The tiny water sprite had not understood the word's meaning, nor the meaning of what followed. In a literal flash, the sprite no longer lorded over its little stream in some unnamed realm. It was cast into a tunnel of blinding light and endless darkness; of raging flames and petrifying frost. The glaring light distorted its shape, its role, its mind, and before the creature could make sense of the chaos, a thunderous command rung out through the cosmos.
'CLOSE!'
The flash gave way to dim graytones and stone walls. It had passed like a leaf on the river. Rivers... Nowhere to be seen. Where was he? The sprite pondered the situation in its head. Wait, head? A surge of confusion and panic flushed through the creature's body - further reinforced by its understanding that it now controlled a body. Smooth, leathery skin stretched across his surface, but as he turned and twisted, he found that the beige skin gave way to hard, crimson scales. A strain on its abdomen, it felt, further supported by an unfamiliar pressure on what it reasoned was its tail - it curled up underneath to bear the body's weight and tilted the torso into an upright position. A deafening voice cracked across the unfamiliar halls and beyond, but the creature paid it no heed. With panic having given way to curiousity, it instead surveyed its form, its scales, its skin. It plucked at the stiff, yet silky hair; it picked at the borders where humanoid and reptilian fused; it felt, it saw, it smelt-
'You know what must be done.'
He heard.
His curiousity brought his eyes to his creator. A mind formed within the creature's elongated skull. A calm mind, a peaceful mind, a mind thirsting for a reason for its existence. Another flash, but one of clarity, dawned on him. A mission - nay, a purpose. A word came to mind - a goal, he reasoned. A complex word, a powerful word, one which meaning perhaps would change over time. A word nonetheless, though.
Prosperity.
Yes, yes... A goal had been decided. An ending to his newborn tale - the perfect finale to mirror the miracle of his creation. Yet a tale is so much more. This perplexed the creature. How would he bestow this prosperity upon creation? What tool could possibly let him unite life under-...? Life? A memory flickered. His form was foreign, yet familiar - fashioned into a shape, yet not. A surface of water ran in a glistening streak underneath him. The water sprite gazed to the borders of the stream. Life, abloom in colours more numerous than the pebbles in a river, all drinking deep in the transparent honeymilk that carved its way through the dirt. The flow, the flow was the path. An unending flow, bringing life to all that tapped into it. An unyielding source for all of creation to drink from. Yes, yes... A path. The memory faded, but its lesson remained.
The tale lastly needed a protagonist. Would it be him? He hardly knew himself as he was now, and yet, he was the one whose purpose he was most familiar with. Perhaps it would be one of his peers, then? He surveyed the surrounding shapes. He pondered their motivations as he had pondered his own - perhaps all sought a utopian ending for this cosmos? If that was the case, he thought, then he naturally had to aid them in their quest.
Another thought flickered: Why not find out? Perhaps this was not a story with a -single- hero. Afterall, prosperity for oneself is not prosperity - his goal was to be shared among all of creation! The serpentine creature took a moment to temper his breathing, still quickened from his panicked realisation of his existence. He once more gazed at his peers. Yes, yes... Allies, he had to make, for what is a hero with no companions? What is a host without guests?
The serpentine creature gazed upwards as the mammoth cyclops boomed his final order, and some of his peers flew off. Those that remained encouraged the creature, for he knew now that he perhaps could find those who shared his mindset. How would he introduce himself, though? He thought of his name from his previous life, but he realised he had had none. This left the creature wondering: Who was he? As he slithered across the stone hall, he could think of only one name. One that would always remind him of his goal; one that rolled off his forked tongue; one that he could proudly present to his fellow gods. His mind settled on the word.
X) Kadol uncovered the secrets of the Western Mountains and released a ghost from its shackles. A) The rest of the dwarves back in the Hovel made great efforts to preserve the newly procured fish through smoking.
In the Hovel Osman stood leaning over a table on which laid several pages of parchment. He gnawed on the coarse, ink-tipped stick he used to write with, trying to make the numbers reach an impossible answer. He did not often come over to the Glass Union Hall and with good reason: While the rank, bitter musk of Steel Union miners could knock out an unsuspecting stranger, it paled in comparison to the abhorring musk of the Glass Union scholars who had been inside a bit too long. At the very least, Steel Union dwarves would roll around in the snow after work to wash the worst off. A blue-robed dwarf came jogging over towards Osman, carrying an additional stack of papers. Osman let out a load groan as the dwarf jogged back downstairs. Herim came out from between the scrollcases.
"So, do the numbers add up?" Osman muttered angrily to himself. "Nope." He paused with a long sigh. "No matter how you look at it, most of the fish will spoil if we save it, or disappear in a week if we don't. What little salt we have, we cannot waste on preserving the fish, either. The lignite coal does not make for good fuel for smoking, either." Herim nodded. "Yes, I'd rather not eat poison. However, there is still a faint possibility that we can find some wood to build smokehuts." Osman ran a hand through his beard. "Where is this wood? Three miles away?" Herim walked back in among the scrollcases. After a time passed, he came back out with a relatively new scroll, which he rolled out and revealed to be a map. He placed it down on the table in front of Osman.
"This is a newly-drawn map of the area, foreman. If you look to the east, there should still be some untouched groves there. The wood was deemed too feeble to use as building material. It was only recently revisited for the purpose of harvesting firewood. Additionally, the stocks and sticks we find there may not make for good halls, but they may just be adequate for small smokehuts." Osman nodded slowly.
"Very well. Tell as many as you can to go out and fetch that wood. I want ten smokehuts cooking fish by tomorrow at sundown, is that clear?" Herim nodded and stormed down the staircase, tipping over an unsuspecting scholar dwarf carrying yet another stack of parchments. Osman looked back at the map and gnawed some more on the wooden stick in his hand. A curious empty spot marked the north of what had once been Gol'kharumm. Had they really not ventured that far north in the valley yet?
He'd have to send someone to do that soon.
Meanwhile, in the mountains to the west...
Although the winds sliced at the skin as the dwarves stomped along the narrow mountain path, Kadol felt a noticeable warmth in the air that surprisingly brought some soothing joy to his troubled mind. He hoped that in one or, gods be good, less than a month, the snow would begin to give way to solid rock and hard clay on which the Silver Union could build proper roads. He blew a blast of hot air into his left fist, his right being quite preoccupied with holding his newly acquired personal spear. Almost twice one and a half times his own height, he began to echo Osman's earlier statement about the encumbering nature of such a long weapon; however, at least he did not have to carry around those heavy, iron-framed wooden shields that his escort all either had strapped on their backs or held up against their faces to protect from the sharp blasts striking at the group. Kadol shot a glance backwards - forming the tail of the group was Joron the Younger, looking strangely optimistic in spite of the situation. Kadol had not particularly minded the youths of the other Unions - Steel Union children were all drilled in forgecraft, mining and manual labour, supplemented with free time that was mostly spent either honing those three skills, sparring with friends or brawling with rivals. He had in truth always found the green-faced scrollworms to be a little odd. Joron the Younger's expression did little to alter that opinion.
It was at the very moment that thought crossed his mind that the very subject of the thought picked up some speed, until the tail had caught up with the head of the group and shot Kadol a wide grin. "I know we shook hands already back home, but I would like to, once again, show my utmost gratitude for allowing me to tag along on this exciting trip!" Joron said and extended his hand. Kadol raised an eyebrow and gaped slightly, but shook the hand nonetheless. "It-... It was not my decision to make, but, uh... Happy you're with us... I suppose." They marched for a little longer. "So, uh, what has you so giddy about going into what may potentially-..." Kadol swallowed and decided to rephrase his question. "Why are you so giddy, then?" Joron let out a soft scoff and shrugged. "My, my, good friend... Would not you also be happier than Barden the Blessed upon being asked to chronicle possibly the first sighting of runesmithing in, oh, I don't know, centuries? Millennia? Aeons?!" Kadol pulled back slightly and gave a nervous nod. "Uh, I... I suppose I would be?" Joron grinned again and gave Kadol perhaps just little too hard a pat on the back. "Right? I would tell you lot to chin up, but considering the wind, I can understand if you'd rather hide those chins in your scarfs." The escort shot him a collective scowl. Kadol replied with a grunt. Joron nodded, still grinning, and stopped in his tracks so he could once again take his place as the group tail.
The group had soon after arrived at the entrance to the Western Mine. In the hills behind them, they could spot the silhouette of Whitepeak Bastion, sticking out from the mountaintop like a misshapen rock formation. While he could not see the details of the construction, he thought it looked rather well-built, in spite of the criticism the Stone Union had given themselves of late.
"Kadol! Are you back already, lad?!" Kadol swiftly turned to see Qorr Coal's massive stature standing in the mine opening, surrounded by three other equally surprised dwarves. Kadol flashed a grin and quickened his pace towards his comrades. Qorr and the rest returned the grin and took turns rubbing Kadol's dark-blonde hair until the young dwarf's head resembled a golden porcupine. "Heh, no, but in all honesty, what are you doing back here? You know you have at least another week of leave, right?" Kadol nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I know. It's just-..." Qorr held up his palm. "Say no more, son. We've all been there." The other dwarves nodded and hummed their agreement. Kadol looked confused. "It ain't easy being away from your family, we know, we know, but the chick has to learn how to fly some time, right?" Qorr shrugged half-heartedly. "What? N-no! That's not what-!" Qorr and the others let out a cackle. Joron shot Kadol a smirk, while the escort joined in on the guffaw. "N'aaw, look at him. Too embarrassed to admit he misses his fathers and mothers... Bring a tear to me eye, it does." Qorr wiped away an imaginary tear. Kadol looked to Joron, who snickered and shrugged. "I'm afraid he speaks the truth, dear Steel unionists. We're on a-..."
"Oi, who's talkin' to ya, moss-face?" one of the miners spat at Joron. Joron pulled back slightly, his smirk bending into an uncertain grin. "I, uh, I was merely attempting to clarify our purpose-!" The miners closed in around Joron, who shrunk considerably in comparison. Steel Union miners, while often mocked by the more scholarly unions for not being the sharpest axes on the rack, could definitely boast a considerable size advantage over their more studious relatives. The four "giants" cast terrifying shadows over the ever-deflating historian. "Clarifyin' your purpose? What does that even mean, huh? You spittin' funny words just 'cause you think you're smarter, huh?" The admittedly shortest one of the miners smacked his broad brow against the even shorter Joron, causing the young scholar to drop into the snow, lifting both hands in front of his face in a poor attempt to defend himself. Qorr grabbed onto the aggressor's shoulder and pulled him back. "Alright, that'll do for now, Gummar. Go fetch these lads some ale rations - even the moss-face." Gummar snorted, gurgled some in his throat and spat a fat clump of phlegm at Joron's white winter robes. "A'ight, whatever ye say, brother. I'll fetch 'im somethin' to drink." The dwarf stormed inside. Qorr shot Joron, who was at this point being helped up by the dwarves in the escort, a somewhat pitying look and then turned to Kadol. "You said you were doing?" Kadol, who had also been looking at Joron for quite a while, looked back at Qorr. "We're going beyond the Valley of Tusks, to find Godrim and, we pray, the sorcerer-king." Qorr's eyebrows rose and the giant dwarf inhaled a slow lungful before letting out a long sigh. "Aye, that's a handful... Just so you know, lad, we haven't seen the ghost for nearly a week now. He could be anywhere!" Kadol looked back at his escort and Joron, who was brushing the snow off his robe, as well as trying to wipe away the phlegm without too much getting on his mittens.
"Yes, it'll be something else. How have things been here?" Qorr's brow sank over his eyes and the dwarf shot the peaks far to the west a terrified gaze. "I'll be honest with you, son. Not a single one of us dared venture out for three days when that demon came back. On the fourth day, old Damorr peeked out ever so slightly - he said he had seen the menace, perched upon the peak like some... Some..." One of the other miners interjected. "Like an eagle stalkin' its prey!" "Well, it -is- an eagle..." Joron muttered, being met with a deathstare from the miners. Kadol felt his heart freeze. Qorr continued, "Aye, like an eagle. In all honestly, lad, we've only kept digging because the sound of pickaxes keeps the thought of that demon out of our heads." Kadol nodded. "We didn't see it on the way, though. Perhaps Godrim got rid of it?" Qorr shook his head. "Nah, we'd have heard his screaming like last time. He's out there, somewhere..." Kadol reached up and put a hand on Qorr's shoulder. "Father, listen. It may be out there - it may be close. Yet it may also be far, far away." Qorr raised an eyebrow. "Your point being?" "You should head back to the Hovel, father. The foreman likely won't mind, considering the amount of iron we've already brought back. You can-!" Qorr scoffed, pushed Kadol's hand off his shoulder and rubbed the dwarf's head. "Your care is heart-warming, lad, but we won't abandon our work just because of one angry bird." At this point, more miners had gathered around. One raised her hand. "Got a question, Ragna?" The dwarves around this Ragna pulled away so she'd be a little more visible. She cleared her throat. "This is a -very- angry bird, though." Hums of agreement and nods permeated the crowd. Qorr sighed. "Aye, it's a very angry bird, but still-!" "A -big, angry- bird!" another one added. The hums grew louder. Qorr snarled. "Alright, since when did the Steel Union piss their britches at the thought of big, angry birds?!"
Every miner raised their hands. Qorr deflated and looked back down at Kadol. "Alright, I suppose we'll trust that it's off somewhere far away, then... Gods, Quana's going to have my neck." Kadol flashed him a smile and punched his shoulder. "Better that she takes your neck than that menace taking your torso." Qorr grinned back and punched Kadol into the ground - gently, of course. "Right you are, son. Though I have to say, I've missed the stew back home." Kadol grimaced. "Don't get your hopes up. It's probably about as good as the maggot bread you eat here." Qorr muttered angrily to himself. Down the tunnel, Gummar came carrying a box of twelve water skins. "Took you long enough. Alright, son. We'll go with the vote and, uh, head for home, I suppose." He handed Kadol a water skin, while each of the dwarves in the escord and Joron went over to the box and grabbed their own. Gummar personally handed Joron one, which Joron looked at with a deeply suspicious look. Gummar merely grinned innocently at him. Kadol uncorked the skin and took a swig. "Ergh, that tastes like-...!" Qorr and the others erupted into a cackle. "Gotten that used to 'fine Hovel ale' already?! Don't forget your roots, lad! This is the true drink for a Steel union dwarf!" He patted Kadol on the back once more. "Be safe out there, lad. If you don't come back in one piece, I'll give you a proper smacking in the next life, y'hear?" Kadol grinned back. "Alright, father. I'll be safe."
As they marched out of the mines to the sound of farewells and well-wishings, Joron uncorked his water skin and took a swig. He rolled the liquid around in his mouth and hummed pensively to himself. Kadol looked over. "What's wrong, Joron?" The historian looked up and swallowed. "Nothing, nothing... Just awfully warm for a brew stored in a cold mine." Many in the escort snickered. "How's the flavour?" one of them said. "Acidic... Is it a local brew?" The escort burst into a guffaw. "One could say that!" one of them said. Joron grew nervous and poured some out. Upon seeing what colour the snow turned, he chucked the water skin off the side of the cliff. Consequently, the average morale of the group was quite high as they began their walk down the trail and into the unknown. It wasn't long before they came to Godrim's post, that icy wall where the ghost had first been seen. As expected, there was no sign of him to be seen. Tracking a ghost was going to be tricky indeed; all they had to go on was the general direction he'd taken according to the miners that witnessed him leave. They looked again into the icy wall toward the blur deep within that must have been Godrim's frozen body; long streaks of water ran across the surface of the dirty ice like tears rolling down a face. Kadol ran his gloved hand over the surface of the ice and examined it. Some of the icy water soaked through and cooled his fingertips. "What do you think'll happen if all of it melts away?" one of the warriors asked another. "Don't know, brother, though I'd rather that bird be dead before it does." Kadol let out a quiet sigh and turned towards the path Godrim had reportedly taken. Joron, in the meanwhile, was sketching a rough drawing of what the corpse and its prison looked like, chronicling the situation down to the most miniscule of details - or, well, as detailed as he could before the rest of the crew moved on.
None had ever bothered to explore this part of the pass before, far away from the iron vein and the mine as it was. They'd simply never had reason to wander beyond the parts of the mountain that were supposedly under Godrim's watchful guard, though recent events had led a fair few to scratch their heads and wonder if they had been wise in ever trusting the wraith to begin with. What had been little more than an icy goat path in weeks past was now something of a deathtrap, as the melting ice was far slicker than any amount of snow dusted upon the rocky ground. They proceeded slowly and with the utmost caution for fear of falling down into the chasm to their right and join the skeletal trolls below. Eventually (to their relief) the path widened, and the gaping void to their side was no longer so deep and nor was it littered with the jagged points of troll tusks poking out from the snow. But here they were faced with a choice: the trail forked. Before them there was some sort of cavernous opening in the side of the mountain that looked like it had been natural at first, but it had visibly been braced long ago. There were half-rotted scaffolds and pillar supports along the walls and towards the back it looked as though the cave had been artificially widened and turned into some sort of tunnel. Perhaps it led through the mountain and to whatever savage wilderness was on the other side. But the mountain path itself didn't end; it curved off to the side, making its way down into the shallow canyon to their right to snake its way across and then up the mountain on the other side. So they had a choice before them.
Kadol stopped and examined the cave entrance from a distance. "Galloin? You don't know any dwarves that have come this far out, do you?" The warrior known as Galloin stepped up next to Kadol and shook his head. "No, lad. No Hammersworn have ever been this far west from Gol'kharumm. Not ever." As he finished his sentence, Joron came flying past them, scroll and quill in hand. He nearly slipped and fell, but managed to slow down just enough to not crash into the rotting scaffolding. "Gods be good! Are you seeing this?! This must be at least one hundred, no, several centuries old! Built by an entirely unknown civilisation!" The enthusiastic historian made some sketches and notes on multiple pages of parchment, giggling all the while. Galloin also stepped closer and examined the scaffolding. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Old as time itself, aye, and rotten as last month's loaf. I don't trust that construction for a second, Kadol. Let's explore the valley below instead." Joron stopped mid-scribble and shot Galloin a scowl. "Now listen here, you-... Father, with all due respect, this is a historical wonder - one that may lead to ruins and artifacts of a completely different civilisation!" Galloin met the scowl with a frown. "Aye, historical wonder - and - a bloody life hazard! What if that cave collapses after we pass through it - or worse - while we're inside? Who's going to record your precious history then, huh?" Joron scoffed and stepped inside the cave. "Look! I'm inside! Did I mysteriously die? Did the cave collapse yet?" Kadol sighed and shuffled over through the snow. "We have enough dwarves to split up. You take four and go with Joron. I'll take the other five and head down into the valley." Galloin looked surprised, and a little disappointed, but nodded soon after. "Aye, son. You be safe down there. If you encounter any danger, yell as loudly as you can and run back up the hill - we'll come for you right away." Kadol nodded. "Aye, father. Likewise. Good luck." The groups, six dwarves in each, proceeded to head down their separate paths.
For Joron's party, the progress was somewhat painfully slow. A few dwarves had the foresight to bring torches along for the journey, but what precious time they had in the light was constantly wasted as Joron would stop to examine this or that in more detail; there were some abandoned tools but at this point the things were half rust. Fear of being trapped and lost in a dark tunnel eventually overcame curiosity. Despite the scarce and stale air, they advanced down the tunnel at a quick walk until they felt a crisp breeze wafting in to nip at their faces. After a few more turns, they then finally saw natural light spilling into the black tunnels, and then a few minutes later they finally emerged from the long tunnel. They found themselves immediately in yet another rocky, snow-covered place, but here there were at least some trees. The path before them was in a low spot, and even as a light flurry of snow started to fall, there was already some icy water in their path pooling from the melted runoff.
But the trees didn't make for welcome company. They were tall, gnarled, twisting things that blocked half the sunlight and hid the path ahead. Joron, busy sketching the surrounding woods, did not seem to notice the growing tension among his companions.One of the other warriors turned to Galloin: "Oi, brother. You remember if that ghost said anythin' about those troll still bein'... Y'know... Around?" Galloin swallowed and scanned the surrounding woods precariously. "Axes out, lads. Keep your shields ready. Keep an eye on Scrollworm over there." Knowing that the ice trolls lurked somewhere in these wild lands beyond the mountain did very little to ease the dwarves' nerves; one of the trolls could be hiding anywhere! While Joron was poking at a frozen root to examine its properties, the warriors spread out and began to look for good spots to hide - and spots where the enemy potentially could be hiding. Galloin, while peeking over the top of a small heap, found a pit underneath some tree roots, within which laid what seemed to be... Metal? It looked rusty from afar, but a dwarf knew that shine better than its own pockets. He skipped over the top and slid down into the pit to examine the object. While it indeed was rusty to the point of looking like a clump of sparkly mud, there was no mistaking that this likely had once been an axehead. Though he could not decide whether it was of dwarven origin - or something else. A loud gasp came from the other side of the heap. Galloin started and shot back up to see what it was. "An axehead!" Joron exclaimed. He proceeded to sample it in all kinds of ways, from smells to tastes to bits for further analysis. Finally, he stuffed it in his already borderline full artifact bag. "Can you quiet down, you imbecile?!" Galloin hissed in a hushed voice. "We may not be alone in these woods!" Joron gave him a smirk and a scoff. "Look, father, with all due respect once more, I believe, judging from these artifacts, that whatever may have lived here has long since moved on." Galloin muttered angrily to himself. "Then I pray that these weren't intruders into whoever 'lived' here's territory." Joron cleared his throat nervously at that thought. "Let's move on, shall we?" Galloin nodded and gestured for three of the warriors to follow the group in hiding as he, the last warrior and Joron walked the main path.
But for all their paranoia, there seemed to be nothing but forest. The winter must have been unimaginably severe in these parts because there were no animals to be seen and half the trees even looked ragged and hungry. It wasn't hard to believe that some ancient sorcerer-king could be trapped in a waste like this. There were probably dozens of "icy tombs" to be found, if one only knew where to dig. Unfortunately, none of them had the first clue, and Joron wasn't much help in the matter. The thought occured to them that by now they had come a long ways from the tunnel. It would be dark soon enough and finding their way back might prove difficult, especially given that the light flurry of snow from before had continued all day and left enough of a dusting to bury their footprints. And none of them had the delusion to think that Kadol's band (or any other friendly faces) would ever be able to find them out in these parts if they were well and truly lost. Galloin let out a long, drawn-out sigh and looked around. He beckoned one of he hiding warriors over, who skipped over a fallen treetrunk and slid down a slope. "Torr, you seen anything suspicious?" The warrior known as Torr shook his head. "Nothing, brother. Nightfall isn't helping much either. What're you thinking?" Galloin shot Joron the Younger, who had found yet another fancy root to examine, a look. "We'll grab Scrollworm and make our way back to the cave. It should be in the general direction of the peaks to the east, there." Galloin gestured towards the mountains they had come from. Torr nodded and began to gather up the rest of the warriors who had spread out to secure the perimeter. Galloin, in the meantime, went over to Joron and forcefully pulled the young dwarf to his feet. "He-hey! It was chronocling that!" Joron said sourly. Galloin scowled at him. "You've done nothing all day but waste time which we don't have. I don't think you realise what kind of mission this is! Now, I will need you to follow along - obediently - or we'll be having a word with the foreman when we come home again." Joron scoffed. "What's the foreman going to do, huh?" "He's going to have a word with your father," Galloin retorted. Joron swallowed. "I can't believe I did not see that one coming. Fine, you win. Let's go." Galloin faked a smile and the group began to head back in the general direction of where they had come from. And then they suddenly heard a rustling like that of boots stepping through snow and scattering the dead leaves buried below. The sound was a faint and somewhat distant one, but so alarming that it might as well have been as deafening to them as thunder. Galloin spun around like wound-up catapult rope and his warriors did the same, forming a crescent in front of Joron. With axes raised and shields in front, Galloin gestured for total silence as they listened for a little bit longer to verify the sound. They squinted and looked back and forth, but there was nothing be seen. Galloin frowned and gestured for a slow and steady retreat back the way they came, breaking the crescent formation to opt for a protective ring around Joron, with each warrior being responsible for watching a small sector of the surroundings. Galloin grunted as he backed into the grasping twigs on the end of some treebranch, having been too intent in searching the landscape in front of him for any sign of what might have caused the sound. For a moment there, he started to think that it might have been just their shot nerves, or the wind perhaps. But then as the stupid branch that'd scratched his head snapped back into position, he saw it sway a bit as if it'd hit something on the way back. Something mere feet away from where he stood. His eyes glanced down and saw the faintest outline of footprints pressing into the snow, almost invisible. Suppressing a strange combination of a warcry and a scream, he stopped in his tracks, lifted his axe and shield, and spoke, "I-... Is that... Is that you, Godr im?" The other warriors reacted similarly, though Joron seemed a little uncertain about the potential effect of iron weaponry against something so incorporeal as a ghost. For whatever it was worth, the 'ghost' didn't seem especially perturbed by their weapons either. There was a quick rush of air and an icy chill that swept across Galloin's face as Godrim's incorporeal hand smacked him. His outline was so faint that it was practically invisible unless you were squinting and nearly on top of him, but for all that he still seemed miffed about being mistaken for anyone else. "Thunderhowler," he affirmed, though his voice was a whisper every bit as faint and faded as his body. "Need to go back 'fore I fade away. You shouldn't be here either." Galloin, who was awfully surprised he hadn't wet himself, let out a sigh of relief and belted his axe. "Thank the gods, it was you, Thunderhowler. You could've said something, you know!" Joron stepped forward. "Godrim Thunderhowler..." He let out an enthusiastic giggle. "It's an honour to finally meet you! I am Joron the Younger, son of Joron the Elder, logmaster of the Copper Union. Pray tell, what has happened to you? I was under the impression that you were, well, quite visible, indeed." Joron did not notice it himself, but he was actually standing behind Godrim's actual footsteps, talking to thin air. He only realized his mistake when he heard Godrim's voice a second time, this time coming from behind where he now stood.
"No time...need to go back," was all of his words that they made out over the whistle of the snow and wind. He seemed to know the way, so they fell in line behind him squinting to keep track of his faded body or the tiny prints that his ethereal boots left upon the snow. Once or twice they nearly lost him, and then he would stomp just loud enough to make another rustling sound, all the while glaring at them as if the exertion was killing him. Perhaps it was. When night came close he visibly quickened his pace. Throughout the trip, Joron tried his best to interview the ghost as much as he could, even though he could barely hear any answers and most of what he could hear involved phrases such as "shut up" and "not now". However, there was especially one question he insisted on, asking it over and over again with ever-growing degrees of pleading: "Can you at least tell us what this place is?" With every step closer to the mountains Godrim seemed to regain a little bit of color and grow ever so slightly more tangible, but of course that wasn't saying much. When they were nearly back, Joron finally got his answer, "Trollheim." Joron swallowed. "Pardon, I do not think I heard correctly. You mean to say that this place - this area - is the home of those tusked creatures in the bottom of the valley?"
"Once was, but now it's too warm," Godrim replied just as a frigid gust blew a few flakes of snow into Joron's eyes and cut through his scraggly beard to numb even the soft skin beneath. That remark killed the conversation, so the party marched on in silence through the dusk until they at last made it back to the tunnel, and only once he was within its entrance did he finally seem to relax. Galloin sent two warriors out to gather whatever firewood they could and proceeded to roll out some sleeping furs just inside the tunnel entrance. Meanwhile, Joron took some time to compile his notes and sketches, while he could still see. Torr was on first watch. He mumbled to himself, something about the troll being mad in the head if they thought -this- was too warm, from what Galloin could hear. "Right. Everyone keeps watch for one hour. That should give each of us five hours of sleep - plenty for tomorrow's trek-..." Joron looked up, grimacing nervously. "Wait, five hours... Does that mean I, too, have to..." Galloin smirked. "I did say everyone, didn't I? Where's your axe, lad?" Joron, in spite of the cold, began to sweat. "Uh, uhm... I... May have left it back.. In the... Hovel." The last word was said just loud enough to be considered an audible sound, but to Galloin, it was as loud as a pickaxe striking rock. He let out a long sigh that twisted itself into a groan halfway through. "You truly are your father's son, I'll give you that," he said sourly. "Fine. Joron may sleep all night - we're probably safer without him on watch, anyway." With that, the warrior curled up in his sleeping furs to get whatever sleep he could. Joron gave Galloin an angry glare, but paid him little mind. He instead turned to Godrim, quill, parchment and even a wax candle ready. "So, Godrim Thunderhowler, I, uh, hope I may ask you a few more questions still," he said in as diplomatic a tone as he could. He did not really wait for an answer. "Alright, firstly, what in the gods' names were you doing all the way out here? Considering that this is troll country and all, and that the Abductor has been seen lately, why did you come out here?"
"I..." he started, before falling silent. This drew the attention of the other dwarves. "I didn' go out there, not at first. Climbed up the other mountain tryin' to chase off that damned bird, but it wasn't there." The firewood gatherers came back at that point, immediately preparing a fire. They did read the mood rather quickly, however, and did their work in silence. Joron probed further. "Why did you end up here, then? Does the menace nest up here?" He was met with a blank stare. "Is... Is that a yes? No? A curt nod, perhaps? You're honestly a bit hard to read, being all-..." Joron stopped himself and tried to come up with a good rephrased version of the question. "I recall reading something you said before, regarding the bird's relationship to these 'trolls'... You said they worshiped it. Is it... Is it bound to something in this place? Something tangible? Perhaps..." Joron paused. "... Destructible?"
Godrim rubbed his head. "Hard for me to think right now...Can't remember much. What're you going on about?" Joron shook his head, realising the spirit may be too weak to answer. "Nevermind. I'm asking too much. Although, I will ask this: Have you always been able to leave your post?"
"Aye, but I don' feel good when I do. Dunno how the magic works, but it doesn' hold me very tight if I leave the mountains here. I get too far from my body and those runes they cut into it..." Joron's and other dwarves' eyes widened. "Ye mean, tha' wasn' in the ice?" one of the warriors asked in a terrfied voice. Joron jotted some notes down quickly, seeing the paper thanks to his candle. "If I may ask, do you recall anything about the Sorcerer-King?" Even Galloin had given up trying to sleep at this point.
"Ole King Iden? He ruled a dozen o' these mountains and that wood in the foothills. Met him a few times meself! Did I...know him while I was alive? Or only after I..." he stopped himself. "Not sure. Hard to keep the details straight after so long. They smudge and blur, jus' like faces. Haven't been able to remember me mother's own face for a long, long time." Joron felt like he was learning history all over again, and felt all giddy. "Alright, alright. One more question, if I may..." He marked a new paragraph on his parchment with a dot of ink. "Do you know where this king Iden is now?"
It was almost as if Godrim hadn't even heard the question as he began to ramble, "But some faces can't be forgotten. One stands out like that. Iden's wife, pretty lass with hair the color o' straw and a babe in each arm. Never gonna forget the tears on her face; 'tis burned into my mind. She wept and wept for days when we heard that the King had been killed by trolls. That's where he went, lad! Dead!" Joron nearly dropped his quill. The other dwarves looked at each other with disappointment carving frowns into their faces. "Wait, what? The sorcerer-king is... Is dead?" Joron said in disbelief. "That... That cannot be right! No, the log specifically states that he was imprisoned!"
Something in the ghost's demeanor had been quietly changing over the last few moments, and now there was a cruel glow to his eyes that none of them had seen before. "The log? What, are you one o' them mystics that toss a heap o' sticks into a fire and try to divine the ashes? Ha, your stupid magic's wrong, boy. I've seen the king, and he was frozen as my limp body in that hole!" The other dwarves grew uneasy at Godrim's tone and slowly, but surely, began to prepare for something, anything, just in case the ghost decided it would no longer act all that friendly. Joron, however, did not back down from his pursuit of knowledge. "Where did you see him? Please, we must find him and see for ourselves! He may be our only hope of recovering the lost arts of runesmithing!"
"Ahaha!" he guffawed, the laughter echoing eerily in the tunnel. "I don't think you know what you're askin' for, boy. I can guide you to the icy cave where the trolls trapped him, aye. You could even touch the hoarfrost on his beard with yer own fingers, if that's what your little heart wants," he said, "but it's it's out there all the way in Trollheim. A day and a half's journey, at least. Perhaps I could survive the trip again, perhaps not. But you, you green little summer boy? Ha!" Joron looked at his companions. Galloin shook his head. "We don't have to, lad. We'll just tell the others back home that we couldn't find him." Joron ran a hand through his short, chestnut beard in a pensive manner, and then promptly shook his head back at Galloin. "We're too close now, father. We're standing on the very edge next to a chasm of history. Behind us is the safety of home, yes, but to uncover the truth - we must leap into the chasm below." The warriors looked at one another, each one looking increasingly less motivated to follow Joron and the ghost. "Look, son, we-..."
"Take us there, Thunderhowler," Joron interrupted.
"Are you so eager to die?" The ghost looked the band up and down, then trained his white eyes solely upon Joron. "Soon," he promised, "but not yet. I'll have to recover, and you don't have the numbers for such an expedition. There are bears out there big enough to swallow you whole, and worse things too. You think they'll fear four or five dwarves? Ha!" Joron nodded. "Not to worry. Tomorrow, we'll take you back to recover and then look for the others-!" Galloin, having had enough, lobbed a snowball at Joron's face, hitting the young dwarf square on the forehead. "Right! That's enough out of you. You've stuck enough sticks in our wheel for today. Godrim Thunderhowler, you are free to leave at any time. Pay this one no mind. He didn't mean to be an annoyance, like he always is. We'll look for our companions tomorrow and meet you back at your post -after- discussing this with them." There was a pinch of desperation in his voice, as well as a whole cup of terror.
"So be it," Godrim answered. "I have half a mind to return to my post right now and stave off these pains, but if you need me to help keep vigil through the night..." Galloin shook his head swiftly. "Oh, as much as we appreciate you wishing to help us, we will be fine, worry not. The gods know that you have truly deserved to return home and, uh, rest! You are, after all, always keeping watch. 'Tis about time you got a break." Joron tried to interject, but the warrior closest to him, one named Ax, punched him hard in the gut, silencing whatever words the young dwarf tried to say.
Their attempts to silence Joron hadn't escaped Godrim; the wraith's white eyes flickered over to Ax for a second, and the warrior thought he saw a few specks of jet black drift across the empty orbs like black soot in a snowstorm. But then Thunderhowler just let out a grim chuckle as he walked down the tunnel and disappeared into the darkness deeper in. "I... I saw..." Ax's face had gone pale as snow. The two warriors apart from Galloin went over to tend to him, while Galloin gave Joron a glare that mixed rage and fear. "Have you completely lost your mind, lad?" Joron, still recovering from the punch, met the glare with a vicious scowl. "I could say the same about you," he spat furiously. "You let the key to our salvation walk down that corridor! There was still so much he hadn't told us!" Galloin's eyes betrayed a considerable amount of concern. "Oh, you foolish child..." He shook his head and went over to Ax as well, checking up on the now weeping warrior. Joron scoffed angrily, got to his feet and stormed outside to take the guard shift after all.
"Naive, foolish child."
The next morning, Galloin awoke to the sound of metal scraping against stone. He sat up and saw Torr in the middle of packing up his equipment. Galloin gave the dwarf a pensive look and kicked him gently in the shin. Torr looked over and nodded. "You're up early," Galloin whispered. Torr thumbed over his shoulder at the early beams of sunlight poking over the hilltops. "We ought to head back, brother. No need to stay 'ere in Trollheim any longer than we have to." Galloin grunted in agreement. "Wake up Scrollworm and Ax. I'll tell Undar to come back from his post." Torr got to his feet and strolled over to the opposite wall of the tunnel, where Joron the Younger had fallen asleep with a wax candle in hand, causing his gloved hand to be covered in now stiffened wax. The warrior gave the young dwarf a gentle punt. When that had little effect, the punt turned into a proper kick. After connecting with Joron's left side, the dwarf catapulted sideways, gasping for air. "Agh! Ow! What the curses was that for?!" Torr smirked. "Wakey-wakey, son. We're headin' back." Joron shot him a scowl and rubbed his side gently. In a few minutes, the group had packed up and were making their way back down into the tunnels.
Upon their arrival back at the crossroads, the group took a moment to look around. Their tracks from the day before had vanished as new snow had dusted them over. Godrim's footprints were nowhere to be seen, either. Joron looked at the path leading back towards home, towards Godrim's post. There were still so many questions he wanted answered. If only he could-...
"Joron! We're heading down. Keep moving so you don't freeze." Joron turned to see Galloin waiting for him as the other three made their way down the mountainpath. The historian groaned and followed. As they went down the slope, more than once did he slip on the treacherously wet rocks covered in melting ice. Besides the pain and the snickers that he endured from each fall, there was also that his clothes became damp. The other weren't quite as miserable, but they hardly seemed happy either. Eventually the ground flattened as they made their way down from the high pass and into the western part of the gulch that stretched on for a few miles before meeting with that part that they'd taken to calling the Valley of Tusks. They weren't stepping through bones where they were, but the snowdrifts were obstacle enough. The other mountain loomed over them. Some squinted and tried to make out the faint silhouettes of Kadol and his band somewhere up on those sheer slopes, but they saw nothing but rock and snow on that mountain from their position in the valley below. Galloin let his eyes sweep across the landscape of the valley. It was an awfully linear path, beginning on the hilltop they had just descended and continuing rather straight forward, as far as he could see. There weren't many trees around here either. He looked back at the path they had come from again. There seemed to be no hidden caves nor tunnels that the others potentially could have found. He beckoned Ax over. "Brother, are you feeling better?" Ax gave a shaky nod and hammered his shield with his knuckle. "Good," said Galloin. "I want you to run ahead and look for any campsites in that part of the valley." He pointed to the part to his front-left, the half of the valley which had considerably more snowdrifts than the other half. Ax nodded and picked up his speed, swiftly disappearing between the drifts. "Undar, you take the right." The dwarf nodded. "Right," Undar said and sprinted across the snowy plains to the group's right, soon gone from sight. Joron, Torr, Galloin and the third warrior, who Joron had learned was called Ygg, continued on ahead. After walking through the valley for less than an hour, Undar returned. "Didn't find any campsites, brother," he admitted. Galloin nodded and shot the left side a look. The snowdrifts crowded the plains like trees in a forest - they had likely set up camp there. "Ygg, head over there and assist Ax. If you find anything, look for Ax and come back to report." Ygg nodded and sprinted off. Joron sat down in the snow with a groan. Galloin rolled his eyes and placed his shield front-down in the snow to act as a barrier between his bottom and the icy surface. After several minutes of silence, Joron spoke. "He would not have hurt us." Galloin had to take some time to place the context, but realised quickly what he was talking about. "You do not know that. Nobody's had a longer than fifteen minute conversation with that ghost before. Nobody knows how he will react." Another minute passed. "He would not have hurt us." Galloin groaned. "Look, son, I'm getting really tired of your-!"
"They're here!" Galloin looked up. Ax peeked out from one of the snowdrifts and waved the group over. They swiftly got to their feet and followed the warrior in between the drifts. After roughly fifteen minutes of walking, they came upon a large snowpile in which someone had dug a nice, dwarf-size hole. Out the hole first came Ygg, smiling from ear to ear. Afterwards, Kadol came out, followed by his five companions. "They made it all homelike and nice in there," Ygg said happily. Kadol's companions grinned at the praise. "So, did you find anything?" Kadol asked. Joron stepped forward. "We found Godrim. He's back at his post now." Kadol and his group let out a collective sigh of relief. "Ah, thank the gods," Kadol said, patting his forehead with the hem of his shirt. "Did he tell you why he left his post?" Joron grunted. "Aye, he was looking for the menace, but he was very weakened when we found him." Kadol raised a brow. "Weakened? He can be weakened?" "Apparently. How about we make our way back towards his post? He has promised to lead us to the sorcerer-king!" Kadol grinned from ear to ear. "Fantastic! I knew he would help us! Let's move with haste!" Meanwhile, Galloin had shared the details with the five other warriors. The uncertainty brewing among the ten kept them silent as the twelve companions returned to Godrim's post by the Western Mines.
They found him in his favored spot, leaning against the icy nook in the mountainside just off the path. The ice looked frozen solid as ever. Godrim glanced over as they approached, then seemed to smile a bit when he recognized Kadol. "Ah, some faces ye don't forget," he muttered under his breath. Looking as though the effort was taxing him, he called out to Kadol, "Aye, there's me favorite lad. I haven't been feeling meself these past few days. Come on, get over here a little bit closer." Kadol grinned at the sight of the ghost and shuffled over, Joron trailing him closely with scroll and quill in hand. "Father Godrim Thunderthroat, it's a joy to see you again. Aye, I heard you'd been unwell. Are you better now?"
"Jus' a bit," he answered somewhat vaguely. Close as he was, Kadol saw the ghost's eyes quickly dart away from his own and toward the sheer precipice mere feet away, then back to him. "I need you to do somethin' for me, lad..." Kadol raised an eyebrow and nodded. "Of course, father. What can we help you with?" Galloin grimaced and walked over to Kadol. "Be careful, son," he whispered to him.
But the sound was overpowered when Godrim suddenly shouted, "Back!" Galloin and the warriors stepped back and reached for their axes; Joron cracked a smirk and Kadol's eyes widened in surprise.
A crazed look was in his eyes, but it went away from he looked back to Kadol. "Two things, lad," he corrected himself. "They can't hear what I'm 'bout to say. Tell 'em to walk into the mine." Kadol looked to the warriors and Joron and then back to Godrim. "But... But why can't they hear it, too?"
"Yer the only one I trust well enough. The only one that I really know." Galloin took a few careful steps closer. "You don't have to do this, lad. We'll find another way to the sorcerer-king--"
"He does!" Godrim shouted again. "Or yer all good as dead." The group recoiled. Godrim, meanwhile, was trembling as his eyes darted among the others. Kadol felt beads of sweat form on his forehead. He then lifted a hand to Galloin and smiled nervous. "Don't worry for me, father. He won't hurt me." Galloin frowned, holding a hand on the shaft of his axe. "Lad, dont-..." "It's fine, father. Go inside. I won't be long." Galloin recoiled again and, with a worried frown on his face, guided his warriors inside the mine, one of them dragging Joron along by the collar of his robes. Kadol turned back to Godrim, his face betraying considerable worry. "What has happened, father?"
"Didn't find the bird up on that mountain. Found some troll. He did somethin' to me. Somethin' real bad," Godrim muttered with a half mad look on his face. "You got to break the ice." Kadol stepped back and scanned the eyes, his hands trembling. "But... But won't breaking the ice cause you to disappear?"
Godrim leaned away from the wall, stretching far as he could without taking his fingertips off the ice. He clutched the ice as if it was the one thing keeping him from going mad. "If yer lucky," he said. "Might have to smash me body too. To destroy the runes." Kadol took some time to absorb the sight. "You're trapped, aren't you. But... But who will defend us from the Abductor, then?!"
"Boy, me words and thoughts ain't me own. Hard to fight it, hard to even think when I look at those others. Soon the enemy might have me in their fingertips, servin' them." Turning away for a moment, Kadol bit at his fingernails as he thought about the possible outcomes. "Without you, we're lost, Thunderhowler! We cannot find the sorcerer-king without your guidance! How will we defeat the Abductor?!"
"I don't think you want to find that damned sorcerer, son. The trolls are waitin' for you out there by his tomb. They showed me where it was, 'cause they wanted me to bring you there..." "The log was right, then... The part of the passage we wanted, though, wasn't." He eyed the mine entrance in the distance and turned back to Godrim. "I... I believe you, father. We will-... Will... Break the ice." Kadol's voice cracked somewhat.
"Not 'we'," the ghost said. "You. If the others come, I won't be able to stop myself. I'll fight back and howl, and you'll all be dead." Kadol swallowed, looked to the mines again and nodded. He eyed his spear for a moment. He did not want to runinto the mines to steal a pickaxe and risk being seen, so the spear would have to do. With a running start, the young dwarf aimed to ram the spear straight into the centre of the ice wall, just under the corpse's chest. The magical ice shattered like glass and Godrim fell to his knees heaving. Kadol heard voices from the mines as the loud glass-like shattering probably was quite an alien sound in these parts. He swiftly knelt down by the ghost. "Godrim! Speak to me!"
The ancient dwarf softly chuckled as pale, ethereal blood seeped out of his mouth. "Well done," were his last words, and then he began to fade away. But there was a mote of darkness in his pallid form, and it didn't vanish with the rest. It writhed and it hissed, like a snake plucked from its dark hole and thrust into the sun. Kadol recoiled as the black mote fell into the snow, laying there like an animated clump of coal. The others had made their way over. Joron, face white with horror, fell to his knees before the shattered wall with the speared corpse inside. "What... What have you done?" Kadol, whose face was streaked with tears, turned to Joron just in time to receive a hard punch in the gut, followed by one in the throat. Soon, the historian had tackled Kadol to the ground and got at least three more punches in before Galloin and Ax managed to pull him off. "You utter imbecile! You curse from heaven! You clog in the fountain of knowledge!" Joron kept spitting every insult his well-versed mind could think of.
As they bickered, the viscous black fluid that had escaped Godrim's fading body began to flow towards the cliff's edge. Kadol, already on the ground, sat up and touched his swelling eye. He spotted the black, snake-like spot slithering towards the edge. Whether it was instinct or just his mind being in disarray after taking some punches, the young dwarf grabbed his empty waterskin and, as precisely as he could in his state, tried to shovel the handful of snow with the black spot into it. The patch of darkness didn't seem to understand what was happening until the waterskin was closed and it realized that it had been trapped. At that point, a bloodcurdling hissing began to emerge from inside the vessel, but whatever evil lurked within it was unable to escape. The vicious hissing caught the attention of the bickering crowd, who all fell silent at what sounded like a lit fuse. Qorr Coal stepped forward. "What've you got in there, son?" Kadol staggered to his feet again and looked at the waterskin. He then looked at the dwarves gathered around.
"We will not seek the sorcerer-king." Joron redoubled his cursings. Some of the dwarves exchanged confused glances. Galloin, Ax, Torr, Ygg and Undar all seemed very satisfied with that order, however. Kadol held up the waterskin. "What I have trapped in here is.. Is..." He looked at the skin again. "Alright, I have no idea -what- it is, but we will bring it back to the Hovel for study. Perhaps we can use it to find out who was responsible for corrupting Godrim, for corrupted, he had become." Kadol swallowed. His companions, save the kicking Joron, of course, seemed rather content with that decision. Galloin handed Joron's one arm to Ygg and stepped over to Kadol, placing a reassuring palm on the young dwarf's shoulder. "Aye, lad. Let's head home."
Lord of the Thousand Streams, Regent of the Rivers, the Great Host
太平盛世 - 丰水是福
Peace and prosperity - Fortune is water in abundance.
Sphere: Fengshui Fuyou
It is said to be where all rivers ultimately begin - it is the true source of fresh water, the world spring. At the sphere's centre is a colossal caldera, home to a great, cyan pool that branches into a network of countless rivers and streams, flowing into all parts of the universe. In between the criss-crossing web of water, small patches of land verdant and fertile peek up from underneath the waves. It is unknown, even to Shengshi, where the water that passes through Fengshui Fuyou eventually ends up. Shengshi himself reasons that, eventually, it all ends up back in the world spring, somehow. It is pretty certain, though, that much of the river water flows into Galbar.
The waters bring along all manner of nutritious soils and clays, colouring the water earthen and dark and feeding the surrounding vegetation. On Galbar, this occasionally leads to powerful growth spurts in river valleys and algae blooms in lakes and seas. In an entropic manner, the rivers in Fengshui Fuyou will occasionally flood and cover the entire sphere in dark, muddy water that drowns all non-aquatic life and levels all land. However, in time, the floods always retreat and life blossoms anew, just as lively and verdant as before, if not even more so. This phenomenon is, however, deeply despised by Shengshi, as he abhors entropy, opting rather for calm, collected stability.
Upon the widest river in the network exists a single, huge junk ship, upon which a wooden castle has been built. This is the Jiangzhou, home of Shengshi. When he is not working to bring life to river basins around the world, he returns home to invite both the godly and the mortal to great feasts and parties, or sits by himself playing his harp or writing poetry. The decks of the colossal ship are manned by sizeable water globules that take care of the logistical work by carrying around items on top of them, scrubbing the floor in the meantime. It should be noted that these globules always are moving - the second they stop, they collapse into a puddle that shortly after drips off the closest side of the boat. The boat has neither sails, oars nor any kind of rudder - it relies entirely on the streams to carry it to wherever the rivers eventually lead. No matter how tumulteous the waters the ship sails, the ship will never tip over. At least, it hasn't happened yet.
While the realm of Fengshui Fuyou is located very close to Galbar itself, almost parallel, it is elevated slightly above the middle realm, as water has to flow downwards. Yet, it is certainly no heavenly realm. It is definitely closer to the Middle Sphere than its Celestial neighbours, but it shares a close border with the So'E, home of the Rain Goddess Li'Kalla, from which it receives a great deal of mist and rain.
Furthermore, the mysterious world spring itself has complex, intricate connections to a handful of other celestial spheres, one of which is the Horizon Grotto. Kirron's "work" in the Grotto feeds the world spring unmeasurable volumes of water, a gift for which Shengshi is more than grateful. The sphere's proximity to Galbar means it has a rather direct influence on the Middle Sphere, and Galbar has a powerful influence on it.
Additionally, as water flows downwards, it is very plausible that spheres above Fengshui Fuyou can access the world spring through the simple coincidence of sphere alignment - however, it is nigh impossible for Fengshui Fuyou to randomly connect to the spheres above it.
Portfolio: Rivers
As perhaps one of the most crucial sources of drinking water for all land-dwelling life, the presence of rivers, or a lack thereof, leaves a profound mark on the surrounding ecosystem that cannot be ignored. Shengshi has the ability to influence the twists and turns of these rivers, to slow some flows and speed up others, and to clean streams of filth. This power also allows him to carve rivers much easier. However, his abilities do not affect waters salty and still. As such, his influences does not extend to the lakes and seas of Galbar.
The control of water gives Shengshi a direct influence over life along his rivers. This power is, however, limited to sustaining or destroying ecosystems through the control of water. Furthermore, the river lord's subjects, those who dwell within his rivers, not only understand their liege's words and can make themselves understood, but also obey his commands without questions. This applies to the fish, reptiles and amphibians that dwell in Shengshi's rivers.
Additionally, Shengshi’s form and portfolio gives him certain slightly less magnificent powers.
Among these powers is his ability to swim incredibly fast. While his upper half indeed is humanoid, his serpentine lower half gives him incredible alacrity in the water.
Persona
Lawful Good. Shengshi wishes only to please as many as possible, and for everyone to please one another. He only ever deviates from this intent when his guests overstep their boundaries.
Shengshi, much like the rivers he sails, wishes life to flow along uninterrupted. As such, he values peace and stability over all. He has a poetic soul, often finding inspiration in the patterns of water and the life underneath. He amateurishly expresses these inspirations in the form of music and poetry.
In his own eyes, Shengshi sees himself as playing the role of a host at an ever-lasting feast. Shengshi loves and welcomes all living things that settle on his rivers’ basins, and his greatest wish for his “guests”, to put it that way, is to provide for their every need. As such, he makes certain to clean his rivers regularly so his guests may only drink deep in the purest waters in existence. He keeps his guests comfortable and warm through water temperature management, and makes certain that they sleep soundly to the sounds of calm, docile streams. All executed to the best of his ability as a gracious host. In coherence with his obsession with being a host, he expresses generousity at an almost fanatical level, constantly bombarding his friends with gifts.
Shengshi can be described as respectful and kind to both mortals and gods. He holds firmly the belief that conflict is to be avoided at all costs, and will do everything in his power to satisfy his guests in hopes that conflict will remain at a minimum. Although Shengshi upholds a strict code of honesty, he will always be very careful not to speak the truth if it could cause conflict. As such, like the rivers twist and turn around obstacles, his words will twist and shape into excuses and agreements that avoid him putting someone else, or himself, in a poor light.
However, as a host, he of course demands similar attitudes towards him, and those that fail to act as such are deemed “uninvited”, so to speak. He does not actually -say- what he demands, however. To punish the wicked offenders Shengshi will, to the best of his ability, strive to politely ask these unwanted guests to leave his domains, whether that be his sphere or his river valleys. How he does this varies depending on the severity of the guest’s faux pas, but he will never directly ask someone to leave. Naturally, this only applies to those who are actually on Shengshi’s domain. When Shengshi himself acts the guest, he will hold his host in the highest respect, sometimes going so far as to portray himself as a mere demigod in comparison.
His ambition is to one day end conflict between mortals and have friend and foe feast together at great banquets, and have countries that once despised one another before engage in trade and collective progress towards a great future. He understands that this is a daunting task, but firmly believes water can be the tool that unites all life under a banner of peace and prosperity.
Appearance
Shengshi’s torso is humanoid in appearance, with well-toned features, apart from a slightly rounded pot-belly. From top to tail, Shengshi stands roughly eight feel tall. White, leathery skin covers most of his chest, abdomen and face, but the rest of his body boasts a coat of glistening, crimson scales. From his stomach and downwards, his body curves and twists into a long, serpentine tail, white as marble on the front and red as the dawn on the back. The tail is adorned with glistening fins and completed by a small, pointed tuft of hair at the very tip.
In coherence with his serpentine body, Shengshi’s face likewise displays both humanoid and draconic features. His lower and upper jaws stick a little more out in front, and his high, sharp cheekbones give his cheeks a stretched look about them. His nose flattens out right below the bridge, appearing almost feline. The nose gives way to a wide, fanged mouth dressed in a black mustache, which hangs from his upper lip like two blackened jungle vines, reaching his throat.
His eyes, ringed with black lines, slant somewhat upwards at the outer edges, roofed with two black eyebrows that each stretch far out on each side of his face. His pupils take the colour of the last river he looked into, so he strives to keep all his rivers as clean as possible so his eyes glisten like a lake in the moon’s glow. His pointed ears grow upwards and curve slightly towards the top, much like a pair of short sabres. From the top of Shengshi’s skull sprout two long antlers in the middle of a long mane of black hair, that itself hangs down to his shoulders. Theme song: Guzheng: "Spring River Flower Moon Night" 古筝 - 春江花月夜 chinese dragon man by Randommonkies
Yeah, permanent portals are probably more convenient - and cooler. Could make for some interesting RP too, as mortals hear the legends of [divine sphere name] Gate and try to seek it out, and then we get "guy tried to climb Olympus and got zapped by Zeus"-scenarios.
H) Ten Hammersworn Light Infantry were recruited from the adult population.
X+E) Kadol, Joron the Younger and ten units of the light infantry were sent to the western mountains to find Godrim Thunderhowler, and then search for the sorcerer-king.
The Great Hall - now furnished with tables and stools for every dwarf - hosted an atmosphere quite unsure about its own identity: On one hand, this was the first protein rich meal the dwarves had eaten in a long time - Makkar's crew had brought back enough fish for a proper meal, as well as some for drying and preserving - but on the other hand, the shivering miner currently crying over his bowl of fish soup, surrounded by many a supportive brother and sister, carried with him a message of a subject so fearsome that the room's enthusiasm had decided to take its business somewhere else. There were no jigs; there was no song; joy and laughs did not belong. The councillor long table was not much better, even as Erima showed a display of what could almost pass for gratitude in Herim's direction, who accepted it with all the patience of a fisherman awaiting his catch. Makkar and the actual fishermen had also received praise, though the warning from the west had cut it short. There was no mistaking that the fish had helped considerably, though. While no one in the great hall technically smiled, each and every dwarf and dwarfling could not help but reveal a shine of joy in their eyes at the taste of grain bread and boiled fish. This, at least, kept the air of despair from completely permeating the room.
Osman shoved the last spoonful of soup into his mouth, licking the beard surrounding his lips to make sure he had not missed any droplets. The black-haired dwarf's brow hung low, casting shade over his brown eyes. Makkar, spoon sticking out of his mouth, glanced over.
"Wha' o' uh mai'h, fo'ma'?" he began before swallowing and pulling the spoon out to repeat himself clearly: "What's on your mind, foreman?" Osman looked up and pulled at his mustache in a pensive manner. He tried to speak, cleared his throat a little and tried again.
"Anyone got any idea of how we're going to get rid of that gods-damned chicken?" Most of the councillors abruptly stopped eating, some looking at Osman in an insulted manner, as if he had just ruined their meal. Golaq Gold of the Gold Union let out a sigh.
"Look, foreman, you gotta bring this up now? We were havin' such a nice meal and here you come and talk about that cursed thing... Can't we save it for-..."
"Save your whining, Golaq," Quana interjected. "The foreman raises an important point. We ought to discuss it sooner rather than later." Golaq leaned back with a curt groan and picked his teeth with a rather long fishbone. Igura Water straightened her back somewhat and looked towards Osman. "Well, foreman, as your closest advisor on logistics surrounding a potential trek to the west, the last shipment brought with it news that the paths are getting slipperier." The others looked to her. "You mean to say that there is ice on the Westroad?" Erima Rock said with a smile. Igura nodded. "The reports convey as much." More and more councillors smiled. The winter was slowly loosening its grasp on the valley. "However," Igura added, "this will make the trek harder. Considering we, unfortunately, had to eat a good few leather shoes, we cannot provide proper footwear to all." Osman knocked gently on the table. "We won't need everyone. Ra'ol, what's the current state of the Whitepeak Bastion?" Ra'ol looked over to Osman and then down in his lap, sweat forming on his forehead.
"Well, uh, we... We..." He let out a sigh. "It's nowhere near finished, foreman. There are four walls, a poor excuse for a barracks and a single tower. Are we lucky, it may withstand a single swoop from the flying menace. We-..."
"And that's enough whimpering for now," Osman said and waved a hand. Ra'ol deflated in his chair. "Chin up, Ra'ol. We won't let it swoop by. Find that lad, wossname, Cadood?"
"Kadol, foreman," Joron corrected. Osman snapped his fingers. "Yes, that one. Kadol!" The foreman's shout made the entire hall quiet down. The sound of what was likely a wooden stool falling over and then swiftly being picked up again echoed from the Steel Union long tables. After a few minutes, the young dwarf shuffled up to the councillor table and raised his right fist in the air. Despite the fervor of his salute, the dwarf's face betrayed nervous grimaces. Osman nodded.
"Son, you're our best authority on subjects regarding this Grimgor Thunderbowler."
"Godrim Thunderhowler," Joron corrected, spitting the name out as if it was poison.
"I know what I said," Osman snapped at Joron before turning back to Kadol. "We're currently having a little discussion about that blasted sky-chicken and we're wondering if he ever told you anything about how to defeat it. Anything at all." Kadol folded his hands and looked down. A moment passed, followed by another moment. Finally, Kadol remembered something.
"He... He said it can be driven back by howling!"
"-Godrim's- howling, likely," Joron said sourly. Kadol deflated, but his eyes glistened as another memory came to light.
"I-it can be stopped by magic!"
"Which we most definitely have loads of and absolutely can utilise to its utmost potential at this very moment. Just ask Roka how that Thunderhorn is coming along," Erima snarked. Roka, who once again was filling in for Khyber Tin, hung her head. "She's not wrong," she muttered in defeat. Kadol hung his head as well. Osman, who looked about as calm and patient as a starving hound in a slaughterhouse, slammed his fist on the table so hard that a few soupbowls went flying.
"Rock, cut the filth!" Erima smirked and leaned back in her chair. Osman turned back to Kadol. "Son, is there really nothing else? No hints? No details? No ancient history?"
"History, he says," Joron muttered sourly. Osman shot him a look that could pierce armour.
Kadol shook his head in defeat. "I'm... I'm sorry, foreman. I have nothing." Osman ran a hand through his beard. "Well, that narrows the options..." he muttered. Herim leaned over and whispered something. Osman looked up.
"You are aware that Godrim hasn't been seen for days, yes?" Kadol nodded solemnly. Osman nodded too.
"Quana!" The dwarf quickened and looked to Osman. Meanwhile, Kadol bowed and turned towards the tables again. Osman pointed at him.
"We're not done with you yet, son. Quana, how many axes and shields can you prepare in three days?" Quana's eyes widened and she pulled out a stick of charcoal and began writing some numbers on the back of her hand. "Uh, if we work overtime, we can probably ready about six axes and nine shields, if we keep them out of Gold union claws."
"Oh, you wish we'd take the time to bejewel your shoddy work." Golaq said with a smirk and a roll of his eyes.
"What did you just say to me?!" Quana spat and rocketed up from her stool. Osman slammed his fist into the table again, causing yet another flight of the soupbowls. Joron caught one in the air just before it would have fallen to its doom on the stone floor.
"Golaq, enough with the filth! Quana, sit down and focus!" Quana sat back down and shot the smirking Golaq a deathstare. "Alright, cut the last three shields and focus on making the axes as good as you can. How many shields and axes do we already have in store?" Quana wrote down some more numbers on her hand, rubbing some away and correcting them.
"Uh, I'm guessing here, but I'd say we probably have at least four shields and twenty axes of varying sizes." Osman nodded. "How many of those are of a good combat size?" Quana raised an eyebrow and then formed a grin on her lips. "I'd say about ten of them are." Osman nodded again.
"Very good. Take those four shields and four of the best axes. Have six more of each produces in three days. Then I want you to find the ten best warriors we have and suit them up properly for a trek west." Quana grinned from ear to ear and saluted. She shot up from her seat and ran over to the Steel Union table, barking orders like some militant hound. The other councillors were looking expectantly at Osman, who turned back to Joron.
"Logmaster, can you recite your books on command?"
"They're called logs, foreman, and yes, I can," Joron replied in an annoyed manner.
"Good. What was that one about the sorcerer-king?" Joron's eyes widened. He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a scroll. After unrolling it, he rolled it back together and stuffed it back in his bag, digging some more. He suddenly slapped his forehead as if he had forgotten something, and pulled out a green copper disk instead. He scanned it quickly and muttered angrily to himself, calling over a white-robed member of his union, who after hearing his orders, sprinted out of the great hall.
"On command..." Osman snarked.
"It's not like I carry around every scroll and logdisk at all times, foreman!" Joron snapped. After roughly fifteen minutes or so, the white-robed dwarf returned, panting loudly. Joron waved him away and began to read:
"To the sorcerer-king of those hills the howling winds called In grasping greed he crossed the mountains and found his doom. Lured by promises of might, by the ice king's deceit he was enthralled and so the greatest runesmith was forever bound in an icy tomb."
Osman nodded. "That's the one. Son! You got a weapon of choice?" Kadol quickened and hesitated. "I... I know how to use the spear, foreman!" There was a snicker among the councillors.
"The spear? A little dull, don't you think, foreman?" Joron said. "It's so very... How to put this... Normal. Every Hammersworn knows how to use a spear. It's just run and stab." Kadol deflated. Osman rubbed his chin.
"Aye, it's no hammer and a bit of a hassle to drag around, but suppose it'll have to do. Son, your orders are as follows." Osman stood up and clapped his hands so loudly that the resulting echo caused some snow to fall off the roof of the great hall - at least, Osman liked to think so. The other dwarves turned to the councillor table - some stood up to see what all the commotion was about. Osman climbed up onto the table, greatly inconveniencing whomever had to clean it afterwards, and spoke as loudly as he could:
"Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters! All hear your foreman's words! It is a grim day with yet more grim news sent by the gods to test us! That foul menace of the skies has returned! As of now, we have no way of defeating it." Many of the dwarflings in the crowd clung to their parents and began to cry. The adults themselves looked at each other with fear in horror. "However," Osman continued, "not all is lost." Osman pointed to Kadol, who froze and slowly turned to the crowd.
"Our son has taken upon him a great responsibility. He will take ten of our bravest and venture beyond the mine - beyond the Valley of Tusks, in search of Godrim Thunderhowler. They will get him to help us defeat the feathered demon for good!" A cheer erupted from the crowd. Kadol began to sweat and looked back at Osman.
"And not only that!" Osman continued. Kadol swallowed and the councillors looked at Osman in confusion and awe. "After he has had a word with Godrim, he will proceed into the unknown mountains to the west to find - the sorcerer-king!" Another cheer erupted. Kadol was almost on his knees at this point. "The sorcerer-king will teach us the ways of runesmithing so that we may complete the Thunderhorn and forever be safe from the Abductor!" A group of dwarves came over to the councillor table, picked up the floored Kadol and proceeded to toss him up and down, chanting, "saviour!" and "hero!" Osman stepped down from the stool. Joron Scroll stood up. "Foreman, a request."
"Awfully blunt today. What is it?" Joron scowled at the comment, but continued. "I would like for my son, Joron, to accompany Kadol on his quest. He will act as the Copper Union's eyes and ears and write down all that the travellers may discover on the other side of the Valley of Tusks." Osman ran a thinking hand through his beard and nodded. "So be it. You have my permission." Joron nodded back.
Kadol was light as a feather to the roughly twenty dwarves taking turns at tossing him up and down; however, the young dwarf felt heavier than ever. He felt as though a mountain of responsibility had been dropped on top of his shoulders. He whispered desperate prayers to every god he knew, even the cruel ones. He knew he would need their blessing now more than ever.
Hey, folks! Hope you don't mind if I check out this discussion. I just really love this concept and, from reading the posts in IC, its manifestation in this thread. I really like the idea of spheres and the leaking of divine magic into the mortal world. I really like the thought of a hierarchy in the pantheon as a result of the layers of spheres. Got a tiny question about foci: Would there also be a limit to the number of foci that a divinity can possess? Will portfolios remain much the same?
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