Da Kron'ur'Kvisamarri: Nirdabyrjaz

[Hrokaz 631]

 

9th of Deep Cold 2nd Age Year 266

01/06/2026
POSTED BY:

Alaric Grimgold

Priest of Dungrimm

ᛞᚨ ᚲᛟᚱᛟᛞᚨᚢᚱᛟᚲ ᚲᚱᛟᚾ’ᚢᚱ’ᚲᚢᛁᛊᚨᛗᚨᚱᚱᛁ

Da Korodaurok Kron’ur’Kvisamarri
The Grimgold Book of Whispers
ᛞᚨ ᚲᛟᚱᛟᛞᚨᚢᚱᛟᚲ ᚲᚱᛟᚾ’ᚢᚱ’ᚲᚢᛁᛊᚨᛗᚨᚱᚱᛁ
 

Upon the salt-washed, stone-swept islands of our Grimgold forebears there was kept a book, spoken in whispers and carried from parent to child. It is da Kron’ur’Kvisamarri , The Book of Whispers, which preserves the tale of the Brathmordakin, the flight of Theodoric’s folk, and the shaping of our clan.

 

Long were we separated to the Holy Rock of Theodoric, guarding these words from the gaze of Khorvad and his servants. Now, returned at last to the lands of Urguan’s kin, and standing once more among those whose faith endures, we bring this book forth from secrecy.

 

No longer bound to whispered inheritance alone, its chapters are offered openly to the temple, one by one, that all may hear, remember, and judge its truth.

 

Not as THE truth, but as one of many in the multifaceted truths of the Brathmordakin.
 

YOTH BRATHMORDAKIN NA YOTH MAKAZ’KIRKJA’RUM’MAR’EDOS

ᛁᛟᛏᚺ ᛒᚱᚨᛏᚺᛗᛟᚱᛞᚨᚲᛁᚾ ᚾᚨ ᛁᛟᛏᚺ ᛗᚨᚲᚨᛉ’ᚲᛁᚱᚲᛃᚨ’ᚱᚢᛗ’ᛗᚨᚱ’ᛖᛞᛟᛊ

 

CHAPTER I
NIRDABYRJAZ

ᚾᛁᚱᛞᚨᛒᛁᚱᛃᚨᛉ
 

In The Beginning

In the beginning, when the gods first lived,

Salty sea nor cool waves, nor sand was there.

The world was not yet made, nor the heavens above,

All was a gaping void, and there was grass nowhere.

 

Upon one edge of the void, was change or To Be,

And upon the side opposite, was stasis or To Not Be.

Where the two things met, the Void churned like rough sea.

And birthed four gods, from What Was and What Wasn’t.

 

First of this churning wake, came Yemekar paramount.

Then walked forth from the Void, Anbella bursting with life.

Dungrimm next came to exist, for in life there must be death.

The last was born twisted, stunted and evil Khorvad.

 

Highest amongst High, Yemekar the craftsman,

Thought upon the nature of the Void, of this Black Doom.

All was emptiness, and stagnation was everywhere.

Time was not yet counted, nor was space measured.

 

In timeless meditation, the Allmaker contemplated,

Outstretching his hand, into the confluence of Is and Isn’t.

He pulled out the primal element, from where the conflux churned,

With the material that created all things, he built the Wall of Sky.

 

Time for the first beginning, had become recorded things,

Space for the first beginning, had become measured things.

Brathmordakin all gazed upon this creation, marveling its opportunity.

Yemekar spoke sacred words, heard by divine assembly.

 

‘This thing I have thought of, I have named it and call it Rhun’

Anbella agreed with the high one, so too was Dungrimm in accord.

Khorvad held the sole dissent, questioning why only Yemekar had created,

He grew jealous of the Rhun, Khorvad himself being incapable of creating.

 

In the vast tapestry of existence's creation,

Khorvad's envy grew more and more, seeking his own rule.

Longing to stand alone, he desired for sole dominion amongst the gods,

Envious of the Rhun, fate's intricate guiding force.

 

Yemekar, wearied by the creation's grand scope,

Sought solace in slumber, a divine retreat to regain his strength.

Emerging from his subconscious, a deity rose anew,

Ogradhad, the embodiment of wisdom, questions he'd seek from Yemekar’s mind sprung.

 

Anbella, goddess of life, breathed vitality and love,

Nurturing the world entire, flourishing with life.

Dungrimm, lord of death, maintained nature's course,

Balancing existence, with his law unbroken.

 

Khorvad lurked in the shadows, his envy ever burning,

As Yemekar awoke, Anbella his chosen true.

Together they birthed Belka, goddess of passion and sea,

Her waters imbuing the world with life to be.

 

Born fully grown, with spear in hand and armor strong.

 As the moon ascended, she gazed upon its grace.

Journeying to Khaz'a'dentrumm, the lunar palace,

Belka became Dungrimm's queen, their union sealed the moon and sea.

 

During Belka's absence, the world began to submerge and flood,

The gods called her to return to the sea, an urging dirge they pled.

And in her return, Dungrimm moved the moon to sea at end of day,

With darkness cloaking the world, veiling its light.

 

To illuminate the nights devoid of celestial glow,

Armakak, their son, offered himself instead.

Yemekar crafted for him a palace, the Sun, a radiant orb of fire and gold,

Igniting the world, beneath its glowing skies.



 

Grimdugan, twin to Armakak, collected embers from the Sun's fiery forging,

Scattering them above to honor his brother, Stars the night sky wore.

With order restored, the gods surveyed their domain,

Breathing life into its essence, a divine spark granted their creation.

 

Yemekar sculpted Krug, the first mortal creation,

Anbella breathed life, their creation combined.

Dungrimm bestowed a soul, the essence of being,

To journey through life, but upon death to him return.

 

Krug and his people, the Orcs, lived guided by instinct alone,

But Khorvad's envy marred their innocent embrace.

With tendrils of darkness, he corrupted their mind, their form,

Twisting their nature, darkness now became their mold.

 

Disappointed, the gods sought to make amends,

Creating the Elves as they had the first, wisdom and age they gifted.

Led by Malin, they shared knowledge and lore with the Orcs,

Yet Khorvad's touch tainted, and the second race fell as the first.

 

Seeking harmony once more, the gods crafted the race of Man,

With Horen as their leader, his figure crafted by Yemekar’s hand.

But Khorvad's influence sowed discord and bane,

Dividing their hearts, he once more threw the world into strife.

 

To thwart Khorvad's schemes, the gods weaved a plan to stop the corruption of their craft.

They crafted a race from illusion, born of inky black tar.

Form gave Yemekar and life gave Anbella, but soul did Dungrimm withhold.

Khorvad could not resist corrupting this creation, but upon his touch found himself bound to the glue.

 

With each tendril that touched the race, another tendril was ensnared.

Dungrimm sprung upon him, as he lay trapped in their ruse.

And from the material plane he was banished, through the Gate of the Void.

And in his rage, his tentacles snapped apart, ripping the soulless race into pieces uncountable.

 

Banished to Vuur'dor, beyond the Wall of Sky,

Khorvad seethed and grew, his power to zenith within his prison.

The shattered race, born without soul, became demons, his malevolent kin,

Seeking to breach the Wall, their father battering upon span and door.

 

Undeterred, Yemekar and the pantheon divine,

Crafted a final race, strength and fortitude they were gifted.

Urguan Silverbeard, their leader, noble and just,

With Yudora by his side, united hand-in-hand.

 

Eight sons they bore, blessed by divine grace,

Yavok Ireheart, Tungdil Goldhand, Dwain Irongut, first took their seats.

Bogrin Grandaxe, Ulrah Frostbeard, Gloin Treebeard all born strong,

Gotrek Starbreaker and Velkan Ironborn, their stories too are heard.

 

Belka granted unto them passions and emotions deep,

Armakak bestowed fortune, guiding along the path of luck.

Ogradhad's wisdom illuminated magic in their steps,

Grimdugan's greed sparked ambition, driving their breaths.

 

In the grand tapestry of gods and mortal races,

The world was set, divine purpose in its bones.

Each thread woven with intention, a tale yet untold,

Guided by the Brathmordakin’s love and wisdom, we find our way.