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