Unwavering | The Grand King's Speech

[SimplySeo 6999]

PRELUDE

Kavridim Hunting Lodge

Two-hundred miles north of Kal’Evraal.

Eleventh of the First Seed, 1783.

 

The Kavridim Lodge sat firm as it had for sixty years, nestled within the northernmost reaches of the White Mountain Range. It sat on the range’s western side, and from the slopes leading up to it, the forest below were visible, and held plenty of game within. hidden only by the pine, spruce, and birch trees which stopped just before the mountains themselves.

 

Hunting was not why Kazrin Starbreaker was here, the aged High Remembrancer had come for a different task altogether. The wind upon these peaks was a fierce thing, and it ripped through his cloak like chilled daggers, though the chill was not oft to trouble him, for as much as his bones grew old, he had grown accustomed to it in his youth. It felt like a lifetime ago, and in human years it was several times that, though he still was only half the age of what was to be considered a Longbeard, at least during his own younger years. Few true longbeards remained these days, the generation which defeated the archenemy was a dying breed.

 

As Kazrin reached the Lodge, two Dwarves stood century at the door, one leveled a crossbow at him, while the other a spear, both appeared somewhat surprised at his arrival. Kazrin drew back his hood, and met the pair with a glowing golemantic eye narrowed irritably. “Unless you intend to kill me, tell the Grand King I need to speak with him.”

 

That certainly shook them, the crossbow was lowered along with the spear shortly after, the older of the two guards spoke. “The King made it clear he is not to receive visi-”

 

“Tell my son I need to speak to him.”

 

The pair did not delay long after that, one ducked into the cabin, and returned shortly after, stepping aside to leave the doorway wide open for Kazrin. The old Starbreaker thrust his walking stick into the man’s arms, before entering the cabin, and closing shut the door behind him. Two foot soldiers did not need to hear the Grand King bicker with his father.

 

The Cabin was a single room, illuminated by two windows, one facing west and the other facing north. Upon the eastern wall licked flames from within a fireplace, the head of a great bear mounted above it, and the skulls of several other creatures upon the mantle. Facing the fire sat a large, leather-bound chair, a table where several empty bottles of Cottonwood Honey Mead sat, and around it a few smaller chairs. Only one chair was occupied, and upon it sat his son, the Grand King of Urguan himself, Jorvin Starbreaker. He wore neither his usual plate nor chain, instead simply a coat strung over his tunic, and from the amount of bottles scattered about the place, it wasn’t surprising to realize security wasn’t at the top of his priorities.

 

“You’ve left a mess, I raised you better than this.” Kazrin commented, eyeing the bottles as he went to go sit in the adjacent chair. Jorvin looked over, downing the remaining contents of one in his hand, before shaking his head.

 

“It’s the end of the world, da’. Surely a messy cabin is irrelevant at this point.” He remarked in jest, though there was no good humor in his voice. It was bitter. If the bottles did not give it away, the defeated tone in his son’s voice did, Jorvin was almost certainly drunk.

 

“I was not talking about the cabin, son. I’m certain I needn’t tell you how things are going back in the capital.” It wasn’t accusatory. Despite having seemed to intimidate the guards well enough, Kazrin was not an aggressive Dwarf. There was concern in his voice, it had been a very long time since he’d seen Jorvin in such a state. “You are needed.”

 

Jorivn scoffed, shaking his head before leaning over in his chair slightly, gesturing at his father with a pointed finger. “But not wanted.” He remarked drunkenly, before returning to his lounging position. He spat into the fire. “It’s not as if it’ll make much of a difference. The war-effort is in shambles, it’s why I stopped responding to Dimlin’s letters two weeks ago.” Now it was Kazrin’s turn to frown. He folded his hands in his lap, before casting Jorvin a look he had a hard time recognizing in his drunken state. The realization only came to him as Kazrin spoke. It was...Annoyance, disapproval, a hint of anger.

 

“Stop it.” He remarked sternly, it was a tone Jorvin heard more than once in his youth. “Stop pitying yourself, you’re needed now more than ever, this is not a time to waste your days away killing moose and getting drunk. Jorvin raised his voice, showing there was a hint of his usual combative nature left, though it was slurred drunkenly. “I have given everything to the people, and how do they repay me? By plotting behind my back and-”

 

Kazrin waved his hand, gesturing for silence, instinctively Jorvin obeyed, no doubt also attributed to him being completely and utterly shitfaced. Kazrin stood from his chair. “You knew long before you ran for King how thankless of a job it was, you’ve no reason to expect it now. You’re drunk and angry my son, but when you are sober you are terribly consistent.”

 

“Perhaps…” Jorvin started, rising to stand and meet his father, whom he stood several inches above at full height, though currently the Grand King slouched. “I’ve been given a moment of clarity! If fools and clowns wish to have their run of the Kingdom, maybe they should try to run it. Sober Jorvin cares too much what they think, the bastards.”

 

Kazrin narrowed his eye once more in irritation. “If you believe they are running the Kingdom into the ground, then do what you were elected to do, and run it yourself instead.” His expression softened, and he set a hand on Jorvin’s shoulder. “Your task is not an easy one, my boy, but I am here to help you every step of the way, you know that. I’ve advised how many Kings in my lifetime? My own son is not without my help.”

 

Jorvin roused himself to muster a response, some self-pitying triade no doubt, but he was cut short by his father, who with the hand upon Jorvin’s shoulder, tugged him up, making the terribly drunk king stand straight. 

 

“As foul-mouthed and angry as you try to be, you still care too much what people think. The slanderers will slander, the Longbeards will grumble, and the young folk will think they can do better, they always do. You have persevered, and you preside over a Kingdom which has done the same. If you wish to make this place your own, it will require yet more effort. Now, straighten yourself my boy, and drink some bloody water, we’ve a long ride ahead.”

 

Jorvin staggered once more, but in his state found himself struggling to muster a response. His father was right, and his absence was...Doing nobody good, not even himself. As he reached for his coat, for the first time in decades, the oh-so-prideful Starbreaker admitted to himself that he felt shame…

 

---

 

Paragon Thorin Weapons Testing Facility

Grand Kingdom of Urguan.

Sixteenth of the First Seed, 1783.

 

Dimlin Irongut’s arm ached, despite the replacement being there for several years at this point, it still irritated him from time to time, Kazrin said it was a pain that would never go away, and he huffed in annoyance upon remembering the fact. Regardless, he continued down the range at the behest of Dorimnur Goldhand, who had requested his presence shortly before. “You seem confident.” Dimlin remarked.

 

Dorimnur looked back, and nodded with a grin. “You’ll see why.” was all he answered, the vagueness of it all made Dimlin...More than a little concerned. Dorimnur led him to the project, before pulling back the tarp. He looked proudly down at his creation, Dimlin raised a brow. “Is that…”

 

“Damn right it is.” The Goldhand said proudly, patting the iron monstrosity, he leaned against the tube, and looked at the Grand Marshal, not an ounce of humility found within him. Dimlin was...Admittedly, impressed. The Goldhand continued. “The humans built a few, so naturally, we had to build them bigger, and better. I’ve no doubt this’ll turn the course of the war, at the very least it’ll give us a fighting chance. She fires a thirty-two pound ball, which I think will do more than give the Inferi a wakeup call, to be certain.”

 

Dimlin stroked his beard in approval. “What other differences does it have from the humans and theirs?” Dorminur grinned mischievously, and Dimlin had a feeling he’d been waiting to answer that question.

 

“The curved contours at the back reduce the overall strain, though they make ‘er a devil to transport. She’s no field artillery, but mount her on a warship? She’ll punch hard alright. Suppose it could be used for fixed positions too, though she’d need to be disassembled to transport.”

 

Dimlin only had one final question then, before asking for a testfire. “What do you intend to name it?” 

 

“Urist suggested ‘Chunky Arthur’, Alaric suggested ‘Dungrimm’s Iron Fist’. I’m leaning more towards calling it a ‘runeless cannon’.”

 

“So...A cannon?”

 

“Well…”

 

Their discussion was interrupted, a runner had arrived, a letter in hand, the poor Dwarf was panting hard. The distance between the testing field and the capital was a couple miles certainly, and most horses were kept closer to the front. Thankfully for the lad, Dwarves were natural sprinters. He handed the letter to Dimlin, who turned to Dorminur, giving him a nod. “We need to get to the capital.”

 

The Goldhand raised a brow. “Did something happen…?” Dimlin nodded, folding the letter and stuffing it under his beard. “Kazrin found the King, thank the Gods…”

 

---

 

Kal’Evraal

Grand Kingdom of Urguan.

Seventeenth of the First Seed, 1783.

 

 

Jorvin remembered why he didn’t get drunk anymore shortly after returning to Kal’Evraal. It took an absurd amount of alcohol to make a Dwarf tipsy, and to get utterly shitfaced? Well, a challenge in it’s own right, the aftermath was...Unpleasant. The Grand King certainly did not feel grand after vomiting out the contents of his stomach for the better part of three days, nevertheless, he had a job to do, and doing it on an empty stomach would be easier anyway. After freshening up to the best of his ability, the Grand King descended from the royal suite to the throne room below.

 

The crowd waited patiently to hear him, he’d kept them waiting for far too long. He didn’t remember much of his stay at the cabin, but what he did recollect sickened him, he was the Grand King, chosen by Urguan’s People, and by extension the Gods to lead. He’d a moment of weakness, every mortal did, but that didn’t excuse his actions. Looking on them now, his resolve hardened, he would not make the same mistake.

 

Standing upon the dias, the great Obsidian Throne to his back, the Dwarven King raised his voice. The design of the throne room was such that his voice carried throughout the hall, an ingenious addition in his own opinion. So then, he spoke.
 

[MUSIC]

Sons and daughters of Urguan, my countrymen young and old...We stand on the cusp of a new era. The Longbeards of whom sagas are written have faded away, and yet we stand to inherit their legacy, the good and the bad....

 

When I was a boy, we were a race on the brink of annihilation, from none’s machinations save our own. For two centuries we cannibalized the civilization our grandfathers and their fathers had built. Yet despite it all, as we always have, we survived, we persevered, and from the ashes of the civil war and the Kinstrife that followed, we forged a new chapter. We are an Urguan resurgent, an Urguan defiant, an Urguan unconquered.

 

Our race is united. Loyalists, rebels, and those in between, all were given a chance to redeem themselves. For those who raised their banners in revolt were not the only ones to betray our fatherland. A Traitor rarely thinks of himself as such…Yet treachery is treachery, whatever it’s intentions.

 

We are currently embroiled in a fight for our own survival against otherworldly threats, threats which sit but a day’s full sail away, they have consumed the Korvassa, and if we do not stop them, they will do the same to us. It is our halls they will tear asunder, our pride they will shatter, our women and children they will butcher.

 

The stakes are high, and it is hard to keep heart against such insurmountable odds, believe me, I know. I cannot fault those who feel that, as a race long suffered, we have bled our share, those who fear we cannot combat this threat.

 

However…

 

There are those which have taken it a step further, those who have let defeatism turn into collaboration, those who would abandon kin and kith to their fate, and hasten its arrival. It is the same disunity which killed the old Kingdom which now threatens us. Be they intentional collaborators, or simply those who cannot set aside their own grudges and ambitions for the greater good. They are traitors, all of them.

 

And like Fimlin, benevolent as he was, I will give a choice to them. Agitators who would weaken the state through internal strife are just as much traitors as those who would intentionally sabotage our efforts, no more. The Neverborn will not have their way as long as I draw breath.

 

To those who are...Unaware of what they have done, I will forgive once, for you do not understand the strife you have wrought, you do not understand the ledge we teater upon. You have only sought to serve Grand Urguan, and I will not take that from you.

 

To those who sleep at night, fully aware of the crimes they have committed, the levels they have sunk to, damnation itself is not good enough for you, and it is a shame upon my honor that I cannot offer any greater punishment than hastening your sentence to the void. Know that it is you, more than any others who will feel the wrath of the people you have betrayed.

 

We are sons and daughters of the same great nation, we have all sacrificed in service to it, and it seems the time for sacrifice has come once more, and that another bloody toll is to be wrought. We will pay the toll in full, so that every traitor is punished, and that no foe of ours, otherworldly or not sleeps safely, knowing they have made a foe of us.

 

We will persecute this war with whatever means we have available, against the Inferi menace there can be no compromise, no distractions, and no mercy. March Dwarves! You are sons of Urguan, and our fatherland calls you to battle! We, as a people, will not submit ourselves to anarchy and shame once more!

 

Narvak oz Urguan!

 

---

 

As Jorvin departed the throne room, there was a hint of satisfaction about him. Content that his fire was stoked once more, the Grand King seemed...Pleased. His angry tirade of a ‘speech’ would no doubt concern some, but as far as the general populace went? It might just be what was needed to stir the Legion up into a war-frenzy. Besides, he hadn’t lied to them, in fact he considered all of what he said to be honest. As Jorvin entered his office, he cast a brief glance to the bottle at his desk, before shaking his head. Drinking he could do later, but for now?

 

He didn’t intend to falter again.

 

 

---

 

Dimlin’s and Kazrin’s POV written with both of their permission.

 

Spoiler

OOC

 

Howdy folks! As some of y’all know, I briefly went on hiatus for a couple of reasons, mainly my health going down the drain from IRL stress, and focusing on some writing that needed to be done in preparation for me going to collage. I felt rather bad for vanishing the way I did though, so decided to write up something to explain it way in character, as well as use it for some character development. I’m going to try to be more active now that I’m feeling better, and just gonna try and focus on balancing OOC and LOTC.

 

Lots of love y’all.

 

[Hrokaz 631]

Alaric sat overlooking a field of more cannons awaiting testing, a gaze out of his window as the letter found its way to his desk with news of the King’s announcement of the work upon the artillery. “Huh.” He laughed to himself. “We nebah did decoide upon dat name...” He went back to work painting more masks upon things in the name of Clan Grimgold.

[Hiebe 2493]

The longbeard grumbles another grumble.

 

"Maybeh dis une moight be different. We sall see eh?"

[Norgeth 1902]

Deep Within The Irongut Hold sat Morul Irongut within his room, upon his table was The Cannon Design Blueprint that he helped to create along side Yemekar’s Pick. he’d sigh, turning his head to look upon all the other siege weapon Blueprints stacked messily upon his table and pinned to the walls, his work, his calling was to design these weapons, yet he felt dismissed, despite not being present at the King’s speech, he felt as he did, but he soon looked to an empty piece of blue dyed parchment, moving to grab his white pencil and thus, he began to draw and plan, often taking a sip of whiskey from his flask  “Tis Weapon will bring teh full moight o’ Urguan’s Kin upon teh spawn o’ Khorvad” He’d mutter with a smirk, looking upon his nearly finished design of what he simply called “Dungrimm’s Fury MK1”. Morul would look to the aged arcane tomes upon of his bed, thinking that they can wait for now, The Workshop must begin constuction! “Teh Will Pay Fer Takin’ Meh Fatheh’s Arm, Teh ‘Ammer, an’ Teh loives of many ah folk! Tehy shall FALL” He’d mutter in hate as he stood from his desk, moving to leave his room and contact his supplier for the resources and Dwed-Power to construct the monstrous weapon of his own design.

[BDanecker 867]

Dorimnur Goldhand, Yemekar’s Pick, leader of the workforce of Urguan, stands upon the ramparts of the southern wall. Not far from the bridge connecting civilization and damnation, he strikes a hammer against a monumental cannon, listening to it’s resounding peal for defects. A messenger treks to deliver the news Dorimnur already knows, the Return of the King. Dorimnur continues working as he listens to the news. He doesn’t slow from his work, keeping up his diligence as he responds with  “Aye, so ah’ve heard. T’is gud t’at king es back, fer we can ralleh Urguan easieh fer t’a war effort.” He sighs, loosening his grip on his hammer, sliding slightly out of his hand, but he grasps it before it falls to the ground. “In ah war loike t’is, our continued survival es victoreh.”

[Dhaelena 589]

Dhaen Grandaxe exhales in relief as the dwarven king’s voice echoed through the halls. She leans on a nearby wall and strikes a match on the rough-hewn stone, bringing her cigarette up to the flame, lighting it. As Dhaen contentedly smokes, she mourns the end of their current period of relative peace and the mental state of one Jorvin Starbreaker. Perhaps this new weapon would soften the inevitable blow to both kingdom and king?

 

Eventually, she tosses the stub onto the ground, crushing it beneath her boot and bustles off.

Dhaen was owed a drink or two.

[Reece Nolan 996]

It was at the dwarven ruins that supplies had finally arrived under the orders of Hraaken Underhammer in the King's stead. Far from the camp which had begun being set up stood the lost lands of Korvassa, home to demonic beasts and unsettling screeches. In the charred dunes was there no remnant left of mortal resistance, no evidence of a struggle apparent as the ashes of the brave were now part of the sands the Inferni Legion walked upon. Following the announcement of the Grand King, the floor of the throne room was once again emptied to reveal a single dried spatter of blood blending in with the orange tiles before the throne.

 

it would seem that at least one fighter who met their demise at the hands of the Infernis was right.

 

The hopes of those who had fallen, the dreams of those to come...

 

They would not be shattered.

[JokerLow 1317]

Far from the White Mountains of Urguan, at the coast departing the descendants from demons. Behind tall walls of dwaren architecture, in the middle of night, the cold wind would breeze through Khaz’Ad’Hekkaes, on which the proud banners of Tungdil’s sons and daughters hung high. Behind the two layers of walls, dwarves with golden armor, shining bright in the light of the moon would be seen scattered around. Each with their own work and duty, but one would stand out of the rest, with gems hanging to his belt. It would be Uldraek Goldhand, the Clan Father of Goldhands, overseeing his kin. On his right side would be Githaic Goldhand, his eyes hovering around what would seem to be cannons and other weapons of war, made through brute smithing. Those weapons of unknown kind would be pointed to the northen flank, awaiting their firing order as they’d sit idle. Uldraek Goldhand would hear word of what the Grand King spoke within Kal’Evraal, the dwarf would then chuckle followed by him telling Githaic “Brot’er, ef ane’t’en’ dat da War ov Beards taug’t moi, es tu neva’ trust an Irongrinda’ or Irongut” he’d nod to his own words “Fo t’ey ‘ave been among da few to be cursed by K’orvad, pruuf ov t’eir ill waes tu get t’eir goals ac’ieved, even ef et ‘ave tu gu agaenst dwed” he’d sigh “Same goes fo’ da few rebels dat straed frum da teac’engs ov Gotrek”.

[Mavromino 514]

In the middle of the crowd listening to the speech, a place where the eyes would likely gloss over was a Starbreaker who didn’t look his age. He cheered when the crowd cheered, he saluted when the crowd saluted but he was one of the first out of the throne room. This Starbreaker would eventually find himself outside the city, walking into the caverns for a while. Eventually, he’d stop and sit on the rocks. He thought back on the events that had led him here, the wars and his eventual cracking to persuasion to try to bring his clan back. He thought about Jorvin, a far better Clan Father than he’d ever been. Finally, he wondered why he wasn’t there right now. He’d been planning to return ever since he heard how bad the invasions were getting but every time he thought about it he was dissuaded by fear of being accused a traitor due to not being there. Now, however, seemed the perfect time to come back to aid the war effort.

 

Crevin Starbreaker stood up and began to head home.