The Dwarven Holds of Karag Mor (C)

Whitebeard's Expedition:

Garek Whitebeard stroked his long, white beard in deep thought. It had been weeks, even months since his expedition left the northern most watchtower in the Mountains of Mor. Garek had vowed to take a team of Dwarven Rangers, Archaeologists, Scholars, and Explorers to find the lost holds, or anything pertaining to the lost History of the Dwarves of Mor. Their path had taken them through a terrible desert, the likes of which the Dwarves had never seen. Beyond that was an endless swamp that sucked at the dwarves heavy boots. After many weeks of hard travel the horizon was filled with the sharp points of the mountains. The journey had been long and savage, and many good dwarves were lost on the way. Until now, it seemed that the entire journey, all the sacrifices, would have been in vain.

Now, Garek saw the signs. His expedition had led him to a long valley leading up the side of one of the colossal mountains. Garek chuckled at the thought of what the younger races must think when seeing these testaments to the majesty of the earth. Might even think of them as gods, daft things. Of course, the mountains here were no where near as large as the ones back in his homeland but they were no doubt quite large. Garek let it pass as his group continued to walk under the shadow of the colossi (Hurr). The entire expedition gave gasps of surprise at what they saw next. A massive stone gate, clearly of Dwarven make, stood sentinel in the side of the mountain.

"We've found it!" yelled an exasperated Scholar, his round face red to match his beard, "We simply must begin the excavation! Who knows what lies in it's depths!" The two score other dwarves all spoke their support to this idea, dropping their packs and preparing to delve into the earth. A sharp whistle stopped their hurried work. All eyes fell to Garek as he stared forlornly at the gate.

"This place isn't empty . . . "

Summary:

--Dwarves of Karag Mor have been sending out expeditions to find their lost brethren and holds.

--Contact made with the Republic of Ever-Winter.

--Introduction of Garek Whitebeard, prominent Dwarven Explorer.

Sven Greybeard sat cross legged on the shores of the massive black lake in the middle of Karag Varne. All across the lake he saw little dots of light moving, no doubt fishermen getting their money's worth. In his hand he held a small carving knife, in the other a several inch long tooth of pure ivory. Already, runic markings covered the mottled white surface. He smiled lightly at his fine handiwork. He'd eat well tonight.

Suddenly, massive ripples rocked the usually calm surface of the lake. Small breakers splashed Sven's feet as a boom was heard out in the distance. Startled, Sven jumped up and look out across the lake. What he saw horrified him beyond belief. One of the ancient towers of old had fallen to the ground, setting off oil fires as it did so. Even as he stared, he could see the damage would be catastrophic.

"So much history lost in a second . . . " he thought to himself, too deep in a horrified stupor to notice he had spoken the words out loud. The lights on the lake quickly changed direction, heading to the source of the destruction to see if they could aid in any way possible. One lone light came for Sven. As the boat came close, Sven noticed the familiar face of Magni paddling with mad determination.

"Oi! Magni! What do ye' think happened over there?" bellowed loudly across the lake. Sven grimaced as the light illuminated Magni's features and mutated them to look as though he was possessed. Magni pulled the row boat up close and stepped off into the shallows.

"Ach duno' Sven. Seems like a wee' bit o' work took the whole support struts doon. I'm bettin' on lil' beardlings we're doing the work af' anythen'," said Magni in his thick Varne accent, "Too bad too. Ach liked the place, good fir' drinkin' with mates, eh?"

Sven nodded grimly as he saw the fires slowly die out. The Dwarves of the Mors had become used to such accidents occurring. It was a sad fact of life for then, really. It had been centuries since any real advancements had been made. Sven sighed and shook his head.

"Things aren't the way they used to be . . . "

---

-- Example of Accidents occurring in the Dwarven Holds.
-- Example of the normal civilian life style of the Dwarves.
-- Example of Dwarven Accents.

((Aight, on it. And a battle might be fun, or I could just make a post in D2D about it. Up to you, really. By the way, sorry it took so long to post.))

Foreman Sven Loriksson's jaw dropped as a lone dwarf came tumbling out of a side tunnel. As the Dwarf drew closer, he saw it was Ivan, a good friend of his and long time drinking buddy. With a raucous clang his pick was dropped to the floor as the Foreman sprinted to his fallen comrade. All around him he heard similar sounds of distress as his fellow miners and repairmen ran forward to give any aid. At this point, emotions had been pushed to the wayside and Dwarven Industriousness took the fore. Already a rough sling had been created out of tarp material and two reinforcement struts. However, the air had changed to a far different vibe then it had been. Visages of sorrow and surprise were replaced by ones of Fury and Vengeance. All around the Miners clamored for retribution.

"Quiet down Lads! Quiet," said Sven, keeping a sense of purpose, "First we might want to actually know the cause of this!"

With nodded agreement the dwarves made room for Sven to speak with the fallen Ivan. In a whispered tone he spoke inaudibly with the miner, his scowl deepening and his eyes darkening grimly. The other miners mumbled their assent, an idea of what had happened already formed in their heads. With a sigh, Sven stood from the recumbent body of Ivan.

"Alright Lads! This is how it is! A bunch of Goblins thought it'd be bright to come down here and poke their heads around in our tunnels, takin' the lives of our kinsmen no less! Well, I think it's our business to run em' out of 'ere eh lads?!"

With bellowed roars of anger picks and hammers were held skywards, their anger multiplying ten fold at their leaders stern words. They would not be quelled by Goblins in their tunnels. Many moved to enter the tunnel straight away but were stopped by Sven's thunderous voice.

"Oi! Not yet lads!" A ferocious grin formed it's way onto the Foreman's grim visage. "Es' time to call the Forge Guard. Now, let's get ready for them!"

With that word uttered the Dwarves went to work, carving the tunnel into something passable by ten men abreast, full plate and all. As the sound of raging picks filled the dark tunnel air, a dwarven messenger sprinted off into the distance of Karag Varne.

---

Boyar Gunnar Ironheart spit into the dirt, bright red blood mixed with dirt and grime. Growling furiously Gunnar dived forward once more, swinging his finely crafted ax in a cleaving arc. As the head struck the shield of Gunnar's foe the sound of a tolling bell shook his teeth. The pitched duel went on for minutes between the two combatants before finally the Boyar struck down his foe.

"Took ya' long e'nuff ya' shlag!" bellowed the recumbent form of a fellow Forge Guard as he stood from the dirt, wiping the dust from his gleaming armor. With a swift tug the ornate helmet on his head flying off to the ground. Gunnar was greeted by the snaggle tooth grin of his life long friend Thegn Engir Headsplitter. Once again Engir's battered nose had been smashed out of place, a long line of blood pouring from his shattered nose.

"Almost had ya' ther' thet time!" sputtered Engir in his thick Varnian Accent.

"Ha! In yur' dreams lad. Aint hard to put your arse on the floor!" As he went to pat his friend's shoulder he was interrupted by the clanging of the warning bell. All around him his fellow Forge Guard were rushing to the entrance of the barracks, Gunnar quickly following them in suit. As he ran he was intercepted by one of the Druzhina of the Company.

"Boyar Gunnar! We have word of a Warband of Goblins in the Tunnels. A group of miners has already lost a man to them and a hungry for vengeance."

Gunnar nodded as he sprinted down the tunnel, shield already in hand.

"Alright! Get the Druzhinas to form the ranks and prepare for mobilization!"

---

-- A full Company of Forge Guard has been mobilized to deal with the possible Goblin Threat.

Off Shoot Tunnels of Karag Mor

Foreman Skeggi the Heavy Handed hammered away at the rock wall in front of him, slamming the large nail deeper into the thick granite bedrock. All around him his actions were mirrored by the rest of his expedition, numbering almost twenty five stout dwarven miners. The tunnel was an off shoot of one of the main passage ways leading to the veins of iron in Karag Mor.

"Oi! Meal time lads!" yelled the cook Ol' Vern, banging away at the meal time gong. Vern was an old, even by dwarven standards, but refused to stop being part of the mining expeditions. Lately, he hadn't been doing much mining, yet had served another purpose as cook. His Lake Otter Steaks were famous among the mining expeditions for some of the best in the land. When ever they asked how he made them he just winked and said "Ol' Family secret." Now a whole feast worth of Steaks, White Fish Stew, and Cheese Covered Mushrooms were piled high on the flattened boulder used as a table. The Miners smiled happily and walked over to the table, taking huge handfuls for themselves and stuffing them greedily into their mouths.

"'Ey! Did I say ye could eat?! Firs' we got'a give thanks to Magni, eh?" Vern raised his hands together in proper prayer stance. The other dwarves sighed and went to do so reluctantly. One of Verne's major flaws was his deeply rooted piety. However, all Dwarves considered themselves Pious, so none felt any malice towards the Old Miner, just unhappiness at having to wait in front of an entire table of meals.

"Magni, bless this meal fer' us, as ye' did when ye' created the world." All the Dwarves nodded their assent and reached for the table slowly, waiting for any reprisal from the cook. Vern nodded with a grin and all the Dwarves got to eating. As the pile slowly lowered, Skeggi went to speak with his old friend.

"Well, we got good food in our bellies, that be true. But we cannot keep funding this if we don't find anything to bring back. You sure your source was correct about this vein eh? Gems, Mithril, seas of Iron? I don't think we can trust his words."

Vern just grinned and shook his head. "Have faith Lad, Have Faith."

---

-- A Dwarven Mining Expedition is searching for new resources in an abandoned tunnel network recently cleared by the Forge Guard.

Boyar Gunnar Ironheart stared down into the tunnel leading towards the goblin horde. Behind him the sounds of of armored dwarfs preparing for combat echoes throughout the cave. Ax's and Hammers belted to their waste, spears in hand, and shields held forward the Forge Guard were ready to descend into the depths. He turned to address them all.

"Alright lads! It's time to go in! These goblin filth think they can run about through our tunnels do they? I say nay! Let's get in there an' teach the little gits a lesson! For Karag Mor!"

All the Forge Guard raised their weapons, yelling in unison as they marched five abreast into the tunnel. The Dwarven miners had done well in opening the tunnel up, giving the Forge Guard an easy entrance just in case of any possible ambushes we're waiting on the other side. As soon as the entire formation had entered the tunnels, the Forge Guard set off into the depths.

---

-- Dwarf Forge Guard are deployed to deal with the Goblin Incursion.

Boyar Gunnar Ironheart spit a glob of blood red mucus into the blackened dirt. The clanging metal on metal sounds of battle whirled around him, threatening to overwhelm all his senses. Sparks flew as dark iron scimitars struck gleaming steal ax heads, the smell of salty goblin blood filled the air as the Dwarf's foes were hacked to bits. Around the Boyar the Forge Guard fought with vengeance, their once brutal shield wall all but disbanded as the Elite Infantry broke to pursue their shattered foes.

"Ach! Ye bettar' run ye' wee lil' gits! Ach be camin' for ye Shlags!" yelled Engir Headsplitter as his fabled short sword cleaved a loping goblin skirmisher in two. Even for his bluster he was clearly a force to be reckoned with. Engir had charged from the line early in the swirling melee so that he could get the highest tallies of kills for later boasting matches. Behind him in his wake were the mulched corpses of goblin warriors, limbs slashed to pieces and skulls pulped underfoot. No goblin could withstand the might of the Forge Guard.

With the last goblinoid lives cut short, the Dwarves of the Forge Guard laughed heartily and removed their War Helms, each telling of grand tales where they alone defeated an entire Goblin Raiding Party. Engir pushed and shoved his way to the Boyar, boasts and empty threats being yelled out as he went. No sooner did he get within several feet of his friend when the cavern was filled once more with the sounds of Goblins. An unearthly wail filled the cavern, resonating deeply as it echoed and rebounded off the iron filled walls. Ordinary men would quake in fear as the sounds filled the Halls but to the Forge Guard the horrible cries of braying Goblin Warhorns meant that their boasting would only grow greater.

Without a word helms were pulled clanging back onto heads and the lines were reformed. Titanic round shields the size of their bearers were drawn into tight formation, bristling with Iron spears as thick as a mans forearm. Rumbling down the tunnels came more of the Goblin Things, slashing and slicing at the air with reckless abandon. Soon it seemed like a wave of greenish grey was going to sweep the Dwarves away like the tide of a monstrous sea. Red eyes glowed with madness as the Goblin horde smashed into the Dwarven line. Bellowed commands from the Dwarven Line saw the horde pushed back once, then twice, then a third time.

"Thrust!"

With the order given the line erupted with flashes of metal. Goblins dropped to the floor, holes large enough to fit an apple through punched into them. The Goblins continued their insane assault, smashing and swinging, hoping to their heathen gods that they might get a single blow in. However the Dwarves continued to thrust, spears impacting with the speed of lightning bolts. However, It soon became apparent that this tactic would swiftly become inefficient as the pack of Goblins became tighter.

"Draw!"

Hundreds of blades sliding from their sheaths echoed down the hallway as the Forge Guard drew their hand weapons. Axes, Swords and Hammers crushed and stabbed causing the Goblin lines to ripple and shake. Morale was quickly dropping as more and more of their brethren fell to Dwarven Steel. No matter what though, the Goblins refused to break. The Boyar strove for the answer, looking for the source of their insane bravery between raining yet more blows on the monstrous throng. The Boyar caught sight of the conduit, a single Goblin Shaman screeching and hollering blasphemous phrases. This was the creature holding this horde together.

"Charge!"

The line of shields split as Forge Guard slammed into the melee. As they did so to did Gunnar charge his foe, crushing the resistance that got in his way, all the while his eyes set on his prize. Thrust, Thrust, Slash, Block, Slash. The motions of combat rolled through his mind as instincts took over. Soon Gunnar had smote a path to the Shaman and he engaged the vile thing in single combat. A swing down and a block of it's staff saw the Shaman's tool of sorcery split in half, the spirits it once contained released in a quick wave of disorientating cold. A second swing and a stab to the gut saw the Shaman fall, it's plump belly spit on Gunnar's short sword. With one last riposte he took the Shaman's head off it's shoulders.

All around him similar combats were taking place, with victorious Dwarves kicking their foes to the dry earth. Victory had been taken at a low cost today, and the Dwarves were proud. However the halls remained uncleared and so the work of the Forge Guard remained unfinished.

---

-Example of Forge Guard prowess at Arms.
-Continuation of combat with Goblin Raiders.
-Boyar Gunnar Ironheart and Thegn Engir Skullsplitter as recurring characters.

(Sorry this is so late. Had no idea what to do about this, but now I do!)

Orator Lukas Ironbrow stood on the raised dais of black marble in the Shrine of Magni, the slam of labor hammers cutting the marble into the shape of a fine shrine. It had been awhile since the Dwarves had created something new and the entire district of Karag Mor was in an uproar, visiting the growing shrine. The new construction gave a chance for a Dwarf like Lukas to take hold. Although he did not consider himself a fanatic he was quite the religious Dwarf, born to a family of Priests of Magni. Since his upbringing he has worked feverishly to serve Magni as best as possible, giving his left eye in order to better emulate his deity. Now he had found a new path, a new way to serve his Hold and God.

A week ago he had woken from the most enlightening dream of his long life. In the dream an Avatar of Magni had reached him and spoke of a great divide in the peoples of the Mors. Each was split on their worship of different gods, choosing one of the pantheon to follow instead of following the pantheon itself. Each also deified their Clan Founders, which albeit wasn't heretical could be considered so if they raised them to be above the actual pantheon. In the Priesthood's view the only Dwarf who could reach the status of Demigod was Graeme himself.

He had been woken by the slamming of his stone door. At the door were members of the Royal Court who bore summons to meet with the King himself. Honored to be even thought of, Lukas had rushed to the Royal Chambers in order to meet with the King to find a dozen or so other Orators of his order. There they had been ordered to speak, to orate their beliefs to King Kurgen Forgebeard and his brother, Kraygen Firebrand. Each Orator spent hours in futile attempts to move Kurgen's stoic heart. As he had stepped up to the Dais Lukas remembered sweating profusely and generally making an entire fool of himself. To this the Dwarf King laughed. His speech went well yet seemed short and off topic, gaining many disapproving looks from the other Orators. As he reached the end of his speech the King held up his hand, silencing the young Orator.

The awkward silence was broken by clapping. To Kurgen's right Kraygen clapped voraciously, a huge smile plastered from ear to ear.

"I like this one Kurgen. He seems to be the best bet, wouldn't you agree?"

The stoic King showed barely any emotion, only the slightest grin growing on his scarred face before he nodded, revealing his full smile.

"Aye brother, I agree. Let this one be our voice."

With that Lukas found himself in the shrine, preaching to the Dwarves that surrounded him. He was proud to be of service to the Holds and would gladly go forth to spread to word of Magni and his brothers. And so he would, in Magni's name.

---

-- Shrine bought in Karag Mor.
-- Missionary Hired (Lukas Ironbrow)