Still need that answer, if anyone has it.
There were exactly two constants in the life of any dwarf that lived in Mountainhelm, capital of the illustrious Dwarven Empire. One, was that all nobility were never to be trusted or dealt with in any way, if at all possible. The second, a direct extension of the first, was that one had to avoid becoming entangled with the "justice" system of the mountainhome, perhaps the most direct way to drop oneself into the hypothetical mound of Elf dung. Unfortunately for this particular citizen, he had broken both constants on this day.
He glanced around the courtroom, a truly spectacular room with high, vaulted ceilings and fully tiled with alabaster imported from overseas, doors carved of brilliant aquamarine and shining the torchlight from the walls thought the room, creating an eerie atmosphere in the room where shadows were unusually elongated. The nobles shadows danced on the walls as they shuffled into their seats. The tables were only half occupied, but the amount of nobility summoned made him shiver slightly. He glanced behind him. A set of wooden bars divided the seating from his own area. The seats were utterly devoid of life, making the court seem unusually empty despite the movement elsewhere in the room. Two burly dwarves holding axes larger than he was tall stood in between the seats, only serving to make his feeling of dread worse. Finally, he glanced up at the judges massive table which towered over all present. He saw the judge already in place, giving silent orders to the clerk. They only did that when the outcome had been decided. But they hadn't started yet.
The nobles began to slide into their seats. The dwarf before the stand began to fidget, not having been allowed the luxury of a seat. The nobles were conversing in quiet tones, occasionally glancing at him as one would a disgusting bug. He tore his glance from them as he heard the deep tone of of the judge booming from above, his conversation with the clerk having ended. He ordered all to sit, his clerk, the remaining standing nobles, and even the guards taking the nearest available seats. Only he stood, quivering before the table before him. The judge locked eyes with him for the briefest of seconds, and in that moment, the man knew that he stood no chance. The cold blackness of the judges eyes told all. The moment seemed to last for a painful eternity, before the judge looked from him and begin reciting the standard code that all trials were to begin with. Each code fell, until at last, only the business at hand was left on the table. Slowly, all the nobles turned to consider him.
"Citizen 02065," he began with a monotone.
"You stand accused by the state of violating twenty-one work orders issued by the duchess of Thorngrazes herself." To be accurate, he had violated twenty-one orders issued for amethyst encrusted chalices. He had little idea as to what a chalice was, let alone what amethyst was supposed to be. He was no metal smith, no jeweler, just a lowly assistant to a banker in Thorngrazes. How the duchess had linked her mandates to him, he would never know. But despite this extremely logical thought process that proved his innocence, the dark looks of the nobles and judge gave him the message to just remain silent in the hopes of escaping with his body intact.
"How do you plead to these transgressions?" The impatient tone of the judge served as a massive, blaring arrow pointing to the obvious answer.
"Guilty on all the counts, sir." He murmured into his beard. The clerk, sitting near him, held up a finger which seemed to signify what he had just said to the nobility assembled. Almost immediately, as if they had just been spectators, not too far from the truth to be fair, the assembled nobles, lowly and high, all equally uncaring of this lowly assistants fate; began to shuffle back to their jeweled doors, and one by one, their shadows were swallowed up by the doors and the doors shut. The clerk made a few jots on a slab of rock with his finger, seemingly bored out of his mind. The guard behind him had begun a sparring session in the seats, their minds having wandered away despite the short time frame. No one, it seemed, cared for him. And no one did.
The judge leaned over, his expression one of practiced malice. It wasn't very convincing, but the assistant stopped twitching and almost immediately snapped to attention, as if a switch had been pulled. Seat trickled down his beard, and as he idly swatted at it, he wondered if this was his last day to live. Perhaps he could borrow some armor from the armories? It would cost him an arm and a leg, perhaps literally given the recent influx of insane dwarves screaming for the flesh of their kin, but that fate was still better than death by the mad hammerer. The mere thought of the man who laughed at the sight of blood getting a chance to spill his own blood made it curdle.
"You have two choices..." He began with an obvious attempt at being foreboding,
"You may either take five hundred hammer strikes..." At this, the accused knew it was the other option. No armor in existence could keep five hundred hammer strikes from liquefying him.
"Or become the leader of the new Painspikes expedition..."
The dining pods were the pride of Mountainhelm, built using enormous amounts of granite, years of hard peasant labor, even more enormous amounts of imported wood, obsidian, marine life, and the water they floated in, but the hybrid aquarium dining areas were a major attraction in the Empire, and popular with dignitaries from the Humans. A sober black carpet led to doors highlight of the affair, huge tanks held back by rare glass windows filled with colorful fish of all sorts. The dwarf sighed as he glanced at the wondrous sight, wondering if he would ever see anything like it again in his life.
The ironic thing was, his promotion to head of an expedition technically made him a noble, though the only thing this changed was that even more people than before avoided him, due to the universal adage that nobles were not to be trusted or dealt with. Ultimately, only two would hear him out, a chivalrous hammer dwarf named Ascubis, and Sarpedon, whom he had had trouble even communicating with. The two were with him, feasting on wild, fatty salmon and discussing their plans over a few flagons of rum and mead. Ascubis was outspoken in his desire to bring glory to the Empire and his people, and more than once did the leader have to remind him of his status. Sarpedon was silent and only slid away when asked for an opinion. Ultimately, they were able to get a haphazard course of action. They finished their meals, and the two went to prepare the wagon while their new boss tried to recruit more hands.
Several days later, after many dwarves finding last minute appointments or simply ignoring him, the new noble could only get four, relatively worthless hands to help out. Sarpedon had more character than these blank faces, but beggars couldn't be choosers, as the adage went. He would reunite with Ascubis, who had found an abandoned, rickety old wagon for them to use, not a looker by any means, but it would hopefully do. Sarpedon had found the animals, cryptically, he had said that he needed to trade an "arm and a leg" for them, though no one ever got the meaning of those words. Piling together all the money they had, since the nobles had not seen fit to give them anything, they managed to cram some cheap turtles, a pick, an axe, armor and weapons for Ascubis and Sarpedon, a couple of wine barrels, and a stray dog into the wagons. There was no space for them, so they simply walked in file; Ascubis and Sarpedon guarding in front with the horses, and everyone else behind.
Rain began to fall. An omen to all of them, but one they stomached because they had no choice. A metallic clanging behind them told them that the gates of Mountainhelm, cast of gold and reinforced with steel, had been shut behind them. As they made their way through the cold rain, the one thought that surely ran through all of their heads was that they would never see anything as great again.
TIPS Copperblaze, Witch of the Ending
The Power of the Ending is said to darken ones heart and soul.
One who has this power knows when all things end, including that which she loves.
One day, she shall be the only one left.
Perhaps this is why Copperblaze has a heart cast of iron.
Iron heart, mind of steel, that which can not be beaten.
One thing I forgot to mention, furniture (magical beings minions) are open. You can chose a team of up to eight of them, but you must chose their association, theme (costume), and the name of each furniture. Up to
three may currently exist.
Minions:(Overall group name,numbers)
Association:(Iotazeta, Copperblaze, Armok)
Theme:(Costume)
Name:(One for each member you have)
Author
Topic: When the Carp Cry : Definition of the Perpetual Witch (Read 25669 times)