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[Paulus Fahlstrom]

21st of Obsidian, the Cursed Crack



The air in the tunnel was stale and had there been more than the three dwarves crouched in the unfinished shaft it might have quickly become unbearable. Kolok's axe-head lay unsheathed on the rough stone floor, his hands resting on the vertical shaft as he propped himself up with it. Quietly he whispered to the others:

"I'ma ready. Is it time yet?"

Ragnar shrugged, her shoulders large and bulky beneath her tunic again from constant labor. She had filled out somewhat again after her prolonged bed-rest and then travels and was looking more herself, in body if not in spirit.

Paulus cocked his head at Kolok and conversationally quipped. "Why are you whispering. They're dead. It's not like they can hear us."

Kolok's eyebrow went up. "Really?"

"Aye, I've never seen them attack unless some living thing was visible. In any case, are you ready Ragnar?"

Conserving her breath she simply shrugged non-commitally again and hoisted her pick as the others readied their weapons. Her sure steady stroked brought the wall in front of them crashing down in a measured pile and a dim light filtered in from the luminescent fungus that grew in the giant crevasse, the only form of life as far as any knew.

The wall of fetid air hit them like a slap and Kolok unwisely sucked it in, turning a slight shade of green as Paulus and Ragnar led the assault into the mass of undead flesh.

It was perhaps a mercy that the near darkness obliterated details, but the keen dwarven eyes could still pick out movement readily enough, until the thick wafting clouds of miasma and flies obscured much of their vision. For their part the zombie troglodytes and zombie demon rats didn't really know what hit them. Nor did they truly care. They shuffled forward, lunging at the hated living with single-minded determination to snuff it out and with the unfeeling flesh of the long-since deceased.

Paulus charged straight ahead into a small knot of undead troglodytes while Ragnar took the squealing pack of rats to the east, holding them at bay with his heavy pick, while Kolok regained his composure. A rat nearly took hold of his leg in it's foul mouth but couldn't find a good hold on the worn mule leather high boots she wore. She kicked it off and in an instant slipped into a sort of combat trance, gaining little ground but fending of nearly a dozen vermin at once, taking time to lash out with her pick from time to time.



And then Kolok was at her side, cutting into the dead flesh with his axe, cleaving the furry maggot-filled corpses asunder with ease and helping to clear the way. The pair worked steadily, driving the undead towards the fissure in front of them when a body of a rat suddenly went sailing by them on a slant, Paulus chasing after it quickly, and turning the corner into the remaining undead. His charge dispersed and disorganized them, and the three fell into a fell rhythm, pick, axe and hammer rising and falling in a gruesome cadence.

The miasma was so thick with freshly disturbed flies and putrid odors that Paulus nearly slipped off the cliff after slamming a rat into the far wall on the other side of the crevasse. He would have done so had Kolok not caught his arm to steady him, and turning he gave Kolok a grateful nod before turning again on the undead.

The battle was over long before the three stopped swinging their weapons. An uncanny trick of the light made it appear that the corpses continued to twitch long after the foul magics had returned them to their thoroughly dead state. Ragnar cleared her throat and spat on the corpse of a troglodyte that she'd been fending off until a blow from the side by one of the others had felled it.

"Bloody undead. Kin they nae stay down?" Tramping off again down the tunnel she made her way back to the surface as Kolok and Paulus made their way back more slowly.

"What's eating her?"

Paulus shrugged. "Not completely sure. The undead for one. She always was one for fighting the living, particularly goblins. And she's been out of combat for a while now, I suspect she's missing her axe."

Kolok's hands tightened subconciously around the haft of his weapon, His axe, before he forced himself to relax again. Long gone were the days when he might have been stipped of his weapon to equip another. Ragnar might take his axe up should he fall, but not until then, of her own choice.

"Can we get the forges up soon?"

Again a shrug. "I'm not sure. The only known magma source is a considerable distance away. We might try using lumber for a while, keep you in work, but we've been so busy with other things. That and we've only a few chunks of marble to make steel with. It'll be hard to get good weapons here, at least for a while. Might have to resort to importing them."

Kolok shook his head. At least his own work was simple. Clearing lumber or hewing down enemies, living or dead, was enjoyable enough for him. He was content with that. But he could understand Ragnar's unhappiness, could even sympathize.

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

27th of Obsidian

"You there! Miner!"

Sarah turned slowly back towards the dining hall just as she was about to head upstairs and out into the vast white of the outside. For a glimmer of a second she was grateful that she wouldn't have to go out into the blinding white mountainside. The sunshine that reflected off the snow had nearly blinded Fre just a half-week before and she spent a day or three inside, sleeping it off until her eyes didn't hurt.

But when she saw the bone-clad figure of the Hound approaching she was no longer so sure.

As he got closer his features stuck out more, his dark beard braided and tucked under his steel chainmail shirt. Hers too grew more distinct for him and he was able to recognize her.

"Ah, Cero... er... Sarah. Yes. I need you in the Crack for a bit."

She shuddered slightly. The Cursed crack as the other miners had been calling it both repulsed and intrigued her. They'd been clearing the areas near their entrance, both around but particularly below, and the pair walked up to the edge until they both stood at the very cusp of the crevasse, slicing down into the earth into blackness beneath them.

"So... er... Hound, what was it you ... wanted?" She was somewhat out of her element here, but it comforted her somewhat to know that he too had been a miner, and if what Ragnar had said was true, at one point a rather skillful one. Of the three official miners she was the least skilled. erith was above searching out gemstones from the hillsides for her to cut and polish later. Ragnar was still drinking her memories of the last tunnel into submission. Ragnar had been working in the Crack and had dug into a pocket they'd spied something in. She'd been told it was only a zombie rat, but hadn't bothered to pay attention to size. The shambling rotten rodent that greeted her when she broke through hadn't been cat size like a normal rat, nor even dog size like the demon rats, whose eyes glowed in the dark, even in death. It hadn't even been pony sized like the large rats that sometimes infested old caverns. No, this had once been a behemoth of a creature, a zombie Giant rat. Fully the size of a human drafthorse it towered above Ragnar by several feet when she broke through. She'd charged it and sunk her pick into it's head, but when it tore her weapon out of her hands and advanced on her unfazed she knew she was overmatched and quickly fled back down the tunnels. The other miners had learned not to harass her about that incident, running was not something Ragnar was fond of, running away even less. In the end the Hound had come to deal with it, his hammer more effective that the pick in sending it back to their godess.

She realized only then that the Hound had said something and she'd been standing there gazing down in silence.

"I'm sorry... what?"

"I said, there's a zombie giant mole down there on that ledge." His hammer extended downward towards the location.

"We missed that ledge entirely on our previous sweeps. I need you to open up a tunnel to it for me."

She quailed back from the ledge at the sight of it as it poked it's head out balefully and stared up at them, dead eyes strangely dull and dark. She nodded numbly and headed through the side door hidden in the rock. Halfway down to the lower bridge she passed another area they'd cleared less than a week before. The bones of naked mole dogs lay in quiet repose, but it was the glitter of the large galena vein that drew her eyes. She wished she could be mining that out instead but dutifully crossed the bridge. Crossing, the Crack loomed beneath her yet again, a river of darkness flowing through the mountain, no smaller for her being another 20 floors deeper into the earth. But at least she could still mine, and with the Hound walking quietly behind her, clinking only slightly, she felt little fear of death. The right hand of Mondul would watch over her.



((And Paulus is a hammerman again now that he's no longer out hunting with Fre.))

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

Paulus stood stiffly near the entrance to their fortress, loose rocks and unfinished stone still cluttering the hall in front of him, as well as a few pieces of assorted clothing removed from the fallen goblins had had attacked there many months ago. There simply hadn't been time to take them all down below yet and there was as good a place as any for now. Paulus was lost in his thoughts as he stood watch, planning and designing things in his mind while his body was sub-conciously aware of the world around him. The sun was just about setting outside and he could feel the fleeting warmth as the feeble winter sun let out it's dying gasp before being swallowed up the the far western horizon.

He sighed. It would take a long time to get everything done around this place with as few dwarves as dared to make the journey and stay. As if on cue with the setting sun he heard a call come up from below, calling the faithful to a service. The first they'd formally had since settling here. Led would be changing that now that they'd become more established. Strangely he'd never been to one, nor did he feel much inclination to go now. He knew his role and whom he worshipped. He did not think the goddess would mind if he didn't go, he would serve her well enough in his own way.

A sound alerted him to motion from behind him and he whirled, hand going to his hammer, tethered loosely to his back. But he relaxed when he saw Fre come up from below, having taken the ramp rather than the stairs, Der Kartoffel in tow and both carrying two heaped platters of food, one of roast heron, and swan, as well as another unidentifiable but savory smelling piece of roasted meat. The stone platter that Der Kartoffel bore had a variety of biscuits, seed cakes and the like. Fre smiled when she saw him and nodded to him as she passed.

"Ye comin' ta our little shindig up top then, aye?"

He nodded, following after. "Aye, I'll come. I can keep watch well enough from there."

"Good, Ragnar, Oddbodd and Pete'll be up shortly with the kegs and I think Boink managed to pilfer a few mugs from the bins for us. It'll be just like old times."

Paulus shook his head slightly.

"It'll never be like old times again. But it will be close enough."

Fre sighed slightly. She knew what he meant, though Der Kartoffel might not. They'd both been through much since they had first been thrown together so long ago now. How long had it been. Twenty years? Thirty? Time wore differently on dwarves than the other races, but it could still be felt. They'd been young together at Dorenemal, well, all except Ragnar. She pushed those thoughts out of her mind, for too often they led her back to to memories with Aardvark that she'd just as soon forget. Aye, things would never again be quite the same.

The others came up from below, Kolok from the slopes outside where he'd been felling trees again, but the others came with the drink and mugs and soon the food was all gone, the platters lying in the cold snow as the light from the departing sun fled in streaks of red and yellow and purple in the west.

Ragnar seemed surprised that Paulus was there at all.

"Oi, thought you'd be b'low. With de others."

Paulus merely shook his head.

"Nae, this is where I need to be. Mondul is a patient goddess and doesn't require as much zeal as Led thinks sometimes is needed. I'm a worshipper of her, not of her church."

Ragnar snorted, but more gently than previously.

"Well, it's good ta ken ye still remember yer friends."

"Don't worry. I'll not forget you so quickly. My faith is a slow burning fire, not the flame of tinder that burns hot and bright and is then gone."

Ragnar nodded and even smiled slightly at that. "Aye, dat's how I feel about my belief too."

"There are three kinds of worshippers, the devout, the opportunistic and the fanatic. The first believes, the second desires and the third imposes. I consider myself a devout, to greater or lesser degree."

"Aye, well, enough talk. Dat barrel's full and mah belly's empty enough still."

Der Kartoffel excused himself after the meal, he'd wanted to hear the service below for the worshippers of Mondul, just to see what it was like, while the others broke into the kegs. Two were plump helmet wine, recently made unfortunately, and the other was dwarven ale, a keg they'd gotten from the merchants last year and an older, and more potent, brew than the former. They all filled their cups to the brim and looked expectantly at Paulus.

Solemnly he raised his cup.

"Another year has passed and died. Another year begins.

To the Fahlstrom clan then, all of us. May it long prosper."

They raised their cups in tribute and intoned:

"To the clan!", before emptying the mugs.

An icy wind picked up around midnight as they drank on the summit of their peak, but only Pete, accustomed to warmer climes even felt the cold. The others merely felt at home again.

[Frelock]

((Excellent, just excellent.  It's good to see this back in full swing again.))

[Heron TSG]

((Excellent, just excellent.  It's good to see this back in full swing again.))

quoted for truth.

[Draconius]

Having spent the last week or so reading this whole thread, I must say, bravo. Best one I've ever read.

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

((Thanks for the commments!))

15th of Granite, Record of the first High Priest, Led.

The elves have arrived again to trade, though I must agree with Paulus there is something peculiar about them. In particular what they've brought. I honestly expected to find their usual rope reed cloth and assorted berries but these elves have brought a bar of celestrium, as well as a few other baser metals, wooden weapons (two swords) ((finally I can get you started in on training Glacies)) barrels of booze they've made, including something they call Sunshine, as well as some sunberries, and perhaps most strangely of all some shovels. Clearly of dwarven manufacture but equally obviously designed for human use. The height of the handles alone attests to that. The fact that two were made of High Steel and one of Terronite was further proof of their dwarven origins.

It was probably good that Paulus was working in the Crack when they came. We shall see if relations with them continues in this fashion. Paulus advises against even letting them in our halls, and after the goods we've seen them bring I find myself being more than a little suspicious of them as well.

Also of note is that some more avarii "merchants" have arrived. No less than four, with pack animals. They've taken forever to arrive though and we finished trading with the elves before they've showed up here at all. We'll have to keep an eye on them. Several of them seem to be sporting severe headaches or something.

A most unusual month. I find the avarii strange and the elves perhaps more so, them being very different from the elves of our old land. These elves even accepted leather goods, something our previous trade partners never would have considered.

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

21st of Granite 10

The high priest stood at the top of the peak, on the level ground that once had been the home of the original trading post of Geshud Osod. Now only scattered blocks littered the side, including two piles of large and rather expensive looking platinum blocks, bought years earlier and never assigned to a specific storage. Even the entryway beneath them was littered with cut stone blocks of many varieties. Where once had been their living quarters and workshops now housed only stone, and the masons that made them.



Led held several pieces of recently made vellum in his hands, the donkey hide still supple and uncracked by age. The Hound stood behind him, surveying the other direction, keeping a wary eye out to the east where another insectoid patrol had been spotted tearing apart undead on the neighboring peak. They were well out of sight, but were still a danger should they begin moving.

Glacies came up from below, tucking her hammer and chisel absently into a worn belt-pouch at her waist and dusting the flakes and debris off her clothing as she ascended to meet with the pair of them.

"Oi sir. I heard I was wanted up here by you."

Led raised his head slightly and looked her over for some time before speaking.

"Aye, 'twas you that is needed by the church now, Glacies. I've heard your ideas and have spoken to Mondul. It is time you begin your formal training as priestess to the goddess."

Glacies hesitated for only a brief second. "Formal training? Have I a choice? What if I don't want to?"

"From what I hear you've been espousing your views as doctrine and are beginning to become persuasive in convincing others that Mondul's realm includes other aspects of death than those I've discussed in our sermons."

She raised her hands defensively. "But I..."

Led made a jerking motion with his hand across his chest. "No, hear me out. It's not that you preach heresy, or even that we, ... She doesn't approve. But you remain untested. Should you wish to take this direction in life it is time you were proven. That you begin to understand the true nature of cold and death as they pertain to each other."

She raised an eyebrow and took an defiant stance. "And what if I don't like this 'test'?"

Led shrugged. "You cease to spout your beliefs and you may continue on here."

"Or else what?"

Paulus turned and took a step up to stand next to Led as the high priest continued.

"Or else the Hound of Mondul will administer to you the final rites."

She looked at the hound, who stood, unflinching and apparently not caring in the least about either answer she might produce.

"Then I'll take your 'test'."

Led smiled and clapped her on the shoulder, but there was no smile in Glacies' eye at the expression. Nonplussed Led continued, handing her the small stack of vellum in his hands.

She took them and began looking over the detailed layout and scaled drawings and slowly her eyes widened.

"What's this then? Designs for a building? What do you expect me to do with them?"

"You're a mason, are you not? I'm now making you the Chief of construction for our fortress. You're the Head-mason as it were now and I'll let you organize your crews to begin construction of this."

He went and marked a spot on the ground several paces behind them.

"This spot is to be the center and focal point. I want all prisoners cages set up out here and rigged for the ground-breaking ceremony by this next winter. This is also to be the center point for the design."

"The Hound nodded. I'll see to the prisoners."

"Good. Glacies, any questions?"

She folded her arms across her stomach. "Aye, how by the bloody stones does this constitute a test then?"

"You've heard my sermons, aye?"

"Aye."

"What am I always saying about life?"

"You say that Life, is, in a word, Death."

"Indeed. If that is true, and I believe it to be so, then the opposite is true as well. These things are intertwined. You're reasonably young still, but you may observe this in time. The longer we live, the more we come to accept the inevitability and permanency of Death."

"I'll buy that. Still though..." she said, waving the plans in the cold air vaguely.

Led sighed. "We can discuss this after you've had time to think about this for a while. Consider this the first part of your test. Figuring out why I've set you these tasks and what they have to do with what we believe. Do not take this lightly though. You will be in charge of building the Temple of Mondul. It is not a trivial undertaking.

If you have questions about supplies and materials please speak with Thesaurusaurus. I expect you to provide weekly reports of progress to him. I also expect personal weekly progress reports, both on the temple and your meditations from during your work. If you have any design or security questions see the Hound."

"The Hound?" she clearly wondered if she had heard that last sentence correctly. "What does he have to do with the designs?"

Led smiled as he and Paulus strode below.

"'Twas he that designed all of it."

Glacies stood in the frigid spring air with the plans in her hand and she looked at the pair of departing dwarves in a new light. There was more to them than she had initially guessed. And she had much to think about.

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

7th of Slate, 10 Journal of the High Priest

Another of our dwarves was taken with the creative urges today. Seemingly out of nowhere one of Thesaurusaurus' sons picked up a large chunk of granite and headed to the craftsdwarf workshop. It is most unfortunate that few were there to witness the creation as apparently the child began to prophesy regarding the future. I've interviewed all that witnessed and heard even a portion of what was said and am in the process of compiling it. It will likely take considerably more time to finish but from what I've been able to piece together the artifact that he created as the 'matching twin' of Rigothevud, which in turn, it seems, may have alluded to the creation of Gostangkamuk abir, or The Awe-inspiring Priest of Romancing.



The twin artifacts themselves are simple and, from snippets gleaned from assorted onlookers, seem to portent a central rule of the nation from this very location. The scepter symbolizes the rule of law, according to Mosus, or whatever spirit possessed him. And the crown the lineage of royalty. To be honest I understand little of what was supposedly said and believe even less of it at the moment, but I shall pray for enlightenment after examining the artifacts once again.

There is also the matter to consider that no timeline was given in the prophesy, so I suppose it is conceivably possible that at some future date the clan will have need of us as a refuge where others have failed. But such speculation is at this point somewhat moot. It has, however, caused quite a stir among the followers and several of them seemed to be either disturbingly agitated thinking that the nobility that spurned and persecuted them may set up shop here, or they seemed to be sincerely glorying the name of Mondul for her gift of knowledge. It has thrown matters into considerable disarray, but I think it shall settle down in time.

Out of the mouth of babes and whatsits, as it were though.

[Heron TSG]

Hmm... Glacies doesn't seem to be the 'average' priest, eh?

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

((True, but keep in mind that this is still the formation of the church. Definitions of roles and titles isn't established at all yet. As of right now Led is the High priest but lesser roles haven't been organized. It's not like falling into an established pattern. He's basically creating a church to Mondul from the ground up, infrastructure, religious offices and everything, as Mondul would want it made. Or at least he's trying to. I expect there to be considerable opposition to it, both internal and external. Looking through history, very few religions didn't eventually fraction into two or more separate ones. So basically he's taking Glacies to task and testing her value and dedication.

To be honest, I think Glacies is suitably normal insane dwarven. Most of the others here aren't quite normal either. You'd have to not be to worship a goddess of death without actually being evil. The 'normal' ones by comparison are actually the loyalists, like Fre, Ragnar, Oddbodd, Pete, etc. who are, in reality quite far from common themselves.

And things will only get worse.

So be patient. Organizing a religion is not something done in a day, or even a year. Unless you happen to be Deity. In which case you can manage it, but it's still full of imperfect people who make mistakes and want to take things in their own directions.

And in response to your post directly below: Yes. For now. Heh. Having your son create an artifact and prophesy would certainly help boost your reputation. Oh, and you're already a Legendary recordkeeper. But there are many ways to fall from grace, and your position is one that schemers and powermongers would covet.))

[Heron TSG]

((So Thesaurusaurus is the second in command of a church that's being founded? Sweet.))

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

Late Felsite

The prisoner's cages had been set and secured to the stone above the 1st hall, and Paulus was working with Sarah to connect them to the lever set a tantalizing fifty feet away from them. Oddbodd worked below making the needed mechanisms for the rest of the project while these two got a head start. The prisoners themselves bore the move with varying degrees of calm. The tigerman remained perfectly still in a proud and almost indignant manner, while the lizardman hissed with displeasure at being removed from the warmer interior. Rumor had it that the lizardmen too lived in vast stone warrens, not unlike dwarven ones, but deep to the south in the steamy jungles. Few were the stories that came from such places and it was said that they were carnivorous, eating other sentient species with the same zeal as beasts.

But it was the goblins that proved to be the troublesome ones. They would spit and try to pinch and bite and claw at any exposed limb they could reach and only a swift clout to the head that knocked them unconcious let the move be done with any ease at all. Rigging the doors to open was a simple matter in comparison, though one that had to be handled with care. Again the goblins were the most likely to understand such complex mechanisms and manage an escape. The pair of dwarves was above working on yet another cage when the elves finally left after trading, making their way slowly down the mountainside towards the north, where it had only just thawed. The Hound spat on the ground as they past but said no more, focusing instead on his work. Unsurprisingly the Avarii left shortly after them, but again, considerable slowness marked their passing and to onlookers it seemed as if they were in pain as they travelled, burdened down by some unseen weight that grated on nerves.

And then, as suddenly as the strike of stone against stone filling the air, one of their minds snapped. The weight of the soil around him filled him with inexpressible rage and in a fury he lashed out at the only living things near him. His own caravan. As his massive wings stretched out behind him he looked like a fallen angel, covered in the blood of his beloved animal, and he chased down and slew over half of his own caravan, the others fleeing in terror.



And then the pressure in his head overcame him and he lost all sense of time, clutching his head as darkness surrounded him.


It was an hour later, or perhaps a day, or even a week later that his sight grew bright again but still that persistent pain drove his broken mind into a frenzy of rage. Two figures approached from the east, coming down the slope towards him. The taller of the two was clearly a dwarf, a female of indeterminate age but wreathed in power. Around her shoulders was draped a cape of utter blackness that obscured all it covered. It stood open at the front and in her left hand was clasped a blue radiant fire, in her right a long dagger, carved in ancient dwarven runes that glowed black and purple in the dim daylight.

At her right side strode another, a dwarf as well and wearing a mask of bone so that he looked like the lady's pet, but more deadly. He wielded a simple steel hammer but carried it with practiced grace, his movements defining the familiarity with which he did his work. A white radiance flowed from him too and the Avar could tell in a flash of insight that they served order, but his insanity had grown too strong within himself. A small part of his mind knew then what had happened even while the rest of him raged at the intruders and sent his body hurtling to destroy them. That small part of his mind welcomed the release as the hammer crushed his leg, sending him sprawling to the ground. It took several more blows to subdue his body but with each he felt more himself, until with his final strength he raised his head to look at the pair of dwarves. His focus found the Lady and he smiled at her through the pain and blood, knowing that their allies of old had not abandoned them.

And with the final stroke, he found peace.

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

12th of Hematite

Work had already begun below ground, clearing out the designated area for the temple to Mondul. All dwarves helped, believers and unbelievers alike on this project. It was work to do and though it gave glory to only one of their gods, it still strengthened the whole. Other temples would be erected in time to other deities, or so they assumed.

Ragnar wiped the sweat off of her brow as she stepped out of the shearing shaft around the bulk of what would become the temple to Mondul. The design was efficient. Nearly half the temple would be carved out of the living stone of the mountain itself, from peak down to the valley below. It would require a massive amount of work for them, but she knew the masons would have an equally arduous task. Namely, constructing the upper half from blocks that they themselves would need to make.

It's not that she particularly needed a break. Her muscles had regained their vigor of old in her labors but she felt a dryness in her throat that needed to be quenched, and too much time in solitude gave her too much time for thought. She realized now that she'd been very near a breaking point, and that Paulus had sensed it as well. They'd stopped clearing the crack for a season in order to focus on the temple and she felt better for it. Images of the undead rats still haunted her dreams from time to time, even though she felt little fear of them now.

She squinted at the bright sunshine of the early summer's day. A heady fragrance of wildflowers and trees wafted up from the valley floor just below and from her low-lying elevation she could still see out over much of the valley to the west. Hefting her pick onto her shoulder she sucked in some of the fresh clean air blowing in from the west and nodded. The heat wasn't unbearable, in fact, the morning chill had just now disappated, even though it was almost noon. She took her time heading in for a drink though, the sun warming her back as she climbed the steep slope.

And then up ahead and off to her right a movement caught her eye. One of the stones moved and she caught sight of a very slight twitch of tail. She did her best to sneak up but her feet would not heed her need for silence and sent rocks skittering as she moved. The tail froze as she approached and then as if sensing that she'd been discovered the tigerman's head popped up over the boulder, looking straight at Ragnar.

For a split second they both froze before the thief bolted, far too quickly for the burly dwarf to catch up. Unfazed Ragnar continued on up the hill, whistling slightly. The humans had come to trade nearly a three day ago. That would mean fresh supplies, food and drink primarily. And perhaps a decent amount of sewer brew for her. She still drunk it with gusto, despite the memories it gave her of Dorenemal and their time there. She would often still grab two mugs and set them on the table in front of her, one for her and one for the empty chair she left for a friend long since lost.

She passed many dwarves going in and out as she descended and knew they were still cleaning up after the Avarii caravan that'd gone insane. The goods were still lying out strewn on the hillsides and the goods could be used to barter with the humans well enough. The tall dark humans still seemed strange to her but they had warrior hearts and that she could understand well. They often spoke amonst themselves in their odd clicking tongue, though they spoke dwarvish passably enough. Their coming would mean other things as well. Bars of metal, possibly wood and the occasional odd weapon or bin of cloth or leather.

She nodded again to herself. Life was getting better here, despite everything. It had been long since she was this content. Before her injury had left her bedridden for so long.

[Paulus Fahlstrom]

((Oops... didn't mean to post that yet. I'll finish it up later...

 In any case, if you feel like you'd like your character to take a specific direction in the story feel free to let me know. Fre and Ragnar I've already got plans for, should they not die. If you'd like to influence those feel free to post either in character or OOC. Glacies, of course is already being worked into the plot as is Thesaurusaurus. And Oddbodd, as the childhood survivor of Olonkulet, the City of Brass is already worked into my plans. I've even got a plan for Der Kartoffel. So, I guess that leaves Pete, Kolok, Boink, Sarah, and Aardvark (if Fre doesn't kill you) if you want to help define your direction, I'm wide open. The rest I can probably easily accomodate most things as well of course.

But keep in mind that my plot development is slow and I usually have considerable foreshadowing before I actually get to specific events. (Fre I promise that you'll get your tavern, assuming Hunting in a savage Neutral/Evil zone doesn't kill you.)))