The Last of Five

[Rhewen 361]

---

The bright sun rises over the mountains of Urguan, a soft breeze moves swiftly of the quickly graying hair of an old battered dwarf. The day was young, the frost, still settled gently on the grass, forming shapes upon the panes of taverns and houses in designs of all beauties. An early day in Kal'Akash, not many about. The occasional dwarf going this and that way, and a guard, waving to their Marshal. It is there that Rhewen Frostbeard, last of the five sons of Karl, Grand Marshal of the Legion, Clan Father of the Frostbeards, breaker of poisons, slayer of Orcs and preserver of Industry stood. Still and Silent he was, taking one last look at the city he had loved dearly and protected wholly. A touching moment in the eyes of his son and clansmen. He was far from what he had once been, he had lost his prestige, his looks, and his strength, and was nothing but a short figure, and a shadow of his former self. But there he stood, one last time, at a place he had called his home, his nation.

He looked back, into the deepest cavities of his brain, thinking of his life, what he remembered of his father, Karl 'The Orcbane', and his brothers, Gorum, Goruk, Moruk, and Liam. He remembered his landing in Thales, a dwarf, hardly any younger, but ever more youthful. He arrived, many children in his arms and an axe upon his bare back. He knew no faces and didn't have the time to care. He made quick friends with the King, Midgor and found he was the one of the last of his line, a line of prestige and honor. There he reformed the clan, to his rough lifestyle and traditions, but nonetheless, there he and his family endured. There he fought in many battles and skirmishes, protecting his hut and homeland from vicious assailants, they were battles that still live on vividly in his mind. But it was soon after he sailed to Athera, and lived most of his short days there. There he attuned himself to the lifestyle of war, fighting endless waves of umros to seemingly no end. But it was a war of little importance to him, slaying humans was no hard task to him, not a task well enough to live up to his father and brothers. But it was soon after, that the War of the Beard had started. There he showed his true courage and zeal on the battlefield. Slaying many Orcs and Mercenaries. But it was there he found what he had though to be his end, a poison slipped into his ale by a young orc lass. It had taken him out of the war, he had went missing for some time, a great blow to the kingdom, yet a stunning rallying call to his clan and kinsmen.

He had become a symbol for the Dwedmar people to rally behind and fight for. But it was not the end, no he was too tough for such a woman's weapon. During the Battle of Grassy Fields, he charged down the mountain and charged the flank with his Frostbeard Descendants and smashed into the Orcish horde, killing all in his path. It was a memory held fondly by his kin and himself. But after that, his fighting days were soon over, he found himself peacefully doing his duty as a legionnaire, even unto Vailor. He had taken no part in the Frostbeard rebellion, as he would not spill his own kin's blood and shame the honor they had already trampled on. It was soon after the rebellion, that the legion was disbanded and he attempted to reform it... An attempt with high hopes but failed results. He had failed to return the legion to its former and prideful glory, which has left its mark on every realm to this day.

But there he still stood, stout as stone and cold as winter snow, he smirked as he though of his younger self and laughed before turning to his son and kin, "Moi friends, Moi famileh. Ah leave yeh nuw, an' Ah donnae fink Ah'll beh returnen anneh toim suhn, fergive meh far t'is, but Ah believe Dungrimm wills et!". Rhewen lets out a soft sigh and a grin before turning for the great iron gate of Kal'Akash. He gives a slow turn, slinging his bearskin travel sack to his back, giving a wink to his Clan and winking before setting off down the road to the wilderness. As he walks a soft tune could be heard, a song forgotten by many of his kin, being sung by himself and his son, playing along with the family bagpipes

The winter comes,
The frost is near,
We will stand here, stout as stone
To show you the way home
Home, Home, Its time to come to home
It's time to sing the song, aye lad
It's time to sing the song
We will sing with you, aye lad
To show you the way home.
Home, Home, Its time to come to home
Now the time has come, aye lad.
Go unto the halls.
Tell the brothers of the bear
That we have brought you home.

 

The old dwarf did not stop walking, and will continue walking, until Dungrimm wills him to stop.

OOC: So Pretty much, this is me leaving for a while, I don't see myself coming back for some time, perhaps a few months, or hell maybe even never. But until then,

Stay Frosty my friends

I would also like to note, that this has nothing to do with the election, yes it's a little inconvenient, but I just don't have time irl with how things are going as of right now 

Edited September 28, 2015 by Rhewen

[Crowbill 493]

"Whud ah bloodeh bastard" Hellio sadly groans "Tuh bad 'es goin' ahway, t's anotah hit tuh d' Fros'beard kin....Welh good travels mah kin, let Yemekah shine yer path!"

[Yankee 130]

"Et es a shame tuh see guh laddeh, yer w'ere a guud Dwed an' a loyal Clansmen!" He would proclaim as Rhewen would walk into the distance and into the beyond horizon 

[Beamon4 1690]

May dulgrim guide yeh tuh great places yeh were one of teh greatest grand marshals *would say as rhewen walks off into the horizon

[Nobodyofthisnameexistsanymore 5]

Stands at attention, legs tightly knit together, an arm behind his back as the other, clenched tightly into a fist, was over his heart, headdressed removed, in respect. "Mae ye return wit' renewed strengt' ol' friend, ye time wit' us nae be forgotten, ye deeds be remembered be t'ose ye 'ave met and touc'ed, nae onleh da 'earts o' ye soldiehs, but da minds o' evereh aspirin' dwedmar, tu eveh touc' da Grand Kingdom o' Urguan. 'Harath oz Narvak' ol' friend."

[PJTips. 280]

*Conan would put a chubby finger to his eye, wiping away a tear* :

"Ye` were a good`n Rhewen, ah`ll be surprised if weh get another gran` marshall loike ye`, stay frosteh moi friend."

Edited September 28, 2015 by PJTipz

[chaotikal 2392]

"Yer dead frend." Says Dormin.

[spartanred 58]

Heus would clamp a hand over his heart, saluting to his long time friend and marshal "May yer pipes ring loud, an' yer voice e'r echo about deh mountain peaks. Keep yer kilt unsoiled, an' yer axe sharp. Stay frosteh, ol' friend."

[James 425]

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