A Call To Rally

[Josh3738 3137]

The great pines of the Dwarven mountains sway gently in the breeze as the Dwarves move hastily about their city. The beating of immense drums sounds the step as the men bid farewell to their women and take up arms. Massive columns of troops from every nation in Athera stream out from their capitals and begin collecting within the Fortress city of Kal'Karaad.

 

 

"Keep up th' work lads! Fer tomorrow weh go Nort'!"

 

((Reminder of the battle against the Undead tomorrow. Starting to gather up around 1pm est in Kal'Karaad.))

 

 

 

[Greener 687]

Odin pats his mountain goat as he continues to prepare his equipment for the battle. "Tis beh a guud une!"

[Grouchy 64]

*Raknol continues sitting on his throne inside Eastpoint.

[_Smuggel 19]

*Raises his warhammer "Fer' de' kin'dom!"*

[Kardel 1054]

-snip-

[Kardel 1054]

Hiebenhall bustles with movement and commotion of all sorts. A song of hammer meeting red-hot iron, whetstone kissing blade, and dwarven llamelar armor slapping against aketon as soldiers move plays in Canon with the Taiga's usual symphony of singing crickets, dancing water, and bellowing winds. The Pale Elder looks forth from his high perch upon the Celestial Spire, rubbing his beard in thought to the rhythm of the war-ready orchestra outside. 

 

Scrape~

 

Ding!

 

Shuffle. . .

 

Kardel carefully descended the stairs down the spire, his feet making a soft patting sound against the wood of the ladder bridging the Arcanotorium above to the Common Room bellow. The dwarf turned his amber eyes to his fireplace, illuminated by an eerie green flame. Above it hung a set of blackened lamellar armor of the old legion make and a stout iron greathelm shaped like a screaming bear. 

 

With a flick of the mage's wrist, the armor floated downwards and before the dwarf, plopping onto the ground. The black metal's ripples came to life as the green flame shed light upon their dusty surface. 

 

Kardel looked to the side of his fireplace, where a halberd and a Svärdstav hung for decoration, old relics of centuries past that reminded the ancient Irongut of his youth. He chose the Svärdstav, as the Halberd was too heavy and he was in no shape to use the Dwainsblade in this upcoming battle. 

 

The elevator of the spire came down, an alien sight riding it. Instead of a wizened old dwarf with a bad limp, there was a proud warrior donning the armor of ages past. Instead of a staff in his hand although, there lay a Sword Staff. His head was not covered by a hood, but by a protective helm. The lift gently swayed to the floor, as the old one limped down, the youths looking at him, their mouths gaping.

 

The Elder limped forwards, using his weapon as a cane, the armor clearly weighing down on him to an uncomfortable extent, yet he kept his back straight, and walked like the Legion Soldier he once was in ages long forgotten. The lads sharpening their swords lowered their heads as the figure passed. Kardel limped to a camp fire, and sat down, letting out a sigh of relief. It had been ages since he had worn his armor. 

 

The men around the flame lowered their heads. Kardel drew his sword-staff and retrieved a whetstone, joining the song. 

 

Scrape~

 

Ding!

 

Shuffle. . .

[Huh 91]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.