AMIA ARCHIVE • View topic - Brogendenstein

A blue robed mage continues his day to day life in Barak Runedar.

With the breaking of dawn he can be seen moving about the encampment stoping at the extremeties of the courtyard's walls and setting a circle. In these he incants, refreshing the Screen and Detect Scrying spells that have lingered over the area for some time. Between these formal circles, the mage stops by each section of the walls.

At each section of magically crafted wall he pauses seems to check them with the same care as a Cleric would a patient in their temple. Once he is satisfied he stops to etch markings into the base. Anyone examining these would see them to be anchors for evocation spells. One practiced in the art may be able to discern that they are anchors to assist in casting Walls of Force.

Once finished the mage retires to the citidel. On most days, he would normally bury himself within his books, but today he starts a new project and can be seen tinkering with various gemstones. If interrupted he will mutter something about "return" or "arcane eyes" and shoo whoever it is away unless they have pressing business.

A green and black clad drow can be seen camping along with the War Knights. If anyone asks, she'll answer that she's Earalenia from the Grove (and the Shrine) and that she's here to help with the defence.

Again, thirty-some semi-tangible floating 'eyes' are created by Kohlingen's Magister. However, instead of heading towards the wilderness and wilds of Brogendenstein, this time they float over towards the freezing cold waters of Barak Runedar's harbor. And then disappear beneath the depths. Eyes prying where none have dared pry, yet...

Those who have an eye (and nose) for such things might notice some new claw marks on a few trees in the orc forest of Brogendenstein. They're at just the height and depth a certain wereleopard would make.

As well as the shredded and gutted orcs who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. To any who know her, the signs of Kaci's passing are clear. To those who don't and have a suitably strong nose, they might be able to catch the scent of a wereleopard on the trees she's marked.

The silent spotted shadow moves through the forest briefly as she hunts for something, but doesn't stay long on not finding whatever it is she's looking for. The runty wereleopard pads off into a copse of trees and a few moments later after some crunching and stretching and generally unpleasant noises, a runty elf emerges. She makes her way back towards the dwarven stronghold and the druids camped there, with a frown.

On this particulary long day, Ser Robert was seen in various meetings with the dwarven council, as well as his own ranking officers. As the day finally came to an end, there appear to be two notable changes in the organization and involvment of his forces.

Captain Zellani, the famous copperkin, was bestowed the honor to oversee all but three of the present kohlinger regiments. It is now evident who Ser Robert has chosen as his executive officer for battlefield operations.

Perhaps more notable is the lack of activity around his pavillion, that usually continued well into the night. The commander who before took a great amount of initative has taken a very noticable step back. He no longer briefs and discusses the military operations with the officers outside his own forces, but refers them instead to Thaegn Whurak, the Councilor of Military Affairs of Barak Runedar.

Stories circulate (as they do) that small parties of well equipped soldiers led by a masked leader come from the dark and make battle with the orc vanguard deep within the caverns of the icy forest. Although the realm of the forest and its caverns are still in the hands of the orcs, it is another matter entirely that this battle extends far further then just Barack Runedar itself.

The enemies roots are beginning to bury deep within the Earth.

A peculiar but decidedly fashionably dressed half-elf arrives one afternoon and moves trough the war camp, drawing selections of seemingly random potions and scrolls out of his apparently bottomless hat and passing them to several individuals - one war knight was even offered a "spiky hat", and a hungry man was given a honey-glazed ham. When prompted, the half-elf identifies himself as Elor, and states that he's delivering things from Milil. What exactly the recipients are intended to do with the deliveries he wouldn't be able to say, but "it's decidedly rude to refuse a delivery from a god."

Before leaving the warcamp, and unable to locate her, a satchel is left for Zelly at her tent, before Elor departs for warmer regions. A note attached to the satchel reads:

Quote:
Dear Zelly,

I brought you lunch. Good luck with the fighting, and stay Copper.

Love,

Elor

Inside would be a multitude of gems.

A fur and scale-armour clad young woman of northern decent makes her camp with the War Knights under a tent of sticks and furs. Often, she is seen on the eastern coast practicing with her Greataxe or later in the day she is sitting by her campfire with several tomes and pieces of parchment around her, learning how to read and write. She doesn't appear overly stressed about the entire event, content to wait until she will be needed in battle.

Within the deepest mines of Barak Runedar the clink-clink-clink of metal on stone can be heard once more. The councillor of guilds instructs the miners to begin digging through the collapsed entrance to the passages to the undercaven below the hold. Ore carts are filled with rubble and stone and hauled away to clear the way through as the dwarves work with organised efficiency. The battleon of the stout-folk lead by the Anvilmars is posted armed and at the ready.

*Echoing just beyond the walls of the citadel*

"Lads and lasses grab your ax, there's many a field to clear. A cold winter approaches and the wood must last the year. So it's one! *hack* Two! *another hack - muffled screams* Three and Four! Before you know it, a dozen more! Oh lads and lasses grab your ax, there's many a field to clear...

Guys and gals find your scythes, there's many a crop to reap. Bring your father's wagon for the hills are mighty steep. A dozen! *thunderous blast* Another! *roaring flames* Twice again! Eventually, a gross we'll rend! Oh guys and gals find your scythes, there's many a crop to reap..."

Despite the looming threats of war, abominations, and utter destruction at the hands of the horde, someone seems to be enjoying welcoming the orcish scouting parties with his rendition of a dwarven folk song. In a lovely elven tenor, no less.

A man wearing the tabbard of a black raven and white clothes, with a rosary of Kelemvor around his nick, can be seeing setting camp along with the War Knights. He welcomes everyone who approaches him with a warmly smile and also is thankful to Ania and the Warlord for accepting him among them. At each morning he prays to those who has fallen and often mentions Sharina and Yaston at his prays, as well for the living, mentioning Serenity and their daughter Cherish. He also can be seeing speaking with others about tactics, and avoiding, best as possible, to comment politics and why he's not serving under Kohlingen's flag instead.

This afternoon, a gold dragon and a sun elf arrived in Barak Runedar. After speaking with the people near the Kohlingen camp for a while, the two moved aside and kept to themselves to rest.

The Kohlinger Camp Bustles

Throughout the day, the Kohlingen side of the port bustles with constant activity. Children and servants of Bahamut come and go, joining in lessons and drills. Captain Zellani keeps the camp busy as a flurry of meetings occupies the senior officers. From gathering firewood and sharpening blades to flying lessons and ballista retrieval, Kohlingen's army remains alive and thriving. And the copper kin appears to have settled well into her role as an officer - even the more negative aspects. While she remains friendly in her direction, she does not hesitate to discipline the troops where necessary. She does not accept anything less than their best efforts.

Perhaps something has stirred within the copper kin, urging her to ensure their troops do not fall behind or slack off in the current lull.

*a man could be seen leaving a note at the Kohlinger Camp befor he leaves for the port"

To whom it may concern

As I was in the camp I overheard that a ballista had been salvaged from Fort Summer and you had planned to use it in combat, I do hope you give it a thorough examination, but take much consideration befor using any part of it as its been out in extream weather for a very long duration and that will have devastating effects on the lumber.

Wood swells and shrinks with the change in its moisture content, and given its reasonable to assume its been snowed on,hit with sun to cause it to melt and absorb into the wood, then said moisture in the wood to freeze over the colder nights causing it to expand and retract; now also take into account its been sitting out there for months, maybe even a year if not more.

this kind of repeating change can and will weaken the lumber and this is not some minor structure we are speaking about, its a ballista with a frame thats being forced under great tension to draw back and fire its objects the arms alone of it could be under 10000 or more pounds of force, it may have a high risk of catastrophic structural failure that could harm or even kill the people around or operating the weapon, I advice extreme caution when dealing with this object.

Thank you for your time and consideration

Lord Cory Shadowflame

Captain Zellani takes this letter and disposes of it, shaking her head and mumbling.

"We're not idiots, Cory."

*A dwarf wearing the uniform of the Raiders of Barak Runedar overhears a chat about this note*

i-if o-o-only we h-had had t-t-time ter r-r-recover dat b-ballista a-a-already....

*she walks away, grumbling*

Tagnar overhears a discussion about Shadowflames note and ponders

"Naw' much difference..we moved't from cold place, t'another cold place, was'e worried bout?"

::Vindel would make his way around all the encampments. Saying his hellos to all the familiar faces. Taking in all the good and bad news that he has missed from one of his usual long journeys. Some news more troubling then most, but even so he kept a positive smile on his face and build camp along the outskirts of the others. Having not yet signed to any order, he writes a note on a parchement and sends it off before making his camp outside the boundaries of the other camps, though staying inside the dwarven stronghold.::

"Perhaps this letter will reach him and we can square some things away soon"

::Afterwards laying his head down for a well deserved rest::

A group of drow would arrive from the Shrine of Eilistraee, setting up camp near where the road curves before the monastery. A large pile of firewood would also appear nearby, with a sign noting that any who need it are welcome to it, so long as they don't hog it.

Joining the group of drow is a silver dragonkin, her cloak hanging between her proudly-displayed wings. She stays with the Shriners, and judging by the well-crafted bastard sword and plate mail, she's ready to fight.

The tall, gold dragon-kin can be seen standing up on the cliff that is home to Kohlingen's Northwind Regiment's camp, golden eyes alert to the goings on in the camps around her. Should any engage her in conversation she is polite, though she says little and does more listening, such is the way of a gold. Though even in conversation she keeps watch over the camp.

On the small hill which leads to the citadel, three druids are seen the other day. A little away from the entrance and more arund the corner. They speak for a while before three large elementals are are called forth. More words are exchanged, seemingly with the earth and stoney outsiders... then they suddenly disappear in the ground and the druids return to their camp in the port.

The long wait seems to be drawing to a close. Scouts begin reporting enemy activity once more on the plains between the Barbarian Camp and the Citadel. It would appear that the hoarde is preparing to march on the keep and end this war one way or another. The thunder of the drums, and wail of the savage horns fill the night sky.

The elven camp seems to be more at ease and more focused on the days ahead. It seems whatever internal disagreements that were rumored to persist among their own has finally reached a close. The crisis could not have been averted at a better time and brief moments of celebration can be seen among the elves stationed in Barak Runedar.

There are no sounds of celebration from the Barbarian camp, infact many of the skalds begin to chant long lamentful dirges in honour of the chieftan's "woman", rumour has it she passed in her sleep but foul play is suspected. The chieftan himself has hauled himself up in the primary tent, to mourn in privacy, the morale of the barbarians drops and talk of foul magic passes through the camp.

The copper kin Captain Zelly is seen in a flurry of activity, attending meetings, directing Kohlinger troops in last-minute preparations, and surveying the port and the defenses now in place. She keeps a pleasant expression on her face, even smiling frequently despite the tension that has come over the war camp. She encourages harmony among all present and does her best to quell any discord or arguments that crop up, insisting that all the defenders stand as one together and should set aside any cultural differences they may have.

Her attention seems to be focused on the Kohlinger forces, especially the Northwind Regiment, which only seems to grow in number as days pass.

[Ania can be seen on most days preparing food for her knights, the waft of delicious-smelling roasted boar and a boar meat and vegetable stew lingering around her encampment. If she's not cooking, then she's either drilling her knights or keeping a watchful eye over the frozen plains of northern Brogendenstein, along with the Armathoran Lieutenant Viranirn.]

Much can happen when one is gone for along time, much has happened...

The shrill wind blew around frozen corpse of a slain deer, felled by the beast currently perched on the carcass as it rips bits of flesh away with its razor sharp maw. The cold and the ice didn't bother the creature, a wyrmling of sparkling white scales and deep, feral eyes. The ground began to shake as band of orcs descended upon the area causing the wyrmling to hiss in irritation and take flight, sailing into the cold windy sky. The winds were strong to be sure and the wyrmling found himself buffeted this way and that, it snarled in irritation and quickly decided to find purchase somewhere else until the wind died down.

It landed upon a snow covered tree and nestled high up on its branches it became content to watch the happenings of those below on the ground. When the wind finally dies down, the wyrmling takes flight again, this time soaring over the war camp of the dwarves and their many allies.

Its mind suddenly reels, flashes of memory from its own life so long ago...

Crystalitharion stood upon the balcony, almost nude save for a loincloth and a bearskin cloak over his shoulders. He watched as hundreds of barbarians marched into the temple below him, marching in unison to the steady tempo of a giant war drum, the barbarians call to war.

He turned and walked into his private chambers, his feet finding easy purchase on the floor despite the fact the entire temple was made of solid ice. He walked over to a solid pole of ice near his bed, upon which a young wyrmling just hatched was purched as it tore into a chunk of steaming meat.

A moment later the sound of a gong echoed through out the temple...

Another call to war and this one...it was his duty to answer...

The wyrmling snapped out of his private thoughts and banked sharpy as it turned into a gently descent, landing a half mile away from the dwarven camp. A short time later another dwarf enters the warcamp and tries to make himself useful.

As day breaks over the snowy drifts of Brogendenstein a loud, resounding orchestra of horns and drums starts once more. The march of the horde has begun. The giants carry a variety of equipment, stakes, balista's, and even a few catapults on the march. Protected by a mass of orc brutes and barbarians berserkers. At the head of the force a small group seven humanoids, their race undiscernable, lead the force.

The rumours of demonic creatures seems to have been bluster, if there are any fiends they aren't in the main force. At least not yet. Ahead of the horde a small contingent of scouts scours the land ahead, but for all their skill they still miss a number of traps set by the allied forces, the first line of orcs are engulfed in flame, shocked to death, or shattered by sonic bursts.

This gives the horde pause, and pause they do, within sight of the Citadel. Their torches illuminate the night sky. They settle into their new makeshift camp, all eyes fixed on the Citadel. The first march was stopped, or perhaps they still wait. But for what?

One more cold night, one more crimson dawn and the earth will shake with the sounds of war.

Tagnar starts informing his Huscarls to be on high alert now, instructing them to place a sentry at the High Councillors chamber and a patrol from his room to the other Councillors chambers and back again, repeating. Before sending them to their duties, Tagnar takes the opportunity to liven the bodyguards up.

"Ye know yer duty, ye been trainin fer't since ye were given title a'Huscarl n'by feck if we're gonna let some oversiz'd goblin turd lay finger on Bloodaxe. Make 'em know there's no flaw n'strongest wall'o Barak Runedar"

With that, the Huscarls give a confident wide array of growls, cheers and the occasional "feck all orcs!" and move out on Tagnars orders.

Tuomas seemed to quietly make his way around the camp, working to check amongst those present in the ranks or with the Merchants if they have Amber dust.

In the early afternoon on this day, there is a flurry of activity within the Citadel. A gnome prepares a circle for a casting, assisted by a female dwarf. Elsewhere, Tagnar and Zelly gather those who have been designated to be evacuated from the Citadel. Within an hour or so, the upper levels of the mines is filled with sixty old and infirm dwarves who could not protest their way out of going, as well as thirty-five dwarven younglings.

Tuomas and Runa welcome the group and the gnome begins his incantations. The temporary teleportation circle finally opens and a link is formed between Barak Runedar and Kohlingen.

On the other side, in the Kohlingen Feylake District, a brass-kin bard welcomes the arriving refugees and settles them into their new temporary home, urging them to set up their camps and generally keeping them company. Zelly slips through the circle after the line of stout and surly dwarves is through and approaches the guards as well as Nhalis to make sure that they have everything they need. After a few brief words with Nhalis and a request for the guards to inform the Justicar immediately of the arrival of the refugees, she slips back inside the circle and returns to Barak Runedar.

The evacuation of the noncombatants of Barak Runedar, it seems, has been successful. Ninety-five old and young dwarves have made the journey, as well as whatever craftsmen and smiths could be convinced to carry on the trade in the event of a total loss.

//DM approved!

Exiting the citadel three wide, the regiment of dwarven Huscarl a hundred strong marched. With each step they stomped heavily, beat steel upon steel, and took up dwarven song with deep hearty voices. The High Councilor decked out in his battle gear, impossibly wide shield, a pair of gleaming axes tied to his hips, armor of white dragonscale, and intricately groomed and braided beard leads procession toward the barbarian encampment. As they sing the already couple hundred of dwarves on duty in the port spontaneously take up the clash of metal, the stomp of boot, and lift voices to song with their kin. The sound and song echo off cliff faces, rolls through the valley and over the forest at impressive levels..

Quote:

"Destruction, hear your kin call you
Up! Lest worse than death befall you
To arms, To arms!
To arms, for Barak Runedar

Lo! all the beacon-fires lighted
Let all hearts be now united
To arms, To arms!
To arms, for Barak Runedar

Defend the flag! Huzzah Huzzah!
In Barak Runedar we take our stand, to live or die for home
To arms, To arms!
And conquer peace for home
To arms, To arms!
And conquer peace for home"

More than a few allies had taken up the rhythm, a stomp of boot, the clash and ring of metal... One couldn't help up be inspired by the stoutfolk's display of unity.

The regiment approached the camp of the Blue Bear and took up formation around it allowing Reddok to enter and have words with Chieftain Gegrunk. At one point he would raise his voice loud for many to hear, "Together the allies o Barak Runedar will fight as one being, one purpose, one mind. There will be no room fer disobeyin' orders, second guessin', and hate filled glares behind backs if we are to survive the onslaught and crush our enemies. When the hells break loose on Barak Runedar, we either stand together or we get crushed. That is the order o things that needs to be done."

He lowers his voice again continuing discussions with the Chieftain concerning his people's safety and the plans for battle...

Runa spends last hours before attack making last preparations for the mission, checking her supplies and gear. She attends final drills with medical teams, checking if they are all prepared (as much as they can be) for the battle to come.
After that, she retires to her quarters, and prays to Revered Mother for her blessings, and protection of all who fight for Barak Runedar.

The barbarians respond to the display of strength in kind. Whatever words were exchanged between the two leaders seems to have sparked a reaction in the barbarians. The warriors of the tribe take up arms, and the non-combatants begin to pack away the tent-city quickly, before moving into the citadel under the supervision of a dozen or so dwarves.

The sound of horns, drums are joined by the voices of the skalds that intone the epic of heros past. Once the commotion dies down, and the camp has been removed, the remaining barbarians stand around, detatched from the rest of the force, discussing breasts or whatever it is barbarians talk about. Whatever it is, they do so in their native tongue!

Quote:

"
(...)
To arms, To arms!
And conquer peace for home
To arms, To arms!
And conquer peace for home"

Singing the last words as she watches the Huscarls, Nana waves at her friends and retreats to the mines, for a long day of devotion by the Shrine of Dumathoin.

The female elf lay just inside the tent, near the point where she had collapsed. Her dark red hair was plastered to her head with sweat, her skin hot and rough to the touch, and a deep rattle could be heard with each shallow breath she took.

The Barbarian Shaman poured liquid into her mouth, and as she inhaled the fiery alcoholic drink laced with herbs Lorindiel began to flail. Her eyes flew open, and she gurgled and sprayed liquid all over the Shaman and the tent.

They assured her that the drink would help her as she was helped inside the dwarven hold with the other non-combatants. As she slid down onto one of the beds, her face took on a deep scowl, and her eyes kept watch on the door.

*The sound of a knife scrapping across a whetstone*" Let's see. You, the flail, the daggers, sonic party favors, fire party favors, spiky ones. *scraaaaaape* Forty-two, Forty-three, Forty-four... Hmm. Ah! *the hiss of small, steam-powered machinery* This thing, that thing, and of course, those things. What else?"

".....?"

"No, no, I already counted them. And obviously, I'm not leaving these out. *scraaape*" He stands up from his work and surveys the bustling war-camp as it comes alive. Men and women of all races and creeds stir the frozen air with the many scents of battle. Oiled leather, flint, sweat, and fire. Soon, this same air would become electric. Soon, these same men and women would die for no other reason than the love of their home. And for reasons not completely clear, he would be standing alongside them. He looks out towards the horizon and the threat of death it would bring them all this day with a thoughtful look on his face.

"I wonder if there will be cake, afterwards..."

"..., ... ...!"

"Hmph. Pessimist." *Scrape, scrape, scrape*

Quote:

I stand before ye this day, humbled. When I look out over the friends an allies that have gathered before me eyes... I see the reasons me heart keeps me pulled from me own clanhome here to now call Barak Runedar home, the goodly folk of the Isles willin' to stand against evil, tyranny, an the unjust. Here to defend but nay their home, but the home o mostly strangers to them, yet here they are in pledge of deed an life fer our survival.

I see me kin, set in grim determination, fiercely loyal, an o unquestionable honor before me. There is no doubt in me mind the dedication an stubbornness to the task o me brothers an sisters. I am proud to serve beside ye me kin, hold yer heart an yer lines, dwarven steel will sing praises to the Morndinsamman!

I bade ye to look around ye! Dwarves.. Humans.. Elves, Hin, Gnomes, those o Dragonblood, more can be named.. from The Holy City, the Shrine, the Grove, Cordor, an yet more can be named. We are nay a collalition o various forces no longer.. we are to be o one mind, one will.. We come together in times as this to guard over the ones' we love. Look into yer neighbors eyes for they will be the ones to perish beside ye holdin' the line an savin' more lives than the one they loose. We do so o free will, an with honor, we do so against the horde who looks to strip lives an home from us to piss in our mines! An shat upon our stone!!!

We are the Defenders o Barak Runedar! As one we stand, solid as granite, hard as adamantine, with the fury an might o our Lords an Ladies to whom we pray. United an proud we will triumph over our enemies! Songs o our valor an deed will be sung by the bards in the meadhalls across the Realms!

Fer honor.. an fer home!

Strangely, sometime between when Ulrik, Zelly, Dominik, and a few others saw Lucious and the eve before battle the spellsword... disappeared. One night he was in the camp, resting peacefully, and when the next morning came he was gone. Everything was behind in the camp save his personal belongings and equipment, and there were no signs of struggle yet... the young mage seems to have vanished.

Kajiik dives off the southern wall into the waiting waters below. Take me bitch queen, for my people... The waters embrace him, he is no more.

During a very brief lull in the battle, the northerner woman Ingrid stood guard by her comrades only to be struck by a ballista, pinning her to the tree behind her. With a loud cry and a grunt, she removed the large bolt from her shoulder, and staggered off leaving a trail of blood on the ground as she was immediately rendered useless to fight.

The battle is won but at a heavy cost. The walls of the port have been destroyed in a number of places, and the corpses of the dead are frozen solid, the allies corpses tend to be dismembered, where as many of the enemy froze where they stood - panic strickened features on their faces. The Great Hall was breached and looted, though the loot didn't get far. The repair costs won't be steep but the cost in lives is. The port has become a graveyard and as the families of the fallen emerge into the port, after the blizzard, they mourn the loss of life with wails of despair.

Eventually the Blue Bear Tribe returns to the port to pay their respects, not only to their dead, but the dead of the fallen dwarves. The dirges of the skalds retell of Kjiik's sacrifice, and the sacrifice of their own against the orc threat. They assist by removing their own dead, and by helping the dwarves dispose of the ork corpses. Many of the heads are taken by the hunters of the barbarians, and alongside dwarvern scouts (unless told otherwise), they picket the home of the orcs with the frozen heads atop spikes.

The doors of Barak Runedar are painted red in the blood of their defenders.

After she helps de-frost and raise back unlucky Tempurian cleric, Runa immediately heads to the infirmary to assist beleaguered medical team. Having saved most of powerful healing prayers, she uses them to heal those most heavily wounded, and helps those without mortal wounds with more mundane means.
Only after she does whatever she can for the wounded, she collapses on the blanket in the nearest free space, having not so pleasant dreams (if any).

*The elven pyre was constructed and fourteen broken and severed bodies were tallied and burnt in silent prayer, the rest of the elven defense was wounded in battle, except for six, who prepared for their return homeward.*

A few hours after the final battle, when the defenders had picked themselves up and brushed off their tabards and robes, a small number adjourned to get something to eat. What little they could force down.

The Loss of life seemed to have hit Whurak hard, the grizzled and bitter dwarf going about his buisness within the hold with a grim demeanor which I am sure many of the defenders share. He helps the dwarves bury their dead, bowing his head gratefully to the barbarians as he cares for the dead. He makes sure that a list is composed of the allied dead, even asking the Barbarians who amongst them had fallen so that he may honour them, as he wants to know in all who died in defense of the hold.

He still bears the wounds of the battle, the top of his head and left side of his face covered in bandages which are often stained with bloody seepage. If a cleric tries to aid him however, he would shoo them off, telling them to find someone more in need of their care.

Last edited by Pony on Sun, Feb 03 2013, 12:23 PM, edited 1 time in total.

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His shield and battered armor covered in a film of blood and gore from his fighting at the front lines, the Lion stand on top of the broken northern wall. As he turns his gaze from the wilderness to the men of the City of Light within the courtyard of the fortress, the proud man nods as a small smile finds itself on his lips. Driving the banner bearing the silver dragon of Kohlingen across from the golden lion into the rubble, he brandishes his blade, thrusting it into the air to the cheers and shouts of the soldiers of Kohlingen. "Unbent! Unbowed! Unbroken!"

Hours later as the Lord Theodorious' Hammer returns to port, the butcher's list finally is completed. Those missing have been assumed dead, devoured or mutilated beyond regognition by the savagery of the horde. The valiant soldiers of Kohlingen who gave their lifes for the home of their dwarven allies are not burried, but placed into lines and lines of wooden caskets to make their final journey. The cold preserving them for now.

It appears that their commander wishes not for them to be buried in a foreign land, but at their home to be honored by their own people for their great sacrafice. His own honor guard, reduced to three of six knights, stands vigil for the men with him until the orb of lathander rises at the horizon to announce a new day. Only then does the knight allow himself rest.

On the new day Kohlingen's force begin their preperations to return to the amian isle. Two transport galleys are secured to be escorted by the Lord Theoderious Hammer. The caskets are loaded into the hold along with the supplies, the remnants of the siege equipment gathered, and the wounded being prepared for their journey home by the ten ilmaterite priests.

*a lone elf walks around, tears running down her cheeks as she burries elven corpses, sending those with special wishes back to winya by boat, she speaks in a soft elven accent as she gives them thier final rites, after the deed is done she departs without a word, heartbroken*

Brogendenstein - The Aftermath!

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