My duty as High Chief has stopped me from taking this issue without slacking on my duties. But now I have time to address this issue. A few stone weeks ago Aghuid Cottonwood assaulted me after I refused to stop having the conversation I was having with a Frostbeard. Aghuid Cottonwood smacked his high chief in public to make me be quiet. Then when I told him to not do that again, he walked up to my face and asked me what I was going to do about it. At this sign of insubordination I used my beard to whip him in the face. After this he tackled me and a fight started. It ended with him using his golem leg to snap my legoff. For these events I met with Aghuid and offered him my forgiveness if he kissed the crown of Hefrumm and swore to serve Hefrumm and never harm the High Chief. This oath sworn on the holy crown of paragon Bjor was broken when Aghuid in the Council of Urguan undermined the High Chief through insults and mockery. These events are unacceptable, and justice needs to be served. However, I am aware Aghuid is half Ireheart, and I am the High Chief, making a trial in Hefrumm possibly bias. For this reason I want this to go to the High Courts. The government of Hefrumm accuses Aghuid Cottonwood of; Insubordination, assault, disrespecting a relic, and attempt to murder, and ask for the High Courts to hold a trial, so that justice can be achieved.

Edition #24: Dwedsmas Special

How to Properly Celebrate Dwedsmas!

Dwedsmas Anvil

Dwedsmas Trees? Dwedsmas Stockings? No, Simply no. The correct way to properly decorate and to receive your gifts from Jesus Silverbeard, is to put up your Dwedsmas Anvil! The Dwedsmas Anvil can be put up in any location in your home or clan hall, it does not matter, as long as the flame is lit on your anvil Jesus Silverbeard will deliver your gifts. Local dwarven traditions say it is necessary to kiss your Dwedsmas Anvil in order to properly bless it. 

Dwedsmas Apparel

Onto your Dwedsmas apparel, there is no set in stone holiday apparel. However, for the past several Dwedsmas’, many Dwedmar have been seen both wearing a custom made Dwedsmas sweater. It is said that four Dwedsmas’ ago, Pargaon Hogarth Irongut was wearing his Dwedsmas sweater when a rock fell from the ceiling onto him and he was only saved because of his Dwedsmas sweater. Since that point, most dwedmar chose to wear that as their primary holiday clothing. Additionally, some Dwedmar choose to wear a red and white Dwedsmas hat to honor the upcoming Pargaon Kjellos Day.

Dwedsmas Meal

Common mistakes that Dwedmar makes on Dwedsmas is the meal. The largest mistake that they make is going out and getting some kind of boar or cow in order to serve a nice Dwedsmas meal. However, Jesus Silverbeard decreed on the first Dwedsmas that the traditional Dwedsmas meal is to find and kill some random stranger's pet, as that is the tastiest meat a person can find. Common pets that people make on Dwedsmas is a nice Elven parrot and or dolphin. 

Dwedsmas Songs

The DNN has chosen to include some Dwedsmas songs, these are obviously not all of the Dwedsmas songs that exist, however this is meant to simply spread some of the classics.

Sponsors:

Sponsored by The Tinker-Beard Company! Your Best Source of Dwedsmas Gifts & Accessories! Find us in the DwedCorp Mini-Mall along with Kazrin's Konstructs and other wonderful companies!

Sponsored by Clan Irongrinder! Clan Irongrinder is currently recruiting new dwedmar into the clan, please seek out Darek Irongrinder 

ANNOUNCING NEW DR.BEARD™ COMING TO THE DWEDCORP MINI-MALL™ SOON™

Fellow Khazadmar...

It gladdens me to know that our folk have taken such a liking to this ancient hold, as it no doubt pleases our ancestors knowing their fine work is to be appreciated once more, after so long being empty. However, there is much work to be done before this ancient citadel is worthy of the title of Crownhold. Knowing this, and knowing the many concerns of the people moving forward, I have seen fit to convene a Grand Assembly in the halls of Kal'Darakaan, where questions might be asked and answered in an ordered fashion. I wish to put many of the fears and rumors that have spread about to rest, and direct the people in the direction I so intend. The following topics are to be discussed at the Assembly in the same order they are listed.

• The distribution of meat, grain, and other foodstuffs, and addressing recent food shortages.
• The status of the Grand Treasury, taxation, and Dwarven Economy moving forward.
• The status of the Grand Arena, the Grand Championship, and Gladiatorial Games.
• Vassals and Guests, the welcoming of new allies and old to the Grand Kingdom.
• The pricing and distribution of land.
• The status of the Port, the naming thereof, and the return of the Admiralty.
• Common Hour, during which those in attendance may ask questions and raise concerns to the King and Council, not already mentioned previously.

The Grand Assembly shall begin on the sixteenth of the First Seed, four hours past midday. Common etiquette is both expected and demanded, and those who cannot behave accordingly will be removed by the Legion. It is requested that those attending with questions write said questions down beforehand, and do not raise them until prompted to by the Grand King, as to give time for other questions to be poised.

Charged as we are by Yemekar

OOC: 4 PM-7PM EST this Friday, be there, last one there is a longleg.

The sea was a rage.

Dafi Brinebeard had never seen the ocean toss and turn as it did now, not during the Atheran expedition, not during the Korvassan campaign, not in all his years as a crewman upon the Dwedsmark. Even when Evraal erupted as they fled, and it shook the earth to it’s core, the sea did not react as violently as it did now.

The mighty warship tossed and turned, just barely cresting the waves. As much faith as Dafi had in the old workhorse of the Dwarven fleet, he had to admit part of him feared she would go under, one of the escort craft already had. He was roused from his worries as a crack of thunder echoed across the turbulent sea, setting the sky alight, despite it being well past sundown.

He didn’t dwell on his fears, there was work to do, and he was a sailor, nor a mourner. Firmly he held in place the rope as he finished his knot, it was one of several that had been tied, holding one of the cannons in place, as the last thing they needed was those cannons flying across the deck and killing a man.

“Brinebeard, are the guns secure?” Came a shout from the rigging. Deckhand Kadrim hadn’t been on the ship as long as him, the boy was a beardling after all, but there were few better at scaling the rigging and ladders upon the stacks. Dafi looked up, nodding. “Aye!”

“Which god do we pray to when the sea tries to kill you?”

Dafi snorted at that, adjusting another rope, before bracing himself against the side as another wave crashed against the ship. Wiping salt water from his brow, he barked in amusement. “Pah! Do I look like a priest? Leave the prayers for later, we’ve work to do!”

Another crack of thunder rocked the sea, and for a moment it would look like Kadrim would be thrown from the rigging. The boy held his footing though, and pointed out onwards. “Did’ja see that Brinebeard!?” Dafi looked up, how Kadrim could see anything in this blasted storm was lost on him, Dafi himself could barely see over the prow of the ship. A moment of clarity came as another bolt of lightning raced across the sky, illuminating the turbulent sea. It was then he saw it.

Imposed upon the horizon was the cliffs of a mountain range, arrayed against the shoreline like a vast seawall. More than that though was one which stood above them all. A peak rose above the range, it was the highest of them all by far, and the largest Dafi had seen in all his years. Piercing the dark night sky, it seemed to scrape against the roof of the world itself, it’s vastness shocked him. It took him a moment, and another crack of lightning illuminating it for Dafi to process what he saw. Finally he shouted down the ship at the top of his lungs, two simple words.

“Land ho! Land ho!”
 

[MUSIC]

It had been two days since they made landfall, Jorvin finally felt at ease, he never liked the sea after all. The land which they found was anything but calm however, and the shore was oft wracked with storms. That however, Jorvin found no issue in. Yemekar beat against his anvil on high, if anything, t’was a sign they had ventured in the right direction.

His folk had made landfall at what appeared as if the ruins of an old port, half-swallowed by the sea, it was built into a natural harbor, and as such was the perfect place to make landfall, and so they did. From there it was as simple as making their way alongside the mountain tops, until eventually they reached it. Unlike the port, it seemed as strong as the day it was made, and was unmistakable Dwarven.

Several of his company peered about. Letters were scribed upon the gate, all of which seemed to puzzle them. They were Dwarvish in nature, but could not be deciphered. Jorvin however, recognized them for what they were, Old Dwarvish, dating back to the Old Kingdom. He read as several of his company guessed as to their origin.

“This gate was erected by the mason Snorri Fortbeard, and the Runesmith Kazrel Starbreaker in the twelfth-hundred and forty-second year of the world. Let none save the kin and kith of our folk pass through it.”

It wasn’t the age of the gate which shocked Jorvin, who knew how the Dwarves of yore built to last, it was it’s location which surprised him. Had they found a fallen hold? If so, what caused to to be deserted, and what lay within? He paced, before one of his retinue spoke up, Dimlin Irongut, his Marshal.

“How do we open it?”

Jorvin mused...That was the question, wasn’t it? The gate clearly hadn’t budged in centuries, and Jorvin doubted that they’d be able to break it down, not without runecraft, and it had been well over half a century since that art was lost to his kin. He paused in thought for a moment, before looking to Dimlin.

“This gate was built to keep our foes out, yes? Then let us show that we aren’t foes. Pass me your dagger.”

The Marshal raised a curious brow, but didn’t protest, instead unsheathing the dagger from his belt, and holding it out to Jorvin. The Grand King approached the gates, looking over the letters up close, before finding a peculiar line, one that stood out, one that wasn’t Dwarvish. Drawing the knife, Jorvin took a moment to remove his gauntlet, before etching a shallow cut into his thumb, he winced in pain, before pressing the cut up against the gate…

The runes began to glow, faint at first, but brighter after a moment, and without further delay, the ancient stone gate began to creak open, an irritating scraping sound echoed on out as it was dragged along the stone floor, for what had to have been the first time in at least half a millennia. The gate revealed a tunnel, not entirely dissimilar to the one in Kal’Evraal, though it was clear this one was built by old masters, and built to last. Arrow slits lined the wall, and an old, rusted cannon was the first thing that greeted them, as it overlooked the gate. Jorvin was almost certain that if he looked, it would’ve still been loaded, ready to repel the foes of Urguan.

Down the tunnel they went, through the defensive gauntlet, and over a bridge of stone set above an open lavaflow, which spilled down into the belly of the earth, far below. Eventually however, they reached a second gate, opened in much the same manner…

And out it revealed a vast valley, several miles around, surrounded on all sides by the mountain range they found themselves in. It was a valley closed off to the rest of the world. A river flowed from on high, down into a chasm below, and a grove of old, sturdy oaks and pines lined the western side. It was sat upon the eastern face of the range, where that giant mountain stood, that caught Jorvin’s eye the most however.

It was there he saw it, to call it a ‘ruin’ insulted it’s craftsmanship. Defiant against foe and time alike, carved into the rock-face was a gate, unmistakably that of a Dwarven hold, the faces of ancestors adorned its wall, and even now, ancient cannons and ballisti lined its battlements, deterring whatever invader managed to get past the mountain gate.

Upon the wall, runes were carved, and glowed faintly even now. Strengthening the wall so that no monster, nor storm might batter it down, they were runes lost to time, even before the art was lost to his people in recent years...Surely, the work of the mighty runesmiths of yore. Even here, on this far-flung corner of the world, his ancestors carved mighty halls, and even now they still stood, it humbled the often-arrogant Grand King.

Gasps came from behind as the rest of his party exited the tunnel, and saw the vastness of the hold before them, and the undisturbed beauty of the isolated valley surrounding it. There they halted for a time, before finally approaching the holdfast. 

A shout called Jorvin’s attention, from another member of his host. “There’s more writing!” they shouted, and as Jorvin drew closer, he observed. Upon every stone were etched names in their forefather’s script, the names of the masons who toiled to build such a stalwart citadel, or were they names of soldiers who fell defending it? Or perhaps both? He knew not. As they came upon the entryway, another line caught Jorvin’s eye, along the side of the doorway.

“Built in the second, third and fourth decades of the twelfth century of the world by the six hundred masons of architect Karlen Irongut, and the seven runesmiths of Kazrel Starbreaker. Beneath the peak of ancient might, within the storm-weathered mountains. Defiant of foe, nature, and time. Glory to Urguan’s Sons.”

As he finished reading, Jorvin remained in silent reverence for a moment, after months at sea, it felt good to be beneath a mountain-home, one where his ancestors walked no less. He looked up and down the assembly of his kin behind him, before reaching for the axe at his belt.

“It seems our exodus is at an end, fellow Dwedmar. Ready yourselves, and let us cast out whatever loiterers have made themselves at home within this hall of our folk. And then, when the work is done, we will finally rest. Gods know we’ve earned it.”

Part of Jorvin thought he’d failed his folk, when Kal’Evraal fell. Maybe the gods had given his kingship a second chance? Only one way to find out...

   
As issued 4th of The Grand Harvest, 1795

BY ORDER OF THE GRAND MARSHAL 

In recognition of his guidance and unrelenting support, Oyvind Frostbeard is posthumously reaffirmed an official induction into the Legion Hall of Fame. His Marshalship during the reign of Bastion Ireheart 

led to the resurgence and stabilization of the Legion prior to the Slaughter of the Senate. 

OFFICIAL HALL OF FAME CITATION: 

Oyvind Frostbeard was promoted to the rank of Grand Marshal after serving dutifully as a Commander in the Coalition Wars under Grand Marshal Jorik Grandaxe & Gror Ireheart. In the ensuing restructuring of the Legion, many Legionnaires were mustered out with the expiration of their enlistment. Thus, left only with a skeletal force of veterans and regulars to sustain the massive swathes of lands conquered by the Grand Kingdom, he took to instituting major reforms within the Legion. Immediately he instated massive recruitment schemes centered around increased pay and steady work, followed by the shift of Legionnaires being separated into Divisions to a consolidated soldiery of clan militias with Commanders having equal jurisdiction over them all. His programs proved auspicious, keeping the Legion on steady footing by the end of his tenure. Unfortunately, his final goal to keep the Legion apolitical failed spectacularly with soldiers fighting while on duty over clan issues. Marshal Frostbeard himself was caught in this wave playing a massive role in support of the Frostbeards during the infamous event known as the Slaughter of the Senate. 

NOTES OF THE GRAND MARSHAL:

“When recollecting about the epoch that was the tenure of Oyvind Frostbeard, it can be realized that Oyvind could only forestall the precipice known as the Slaughter of the Senate. He attempted during the meeting to reason and stalk a middle ground but when it became clear the fight was inevitable, he had no choice but to choose aside.  Nonetheless, his accomplishments must be commended, for if one only writes about bad and not the good, they are no better than the revanchists that seek to interpret history as if it was a speech and use it as justification to stir unrest. At the end of the day this commendation is not to the traitor but to the dwarf who resurrected the Legion”

In the valor of Dungrimm and honor of Urguan

Grand Marshal of the Legion of Urguan,

     As issued 4th of The Grand Harvest, 1795

BY ORDER OF THE GRAND MARSHAL 

In recognition of his undying loyalty and exceptional martial prowess, Gror Ireheart is to be awarded an official induction into the Legion Hall of Fame. His reign led to the revitalization of Dwarven Legion, and the defeat of the Second Frostbeard Rebellion. 

OFFICIAL HALL OF FAME CITATION: 

Gror Ireheart’s reign was inaugurated by inheriting a fractured Kingdom taken by surprise with the Slaughter of the Senate and coup of the capital Kal’Omilth by Clan Frsotbeard. The loyalist forces in quick succession evacuated the crown holdings retreating disorderly to the Grandaxe colony of Ta’Azmar. He reconsolidated the scattered loyalists into a formidable army leading them to victory in battle and recovering the capital of Kal'Omilth through the clandestine actions of Dwarf Team Six. Post rebellion, in a controversial act, he saw the removal of Clan Frostbeard to stabilize the Grand Kingdom. Following the expulsion of Clan Frostbeard, he began a deluge of treaties and diplomatic acts, reestablishing the Grand Kingdom as a strong entity on the continent of Axios, while also overseeing the reestablishment of the Legion of Urguan sparking a new wave of dwarven militarism. Centuries later while voyaging with the Grand Kingdom on the continent of Athera, Gror Ireheart killed a Stone Dragon with a pair of disruptor Hammers. Gror Ireheart goes down as one of the great saviors of the Grand Kingdom leading it through difficult times that required only the most stalwart of hearts. 

In the valor of Dungrimm and honor of Urguan

Grand Marshal of the Legion of Urguan,

     As issued 11th of The First Seed, 1795

BY ORDER OF THE GRAND MARSHAL

By order of Grand Marshal Dimlin Irongut, it is hereby proclaimed that due to the unforeseen explosion of the private Ram Ranch Research Facility and the release of the Airborne Fungus, the surface territories of the Grand Kingdom of Urguan are to undergo Legion enforced quarantine. The regions included in this quarantine are: 

The Hefrumm Towns

Clan Irongut Ranch

Grand Kingdom Fort UNO

And any surrounding properties within surface Urguan

The Capital of Kal’Evraal will be open to refugees from the surface areas under the agreement that they will be put in quarantine to mitigate the spread of the disease. The disease is highly contagious and is spread through the air or direct contact with an infected individual; it is suggested that all denizens of the Grand Kingdom wear facial protection as represented below. All those infected should turn themselves in IMMEDIATELY FOR ISOLATION. Below, the first example is the covering encouraged while in contact with others. The second is an example of covering used when approaching the dangerous surface locations mentioned above.

The on goings of the Grand Kingdom shall remain in the status quo, with the only exception being the lockdown of the capital and underground areas of the Grand Kingdom of Urguan. The Ram Ranch Facility site is to be placed as an EXCLUSION ZONE, meaning all citizens are barred from entering under threat of detainment by the Legion of Urguan.

IT IS SO ORDERED

Various posters would have been hung all-around the Grand Kingdom of Urguan in an effort to contain the spread of the recently emerged disease.

On the bottom of each poster were written instructions on how to deal with the outbreak.

"Remember to wear gloves and masks! If you have been exposed to the fungus, or it's spores head to the nearest clinic IMMEDIATELY. The appliance of Dwed's Pumpkin salve onto the exposed area will also help. Distance yourselves from others and do NOT leave your homes unless absolutely necessary. (Fe. The supply of ale or beard cream has run dry.)"

"The symptoms include, but may not be limited to, sudden weakness of the body, irritability, muscle aches, chills and shivering, sudden tiredness, a fungal growth on the exposed area, and sweating."

Edition #23

Ram Ranch Explosion

Breaking News and DNN Exclusive! Apparently the major dwarven farm, Ram Ranch, has exploded in a terrible incident. Ram Ranch is officially owned by the dwarven mega corporation, DwedCorpTM. DwedCorpTM spokespeople have officially come out and stated that the Ram Ranch incident was not caused by the company themselves but instead by rogue human bioterrorists. The farm is the major food source for the nation of the Grand Kingdom of Urguan and major food shortages are expected to happen with a possible depression in the economy. The Grand Legion under Dimlin Irongut has announced restrictions for entry in and out of the capital along with quarantines around the Ram Ranch area and possibly the Heffrum village. Top dwarven scientists have announced that a fungus disease is being spread by the explosion and warning that possible symptoms include paralysis, hallucinations, nausea, and muscle weakness. However, a possible cure for the disease has already been discovered which includes swallowing a bucket of lava or incredibly hot rocks.

Edition #22

Scales to Be Melted Down!

Breaking News! Grand Elder Arch-Runelord and future Paragon, Zahrer Irongrinder, has announced his intentions to the Irongrinder Clan on melting down the Scales of Tungdil! Clan Elder Zahrer Irongrinder stated that the priceless artifact was doing nothing except collecting dust on an old bookshelf in a far away hidden location. Clan Irongrinder is now having an internal voting poll with what to actually melt the scales down into, with DNN reporting that the option of a weird type of ring in the lead with 48 percent of the vote. After the official vote ends, Zahrer Irongrinder intends on calling his closest kin to his home so they can participate in a very old dwarven ceremony of converting an item in jewelry. DNN reports that this will be the end of the scales after they were first handed directly to Zahrer Irongrinder by Urguan himself with them being blessed by Jesus Silverbeard.

It was not the pain that bothered Jorvin the most, it was the smell.

Pain was familiar to Jorvin Starbreaker, not in the sense of one full of self-loathing or melancholy, but in the sense of a man who has spent years at a time on campaign. In the aspect of pain, Jorvin’s senses had seemed to dull with the years, that is not to claim he did not feel pain, only that he was unwilling to let it hinder him.

No, what bothered him most wasn’t the blood, it was the...Festering of it all, the uncleanliness, the pus of infection, and the festering of his wound. In truth, the severity of the wound did not dawn on him until he smelled it, and until he felt that sickness in his veins, the rot. He’d rather have his guts spilled upon the floor than be killed from the inside, it was no fitting death for a soldier, or a king.

It wasn’t that he didn’t have among the finest doctors in Arcas mind you, but doctors could only do so much for a wound once the infection had already begun to swell, Jorvin blamed the accursed and rusted weapons of the Neverborn, no mortal weapon would have stricken him like this, with a torn, jagged wound that struggled to heal properly, and a festering that caused him to fall into a feverish state.

At least that’s what he told himself. The mighty Jorvin Starbreaker couldn’t be felled by a mere infection after all.

And with the fever came ill thoughts that had always plagued him so. Dark thoughts, thoughts of paranoia and worst of all, weakness. The strongest thing he could do then was admit he was in no position to lead, not without his wounds tended to. Slowly but surely, Jorvin Starbreaker arose from his bed, wiping sweat from his brow as he shifted his arm, wincing as pain in his side flared. The infection had subsided now, gods knowing it had taken long enough...His senses had not yet fully returned to him. But he could walk, he could think, that was enough.

With the help of a walking stick at his beside, Jorvin moved to the nearby desk, he looked around, noting his papers in disarray, clearly him and Dhaen had different ways of organizing things. The thought of her brought a faint smile to his face, and just a tinge of shame. No doubt she was worried, and he should’ve never shouldered the burden upon her. It went well enough though, he supposed.

Easing himself into his seat, Jorvin winced once more, grumbling several curses under his breath. He reached for pockets he didn’t have, wearing only his trousers and the many bandages under his arm, being half-dead and delirious made one care little for being well dressed. Instead, he fished a quill from the desk, and ink-well beside it. Finally, leaning forward, Jorvin set the pen to paper. 

Back to work.

FROM THE OFFICE OF THE GRAND KING

ᚠᚱᛟᛗᛏᚺᛖᛟᚠᚠᛁᚲᛖᛟᚠᚷᚱᚨᚾᛞᚴᛁᚾᚷ

10th of Malin's Welcome, 1795

Sickness gives one much time to dwell on things, the good and the bad, and namely what one should have done differently. To be left without respite to such thoughts is a miserable existence, little wonder why lesser beings would lose the will to live in such circumstances. But to surrender oneself to such thoughts is Undwarvish. Such weaknesses best be left to soft surface-dwellers.

My wounds remain, but my fever has subsided, and I no longer stand a poor night’s sleep away from entry into Khaz’A’Dentrumm, as such, I henceforth reassume the duties set upon me as Grand King of Urguan’s Folk, and declare a formal end to the regency.

With my return to duty I intend to resume governance with renewed vigor. Too often of late have I allowed my thoughts muddled with worry, in these times our folk require a king of action, and it is such a King I swore to be. Once I have readjusted, there are several projects I intend to announce, and changes to administration and foreign policy I wish to announce.

I apologize for my absence, and thank you all for your prayers.

I remain your Grand King and loyal servant. 

Jorvin Kazrinsson of the Clan of Starbreaker.

Dwarven Dice Game of Greed

[!] An old Dwarven game which relies around getting a score of “Tiu Tiu Tigir” or 1000 points.

Requirements and Setup

2 players required minimum to play.

Six six-sided fair dice are required to play.

Each player rolls six dice, the highest roll goes first and turns are taken clockwise.

The game is ready to play!

Rules and the Game

A player rolls their dice. One of the following scenarios may occur:

- The player does not win any 1s, 5s, or winning combinations. The player ends their turn with 0 points added to total score. Known as a "Blunder."

- The player keeps the score and adds it to their total score. Move is called "Save."

- The player rolls all of the dice again in an attempt to get a higher score with the risk of losing points on the previews roll if the re-rolled score is lower. Move is called "Full Greed."

- The player saves the dice of the winning combination(s) to roll the other dice in attempt to get additional points. Move is called "Greed." If the re-rolled dice do not create a winning combination the player ends the turn with 0 points added to the total, resulting in a Blunder.

To begin adding points to the total score, a player must get a roll score of 50 or higher in a single turn. Once this score has been achieved, the player is known as "Invested" and they add the current turn to their total score.

This continues for each player until a player gets 1000 or more points.

Winning Combinations Chart

2, 3, 4, 6 = 0 points.

1 = 10 points.

5 = 5 points.

3 or more of a kind of 1s = (Number of dice with 1) * 100 (Example: Player rolls 5 dice with 1s, they would add (5*100) or 500.)

3 or more of a kind = (Number of dice with same number) * (Number on dice * 10) (Example: Player rolls 4 dice with 3s, they would add (4*30) or 120.)

Three pairs = 50 points

A straight with 5 dice = 100 points.

A straight with 6 dice = 150 points.

Variations

Classic Mode:

The first player who gets 1000 wins automatically.

Catch Up Mode:

The first player who gets 1000 allows each player to take one more turn to attempt to get a higher total score.

FROM THE OFFICE OF THE GRAND KING

ᚠᚱᛟᛗᛏᚺᛖᛟᚠᚠᛁᚲᛖᛟᚠᛏᚺᛖᚷᚱᚨᚾᛞᚴᛁᚾᚷ

14th of the Grand Harvest, 1794

It is on the 14th of the Grand Harvest, 1794 which I write from my bed, stricken with pestilence, which I believe inflamed by the infection of wounds gained during the Korvassan campaign. I find myself unable to move without the aid of my advisors, and resigned to my palace bedroom. I fear myself to be incapable of ruling, and have decided that it is indisputable that Urguan needs a leader in this moment. 

TO THAT END, do I Grand King Jorvin ‘Kazrinsson’ Starbreaker nominate Grand Merchant Dhaen Grandaxe to be Lord Regent of this Grand Kingdom of Urguan, to lead in my stead and maintain unity of the Sons and Daughters of Urguan, until such a time where I may once more assume my royal duties.

I urge the Grand Council of Urguan to meet on this matter and as according to those most hallowed Articles of Urguan to vote with simple majority and establish the existence of the position of Lord Regent as an official Lower Office of the Crown, and hereby give my written consent should such position be made for Grand Merchant Dhaen Grandaxe to be my appointee. Such a position should hold the full authority of the Grand King, yet have a timed existence for a maximum of three weeks and requisite only a simple majority to be deposed.

OOC: Haven't been in a good mental state at all lately, been too stressed out from IRL and IRP to the point where I've been very ill lately. I'm taking a break until I can sort my head out, I will be back.

Kjellos wills it.

A few stone days past, the Elder Clan Ireheart and their blood bound allies Clan Doomforged made a last final effort to resolve the grudge. They made a plan, and with the cunningness of the Lord Grimdugan did they succeed; the Rex was captured by Bakir Ireheart alongside his Doomforged kinsmen. By his knees the grobbi was dragged across Arcas, from the Eastern Sahara to the White Mountains of the West, and Rex Murdok’Lak was thrown to the tiles of Ireheart Clan Hall. Here again did the Clan Lord Axel Ireheart offer one last mercy to the continued dishonored Urukmar. Perhaps Ogradhad that day smiled on Yemekar’s most brutish creation, and offered Krug’s heir a blessing of wisdom, for Murdok’Lak surrendered to their terms.

OVER THE NEXT SEVERAL YEARS, for the Sons of Yavok know that any would need a moment of respite after being at the receiving end of their fury, the Krugmar shall pay the Elder Clan Ireheart their due war reparations.

THESE ARE,

In the year 1798 shall the Krugmar gift without conditions a plot of land, 100 by 100 meters to the Sons of Yavok.

In the year 1799 shall the Krugmar build a statue of the Paragon Emperor Dragonslayer Kjellos between said plot of land and the capital of the Krugmar, viewable from each location.

In the year 1800 shall the Krugmar pay a sum of 10,000 minas to the Sons of Yavok.

IN TURN, effective immediately,

Elder Clan Ireheart strikes their grudge from that most hallowed book of dwarfdom, the GREAT BOOK OF GRUDGES.

Elder Clan Ireheart vows not to enforce any of their trials on the Urukmar of the Krugmar, and trials with those of Krugmar shall only persist should a mutual agreement be made for a fair and just HONOR DUEL.

Signed by,

Axel Ireheart, Clan Father of Clan Ireheart

Murdok’Lak, Swampgoth of Clan Lak, Rex of Krugmar

One down.

Folk of the woods, Elvenesse, hear our final offer of empathy. There are among you two who had made themselves arbiters of Justice. The two of you, read this missive, hear my voice; Let yourself be honorable. You have done a great disservice to your community, and out of cowardice, pride or some unholy combination of the two, you reside yourself to the woods, and are unwilling to face any sliver of consequence. 

Tell yourself whatever justification you desire, but there is no denying the TRUTH. Our trials were enacted fairly, and your own Sea Prince allowed them to persist on the roads. There were efforts being made for a compromise over the trials, but before any resolution was found in a false sense of justice you cut down one of our own with no trial, just because he was visiting a friend, one of your own. When a trial was sought, it was a sham and one of you, Laetranis, declared before those gathered you would deny any punishment that in any way marked him permanently. 

Laetranis ap Tahorran, Eir’thall Ilathdyn, you two have made yourselves arbiters of Justice, now hide not from it. Face the music, resolve this for yourself and for your people. Else, the grudge declared shall persist, it shall escalate, and you shall not be able to hide in your woods forever. Settle this soon, and it can end here.

The Ballad of The Fate of Krug

Clan Doomforge has always shared a long history with Clan Ireheart.  It is upon the call of aid to battle does the Doomforged answer.  As Draakopf left the Ireheart Clan Hall, and behind him was the conclusion they had come to.  Krug would pay.  Draakopf entered his laboratory within the mountain tops, unveiling a long stretch of parchment.  He inked his quill and began to pen up a draft… a Declaration of War. 

The sons of Krug have continuously wronged the Dwed.  Be it our kin the Irehearts or one of our own on the roads.  The Kin of Krug have seen enough days free roaming the roads terrorizing the innocent and wronging our people.  It is our duty and our right given by Yemekar, to choose the fate of the Rexdom.  The future of Krug lies in the hands of Dwedmar now due to its actions against our people.  It is up to us and our clans to see to it the end of days for these green skinned dogs.

"The Time of War has come”

(Artistic Depiction of Draakopf handling his Krug dog.)

(Dorimnur Goldhand's perspective of past events.)

Dorimnur Goldhand, Clan Father of the Goldhands and Yemekar’s Pick of Urguan, pried his matte black daemonsteel spear from the Inferi bowman that had failed to retreat from the dwarven advancement. His right pauldron would clink as he marched, from where he hastily put it on back on after doctoring the arrow wound from the same bowman. But on that day, blessed by the light of the Aengul themselves, Dorimnur was untiring. 

At the dawn of that blessed day, as the war machine of the dwarves churned for war,  Dorimnur was apathetic. He donned his new custom-tailored plate armor, crafted himself of course for his new clan, and set his cold helmet over his face. Taking heavy steps from his bare-bones abode he called home, he took a deep breath. The smells of fire and steel and sweat were abundant, even overbearing, but Dorimnur couldn’t smell; he inhaled to clear his mind for the task ahead. His footfalls echoed along the walls of the cold masoned stone to the forges of Kal’Mugdor, barking orders within the minute of leaving his home to those who were finishing their work from the night before, and to those who were picking up the mantle of ensuring the day’s operation was successful. The forges of Kal’Mugdor did not rest, nor did Dorimnur, granting himself minimal rest for the entirety of the war itself, which had spanned decades thus far. He did not care what the stakes of the battle was, nor for his personal well-being, he simply ensured everything was squared away to perfection. Every blade, every bolt, was accounted for and had its own place in the fight to come, as it always had with Dorimnur as Yemekar’s Pick. Each dwarven soldier adorned with the crafts of the dwarven blacksmiths, made with tightly kept guild techniques and innovations pioneered by the ambitious dwarf leading them all. Dorimnur trusted in his steel to meet his goals, but it was up to the fate of that day to test whether dwarven steel was enough. And with Dorimnur’s helm of responsibility donned upon his thick head of jet-black hair, he too joined the Dwarven Legion, to test what his hands had wrought first hand against the fires of hell. 

They rallied at the gates of Al’Faiz, and organized themselves into crews like a well oiled machine. The center sigil above the Korvassa melded into a single horrific mass above the camp ahead of them, the continent shuddering from the force of both descendant and Inferi forces. The night sky was filled with anomalies, blue tendrils merging with an abyss above as creation itself mourned for the desecration that was to come. 

Then they marched.

As the dwarves' footfalls reached the damned landscape, the atmosphere was palpable. Corpses strewn around them, gore and viscera littered as far as one could see, even filling the bay. But the dwarves marched on, unfearing of even death itself as they made their presence known.

 Dorimnur went through the motions, carrying a siege ladder, each rung a nearly mature cut of heartoak to support the mass of steel-clad soldiers. They march deep into the battlefield before laying it down to bridge across a crevice filled with corpses and bubbling magma like an infernal alchemy. His fellow dwarves were upon it the instant his ladder was laid, as was their enemy: The Infernal Horde. Mangled bodies of unholy origin with the only similarity to the descendants being their humanoid shape and the common ground they stood upon, they fought to repel the dwarven tidal wave that came crashing on their doorstep. Dorimnur was at the front of this wave, immediately taking up his tower shield once his ladder was lain, and stood vigilant against an onslaught of blows, but not without a sharpshooter of an Inferi to pierce the mail of his right shoulder, sinking deep within his muscular frame. Adrenaline flowed through his body now, his attention garnering as he realized his steel would need to be accompanied with an equally strong focus to the task at hand. He permitted himself to be treated by the dwarven medic, but bore the treatment little as he was eager to get back into the fray with his kindling passion rising within him.

Their foes fell in droves as they were routed underneath the dark sky, the screams of the Inferi beyond echoing throughout the black plains with wardrum accompaniment and lightning melody. The dwarves pressed on undeterred by their losses, fast feet falling upon the gore of the wasteland without remorse. A few suicidal Inferi tried their luck and took potshots at the dwarves behind hills as they passed, but the Worker’s Guild’s steel ensured each and every one of the bolts found no entrance to the dwarven bulwark. The roar of dwarves crying out in the night for blood as they marched to their bagpipes incited fear in the hearts of their adversaries, dwarves singing in unison glorious tunes of those brave men who came before. They were unbreakable, incorruptible, unyielding.

The dwarves' perseverance was rewarded by heavenly assistance, as the skies ripped asunder, heavenly intervention for the honorable in the form of Gazardiael, Aengul of New Beginnings. Dorimnur knew not of who or even what this figure was, but blessed with his favor, Dorimnur didn’t need too. The entire dwarven host’s gear was bathed in a holy light, fallen from above in a golden rain. Dorimnur’s sight was now set on indescribable glory without end; his steel would not fail him in this battle. He marched on with the dwarves as they all were bristling with newfound vigor, pressing on to the foreboding encampment, and whatever foul torment was housed within.

Dorimnur was at the front of the shield wall, pushing back the Inferi forces with his imposing tower shield, and skewering grunts as the spearhead of dwarves marched on. Each dwarf with their shields raised high, standing shoulder to shoulder with their brothers and sisters. Each giving their all, and more. The legion of dwarves laying waste to well over twice their weight in Inferi, the divine glow of their weapons and armor striking fear in the foul hearts of the hellspawn, each going up in a wind of golden dust. The dwarves were ever unyielding. And Dorimnur began to savor every passing moment. Tempered by the fires of hell, his steel resolve remained steadfast, and he would die before he faltered in his cause.

 The dwarven legions marched upon the ungodly ballista encampment, pillars of fire along it’s walls and in the trenches, bathed in a blood-red light and a fire with no warmth. Another ladder was called for, and the war machine of Urguan answered swiftly. A great lob of malflame was hurled at them, but the dwarves bated it not as the unholy flames crashed harmlessly over their steel. Dorimnur took immense pride in this feat, and marched on with increasing vigor. Screaming demon officers attempted to rally their forces in the center of the encampment, preparing for a final stand, as both flanks thus far had fallen. As they charged within the entrance provided by Gazardiael by manipulation of the Inferi weapons, the dwarves overtook the encampment, with tactical commands shouted over the din of battle from the dwarven officers and Grand Marshall as they commandeered the great weapon for themselves. With a plethora of stout dwed all cranking the chain to ready such a devastating weapon, the oversized bolt was sent to the main camp’s exterior, a sickening crash echoing across the Korvassa as splinters fly, towers collapsing within and creating an entrance for the flood of dwarves to pour through like an unstoppable tide. Dwarven Valor was as integral to their power as was their steel, for each fallen dwed was replaced with another, every replacement to the line empowered by the sound of dwarven warchants and eager to lay down his life for those who had done so before to ensure their continued future. Dorimnur found himself planted on the bridge between the main camp and the ballista platform, and ensured no cursed neverborn was granted passage. 

Each step Dorimnur planted on that field fostered more passion, and with each spear thrust he became more enthralled in the battle of ideals, in the song of war, of steel against steel. First it was just the simple eagerness to fight, but as each combatant flew at each other with ravenous fury, each fighting for their own cause, Dorimnur fully invested himself into the fight, roaring in the face of hell as he skewered Inferi after Inferi. Each tested themselves against Dorimnur and his steel in a deadly dance, seeing if both his physical and mental steel was enough to continue his existence more than his assailant, but each and every one failed at the cost of their life. He let the hard exterior of his usual persona go and embraced the fury of emotions that came to him in the gruesome fight, emotions he had not felt for decades. It made him feel alive.

 In the battle of steel and tongue, many dwarves nobly declared their intent to strike clean the ledger, righting the wrongs of the past with their own hammers. Dorimnur? He fought because he could. Not for King and country, but for self-agency, and he found that fulfilment on the battlefield. Dorimnur felt truly alive on that battlefield. It forced a new train of thought to enter his one-track mind, one to replace his brooding thoughts that always hung as a dark cloud over him. The stakes at hand, the fate of the world, were almost therapeutic for him, opening up a box of emotions he had kept bottled ever since arriving in Urguan half a century ago. And as gods and demons collided overhead, clashing in a symphony of violence and blood, Dorimnur felt emotions of passion, of selflessness, of honor, but most of all, brotherhoodliness. 

The Dwarves made it to the interior of the main camp, but not without a final fight before them. The remnant Inferi forces had regrouped, and gained some morale back as they pelted the dwarves’ worn shields with javelins and arrows, managing to push them back into disorganization. But with a quick sounding of the bagpipes and the barking of orders from the Legion Command, the dwarves did not falter, reinforcing their vanguard with more men and pushing the final wave of hellspawn back. Dorimnur slammed his thick tower shield into an Inferi troop, throwing it off balance while Dorimnur planted his foot, sending a piercing blow through the foul carapace, it disintegrating in golden ash.

 The dwarves had made it to their goal, battered, bloodied, and bruised, but unbroken. Their king had been taken off by the hand of the Aengul of Courage, but the dwarves carried on by the command of their officers. They heeded the words of the Aenguls above, and did what dwarves do best: hunker down. Tearing the encampment and utilizing it’s goods for their own gain, they fortified their position in a breakneck pace of a few hours, digging trenches and erecting barriers from torn palisades which they positioned comandeered cannons over to prepare for whatever came next, with the light of a white pillar illuminating the dark night from the unknown object in the middle of the camp. And in this time of waiting, as greater beings far from his understanding wielded the power of creation, and glimpses of the past and future flashed across the sky, Dorimnur allowed his mind, freely for the first time since he could remember, to wander. 

He looks back to all the good his Guild had done. 

Dorimnur almost lost faith in his goal. Not that he had much faith to begin with. He figured no one could ever come close to THEM. Even his faithful Workers could never reach the expectations he had for them. He was always pushing them too hard, or so he was told, seldom appraising them for good work. He had a reason for this, beyond the veiled answer he gave of “it’s forging them into a better person.” They answered with what they could, however, and from the fruits of his harsh labor sprouted innumerable creations, including the Daemonsteel ballista bolts which were chilled and weaponized against the Inferi during the Siege of Vitenna. One bolt was even sent in a freezing arc to sever the leg of a demonic mammoth, sending it tumbling to the ground in a single blow, which Dorimnur was fond of telling to others. 

He dwelled on all the things his leadership has wrought, all of the battles his men had worked long hours to prepare for. Without his driving hand forcing them to go, his men were willingly at every battle against the Inferi, and had even conducted espionage on their Doghouse encampment. They had built entire forts for the war, their stonemasonry carving the southern gate with their own hands to fortify their lands. 

He thought of the times long past, of him joining the Worker’s Guild as a simple miner, as he was always one for self-betterment. He mentally reenacts the Passing of the Pick ceremony which led to his current position. And of all the hard, grueling nights no one but himself subjected himself too. 

Dorimnur feeds his cannon with the worm, him and his two other cannoneers, all the while thinking of how his Guild had invented such creations of war for the dwarves. The Guild had reinvented the cannons of yore, with their own twist, which brought a new age to dwedmar firepower, blessing all their future conflicts with resounding success from unparalleled Dwarven marksmanship. Each step of their invention came from the Guild, from concept from some miners, to drafting with the Siege Master, to production and testing at the Grimgold firing range.The Guild had serviced Kings and Queens alike, producing wares the likes of no other seen in the land, and of rare and valuable materials. But this was not enough for Dorimnur, nor was it truely what he wanted. The war effort itself was simply the best distraction to the matters which lay at Dorimnur’s heart.

He remembers the immense effort that went into getting things working for The Worker’s Guild, scouting for resource deposits, many failed inventions of protection in dangerous environments, and even going as far as defying his Clan Father’s orders at the time to ensure the Guild was unhindered to grow. Oh how the times have changed he thought, as now he stood as Clan Father.

His recollection was derailed by the drone of the Hive, sounding closer than they were due to their sheer numbers, drew close. And as the bugs assailed his position, the dwarves, always a prepared folk, fired their cannons in line, their iron shot flying through the night sky splattering husks against their iron. But it was not enough, each bug slain replaced with two more as the swarm enveloped the camp. As he combatted both direct attacks and acid spray, Dorimnur’s thoughts were on those who had stuck with him to this day. Elves, humans, and orcs had all tried their hand in learning the ways of dwarven work, but all had failed to uphold Dorimnur’s impossible standards, and only dwarves remained. There as he stood amongst his fellow dwed, defending whatever laid behind them, the smell of sulfur and demonic bug viscera abundant, a slight glimmer of optimism began to crawl its way through Dorimnur’s mind. 

As the descendants and Inferi pushed against one another, Dorimnur pushed hard enough that the light broke through the clouds and the world beyond the war glimmered. 

The war is the world and the world is the war. But behind each helmet was a descendant. They were jaded, they were naive. They were honorable, and they were criminals. They were bound for legend, and they were lost to history. As he traded his spear for smashing bugs with his tower shield, this realization resonated deep within his inner being. He quickly set down his green-stained shield and lit the fuse for his final cannonshot, plugging his ears while he looked over to the rest of the warring dwarves. His gaze landed on his greatest success in the Guild, Kragdin Starbreaker, as he was knocked to the ground by an insect. Kragdin quickly rebounds with a swift strike through the bug, clipping through its abdomen to its wings and flinging the twitching corpse on the ground. He then blasts another creature with his crossbow, and draws a damascus black ferrum sword with both hands, challenging all who would try their fate against his. Whether it was the noble thoughts pressed to his mind by the Divines, the raw emotions he was feeling from the heat of battle, or brotherhood that is forged in those who go through the hardest times, Dorimnur knew not. Was it pride? He was unfamiliar with the emotion, as he had neither had someone proud of him nor was he proud of anyone else for over a century. As much as he bore alone, subtly Dorimnur was depending on his fellow dwarves. 

But, a single idea, in the shape of a thought came to his mind. 

Maybe all this work wasn't for naught.

But, in the blink of an eye, off of the ramparts flew a wretched insect, and flew at the dwarf deep in self-revelation. Despite Dorimnur’s ability to guard himself from multiple direct attacks thus far, without Dorimnur’s utter concentration at hand, this bug was able to slip past his guard and latch its mandibles on his arm, to which Dorimnur then jerked his arm back, ripping the mandibles down his forearm before it latched onto his wrist. The Hive-born dug its sharp mandibles close around his wrist, cutting through plate, tendon, and then finally bone as Dorimnur pulled away desperately, his shredded hand going with the bug. His fellow Cannoneer Falk Irongut was able to slash the swift creature out of the air, but the damage had been done. 

Dorimnur groaned in pain, falling to his knees and cusping his arm in his lap as he keeled in anguish, the crimson blood flowing from his shredded stump. And as he kneeled, acid washing over his plate armor in a searing rain and a sapphire comet flew overhead with a silver trail into the shores of Arcas, the entire world trembled as the Aengul of New Beginnings finished his incantation. Dorimnur mentally receded into himself as he did physically, and as he pressed his stump into himself to stop the torrent of blood, a single thought throbed in his head just as hard as the blood pulsing through him.

I was wrong.

He sat there for what felt like eternity, blows bouncing off of his plate armor and waves of acid pouring to his side, leaving permanent etchings into his steel exterior. Sweat poured from his helmet onto the soggy ground below him mixed with descendant and Inferi blood, and with his own hand and bone adding to the viscera. The Clanmother of the Grimgolds came rushing to his aid, and he rised as any stout dwarf would. He gave her a jesting remark about having had worse on his eye, but his attention was drawn to the lightshow beyond them. He stared blankly to his left as the greater beings did untold deeds; of Aenguls shrieking of fear as a flaming form and stone spear glistening with golden ichor pierced a heavenly body while creation itself screamed. Gazardiael had been pierced through the chest, and molten gold flowed out of its cavity into the void below him of its own making, with a haunting cry emerging from its lips, audible to all things alive. And swiftly would Gazardiael’s life be ended, by the swinging of the Dwarven monarch, the spear sent by Krugmar’s Rex, and the holy blades of Malchediael.

The blow sent Dorimnur tipping over, and he ended flat on his back, coughing blood up from the impact and the pain from his stump. He was jostled around as both the sky and land rattled, together in a lightshow of colors and power. The very continent splits in cataclysmic fashion, and the descendants swiftly make their leave, having done what they came to do: Ensure their own fate. 

After the silent trodding back across the scarred continent, the sounds of crying could still be heard throughout the god-forsaken land. But this time, of descendants. Even their monumental victory and the nature of events they had experienced was not enough to remove their minds off of the blood they had shed and the people they had lost. Many men worthy of life found themselves dead upon that day. Men of great promises, to their children, to their wives, to their kingdom. Men of great honor and courage in the face of no greater foe almost all of them have never fathomed. Some of them Dwarves, but all of them descendants. No matter the circumstances each found themselves on that cursed ground, each had a reason for being there. But reason alone  was not strong enough for some to keep their lives. Brothers in arms who had grown up together in training found themselves missing parts of themselves, corpses of their superiors, their brothers in arms, their sons, all strewn on the very ground they walked on. The stench of death reeked, and the smell of burning flesh assailed their senses as they trod home past the crevices full of magma, and bodies.

And so, Dorimnur ended his day as he started it. He stumbled into Kal’Mugdor, his entire body aching from the miles he had walked, the blows he had taken, the sights he had seen. He sat alone in his tavern, in the Guild of so many dwarves that called him Leader and undoubtedly looked up to him. He locked the door behind him and sat with a heavy sigh, never being foolish enough to let himself be seen with weakness. And there he sat, motionless for a bit, in absence of thought, shell-shocked. His vulnerable state allowed his mind to drift once again, and it landed on the sight of Kragdin Starbreaker fending for himself in the prior fight. Dorimnur settles on the emotion he felt during his audience of Kragdin’s feats, the slight emotion of pride, or so he believed to be the identity of this foreign emotion. A feeling he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Not since… All he could think of in that tavern beyond this was the chilling, gut-wrenching fact that all of this bloodshed wouldn’t bring them back. He threw the thought out of his mind, along with throwing back his ale. Dwelling on the past had never profited him anything, plus it was what lost him his hand. Besides, everything he had been working towards the last four decades had reached a culmination, and one that ended in a victory. So, with a long line of ales to finish and a kicking of his feet, he reclined, and offered himself rest, true rest, for the first time since this entire war started. 

For even he would say he had earned it after decades of unrelenting work. 

All it took was the near rebirth of the universe and the closing of the gates of hell.

But, it was a start.

[!] Letters would be dispersed to Krugmar and personally to the Rex of Krugmar.


Starting with the torture of Urist Ireheart who came to Krugmar to complete his trials, like the generations of Irehearts before him to challenge an Orc to a duel and skin him, he was tortured and publicly humiliated. That is where it began, but it did not end there. Your acts of dishonor continued, with the attempted killing of multiple Irehearts in the city of Urguan, as well as violating many fair honor duels, but now your dishonor will be ended by our blades.

You come to us for ‘Peace’ to end the grudge, of which you tortured Urist Ireheart and killed Wilhelm Ireheart in the lands of Siramenor and in the presence of the treacherous Sea Prince. You made the mistake of testing Clan Irehearts patience, Sons of Krug, and your time has run out.

Clan Ireheart gave you 4 years to honor the terms you agreed to and even that was not enough to honor your agreement.

I talked to your Targoth about the marching of dwarven boots outside your gates becoming an all too familiar sound. And soon once again the dwarven war-drums will pound outside the gates, accompanied by the rhythmic beat of axes clashing and orcs screaming in their slaughter. It will not stop until the sands of Krugmar are stained red by the blood of orcs. Rex, have your people not been beaten enough by dwarven hammers? Merely 30 years ago your people were crushed in the Urguan-Krug war, and yet you dare challenge us again? You will run just like the Rex’s who have preceded you. Save yourself the shame and concede your defeat before it is too late, for my bloodthirsty clansmen will show no mercy this time.


Kjellos will guide our fury to hunting you down and not even in your own city shall you be safe, behind your sandstone built walls or your iron gates. Kjellos will bring Justice to Clan Ireheart, whether it be 10 years or 100, you will die Rex, watching your precious city fall to Ireheart might.

This is War.



GLORY TO KJELLOS!

 

As issued 15th of The Amber Cold, 1792

BY ORDER OF THE GRAND MARSHAL 

In recognition of his tenacity and merit, Utak Ireheart is to be awarded an official induction into the Legion Hall of Fame. His leadership of the Legion led it to countless victories against Urguan’s foes.

OFFICIAL HALL OF FAME CITATION:

Utak Ireheart was unanimously elected King of the Dwarves after serving as Grand Marshal for six stone months, in which his deceptive tactics and bloodthirsty style led the dwarves to victory in five wars. The most well-known of these is the Three Day’s War, where Urguan reigned victorious over all of Humanity including the Holy Orenian Empire and the Warnation of Krugmar. After Utak was elected, the military apparatus was altered, so that Utak could still find himself on the frontlines of every battlefield, leading the Dwarves to glory himself. He proclaimed a honor war with the Warnation of Krugmar, which led to a crippling defeat for the orcish people, ensuring the dwarves were recounted in historic times as the most honorable descendants. Utak Ireheart truly goes down as one of the most capable Grand Marshals in our time.

In the valor of Dungrimm and honor of Urguan

Grand Marshal of the Legion of Urguan,

The stories of the blind seer tell of her visions. Visions of a shining frog that levitated in front of her extending its arms and head in the shape of ᛉ. In those moments the frog would look at the sky directly at the glowing moon, the frog would croak towards it, to the blind woman’s surprise the song of the frog was clear to her, and so the the higher rune of Kronul was seen by the seer, and its prophecy translated from the croaks of the frog. They said…

“ I see deep in the future,

All the way to the Age of Flame

A dark time for the dwarves

Kin will fight one another and kill one another,

Relatives will break peace with one another,

Axiom will be a hard place to live in.

It will be an age of adultery,

An age of the axe, an age of the sword,

An age of treason, an age of demons,

Shields will be cloven.

Before the dwarves are submerged by the divine,

There will be no dwarf left,

Except those that are true to one another

Under divine traitorous blood,

Under clashing of holiest hammer,

The Rune will be sealed.
At the hands of the embodiment of kin.  “

...and so, through analysis and consideration the Council of Seers deems that Jorvin Starbreaker King of the cave dwarves, mountain dwarves, and forest dwarves, Grand King of Urguan, under the transpired events, the paragon of Kronul. The one that fulfilled the prophecy of the frog. It is important to note that the paragon of Kronul can only be one that IS and always will be the embodiment of kin. A concept that means that the individual in question works for the sake of keeping peace between dwarves, creating comradery between them, and that holds the dwarven ideals of Pride and Honor in high regard. We will only know for sure if Jorvin is in fact the Paragon of Kronul when his time in our world has passed. Jorvin Starbreaker has been given his fate as death is certain to all dwarves that wish to enter Kaz’A’Dentrumm. But his destiny is still present, he can choose to accept it, or he can choose to change it.

[!] Artistic depiction of Jorvin Starbreaker moments before slaying the Aengul Gazardiael

ᛟᚱᛞᛖᚱ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚺᛟᛚᚤ ᛋᛖᚲᚱᛖᛏᛟᚱᛞᛖᚱ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚺᛟᛚᚤ ᛋᛖᚲᚱᛖᛏ

Through this path we find enlightenment

ᛟᚱᛞᛖᚱ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚺᛟᛚᚤ ᛋᛖᚲᚱᛖᛏᛟᚱᛞᛖᚱ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚺᛟᛚᚤ ᛋᛖᚲᚱᛖᛏ
 

. . . Tales of Madness, of Gambling Lives, of  Death and Horror filled the room . . .

But there was only one winner among them.

-=x=-

-=x=-

An Announcement From Dhaen Grandaxe:

After today’s lovely festival, I’d like to announce the winners of our horror story contest in ascending order of placing: Dr. Darinndrabor of Urguan’s Medical Sector, Dorimnur Goldhand, Clanlord of the Goldhand Clan, and Vergil Goldhand, the now newly declared Winner of Urguan’s Horror story event! 

-=x=-

I’d like to thank those who also participated in the contest:

Morul Irongut

Halfdan Grandaxe

Aghuid Ireheart

I’d like to thank also all those who attended.

These include those of:

Clan Starbreaker

Clan Ireheart

Clan Grandaxe

Clan Goldhand

Clan Irongut

Clan Doomforge

Clan Hammerforge

People of Hefrumm

People of Aegrothond

-=x=-

[OOC: Thank you all for helping to make such a wonderful event! I’m glad that despite everything that’s going on right now, the Urguan community has been able to have some Halloween fun together.]

In Response to These Accusations:

Firstly, I wish to address Karl’s claims that this decision was political in nature. This claim is made clear by the very first line of his address, which states:

 “What is the cost of a life? If you are a political figure of the kingdom it is 20,000 mina. That is the cost of a life for those in positions of political power.”

In truth, this claim is entirely baseless. For those few that know me well, you know that I do not delight in politics, but that I engage in them only for the betterment of my Clan and my Kingdom. I believe this is demonstrated clearly by the fact that I have never actively vied to increase my own power and influence, I have only volunteered myself to fill those vacant voids and graciously accepted the duties placed upon me. Though some may doubt the candor of what I claim, they are nonetheless true.  

Secondly, I wish to address the claim that I am unequal in my treatment of the dwedmar, which is clearly implied when Karl states:

”A dwarf that is not connected to their subrace is not connected to their heritage and will hence forget the common folk. The folk that do not make a big impact politically but are there. Dwarves with rights that deserve to be treated as equal. An act as awful as killing someone can be solved through a bribe to the kingdom?”

This claim is not only baseless, but also blatantly slanderous. I would challenge any dwed to name a single instance in which I treated one of our kin as higher than another. I have never, in nearly two hundred years of life, looked down on a fellow dwed because of their subrace, clan, or social standing. Indeed, as a once clanless dwed myself, I would not dare to presume that I was better than anyone, especially not based on those factors which they cannot control. 

The implication that my judgement of Karl’s crimes was based on politics, or that I viewed Karl as somehow “better” than the dwed he killed are not only slanderous, they are personally insulting. 

Regarding the Reasoning behind my Judgement:

In the reading of both Karl’s letter and the first section of my own, the obvious question on everyone’s mind should be “Why would Falk Irongut allow such a low price for such a heinous crime?” Indeed, I would say this is a just question to be asking. Therefore, I wish to shed some light upon why I made the decision to simply fine Karl Blackroot. 

Throughout the entirety of Karl’s trial, it was clear to me that he had committed the crime. Karl Blackroot murdered a dwed without any just provocations. However, during the trial, it became clear to me that this crime was not premeditated, but instead a crime of passion. For many reasons, Karl Blackroot felt that the victim of the crime was a heretic, an abomination, and a threat to the kingdom as a whole. It was because of these convictions that Karl carried out this crime. During the Trial, I thought back to those many times I’d allowed my own temper to take hold of me (a flaw that I still battle with today). Though I may never have committed something so heinous as the murder of a kinsman, I still understood the perspective of one driven by passion. 

For this reason, I chose to not repay death with more bloodshed. Although the spilling of blood often calls for blood to be spilt in return, I believed that Karl was not beyond retribution, and chose to show him mercy by not permanently condemning him to a life of suffering, either from punitive maiming, exile, or even his own execution. 

I will admit, however, that the fine I issued should have been larger. I personally have never held a great love for coin; any coin I do make is used to help sustain my clan and to promote the betterment of the kingdom. The fine of 20,000 mina I issued to Karl was at least twice as large as the greatest sum of currency I have ever owned. I realize now, while such a fine would have kept me in debt for many years to come, was but a trifle to a dwed who delights in money. 

Regarding Karl Blackroot’s Current Actions:

In my few dealings with Karl Blackroot, I cannot say I have seen many signs of his depravity. It is true that he is often in conflict with the leadership of the Grand Kingdom, it is almost always on behalf of the Hefrumm. His continuous fight for a better standard for his people and the preservation of their customs led me to believe that Karl Blackroot was, at the very least, an honorable dwed. I see now that I was wrong. 

Karl, upon receiving a lenient sentence for his crimes, has chosen instead to flaunt his crimes as a badge of honor. He uses the sentence given to him as a means to thrust himself into the attention of every dwed. He does this not to better society, as he may claim, but simply because he enjoys the attention of the masses! This has been made utterly apparent to me by the fact that Karl still boasts of how he killed one of his kin! Would someone who truly repented boast of their sins to the masses! I believe not. 

I see now that I was duped. I no longer believe that Karl Blackroot is capable of repentance, nor is he willing to learn from those mistakes he has made. I only hope that the coming religious trial will not have their eyes clouded as mine were. 

[!] A letter to the public from High Chief Karl Blackroot, it reads as follows:

What is the cost of a life? If you are a political figure of the kingdom it is 20,000 mina. That is the cost of a life for those in positions of political power. Despite having benefited from this awful fact, I cannot in clear conscience remain silent when such aristocratic forms of judgement are made.

We need dwarves in the courts that do not take into account the issues the political sphere of the nation is doing, but the will of the law. A dwarf that is not connected to their subrace is not connected to their heritage and will hence forget the common folk. The folk that do not make a big impact politically but are there. Dwarves with rights that deserve to be treated as equal. An act as awful as killing someone can be solved through a bribe to the kingdom? How can the protectors of the Higher Law in Urguan believe this is a suitable punishment? I do not seek punishment for those responsible for the awfully lenient sentence, they did wrong, but they can still learn. Learn to be better. As I contemplated the throne of Hefrumm I wondered. How would people look upon our holy land of Hefrumm when they see its High Chief killing a person. Even if the person was grotesque and morbidly deformed, he was still a carrier of the fire of life and choice, a fire extinguished by my blade. The High Prophet was correct, the countless battles against the inferi and other abominations have left me heartless when dealing with strange foreigners. A fact that shames me every day to the eyes of Belka as she must have guided them to me. I hope she will be able to forgive my actions and those guilty of protecting those that do similar things. If I remained silent about this I feel I would upset Anbella from keeping the objective truth from the world. What happened in my trial was something I would expect from Kaz’Ulrah’s courts, where the powerful are able to escape repercussion.

I will enforce the development of a facility of re-education for dwarves that have been separated from their kin for too long and have forgotten our way, or have never learned them. It would work case by case, and will help these dwarves reintegrate properly with their kin.

I also request that the High Court and the Council of Urguan investigate what happened on the trial, so that they then update the law so that everyone is equal in front of the law.

I also ask for the creation of a process which would allow for judges to be reprimanded if they have failed to fulfill their obligations while making judgement.

Lastly I demand a religious trial to be performed by the clergy, so that a true sentence, a fair judgement can be made.

Let us build a better Nation.

Karl Blackroot, High Chief of Hefrumm.
 

Grand Marshal Dimlin Irongut would crumble the missive in his hand, grumbling as he’d casting it into the fire with ire before beginning to write a response:

“To the malefactor that claims righteousness,

I read in this missive the exact epitome and fallacious arguments that have caused discord in so many polities hitherto our great nation: Claimed repentance, hubris, and the most grievous of them all, the sewing of chaos and incredulity into our system of law. I must inform you I haven’t the ink to waste on you but in defense of our law and our Kingdom, I will. 

Karl, you claim that you have repented for your sins, seen the light, and witnessed the true abhorrence you committed yet I ask where was this consciousness when you murdered that dwarf? Where was this consciousness when you spent stone hours having your lawyers utilize sophistry in a vain attempt to escape the law? I will supply you with the answer to that question, Nowhere. For the entirety of the trial, you argued innocence but Yemekar behold when you were freed you write a missive as a contrite dwarf. The simple truth of the story is you only claimed to repent once you paid your settlement. You are not a repentant figure Karl, you are a duplicitous, and iniquitous being that could probably be defined as mad, but you continue to quake our nation with your deceiving howls for ‘justice’. 

I must admit, I am bemused by the hubris that emits from this missive Karl and your actions during that trial. I have never witnessed a dwarf claim himself for harsher punishment and I do not think it was done with altruism, I think it was done perhaps to see yourself cemented as a martyr. That or maybe you just wish to revel in the fact you were not sentenced harsher. You advocated previously this dwarf was a creature of Khorvad and you did the will of the Brathmordakin by killing him. So many times you have defied the High Prophet and the Clergy but now you appeal to them?. I am thunderstruck by your contradictory arguments as time has gone on. All I can amount this to is arrogance and dogmatism, that you are the only that can decide when a dwarf is deserving of life. Only you can judge if you were guilty of a crime and if the punishment was fit. Only you can decide which laws you hold yourself to. That is where I find an issue, that you are unwilling to follow any reasoning other than your own even when it benefits you. 

Finally, I see you have written this missive with the intent to criticize and reform the High Courts due to their ‘unfair’ punishment of yourself, and I disagree. The High Courts made that decision by the law code but furthermore to see stability in the entity you govern, Hefrumm. What good would it do to burn you or woodwork you into a lovely kayak if long term common dwed would suffer from the instability brought on by your execution? Hefrumm has stood as a bastion of hope and light for Forest Dwarves and in these great times of strife, a new leader is not needed. The High Courts must judge cases based upon impartiality and reason but also with the comprehension of how their decision will affect our Grand Kingdom and if they make the wrong one what precedence they set. Praytell, why it was arduous for you to write a letter to the High Courts privately so that internal reforms may be done to rectify the inaccuracies in our law code. 

To conclude, You may not be aware but what you have inferred and confounded with your writing is that our judges are corrupt and dissolute, that the decisions they make are malicious. That they play political favors for politicians and that ‘bribery’ is enough to stow their investigations. All you do with this is sow distrust into our system of law, and inadvertently assert that the common dwarves should be skeptical of our courts rather than trust in their decisions to see this nation hold a brighter future.”

Join us all in a Harvest Festival!

In the wake of our victory against the Red-Skinned Orcs and the bounty of our farms and forges, I wish to announce a harvest festival in only a few stone days.

We extend invites especially to our surface-dwelling brothers and sisters who provide agriculture for us, the company of Hefrumm, our loyal allies dwelling in the cold mountains of Arcas, the citizens of Norland, and our recent allies of honorable descent, the people of Haense. 

Held in the throne room of Urguan, the festival will include:

A Scary Story Competition

Dwedkis gather round as lads and lasses compete against one another to tell the scariest story in the shadowy hall of the Mountain King! The stories will be judged by the Grandaxe Clan Mother and local Bard, Brynaelda Grandaxe.

Candy Hunting

Our city of Kal’Evraal is filled with nooks and crannies to explore! An official treat-hunt will take place with chests of goods placed all around the city. Following the story-telling contest, the participants of this activity will be free to wander around looking into any chests they come across.

Drinking 

Per tradition, ale will flow as freely as molten lava does in the Grand Kingdom. All drinks will go free on this celebratory occasion! In addition - listen to toasts from our fine members of leadership such as the Grand Marshall of Urguan, Dimlin Irongut.

Costuming 

It is well known that dwarves are stubborn to change, especially when it comes to their appearance. Despite this, we open our iron gates to anyone interested in coming in costume!

We hope to see all your lovely bearded and non-bearded faces there!
 

[OOC: Saturday, 10/31/20, 3 pm est]

Urguan is not liable for any deaths, injuries, damaged property, damaged relationships, damaged psychological states