One young paladin had found himself in a heap of trouble much greater than he could have ever anticipated, and several times more seasoned warriors had had to help him escape a few mortal wounds. After the battle is won, he inspects the heroes who had done all the real fighting, admiring their resolve and speaking another (of an already countless number of prayers) under his breath, and then he simply leaves. His duty is fulfilled for the time being.

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Profiles: DakoDako & ElWacko

Characters: Currently trying my best to stick to Beridoc Brushgale

A battered copper kin, her armor gouged and her tabard uniform tattered, joins the preparations to leave early in the morning. She takes a count of the fallen, memorizing the names of those lost. She does not appear grim before the men, however. She keeps her expression neutral and offers a reassuring smile where she deems it appropriate. Though she limps somewhat, favoring her right leg, and appears to have discarded the left arm of her armor in favor of a thick bandage around her bicep, she helps Sir Robert and the Ilmateri with the preparations for the return voyage.

Sometime during the preparations, she stands aside with High Councilor Reddok BloodAxe. The quiet farewell they share is visibly affectionate and the copper kin places a kiss to the dwarf's brow before returning to the Expeditionary Army.

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Kohlingen's Magister would be present as the Holy City's dead are loaded onto the transport. Quiet and solemn, he makes ready to depart for home. His wizardly accoutrements - crystal ball, hourglass, tomes and spellbook - are removed from the Runery of Barak Runedar.

Quiet and solemn defines the way he carries himself. Victory at such a high cost. Over a matter concerning foreign planes and ancient and alien intellects. It would be only temporary. Dagon, the Prince of the Abyssal Depths, was only delayed. And certain meddling would not be forgotten by the near timeless entity. Yet it is the best that could be hoped for.

Good against evil. Light against darkness. The two forces of history ever fated to collide. It would never end. With one war behind, the Magister turned his Third Eye forward in time to the next.

No rest for the weary.

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Playing:
Marcus Valis

At a late hour a man in cloth slipped onto the Kohlingen Docks and anonymously placed a sign.

"Welcome Home"

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I play: Gage le Gris
Socially and recently politically Inept Knight of Xymor

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In the aftermath of the battle in the great hall, a battered and bruised Aaegus leans heavily on his shield surveying the wreckage and death strewn about the entrance way. Snow and rubble continue to fall through the broken ceiling onto the mangled pile of monstrous corpses below. The cries of the wounded and shouts of comrades fill the air. Sighing deeply with a mixture of relief and sadness, the stout dwarf recomposes himself to deal with the duties ahead. He slings his shield over his back and unhooks his blood stained axe from his belt in one aching hand. With grim satisfaction he climbs back up the rubble pile and begins to put down any trapped giants or orcs still grasping to life. Removing his axe from a giant's skull he shouts back to the hall behind him to a nearby Hearthguard, "Hugar! Go fetch th' chief o' th' engineers guild, 'e should be still in th' mines.. huv' him take a look at this damn hole! We need tae make it secure before th' rest falls in on us."

Blinking up at the daylight streaming in through the gaping rift in the ceiling above him, he makes out the black specks of carrion birds beginning to mass in the skies above. "Ye'll huv yer feast o' orc meat 'is day alrigh'" he mutters to them. He clambers down the pile once more looking about the dusty and crowded hall for the other councillors to begin organising their next steps.

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aaegus battlehammer™

cloak rockhewer

murtaugh gunn

As the dead and the wounded of the City of Light are securely loaded upon the two transport vessels, the weary soldiers assemble at the docks. Words, handshakes and embraces are exchanged between them and their allies with whom they have bled together and become friends with thoughout the hardship in the far north.

Finally, just like on the day Kohlingen arrived at Barak Runedar, two warhorns are sounded and the soldiers march upon the vessels to depart home past the dwarves that have come to see them off. The lines are removed and the sails raised. An hour later the three ships vanish from sight, all that is remaning as a reminder of the presence of Kohlingen the single banner upon the ruins of the northern wall...

... and the red snow.

One young silverkin had battled her way through the fight, falling once early on, but keeping her footing (if barely) for the rest of the fight.

When the still-living captives began hitting the door, the sensitive woman nearly cracked, but the dragon wouldn't let her step back. Pride, perhaps, but a burning hatred of the evil outside and her sense of duty more than that keep her standing, given Aven a cold stare when he suggests she might be too weak to continue.

She lives. At the end of the day, when the hammer falls, her draconic blood protects her from the cold of the departing Xixecal. She steps into a crystalline city, her breath falling in crystals, it's so cold. Figures, locked in eternal fighting positions, some dead with shattered guts flung across the room.

But she lives. She's vaguely aware that she's been grabbed up in a hug, until she startles and recognizes Jorn's face. The rest of the evening is mostly a jubilant blur, the rush of adrenaline from sheer -life- taking over.

When she wakes, she prays.

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Aly'dra Zau'ana: Priestessish Of Eilistraee
Danika Nefzen: Druid of the Earthmother
Delia Am'Anodel: Paladin of Torm

The scene was grim, the ground laid covered with dead, orc corpses piled atop one another being prepared to be burned. The hundreds of huge giant bodies proved much more difficult to handle, their burning took more time to deal with. The carrion birds squabbled and defended their bounties off the dead. The air was cold, as was the usual for Brogendenstein, but the sun was breaking through the clouds this morning slowly burning off the dull gray haze putting just a hint of warmth upon the skin.

Fitting the dwarf thought standing for a moment observing the sad work of accounting for their dead, upon first glances numbering in the hundreds, a dire loss for the dwarven citadel and her people. Fitting however, for as the pall of they enemy no longer crushes down upon them, a new dawn breaks with following morning. The sun rises causing shadows to retreat as it climbs into the sky burning off the haze and gray of the long difficult war bringing forth it's light and life.

Much different from the homecoming in the Holy City there were no crowds cheering a returning army, no proud processions, as the sun warmed the port yard stoic nods and few hearty handshakes as friends bump into one another glad to see the other has managed to survive the mess. There wasn't a dwarf in the halls that didn't have orders to perform. The place was a literal beehive of reserved yet grateful activity and emotion. The unity of dwarves ever pulling them together.

Satisfied the first stages of recovery had begun and progressing at a slow but steady pace the High Councilor makes his way through the demolished port and breached Great Hall deeper into the heart of the citadel. The main chambers of the keep proper had remained untouched and secure much to his relief. Along his journey through the complex countless well wishes were given and received, thanks for service, sorries for losses, handshakes, claps on backs, and nods of thanks and appreciation with many troops.

Reddok finally arrives at his chambers he sits in his office alone, sighs deeply not looking forward to his next task. Shuffling through reports, a roster of the fallen is managed by the Council, determined to honor those who have given the ultimate of sacrifice so that the dwarves could save their home. He must prepare words to tell families and loved ones seeking refuge within the safe arms of Kohlingen of their losses. The duty grips and squeezes at his heart.

A report parchment slides from the desk to the floor, once retrieved he reads the hastily written missive of short report..


It is there in his office by himself behind closed doors his resolve falls away as his shoulders bob with grief of the staggering losses, the proud dwarf weeps silently.

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fairdady..

Tuomas quietly knelt in prayer in Brogdenstein, outside looking to the Heavens as he looked upon the carnage the day after the battle.

~Cela'valena.. if you must look upon this I beseech you and those whom serve the Martyr'd one.. lend thy grace to the hearts whom have had to suffer in this conflict... ~ he would pray , spending a good deal of time before getting up and offering a hand for some time before returning to Kohlingen. He would spend the time to convey the following to a Council member:

If needed, I will help in any rebuilding or similar efforts, to the best of my means.

Tuomas Valo

The honored fallen of the People are received home with quiet dignity.

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Winner of Amia's "Most Ethical Time Traveler" award 2026

Character Portraits!

The dwarvern defenders are baffled as the various groups begin to leave the battlefield, but hell, if they're going to leave all the spoils of war to the dwarves and barbarians so be it. There's plenty to be had once the loot is pried out of the frozen hands.

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The elven company leaves in silence to return to their recently united city, Winya Ravana. The green of their uniforms seems torn and they return unwashed, bruised, broken-boned, blood striped faces and stoic dispositions. The Lieutenant, Samrael Cymere orders them in the city for a debrief before retaining her position as Lieutenant proper. She would give her final reports to the elven council:


Debrief: The White March
Elven Casualties: 14
Allied Casualties: Undefined
Horde Casualties: Undefined

The siege was to begin at morning. Our traps had sprung along the mountain side shortening the number of their scouts. The company would defend as the following, our archers and enchanters were ordered to defend the North and West watch towers, and our blade warriors to aid the North Gate. The first hour was met with the sound of the winds and drum line from the enemy front. Kohlingen was stationed to the East, and more liberal parties to the South Wall. Dwarves and Barbarian forces would hold the North. Our warriors had clashed with orc and turned barbarian soldiers in the North. Demons too began their assault to little avail. The South Wall was breached by undersea crawlers, undead bloated corpses, who scaled the wall. They spilled allied blood but were put to rest. The North was attacked one again by three large minotaur creatures, who under effects I cannot report had run screaming. Our archers had used oil and fire to ignite the area below the wall burning many of the climbers. The enemy casualty was at this time high. The South was again attacked but shouting and cheer entitled us to believe the defenders were victorious in the region. In the west chanting and summoning was heard. A mage confirmed that the enemy was summoning an earthquake. The mountains to the North West were brought down destroying the North West wall. Meanwhile the North wall had suffered damage by attrition and was weakening. The forces in the East moved to push back the forces there, of whom many of our warriors would assist them.

Our archers and I moved to repel the attacks of giants in the North West, in what was a hard earned victory with many wounded. Returning to the citadel, the North wall was being repaired by the mages, while many of our men were to watch the North West breach while the North defenders continued with the brunt of the enemy line. The East and North had soon retreated back to the Citadel gates while a second strike came from the North West, a majority of demon forces. Our efforts were limited and could only buy us time for a retreat into the citadel. The Port was lost in the following hour.

In the citadel we had prepared a new line of defense. Our unit watched the eastern wing and waited for the enemy. Fatigue has taken us here, and many of us were wounded but the time allowed us some rest. In our waiting, screams were heard outside the citadel gate and blood streamed down the cobblestone. We heard elven, dwarven, human screams. It was later confirmed the enemy was using live battering rams to force the door in. Less effective, but the defense' morale had suffered. I remember the sound of bones snapping on the large iron door. At this time the sound of picking began above us as if to cave in the ceiling or dig a way through. When this was breached, they had poured a flammable liquid through the opening cracks, dissolving much of the bricks blocking their entrance and the enemy had entered from above. Our line had repelled their waves. Eight, maybe ten times. Bodies piled high in the halls and while this was continuing, more digging was taking place behind the defense. The enemy had entered from behind and after repelling the first of their wave, we had retreated further into the citadel where many of the civilians and the wounded were holding their defense.

We were beginning our counter-strike to retake the great hall, when at this time that the expedition party had returned from the mines. A noticeable coldness had overtaken the air of the hold and it was said the Xixecal, who had aligned itself with the demon lord Dagon has changed its side in the onslaught. On our return to the surface, the enemy invaders had all been frozen dead. The battle had taken a full day. The weather outside had become far too cold to stand in and the port was littered with our dead and the dead of our foes.

We had moved the bodies of our own kin and held a pyre for them in the remnants of the Armathora camp.
Nothing about this suggested a war, in my own observations, but a massacre. We held our positions truly, and for it many lives were spared, but that does not account for the lost, whom much of our grief weighs on the shoulders of our comrades and our soldiers at this very hour. It is my belief that your coordination is needed in terms of what reparations can be made. As for the volunteers and members of the Armathora now returning to our fair city, I give them my high recommendations for further servicing the Winyan people. Their names are as followed:

Lieutenant Enniysae Viranirn
Lorindiel han'denargoth
Wren Ghalen
Tahl'ezara Tir'end
Ari'Aurea'Na
Valendur
Derrin
Aram
Ravia
Ryrik Follenstein
Avaril
Elrebril Ste'dwend
J'anera Zephyr
Tialis Anara
Selikean Durothil

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Character Status:
Mynna- Guldorand
Samrael Cymere-Winya Ravana
Laika-Unknown

"Dinnae worry they'll be back for their share o' th' spoils.." Aaegus grunts to a nearby baffled defender who's midway inspecting a giant's ring for gemstones whilst shifting the body to a pyre. "Jus' throw wha' ye find for now inta chests for now an' we'll make sure everyone gits thur' fair share later."

He bends down to one lifeless orc and pries a battle axe from its stiff hands.."Rusty piece o' junk", he flings it into a pile of batted weapons to the side and drags the corpse towards another nearby pyre.

The dwarves labour on picking up the pieces of their shattered home as the allied ships depart with the dipping sun.

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aaegus battlehammer™

cloak rockhewer

murtaugh gunn

Tagnar hands his battered and dented armor to the smith for repairs, it had been a gift from Nana Anvilmar that had saved his life more than once on the battlefield. Eager to rebuild the place many call home, Tagnar wears his work attire and sets for the mines to collect rock for the new ceiling and Iron for reinforcement, using some spare ingots to make a few weapons to replace damaged, blunted or lost blades for the Dwarven guard, at least the ones remaining, in case of last kamikaze effort by a small band of surviving orcs.

The Dwarves witnessed things many have only dreamed of, and few faced in reality. A sea come to life and swallow an army of the dead whole. A stone wall of fire block out the sky with smoke. A mountain collapse with only words. For Tagnar, this would be a story to retell at various bars in the coming years, a hard earned victory that saw its fair share of heroes fall, but a victory well deserved by the efforts of his Kin and the allies that had earned the Huscarl's respect and his trust.

Tagnar recounts how many of the enemy fell by his axe but loses track every time, muddling it up with how many ingots he's made so far... what the bumps on his head hadn't killed, the drink would do in later life. This made the big lad grin just a little more.

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Garrett - Physician
Tagnar Fenk - Brightaxe with a Greataxe

Before, during, and after the savage battle, Beldor remained aloofly upbeat. Almost unhealthily so. Fighting alongside the War Knights for most of the fray, he offered constant support and encouragement to those around him, remarking on the days of Warlord Crunch and their exploits. Whatever glory he was reliving in his head seemed disturbingly removed from the carnage and horror wrought upon both sides.

When the horde had retreated, he offered drinks and food to those that survived, aiding in burying the dead where he could. For each dwarf, elf, or man he helped bury, he carefully circled a string around his finger once.

When the work was done, he ran a hand over his battle-vest, cleaning it of blood and dirt with Prestidigitation. While the dwarves mourned their losses, their cries echoing through the great hall, he sat quietly in front of their mythal forge and examined it for damage. With a smirk cast to the glowing device, he slowly unwound the string on his finger.

"Take heart, children of Moradin..."

"For every one of yours... You shall have ten of theirs."

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Whurak, the Military counciller, has been making a list of the dead, both dwarf and other allied forces so that they may be honoured by them in the coming Commemoration of the dead ceremony. He takes time from his duties as warleader to visit the family of each one of the dwarven casualties, expressing his condolences to them, always stating that they fought bravely, that they shall be remembered.

He even visits the Dwarven refugees in Kohlingen, sparing a little time to visit the docks and speak with Sir Robert and Ulrik, to bring word of the victory, and its cost to the refugee's. The ragged scar across his face helping to illustrate the point well.

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Avatar Picture from Brinawilliamson.com

Player of:
- Whurak Thunderhammer
King of Barak Runedar and all round Vengeful Dwarf
- Alvian Tegleiwalla
Nerdy Painter Elf with a Silly hat

From the wreckage of the armies one point three million gold's worth of craft items, gems, and mundane equipment is gathered in the Great Hall. Under the vigilant gaze of the defenders. The most notable items within the stockpile are the following:

Phalanx Greaves, Sureforged Greataxe, Belt of Stone Giant Strength (+6 strength!), One Strength Ioun Stone, Hunter's Sense and one suit of Dragon-Plate of Chaos.

Three strange dwarvern banners were also found, that radiate magic, which are placed within the hold's bank.

With the amount of dead inside the port and outside, there might be more to come.

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With her right upper arm and shoulder heavily bandaged, Ingrid returns to Barak Runedar. As soon as she steps from the Monastery, she looks around in shock. Her fists clenching turning her knuckles white. Despite the cold, her face flushes with anger, sadness and eventually mourn as she walks around, eyeing whats left of Barak Runedar. A silent prayer for the fallen is given in whisper.

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Aoth Nathandem - Wizard of house Tholaunt and chosen of Ma'at.

While occupied tending to the wounded and preparing dead for burial, if informed of strange dwarven banners, Runa would take some time before heading to rest to examine them, and try to find out what enchantments they have.

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"A designer knows he has achieved perfection not when there is nothing left to add, but when there is nothing left to take away." - Antoine de Saint-Exupry

Elrien heads back once she's recuperated to see where she can help out in tending the wounded; it's one of her most-used skills.

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Aly'dra Zau'ana: Priestessish Of Eilistraee
Danika Nefzen: Druid of the Earthmother
Delia Am'Anodel: Paladin of Torm

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The dwarves of Barak Runedar seem distracted. The men watch the women return from Kohligen longingly, and the grateful survivors waste no time in courting the singletons. Caution is thrown to the wind, and the Citadel's Halls are alive with drinking, dancing, merriment.

Even the barbarians that took refuge in the Citadel try their luck in joining the festivities, unless rebuked, the women and children of the Blue Bear Tribe happily add their voices to the chorus of joy. New ties are forming between the clan and the dwarves, but the festivities do eventually die down as night draws in, and as it does, another kind of celebration takes place in the private quaters of the dwarves. Needless to say the majority of dwarves are quite busy rebuilding something other than the walls of Barak Runedar. It's population.

--

The Barbarian Tribe and the Dwarvern Scouts would report that the remainder of the Horde has fled to the Underdark, that Brogendenstein is firmly under the dominance of human's and dwarves for the first time in living memory.

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Probably alike a few other Raiders, Nana had been asking around for the Hersir since the end of the assault.
She shakes her head in disbelief, as she is presented with pieces of a shield.

I've n-n-never seen Grim w-w-with a s-shield meself. ah, nay, This c-c-cannae be t-t-true... Where is the w-w-warmaster to c-confirm ?!


With a deep sigh she returns to the celebration, a worried look on her face.
Amid the frantic err... activity in the Feast Hall, her mood changes rather abruptly, though.

Moments later she spots the leader of the Huscarls and a large smile appears again.

T-t-t-tagnar, where have y-ye been lad ?

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Nana Anvilmar - Slower Talking, Faster Running
Lester, Jester, Chandler, Alchemister !
Pauris Sennemen de Laelith - Merchant (currently in Suzail, Cormyr)
Metzlitemoctzin - Payit slave, now freed from Silent's sadostyle of plotting !

Aaegus gets drunk for the first time since the war began that night...

...He wakes up late the next morning with a banging headache, and a hazy memory. He struggles to keep his dwarven breakfast down.

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aaegus battlehammer™

cloak rockhewer

murtaugh gunn

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I play:
Nightingale - Tiefling Master Thief
Evelyn Mireka - Sorceress

The barbarians return, en masse, to the citadel of the dwarves led by Gegrunk the grizzled chief. They mill around the port area and begin drinking in earnest, offering beer to the dwarvern guards (who do indulge when their shifts end.)

The dwarves within the citadel begin preparing for the commemoration ceremony to honour those that passed in the war against the horde.

//Half an hour until this takes place, folks.

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//Theme Music //Edit: fixed link

As the recitation of the fallen concludes and the impassioned Dwarves and allies depart to enact vengeance on the creatures of the North, a blind priest remains. With the help of a certain Dragon Disciple, he makes his way to the surface of the port. As the troupe finally leaves the Port, he crunches through the snow to settle atop the highest hill, sobered by the recent ceremony. He falls lightly to his knees and begins arranging a few candles by his side, sheltering them against the wind with small mounds of snow. He directs himself knowingly toward the East, and opens his palms as he looks up to the cold winter sky.

"Lord Lathander, I beseech you as your faithful and loving servant--" The man's eyes grew heavy as he fought the swelling emotion. Where he knelt was where he previously gave the fateful order to retreat into the hold. It was war, there were casualties-- this he knew. But the heavy burden of abandoning the men on the Western Wall weighed on him still.

"So much has been taken from them. Such great costs for such honest and brave people. They know more than most the heavy truth of your words. Each dawn, they live them-- 'Through death, life.' I ask that you grace them with your warmth. Imbue their people with fertility and Hope for the New Dawn. Inspiration and courage from your beacon, your rising Sun."

Placing his hands before his chest in a sigil formation, he invokes the prayer of the Morninglord, blessing the grounds and commemorating the fallen in his own way. A collection of tears lingers on the lids of his eyes-- perhaps mourning the loss of those under his charge, or of his companions.. or perhaps with eyes knowingly hopeful, possessed by the vision of a flourishing Dawn.

Light bursts forward from his fingertips, and the bright symbol of the Sun materializes as a focus for his blessing. Wisps of light circle about his arms, and a constellation of Suns move and orbit-- slowing to a complete stop as they each align with the east. He murmurs the final incantations as the light from the true Sun crests over the white horizon, shining brightly upon his face as it sets.

So sets the Sun of the fallen dwarves and allies-- and so a New Dawn Rises.