A New Path

[Ioannis 1480]

Frerir Irongrinder, newly named Marshall of the dwarven Legion, marches into the military's mess hall. The majority of the citizens of the Grand Kingdom of Urguan, along with curious visitors, would be gathered there. His stride is clipped and proud, yet it seems as though a great weight has fallen upon him. When he reaches his podium, the tiredness in his eyes is evident. Raising a fist to silence the onlookers, the veteran combatant begins to speak. 

 

"Too long. Far too long," the old dwed begins, "Have we lolled about in our lethargy, living off the legends of pride long-lost!" His voice rises to a powerful boom, the eyes of the spectators glued to their new commander. "We live and speak as though the golden days of Urguan were recent, but I will not lie to you; they are far in the past. What are we now, a mere handful of nostalgic, senile old dwarves, awaiting our deaths while we discuss the great days of Thorin's Anthos? Why do we ignore the here, the now, the solid and the tangible? For what is most-solid to us is most uncertain; the present. We must take hold of that, at least, the continuing decline of our society day by day, hour by hour. Enough with the reminiscing!" 

 

The Grand Marshall slams his gauntleted fist into the podium, sending a shower of wood chippings and sawdust sky-high. Those in the front row of seating cower back from the sudden force, beardlings around the room gasping in unison. But he does not stop. Eyes darting back and forth, jaw clenched, knuckles white, Frerir's voice only rises in crescendo as he continues. His fury is evident in every miniscule movement of his body. 

 

"We are sons of Urguan! Forged from the very stone of the earth and holding within each one of us the strength of the mountains themselves! I am livid. The blood in me boils and threatens to erupt from me; this is not us. It cannot be, for we are better by far than this! Lying about, scattered between settlements, drinking ourselves comatose on ale long gone stagnant! Where are the mighty marches and processions? Where is the devout worship of the Brathmordakin? Where is the joyous laughter of beardlings as they play in the streets? IT IS GONE!" 

 

This last statement is roared by Frerir, his eyes bulging and bloodshot, his pale lips quivering. With a sigh he passes his hand over his face, pressing it against the bridge of his nose. A vein in his temple swells with rage, and he visibly takes a short moment to breathe and regain his control. Hushed murmurs around the room ease the tension slightly, even the members of the Kingsguard appearing taken-aback. After what feels like hours, the Marshall returns his full attention to the audience, who instantly fall silent. He sighs, a deep outward breath which seems to release all of his wrath and shake the very fibres of his being. 

 

"I have been part of the problem, aye. I have left the Kingdom for Dunamis,I have been absent when I should have been here to help, as has much of our leadership. Absenteeism and inefficiency have bred rot in the once-pure heart of our nation. But we must not be too hard on ourselves. Let us not regret our inaction, but rather work together from this moment forth to remedy it. I bear no ill-will for anyone here if they have not been present in recent times; so long as they agree to change their ways. Let us make a promise here today, before each other and the gods, that we will join together as brothers and as sisters, as one nation, to mend our issues. Let us move forward together, and usher in a new age of glory!" 

 

The speaker signs a hammer and anvil using his hands, pressing them to his chest. He raises his eyes skyward for a moment, many members of the crowd doing the same, and mutters a few words. When his gaze returns to the group gathered there to listen to him, his mismatched eyes are full of pride and hope.  

 

"This is the start my kin. The coming of a new dawn. As your Grand Marshall, I promise you a military to rival that of any that has come before. I promise you an opportunity to be proud of what we will create together. I will offer you the chance to be part of something greater than ourselves. Our soldiers, under my careful watch, will move together like clockwork, slotting in and out of ranks like the components of a steam engine. The ground beneath us will tremble at our marching, our enemies turning tail and fleeing before our axes have even been drawn. Do not let anyone patronise you and tell you that this will never happen; for it has been like this many times throughout our history, and will be yet again. As dwedmar, we have one major asset: resilience. We have been slandered, kicked to the curb and made a mockery of, but those days are over. Soon, the very people that once joked about our insignificance and picked at our flaws will beg for mercy as we fall on them, lips curled in angry snarls and axes raised on high. Join with me, noble dwarves of Urguan, and this dream will be achieved!" 

 

Frerir thrusts his fist into the air, a bellow escaping his throat, mighty and yet agonised. 

 

"NARVAK OZ URGUAN!" 

 

((Credit goes to Soggy for writting this))

[sneakybandit 1650]

"NARVAK OZ URGUAN" 

Darek yells thrusting his fist into the air

[Hiebe 2493]

Dwain Irongut is seen within the legion halls. His days of being a militia fighter is over. His heavy carbarum plate armor glows with runes worked in his hands. The skill of the legendary blacksmith and runesmith shows. 

 

Toime fer vengeance 

[Gizzol 252]

A rather large kha in equally as large Dwarven armor would continue to sip his tea till the man finished speaking, his voice joining the Marshalls though in the proud chant

 

"NARVAK OZ URGUAN"

[gandalfo 1452]

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

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.