Quest The Legion Calls

[Vorak]

Belgrath - The Mountain Rose

At first it was one.

Then it became ten. Then a hundred.

It was a small number. Tiny by most standards. Hardly an army, and barely a raiding force. Yet it was what they had managed to gather. Those who had answered the call. Packed into the Rose it almost seemed like it should have been more, but Vorak had counted and counted again. The men, and women, here at answered Thrukil's call.

None of them wore an insignia, none of them branded their armor the same.

He saw Dwarves from Karak Telim, from Belgrath, even from Ligz. They all wore their clan armors. They all carried weapons carved by their ancestors. Each of them knew why they had come here. Each of them had answered a cry that had been answered a hundred times before. A desperate plea that called for cooperation, for reclamation.

They were here to take back what was theirs. To march into the deep tunnels, and take back the Holds. Those who had been lost, taken from their people by Dragons, Ogres, Goblins, and other denizens of the depths. A hundred soldiers, a hundred brave hearts. All of them seeking to reclaim the lost glory of their people.

All of them seeking to ignite the spark that had been lost long ago.

"Doesn't seem like it will be enough."​

Vorak glanced down at the young dwarf besides him. He could not have been older than fifty, and yet he carried himself like a warrior. Deep scars lined his face, a tattoo decorating his brow. "Aye, it doesn't."

The old Warrior said with a nod of his head.

"But that will make it all the more impressive when we succeed." Vorak didn't know whom he was trying to convince. The young warrior at his side, or himself.

 

[Filn Stenlager]

"... and then I leapt from the carriage, hammer in my hand, and fell upon the orc with such force his head was... well..."

Filn's hand slapped against the table with a loud thwack!

"...his mother'd never recognize him now!"

Those gathered round erupted in laughter, lifted their mugs, and drank. And oh did it feel good to be in the midst of such comradery again. Filn had spent the last several years traveling in the south, answering a heartfelt request from an old friend, and in that time he had seen oh so few of his dwarven kin. Having returned to Belgrath in time to answer this Vorak's call to arms, it was with haste he began preparing himself to make a quick departure from his home yet again. Only this time, it would not seem so far away.

He drank, slapped the dwarf beside him on the back while slamming their mugs together before he took another hearty gulp, then declared he was off to gather more. And so he made his way through the crowds, slamming his fist down atop the bar in joyful declaration and hollered for another round - for all.

Filn had acquired a great deal of wealth during his time in the south, and he was intent on sharing it with his kinsmen now in this time, before they set off what they'd come to do.

---

Vorak ​

 

[Ordin Ironhammer]

The words he spoke to his children echoed in his mind.

Aye, there was such a time.

His sabatons clanked on the stony pathway to the Mountain Rose.

A time witnessed by our most venerable ancestors. A time of triumph for the Arragoth. A time of Wonder.

His warhammer he held in his armored hand.

Here the eyes feasted upon a Belgrath that stood as the shining crown of Arethil, upon an Ironholme whose veins ran thick with inexhaustible iron from the very core of the world, upon the innumerable glories of Dwarvenkind as a whole.

The Tome chained to his belt on the left side shifted lightly with each step.

But that time is gone now.

The Emberstone settings in his pauldrons smoldered with a steady orange glow.

Yet, I say to ye, take heart. Take heart, my kin, blood of my blood!

He approached the door.

For what is lost...

And threw it open.

...awaits only to be reclaimed.

* * * * *​

Ordin Ironhammer entered the Mountain Rose, and here he laid eyes upon the dwarves who'd answered Thrukil's call. They numbered some hundred, maybe two hundred, aye, counting by the beard. A fraction of a fraction of the Army, or the Rangers, or the Marines. But every fire in the hearth started small. What was needed was yer tinder, yer kindling, yer breath of air to feed it so.

The dwarves assembled here were of a wide breadth of Clans and Holds. All of them, like Ordin, here to feed that fire. Dwarves were born of earth and stone, aye, not one Arragoth would argue that. But like earth and stone, they were steady. Hard to move. It sometimes took a great effort, a tumbling that would spill over into a landslide, to move them. Had it not been so with Ordin himself? Ancestors knew it.

But he'd been set in motion. Salvaged from the quagmire of shame he'd mired himself in by his Pa Baingrim and by damn near every other Ironhammer present in Belgrath at the time. He'd been set in motion to finally live as he ought: as a stout, honorable Arragoth.

Why not for all Dwarvenkind?

Why not start that landslide in this Legion of one hundred? Claim small victories, foster from them greater momentum and larger victories, and from that a tide of Arragoth with vigor in their axe-arms and pride in their beating hearts to claim grander victories yet.

To Filn, Ordin gravitated. An old friend--one who remembered him most from his days of irresponsibility. Many a tankard had been emptied by their combined forces in those years. Hah! There'd be plenty yet.

"Filn," Ordin said, stopping beside him at the table at which he sat. The butt of his warhammer thumped on the ground with a finality to his long stride to the Rose as he stopped. He dropped a hand onto his shoulder, and the smile of a true comrade crossed the window of his beard. "It's good to see ye here. Seems yer affairs to the south went well."

Vorak Filn Stenlager

 

[Baradur Forkbeard]

Baradur was amongst the earliest of arrivals and amongst the oldest of those gathered. His Clans blood was still recently shed for Belgrath, and so he would once more answer the call. He had nearly fallen asleep sitting against a pillar. To the untrained eye, it would appear as if he did.

Half of his Clans warriors would join them, bringing their number to ten. Of that half, half were at the tables celebrating with their kin. The young, the youthful.

He looked around at what forces had gathered. It would be enough. It would have to be. With a grunt, the old dwarf rose to his feet and made his way to Vorak, the man who summoned them. An even more senior veteran warrior. "How are we looking, Vorak?" He would ask, his hand resting on the head of the axe at his belt casually.

Vorak Filn Stenlager Ordin Ironhammer

 

[Vorak]

He grunted. "We're doin well."

The Old dwarf said with a nod of his head.

More had arrived than he had thought would come. These journeys had long ago lost their attraction for many Dwarves. Hope was lost long ago when it came to retaking the Holds. Most just hoped to hang on to Belgrath at the very least.

"A hundred is not an army for most." Vorak said. "But for us? It is enough. Whether we face Drake or Kobold."

He stuck his pipe between his lips, grinning. "We'll at least give them a good run."

Vorak slowly glanced towards Baradur, head shoulders shrugging. They were a stalwart folk. Hearty and stronger than most races. This was no different. They had survived longer under more trying times. Now came a time to break the stranglehold.

"We'll be heading out soon." He explained. "Are you ready?"

Baradur Forkbeard | Filn Stenlager | Ordin Ironhammer

 

[Filn Stenlager]

"Filn,"
​

The dwarf's back straightened some, as though surprised by what he heard. Then a familiar weight upon his shoulder. He turned and first his eyes beheld the tome, and then to see him carrying it and by the granite gods...!

"It's good to see ye here. Seems yer affairs to the south went well."
​

"Ordin! Ya stone skulled," he started up, "cave dwellin," he grasped each of his shoulders, "son of a..." Filn could hardly insult his mother. She'd raised a fine boy. A great smile beamed across the dwarf's face and a heaty, thunderous laugh erupted from him, and he embraced him with the weight of a falling landslide.

"Of all the like to see, come! Join us!" he gestured to his own seat, and he'd soon find himself another, "and aye lad. Fairer fortune for me and mine than most others in the south. T'was more than luck, but less than... well..." his eyes moved off, remembering the things he'd seen in those woods, "... never mind that. Drink lad! We'll be off soon.

Glad to see you still carry the Tome lad."

---

Vorak | Ordin Ironhammer | Baradur Forkbeard ​

 

[Ordin Ironhammer]

Well met as always. Aye, fair to say that any dwarf who wasn't well met with Filn Stenlager ought to cut off his own beard, such a disgrace to the Arragoth name they surely were.

Ordin turned his warhammer upside down and set it beside the offered seat. He sat down, letting out a satisfied "Ahhhhh" of a sigh as he did. Filn didn't have all storied times in the south, so said his tone and brief interruption of himself, but he didn't let it dim his spirits. The weight of what was to be remembered, the good and the bad, rested on every dwarf's stout shoulders, and Filn had the right of it in how he hauled his portion of the burden.

Glad to see you still carry the Tome lad.

Ordin took a hardy drink of the ale before him at the table. Said, "Aye, so I do. And I'll see more tales added to it yet." Then he gave Filn's arm a nudge with a hard fist. "If ye can part with some of that 'fairer fortune' of yours, that is, and lend it this expedition as well!"

Ordin had another look around the Mountain Rose, another count of the beards present. And there were some venerable dwarves among them, alright.

"But maybe ye can save yer fortune." Ordin gestured across the way to Baradur. "Looks like we've got ourselves a livin, breathin Forkbeard among us."

Filn Stenlager Baradur Forkbeard Vorak

 

[Kaia Goldborn]

Kaia had left Tumun against her parents wishes. Her father was a firm believer in protecting their home and their people, the other clans could protect themselves. Kaia was not of that mind. She wanted to be a warrior. She wanted to help not only her people but all dwarves and so the Princess left. She left with only the bare minimum and discarded most of the jewelry that would give away her true status. Her seven piercings were the only things that marred her unscarred face.

The newcomer looked around The Mountain Rose and felt out of place immediately. Every single dwarf in here looked like they had fought everyday of their lives. Kaia pushed down the worry and held her high as she wound her way through the warriors.

Filn Stenlager Baradur Forkbeard Vorak Ordin Ironhammer

 

[Baradur Forkbeard]

Baradur would grunt in agreement with Vorak's words as he spoke, his weathered gaze washing over the gathering. He recognized most sigils, this was as close to a true calling as any that he could remember during his lifetime.

He would let out a hearty, yet gravelly laugh. "I'd take a hundred of us over a hundred of any other ilk. Be they prancing Fae or flimsy man. Mine hopes that there be at least one drake amongst the Holds. We've much to reclaim.."

Baradur would fish a pipe out from his own belt and pack it as he glanced Vorak's way. "Some salted pork?" He would ask as he finished packing the pipe. He then pulled a match and dragged it along his cheek in a practiced motion, lighting it, and then brought the flame to the pipe. He then shook out the match and tucked it away before taking a drag from his pipe and blowing out a perfect smoke ring.

"As ready for the end as I will ever be." Another laugh. He didn't fear the death that awaited him, he welcomed it. This was to be his last grand adventure. "Shall I go and muster our kin?"

Vorak Filn Stenlager Kaia Goldborn Ordin Ironhammer

 

[Vorak]

Vorak nodded his head in agreement. They were perhaps not the most numerous folk, but each one of them was worth ten of any other. Least by his own estimation. A smile crossed his features for a moment, a puff of his pipe sending the smell of tabac into the air. "No, no."

The Dwarf said with a shake of his head as Baradur offered him some of the pork.

"I'd rather fill the space in my stomach with some proper ale." He let out a bellowing chuckle, shaking his head and tipping the mug on the table back against his lips. Somehow, he managed to keep the pipe perfectly in place as he drank.

He grinned as he slammed the mug back down on the table.

"Aye." Vorak said with a nod of his head. "You gather them, and I'll take the stage."

His head shook, as if he'd never thought he'd say those words. "We'll march to Edenrock first, Barad."

Vorak said quietly, almost ruefully.

The story of Edenrock was one of those long told dwarven tales. It had once been a powerful fortress, a bulwark against the things which loomed deep in the earth. Two centuries ago contact had been cut off almost entirely, all three of the great highways to the Hold collapsing.

Edenrock had not just been a fortress however, it had also held a Wyr-Kadrel; a Soul Forge.

One of the means by which their people had made golems.

 

[Filn Stenlager]

A toothy grin and a genuine chuckle resonated from him, pleased with his old friend's disposition. It was good to see spirits were staying high in the midst of such troubled times. He chuckled even more at mention of his fortunes, and yea, he did intend to lend what of it he needed to their joint efforts here. He had just as much interest as any of them here in reclaiming the old holds, and without a doubt most if not every dwarf in this place knew that if there was anyone who could see to the structural security of their reclamations, it was Filn.

It was his mastery to build, and rebuild, and to be a builder among dwarves was no small mention.

Ordin's observation caught his attention, and he turned his eye to see, "aye," he sipped from his mug, "liable to clear the hold on 'is own if we don't keep up."

Filn was there during the Siege of Belgrath... those dreaded days. He remembered well the might of the Ironborn in those much needed times, and the blood they had so selflessly spent. Molthal's merciless assault had left a great wound in the heart of many a dwarf, tearing flesh and stone alike. Afterward, Filn - along with many, many others - worked tirelessly to undo all those scars that had been left upon the city. They had done much, but only so much could be done. The rest... would take time.

As his eyes tracked back to the gathering round his table, his eyes caught a most fortuitous sight.

Harshly for a human but playfully for a dwarf he nudged Ordin's arm with his elbow and showed him an almost devilish smile, uttering, "speakin' of stories to be told, could be the workins of one just there laddie."

He chuckled, and inclined his head to the door - toward Kaia.

---

Vorak | Ordin Ironhammer | Baradur Forkbeard | Kaia Goldborn ​

 

[Dalun Stonesinger]

Dalun stumbled into the Rose with not a sense of grace to him. He managed to knock over three dwarven gentlemen that were having a drink next to the door. Their shouts of anger were ignored as he mumbled to himself, "Wrong place."

The number of dwarves in a single place was uncomfortable to Dulan as he tried to avoid contact as much as possible with anyone. However, he had to be here. Dulan had heard where they were going and he needed to be there. They would need him.

He bumped into another individual, largely ignoring them and mumbling "brittle, reinforce." When no one was looking, he snatched an ale off of one of the full tables of dwarves.

His one good eye continuously swept around the room, never really stopping, that was until he spotted Filn. He was one of the few individuals that Dulan had held an actual conversation with. That was mainly because Filn was a stonemason. Not one of the shitty ones either. One of the few that Dulan would consider close to his own skill, but still not as good.

Dulan pushed forward, knocking several more people out of his way as he went to move next to Filn. When he arrived, he did not greet anyone or say anything. He just stood there with his drink, looking satisfied.

Vorak Ordin Ironhammer Baradur Forkbeard Kaia Goldborn Filn Stenlager

 

[Ordin Ironhammer]

One of Ordin's greatest laments in life was missing the Siege of Belgrath. The Giant-spawn Gerra and his mongrel horde had descended upon the Gate of Irithul after their conquest of Lor Holdram with such a rapidity that Ordin, elsewhere at the time, hadn't been able to make it back home until the Arragoth had repelled Molthal's bastard. Aye, true, that the Great Tome couldn't be everywhere at once, and Ordin had done his duty by recording the accounts of the surviving Ironhammers and their closest battle-kin (Filn's own entry was writ upon the Great Tome's pages!), but still...he would have given anything to be there.

Which was why he was here. Now. He wouldn't miss a storied chapter to add this time!

Ordin drank to that, downing more of the ale. And he said of Baradur, "Don't spoil any surprises for me, Filn. I'd wait until my own eyes can properly appreciate the cleaving blows of a Forkbeard's axe, gah ha!"

Ordin couldn't help but notice, as well, whom Baradur was speaking with. Well I'll be, he thought. Mayhap he'd found the most venerable Arragoth in the Rose over there. A bearer of the sorrows of Karak Azghal, wizened and etched by three long centuries into one of the finest dwarves Belgrath had the honor of hosting. An Arragoth known simply as Vorak. Vorak of Azghal.

That wasn't all. Filn pointed out the aurum shine of one Kaia Goldborn. Not much did Ordin know of her, same as it was for Vorak, the second-hand stories passed on to him from dwarves all about Belgrath. Royalty didn't go unnoticed.

"There's something in the air this time," Ordin said to his companion. "I can feel it. Aye, like a forge approaching red hot."

Reclamation attempts dotted the histories. Some saw minor successes, some dissipated, and some...well, not all tales ought be recounted, save perhaps as words of warning. This time, though, it was as he'd said. Something tangible in the air. A collective eagerness, making hearty every spirit in this hall.

Even...who was this? Dalun Stonesinger (though Ordin didn't know his name) had appeared at Filn's side when Ordin wasn't looking. Sneaky for a dwarf, that one.

"Friend of yours, Filn?" For if he was, Ordin would be delighted to be introduced.

 

[Kaia Goldborn]

Kaia thought she had slipped in relatively unnoticed but the looks she was getting told her that she had been seen and her presence had been noted. The young dwarf did not know anyone in the tavern as she inched her way to the bar. She needed a drink. Everyone else seemed to be many pints ahead of her and she needed something to help the strange nervousness that had fallen over her.

Once she had received her ale, she turned from the bar to look around the room again. So many warriors had come and then there was her. She was a joke. She shouldn't have come.

Kaia started to make her way back towards the door. No, it was time to go. She did not belong here!

 

[Bengt Bertuli]

All the laughing and hoo ha before a march never quite sat well with Bengt. But who was he to question any of it? Better to just sit back, long and lazy, and enjoy the ale while he could, and the smokin' too. He was particularly fond of the smokin.

He'd catch the old Forkbeard's eye, and give him a nod, if only to assure the old Ironborn he was still there, watchin over him. Not that the old Warden needed much lookin after. Still, he would do what he could.

Then came a stranger, quiet like, and with an odd mark on his forehead. Bengt smirked at the man. The way he moved, Bengt had to admit, he was rather fond of it. Sneaky like. The Venerator seemed to take notice of him too. Then, the prettiest little bird did flit through the dark, shining and bright, she perched at the bar, got her drink, and with no one to share it with, looked ready to fly away.

Well, couldn't have that now could we.

Bengt slipped by bigger and brawnier shield bearers and axe fighters, and spoke once beside the golden gal. "No need lettin them make you nervous, dove, they just aint used to such fine things in such a place." he raised his mug at her in cheers, a time honored tradition no dwarf would pass up. "But any dwarf worth their salt knows a fine stone if oft the strongest," he winked at her. "Names Bengt, by the way, Bengt Bertuli," he bowed his head. and then took a drink. "And what" he said as he wiped away the foam that clung to his lip, "should I be callin ya, i wonder?"

 

[Baradur Forkbeard]

"Hehehehe." Baradur laughed as he pulled the pipe from his mouth. Two old sods no longer for this world leading an expedition with Dwarves that were so green he felt he had took a misstep and wound up in the Vale. No matter he still wouldn't trade them for other warriors. Besides, there was a time even he was green, though that was centuries ago.

Thankfully for him, he had already been standing so he didn't need to go through the effort of getting up. With a nod to Vorak, he would begin to head towards where the feasting was taking place. On the there, he would see a familiar young dwarfing who he shot a wink to. This would be the highlight of his day.

At one stone table, half the warriors were already blacked out from merriment. They couldn't have that. As he walked, his second flanked him. Baradur would grab the closest Dwarf and hauled him upwards. "Get up onto your feet, laddie!" He would bellow into the mans ear before shoving him aside. Next the heavy stone table was grabbed with both hands, and flipped onto its side, flinging the three sleeping dwarves into a heap on the ground.

"Arselings!" The old dwarf shouted above the music, which had already started to slow due to the crash seconds before. He didn't even really need to yell to be heard at this point, so he didn't. "Get yer pints an fall in line. Vorak wants a word." It sounded more conversational then an order but by the immediate mustering of the dwarves gathered. Baradur would take a long pull of his pipe as his gaze washed over each warrior, before blowing out a perfect ring and promptly turning to head to Voraks side.

Vorak could see the grin on his face. "Wee bastards are mustered. Ready for your word." A hearty bellow before he grabbed ahold of his kins shoulders and headbutt him, then he turned to once more watch the young.

Glory was theirs now. He wouldn't be returning.


Vorak Filn Stenlager Ordin Ironhammer Dalun Stonesinger Kaia Goldborn Bengt Bertuli

 

[Vorak]

Vorak wondered if it was ever possible to call their people 'muted'. Dwarves had a propensity for loudness. Not for any reason other than that they liked to be heard. Much to the annoyance of many other species. A smile touched his lips as he tromped onto the tiny stage which was really nothing less than a few crates thrown together.

He looked out over the crowd for a moment.

The smile on his face dimmed as he watched all the faces looking up at him. He wondered if he was like all those other men, leading good dwarves to their death for a pipe dream. He wondered if they were just doomed to fail like all the others, or if that one foolish hope in the back of his mind would be enough. The old Dwarf took a long breath, and then began to speak.

"A thousand years ago our people spanned the length of the spine!" He shouted loud enough that his voice boomed throughout the tavern. "Our clans and holds stretched from the southern coast of the Allir Reach beyond Molthal."

He looked to his brothers, his sisters, his kin. "We fought orcs, trolls, ogres, dragons and drow."

Virak's voice faltered slightly. "Kept them at bay while we prospered and dug into the mountains. Until one day…on day it became too much."

They all knew the stories, the grim visage of their fallen people. A slow collapse of the bulwark they had once been. A tale of a people who had made too many enemies and maintained too few friendships. None of them could deny it, and yet they would still stand strong.

"For centuries we've been falling. Our Holds go dark. Our clans forgotten." He looked out over the crowd. "A decade ago Molthal tried to break us. Tried to press Into our great Capital and topple our teetering people."

Vorak scowled. "But here we still stand."

There was a long pause, and then he continued.

"And from here we will take back what is ours." His voice raised. "A hundred of us, give or take. I've never been much good at math."

A few chuckled rang out. "A hundred of us, to turn back the tide. To march into what was once our great Empire and take it back. To seize Edenrock and erect the first pillar once more!"

A rousing speech, marked with pains of the past and rallying the future. He didn't need to tell them why this was important, didn't need to tell them why it had to be Edenrock. From the great old fortress they could bring back the golems, from there they could really more of their kin.

From there they could perhaps return to glory.

They just had to get there first.

 

[Filn Stenlager]

"There's something in the air this time," Ordin said to his companion. "I can feel it. Aye, like a forge approaching red hot."
​

---

"What I hear is Vorak has planned no small venture..."

One of the dwarves at the table shouted out their theory of their first target, then another spat out their own - defensively of course. Soon a mild argument broke out, and Filn couldn't help but chime in until...

---

"Friend of yours, Filn?"​

---

Filn turned his head to see, and sure enough saw yet another welcome sight. Dalun Stonesinger was a name certainly on par with his own in the masonry community. The pair of them had even displayed a healthy rivalry in more appropriate times. Lately though, their efforts had been far less competitive, and this very undertaking they were to embark on was another example of this. But even if this were an occasion where they sought to out-do one another, he'd be just as pleased to see his fellow tradesman as he was now.

"Aye," he said, lifting his drink in greeting, "Dalun Stonesinger, one hell of a mason, and one hell of a dwarf, good to see ya here."

The more able minded dwarves, the better. Between the two of them, no barricade, no corridor, no hold would be beyond access.

---

"Get yer pints an fall in line. Vorak wants a word." ​

---

Some of the younger dwarves got up and drew near. Filn only turned in his seat, but listened to Vorak's speech with intent all the same.

​

"Edenrock..." he echoed, almost ominously.

---

Vorak | Ordin Ironhammer | Baradur Forkbeard | Kaia Goldborn | Dalun Stonesinger | Bengt Bertuli ​

 

[Kaia Goldborn]

Kaia had been ready to flee. She would go back to her parents and be the good little daughter she was supposed to be. She was not a warrior. She would never be a warrior. She was a joke.

She did not make it from her place before a blonde man was speaking with her. She chuckled at his words. Was it that obvious that she was nervous? She needed to work on her composure apparently. Kaia raised her mug to meet his with a small smile.

“Kaia, Kaia Goldborn,” she responded to Bengt’s question. He seemed quite confident in himself, and she felt herself relax some. She just needed to meet people and then she would be fine.

It was only a few moments passed before the dwarf called Vorak was speaking – no bellowing – to the tavern. She could feel her excitement growing with every word. This is why she was here. She could fight and she was a badass. She would fight for her people!