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Author Topic: Crownhammers, the #1 undead, murderous bird sanctuary in the world  (Read 69492 times)

Longinus

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Re: Crownhammers, a succession game of politics, intrigue and backstabs
« Reply #330 on: March 24, 2015, 12:04:08 am »

i drew a quick picture of father Wolfe just so you would know what he looks like
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TechnoXan

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Re: Crownhammers, a succession game of politics, intrigue and backstabs
« Reply #331 on: March 24, 2015, 05:56:00 am »

(Snicker) I don't know why but I keep seeing him as Amish.  :P  :P. But yeah, it's a very nice picture.  :)

EDIT: BY ARMOK, I DID IT AGAIN!!  Ugh, thanks Longinus. Spelling is my worst enemy. That and Giant Olms.   :D
« Last Edit: March 24, 2015, 06:27:33 pm by TechnoXan »
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Longinus

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Re: Crownhammers, a succession game of politics, intrigue and backstabs
« Reply #332 on: March 24, 2015, 04:30:21 pm »

(Snicker) I don't know why but I keep seeing him as ommish.  :P  :P. But yeah, it's a very nice picture.  :)
*Amish
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TechnoXan

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Re: Crownhammers, a succession game of politics, intrigue and backstabs
« Reply #333 on: March 24, 2015, 08:24:02 pm »

                                 Journal of Xan
OOC: By the by, my guy is pretty much oblivious to the Legions suspicions about him. Oh and my suggestion for a new church was just to be a spot to eliminate zealots, the king hates those.  8)

                   Entry Four: Hah! My skills are unparallelled! The Legion suspect nothing of me, and I have actually found something during a meeting of how we could revolt against the king. Oh I could barely hold back my anger at these scum. But my support of Uzol is wavering as well. The Legions plans look like they could restore the Matched Silvers to the great empire we once were. Fobek, my friend in the academy was killed on a Goblin scouting mission, that Uzol ordered. According Knors gossip it was a suicide mission practically. By Armo-wait, better stay away from that. The fanatic preacher is continually spreading his idiocy to the other dimwits around here. I will have to discourage new recruits soon. Anyway, I managed to steal a glance at a bin in the back room during a strategic discussion. And I found a small amulet with a red eye on it. I almost took it but I had a feeling it is important and I cant afford to be found out yet. I sent a mold to Knor and it turns out it is an artifact of a full on church of the Legion. This is unbearable! Why do these.....these cretins need so much fanaticism!? No, the Legion is just another fake cult to scare people. Even if it has some slightly sane ideas. That's it! I am going to start a new political party! The Monarchists. My support wavers but even a puppet king is better than an Armok blasted theocracy! Its un-Dwarven!! Dwarfs are industrious, not fanatic zealots! I must wait though. Maybe I can gain some new information while I plan and send for permission from Knor.

OOC: Yeah, Its (probably) going to happen. But I am going to wait a little longer to switch parties. Oh and Asmoth, do you have any problem with whats going on please tell me! I wanna make sure I don't break any rules or ruin any RP's.  ;D
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Longinus

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Re: Crownhammers, a succession game of politics, intrigue and backstabs
« Reply #334 on: March 25, 2015, 03:26:53 am »

Figures in Crownhammers; Taran:

Some sort of pagan. a sailer i think. He believes in al sorts of superstitions and fairytales, and he's activley trying to get others to follow his beliefs. His contorl of the fortress also makes him dangerous in his infleunce, and i still think that he doesn't like me. I'll have to have this one taken care of when noone's lookin.
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Deus Asmoth

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Re: Crownhammers, a succession game of politics, intrigue and backstabs
« Reply #335 on: March 25, 2015, 05:43:18 am »

The more conflict the better, I'd say. I was honestly a little disappointed that no one had sided with the goblins before you.

I was also considering introducing some opposition mechanic to counterbalance the support one and give an outlet for the infighting to the end of year scores. Both parties involved would have to lose some percentage of each other's scores to prevent it being abusable though. Thoughts?
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Rhaken

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Re: Crownhammers, a succession game of politics, intrigue and backstabs
« Reply #336 on: March 25, 2015, 10:27:59 am »



Summer went on, and the dwarves of Crownhammers settled into a comfortable routine of building the Admiral's edifice, expanding the living areas, and being harassed by the local undead wildlife. Soldiers were periodically stationed at various points on the surface to protect the civilians, but still one or two dwarves managed to get themselves mangled by long-dead birds. Those with lasting injuries were carried to the hospital to await Balor's ministrations. Taran soon came to realize that there was no soap to be found anywhere in Crownhammers, nor was there a well on hand. He set about to correcting these mistakes immediately.

It was in the final days of Malachite that they came, arriving from the south, presumably on the same path as the human merchants from a month before. A group of dwarven exiles, seeking refuge. The first dwarf they approached was Bembul. He greeted them with a warm smile and a promise of a new home. By the next day, half of them were assigned to military squads.

Immigration Ledger
25th of Malachite
Mid Summer


Nish Alathatol, Milker/Swordsdwarf (m)
Ducim Kakdalkol, Carpenter/Macedwarf (f)
Zas Ustuthmishos, Doctor (m)
Ushat Bunematis, Wood Burner (m)
Sazir Avuzbim, Tanner (m)
Kol Thosbuttun, Gem Setter (m)
Tobul Emaledem, Soldier (f)
{b]Total: 7[/b]

1 Keet (m)
1 Puppy (f)
2 Puppies (m)

Total: 4



The Admiral was telling his stories again. Most of the dwarves of Crownhammers were gathered in the dining hall to hear their current overseer tell another one of his fascinating tales over the evening meal. One of the few absentees was Sakzul Vudtharstinthad of the Legion, who had been taken by a fey mood and locked herself in her jeweler's workshop with a pile of gems, rocks, leather and assorted rubbish.

Taran took a swig of ale to clear his throat before getting started. Anyone who was used to his normally dour demeanor welcomed his tales with open arms. He was a different dwarf then. His voice still rumbled of age, but where it was normally grave and hollow, it was now filled with life and vigor. He sounded decades younger, though no dwarf save Bembul could put an age to him.

"Oh, she was a fine ship, our Osprey," he began, a brilliant gleam in the eye. "I'd know. Built 'er meself. Nigh on fifty years we sailed 'er, Bembul n' I, through storm and whale and war, n' never did we 'ave to retire her, nor watch as she sank to th' bottom o' th' ocean. I'd wager she'll outlive me, 'ad I the slightest notion where she was."

"What happened to it?" One of the dwarves in the crowd asked.

"Her, lad," Taran corrected. "Ships is always a 'her'. On account o' human language, ye unnerstand. Humies 'ave no word fer 'it'. Ev'rything's male or female. Ships are female. Like it or not, humans invented the boat, so we adhere to their terminology."

"But I digress. Truth be told, I dunno what happened to 'er. Me last journey with 'er is a tale fer another time."

Taran took another swig of ale, raised his mug for a refill. "Fer now, I'd tell ye of how she switched from a whalin' ship to a warship. Stay with me now, t'is an odd tale indeed."

"We were in th' employ of a human city in them days, a capital" he said, casting eyes over his spectators. "O'er half o' th' crew were humes, an' they paid damn well fer whale oil n' ambergris in that town, so we stuck 'round an' enjoyed th' prosperity. Whalin' trips were short, an' we were th' only crew with experience huntin' the majestic creatures, so we racked up a small fortune by ourselves. Had us a private wharf on th' waterfront an' everything."

"O' course, we're sailors. Good fortune never lasts long enough for our lot. Less than a year o' good luck, an' already troubles were brewin' on th' horizon. We came to learn that th' goblins 'ad conquered a human town some sixty leagues north, an' were usin' th' harbor ta build their own ships an' terrorize th' open waters. They sunk an entire fishin' fleet afore anyone knew what was happenin', an' a scoutin' ship had spotted the bastards headed toward th' capital."

"Well, there was no point ta goin' whalin' if yer port gets blockaded while ye're gone, so the lads n' I just sat twiddlin' our thumbs an' doin' nothin' o' value. That is, until th' human general came by with a far purse and orders ta arm all sufficiently large sea-worthy vessels in preparation fer war. So there we are a couple days later, loadin' a squad o' humie archers n' pikemen aboard our vessel. I dun think the humies were used to naval warfare o' any sort, 'cause most o' the soldiers were clad in iron armor. That kind o' weight will only get ye drowned."

"So I go an' have a talk with their commander, a fella by the name of... huh. Oy, Bembul!" Taran hollered to his old companion, who was seated at another table with a flagon in one hand and a ledger in the other. "What was that lackwit's name?"

"Stathra, ser," Bembul replied, looking up from his papers for the briefest of moments.

"Stathra, that's it," Taran nodded. "Aye, man was a complete idjit. Ye dun have to be a military genius ta unnerstand that armored pikemen are the dumbest possible choice fer a marine. Pikes're too bloody long ta wield effectively on a deck, an' heavy armor just makes ye sink easier. But that loon would have none of it, so we set sail with him, fifty bowmen and fifty unfortunate sods who'd be screwed if we actually engaged th' enemy."

"O' course, like I told ye before, a sailor's luck never lasts long. We ran into a goblin ship on the second day o' the scoutin' trip. They weren't no scouts neither. T'was a full-blown warship. O'er twice as large as th' Osprey, I tell ye, with a deck so full o' greenskins ye'd think ye were lookin' at a sea o' heads. Buggers started headin' in our direction th' very moment they saw us."

"T'was all hands on deck then, I tell ye," he said as he swept his wild eyes through the crowd. "Never had I seen me own crew haul arse so bleedin' fast. There was no gettin' away from 'em in that tide and those winds, so straight on we went, tryin' to pass 'em broadside. Th' archers nocked arrows, the pikemen formed up. Arrows flew from th' Osprey in their dozens, comin' down on the goblins' 'eads like a rain o' iron. They dinnae fire back. As we were passin', their ship suddenly turned towards us. Bleedin' 'ells, I thought they were crazy enough to try an' ram us. We turned away, tried maneuverin' oot o' range. Their ship kept comin'. In th' end, they didn't ram us, but they were damn close. Close enough to board."

"Piles o' greenskins jumped from their deck ta ours, brandishin' weapons an' screamin' in their foul tongue. Th' pikemen 'ad no room to fight. Half the poor bastards were dead afore the goblins were even done boardin'."

All eyes were on him, fascinated by the tale. One young dwarf, a farmer by trade, spoke up. "How did you get out of that one, Admiral?"

"Oh lad, ta this day I dunno if it were quick thinkin' or pure chance. But I went n' did somethin' so bloody insane, it jus' had ta werk. I tried sinkin' me own ship."

He paused for dramatic effect there. The dwarves of Crownhammers were giving him the exact same look as his crew had given him back then. They thought he was out of his addled mind.

"I'd trained me crew ta tie themselves ta th' riggin' in case o' sea storms, so I bellowed for 'em to do that. Then I steered th' Osprey like a drunken loon. I turned the helm every which way, gave th' most ridiculous orders ta th' crew. Afore th' fightin' on deck 'ad developed enough fer th' gobbos ta turn on me crew, we were careenin' sideways. Th' deck was so slick with blood an' sea water that anyone an' anythin' what weren't nailed down started to slide right off."

"I remember havin' th' presence o' mind ta yell fer the human soldiers ta grab on ta somethin' or stab th' deck. Many of 'em were smart enough ta listen. Them what weren't went o'er th' side along with th' gobbos. So that was one problem mostly solved. That left th' goblin warship, an' we were in no condition ta take on her crew." Taran grinned like a madman. To this day, he was surprised his hare-brained scheme had worked. Especially this last part.

"So we rammed 'er. Sheer bleedin' insanity, I know. But I been buildin' ships since I was a beardlin'. I ken how they werk, an' how ta make 'em stop werkin'. Turned th' helm straight t'wards 'er belly an' braced fer impact. There was a massive splinterin' o' wood as our prow went through their hull. We hung on fer dear life as th' Osprey took th' impact like a champ. The gobbos started takin' in water, and afore too long, they was sinkin'. Some o' them tried ta jump ship an' swim away. Thing is, they couldn't really swim."

Taran went on about how they were received like heroes and madmen back on land. The sound of chatter rose all around as dwarves commented amongst themselves on the tale. Some stayed at Taran's table, asking the old dwarf questions.

"Have you ever killed a goblin before?"

"With me own hands on a weapon? Nae. Me crew would get to 'em fairst."

"How many whales have you caught?"

"Fifty-seven."

"What does a ship actually look like?"

Taran grinned. "Well, lad, t'is hard ta describe. But if ye can wait 'nother month or so, I wager ye'll see fer yerself."



They lay in his bed together, her head resting on his chest, savoring the afterglow. What with the Admiral's project nearing completion, Bembul and Atir finally had some time to themselves. Now that the fun part was over, it was time for Atir's usual barrage of questions.

"You know, I still can't figure out where you and the Admiral are from."

"How d'ye mean?"

"Well, you know. You two just don't strike me as being dwarves of the Matched Silvers."

"Ach. Was it th' accent what gave us 'way?" Bembul smiled. "Aye, we're nae from here."

"Where are you from then?"

"Tha's a tough question." He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "We're nae from this land, if tha's what ye're askin'."

"Yes, you just told me that."

"Nae, I dun think ye unnerstand. The Cap'n n' I are from another continent entirely."

Atir craned her head upward to look him in the eye. There was no look of mischief there, so he didn't seem to be lying, but that was quite the farfetched answer. Another continent?

Bembul sighed. "Look. It's a long bleedin' story, and ye'll get ta hear th' whole thing quite soon anyway."

He was dodging her again. Damnation. Atir continued her inquiry. "How old are you exactly? You keep telling me you're too old for this and that, but you look barely a hundred and ten."

This was new. For the first time since she'd met him, Bembul looked nervous. "See, now tha's nae easier than th' first question. And again, ye'll know aboot it soon."

It was Atir's turn to sigh. "Why can't you tell me yourself? And what do you mean I'll know about it?"

"Because th' Cap'n's project is nearin' completion." If Bembul was aggravated, he gave no sign of it. "An' when it's finished, he'll be callin' a gatherin' o' th' Whalers. Then he'll explain th' whole story. Afore that, none of ye may know th' answers. Now, are there any questions I can actually answer wi'out crossin' the Cap'n?"

"I hope so. Lately, I've been getting this feeling. Ever since the election in fact. That we're being watched, or something. Do you get that too?"

Bembul stroked her chestnut hair, a bright smile dancing on his lips. "Ah lass, now ye done this ol' sailor proud. Aye, I felt th' same. No bleedin' idea who's watchin' or why though. I suspect we'll find out sooner or later."

"Why?"

"There's 79 dwarves livin' in Crownhammers, an' most of 'em ain't bright enough fer tha' sort o' werk. So we go by process o' elimination. Now, unless I mistake that glint in yer eyes, ye've more ta say. Out with it."

She hesitated more than usual. This was a touchy subject, touchier than any other she'd badgered him about before. She started by mumbling, then rephrasing her mumbling a couple of times. She tried speaking in sentence fragments. "Slow down an' think, woman," Bembul told her. "Ye're beginnin' ta worry me."

The longest ten seconds of her life passed by before Atir could properly express herself. "My... cycle stopped a couple months ago. I... I think I'm with child."

She had never seen Bembul like this. His eyes widened in alarm, but he sounded calm as ever when he spoke. "Ye're certain o' this?"

"Mostly, yes. Why?" Atir tried to hide how broken she felt, but she was certain Bembul would notice. Nobody in Crownhammers knew her like he did.

He eyed her gravely. The words that came out of his mouth did nothing but make her feel worse.

"Because I'm sterile, lass. Have been fer years. An' ye're too smitten with me to sleep around, so it would have to be mine. But it can't be."

Atir fought back tears. How could he possibly sound so cold when he said that? Did he really feel no attachment to her? She struggled with the urge to punch him in the loins.

He cupped her chin in his scarred, tanned hand. Though his words were harsh, there was a note of concern in his tone. "Save that fer later, lass. There's somethin' far more important than our emotions at werk here."

He disentangled himself from her then and went about collecting his clothes, dressing in a hurry.

"Where are you going?" She asked him.

"Ta find th' Cap'n. He needs ta know. Right bleedin' now."

"What? Why?" She stood up, started gathering her own clothes. Bembul was halfway dressed by now.

"Like I said, this is important. More than ye know."

"Can you at least tell me why you're so certain you're infertile?"

"Because I'm Drowned, lass. The Drowned cannae create life."

She paused halfway through putting on her trousers, unsure of what she had just heard. She tried to make him explain, but a flat "What?" was all that came out of her mouth.

"The Cap'n'll explain later. Right now, we hafta go."

They weren't even done dressing when Bembul ran out the door, putting on his shirt as he went. Atir could do nothing but throw her own dress over her shoulders and run after him. They were halfway to the Admiral's workshop when she overheard two dwarves gossiping about the resident couple, Fikod and Thob. Apparently, they'd had a baby on the previous day.

"Ach, SHITE." She guessed Bembul must have heard it too. He ran faster. Atir struggled to keep up with him.

They found the Admiral sawing logs into planks, as he'd done almost nonstop for months now. Bembul tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. He leaned in close and whispered something in the Admiral's ear. Atir tried to read his lips, but couldn't make out a word of it. He was probably speaking in a human language.

When Bembul finished whispering, the Admiral turned to face her. "Atir, 'ave ye shagged anyone else?" That was one question she never thought she would hear without a tone of judgment, but the Admiral managed to pull it off.

"No, sir," she replied immediately. Taran nodded, then turned to Bembul. He said something in a low voice, again in a human tongue. Bembul nodded and headed back toward the staircase. Atir went after him.

"What was that all about?" She asked.

"Guess ye'll be findin' things oot a wee bit sooner than antecipated, lass. Fer now, we get back ta werk."

"That's it?"

"Fer now, aye." All the usual joyful warmth was gone from Bembul's voice. He sounded like a different dwarf. "Ye'll have yer answers soon, lass. But I cannae promise ye'll like 'em."



Insanegame27: I'm not sure I understand your request. You want me to buy up every animal in the caravan? I did it anyway just in case. Regarding future members of the Might of Killing, that won't happen during my turn. Not sure where we can pin requests for future overseers.
« Last Edit: March 25, 2015, 10:31:00 am by Rhaken »
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Of course, he may have simply crushed the forgotten beasts with his massive testicles.

Forget a spouse, he needs a full time gonad wrangler.

Rhaken

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Re: Crownhammers, a succession game of politics, intrigue and backstabs
« Reply #338 on: March 25, 2015, 11:20:56 am »

So, is the gelder in the Union of Souls or no?

Aye. Has been for a while how. Seems I forgot to mention it. Sorry mate.

Also, this.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Hope this spurs your creative dealings, my friends.
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Of course, he may have simply crushed the forgotten beasts with his massive testicles.

Forget a spouse, he needs a full time gonad wrangler.

FallenAngel

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Re: Crownhammers, a succession game of politics, intrigue and backstabs
« Reply #339 on: March 25, 2015, 11:25:08 am »

Alright.

Well, backstory time.

A guard walked up to Hef.

“Yes?”

“The king wants to see you. Follow me.”


“Greetings, Hef. Take a seat.”

“What do you want, Uzol?”

“Well, as you can see, we’re beginning to run out of space here. I need you to help 6 other dwarves make a new fortress.”

“I’d… rather not. Don’t see much use in it, given that it’d be pretty easy to knock out a couple walls instead.”

“I understand that, Hef, but it’s also in case of a goblin invasion.”

“Alright, fine. Don’t expect me to be too happy about it.”


“So, you’re who I’ll be traveling with to who-knows-where? At least you’re not jingoists…”



(side note: I am not good at writing stuff)

Deus Asmoth

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Re: Crownhammers, a succession game of politics, intrigue and backstabs
« Reply #340 on: March 25, 2015, 02:25:10 pm »

Interesting. I guess Balor and Taran made friends while those zombie birds were attacking them. It's the only time they've interated in the story, at least.
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TheFlame52

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Re: Crownhammers, a succession game of politics, intrigue and backstabs
« Reply #341 on: March 25, 2015, 03:14:07 pm »

Hey, nothing bring people together like shared near-death experiences.

Longinus

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Re: Crownhammers, a succession game of politics, intrigue and backstabs
« Reply #342 on: March 25, 2015, 03:54:19 pm »

O.o bembul is a zombie

alos yes i knew it was a boat
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TechnoXan

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Re: Crownhammers, a succession game of politics, intrigue and backstabs
« Reply #343 on: March 25, 2015, 03:56:42 pm »

   Journal of Xan
What kind of opposition thing? Sounds kinda cool.  :)

Entry Five:
Knor has gone dark, that adviser was my only contact. I wonder what happened to him, he was at the capitol fortress. Gah, I will just have to go on without direction. A pro-monarchy party must be founded by any means. I already have a time and a place to get things rolling on the party. I will drop a vial of Urthos Purian, my favorite poison, in that pompous cult leader Tarans office. Undetectable by smell he would be unconscious in minutes and in five he would be dead. That is if all go's to plan. Even if that stubborn little craftsman wannabe doesn't die it might scare the cult into a panic. By a Goblins promise that cultist makes my blood boil! He is so stubborn and he is such a hippie. "Oooh Ire Loarve Me Sorme Arti-sans" I get a migraine just thinking about him, and what in Armoks name is that accent!? I'm just lucky I get an excuse to try and kill the little Elf! Ah, but I have to focus now. The Legion is planning something I know it. And that Eye of The Legion seems pretty important too. Well time to go convince some of the saner Dwarfs into openly supporting the crown. Maybe not Uzol, but the monarchy must stand.

OOC: If you didnt notise that is because of the grudge. No real hate of the character, he is actually very nice.  :) Cant wait to see his reaction. Oh and I do plan to do some Goblin stuff as my guys ideals slowly change as he discovers new information about the king and the other parties in Crownhammers.  ;D Also, I do not expect him to die!   ;D
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jrrocks1

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Re: Crownhammers, a succession game of politics, intrigue and backstabs
« Reply #344 on: March 25, 2015, 04:42:44 pm »

Journal 4

I was listening to the Admirals stories today. I perked up when he was talking about the battle. It turns out i have seen the dwarf before well at least his ship. The blockade he spoke of... i was there. I owned one of the few warships in port but that is a story for another time................

His story was interesting but it showed his inexperience with warriors. He was right in that the commander was an idiot but the thing against wearing armor i will excuse his ignorance but if you do not wear armor at sea you are often branded a coward. It is true that full on iron armor is stupid but chainmail at the very least is worn. In terms of stories..... i have been asked to tell a story before it seems somehow the fact that i was a warrior was leaked but i chose not to tell. I for years have always been a isolated person and frankly explaining the butchery and horror that is battle at sea to a bunch of ignorant greenlanders is not something i am up too. Yet i completely respect the admiral for what he does..... everything he does has a reason.

 The other thing is my status in the whalers in general i am ignored and it is not helped by my isolationism. It seems to me they don't trust me yet... i am kind of on a probation period if you will. I hope i can change that and get involved but it will take time.

I still dream about my last battle and that ship..... if only things had gone differently.
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From the forests of Elves, To the shores of Humans, To the Towers of Goblins, We fight our own battles, On land and on Sea, We fight for glory, We fight for gold, We are proud to call ourselves
A Dwarven Viking
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