Entry VI - Leaves and Fire
"Hear not the wind -- view not the woods;
Look out o'er vale and hill-
In spring, the sky encircled them --
The sky is round them still.
Come autumn's scathe -- come winter's cold --
Come change -- and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne'er be desolate." - The Autumn, Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Grimnir and Brewster had decided upon above ground farms. They were viable all year round, and there was something wrong with hiding beneath the eart, Grimnir felt. Not that it was wrong, but he was content to look out over the hills, assured that if any Goblin showed up, he'd know it instantly. The few tame animals wandered about, close to the land plots, and Grimnir took a well deserved break.
A smiling Nav came to him, and they shook hands. "Good news," Nav said. Grimnir didn't answer. "The wood furnaces will be done soon!" he said, and Grimnir nodded in approval. This would mean weapons. Unfortunatly, they had not found any iron or coal in the underground, but to Grimnir, silver warhammers was more than acceptable. "I'll forge them myself," continued Nav, and Grimnir smiled, if only shortly.
"Good work," Grimnir said, and turned around to tend the crops. Hammerscar grew quicker than he could have imagined. Bedrooms, halls filled with busy dwarves carrying the deep ores and stone to the surface, trees being felled, and Brewster out in the wilderness, looking at everything with a quiet, considerate smile.
Suddenly. Chaos. A flock of ravenmen struck down in the fields, distupting everything, hunting the sheep, flapping all around. All of this was quickly ended, as Grimnir planted his axe in one of them.
"OUT OF HAMMERSCAR!" he yelled, and his scream echoed through the hills. "OUT OF MY LAND!" They flew away. The hills were very quiet that night.
Entry VII - A Smell of Ash
The halls smelt burned and dry. Grimnir smiled, as Reaver led him to the Forgehalls. "Here it is," he said, solemnly, as Nix carried log after log into the great fires that burned in the forges. The heat was immense, but none of them looked displeased. Raw smiles were in their faces, as their eyes lit up from the flames. Grimnir was no different. In the fire, he saw the future of Hammerscar.
Hammers of silver, pounding down the hordes of Goblins they would inevitably face. With glee, he imagined a Legion of Hammerscar Warriors, bloodthirsty and strong, cutting down one hellspawn after the other. A thousand cuts, he thought to himself.
Then, through the halls, an echo came. "Newcomers!" it said, and Grimnir and his friend left the Forgehalls. The traditional ritual was performed, and the Newcomers were let into the fold. A bitter smile flashed across Grimnirs face. The Mountainhomes must be crumbling, he thought. Then, one of the newcomers catched his attention. In his hands, he held a strange device, made of stone, and bearing strange symbols and gears.
"How are you?" he asked. "Tirion," the young Dwarf answered, flashing a shy smile. "I craft devices from the bones of the mountain." Grimnir sent him a curious look. "I see. What kind of devices?" he asked, wearily. Tirion smiled. "Give me a workshop, and you'll see," he said, a strange dreadful tone of doom in his voice.
But in his voice, and in his eyes, Grimnir felt again a fire burn, one that spelt doom to the enemies of Hammerscar, one that spoke of spikes and cages and knives of glass, and a thousand bleeding cuts, of grinding stones and broken bones, and goblins dead, before they could murder the children of the mountain. And Grimnir smiled, and Pan marked down the location of Tirions labotory.
It was done by morning.
Entry VII - Panacea
"It's a disgrace," someone said. Grimnir looked around. "Well I mean it, you silent son of a yak!" the same Dwarf said, clearly directed at Grimnir. Puzzled, Grimnir sent him a confused look. "We most certainly need a Hospital! We'd rather build it now, then wait for disaster to befall us!" he continued.
"What's your name?" Grimnir demanded. "Grau," the Dwarf replied.
"Well then," said Grimnir. "You're right. And you'll be in charge of it too," he added. Surprisingly, Grau took this in stride. "Very well," he said. "I'll ask Pan to arrange for the necessary supplies." He disappeared into the halls. Reaver was busy with the new Great Hall, and Brewster had again disappeared into the wilderness, probably putting several bolts into the Ravenfolk.
As Grimnir went up the stairs to inspect Tirions newest invention (traps that would make stone drop on uninvited guests), he heard someone mumbling deep underground. He went down.
The quiet, low sound of a chisel met him in the darkness. "The bones of the mountains," a voice said, stopping the chisel for a moment. "Yes, ancient bones, and I conjure forth the stories within," he continued, apparantly talking to no one in particular.
Grimnir finaly found him, kneeling down, and carving images into the raw stone. "Why not do it up in the Forgehalls?" Grimnir asked. The dwarf was apparantly not surprised that someone stood behind him. "Well of course. When this story is finished, the rest of the mountain will talk," he said, his voice low, deep and considerate, as if he turned every word in his mind before he spoke. He did not turn to look at Grimnir for one second. "Have no worries, Old Scar, there's a time for everything. The halls are next, indeed, the next storytellers on my list. Go now, and see that the hammers of silver are forged. We are all anxious, and the mountain sings of war." He felt silent, and again, the steady beat of his chisel filled the air. Grimnir left in silence, deep in thought. In the darkness below him, the Dwarf muttered: "A thousand cuts into the mountain, for gold and steel, blood and bone. A thousand cuts indeed..."
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Topic: [Succession Game] Hammerscar - Politics, rebellion and war. (Read 49625 times)