AMIA ARCHIVE • View topic - Brogendenstein

The barbarian camp in Brogdenstein was the scene of a bloody slaughter, barbarians turned on one another killing brothers, sisters, even children and the feeble were caught up in the frenzy of blood. The rebels were backed by fiendish orcs, orogs and even giants. Only one contingent managed to escape, lead by the chieftan Gegrunk. At the same time, a horde of orcs sought to cut off the retreat of the chieftan, whilst another contingent kept the dwarves busy in their home. But due to the valour of the dwarves the forces of evil were put to the axe, and Gegrunk and his men were given respite within the port of Brogdenstein. The corpses of humans, orcs and giants litter the peninsular and the fighting goes on well into the night as the final pockets of barbarian resistance fall to their kin and the interloping giants and orcs. The carrion eat well tonight.

In a dark room in a dark place a young grey-skinned man sits, cleaning and checking his crossbow, paying special attention to the butt of it that had to crack more than one Orc in the face that day.

Well, it would seem the filthy savages are at war with each other, and with the dwarves...I am glad I happened along when I did. This could prove to be...useful.

He finishes his work and slings the crossbow over his back, covering it with a heavy grey-collared cloak as he steps out of his room. Time to go report the days events...

A particularly large, cloth bound dwarf increases his presence in the docklands, ensuring to advise fellow cloth bound dwarves in the nearby monastery to double their guard and emphasizing to let only those that carry the intent to purchase goods or pay reverance be let in the buildings warmth.

At each time he is seen conversing with the inhabitants of the monastery, loud complaint of the word "Runedar" could be heard.

The barbarians taking refuge in the relative safety of Barak Runedar's docks are solem and silent for the first evening. They reflect on the events of the days, and avoid conversation with the dwarves. Offers of food, drink and supplies are declined - though politely - instead they leave the docks to hunt, bringing back dodo's, wolves and bear carcases which are then cooked across a makeshift fire pit fueled by the magics of the shamans.

The next day however sees violence among the men, after a heated exchange between the leader Gegrunk and one of his subordinates a fight breaks out. The subordinate is pummelled within an inch of his life and left to the care of his wife. The next day the pummelled barbarian would leave the camp and enter the Wilderness - he does not return. The dwarves shake their heads, but make no move to break up the fight - apparently content to let them work out their own differences, or perhaps respecting the deranged savage honour of the barbarians.

After the battle and talk with head of the monastery, Runa would check on dwarven troops and help any wounded. She would stay at the port for some time, ensuring barbarians are given enough room and no conflicts happen between them and her kin. As situation settles down, she goes back to the Citadel to inform citizens of new turn of events.

The day after the great battle, the blacksmith Aaegus is kept busy repairing the dented mail and blunted axes of the citadel's militia. He shares the stories brought to him by guards, boasting of bravery and valor, counting of orc kills and near death experiences. It warmed his heart to hear such brave deeds, large and small achieved by his kinsmen. However, he noted an undertone of concern creeping into many of the tales. The organized nature of the orc's attack had been unprecedented in recent times, and the harboring of their bitter enemy within thier walls..

..Grinding an axehead against a stone to restore its sharp edge... Aaegus recalls the words spoken by the Orc Warlock they faced in the caverns below the mines in the months before.. "more was yet to come..". he grits his teeth, focusing on getting that axe head as sharp as possible.

The snow crunched under his feet as Aaegus made his way carefully through the Brogendenstein wilderness towards what once was the Barbarian encampment. He looks up at the sky ahead of him at the mass of circling black shapes, flapping to and throe high up in the air, focused in on an unseen area below them. "Carrion crows.." he thinks darkly to himself.. He continues trudging this way towards the source of the crows' activity. It was eerily quiet, except for the thud of his feet in the snow below him.. no animals to hound him on his journey.

Crossing an icy stream he see's the haphazard wooden stakes of what the barbarians regard as their battlements and the edge of their camp. As he approaches his begins to hear a flurry of noise from behind the barriers. Snarls and screeches, crunching and wet mashing sounds. He rounds to the side and takes in the scene before him.. dozens of dark shapes giant and small are strewn in the snow.. dark brown stains are spread on the ground below, some have axes and arrows imbedded inside them, others lay curled into tight balls. Scores of white wolves and packs of dodos are there feasting on the remains, taking no note of the Dwarf's presence, only content with fighting each other for the spoils of the frozen corpses around them.

He grimaces surveying the massacre... looking from body to body at a distance, trying to figure out the types of killing blows, attempting to imagine the weapons used and who the wielders where. A cold wind snaps at his fur cloak distracting his attention. He looks up at the sky.. "Blizzard comin'.."..

He turns and grimly makes his way back to the warmth of his hearth..

After the onset of the slaughter life slowly returns to the barbarian's camp, but now it seems new creatures have joined the ranks of the hardy northmen. Orcs, and the occasional giant patrol the encampment alongside the humans. It seems the humans have finally cowed to the machinations of the gathering horde. However, in the aftermath of the slaughter displaced barbarians stumble to the gates of Barak Runedar, many are wounded, some are insane, and others are simply listless. Wounded non-combatants number among the refugees seeking shelter, they would errect a poor excuse of a camp outside the walls of the port until Gegrunk the chieftan leaves the port to speak with them.

"These are my people. Let them in."

He would state to the gateguards. He would stand outside and await their answer patiently.

The new wave of refugees number around 24, only four seem capable of combat, ten are non-combatants and the others are incapacitated either mentally or otherwise.

Sitting high on the overlook above the location Grundi's Forge once stood, Grimdur Bari'Var watched the goings on silently. The Barbarians now within the walls of the port seemed to be growing in number, and though many were wounded - they were starting to become a possible threat to the security of the Hold.
His pipe sent tendrils of smoke skyward, the raider's singular eye flickering back and forth across the tents and shelters the Northmen had errected. The apathy of those who had lost their husbands, and wives was rivaled only by their anger. Many other tribes now had aligned with the dark horde, and Grimdur was worried. Would it take much for -these- tribesmen to throw in their lot with the horde, how would Chief Gegrunk see fit to lead his people to the future?

He loosed a torrent of smoke from his lips, and cupped the bowl of his pipe musingly. "Now I wait fer the Salandran..." He muttered to himself, thinking briefly about Krin and his daughter in kind. His head shook slowly soon after. "I'll focus on setting up talks wi' Gegrunk, and the Templar... I can only hope others come around on their own."
With that, and his almost humoursly elven-like grace, the dwarf slithered down from his perch. Feet like a mountain goat finding sure footing on even the slipperiest of surfaces, til' snow crunched softly beneath his feet. He would find Gegrunk and his men watching the gate for other refugees, and incline his head.

"Hail, Northman. There is a man from t'Isles coming to discuss the war, an' other eventualities. I think ye might do well tae take part in those talks, if your warriors will be standin' here when the tide comes. If ye wish, I can keep you apprised o' his arrival, and we can meet on your terms with your kind...." He grunted, eloquently as only a dwarf can, letting a small group of wounded, and elderly pass with a frown. Leaving his words hang in the air between himself and the chieftain, then merely inclined his head respectfully to the elder, gesturing to the poor souls. "Simply consider this, Chieftan, can your men not focus more on avenging yer fallen brothers, knowing their people be safe? Trust is lackin' here, and until now I'd have said rightfully so. But, we aren't t'threat now, those bastards out there who slaughtered your children, grandmothers an' heirs are. They don' know honour, only pillage an' worse. Jus' tell a guard ye wish tae talk wi' Grimdur... He'll send fer me right away."

The dwarf who had walked with the man as he ushered his people into the camp, dipped his head in a nod between men and turned back towards the etched Rune Door of Barak Runedar.

"Here's hopin'.."

A rotund, cloth-bound dwarf with large metal gauntlets steps out from the warmth of the monastery at the opposite side of the port, his hands clenched around a mug of a warm apple based alcoholic drink.

He squints across the clearing at the small gathering of barbarians near the rear gate, taking a sip from his drink he steps out into the snow and waddles across towards the gate with a shared interest of boredom and intrigue.

As he nears the gate, the wind blows an increased volume of raised and disgruntled voices towards his ears, a mix of dwarven and the thick wild tongue of the barbarians. Reaching the wall of the gate, paying little attention to the actual conversation, he peers through a spacing in the thick wooden beams. Through his gap he spot's a band of deranged looking wild men, some whom have fallen far from grace - he pauses for the first time to listen to the heated argument, picking out a series of sounds that had been repeated several times before.

"...Let them in"

The monk steps back for a second to look at his kin holding the gate, then steps back to the fence once more for a final look, he focuses on the worst conditioned of the group in turn.

Turning away from the wall, he shakes his head, slaps his stomach and proudly states to himself, "Yer always keep yer shield strong. Yer let yer shield fail an' the rest o' yer be followin' so tha' yer nae use ter' nae one."

*he nods, affirming himself*

"Ain' nothin' fer those o' them in 'ere if they nae 'avin a shield o' their own. Jus' plain askin' fer the wrong sorts o' company lettin' them in."

He looks over to the dwarfs on the gate, catching a guards worried eye, he greets it with a simple shake of the head before continuing back down to the monastery, returning to the warmth of his mug as he crunches across the snowy ground.

Runa would approach the guards and chieftain at the gates. She would quickly assess the situation, and issue simple order. "Let them in."

She would then turn to the chieftain. "They are now your responsibility, Gegrunk. I can heal those that need immediate help. I will have to see what's with the maddened ones, but they should be kept under watch until we can find experts to heal them, if my more powerful prayers will not work. You should also talk to our military leaders if you want to take vengeance upon those that did this to your people."

She would then wait for chieftain's reaction and oversee entrance of refugees. If allowed, she will use her prayers to heal wounded ones and try to see if her Greater Restoration prayers will work on the insane. She doesn't bother with the listless, unless they require medical help.

The chief would nod to Runa, seem hesitant, but when it becomes apparent the new influx of wounded are too much for their own shamans to handle he relents and allows Runa to administer care. The listless remain listless, but the insane regain their minds - but seem a little shaken, even terrified as they join the ever growing mass within the port.

"I will speak with your leaders." The chieftan would state flatly and return to his tent once the newcomers have found room.

After making his rounds and taking care of the duties he had set forth for the day, Reddok made his way out into the Port yard. He approaches the Barbarian's main camp looking to gain audience with Chieftain Gegrunk. He is stopped and turned away for the time being as Gegrunk, one of their shamans, and another have a focused discussion around their fire. Reddok nods to the large thickly muscled barbarian in front of him asking only to carry word that he'd like to meet at the Chieftain's convenience.

Red moves just past the edge of the encampment and sets up a small one of his own along with a table, bench, and chair to continue his duties and sit with any wishing to speak with him. He sets up a cooking pot and spit keeping some soup and fresh meat, similar to the fare that the barbarians have, warm for those that are hungry to partake in. His other supplies are purposely chosen to mirror that of their Port guests.

Reddok settles in for the rest of the evening, candles illuminating his work table long after the sun set has set. He speaks with a couple dwarves patrolling the Port yard and walls, but he mainly reads over notes from current events in his ever filling notebook jotting details onto another page consolidating the most important details with reference points back to previous notes. Once his eyes begin to loose their focus he slips into his tent for some much needed rest.

A copper kin, fully bedecked in her armor and carrying a sheathed scimitar on her belt, takes some time away from her duties abroad to see to her dwarven home. She does her best to keep spirits light where she can, though it may be clear to her dwarven friends that something weighs heavily on her mind.

At the end of the day, Zelly moves through the encampment and makes her way to Reddok's tent, where she slips inside without a word.

The mountain peaks fall silent, the frost giants retreat to their lairs, while the fire giants bar their huge doors to adventurers. The wind screams and on it's lamentful cries a discordant demonic ancient tongue travels across the frozen land. Soon, the weather changes to a deadly blizzard unlike any seen before. The fauna retreat to their lairs but many freeze in place before they reach the warmth of the hearth or the shelter of caves. Those that remain outside to endure the blizzard are impaled, skewered and run through by great shards of ice that pelt the land. The eye of the storm seems to be the peak of the mountain tops, for hours the storm rages and the ground around the peak of the mountain shudders as though it were attempting to move out of range from the unabatable ice storm.

When the storm hits Barak Runedar many dwarves abandon their posts, opting to retreat to the safety of the citadel. The Barbarians are offered sheltered in the Monastry, and when the ice begins to break apart small sections of the wall they accept the offer before it reaches their makeshift camp.

When the storm finally passes the barbarians and dwarves emerge to the destruction of the storm. The camp has been eradicated by the strong winds and ice shards, the walls have stood strong but one part has collapsed against the barrage of ice shards and gale-force winds. The barbarians, seemingly more prepared than previously thought, quickly repair their tents so that the vulernable have enough space to rest comfotably. The hardier of the barbarians endure the cold with a firm grimace.

The shamen of the barbarians enter counsel immediately, and soon a missive is sent to the dwarves of the Citadel, it reads simply:

Something that should not be has been awakened.

A figure in white can often be seen foraying out of Barak Runedar into the wilds on his own for long times before returning and reporting any odd occurences or out of the ordinary encounters to the gate guards. Any who follow his patrol path would find orcs and barbarians lying scattered and dead, some riddled with crossbow bolts, others with slit throats and punctured organs, and not a few who appear to have no real injuries yet are nonetheless, quite dead.

Late in the evening, as a storm thrashed Barak Runedar, a copper kin donned heavy armor in preparation for battle - for the first time. The storm raged outside and she joined her dwarven comrades in the Hall, where they held the door against the frozen onslaught. There was tension in the room, even as Zelly tried to keep banter going amidst the militia that had come indoors out of the storm.

A group of knights from Kohlingen arrived alongside a shaman from the barbarian tribe and after some time waiting he finally pulled Zelly aside and spoke with her. The copper kin displayed a mix of emotions ranging from fear to worry to amusement throughout the conversation. When the shaman finally left, Zelly stood thoughtful.

Later, when Reddok returned from his trip to Khem, she filled in the High Councilor on what had happened and retired with him so that she could begin to sort through the report she planned to deliver during the next meeting.

As soon as storm dies down, Runa can be seen leaving the Citadel in full battle gear. She checks if any of the kin or tribals need immediate medical help, and then, after she casts some battle prayers, moves out to the wilderness with whomever was around willing to go with her.

Reddok spots the Faenor preparing to move in with as serious a look on her face as he's ever seen, checking his pack real quick he approaches her letting her know she's not going anywhere as such without him at her side. Recognizing the pain in her eyes he gently and gets filled in on the situation as they prepare for a trek.

Grimdur grunted eloquently as only a dwarf can, as he stormed into the entry hall, a bark from his lips sending a few of his trainee scouts forwards to help sure up the doorway. They braced thick beams should the storm hold any baleful magics that might bypass the ancient Rune Doors and their protections, in an effort to keep the barrier strong.

He then went about the troops, and other denizens sheltering in the Halls, offering a brief nod to Zelly as she stood with them against the storm.

When the Knights arrived, and the Shaman had drawn the Copper Kin aside, Grimdur would have strode forwards to offer the Triadics a small welcome and enlighten them with what answers he might be able to provide as a Councillor.

Afterwards,the process of clearing the snow and ice from the road to the port would likely keep he, and his men busy long into the rest of the day - even as the barbarians set about repairing their camp. The process was done properly, as best he could organize, and soon he was drawn away to his next order of business.
The collapsed section of wall, once more he and his three scouts set to work with shovels and picks, clearing away the damaged sections and dragging away the larger bits with the aid of a Rothe. He would then send for a dwarven mason, or artisan, to access the damage properly in-case any of the supports had been damaged by the blizzard. Should Zelly be free, and still in the area, he would request she turn her expert opinion on any more worrying faults the artisan/mason might find - as he attempted to get together an inventory for repairing the defenses.
The message from the Shamans was worrying to him, but there were other Councillors and they far more learned in the matters of wise men and sages. A wall in need of repair was something he knew how to do!

In-case of any attacks in the meantime, he and his scouts would leave the mason, and Zelly should she be present, to the finer matters of architecture. They using picks to break the frozen soil, and shovels to dig deep post holes for a temporary defense of sharp-tipped logs to be angled outwards towards the wilderness. Once this was done the dwarves then began piling up the earth and snow into earthworks behind this barrier of pointed trunks, to form a defensive line across the gap in the wall. It was likely a long, arduous process that would consume yet more of Grim's time and effort, he having to leave his men to the work on occasion to ensure they had enough logs and materials to create these defenses, and communicate with the Guards to maintain a proper patrol as the walls now had a breech. The sky would be dark and the sun low in the sky by the time the work even looked close to being complete.

At anytime should the work become to much for himself and his three scouts to perform efficiently, he would send word to the citadel for volunteers, any wishing to help the process of ensuring the walls were secure should report to himself at the scene of the damage for further instructions.

"Sentry!" He bellowed to the gates, "The moment ye see the High Councillors returning, send forth a summons for clerics and a stretcher - lets be prepared in-case they encounter whatever conjured that forsaken blizzard!"

"Ye buggers..." Aaegus rushes after Reddok and Runa as they leave, following them on his short legs dashing through the gates as he readies his axe and shield.. "Ye two ain't diein' wit oot meh..! ".

Patrols return from the blistering cold of Brog and hand in a report to the Chair of Military Affairs:

Sir,

On our patrol we encountered a roaming band of orcs that were dispatched with the assistance of our forward scouts. We grouped together to see if we could push their gathering forces back to the Barbarian camp when one of the scouts caught sight of a immense shape scouring the skies above the camp. It was a huge white dragon, before it could descend on our ranks we split up, the scouts retreated to a forward camp and we made our way back to the Citadel.

That threat is beyond our patrols capabilities, it will require the Anvil to bring it down.

The scouts tell us that it's lair is somewhere between the Barbarian camp and the Snowy Forest.

-Craggo

*The Cantankerous, kilt wearing dwarf can be seen reading and rereading the report. Despite the news, he seems in good cheer as he makes sure the dwarves of the patrol in question have an extra barrel of ale, patting the leader on the back briefly before making his way off to make his report.*

"Ye Did good lads, ye did good"

*several druids are seen making their way into the wilds of Brodgendenstein together. Whatever they might want to do there?*

//whenever you got the time Silent!

Following Barak Runedar's council meeting Reddok is seen holed up in his office preparing several letters and getting activities planned out. He updates their allies of Kohlingen, and the Grove, Bendir Dale, on the current goings on around the citadel, the spotted white dragon and reminds them of the final threat of "true evil". The Shrine of Eilistraee is also updated, next a letter to the War Knights...

Reddok and Grimdur work together feverishly to get their allies up to date and with getting notices out that a meeting will soon be held.

A letter is dispatched from the depths, a promise of a great force....

But at what price?

The blizzard intensifies once more, the blistering winds and huge shards of ice pelt the dwarvern stronghold throughout the day and well into the night. Patrols don't leave the Citadel and the barbarians weather it within the safe confines of the monastry. Whilst not as deadly as the first, it is dangerous enough to give the dwarves and barbarians pause.

When the most recent blizzard lessens some, a small group of drow from the Shrine of Eilistraee can be seen debarking at the Brog docks. With them are several crates of various surface-style foodstuffs, some quilovesualt (for any adventurous dwarves, presumably), and numerous thick blankets suitable for keeping people warm. It's left to the dwarves to determine who exactly gets what.

Runa would try to get a word with Eilistreeans. She'd thank them for the goods, and ask for a meeting with their leaders to discuss certain matters of dispensation for Eilistreean drow concerning rights to move through dwarven lands, primarily port and entry hall of the Citadel.
As the goods are concerned, blankets and foodstuffs would be given to tribals, if they would accept them, and other stuff would be sent over to storage for Chair of Internal to dispense it as he sees fit.

//OOC: PM me when you have time.

Two individuals enter Brogendenstein through the Shadow Plane rift. They cut down any small resistance they face from the local wildlife and, and the smaller bands of orcs and giants, but they seem to have been trying to avoid drawing too much attention. The cold does not seem to phase them. They travel a long way throughout the area, avoiding any large gatherings, and upon conclusion of this apparent "tour", they depart swiftly.

Reddok is seen often at a small camp of his own next to the tribesmen. As persistent as a dwarf can be without annoying the barbarians outright, Red makes a habit of adding his own food stuffs to those of the tribesmen and attempting to converse with their warriors. Consistently he attempts to gain audience with Gegrunk every couple days.

He asks one of the warriors he speaks with to pass along to Gegrunk an invitation to a meeting in place of the usual council meeting.

Sir Jerance Whiterose is now often seen in and around Brogendenstein patrolling the snow covered trails incessantly. Sometimes he's accompanyed by a rather large man adorned in bright aquamarine, sometimes not. The cold does not seem to bother him whatsoever in his travels.

The enemy seems content to leave the dwarves and their allies to their own devices for the time being. It would be readily obvious to those patrolling the area that, a few miles north of the decimated barbarian camp, a new fort has emerged with a makeshift stockade wall. Within the camp a steady stream of ash and smoke flows into the sky, those looking down on the site from the mountains would notice a huge sinkhole that seems to have been made stable by a series of scaffholds. It seems the enemy is slowly but surely digging in for the long haul.

As promised, several druids can be seen patrolling the area for anything unusual. They stop every once in a while to commune with nature and try to gain some knowledge of the ongoings on the land and below.

Although the Orcs of the forest are numerous and replace their numbers quickly, evidence of fighting within the caverns of the Orcs and in the forest itself is present for those with the eye to spot such things before the orcs clean up the mess. Clearly there is conflict there when the patrols of the dwarves are not present. To the eyes of a tactician, the markings clearly indicate well coordinated harassment attacks by a semi-organised and well equipped force.

It seems other forces are at work against the foes that assail the Dwarves of Barack Runedar. But are they an unexpected friend? Or merely an ally of desperate convenience?

Not far from the gates of Barak Runedar is a sight that may be interesting or frightening depending on the viewer. Facing north and east towards the lands of the giants, orcs, and barbarians are a number of barbarian and orc heads left on pikes, their snarling faces locked in an eternal frozen grimace. The heads are arranged more or less symmetrically around the head of a Frost Giant that wears the headgear of a chieftain.

In the snow nearby, difficult to find after a relatively short period find due to the frequent snows, is a knight chesspeice carved from green marble.

A rather zealous tune springs within the wilderness primarily focused within the orc caverns and their inhabited forest, its rhyming unoriginal and its structure simple.

"Within the realm of frost and mud,
The War Sage comes to seek your blood.
To enlighten such fools in the barren land,
And open their eyes to their oppressor's hand.

It calls you friend but thinks you weak,
Like mortal pawns disposed by week.
Open your eyes and see the shams,
Or keep them closed and die like lambs.

The ancient is foolish and should not be hailed,
For it seeks to do what the Darkflight failed.
Think it not as friend for it only lies,
Or you march only to your own demise.

Within the realm of frost and mud,
The War Sage comes to seek your blood.
To crush its dreams and foil its plan,
To send it back where it began."

Since he has been spending most of his time trying to find ways to work the soil around the Citadel, Oaru decided he had been silently wary of the barbarians for long enough, and something had to be done about it. A couple bottles of ale for them to chase off the cold while he distributed them daily to the guards and trainers, a small basket of onions or a bundle of tobacco leaves for them to smoke, and tentative chit chat, looking for an opening.

Just in case, he also is seen (by the guards and kin, never outsiders) Speaking with his wolf as he leaves for supplies or patrols. If anyone is able to understand his words are always the same: Friends. Watch. What happens no one can tell, but the wolf obediently stays while Oaru is out, and always around the barbarians.

The barbarians seem largely self sufficient, the men don't accept any handouts though some of the more charitable souls may have found ways to smuggle food into their camp by way of the barbarian's wives. The males remain aloof from the advances of dwarves attempting to open up lines of communication, and the other dwarves seem content to simply ignore the barbarians. It would seem that this particular grudge is dying slowly if at all.

If any of the women in the encampment would accept any of his offers, she would receive at least some kind of help daily from Oaku, always the same request also, something to the effect of: Lass, it be proof enough we be helping ye honorably, much as our folks have killed one another fer long enuff. Help me have a word with yer chieftain. Tha more we wait, tha less chances we be having. And tha less we know, tha more likely that we will suffer to lose more kin to the dark hordes. I ask ye, no, beg ye for audience, lest ye may outstay yer welcome.

The wolf is still asked to stay around them, Oaru's contingecy plan. He hopes to understand or have insight into this tribe's ways, either by talking to their shamen or chieftain, or having to resort to the wolf. He was too newly pledged tp the Citadel, so it would be wrong for him to jump to any conclusions regarding the barbarians' fate when others of his kin were more prepared. He only feared whatever fate would be shared by his kin if bad came to worse lest the talks began, and soon!

The women seem unreceptive to the begging of Oaku, stating it isn't their place to pass on messages to the chieftan.

"Ye know wut? Suit yerself..." the dwarf would say as he left. The wolf had grown too menacing to try to leave him with the barbarians, and the constant refusal would finally make Oaru reconsider the peaceful, diplomatic approach. Gegnar was right, even if he was merely itching for another fight, there was reasoning behind his constant fury. Dwarfkin had treated the barbarians like a village of lepers, and expected them to answer to our questions like heroes. They respect strength, and Oaru be damned, dwarfs have enough of that! Now to suggest the different approach to the Council, and leave things be. The land, barbarians or not, will not harvest its boon for Herself and drop it in a basket by their doorstep.

Took the damned boat to Silent Bay. In the Shrine to finally meet Vinn'do, if to learn that the ally-to-be didn't even know his spells were sorely needed, the faster the better.

Off to battle with Beastmen on the way to Kohlingen. With miss Zelly, to ask for information on Lords of the Deep, and eels, and Walking Blizzards. Her friend never named herself, but did tell Oaru to look for this and that specialist, and consult a trapper. And to ask the clergy of Auril.

As he arrives in the Citadel, tired and frustrated, his nightly prayer to Moradin is done on his feet, instead of his knees, for fear he would fall asleep at the idol's feet. "Whut a pickle, All-Father, whut a pickle..."

The Half drow Vinn'do is lead to his temporary quarters in Barak Runedar by Councillor Reddok, after he settles in he starts preparing his reagents for the Greater prying eyes incantation he volunteered to do for the stout folk. Eventually settling in on his bed for another sleepless night.

The final hours of the meeting were hazy at best in Oaru's head, much as he hated to admit he was very very tired. Maybe to wash out the guilt he didnt lose a moment regretting it as he took the boat to Silent Bay, and from there to his regular visit to the Dale for supplies. It always helped him think more clearly to buy the meats and food stuffs for their pantries. Pickle or no pickle there would be Celebration of the Fallen, and Oaru was not a dwarf to dissapoint Haela with a meager half-feast.

Upon his return to the Citadel he would make sure his garden was resisting, Vinn'do was getting anything he could help him with (not before laughing heartly commenting on the half-drow's eating habits) and that the brewing apparatus was working. He wouldnt brew or harvest now, he needed to sleep and think. He would not try casting the Control Weather or Commune spells this week, they are too toiling. Let the "darned cricket-munchin', beetle-eatin' darkie" get to his work for now, Oaru thought. He would have much to dedicate his strength to once the emissaries of the Blue Beards arrived.

The ship captains bringing in supplies for the Citadel begin telling the dockhands of strange shapes within the waters and to add credence to the rumours the remains of a small merchant vessel flying the flag of Cordor is discovered by dwarvern scouts on the rocky cliffs. No survivors are found and the timber has been hewn in two in a number of places, whether or not they broke upon the rocks or a more manovolent force did this is uncertain.

"Bah, if ye dinnae trust sailors ta know the waters, who ye be trustin'? Tha cook?"

Some of Oaru's kin agreed with the caution, some thought it foolish heeding to sailors' tales. It didnt really matter to Oaru. Right after getting out of his quarters, he would call the wolf to him, prepare his garden for the day, and summon an elemental by the outer gates. To his wolf friend he would ask to watch the waters. To his summoned ally instruct to watch the incoming ships and port.

Muttering under his breath while he tries to find the best spot to move his tent and workshop to, he again beats the frost off his beard:

"If I dinnae have enuff ta worry about..."

Red eyes Glow in the darkness of the room Vinn'do, The half drow, he brings coat tighter around himself, still cold even inside the citadel. Early in the morning he had pushed all of the furniture back and with a piece of chalk carefully and precisely drew a circle and the spell formula for the Greater prying eyes, in the center of the circle rest a mound of crystal marbles. Softly Words of arcane power are spoken and a series of complicated hand gestures, he evokes the spell and the crystal marbles infused with the spell. They start to float and take on the likeness of his own eyes. He leads them outside to avoid them crashing into the Citadel door trying to escape and directs them to survey the area around the dwarven settlement. He sends word to the Councilors and Oaru that he will be camping outside and that he would like someone to check on him every few hours while he awaits for the magical eyes to return.

http://www.d20srd.org/srd/spells/pryingEyesGreater.htm

Oaru kindly asks Vinn'do to set choose his resting place near Oaru's garden, and provides him with anything he would need. He is also guarding the place.

Runa would use any break from her duties to check on the Vinn'do, and speak to Oaru about upcoming festivities.

Brogendenstein - The Aftermath!

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