveling dwarf was risky, when a dwarf leaves Morinsen it's not to create family and a quiet life... But this was happening all the same. Rugnars guess was that him officially being the student of the famed Mithrim may had been one of the reasons for this. Fame sometimes had the oddest of effects, also on the ones near the famed one... Rugnar was obviously of the latter cathegory.

And then they entered. First came the father, sir Middenhall with Olgar at his left arm, the right reserved for his eldest son. Then came the younger brothers and sisters, along with the mother Hirmaar Middenhall. Eight in total.
"... Greetings, sir Troff." She murmured.
Rugnar couldn't help but feel his throat tighten, he hadn't seen this girl for more than fifteen years, and in that period she had turned into a proper dwarven woman.
He moved his eyes from from her feet, strong and solid as they should be, to her legs hidden underneath the loose and elegant dress she carried, then upwards to observe her belly and breasts, each of appropiate size for a dwarf of a rich family, showing wealth with their size. Her beard was knotted and split in two, thrown over her shoulders. However, the blond elegance and beauty of her beard pared in comparison with her face.
Rugnar was awestruck.
He forced himself to speak, luckily Mithrims training had given him a blessed ability to seem calm in most situations.

He bowed elegantly and spoke. "Young lady Middenhall, rumor spoke only a fraction of truth when they sang of your beauty, no doubt inheritaged from your mother."
He did well enough, it was up to the customs of his kin, yet he felt like he was in another persons shoes right now. A clashing between his old life and what he had now chosen.
He breathed in heavily and looked up. Lady Hirmaar had blushed slightly, no doubt he had hit well enough with that comment judging by her expression, he looked quickly to the father, also he was smiling.
However, as his eyes settled on Olgar once again, he was surprised to find an intense stare of both childish curiousity and the blankness of her eyes... No doubt she was saying farewell to her youth and childhood, freedom in other words. She knew that her father and mother wished for her to marry Rugnar, but she knew not what she wanted herself.
Rugnar would probably be among the top of the wanted single dwarves, he had lived a strong and difficult life so far, but had endured and made a name of himself as a merchant, then abandoned that, and was now blessed with the tutor whom every warrior of dwarven heritage had secretly wished for for the last decade or so.
However, they didn't know eachother. They had only met a handfull of times, last time being while Rugnar was still running the Rare Metal Export. More than fifteen years ago.

The whole party held their breath as they awaited young Olgars reply.
Finally she spoke with a strength that surprised even her mother. Later Rugnar would know that it was a special trait of hers, you could hear when she had set her mind on something.
"I thank thee, Rugnar Troff, for the kind greeting and I am honored to be considered a valid proposal for eternal marriage towards your being."
All were dumbstruck for a heartbeat, this wasn't part of the ritual, but none the less it was with sincerity. On the inside, Rugnar couldn't help but laugh a bit at this boldness, it was refreshing.
Rugnar bowed again, then gestured towards the table behind him, the rest of the Troffs and the few Garthens that had been invited.
Soon they all sat and ate at the table, seen from a hosts point of view, everything was a complete success, expect for the young soon-to-be couple.
They sat silent for most of the first half of the feast, and had it not been for Hirmaar Middenhall, it would have been awkward, but luckily the lady had enough sense to keep the conversation going, it worked, and soon Rugnar and Olgar were talking together, just the two of them, and old Hirmaar made sure none would interrupt by keeping the rest of the party entertained with talks of mines, tunnels and trade, all very traditional and dwarven.
Once the evening was coming to an end, and the night was growing old the party started to disperse. It was a blessing for both Rugnar and Olgar; they both had a lot to think of now. Next time, it would be the last time to back out of it, if they wanted.

Rugnar spend the rest of the night at the temple, leaving the cleaning to the rest of the other members of his family. There he prayed for hours, for guidance on this marriage. He felt that it was right to marry her and have children with her... But what would come of this? What would be the result of a traveling dwarf with a wife and children? Would the children be considered odd or even outcasts due to this or would times change in Morinsen and allow his children to make a living for themselves with their breathern?
Gurnaur didn't tell him either, so Rugnar would have to find out of this himself... Or just take the chance.
And what about Olgar? What did she think...

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