[centre][h2][colour=deepskyblue]The Underhall Clan - Turn 1[/colour][/h2][/centre] [centre][img]https://i.ytimg.com/vi/kLp_Hh6DKWc/hqdefault.jpg[/img][/centre] [hider=Actions and Stuff] X) Macdoug and Deepstone are both sent down to Dougsdahl with fifty soldiers to retake it and its farmlands from the unseen enemy. A) Huntsmaster Astrid takes her hunters on a scour of the mountains in search of goats to tame. E) Thorfinn’s son, Harald, is sent to the forest valleys below in search of more moonrocks. [/hider] The news of the magical stone had reignited a manic curiousness that had laid dormant within the Underhalls for decades. For a brief week, the populace of Dvergadypi were living in blissful distraction from their collapsing clandom, pilgrims ascending the main tunnels in order to lay down their offerings of respect and piety at the feet of the stone dwarf now holding up their crumbling cave entrance. The Underhalls grew anxious at the thought of so much food going to the gods rather than to the bellies of the living, but to halt perhaps the first unifying moment of the past few years would devastate any remaining claim the Underhalls had on the position as leaders of the Dvergadypi dwarves. Thorfinn tugged disapprovingly at his beard as he surveyed the train of pilgrims shuffling past the statue, laying down their offerings and making u-turns back towards the mountain’s depths. They would need to replenish their larders if there was to be any hope of surviving the rest of the year. His tugging hand moved to a bronze seal pinning his velvet and brown square-patterned wool cloak together at his neck. He turned it upwards at cast it a glance - the seal of his clan, one still untested by time and trials. Perhaps this would be the beginning of its thousand year dynasty - or the final fizzle before the winds of fate extinguish the last remaining hope in Dvergadypi. Millennia of history - gone in the blink of an eye. He would not have it. With a clenched fist around the medallion, he called, “Cousin Halfdan! Warchief Donald! Huntsmaster Astrid!” The three summoned dwarves appeared before him, bowed curtly and each offered a, “Yes, yarl Thorfinn?” “Our work to restore the magnificence of Dvergadypi starts today. For too long have we waited for time to pass underground, bickering amongst ourselves while our underlands fall into shambles of what they used to be - what they used to represent. None of us have seen the true glory of our halls as they were meant to be, but by my pride as an Underhall, we shall see that glory restored!” The three dwarves nodded proudly and hammered their chests in approval. “What will you have us do to make it so, great yarl?” asked Donald. Thorfinn pointed at him and Halfdan. “Warchief, you will accompany the thane along with fifty of your best. Together, you shall reclaim Dougsdahl and its surrounding farmlands. I want you, cousin, to bring whatever workforce you need to reassume farming once the lands are retaken. We need to bolster our larders before our work can begin.” Halfdan and Donald exchanged suspicious glances, but nodded either way. “It shall be done, cousin,” Halfdan vowed. “Are we lucky, the enemy will have left the storages untouched, meaning we already can recover enough to last a while longer at the very least.” “Very good. You may begin.” While the two of them went to gather their units, Thorfinn turned to the huntsmaster. “Huntsmaster Astrid, you will assist in local food production.” “What will you have me do, great yarl?” Astrid asked politely with a bowed head. She was a Sinclair, the only one of them to hold position so close to the yarl’s family as the court’s huntsmaster. She was powerfully built and clad in wood and skins, with a patterned, long scarf around her neck in the colours of her family. Her hair was chestnut and cut short along her temples. The rest was bundled into a long ponytail running down her back. Thorfinn pointed to the mountains. “There once ran goats all throughout these hills. Their milk, wool and meat would all be necessary supplies if we are to bolster our people. I want you to take your hunters and scour the canyons and hilltops in search of our old allies. Bring as many of them back as you can - preferably alive.” Astrid bowed. “At once, great yarl.” Then she stormed off to gather her colleagues and acquire weaponry. Thorfinn pursed his lips, making them almost visible through his great mass of beard. Behind him, lady Ellinor Underhall approached and squeezed calmly his shoulder. “It’s refreshing to see you like this, Thorfinn,” she whispered to him affectionately. The yarl offered her a glance before looking back ahead. “There’s no doubt about it, though - we will need more of those wish stones if we are to recover our greatness.” Her grip tightened a bit. “Yes… A great deal can be accomplished with magic. They do say, after all, that the first descendants of the Stoneshaper could speak to the mountain - make it take the shapes they wanted. I mean, how else would the Hall of Gereg ever have been built?” “Centuries of labour?” Thorfinn offered. “Nnno. They must’ve had something like these stones. In truth, my dear, we’re really just furthering the accomplishments of our ancestors by acquiring such artifacts, no?” Thorfunn hummed. “I suppose.” Ellinor grinned back and stepped up in front of her husband. “So, why don’t we send our son to find us some?” “Which one of them?” “Why, who else but your heir? Harald is young, untested and, worst of all, bored out of his mind. It would do him some good to get out and do something with his life, instead of wasting away inside that cave all day, waiting for us to die.” Thorfinn furrowed his brow. “Ellinor, dear, we’re Underhall - descendants of the Brownbeards! We don’t go outside like those rascally Goldbeards would!” Ellinor frowned and took her husband’s hands in her own. “Well, you said it yourself - for too long, have we waited underground. Maybe it’s time for certain traditions to make way for new ones?” Thorfinn wrinkled his nose. Ellinor sighed. “Besides, it’s clear that this stone didn’t come from inside the mountain. It originated from, well, somewhere outside. We cannot let it slip through our fingers just because of some old norms demand following.” Thorfinn sighed. “Fine. Harald!” While Ellinor struggled to contain her excitement, the young dwarf came over from some distance away, where he had been waiting with his siblings as was tradition. He knelt before his father and kept his eyes locked on the ground. “Yes, father?” “You may rise. Your mother has request that we put you to work and I am in agreement.” The gray shades of boredom drained the colour from Harald’s face. At this point, it was difficult to see whether he could control his rolling eyes or not. “Fine, what hole will I be inspecting this time?” “Calm down, son - we’re not sending you into the caves.” Harald blinked. “What? Wait, what’s this?” Thorfinn pointed down to the mountain path leading to the valleys below. “Gather your closest friends and ten of the warchief’s men. You can take what supplies we can spare, but expect to live off of nature’s bounty for the most part. Be on the lookout for anything - our kind has always fared poorly above ground.” “B-but where am I going?” Harald asked uncertainly. “You are going to find us more wish stones - as many as you can carry with you back home.” Thorfinn placed a hand on Harald’s shoulder, who seemed to feel its weight to be way greater than it actually was. “You will be the cornerstone in our people’s restoration to greatness.” Harald blinked again and nodded wordlessly. Some time passed before he could formulate works again, “Y-yes, father. I w-will bring glory to the Underhalls! Thank you for this!” “Make us proud, son,” Ellinor said warmly and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek. An hour later, the lad and his escort had begun to descend the mountain, heading for the untamed valleys below.