The Last Pilgrimage

[Meanking 311]

 

From within the great bowels of Kal’Azgoth, Grand King Thorin sits high upon the Obsidian Throne, his rune encrusted hands tapping against his armrest. His breathing is slow and heavy, his mind wandering far from the matters at hand. He looks down momentarily at a parchment he has gripped between his fingers. He had just recently secured a deal for the Grand Kingdom that would ensure it yet more riches and glory. It was more than he had ever imagined when he had first ascended to the throne. Yet despite everything, he felt only a great emptiness within his mind. For all these years, he longed only for more. He clenches his fist, crunching the paper as he lets it slip from his grasp onto the hard floor below. For all he had, he had not earned the one thing he desired most. Redemption.

 

He rises from his throne, his limbs crunching under the weight of his newly forged suit of armour. Two dwarves quickly pace towards him, gripping his shoulders and keeping him stable as he staggers along the floor of the throne room. For all he sought, he had not thought to follow the guiding voice of all dwarves. In following the actions of his forefathers, he too now would travel to the great mountains that stood high above the city. Here, he would finally be able to speak with the Creator, Yemekar himself. “Fetch meh ‘ammah!” he shouts across the hall as he strides down the staircase towards his quarters. Upon entering, he turns towards his bedside and looks towards the wolf pelt he had skinned during his clan trials many decades prior. He sighs for a moment, carefully running his hands through its fur. For all these years, he had chosen to kill in the name of justice and yet now he had begun to wonder whether it had all been worth it.

 

Raising the wolf skin over his shoulders, a servant dwarf hobbles in, gripping his hammer by its side. Thorin wraps his hands around its hilt, raising it towards his eyes. It was a fine piece of craftsmanship, a hammer of obsidian, encrusted with a wide variety of jewels uncovered from the dwarven mines. Its handle was carved from the wood of an elvish elder tree and its pommel forged from dwarven steel. As his eyes brighten with a sense of pride, he draws his hand back down by his side, and takes a small bottle of whisky from his pouch. He uncorks it before taking a long swill. Placing the empty bottle upon his bedside table, he turns around once again, ascending the staircase towards the throne room.

 

He quickly departs the palace, striding down the hall as a group of his personal guard follow close behind him. As he is about to leave, he suddenly stops, remaining silent for a brief moment. Thorin looks around, a dark, yet firm look upon his face. “No...” he utters as the dwarves look towards one another, their expressions filled with a sense of uncertainty. Thorin turns without another word, thundering out of the great halls of Azgoth, the heavy coat of fur dragging along the ground behind him. His iron boots crash upon the floor as he takes his final steps out from the city. As he emerges outside, he looks up into the sky, the air fresh and pure, the skies as blue as the ocean. He turns his head around, looking high above the mountains, watching as the sun slowly falls from beyond its highest peak. Only when he had reached it would his pilgrimage end.

 

The mountains were harsh, the cold even harsher and an arduous climb for any dwarf. Though the winds howled fiercely, attempting to put the Grand King off balance the runic implants in his armour left him impervious to the blistering cold, while his limb movement allowed him to retain balance easily. He stops, looking across the great white plains that stretch out from the foot of the mountain. Night had almost fallen and yet as he looked, he could make out the rivers, forests and roads that filled the dwarven lands. He had lived here so long and yet understood so little of what he saw. Though he had a long way to go yet, he felt for these few moments that he was truly home. He turns, looking up at the mountain face that stands before him. In the wake of huge white cloud, a thick blizzard had blown in from the East, soon to be upon him.

 

Ascending the final length of the climb, he peers through the snow as it gives way to a strange structure upon the mountain top... The Great Shrine of Yemekar, he thinks to himself as he lifts his boots through the snow. Many dwarves before him had payed tribute to the gods this way. Now he too would offer what he could to repay them for their guidance throughout his reign. With little emotion, he marches towards it, resting his hammer in front of him as he lowers himself to kneel. He slips an odd looking ring from off of his finger and places it into the snow, uttering a silent prayer beneath his breath. Suddenly, he stops, slowly raising a brow as he places his hand upon the ground, feeling as a slight shudder moves up his arm. He lifts his head upright, glaring into the cold winds that surround the peak. Lifting up his hammer from the ground, the mountain begins to shake violently as he grasps hold of the shrine. A great blinding light suddenly fills his view as the sight of wings passes in front of the moon. A roar sounds, closing in on him as he lifts himself back to his feet.

 

 

 

“Ondnarch...” Thorin whispers as the great dragon comes crashing down upon him. For those few moments, he knew not of whether he was alive or dead. A cold rush of air travels up his body as he feels nothing but the great emptiness tearing at his mind. Reality soon strikes him when his fall is suddenly broken by an overhang that juts out from the cliff face. A loud clatter of armour is heard as the dwarf lies motionless, exhaling in a gasp of air as blood streams down from beneath his mask. The world around him falls silent as he slowly lifts himself to his knees. This time, he had been lucky enough to survive... Though as he looks through the roaring blizzard, there is within an instant, a great shriek that sounds throughout the sky. Thorin quickly buries his head into his hands, covering his ears as the words tear at his mind from within. His face red and his armour dented, he lifts himself to his feet, using his hammer to support himself as he slowly makes his way through the snow. His runic eye is dimmed, his vision now limited to what he can see with his only true eye. The blizzard however, had all but shrouded what lay ahead of him.

 

As he moves onwards, he stops in his tracks as a single pair of cold blue eyes appear before him. A shiver runs down his spine as he raises his hammer from over his shoulder. The force tore through his mind yet again, inaudible but fearsome to behold. He stood without a word, thoughts racing through his head like wild fire. If he were to die this day, the halls of Khaz’A’Dentrumm would herald his coming. He had no choice... There was no turning back now... He would fight this beast or else die trying.

 

An almighty roar ripples through the sky as Ondarch approaches, its hulking body crashing into the snow. Thorin charges beneath it, attempting to go behind it as it rears its head after him, opening its gaping mouth as a great burst of ice erupts from within. He raises his shield, pushing forward as the dragon unleashes a deafening howl. Ice forms around the base of the King’s shield, before he sidesteps, lunging behind the dragon as it  begins to rear its head after him. With a great cry of battle, Thorin lunges forward, swinging the hammer into the dragon’s eye. For that moment the very air around them trembled as Ondnarch staggered backwards, shrieking in pain. Thorin stands upright, his eyes fixed upon his foe as he makes yet another charge forward. To no avail, he is caught off balance as the dragon swings its tail into his side, slamming him into the ground.

 

 

 

 

 

Ondnarch, Bringer of the Silent Cold lowers its head, a cold glare fixed upon Thorin as he lies in the snow. It digs its claws into the dwarf’s side, using its other foot to push the hammer from his grasp. Thorin, clasping his bloodied forehead begins to whisper some words in the ancient dwarven tongue. If this were to be his end, he would fall with honour. He takes a scroll from beneath his armour, gripping it tightly against his chest as he glares up towards the dragon. A great cackle emerges from within the bowels of the beast’s throat as it opens its mouth wide, preparing to end the dwarf’s life once and for all. Suddenly in the distance however, a dwarven war horn is heard sounding throughout the mountain range, its echo louder than even the blizzard itself. Ondnarch quickly turns on its feet. From nearby, several armoured dwarves emerge, great iron waraxes rested in their hands. It twists once again but finds no escape as more and more dwarves pour into the clearing. With a defiant roar, it opens its wings wide and soars into the night sky, leaving Thorin lifeless in the snow, the scroll clutched against his chest.

 

 

The dwarves quickly close in upon their King’s body, his armour shattered and his skin bruised. Lord Dizzy Thunderblade kneels by his side, his eyes dark and expressionless as he looks upon the Grand King in pity. Thorin places his hand upon Dizzy’s wrist and quickly gestures the scroll into his hands. “Dizzeh... ‘elp meh take t’is mask awf.” Dizzy leans towards him, shaking his head slightly. “But yuh’ll daeh!” he exclaims. “Not’in’ can stawp t’at now. Jus fer wunce, let meh luuk awn ye wit’ mah uwn eyes.” Dizzy nods, slowly sliding his hands behind Thorin’s head, lifting the mask from over his face. Thorin looks up towards Dizzy, a sad look filling his eyes. “Nuw guh mah son...” Thorin’s head slowly falls to the side as blood soaks into the snow around him. The remaining dwarves stand in a circle around the body as Dizzy rises, the scroll gripped in his gauntlet. They look to him, solemn expressions upon each of their faces. Dizzy looks around, raising his axe high into the air. “Fer t’e King!” he shouts as the others do the same. He knew not of what his Grand King’s final wish had been, only that it was he who would deliver it to the world.

 

“It is by the final decree of his majesty, Grand King Thorin Grandaxe, the first of his name, ruler of the Grand Kingdom of Urguan, and the Kingdoms of Salvus, Savoie, Oren, Karakatua and Adunia, Slayer of Skarux the Alpha Dragon of the North, Holy Protector of the Human Race and Liberator of the Elves and Halflings, that the Kingdoms of Savoie and Oren are granted full independence from the Grand Kingdom of Urguan. Furthermore, the realms of Salvus and Karakatua are given a choice to remain under its rule or so too be given the choice to become independant states. This, as the final wish of the Grand King before his death is to be implemented fully in the weeks to come. May his soul rest easy within the grand halls of Khaz’A’Dentrumm.”

[3andD 1722]

Owyn furrows his brow, he also lays within his illbed.

[Dizzy771 900]

*Dizzy mourns the loss of the king of Urguan. Forever shall his name be spoken in the tales and legends of his people*

 

 

TL;DR

 

Thorin is dead, he died a hero.  Savoie and Oren have been released into independance, Salvus and Karakatua can remain vassals if they so choose.

 

Good day to you all!

[Josh3738 3137]

*Zahrer stands silently. He mourns his fallen king.

"Gudbye me'king, may ye foind peace now"

[bungo 3965]

Oh Grand King, Dwarven demon and damned demon's kith and kin, secretary to Iblees himself. What the devil kind of king are you, that can't slay a hedgehog with your naked arse? The devil excretes, and your army eats. You will not, you son of a *****, make subjects of Raevir sons; we've no fear of your army, by land and by sea we will battle with thee for the good of Savoie, **** your mother.


You scullion of Salvus, Orenian wheelwright, sheep-fucker of Adunia, swineherd of Kralta, Malinorian pig, elven thief, catamite of Krakatua, hangman of Kharajyr, and fool of all the world and underworld, an idiot before Godanistan, grandson of the Iblees, and the crick in our ****. Pig's snout, mare's arse, slaughterhouse cur, unblessed brow, screw your own mother!


So the Savoyards declare, you lowlife. You won't even be herding the Creator's pigs. Now we'll conclude, for we don't know the date and don't own a calendar; the moon's in the sky, the year with the Lord, the day's the same over here as it is over there; for this kiss our arse, we are happy that you are dead.

 

Oh wait we got independence.  Nevermind.

[iTzShambo 135]

*Ronseal looks at the Kings body. He lets out a sigh before thinking of how he climbed the mountain in the first place. He begins to cry uncontrollably as he thinks he is going to fall down the mountain as his family have a history of falling.

[Snoop 365]

*David Campos hears about the grave news, he remains silent and wonders what the King will choose to do with Salvus.*

[FalconByte 156]

Theryn Grandaxe mourns the loss of his father the Grand King thorin

[Caln McHarnish/porkchopp2 71]

Caln McHarnish bows his head as he hears of the Grand King's death. He had been a friend in the final years of his life, one dwarf in a million. Caln calls upon his Honor Guard to journey to where the Grand King sleeps. He truly was the Lord of the Craft.

[Rig 17581]

Mythras bows his head clasping his staff tighter upon hearing of the king's death, he sighs, before continuing to do what he was doing.

[Nefarious Aus Shitpost 891]

Bael cries over the body of his friend, well tries to anyway, he is too manly and lacks tear ducts, instead taking out his frustration on the nearby wall, breaking apart with his bleeding knuckles.

 

Bael also doesn't understand how pilgrimage is such a dangerous past time for dwarves.

[Ever 2648]

Karvia Starbreaker mourns the loss of the Dwarf that got her pregnant, mainly because she'll miss the comfy royal bed.

 

Karvia Starbreaker's daughter who name is yet to be decided mourns the loss of her father.

 

((I honestly have no clue what to put here but I feel like I should. rip dorf vader.))

[Aengoth 2890]

Aengoth falls back into his chair upon hearing the news.

"'Ow can f'is be?"

Later he could be found in the Starbreaker Clan Hall, mourning the loss of the Grand King.

 

*Koryk rolls in his grave, the amount of dwarves killed by pilgrimages ever since his time as a Archbishop is far too much.*

[] Had to put that last bit as a joke haha, sorry to see your reign as Grand King end []

[Zanderaw 162]

Zandros nods slowly as the news is delivered to Westwarde Citadel. "So, Salvus can go free now. But the question is, will we? And if we do, can we stop ourselves from being once more forced into Oren tyanny? Perhaps it would be best to opt to stay."

He then writes a short note to the Lord Commander, sending it off before stepping out onto his balcony, arms behind his back, deep in thought.

[The Great Mongol Khan 1110]

The death of the Grand King reaches Valon Tyrannis. The ember eyes become emotionless with an accent of ponder and denial. He looks up to the sky "And now we are free."