Ungrim's stare remains steady and unblinking, but those close enough can see the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Once more, a low murmur ripples through the ring of warriors, thanes and chroniclers alike that line the hall. Then, the king raises a hand and silence returns. The kind that pulls all sound from the air, like the stillness before a hammer meets the anvil.
"Council and recognition, you say," Ironfist rumbles, leaning back on his throne. "I'll grant you at least the first. Counsel is what keeps a realm from a foolish death. As for recognition..." he pauses, intentionally letting the word hang heavily in the air, "that’ll be earned or lost by the tale you tell." The king straightens slightly and his eyes glint beneath his heavy brow. "If what you say is true, Bründir Halfshield, then what you carry are not mere arms, but echoes of our people’s past. If what you claim bears the weight that you say it does, that the north stirs with old powers and armies march under dark banners, then the sons of Karaz Kadrin will hear it. All of it."
"Loremaster," Ungrim declares, turning his head towards Odrik Thangrimsson, who stands to one side with a dozen scribes. "Take up your quill. Let the tale of the Acharnost be set to stone."
"As the king commands," Odrik replies, bowing so deeply that his beard brushes his chest. The scholar motions to his scribes, who unfurl long rolls of vellum, their inkpots trembling in anticipation.
"Speak, then," the king continues, his attention returning to Bründir. "Tell us how Sheercleft stood and how the Acharnost kept the dark at bay. Omit nothing that the mountain should know. We’ll weigh your words, your deeds and the arms that you bear, then we'll see what counsel this hall can give you... and what recognition you've earned."
He gestures with an open hand in what is as much an invitation to begin, as it is a command.
Brundir gives a low bow to King Ungrim’s invitation, then paces in a small circle to address the room and take measure of his audience. “Let it be ‘eard, echoed through stone halls t’Moradin ‘imself, our account.” He’d heard Brynja begin many tales and songs with such an invocation. For stone floors and wooden walls before an audience of miners, it sounded flowery and pompous. Now, however, before a kingly seat under a mountain, it drew a deafening reverence.
“Just months ago, our own kinsmen came t’Sheercleft askin’ fer aid. Ore merchants, they were, with news of banditry on th’ trade roads. Sheercleft’s govn’r, Quinton, called fer volunteers, an’ we answered – some of us, at least.” Brundir motioned an arm to the others, “Valaith Rimehand, Vark Galestone, and two others who aren’t with us anymore: Hurrig Magmabraids who eventually returned t’ Khaz a Gungron, an’ a gnome by name’a Archibald Swiftstep who we’ve not seen since our first month out.”
“Our mission was giv’n, then: Clear out bandits from th’ roads who’re stoppin’ shipments fer Khaz a Gungron an’ killin’ our Elven neighbors of Hyarantar. On th’ road fer Hyarantar, we met Dorno, a druid who agreed t’help us. When we event’ly came back t’Sheercleft, he chose t’stay there. He’s still there now helpin’ wherever he can.” All these names of people who weren’t around yet gave a terrible pang of nostalgia mingles with grief. He hadn’t realized how many had been lost until now.
“Bandits weren’t hard t’find,” Brundir pulled himself from his momentary revere and now seemed almost nonchalant. “We came into a pass an they all but stepped out an’ asked fer a beating.” A smile came and went across the dwarf’s face. He had to remember there were moments appropriate for boasting, but this was mostly an accounting. “A fight broke out quick, an’ that’s when our friend, Thurston Barnatson came into our company. We scattered those bandits but caught word of where they’d hid out. ‘Fore we took that on, though, we stopped by Hyranatar and their lord asked us t’look fer one of their own who got taken by those bandits. One of our group, Hurrig, was called back home t’Sheercleft.”
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Vark has cowered towards the back of the group since entering King Ungrim’s imposing presence. He is happy to leave all of the talking to the dwarf, but as he hears a mistake int the recounting he almost can’t help himself. Thankfully he catches himself before simply blurting out the correction, instead leaning down and forward to whisper in the bard’s ear. “Uh-uhm B-bründir, we did see Archie again, with the cultists. He got away through a magic portal.”
He seems satisfied with himself for contributing to such an important moment, but now as eyes are drawn to him he has the realization that some of the plot points in this story might not be taken well by this audience. His hand, veined with infernal red, tightens on Pathmaker’s shaft, suddenly sweaty. The runestone feels heavy against his side, and he also just now remembers that Didymis is… somewhere. But it’s too late to get out of this now, all Vark can do is gulp and hope for the best.
Bründir spins around at Vark's correction, first welcoming then confused. There's a momentary hesitation before he catches what was said and corrects himself, "Ah, thank ye, Vark. I must've been distracted when that happened, sorry. Right! Beggin' yer pardon about that bit, sire an' scribes. Here's why it's good ye hear from us all. I can spin a fine tale, but I can't be ev'rywhere t'tell it all."
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
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Ungrim's stare remains steady and unblinking, but those close enough can see the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Once more, a low murmur ripples through the ring of warriors, thanes and chroniclers alike that line the hall. Then, the king raises a hand and silence returns. The kind that pulls all sound from the air, like the stillness before a hammer meets the anvil.
"Council and recognition, you say," Ironfist rumbles, leaning back on his throne. "I'll grant you at least the first. Counsel is what keeps a realm from a foolish death. As for recognition..." he pauses, intentionally letting the word hang heavily in the air, "that’ll be earned or lost by the tale you tell." The king straightens slightly and his eyes glint beneath his heavy brow. "If what you say is true, Bründir Halfshield, then what you carry are not mere arms, but echoes of our people’s past. If what you claim bears the weight that you say it does, that the north stirs with old powers and armies march under dark banners, then the sons of Karaz Kadrin will hear it. All of it."
"Loremaster," Ungrim declares, turning his head towards Odrik Thangrimsson, who stands to one side with a dozen scribes. "Take up your quill. Let the tale of the Acharnost be set to stone."
"As the king commands," Odrik replies, bowing so deeply that his beard brushes his chest. The scholar motions to his scribes, who unfurl long rolls of vellum, their inkpots trembling in anticipation.
"Speak, then," the king continues, his attention returning to Bründir. "Tell us how Sheercleft stood and how the Acharnost kept the dark at bay. Omit nothing that the mountain should know. We’ll weigh your words, your deeds and the arms that you bear, then we'll see what counsel this hall can give you... and what recognition you've earned."
He gestures with an open hand in what is as much an invitation to begin, as it is a command.
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva
Chapter 1: Bandit Raids and Setting Out
Brundir gives a low bow to King Ungrim’s invitation, then paces in a small circle to address the room and take measure of his audience. “Let it be ‘eard, echoed through stone halls t’Moradin ‘imself, our account.” He’d heard Brynja begin many tales and songs with such an invocation. For stone floors and wooden walls before an audience of miners, it sounded flowery and pompous. Now, however, before a kingly seat under a mountain, it drew a deafening reverence.
“Just months ago, our own kinsmen came t’Sheercleft askin’ fer aid. Ore merchants, they were, with news of banditry on th’ trade roads. Sheercleft’s govn’r, Quinton, called fer volunteers, an’ we answered – some of us, at least.” Brundir motioned an arm to the others, “Valaith Rimehand, Vark Galestone, and two others who aren’t with us anymore: Hurrig Magmabraids who eventually returned t’ Khaz a Gungron, an’ a gnome by name’a Archibald Swiftstep who we’ve not seen since our first month out.”
“Our mission was giv’n, then: Clear out bandits from th’ roads who’re stoppin’ shipments fer Khaz a Gungron an’ killin’ our Elven neighbors of Hyarantar. On th’ road fer Hyarantar, we met Dorno, a druid who agreed t’help us. When we event’ly came back t’Sheercleft, he chose t’stay there. He’s still there now helpin’ wherever he can.” All these names of people who weren’t around yet gave a terrible pang of nostalgia mingles with grief. He hadn’t realized how many had been lost until now.
“Bandits weren’t hard t’find,” Brundir pulled himself from his momentary revere and now seemed almost nonchalant. “We came into a pass an they all but stepped out an’ asked fer a beating.” A smile came and went across the dwarf’s face. He had to remember there were moments appropriate for boasting, but this was mostly an accounting. “A fight broke out quick, an’ that’s when our friend, Thurston Barnatson came into our company. We scattered those bandits but caught word of where they’d hid out. ‘Fore we took that on, though, we stopped by Hyranatar and their lord asked us t’look fer one of their own who got taken by those bandits. One of our group, Hurrig, was called back home t’Sheercleft.”
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Vark has cowered towards the back of the group since entering King Ungrim’s imposing presence. He is happy to leave all of the talking to the dwarf, but as he hears a mistake int the recounting he almost can’t help himself. Thankfully he catches himself before simply blurting out the correction, instead leaning down and forward to whisper in the bard’s ear. “Uh-uhm B-bründir, we did see Archie again, with the cultists. He got away through a magic portal.”
He seems satisfied with himself for contributing to such an important moment, but now as eyes are drawn to him he has the realization that some of the plot points in this story might not be taken well by this audience. His hand, veined with infernal red, tightens on Pathmaker’s shaft, suddenly sweaty. The runestone feels heavy against his side, and he also just now remembers that Didymis is… somewhere. But it’s too late to get out of this now, all Vark can do is gulp and hope for the best.
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
Bründir spins around at Vark's correction, first welcoming then confused. There's a momentary hesitation before he catches what was said and corrects himself, "Ah, thank ye, Vark. I must've been distracted when that happened, sorry. Right! Beggin' yer pardon about that bit, sire an' scribes. Here's why it's good ye hear from us all. I can spin a fine tale, but I can't be ev'rywhere t'tell it all."
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero