[center][color=orange][h1]Orr'gavol: The Hammersworn - Turn 1[/h1][/color][/center] [center][img width=50 height=50]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/73/f0/f0/73f0f0057e50ab84d681e1e2da0322ac--fantasy-concept-art-fantasy-artwork.jpg[/img][/center] Summary below: [hider=My Hider] [color=gray]Option A: Osman manages to quell the commotion with words of reason and arrest the demagogue. The guilty is thrown in a makeshift cage, and the three innocents who were almost hanged are released.[/color] Option C: Improve Infrastructure - Food is certainly scarce, yes, but Osman believes the most urgent task at hand is to build shelter for his people. He ordered his fellow workers to build tents and huts out of whatever they could find, so they at least could keep the souring winds out. [/hider] Osman stood with one foot on a rock, leaning on his elevated leg as he scanned the vast plains of grass to the south. It was strange. The acres that had once been full of trees around Gol'kharumm looked very similar to these plains, only not as green - and with far fewer shrubs and far more soot. Behind him stretched the Ancestor Woods for miles and miles, down to the bank of the Darr, and continuing on the other side. Neither he nor most of his people had ever been this far south of Lake Darr. The air felt more open here - emptier. Osman grunted in disapproval. He turned around to his councilmen of the Union of Glass and the Union of Earth to discuss further action. The recently appointed Elder Calendarmaster, Herim Ore of the Glass Union, was the first to speak: "Foreman, I fear the stars and clouds tell of grim tidings ahead. I fear we cannot make accurate predictions without our longseers and our charts, but the feathers of heaven all fly south at ever greater speeds. The waters of the Darr grow colder by the day. The snow creeps ever further down the Golumnar. All the signs point to a coming storm - one of horrific and destructive magnitude. It will surely obliterate us all should be meet it unprepared." Osman bit his lip. He nodded somberly and voiced a cold, simple "I see" before turning to Makkar Stone, speaker for the Earth Union. He looked back at Osman with an equally somber expression, almost a guilty one, as if he felt regret for having to share their findings. "Foreman, the Elder Calendarmaster speaks true. The nature around us senses it - prepares for it. The berries grow sour and overripe; the last leaves are falling off their branches; the fish are swimming ever deeper. The soil is, luckily, still soft enough to dig through for roots and nuts, but we cannot predict how long it will remain like that. The autumn will turn to winter, and that very soon. We must fill our rucksacks and pockets with all the food we can find before the frost takes it all." Osman's hope dwindled. While he had gathered himself somewhat after the Calamity, his mind could not help but occasionally stab at his confidence as the foreman. In the meantime, Herim of the Glass Union raised his voice at Makkar, constructing the argument that the roots and nuts could remain fresh and edible under the ground for weeks, whereas the storms would bury all who did not hide behind walls in layers of snow, to which Makkar argued that no creature, not even dwarves, could build homes on empty bellies. The argument grew into a debate, then into a dispute. The voices grew more and more aggressive for every spoked word. Osman's thoughts were soon buried under the layers of insults and threats his councilmen hurled at each other. "SILENCE!" Osman roared, and his councilmen quieted down swiftly. ... But the cacophony of conflict could still be heard, albeit quieter. It came from deeper into the forest. Osman's eyes flared open. His councilmen also turned to look into the forest, unrest fomenting between them. Osman ran towards the woods, beckoning the others to follow him as he sprinted back towards the camp. Upon arriving back at the clearing they had set up camp in, he and his councilmen stopped and stared in horror at the scene in front of them. In one of the many trees that formed a natural barrier against wind on the northern part of the clearing, hung a rope - tied in a noose - and below the noose knelt three dwarves of different unions, all tied up and wriggling in terror. One of them displayed wounds and bruises on her face, recent in appearance. Before them, a furious mob stood chanting curses and accusations of sacrilege. Osman and his followers stormed over to the crowd and began shoving their way through the mob, whose cries grew louder and angrier at the arrival of the foreman. Once through, Osman walked over and inspected the three accused - their eyes glinting with tears of joy at the arrival of their leader. Osman's black-haired brow hung low with rage and he turned to the crowd, his voice like a hammer striking steel. "Who is responsible for this? Why would you do this, Unions?! What have these dwarves done?" he bellowed. The mob fell silent. One of them stepped forward. Osman knew him well - it was Joron Scroll, Elder Logmaster of the Union of Copper, and a member of the Worker Council. Osman had never liked Joron - he was more stubborn than most dwarves; he had little to no respect for dwarves of other Unions; and he held to the ancient beliefs of king Popomel. Joron ran a shaking hand through his ashen beard and glared deep into Osman's soul. Osman felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead, but he made an attempt to rise and meet the burning eyes of the elder dwarf. "Joron Scroll, I see you have stepped forward. Speak before your fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters - what are the crimes of these three?" Osman tried to say calmly, but ended up partially stuttering. Joron flashed a grin of yellow fangs and grey gums. "The orders from heaven remain vital - perhaps even more now than ever before, foreman. The gods spoke through the mountain - their words brought death, destruction and the loss of the greatest civilisation this world has ever seen. We are all that is left. It is evident we displeased the gods on high, and shamed our ancestors deeply, in our arrogant quest to measure up to them. The heavens decree that such arrogance must be quelled with blood." Osman turned back to the three, one of whom was now keeling over in tears, whispering desperate apologies to whoever was listening. Sure enough, the three dwarves consisted of one from the Gold Union, known for their ambition to craft godly artifacts; one was of the Phosphorous Union - this one in particular was councilman Erima Rock, an outspoken "world-eye" and well known for her hatred of all religious thought; and one from the Union of Stone. She was the most bruised of the three. Osman did not recognise her at all, and could not think of a link to why she would be accused. Osman's brow fell low once more and he turned back to Joron, who met his eyes with a stern glare. "Your gods are not mine, Joron, nor are they the gods of those you have accused. The laws of the Reunification are clearer than any order heaven could cast our way! One union's laws are not another's. Your gods are mute to me, just as mine are mute to you. The only crimes you have the right to punish these for are theft, rape, murder and mutiny. Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters, you stand before your foreman and all of whom you call family and all who call you family - speak truth, or be forever cast out. Have these three broken any of the Hammersworn collective laws?" The crowd was silent. Even Joron Scroll kept his words to himself. Osman scanned the crowd, and was met by eyes that glanced away from him as his and theirs met. An oozing aura of shame and discontent flowed through the Hammersworn like oil through a rag, and left a greasy, bitter taste in everyone's mouth. The foreman knelt down and untied the prisoners. Once the prisoners where free, their families, who had either been cowering away from the crowd or fought them until bloody, ran up to comfort them and help them down. Osman followed them with his gaze for a while before turning back to the crowd, specifically to Joron Scroll. "As for you, Joron Scroll... You may have the favour of your false gods," he said, words which were immediately met by disapproving cries from the Union of Copper, and a furious expression from Joron himself. "But the laws of your people, you have broken. Seize him!" Dwarves from either side of Joron grabbed hold on him and forced him to the ground, much to the protest of Copper unionists, who who pulled at the clothes of those holding Joron and demanded his release. "For your attempt at sacrificing your fellow sisters, brothers, sons and daughters at the pleasure of the heavens, you shall spend a month in a cage. For your sake, I pray the winter nights are far off." Joron, face white with terror and eyes red with rage, merely lowered his head. The other Unions had begun to push the protestors away, making it easier to bind Joron and escord him to his temporary cell. Osman let out a groan of exhaustion. With Joron gone, the mob quickly grew less agigated. The bloodthirst, while not quenched, was at least suppressed for the time being. Osman's people looked to their leader for guidance. Osman felt his throat tighten up, but he swallowed and beckoned Makkar and Herim over to stand at his left and right side, respectively. "The heavens and the earth both have spoken - the winter will soon be upon us. We will need shelter as soon as possible. All of you will work, from oldest greybeard to youngest skinchin. Go out into the woods, find sticks, stock, stone - whatever can be used to build huts and tents. Take whatever pelts you have and fashion them into covers. Build storages for food, tools and materials. Go now, let us show the gods that the Hammersworn never will fade into the dark!" Osman's words were met with cheer and roars. The crowd quickly dispersed and soon after, every Union's members had begun rebuilding Hammersworn society anew.