[center][color=orange][h1]Orr'gavol: The Hammersworn - Turn 7[/h1][/color][/center]
[center][img width=50 height=50]https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTvdoz0eftrncfPJv3xPSuGSAZttuM4l8Rs171DuR7oWsDDQ-5m[/img][/center]

Summary below:
[hider=My Hider]
A+E) The bulk of the Hammersworn trekked south in search of food to bring back to the Hovel. In doing so, they took most of the remaining food with them as supplies.
X) Due to outbreak of disease, some of the longhouses were quarantined off. Estimated sick population: 28, 5%.
[/hider]

[b]In the great hall of Whitepeak Bastion:[/b]
[hr] 

Finally, Kadol thought. It was finally his time to follow the iron shipment home and get to eat something other than mouldy bark bread and bat bone broth. Still, however, he felt that his respite could not last too long - his gaze turned west, towards the mines. He recalled the words of Godrim Thunderhowler that day on the mountain.

[hr] 

"The Golumnar clan?" Kadol scratched his bandaged head. "You mean the Children of the Mountain, right? The Golungyr?" Godrim shook his head, his transparent beard dancing in the wind despite its apparent incorporeality. 

"[i]Nae, lad. Ye heard me right 'n ye heard nothin' wrong. The Children o' the Mountain were, well, mere children to the Clan, ye see. Before Holek the Last, ye see, there was-...[/i]"

"Wait, what?" Kadol interjected. "Who's this 'Holek the Last'? Is he related to Holek the Misled?" Godrim raised an eyebrow and scratched his head.

"[i]Holek the Misled? Lad, I know but one Holek, 'n he was the last. There is no such dwarf as-...[/i]" The ghost's face froze, and slowly began to contort into a furious frown. "[i]Popomel,[/i]" he snapped. Kadol raised a brow.

"What? What did Popomel do?" Godrim stomped through the snow towards Kadol. The ghost then passed by him and slammed his fist into the mountain wall with a raging roar. The resulting quake caused a panicking ruckus from inside the mine, and bells of alarm clanged almost as hard as tools of the miners slamming against the ground as their owners sprinted for the exit. Kadol stood frozen in fear at the ghost, who turned to the young dwarf with eyes like bonfires.

"[i]That cursed filth, my lad, is the reason we're still down here...[/i]"

The ghost pointed to the far off peaks to the east, and Kadol followed his finger with his eyes and gazed upon the mighty Ancestor Mountains.

"[i]... And not up there.[/i]"


[b]In the Hovel:[/b]
[hr]

Osman walked down the soot-shaded, snow-clad streets of the Hovel. The Hovel, he thought and spat. Such a disgusting name for something so magnificent. The smithies around him were filled to the brim with dwarves working every fiber of their being into their craft. So many as six were manning the bellows, blowing air on the coals until they nearly melted the forge itself; lines stretched out the doorways with eager workers carrying lignite and iron ore to feed the fires of industry; so many as four hammers were working one piece of metal. Everyone was overjoyed at the return of their most vital metal. 

Almost everyone.

An old dwarf collapsed in the middle of the line. The dwarf in front of him and the one behind him dropped the resources in their arms and each grabbed one of the fallen one's arms, but only one could muster the strength to lift. It seemed one of helpers also was too weak. Osman eyebrows hung low like cliff over his two bloodshot eyes, and the broad, muscled dwarf treaded over through the blackened snow, grabbed each of the fallen and, mustering all his strength, heaved them both at once back on their feet. They looked upon Osman in deep gratitude, but Osman recoiled somewhat. The two dwarves, one male and one female, had skin pale as the snow, and eyes encircled by black rings. The male's beard grew in patches, and much of it was missing. Upon seeing Osman's reaction, the two instinctively hid their faces in their hands, allowing Osman to see their loose clothes brush against their arms that to the eye seemed but skin and bones. Osman stepped back and took a look around. More had turned to see the noise, and Osman saw the many faces of his people - some were healthy, but many showed signs of disease and hunger. The foreman blinked and cleared his throat. He commanded the dwarves to get back to work and stormed towards the great hall.

The council meeting had yet to begin. It seemed to be supper, with some representatives sitting in their respective seats eating bark cakes and cave mushroom stew. The present representatives were Makkar Stone, Ra'ol Cave, and a coughing Khyber Tin, who was being spoonfed stew by his apprentice Roka. At the arrival of the Foreman, Makkar gave a quiet nod; Ra'ol, who looked to have grown considerably thinner during his mission to construct Whitepeak Bastion, gave a sharp grunt; Khyber gave Osman an intense look and, with the help of Roka, came to a standing position.

"Good foreman... How's winter treating you?" Osman sat down on his chair in the middle of the hall and a servant came over with a bowl of stew and a bark biscuit. Osman slurped the stew and coughed at the flavour - Khyber made a grin of all too few teeth. Makkar shot the hacking foreman a glance before going back to, seemingly, scratching lines on the wooden table with a sharp rock. Ra'ol leaned against a wooden beam, his arms crossed over his chest. After finally seizing control over his breathing again, Osman took another cringing sip.

"As well as it's treating everyone else, I reckon," Osman replied. Khyber scoffed loudly, causing Roka to jump and spill soup on the floor. "Bah, don't waste precious food, you klutz! We have little enough already! Give me another biscuit." Khyber spat. Roka gave a shivering nod and put some more bark biscuits into the lukewarm stew for them to soften. Osman felt his appetite slowly fade and he put his bowl on the nearby table. A quiet moment passed, occasionally interrupted by Khyber's lips smacking together over a limp bark biscuit. Osman turned to Ra'ol.

"Ra'ol Cave, I didn't hear your report as you returned this morning. How went the construction?" Ra'ol turned to Osman and rolled his shoulders. He walked over to his chair, sat down and breathed gently in.

"Aye, I'm afraid I didn't have the time. My sisters, brothers, daughters and sons were all exhausted from the journey back home and I had to see them fed and rested." He smiled and gave Osman a nod. Osman gave an uncertain nod.

"I see. It is just important to stick to protocol. Our council cannot function unless we are all up to date on-..."

"Yes, I get it, foreman. I will see to it next time. This time was an exception, I swear."

"I am just saying-..."

"Do you know what you cast us into, foreman?!" Ra'ol roared, springing up to his feet, his eyes matching his fiery hair. Osman recoiled, his eyes wide with surprise. "Not a minute passed that we did not look to the sky. Our sons and daughters cried themselves to sleep every night, thinking of the Abductor. We even found our sister Meghen Slab hiding in the iron mines. Later, we found Grem Wood and Egor Stone doing the same. We had to have twenty sentries at all times to ensure desertion didn't happen - that is almost a third of our Union!" The following silence was only broken by Ra'ol's heavy breathing. Osman's jaw made small movements, as if formulating words that had no sound to back them up.

"Additionally, the... The number of frostbites and work accidents were devastating, foreman. We... We won't be able to do much for a while, I'm afraid." Tears formed in the dwarf's tired eyes. "Forgive us." Ra'ol pounded his chest weakly with his fist, which Osman now saw was missing a finger, and the dwarf walked out, looking utterly defeated. Osman fell back into his chair. Makkar hid his face as he wiped his eyes, and Khyber merely stared into the empty room, while Roka sat crying beside him. Even as the other council members made their way into the great hall, the atmosphere remained just as somber. As Osman said the words and the meeting was opened, the reports from left and right made it clear that, even though the dwarves' pursuit of iron ore had finally began to bear fruits, other resources grew ever scarcer.

"With the furnaces working iron all day, we simply cannot begin development of the Thunderhorn, good foreman," said Erima Rock. 

"Disease is spreading in many of the longhouses, foreman. We must designate a single longhouse for quarantine," proposed Joron Scroll.

"The roads to the west mine remain too uneven and irregular for proper transport of ore, good foreman. They must be improved posthaste," said Quana Forge.

Osman sat in the chair with his face in his hands. He felt a surge in his belly - his stew had not gone down easily, and the biscuits wouldn't do his body much good either. He let out a shivering sigh and turned to Makkar Stone, who looked back at him with his tired, racoon-ringed eyes.

"Makkar Stone of the Union of Earth, step forward." The dwarf stood up and stepped forward. He saluted by placing his flat palm on his chest. "Yes, good foreman?" he muttered. Osman grunted.

"How much food do we have left in our barns?"

"What barns?"

"Our storages, whatever. How much food, Makkar?" Osman snapped.

"You know as well as all of us how much we have left. We eat bark and bones. If we don't do something soon, we will have to make porridge from sawdust and steak from boot soles. After that, soup from our rags and pine needle tea. We have conserved all there is to conserve, foreman. We've eaten bread until the only crumbs were left, and used the crumbs to bake crackers. We must sent a large expedition to the south in search of more food."

Osman looked around the hall. Yes, every Union had their own case to make and their own points to be heard, but it was clear none had gone to sleep on a full belly in weeks.

"So be it. Every Union will dispense as many dwarves as they can. Makkar Stone, you know the surface lands the best, so I charge you with leading our people to a source of food. Bring it back here to us, and you shall be honoured beyond-!"

"I do not do this for honour, foreman. I do this for our people - and done, it shall be. By all the gods and ancestors on the Golumnar, my fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters, I swear it." The dwarf saluted again and was met with the first cheer the Hovel had heard in weeks. Makkar walked out of the great hall with a crowd in tow, and from the outside, orders were barked left and right. A few of the councillors remained, among them Joron Scroll, who looked to Osman.

"A wise order, good foreman. Poorly formulated, but wise. However, there is still the question of what to do with the sick."

"With almost the entirety of the Hovel going south to look for food, many longhouses will be empty. We will put them in the warmest one and make sure they get as much food as we can spare."

Joron nodded. "As you wish, foreman. Herim Glass, walk with me, will you? We must discuss division of rations." Herim, who had stood beside Osman, nodded and followed Joron out of the great hall.

Osman put his face in his hands again. From the outside, voices calling for sleds and thick clothes. Many hundred prayers were spoken that night - the riverlands to the south were unknown territory to most Hammersworn. A mere thought was all that guided this mission, but desperation nonetheless led Makkar to lead almost three hundred dwarves onto the uncharted plains - and perhaps even beyond the Darr.