The Age of Gravel | End of the Fourth Grand Kingdom

[Beardicuss 486]

(The Age of Gravel)


 

“And thus da wheel uv Yemekar spins once more.”
- A wise ancestor of yore.
 

 

The armies of Man and their levies which fought beneath their unfurling banners marched upon the mountainhome of Urguan, as a host of wolves that covered the land. Before them stood those proud walls of Kal’Baraz, carved into the landscape as the City of Promise. Peering up at the mighty oaken gates were what numbered 14,400 Imperial forces, who sought to crush the meager force of 5,200 hearty dwarves.

 

BOOM!! 

 

The crack of cannonfire reverberated throughout the masoned halls as the first volley of human artillery pierced the gate, chunks of masterfully-carved runes of power and protection sent toppling to the ground in heaps of rubble. The cannonfire is answered with the TWANG of dwarven ballistae, skewering 1,100 in the first volley. Verily so, Dungrimm himself stood with these proud warriors, for a stray bolt severed the very arm from the heir of Hadrian the Beard-Burner (may Khorvad devour his soul.) Though their hearts were strong, and their aim true, the hordes of Man were unending, and the  brave dwarves fell back, ready to defend their home to their last with whirling traps and a myriad of other horrid devices. The humans had grown wise to the siegecraft of the dwarves, learning from their prowess, and diverted their trajectory to the mountaintop itself.

 

KAHBOOM!! 

 

A crash of stone and rubble tumbled through the cavern, filling the air with dust as the Ireheart clan hall was breached, and a horde of human attackers rushed through, bypassing all the clever tricks and traps set up by the clever dwed. The lantern light of the cavern gleamed off of their sharp swords like fierce fangs, held tight by rabid soldiers who hungered for a fight that was already won. Urguan himself could only weep as his hardy sons and daughters stood their ground before the Throne Room, in abject defiance to their impending doom.

 

The ravenous Humans, directed by their mad Emperor, bore the curse of Khorvad thricefold; greedy in their conquest as the dwedmar, lustful for battle greater than even uruks, and an early death as the sons of Horen in those lives thrown away. It would be the Betrayer that won that day, slaughtering  the defenders till only 200 remained. As the bodies piled and blood pooled, the din of battle did not deafen, for the ire of mankind turned then to the innocent citizens. Musin, Halfling and Dwarf, all were shed of innocent blood as Hadrian Beard-Burner (may Khorvad devour his soul) barked for their pennace of an uncommitted crime. 

 

The rabid dogs of Horen’s Folk set out upon Kal’Baraz without further encouragement. Screaming, crying, dying. The laughter of cruel humans was heard over the pleads and heroic boasts of warriors and civilians alike. In the Underroads that snaked a trail out to the docks did the remainder escape, bearing now an oath upon their lips, bound in sorrow and blood, vowed by their mournful Grand King.     

 

⬷ 〈₪〉 ⤐   

 

So concluded the Age of Silver, 6th of the dwarven Ages, in a virtuous death-peal punctuated by sobs and oaths. Such sorrow had not been seen before by the dwarves, parallels only being drawn to the Age of Blood, during the Empire of Khorvad and the tyranny of the Ironborn. To the few Elders who had survived the fall of Kal’Baraz, many would proclaim greater comfort in the grasp of the Ironborn than Man. The once proud sons of Urguan were then scattered to the winds by the very empire they helped build, and hunted by those they once called friends. 

 

Their lot would only find solace in the shadows of craggy cliffs, hidden far from the other Descendants, a mockery of the pride of ages past. Some exploratory souls sought to establish new homes and outposts in the wilds of the world, driving back the darkness that the humans in their warmongering had let fester; some more cunning and crafty sought new homes among their conquerors, in the hope they might be spared the sword of Hadrian Beard-Burner (may Khorvad devour his soul) through fealty, and prostration. Yet still others sought out the dark powers of the world, each with their own reasons, yet full of belief that the Brathmordakin had abandoned their people. The spawn of Khorvad who ever work towards making the creation of Yemekar his own found once-noble dwarves casting their hat into their ring, alongside the  soul weavers of Xionism, aiding them in their efforts of always seeking to overthrow the Gods above. For in the death throws of the Fourth Grand Kingdom of Urguan, dark thoughts were found in the rubble, thoughts that tarnished the foundation set by vile Aenguldemonica everseeking to tempt and take souls away from Khaz’A’Dentrumm and from the embrace of The Brathmordakin.   

[!] Sent out across the lands carried by the nimble cave bees to all dwarves was a missive written by unknown dwed hands

Hereby, let he who has ears hear, and who have hands make haste to receive:   Unto a new age of darkness and hope do the dwedmar embark, this Age of Gravel, formed from the detritus of the giants who strode before us. Where we once walked in their mighty shadows, now we wallow in their graves. In the wake of the Age of Silver, and all of it’s noble and grand heights, a new low in the valley of shattered mountains is traversed, in paths of gravel. The flickering forge flame of Urguan’s kin that was held in their fierce hearts has died out, dashed upon jagged stones and ordained by the Cannonist God. In the Age of Stone did Horen and Urguan stand shoulder to shoulder to defeat Khorvad, only for the first King of Man’s descendants to follow in emulation of the Betrayer. May the sparse litany of the remaining Sons of Urguan find their clans grow strong in far distant times, carving new heros of strong stone, imbued with a fire that blazes brighter than our own.   From Gravel, we will make Stone. From Stone, we will mold Iron.   From now, and until the end of ages, Narvak oz Urguan

 

 

 

Spoiler

Credits:
Dorin: advisor
Chum: advisor
Sirblocklips: Editor and formatting 10/10 could not have asked for a better person to help me with this. It made this 10 times easier to read and far more dramatic than I ever could.

 

 

Spoiler

GG to everyone who fought I had fun and I hope you did as well see you on the 5th Grand Kingdom 

 

[SirBlocklips 192]

"The Age of Gravel!" Wailed the Clan Father of the Azwyrtrumm, crying out not tearfully but in sorrow at all that had been lost. "The Age of Gravel has come! Stone, Gold, Iron, Blood, Fire and Silver have all amounted to Gravel! The Age of Gravel has come!"

Edited March 23 by SirBlocklips

[media 75]

*Dorrak Ireheart sat in a cave far from his home as a cave bee arrived dropping him a missive. As he quickly read trough it he would grit his teeth remembering the Slaughter of his kin. He crumbled up the paper and threw it into his campfire. As the crackling from the missive burning he quietly swore a vow* "Oi swear teh Yemekar an' Dungrimm oi will kill aneh umri oi see followin teh Filthy Keng Hadrians" *As he said this he would lay down beneath his furs drifting off to sleep*

[Mordringfan 166]

The Frost Dwarf, wearing the rusted armor of the Frostbeard clan, recieved the missive from a cave bee that had been travelling the continent searching for Dwarves.. They briefly read through it, appreciating the words of courage and hope from the unknown Dwed who had written and sent out the missives. But all dwedmar would have to learn to live in these dark times, the Age of Gravel had begun.

[SharpString 429]

"Oi won't give up on yer vision..." Tuzic muttered, knelt in his own worship before Bjor's likeness... cast in stone. "Ah will find our folk... And ye will bring us all together.. as ye always 'ave." He stayed knelt there, the sea breeze blowing through his hair. What remained of Hefrumm's relics were there with him, along with the petrified paragon Bjor - kept safe amongst Anbella's creation. "Ah will."