Reflections over the blood of the roots

[mateolog 1551]

[!] The following is personal character information, that would not be known to anyone. Do not metagame.

 

 

Khazaefron walked through the fae gardens of Hefrumm. The beautiful colors of the forest brushed the vision. The smell of the flowers filled the air, it was as smelling the fragrance of Belka’s hair. As they continued the walk Khazaefron came upon an old tree, this was no ordinary tree however, this tree was the tree of a fellow dwarven epiphyte of the Blackroot clan, one that was now dead and gone. When their comrade died they did not come back in a new form, their tree just slowly died out. 

 

“Anbella has released you of service sooner than expected eh?” Khazaefron would place their hand over the tree.

 

“Yer service to Anbella es at an end kin, may ye enjoy tha eternal reward en her realm.” As he did this a surge of sorrow and anger flowed through them, the idea of  loosing another clan mate fogged their mind.

 

Khazaefron would slam their fist into the dead tree cracking the old bark opening a layer that was still not as decayed yet. The breach started to leak resin onto their fist. A reflection of themselves shone through the resin but it was not the face of Khazaefron that was looking back at them, it was the face of Karl Blackroot.

 

“Is this what has become of my clan?” He said.

 

“Is this what has become of me?”

 

“Is this worth tha deaths our forest dwed brothas and sistas?”

 

“We rebuilt their kingdom knowing fullwell et wes nevah fer us to rule, tha es woi we stayed ‘efrumm.”

 

“Es ‘aving a forest dwed wearing tha crown ef tha outlanders worth tha state of our folk?”

 

Khazaefron shook their head.

 

“No, et be neccesareh fer tha forest dwed to choose their own path.”

 

Karl would stare through the sap into Khazaefron his image slowly turning into Mao’s.

 

“Is this the fate that you will allow to come to our uncle’s project? Are you to allow Hefrumm to slowly die? Let its roots dry out? What will happen when the Blackroots, the roots of Hefrumm, the roots that connect what was is and will be, what happens when these roots dry out?”

 

Khazaefron frowned.

 

“A’ will net allow et to ‘appen. A’ will serve ‘efrumm, we will always be ‘ere to ‘elp our folk remembah whot wes, our memoreh will nevah banish.”

 

“Will you tho?” answered Mao.

 

“Have you not already forgotten your fallen epiphyte dwed, all those that died because of the hatred of the outlanders towards us? Towards the forest dwed wae ef life.”

 

“A’ ‘ave net forgotten, a’ will nevah forget.” Khazaefron lashed back.

 

Asketil’s image would appear over Mao’s in the resin.

 

“Aye…we will net forget.”

 

Khazaefron would snap out of their vision. With a new found determination they would drain the resin from the dead tree. In their work place they would go over the books of Karl looking for anything and all things for inspiration, with Karl’s determination and imagination they though and imagined the old arts of the forest dwed, those arts lost in the blood age due to the genocide and cultural extermination of the forest dwarves.

 

“Amber…” said Karl in Khazaefron’s mind.

 

“We could recreate the gifts of Anbella which is found in Grimdugan’s depths.” Responded Mao.

 

“Weth tha dwed foundries and Mossborn smithing, we surely ‘av tha technologeh and skills to recreate et!” Answered Asketil.

 

Through the roaring fires of the dwed forges and intense pressures created by their machinery Khazaefron formed the resin into a gem like substance, a copal material. They would lift the material above their head being able to look at their own reflection through the transparent material.

 

In the copal he would see a young Karl Cottonwood in his non-epiphyte form being touched by the lady of the forest and turning into an epiphyte and the first Blackroot High Chief, they could see the gifts of the depths of Grimdugan being granted to the young Mao for his faithful thievery, they could see the Asketil’s training under the Mossborn smiths. All of them coalesced to reflect Khazaefron’s image back to them.

 

For four years Khazaefron would work on the project, from the material creating an armor. It was amber in appearance, that treasured gem in Grimdugan’s realm gifted to him by the blood of Anbella’s trees. It was certainly not the strongest material just as strong as silver or gold. But just like these materials the amber held the power of the Brathmordakin, the power of symbolism and ideas. By this armor Khazaefron would make a vow one to their clan, Hefrumm, and the Brathmordakin, a vow to continue the Hefrumm project, to assist any and all those seeking to build upon it. Lastly, they also cut their palm and made a blood oath upon this armor.

 

“By this blood that is also the blood of the Paragon, A’ swear tha a’ will see ye again uncle, and when a’ do a’ will stare ye en tha eyes as an equal. A’ will create a path tha will allow our forest kin to reach yer ‘ights so tha our folk can reach further beyond!”

 

“Under these oaths, we place our purpose, undah thes armor we place our singulariteh. We be multiple, and we be one, a world made ef worlds, one en reflection ef Yemekar’s creation an ef Anbella’s Balance.”

 

 

 

[!] Depiction of amber armor

 

 

[!] Depiction of the different personas making up Khazaefron, including themselves.