Norgeth

THE DEATH OF FATHER WERT 1864 – 1933 “I WILL FIND MY SPIRIT STEADFAST” – OWYNIST PRAYER OF INTENT Father Wert, Pastor of Whitespire lay in his secluded barrel, dwelling in self-chosen poverty outside that capital city while a sweat covered his cavemannish brow. He was ill, having caught a dreadful plague in his time with the poor, explaining his recent absence - his living conditions did not help, but he refused to abandon his ascetic lifestyle. That night, Wert scribbled down his last-will, soon falling asleep in the isolated discomfort of his cramped home. Father Wert of Tuhrosweyk, Owynist Cleric and Pastor of the Aaunic capital died of his sickness before the morning sun rose. . . LAST WILL OF FATHER WERT To my apprentice and former-acolyte Father Rhodri, I leave my staff, made by the Lectorate of Owyn, hold onto it, it has many memories attached. To my friend and teacher Kato Oijin, I leave my icepick, keep it well, I suspect its origin has much importance. I leave the rest of my meager possessions to the Mother Church of Canondom, to be used in the common good.

THE GNOMISH PLEA FOR NON-AGGRESSION [!] The symbol of The Great One We of Oblazekos have endured much since our hidden city’s fall nearly four hundred years ago; however, we Gnomes have never been ones of war or direct bloodshed; as such, the recent Urguani-Norland conflict has made me and my people ever-weary, with our vaulted enclave existing within the sewers of Norland’s capital city. We are not fighters, nor are we warmongers. We wish for a peaceful home outside the challenges of political strife. According to those wishes, I humbly ask on behalf of The Oblazeki People for the promise that we will not be harmed by either side of this conflict. We have lived amongst the dwarves, and we have lived amongst man. My people hope for a peaceful resolution to this conflict, for we have friends on both sides - However, let it be known that those of Oblazekos will not be fighting, and if attacked or urged to war by anyone, we will simply dismantle our Enclave of Nisselheim, leaving for a new home, something that would truly be a setback for the whimsical folk of the Gnomes. OBLAZEKOS’VOL, GLORY TO THE GNOMES, HONOUR BE TO THE ANCESTORS! - Dr Prof. Xob Wobson, Oblazeki Elder, Keeper of The First Cap

Full Name of Man - Sir Robert von Stroheim Date of Birth of Man - SA 82 Name of Woman - Florence Vivien de Vienne Date of Birth of Woman - SA 93 Location of Ceremony - The Tempel der Funfzig Vander und Hg. Johann, Minitz Date of Ceremony (Year) - SA 134 Name of Clergyman who performed ceremony - Father Wert

Full Name: Wenzel Jack Rovin Age: 20 Gender: Male Race: Proud Waldenian Human Minitz Rank: Burgher

A masked Khazadmar sorcerer nodded slowly "Boi Knowledge Unknowable - Teh Toil fer teh future es now. . ." spoke Morul Irongrinder before stating simply "Narvak oz Urguan, Narvak oz Khronumurrum"

UNYIELDING IRON With the fall of Almaris and destruction of the Urguani mountainhome, much hardship has arrived for the Dwarven race to combat, yet ever stalwart and sturdy like stone, they endure for a better future. . . The Storied Clan of Irongrinder is no different in such. With a vigilant gaze I have watched The Khazadmar of Urguan, observing, waiting for a time, a time to return and help my kin - Now is that time. I, Morul Dareksson Irongrinder once more rise to the station of Clan Lord of The Khronumurrum and do decree the following. The Clan of Irongrinder will be reorganized to better fit the current state of our race, clan roles will be solidified to adhere with the work of Darek Irongrinder and things set right, all clan members who wish for work, however hard it may be, are asked to reach out via letter - Laziness in assigned tasks will not be tolerated, the toil for the future is upon us. I will personally be cultivating and supporting whichever clan members who are interested in Alchemy, or The Arts Arcane and the mysteries of Vuur’Dor: The Void. again, reach out if interested in study and the seeking of truth in the name of Lord Ogradhad. Lastly it is important to state that all existing, active grudges are to remain until stricken, for those of iron do not forget so easily. . . BY KNOWLEDGE UNKNOWABLE - MORUL IRONGRINDER LORD OF CLAN IRONGRINDER, CONQUEROR OF THE VOID, LIFEMAKER, SPELLSMITH, AND HEIR TO THE KINGDOM OF ORD.

A being of stone looked to the missive, soon rumbling out "Hold relocation will be a must - I did not know Agents of Khorvad settled nearby and I cannot risk such loss without dwarfpower to defend. . ." Spoke Thulgarn Svuli'Ynothruz, staring around the empty cavern-home, no dwarves had arrived.

On Yrrok’thruz Khoren - Perversions of Stone [!] Dotted around various notice boards and delivered to The Dwarves of Urguan by trained mail-mole is a missive, written by stoney hands in an angular and distinct script. Amongst our ranks, those of runic stone, are traitors and horrors of dangerous corruption. Do not trust these golems or their makers, for they bring chaos where Yemekar’s balanced creation once was. They sully the sacred art of your ancestors and of my kind’s making - they must be purged. Khoren crafted by imperfect hands and awakened by flawed souls are a plague that we, devout of The Holy Brathmordakin, must not tolerate. For too long have Yrrok, be they Elger or Umros tainted the sacred art of golemancy with their vile shortcuts and failures of technique, their creations likewise flawed and corrupted. It is my logical viewpoint that all Golemancers not of pious Khazadmar blood are to be either executed, or somehow disconnected from the holy art, with their creations destroyed and used for pottery grog. Listen here SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF URGUAN, do not tolerate those who steal your ancestral craft, do not tolerate those traitors who share our art to Yrrommar and the unfaithful, and do not tolerate shortcuts or deviations, for tradition and history are paramount for the Dwarven race and all those who serve alongside them. I humbly request that The Clergy and all other Brathmordakinist communities recognize my words - do not let this rot spread further, curb it where you can, this is a way to holy balance, and it is just. - Thulgarn Svuli’Ynothruz, pious follower of The Holy Brathmordakin and concerned Khoren. [!] A copy of this letter is also specifically delivered to the High Prophet Garedyn of Clan Mossborn. @VerminHunter

A being of living rock rumbled, eyes of sigil and stone scanning over the page as spoke "Narvak oz Brathmordakin, Narvak oz Grimdugan - I was made on a similar anvil. . ." Sounded Thulgarn Svuli'Ynothruz.

A Golem named Thulgarn sounded out with a rumble "NARVAK OZ URGUAN, NARVAK OZ KHAZADMAR, NARVAK OZ BRATHMORDAKIN." spoke the living stone.

[!] Somewhere, in the vast wilderness beyond Almarian soil, a prison wagon rolled alongside others of its kind, that tiny gnome Xob slowly devising a plan to freedom, perhaps he might make the final battle yet. . .

"Oi nevah was guud aht poetry but tis es ah noice read. - Oi wish guud luck ahn safe travels toh moi friends. . ." spoke Gnomish Elder Xob from within a far-off prison wagon, the little fellow shaking his head "Waht ah pickle oi seem toh beh en. . ." he frowned as the cart moved along the trail.

Ser Wymond Lynde hears of this, clearly confused for a moment "How can a duchy award a duchy? this makes not a speck of sense - wait no, it does when you consider who wrote this. . ." spoke the Hogaardian "it be'th actually sad, to see how far mine former home has fallen in both morals and education."

[!] Somewhere, A former gnomish denizen of The Iron Hills gives a salute, hoping his friends luck in their quest.

Changelog : 2023-03-31 - Major Edits and Better Writing.

This, but also - I just dislike this write.

Xob Wobson, Archzealot of Aglazek overheard this from his temple home, thinking deeply before waddling off into the mountains. "Hrrrm, ah king without propah ritual. . ." is all he mumbled.

THE DUHR DECLARATION -ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ-ᛜ- A Claim for Rukagoth Let it be known to all across that lands that we brothers, Mjoruk and Bjarg of Clan Duhr, set forth a dual claim for the honorable and exalted position of Rukagoth to The Horde. Though we are young and have yet to see wisdom as the elders of the Urukim do, we follow the great spirits with abounding pride and praise them with zealous devotion! They give us mighty strength and the bounties of the earth - crops, obsidian and flint along with the metals the other clans cherish so greatly. We intend on taking hold of those gracious resources that are provided to us and using them in praise of the spirits, not letting them fall to the wayside in waste. We both claim the title of Rukagoth, to work together in the storied role so that we may do our job with increased productivity and skill! We are both skilled stone-knappers and woodworkers, but also hold personal skill in the other earthly arts, such as farming, the quarrying of stone, and the chopping of trees. Together, we and The Horde will rise together in praise of the spirits and ancestors! GLORY TO KRUG, GLORY TO THE HORDE! SIGNED, THE SONS OF THE MOUNTAIN: MJORUK & BJARG

A PACT OF QUAKING EARTH [!] The Peaks of Kromdar. Carried upon spiritual winds through the evervast dark in between, three Uruks fell upon stoney hill, seeking to parley with a lesser of earth, instead all they found were mountains, hills of stone and earth reaching up to pierce the very skies themselves. Standing with confusion, those orcs spoke to seemingly nothing, seeking to contact the lesser who dwells, asking for pacts, a chance to serve and elevate. With a mighty rumble did the great Kromdar ‘speak’, realm resounding with echoing rock as the very world shook, The spirit laying out its terms, or perhaps. . . demands. The potential shamans nodded, accepting the mighty Ilzgul’s terms with fervent zeal, exclaiming such in word and action! Swallowed by earth, souls crushed by rock and stone, those now imbued ventured back home with a quest, for with time, Kromdar’s peak shall break the clouds and his roots shatter the very worldcore itself. . . The mountain quakes!

The Travels of Dr Professor X =ᛜ=ᛜ=ᛜ=ᛜ=ᛜ= Pact of Aglazek [!] The entrance to Aglazek’s Workshop. Xob waddled into his home’s inner sanctum, placing a small booklet aside as he sat down within a complex mechanical chair, putting his seatbelt on, the tiny gnomish zealot letting out a low chant as he speaks in the elder tongue of the spirits “Frûm bot, frûm bot, izg kramp bugd Aglazek-ord u za urgai!” spoke Xob, flicking a lever upon the chair as he focused deeply, closing his eyes as clockwork churned and runes went alight. . . That doctor professor awoke within a kaleidoscopic tunnel of horror, falling and falling with echos of each word or noise resounding throughout his mind, yet Xob’s fall soon ended, him falling onto a large, conveniently placed mattress of springs and fluff “GAGHH” spat out the gnome as he pushed himself up, looking about that cave-like workshop. Xob wandered around the various inventions and workstations that weaved themselves around akin to a maze. “Wahre es ‘e? Oi must foind Aglazek. . .” Thusly as the spirit’s name was invoked, a cloud of dancing starlight collapsed in from the very walls, forming into a bearded and elderly inventor, folded blueprint in aged hands. “WHO?!” spoke the entity with a boom, staring toward Xob with a raised brow before exclaiming “We meet again. . . Xob Wobson, what do you seek now, mortal?” Xob replied, going to kneel “Oi come toh pact wit’ yer o’ great one, teh stars ‘ave realigned ahnd moi devotion must once mer beh shown toh yeh!” “A pact you say? I accept this offer - Yet I ask one thing now. Create a great invention in my name, one of spiritual and mechanical wonder, use such to advance my goals, don’t disappoint me. . .” spoke Aglazek with an echo, the spirit soon turning toward a lever, pulling such as a trapdoor opened under Xob’s feet, flinging him back through that colorful tunnel of terror, only then to wake in his hypernaut explorator’s throne, the time now midnight, stars amidst the sky. Xob went toward his workshop, stumbling from his journey, upon reaching the table, he’d unfold a large empty blueprint, scribing out a work of power and progress. . . soon upon the parchment was an image of a small and oddly shaped crossbow labeled “Hex-Ray”.

Name: Dr Professor Xob Wobson. Race: Oblazeki Gnome. What are you running for (Mayor or Sheriff?): Tyran. . . - I mean Mayor! Anything you'd like to add: I don't expect to win - but for the gnomish people, I shall try. OBLAZEKOS'VOL! =======================================================

A strange hermit dwed read the missive from atop an icy mountain peak, soon nodding "Honor beh toh Heh, May Rhun Prophet Durin show tahm tahre false ways wit' wisdom, obtaining zealous victoreh. . ." he'd state, gesturing to a small mountain shrub, it soon wilting and almost mutating into a twisted mass of brambles "Ahs for Moiself, oi will wait, et es nae toime yet" spoke MORUL to his own voices and inner thoughts.

Ser Robert Lynde looks at his personal invite with a nod and smile "I'll make sure to be there!" he'd exclaim, placing the missive into his letter cabinet.

Ser Robert Lynde, Lord of Rulund walks toward a small sandstone statuette, depicting the virtuous St. Robert, uttering a silent prayer, The Duma-Knight soon turned toward a blazing pyre, speaking aloud "Rulund stands with the church, for the honourable and just shall strike the foul and the iniquitous from HE, LORD GOD's sight. . ." spoke Robert, then adding "I - No, WE are THE HAMMER!" he paraphrased a popular Owynist litany.