[center][color=orange][h1]Orr'gavol: The Hammersworn - Turn 11[/h1][/color][/center]
[center][img width=50 height=50]https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTvdoz0eftrncfPJv3xPSuGSAZttuM4l8Rs171DuR7oWsDDQ-5m[/img][/center]

[hider=Action Summary]
X) Unions of Glass, Copper and Phosphorous were tasked with studying the black speck retrieved from Godrim's corpse.
B) The rest of the Hammersworn started massproducing javelins, axes, shields and spears for an upcoming fight with Sky Chicken.
[/hider]


“Sons of the Hammersworn - welcome home!” roared Osman with thunderous glee. The Great Hall burst into celebration upon the return of the expedition company. Osman stood at the far end of the council table, arms open and mouth grinning. He was flanked by all the other councillors, even old Khyber Tin, all of whom were applauding the brave warriors. The tables were stacked high with dishes, pots and plates full of spring’s bounty and the labours of many a starving dwarf. The crew’s faces betrayed a deep shame through their faked smiles, though it seemed the surrounding crowds had not noticed. The twelve dwarves lined up before the councillors, Kadol and Joron the Younger placing themselves in the middle, flanked by five warriors on each side.

“What do I do? What do I say?” Kadol whispered desperately to Galloin, who stood at attention next to him. The golden-haired warrior shook his head. It was clear that he did not have an answer. Kadol felt beads of sweat form on his face and he looked left to see Joron the Younger, still furious. His brow had hung low over his eyes from the mines and home, and not even the scents of fresh food had done much to soothe the young dwarf’s rage. Kadol took a deep breath and lifted his arms to accept a brotherly hug from the chuckling foreman. He received some hard slaps on the back and some kisses, too, none of which he felt he deserved.

“Now, our sons - tell us the tale of your travels!” Osman said. There was a long pause, only broken by the occasional call from the back for Kadol to speak up. Every time he opened his mouth, Kadol felt himself choke. After a minute or two, he had managed to form a coherent sentence in his head, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Galloin stepped forth.

“Good foreman, if it is not too much to ask - we have travelled far and barely rested. The trek has been hard on us all, especially the lads. If we could, let us eat first - then we will share our tale.” 

There was an audible groan from the crowd. Osman and the councillors looked disappointed as well, but the foreman shrugged and raised his hands.

“So be it! Let the feast begin!”

The following two hours rang loud with clanking mugs and the dropping of cutlery on the floor. Only the councillors were permitted to eat off of the clay plates that had been saved after the Calamity - the rest of the dwarves ate off of slices of bark and grain bread. Today, everyone got a taste of actual grain ale - a small batch made from what little remain of Heel’s grain. The mood was higher than it had been since the days before the Calamity. Grain porridge, smoked fish, even some cave mushrooms that the Qorr and the iron miners had brought with them - all culminated in a feast to rival the gods’ atop Golumnar. The ten warriors had all returned to their respective unions, being greeted with hugs, kisses and triumphant cries at each of their tables. Kadol and Joron the Younger were invited to eat with the councillors, but neither said a single word during the meal. Then, as the plates began to empty, a rhythmic rumble started at the far end of the hall, supported by a quiet word. Kadol could not make out what was being said, but as more and more joined the drumming and chanting, his face drained of colour.

“Tale, tale, tale, TALE, TALE!” the dwarves around the hall all chanted. The foreman stood up chuckling and walked over to Kadol’s chair, pulling the young, reluctant dwarf out of it forcefully. Kadol was dragged along and placed squarely in the middle of the hall for all to see. As dwarves in the hall quieted one another down with hushing and smacking, Kadol took in a deep breath. He had spent the last two hours preparing for this. He had a reasonable story prepared now, he thought.

“Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers - I will not lie. Our trek was… Our trek was long and arduous. It took the strength of everyone among us to make it as far as we did; however, in return for our efforts, we made it far beyond where any Hammersworn has ever set foot.” The Great Hall was quiet as the grave - for possibly the first time in Hammersworn history, every dwarf present focused their entire attention on the young lad. This fact did not help Kadol’s nervousness in the slightest. Nevertheless, he pressed on.

“Beyond the mines and Godrim’s post, we came upon a crossroads, where our party was split. My half went into the valleys below the mountains, and Galloin’s half went up into the hills.” He paused for a moment and bit his lip. He breathed in and continued. “Unfortunately, neither of us found anythi-...” 

There was a screetch of wood against stone from the councillor table, followed by some angry, inaudible chattering. Soon, Joron the Younger stood across the hall from Kadol, furious eyes burning like hot coals. He raised a finger and pointed at Kadol, who froze. Murmurs sprung to life among the crowds. 

“Liar!” Joron the Younger screamed. Kadol, as well as a good number of dwarves in the crowd, recoiled. 

“Wuh-... What?” Kadol managed to blurt out before Joron the Younger once again shouted, “Liar!” Joron the Elder, face red with embarrassment and rage came rushing over. “Have you had too much to drink, boy?! Let the lad finish his-”

“He is lying, father! We -did- find something!” The Jorons’ eyes both widened. Kadol had at this point recoiled to the point where he was leaning on the Earth Union table, surrounded by curious and confused farmer dwarves. The councillors all stood up. The warriors, led by Galloin, all flocked to Kadol.

“What did you find, then?” said Joron the Elder, his annoyance complemented by curiousity. The Younger glared at Kadol. “Say it,” he snarled. “Tell them what you did.” Kadol felt his world collapse around him and nearly lost his balance. As he attempted to control his rapid breathing, Galloin grabbed his arm and hoisted him to his feet.

“We had no choice,” Galloin said. “We found Godrim as a mere fragment of himself, deep into enemy lands. He told us that he had been cursed by a cruel troll.” There were gasps and glance exchanges in the crowd. The warrior continued. “The ghost we knew was no more. He had all but lost his memory, and when we found him again at his post…” He hesitated.

“SAY IT!” Joron the Younger shouted, now being restrained by his father and Ra’ol Cave. 

“He told me to kill him,” Kadol whimpered. 

“Speak up, boy! What did you do?!” Khyber Tin roared through toothless gums.

“I killed Godrim Thunderhowler!” Kadol screamed, tears flowing down his face. There was a long pause. Not even the breaths of the dwarves were audible. Finally, Osman stepped forward, his face betraying a dumbstruck desperation.

“I gave you a mission, lad, to go find the only dwarf who could help us against the menace…” He sucked a long breath through grit teeth. “... And you murder him…” He looked to Galloin and the warriors.

“Arrest him,” he said. The warriors hesitated. Galloin, still holding the now-limp Kadol, shook his head defiantly.

“Foreman, Joron tells only the partial truth-” 

“Did he or did he not murder the ghost?!” the foreman roared.

“It was not murder! It was mercy!” the warrior boomed back. The other warriors echoed the statement. Osman rumbled angrily and turned to Joron the Younger.

“Why, exactly, did he murder the ghost?” the foreman inquired in a sinister voice. The restrainers loosened their grips on the young Joron and stepped forth.

“The ghost apparently told him to, foreman. However, I doubt the motive was anything beyond cowardice in the face of the mission beyond his retrieval.” He stabbed a finger in Kadol’s direction. “This one did not -wish- to find the sorcerer king, and so murdered the ghost to avoid it!” 

“N-no! That isn’t true!” Kadol said, his voice quivering. The foreman quieted the rambling from the crowd. “Speak up, boy!”

“I swear, foreman! He commanded me to kill him! He was not himself! He was sick-!”

“Or!” Joron the Younger retorted. “He could have been feeling weakened from being so far away from his body for so long. Did you ever consider that?” Kadol tried to speak, but found that his mouth produced no sound.

“He was dangerous!” Galloin snapped at Joron. “He could have killed us all with a single roar.”
“And yet…” The voice was familiar, but this time it was Joron the Elder who spoke. “Instead of leaving him to be to see if he would return to his senses, you had him destroyed.” He sneered at Galloin, who glared back.

“Stay out of this, scrollworm. You weren’t there.”

The old dwarf patted his son on the shoulder and snickered. “That is right. I wasn’t, yet my eyes were, and my eyes are saying that the hero of our people did not meet the expectations laid upon his shoulders.” He gave Kadol a disapproving glare. “Congratulations, son. You were sent to find an additional saviour to the one we had - and you return with nothing new and having killed the old.”

“He could have killed us!” Galloin repeated.

“A potential danger in exchange for a definite lack of safety,” the Logmaster declared. There was a silence.

“B-... But… He was sick…” Kadol no longer managed to produce any noise beyond a meek whisper. However, in a flash of memory, he realised something. He stabbed a hand into his pockets and pulled out a flask.

“Wait! I have proof! I have proof that he was sick!” he screamed, silencing once more the now bickering masses. Joron the Elder scoffed, but Joron the Younger remained attentive. Kadol shook the flask and it hissed as before. In the silence of the hall, it was as audible as a storm. Joron the Elder’s smirk turned dumbstruck.

“What… What is in there?” he asked.

“Likely a weak base and something sour,” Erima Rock proposed. Several of her unionists hummed in agreement.


“I-... I will not uncork the flask, for I have no idea what it will do to all of us if release.” Kadol found himself stepping back in vain, as he still leaned up against the table. “All I can say is that it is a black speck with a mind of its own.” There was another pause, followed by a roaring laughter from most of the dwarves presence, with the exception of the councillors and the expeditioners. Joron the Elder stepped forth, snatched the flask from Kadol’s hands and inspected it without uncorking it. He placed it to his head and listened to the seething noise within. He grunted and turned to the foreman.

“There is something in here…” Osman raised his brow and grunted. “So what? Would you like to study it?” he rumbled. The Logmaster nodded.

“While he may have eliminated the only guardian of our people, he deserves a fair trial. If what is within this flask turns out to be a spirit disease, then he will walk free and we will all be wiser - perhaps even able to learn what happened to the ghost.” However, as much as the Logmaster spoke kind words about Kadol, he finished with a scowl at the young dwarf.
“If not, he will work in the penal mines until his last day.” Kadol felt himself go limp again, causing Galloin to stagger as he tried to keep the lad afoot. The foreman nodded slowly.

“So be it. The Copper, Glass and Phosphorous Unions will study this ‘disease’,” the foreman decreed. The second he did so, the doors burst open to reveal a winded Qorr Coal. As every present dwarf turned to him, the colossal dwarf tried with great effort to form a coherent sentence in between ragged breaths. He was quickly followed by Gummar, who evidently had much better endurance.

“The Abductor’s back!” the miner yelled. There was a pause so all could process the statement, followed by cries of panic from both children and adults. It took every councillor’s commands for peace, order and quiet, as well as six gong-like metal pans slammed by Khyber Tin before the crowds finally calmed. Osman stepped up to the centre of the hall. He barked furious curses to himself as he walked.

“I don’t know about you, sisters and brothers, but I am getting really gods-damned [i]tired[/i] of that cursed chicken!” He took a swig of ale and smashed his tankard against the floor, breaking it into a thousand pieces. He stepped over to the hearth in the centre of the room and grabbed one of the long knives ideally used when preparing roast boar and raised it into the air.

“No! This time, we fight back!”

The dwarves in the crowd looked puzzled. Osman groaned.

“I want javelins, axes, shields and spears! We will rout that bird from the Western Mine come spring! Let us show it the sharpness of Hammersworn steel!”

Some in the crowd let out triumphant cheers, but a good number still remained quiet. Osman snarled.

“Aye!” The councillors and the crowd looked to the councillor table, where it turned out that Khyber Tin had been sitting all along. The old dwarf got to his shaky feet with some help from Roka.

“Aye, I say!” His sentiment spread through the crowds like fire through dry grass. Soon, more and more echoed in agreement. Osman grinned from ear to ear.

“Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters - TO THE FORGE!”

There was a collective roar as every Union charged out the Great Hall to prepare for the great battle in the future.