=TEMPORARY HIATUS= Do not move (VotDL:3.5)

[genericdragon]

Waning 1; Autumn

Doing drills out in the courtyard is always hard work. When you pause for breath, if you get a chance, the sweat begins to freeze to your skin and face coating you in a frosted lacquer. You know you are worked harder than the other soldiers, doing drills for hours at a time; the Drill Master, Barador, trying to break your wild nature.

But now, with the changing weather and an acceptance that regimen is not a solution that always works, the Drill Master passes you on to Gallen for more personal training on control and restraint. Gallen had offered to train you originally, but Alfrick had insisted in trying to mould you into a soldier instead of a weapon, and now you have the opportunity to learn from an experienced veteran.

Most nights he takes you out to train in the courtyard, fighting not just him but the intense cold. It is gruelling, even for someone of your stature and ability and you find yourself pushed in ways you had not imagined before; not injuries but something far deeper, far more dangerous.

Weakness.

The biting cold makes you feel the same as when you battle furiously and relentlessly, though you are sure you will overcome this in time it is disconcerting nonetheless.

After one midnight session with Gallen he takes you aside to the mess hut where your huge kinsman normally stands furiously cooking whatever melange he is working on. Quite and cold he retrieves a bottle from near the huge stove and takes a seat pouring two drinks of amber, swirling liquid.

“You fight well and are improving my grey skinned friend”

A term of endearment (you assume) as Gratz is referred to also by his greener skin colour.

“You favour the heavier two handed styles that use your strength well, breaking weapons and shields alike without too much difficulty…”

He passes you one of the clay cups and downs his own.

“But you leave yourself vulnerable to counter attack. Not to mention having your own weapon damaged in a battle. In our parts we use swords and lighter weapons that favour manoeuvrability; we also defend ourselves from charges with pole arms. Now I can see your weapon, and I appreciate its value to you but…”

Another drink.

“What exactly do the craftsmen of your tribe, home or whatever it is get up to. What do they make beyond a simple axe or wooden spear? Do you have complicated metal work or anything else?”

He looks up from his drink waiting for a response.

[<imaginative username here>]

Erugaar takes a pull from his cup, thankful for the inner warmth - hardy his people may be, but the freezing nights in these parts could chill a yeti.

"The Whitescar have long lived in the _____ mountain range, and I'm told it is rich in metals both practical and valuable. You would think, therefore, that we would have all the steel we need for blades, chain, and so on."

Another swig. Not used to alchohol, Erugaar can feel the drink affecting him, and his tongue loosening. Knows he's about to say something tactless and endanger this fragile friendship. Knows, but doesn't stop.

"And so we would, if we didn't have to compete with the "civilised" races. Your God Emperor has granted the mountains to the good people of _____, and with it all their resources. If we try to gather leftovers from abandoned mines, the mayor will send questors to "end the orc infestation." If we try to reclaim a more bountiful mine, we are forced back by legions of steel-clad guardsmen.

Erugaar pauses only for another gulp, and barrels on before Gallen can interrupt.

"So we get by with whatever we can. We melt down pots to make spearheads, or melt down spearheads to make pots, depending on what we need. We haven't the time or resources for anything more impressive than a sharp lump of metal on a stick."

[genericdragon]

Gallen cocks his head, frustration crossing his brow.

“I’m sorry that my and your Lord has inconvenienced your people so much. Perhaps you should have considered petitioning him for an amicable solution. If your village reacted with aggression what did you think would happen? Presumptions of those that came to live and work are only caused by your violent nature especially seeing as not all orcs are warriors, especially inland.”

He stands, his face tumultuous and incomprehensible, removing a small pouch from his pocket.

“I only wanted to talk about your people’s craft, I’m sorry that we’ve made your lives harder but your village chose the path of battle. You could have offered yourselves as mercenaries, guards or guides but I suppose you are all too proud?”

The pouch is spilled upon the table, the contents are small and simple; A small pewter amulet, interwoven gold fibres and a metal band.

“I once slew an orc who attacked my home town; these belongings were on his person, kept in an armoured pocket. The band has an inscription on it so I took it to an expert, though I recon you could read it yourself. It turns out the amulet is a small charm from that particular tribe given to warriors from their women to wish them strength and victory. In our society we would wish our loved ones home safely, but for orcs it amounts to the same thing I suppose.”

A pause for breath.

“I don’t know about the fibres but I reckon it must have been important to him to be alongside the amulet. I had to live with the reality that I may have orphaned a child or widowed a caring wife to defend my village and home from, what we perceived to be a beast. He had attacked us over an issue of ownership. One of the hunters had caught a huge boar by sheer luck in the forest nearby; it had looked sickly so he tried his hand at it. The boar was the orcs favoured mount, and had looked sickly because it had been covered in blood and chalk paints all of which made it look incredibly… ill is the best way to put it.”

Gallen placed the amulet and the fibres back into the bag.

“He had done what he felt was necessary at the cost of his own life. He didn’t try to ask for compensation or be reasonable in any way. He attacked the whole town violently slashing at any he came across. Ultimately the result would be the same, the boar would be dead and nothing could be done about it.”

The bottle is taken and put back in its original place.

“You can say what you want about your town’s difficulties but you need to gain some perspective about why you are treated that way. I know I said I had to live with the reality of my actions but I never felt any remorse for them.”

He heads towards the exit his head held low, a sigh escaping from his throat.

[<imaginative username here>]

Erugaar exhales.

"You make a fair point, Gallen. My people are warlike, and I will admit I have never heard of a chief attempting peaceful interaction. Were he to do so, he would most likely be thought a weakling, and be replaced with a more traditional warrior. And to be honest, if we had more metal to use, our chief would likely have it forged into arrowheads and lead attack on the human settlement. Or the goblin one. Or another orc tribe."

"We are a restless people. War is in our blood. When the shaman tells us that <Orc deity> has called us to bring holy wrath down on our enemies, it is all to easy to see them as animals, and relish putting axe to bone. But I did not mean to offend."

He gestures toward the bottle.

"Do you want to finish that drink? To answer your question without whining or self pity, no; we have no metalworking skill. Wood and bone is more easy to come by, however, and used for decoration.

"That charm you showed me is a common trinket for warriors to bear when fighting or hunting, though ours would be carved from pine. Writing is a skill reserved for the shaman and his apprentice, but a common prayer is to ask<deity> to grant the loved one the courage to fight, the luck to win and the speed to return home quickly."

[genericdragon]

"No, I'm not going to finish that. I had an important lesson I wanted to teach you though."

He returns the bottle to the table.

"Trade and exchange is a key element of life. When you kill someone you making an exchange. I know you have the head to listen, that is why you didn't try to kill me when we first met: I truly believe you will be able to overcome your upgringing."

Gallen takes a breath, condensation drifts from his mouth in rolls.

"I have left a reminder of this lesson on your bunk. Remember that to kill a man is easy, but to befriend an enemy is invaluable, that to carve a bloody arc is to invite retribution, but to conquer through kindness invites only strength."

He leaves. You notice the ring still lies upon the table.

As you make your way back to your bunk, the ring nestled safely in your hand, you hear a faint whisper as if distant. The phantom sound does not return and you continue to your place of rest.

As you reach your bed you see a long hafted weapon propped against it. The head is shaped from battered, but reformed metal and forms a wicked curve over where you would rest your first hand. The handle, you realise, is a cut down quarter staff. It looks like the quarter staff had been cut off near the middle and capped into a pommel with a head mounted atop it.

You pick up the axe and feel it over. The head is balanced with the metal core of the staff.

It feels perfect for your hands.

[genericdragon]

Waning 1; Autumn - COMPLETE

Reward: Masters Memento - Masterwork Greataxe (counts as having a steel haft increasing the weapons hitpoints and hardness).
Inscribed Ring - You don't know what it says, but why would an orc carry a ring like this?



Notes: Place Names. If you would like me to name places just ask. Unless you have your own ideas the mountainous region will be called "Kethendverthicha" and the town "Deeprock hold". It's just what I would call them, but your own ideas come first because it is your history.
Deities. There are small deities, these deities are not from Io and are not respected by dragons. You are actually welcome to make up your own, just keep their domains localised (Local god of death and disease may have the plague domain and the domain, maybe even repose) and they can have at most 3 domains. Banned domains for local deities are: Sun, Dream, Madness, Dragon. The deities descriptions, rituals rites etc don't need to be massively explained just enough for realism if it comes up. Status within the realm is helpful to. Just make sure they are reasonable.

The idea behind these small gods is that the world has over time created it's own deities. These deities are called Mortal Deities in that they can be killed by man and are more of a power gateway than anything else, they are far weaker than the dragon gods.

All primarch dragon deities have their alignment as domains. If one aspect is neutral they get dragon as an extra, if both are neutral then they only get dragon.

So you have a few choices: Garyx, dragon god of destruction and renewal. He is impationate. Or create a localy worshiped god (can be a demigod and physically present or a transcendant god, your choice).

[genericdragon]

RIGHT. Today I will update the remaining 3 seasons.

[genericdragon]

Waning 36; Autumn

The soldiers of the fort are a morose collection of individuals, hell bent on being depressed about the weather and trying to stay indoors for as long as possible. You understand why this is having had wall duty once since your time at the fort where the howling winds that had struck up that day shook you to the bone.

It was on this day that you met Miirik Vignar a noble draconic “boy” who was sent to the fort instead of a prison placement. He helped you walk down from the wall after your shift, guiding you across to the lodge and down into the barracks.

“Can’t stand the wall duty myself much either, but for less physical reasons.”

A quick flash of scales as he rolls his sleeves up tells his heritage.

“I don’t know if you’ve had much opportunity to socialise here but I run a bit of a social club for the guards who are off duty. We play cards, bet on temperature things like that. If you’re interested I can lay the field for you and get you a seat tonight, maybe you’ll win some liquor if you come. You interested?”

A sharpened grin is displayed. This feels more of a challenge than an invitation.

[genericdragon]

10 o'clock start tomorrow. You can arrive at 9 if you want but I will start when people settle down.

[vaxsgbstpachibgdk3]

"Never let it be said that I turn down an invitation. Tell me when and where and I'll come." Rywyn grinned.

[genericdragon]

"Then we shall meat in the bestiary at midnight, the game will be cards printed on sheeths of dragon bone inscribed in the blood of devils."

On his wait out he lets out a short snicker.

"I will see you later."

Midnight

You seat yourself sourrounded by sleeping monsters in the bestiary. The room is dark and your opponents faces are concealed from view, dancing lights summoned to illuminate your cards create radiant halos behind your heads. You are certain that this is to conceal identity.

The game begins unceremoniously with a buyin of 5 gold split down into animal teeth for chips. Miirik had payed for your buy in, for some reason.

The game seemed pretty normal, teeth being exchanged as you'd expect. Once people began being knocked out of play things became stranger, the defeat buying in with belongings all of which significantly undervalued by Miirik who exchanged them for chips. The furious approach some players took to trying to win hands when they were low on money was incredible, some players bursting into tears or assaulting the table itself in frustration.

Your supply of chips is steady, even wins and losses. You know that the illumination being used can easily lead to rife cheating, but with Miirik dealing and not playing, and the cards... unique visage you doubt anyone would try to.

After half an hour of play the game starts to go your way, winning a few allins from the more frenzied players. After an hour you are dominating the game.

Miirik looks over at your pile.

"I hope you intend to play to the end, I wouldn't the other players to be cut short on potential winnings because you wanted to quit while your ahead. This is meant to be fun after all."

[vaxsgbstpachibgdk3]

Rywyn watched as the others players eyes scanned over him at this comment. He shifted nervously in his seat. "Wouldn't dream of it...." He coughed weakly. "Uh...another hand?"

Rywyn threw in his blind and took a swig of drink. He'd played high stakes games before, felt the pressure, seen how some handle it. But this...this was different. Some of these men clearly had something far more important on the line than their money. He suddenly remembered something an old friend had told him during a game, long ago.

"Never play with dragons. They have a way of getting into your head, and before you know it, you're in their pocket. Thats the last place you ever want to be."

The words rang ominously in his ears and he could feel his hairs standing on end. All eyes seemed to be on him as he picked up his hand. A king and an ace, same suit. He was about to praise his luck when it occured to him....was Miirik giving him good cards on purpose? It would explain his lucky streak....

Rywyn shook his head. Its just mind games. Grow up, you've played worse games. You're in your element, just don't mess it up. Sighing deeply, he centered himself and threw 5 gold in.

"Raise gentlemen. Who's gonna call?"

[genericdragon]

A chorus of all ins, a pile of teeth. Those who can call, do.

Miiriks grimace re-emerges.

The hand is one. Many of those who had burnt their remaining chips have little else to exchange and cave, leaving the game.

With only two players left besides yourself Miiriks joins the game.

He buys into the game.

"Would you deal please"

The thick stack of cards is lain before you. They feel heavy but easy to deal.

The game goes badly, the other two players fold out after fits of anger and Miiriks' grin growing steadily wider.

One on one with even piles you are dealt a pair of kings.

"All in!"

Announces your opponent.

He places his cards face down and looks at you steadily.

[vaxsgbstpachibgdk3]

Rywyn weighed his option carefully. He prided himself on his calm, his ability to read the situation objectively, but Miirik was different. His face had no tell, his voice no quiver and his hands were steady. He couldn't even remember seeing him look at his cards. Whatever this was, it was a test. He was being pushed.

Whatever the reason, it was his will that was being measured. Temperance is not a virtue you look for in a gambler and it was not one Rywyn tended to humour. He was far more concerned with his pride.

"Call. Lay them out."


(when deciding whether or not to bet, I decided to see if luck was on my side. Natural 20 )

[genericdragon]

He lays down a king and a nine.

19.

Your cards are layed bair. A Regal pair oppossed by a weaker hand.

His eyes widen.

"You win the... pot."

He lets out a hissing laugh.

"I buy in with the deck! I value it at all the items in the room!"

He slams his fists on the table.

"LET US PLAY"