Behindbush

Ragram gritted his teeth after reading the message, as ends of the parchment start to lit up and burn in eternal flames under dwed's fingers. "Et 'as te stop" his voice reverberated across his chambers, as the unnatural, pale gaze penetrated the very existence of parchments nearly scorched up fabric... "T'ey will pay" he gathered a few potions, his cloak and left his seclusion

Ragram read the missive, neatly packed in his satchel for later, as he was slowly limping to the Celia'Norian artificer, recovering from his recent endeavors. A slight hum of sorrow escaped his mouth, as the pupils penetrated the parchment. "Oi 'ope Hefjhor will learn sumet'eng from t'is solitary departure..."

Ragram was sitting peacefully in his chambers, reading on the parchments from both Root Warden contestans, a wide, twisted grin appearing on his face as the two fight for power "Oi wonder 'ow t'is one unfolds" He cackled, returning to his alchemical study...

Ragram was sitting peacefully in his chambers, reading on the parchments from both Root Warden contestans, a wide, twisted grin appearing on his face as the two fight for power "Oi wonder 'ow t'is one unfolds" He cackled, returning to his alchemical study...

The dwarf clad in crimson breathed heavily, watching as his comrades finished off the evil that threatened this stagnant realm. His gaze, once filled with enthusiasm and relentless determination, was now hollow. His violet eyes, deformed by the parasite dwelling within his body, reflected an unsettling mixture of indifference, sorrow, and an unbridled madness that had taken root in his mind. As the paradox of time finally ceased and Ragram returned to the material world, he collapsed to his knees before his home – changed, drained, and pretty much armless. This expedition had taken more than he could have anticipated. It was perhaps the beginning... of his end. "Oi've returned, friends... but nae alone..."

Considering the weight of the topic and the utmost importance of speaking our mind, as it's directly involving us - players; I will allow myself to share my take on them murmurs and man laughter: Womp womp, cry abt it. Thank you.

Ragram sat comfortably in his study, sipping on a mug of Herbal Hefrumm Mead™, enjoying a rare moment of peace. As he flipped through the pages of the latest news, his calm demeanor shattered. A spray of mead splattered across the paper as he nearly choked at the absurdity before him. "ARE THEY OUT OF THEIR MINDS?!" he roared, slamming the newspaper down, his voice a thunderous growl "CALLING THEM PEACEFUL? THEY’RE BLOODY KINSLAYERS!" His fury echoed through the room as the words on the page seemed to mock his fallen friend

A ghoulish figure would grit his teeth in an secluded lair, wondering what the higher-ups are up to when their living forms aren't sitting idly inside the cave...

A red coated dwed locked himself tight in his hold after meeting and old friend... defiled by the wretched magicks of a damned necromancer, plaguing Urgani lands. "Ye're nae 'im, ye're nae 'im, ye're nae 'im" Ragram repeated to himself with an emptied bottle of Herbal Hefrumm Mead™ right next to him, clearly enveloped in paranoia, after acknowledging himself his weakness, by letting the darkspawn... go... "AND T'OSE BASTARDS---BB-BASTARRDS KILLEHD T'ORIM JUST FROM MERE SUSPICION, YET T'OSE STILL ROAM OUR LANDS" The dwed bursted into tears, as he promised himself vengence on the corrupted nation, the so called... Urguan

In the dead of night, beneath the watchful gaze of the stars, a cloaked figure slipped through the grand gates of Celia'Nor. The city of the high elves bustled with its usual opulence, but none noticed the shadow passing silently through the turmoil of the city square. Market stalls bustled, citizens hurried along their nightly errands, but the cloaked figure avoided every eye, a phantom amidst the living. He moved swiftly, gliding through the streets like a wraith, until he reached the towering entrance of the throne hall. Inside, the air was thick with a regal stillness, untouched by the chaos of the city outside. But this stillness would not last. The moment he crossed the threshold, the figure became a whirlwind of death. His movements were precise, calculated, like a blade slicing through parchment. Blood splattered the marble floors, vivid against the pristine white stone. His cursed katana whispered through the air as it carved through the hall’s elegant tapestries. His other blade dripped with crimson, its edge slick with the lives it claimed. Statues that had stood for centuries were defiled, their serene beauty twisted by the splatter of gore. The throne room, once a testament to the high elves' grace and power, was now a slaughterhouse, its sanctity forever desecrated by the figure’s blood-stained path. Scattered across the floor were blood-soaked petals, crushed beneath the boots of a long-fled intruder. At the foot of the throne, an animal carcass—a raven, wings grotesquely splayed—had been impaled on a ceremonial spear, its feathers dripping with blood. The air was heavy with the scent of iron, and on the throne itself, a single, bloodied inscription had been slashed into the delicate wood "The Kuruibi Horde claims all” But his work was far from done. With a silent leap, he ascended the walls, his skeletal frame moving with an unnatural grace. Climbing to the rooftops, he gazed over the city below, his crimson eyes glowing through the shadow of his hood. His prey, the one he sought, had slipped away, vanishing into the grand building at the far end of the city. He prowled the rooftops, tracking the fleeting shadows beneath him, but his quarry had eluded him. For a moment, he paused, his gaze shifting toward the square, where a few bystanders stood unaware of the terror that watched from above. The figure loomed like a bloody moon, his presence suffocating and silent. Then, with a swift descent, he plummeted down onto a nearby stall, shattering wood and sending a cloud of dust into the night. Panic erupted around him as the crowd scattered, and the shrill cry of a woman broke the stillness. She darted towards the bell, her hand outstretched to ring the alarm, but the figure moved to intercept. Both katanas unsheathed with a deadly whisper—Darkness and Red Flower gleamed in the moonlight, ready to end her. But as he closed the distance, a flash of gold cut through the air. An aurum dagger struck his chest, and the figure froze, a screech escaping his twisted lips as the cursed metal pierced his undead flesh. The woman fled, her voice echoing through the streets, calling for reinforcements as the figure staggered back, the aurum burning like fire through his decayed form. He did not retreat. A crowd gathered, shouting in terror, their voices rising in a cacophony of fear. From the chaos emerged his challengers—a stocky dwarf, his axe already wet with battle, an experienced high elf wielding a carbarum tomahawk, a valiant knight with his sword drawn, and the woman’s protector, standing firm despite his fear. The figure hissed, the glowing crimson in his eyes flaring with anger. He raised his blades, and the battle began. The dwarf charged first, his axe swinging in a wide arc. The cloaked figure parried, but the force sent him skidding back across the stone. The elf struck next, his tomahawk a blur of blue steel as it clashed against the cursed katanas. Blades flashed, sparks flew, and the ground beneath them trembled with the fury of their strikes. The knight advanced, his sword a gleaming wall of steel as he pressed the attack, while the woman’s protector darted in, his blade flashing like lightning. The figure traded blows with all of them, moving like a specter among the living. His screeches filled the night, the guttural sound of a soul lost to madness. Yet with each clash, the aurum burned deeper, its golden edge searing his very being. The crowd screamed and scattered, some rushing to tend to the wounded, others running in terror. But still, the figure fought on, his crimson eyes blazing with fury as he carved through his enemies. Blood stained the cobblestones, and the night air grew thick with the scent of death. But even the undead have their limits. The aurum blade seared through his flesh and bones, weakening the figure with every cut. His once-deadly strikes grew frantic, driven more by rage than precision. The stocky dwarf charged forward, pinning him to the ground, his hands grappling with the creature’s rotting neck, trying to sever its cranium from the decayed body. The woman’s protector, relentless, hurled aurum daggers that sank deep into the ghoul’s cursed flesh, each one sending a fresh screech of agony into the air. Above them, the woman herself raised her tomahawk high, its carbarum edge gleaming before it slammed down toward the figure’s skull. Yet even that was not enough. The knight, seeing his moment, delivered the final, crushing blow. His sword came down with the force of a mountain and the manner of a lumberjack, splitting the ghoul’s skull in two with a sickening crack. All of them knew that to end the lost samurai’s suffering—to truly put this wretched being to rest—they had to destroy its cranium. But even as his body failed him, his voice, twisted and full of hate, rang out across the square, as he limped to grasp onto the nearest stall and gaze at all the descendants. “Death to the mortals, death to Aevos, praised be the Kuruibi Horde!” With those final words, the cloaked figure crumpled to the ground, his skull shattered, his cursed blades clattering beside him. The battle was over, but the shadow he left behind lingered, a scar upon Celia'Nor that would not soon be forgotten. Yet both of his katanas, Kurui and Akahana, lay forgotten on the blood-soaked ground, their once-pristine blades now dulled and tarnished by the chaos of battle. The brave warriors, a knight and the elf, emboldened by victory, scavenged these filthy weapons from the battleground, claiming them as trophies of their triumph over the nightmarish ghoul. They marveled at the dark elegance of the blades, whispering tales of their legendary past, unaware of the darkness they had inadvertently inherited. But little did they know that these relics were not merely remnants of a defeated foe. They were vessels of vengeance, longing to be wielded once more by their true master. In the shadows, the figure’s soul lingered, a vengeful spirit forged anew by his hatred. One day, he would rise again, reclaiming what was lost and returning stronger than ever, ready to unleash his wrath upon those who dared to wield his power against him. The cycle of death and vengeance was far from over, and the warriors' triumph would soon be stained by the specter of his return. Praised be the Horde

Who We Are: Clan Emberhall is a newly-established dwarven clan, centered around fire, craftsmanship, knowledge, innovation, and invention, led by Clan Father Ragram Emberhall, a forest dwed, Primarch and an acting Thorn Warden of Hefrumm, craftsman, alchemist, fire voidal, chaotic-neutral, yadda, yadda. I'm looking for players to help form the legacy of the Emberhalls as we build our place in the world. Our Hold: Located near Hefrumm, the forest dwarven village, Clan Emberhall's quarters offer a sanctuary for inventors, scholars, and artisans. The same building also serves as the Garden of Creation, a space where great minds meet to collaborate on groundbreaking projects, arcane matters, or such; no matter the race, age or allegiance. Look for red roof n' a red flag near Hefrumm' farms, just by the crossroad towards Urguan. What We Offer: Be Part of the Foundation: Join now to help shape the direction and legacy of the clan. Flavorful Roleplay: Be it slice of life, drama, conflict, scheming, funnies, smithing or CRP - I do it all and pretty much just go with the flow; if you like to create storylines for other players, then even better! Looking For: Dwarves of All Backgrounds: Whether you’re planning to create a new persona or have an already established dwarf that wants to join a clan - you're in great hands! if you’re interested in helping establish a dynamic, lore-rich clan, the you're more than welcome. Ragram also potentially has a few brothers that were supposedly lost during the arrival of descendants to Aevos, if that sparks your interest. Creative Roleplayers: Bring your ideas and energy to help drive the clan’s roleplay and carve their roots in history - the floor is yours. Clan lore post: Contact: If you’re interested in joining or learning more, reach out in-game (Behindbush) or on Discord (behindbush_), so we can have a friendly chit-chat. You can also send Ragram Emberhall a letter, as there is an IRP parchment in the lore post as well. EMBRACE THE FLAME

In the remote reaches of his secluded lair, a dwarven alchemist, renowned for his expertise in metals and magical infusion, has unveiled a revolutionary set of new Warforging recipes. These new techniques extend beyond the mere enhancement of an item’s appearance, allowing the materials to resonate with their wielder or environment in a visual manner. After a second application of those warforging potions, the item might react to the user’s emotions, heartbeat, velocity, or grip strength, subtly reflecting their inner state. In the heat of battle, the warforged material may flicker with energy, pulse in rhythm with the wielder’s heart, or even emit faint sounds when conditions like a swift strike through the air are met, creating an almost living bond between the warrior and their weapon, providing aesthetic opportunities for those in need of personalized craft. General redlines: LIFEFORGING Life-Forged oil imbues metal with a vibrant, living quality. The treated surface glows with a faint, soft hue, as if intertwined with the essence of nature itself. Delicate vines and blossoms seem to grow along its surface, giving the item an organic, pulsating appearance. After a second application, the item responds to the wielder's heightened emotions or stress, pulsing in rhythm with their heartbeat. The flora-like features intensify, making the item appear more alive in moments of battle, its glow becoming brighter and more pronounced as adrenaline flows. Recipe: Base: Oil x1 Water: Life x3 Mundane: Growth x2 Mundane: Vitality x2 Redlines: WINDFORGING Wind-Forged oil gives metal the appearance of being constantly swept by an invisible breeze. The surface takes on a wind-swept texture, and faint swirls seem to shift just above it, like gusts of air caught in a perpetual dance. Upon a second application, wispy cloud formations begin to drift above the item’s surface, floating gently until the wielder moves. A firm grip or a swift strike causes these clouds to accelerate, as if carried by an unseen storm, making the weapon feel visually alive with the power of the wind itself. Recipe: Base: Oil x1 Air: Swiftness x2 Mundane: Life x3 Mundane: Vigour x2 Redlines: BLOODFORGING Blood-Forged concoction gives the metal an unsettling, lifelike appearance, as though it has been drenched in fresh blood. The surface darkens to a crimson hue, and faint veins seem to pulse just beneath the surface. When applied a second time, these veins become more pronounced, shifting and pulsing with the wielder’s own adrenaline. In moments of heightened tension, the veins appear to move, reacting to the wielder’s emotional state, giving the weapon an eerie sense of being alive, as though it thirsts for blood. Recipe: Base: Blood x1 Mundane: Vitality x3 Mundane: Fear x2 Mundane: Death x1 Redlines: SANDFORGING Sand-Forged oil gives the treated metal the appearance of ancient erosion, as though it has been battered by centuries of wind and sand. The surface becomes rough and pitted, with intricate swirling patterns etched into the metal. After a second application, these patterns begin to subtly shift when the item is moved, mimicking the flow of sand in the wind, giving the weapon an ancient, weathered appearance that echoes the desolation of the desert. Recipe: Base: Oil x1 Earth: Slowness x3 Mundane: Impediment x2 Mundane: Endurance x1 Redlines: Credits: Original lore post by @ronin_champloo:

A slight smile beamed on Ragram's face after obtaining the invitation, as he delved deeper to his workshop, preparing appropriate gifts for the love birds. "Wheeew, brudda's 'ettin laid at laast!" the dwed exclaimed with a cheerful whistle.

It was a quiet, cloudless night. The air was still, only the gentle breeze stirring, carrying with it a lone piece of parchment that fluttered down like a feather, dancing to the silent rhythm of the night. Suddenly, a sharp THWACK broke the tranquility as a thrown knife sliced through the air, pinning the delicate paper to a straw training dummy. The courtyard echoed with a furious roar. "May fire consume you, KINSLAYERS!" Ragram bellowed into the night, his voice laden with wrath. In an instant, the dummy, along with the impaled letter, was engulfed by a wild, roaring ball of flame. The blaze illuminated his seething expression, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. "You will ALL pay for THIS . . ." he growled through gritted teeth, the words dripping with venom. He turned sharply, his heavy boots pounding against the cobblestones as he stormed back towards his study. Crimson sparks flickered in his wake, dancing through the dark, as the last remnants of the sorrowful message crumbled into ashes, lost to the night. "All . . . will . . . pay . . ."

The moon hung heavy over the village of Hefrumm, its pale light flickering through the dense forest like the last gasps of a dying flame. A trail, once familiar and safe, now felt cursed, thick with a growing dread. The soft rustle of leaves gave way to an unnatural stillness, and from the shadows, two figures emerged like phantoms. The first was a necromancer, his robes frayed and dark as the deepest cavern. Humming with decay, tendrils of sickly energy seeping from his fingers. Beside him, a far more twisted figure strode—a ghoul, clad in tattered coat, once a warrior of a prideful Oyashiman family, now a husk of twisted malice. His hollow eyes, burning with a malevolent crimson light, fixed upon the helpless forest dwarf they dragged through the dirt. The dwarf’s cries echoed through the still night, but no answer came. The village slumbered, unaware of the doom unfolding at its doorstep. As the ghoul tightened his grip on the dwarf’s chains, the necromancer’s voice, a hiss of corruption, filled the air, marking his prey. The ground beneath them churned, and with a final glance back at his village, the dwarf was swallowed by the mist, stolen into the darkness by forces far older and far fouler than any in the dwarven realm had ever known. Far beneath the stone-carved citadel of Urguan, the dwarves prepared for battle, though they could not have known the true horror that awaited them. Within the grand halls, where the legacy of the dwarves was etched into every stone, two warriors stood ready. A templar coated in blue, and a clan father of the Frostbeards. A cloaked ghoul was spotted merely at the capitol entrance, slipping through the sleeping gatekeepers, as he defiled Urguani halls with it’s stench and spilled descendant blood; an offering, a sacrifice adorned with bloody-red petals scattered across the cold floor. The air grew thick with the smell of decay, a ghoulish stench that clung to the stone like a disease. Without a word, the ghoul moved, his blade flashing in the dim light as he met the dwarves in deadly combat. The priest’s prayers echoed off the walls, his holy light cutting through the corruption with ease, yet the ghoul was relentless. His movements were precise, a grim dance of death honed over centuries of war. The Frostbeard’s blade struck true, yet the ghoul endured, till he faltered under his shield; as his skull was smashed to pieces and his body adorned with silvery flames, as it exuded final screeches from it’s dimly light maw. The halls of Urguan, once filled with dwarven pride and strength, now lay in eerie silence, the scent of rot and spilled blood hanging heavy in the air. Even with the dead of the filthy creature, it was certain that it was merely a pawn of a much… much grander plan. Far below, in the deepest tunnels, darkspawn stirred. The necromancer’s work had only begun. In the forgotten depths where no descendant dared to tread, corpses twisted and writhed, clawing their way from their shackles. Ghouls, once proud warriors entombed with honor, now rose as slaves to the necromancer’s will, their eyes hollow and lifeless. The kingdom of Urguan, proud and ancient, was becoming a tomb of its own. Whispers of old curses filled the taverns, while the mountain itself seemed to shudder under the weight of something foul and ancient. Urguan’s once-mighty halls now faced an enemy not of steel and fire, but of rot and death, an unholy war that no sword could cut trough. The dwarves, brave as they were, could feel the shadow creeping upon them—the shadow of an impending darkness that pulled the strings. The forges grew cold, the mines silent, and the dead restless. For in the heart of Urguan, beneath the stone and steel, death itself had come to call within their lands. Praised be the Horde

Ragram clicked his tongue, a mocking smirk curling on his lips as he read the news handed to him "Ah, es dat so?" He muttered, his eyes flashing with a crimson impulse. The edges of the paper began to smolder under his fingers "So tha 'kengdom' es finally crumblin'..." Dwed chuckled as the parchment fully ignited, leaving only drifting embers in the wind "Who would’ve thoug't . . ."

A Legacy Forged in Fire In the secluded forests of southern Aevos, where the earth itself seems to hum with a deep, ancient power, the Emberhall Clan was born in flames of battle and despair. The clan’s origins are as intertwined with the elements as the roots of the mighty trees that tower above their lands. From the very beginning, the Emberhalls were known as artisans of the highest order, their hands skilled in both wood and metal, their minds sharp with the pursuit of knowledge and their hearts aflame with the devotion to the Brathmordakin. Ragram Emberhall, the founder of the clan, was a dwarf marked by both loss and resilience. After the tranquil settlement of Everbloom, where he was born, was burned to the ground by the encroaching elves of Almaris, Ragram was left alone. His brothers had been lost to the wilds, and his mother, Vigdis, had succumbed to illness. It was in the depths of his grief and solitude that Ragram found the strength to forge a new path – a path that would give rise to the Emberhall Clan. The Spirit of Fire and Stone At the heart of the Emberhall Clan lies an unyielding dedication to craftsmanship. To the Emberhalls, creation is more than a trade; it is a sacred act, a way to connect with Yemekar, the Forge Father, and to bring order to the chaos of the world. Every tool, every weapon, every concoction, and every artifact that emerges from their halls is a testament to their belief in the transformative power of fire and stone. Their most renowned works are the molten crafts – objects forged in the searing heat of lava that courses beneath their homeland. These items, be they weapons or tools, are more than mere objects; they are infused with the very essence of the earth, and are said to hold the strength and durability of the mountains themselves. The Emberhalls believe that this process mirrors the journey of life – a raw, unformed potential, shaped and tempered through trials into something strong and enduring. The Living Legacy of the Forest While the Emberhalls are also masters of metal, their reverence for the living world is perhaps most evident in their woodworking. The ancient forests that surround their homes are sacred to them, and they have long understood the secrets of the trees. To fell a tree is not an act of destruction, but a communion with the spirit of the forest, and the Emberhalls take great care to honor the wood they work with. Their carvings are intricate and full of life, from towering totems that tell the stories of their ancestors to delicate pieces that capture the fleeting beauty of nature. Each work of wood is a preservation of the forest’s spirit, a reminder that even in death, there is life. The forests, in turn, provide the Clan with the materials they need to continue their craft, a symbiotic relationship that has sustained them for generations. Philosophy and Knowledge The Emberhall Clan is not just a clan of craftsmen; they are also thinkers, philosophers, and seekers of knowledge. Within their halls, the air is often filled with the sounds of debate and discussion, where the clan’s finest minds explore the mysteries of the universe, arcane and the nature of their craft. The Clan believes that true mastery of their work requires an understanding of the world around them, and they pursue this knowledge with the same fervor that they bring to their forges. This intellectual rigor has made the Emberhalls pioneers in many fields, from metallurgy, through woodworking, to arcane studies. They are constantly pushing the boundaries of what is possible, always seeking to improve and refine their techniques. But this pursuit of knowledge is not done in isolation; the Emberhalls are known for their openness to learning from others, regardless of their background, race or origin. This has made them respected allies and wise counselors, sought after by many for their insights and expertise. The Brathmordakin – Emberhall Creed Central to the Emberhall way of life is their unwavering dedication to the Brathmordakin, the dwarven pantheon of gods. Yemekar, the Great Smith, is revered above all, for it is through his teachings that the Emberhalls have learned to shape the world around them. But they also honor Anbella, the Hearth Mother, whose spirit resides in the forests they so deeply respect; Armakak, whose blessing of coin, trade and prosperity pushes them to even greater heights; as well as Ogradhad, the Lore Keeper, whose thirst for knowledge mirrors their own. The Emberhalls view their craftsmanship as an extension of their faith. Each creation is a tribute to the Brathmordakin, a way to bring a piece of the divine into the mortal world. This spiritual connection is what drives them to strive for perfection in all that they do, for to create is to honor the gods, and to do so poorly would be a sacrilege. Unity in Neutrality For the Emberhall Clan, strength lies in unity. They believe that a community is only as strong as the bonds that hold it together, and they work tirelessly to ensure that these bonds remain unbroken. This belief in the power of togetherness is reflected in their neutrality during conflicts. The Emberhalls prefer to mediate rather than take sides, understanding the devastating consequences of division. However, when the safety of their people or the balance of the world is at stake, they do not hesitate to take action, guided by a strong moral compass and a deep sense of duty. Despite their neutrality, the Emberhalls are fierce protectors of their own. The warriors of the clan are trained with the same care and precision that they bring to their craftsmanship. Combat, to them, is another form of creation – one that requires discipline, purpose, and a steady hand. Their warriors follow a strict code of honor, using their strength to protect the innocent and uphold justice, ensuring that the fires of their forges never go cold. The Flame That Endures Throughout the ages, the Clan has faced countless challenges. From the loss of their ancestral home in Everbloom to the trials of living in an ever-changing world of Aevos, they have always emerged stronger. Their resilience is a testament to their unwavering dedication to their craft, their faith, and their kin. Even in the darkest times, the Emberhalls have found ways to channel their pain into their work, creating masterpieces that tell the story of their struggles and triumphs. As they look to the future, the Emberhalls remain committed to preserving their legacy. They continue to build upon the foundations laid by Ragram and his ancestors, ensuring that the flame of their spirit will never be extinguished. With each new creation, each new discovery, they honor the past while forging a path forward, ever mindful of the responsibility they carry as the keepers of their clan’s enduring flame. The Emberhall Clan is more than a family; they are the embodiment of the eternal fire that burns within every dwarf, a reminder that through dedication, skill, and faith, anything is possible. A Call to the Lost and the Lonely As Ragram gazed into the heart of the forest, he knew that his journey is far from over. The Emberhall Clan is reborn, but its halls are still empty, its forges quiet. He calls out to those who wander, lost and alone, just as he once was. To the dwarves scattered across Aevos, to the craftsmen and warriors, the philosophers and seekers of truth – there is a place for you here, among the Embers. [!] A parchments would be pinned to books that include Clan's legacy, as well as to various notice boards around dwedmar lands [!] The scorched parchment was adorned with intricate crimson patterns, intertwining with white threads, a scrappy stamp was placed on the right bottom, just under the writer’s signature. “Together, we will carve a new legacy, not in stone, but in the living wood of the forest and the molten fire of the forge. Together, we will ensure that the name Emberhall is not just remembered, but revered, as a symbol of resilience, knowledge, and the enduring spirit of the dwarves. Join us, and let us reignite the flames of our forefathers. The Clan stands ready to welcome you home, kindred spirit.” – Ragram Emberhall

Pallo is holding a gun at my temple, I'm cornered, gotta comment... +1

Restructurization In the heart of the verdant forest of Aevos, on the lands of Grand Kingdom of Urguan - lies Hefrumm, the tribal confederation of forest dwarves. For centuries, they lived in harmony with nature, guided by ancient traditions and a deep connection to the land. However, as the world around them grew more perilous, with the darkspawn lurking around every corner and other nations jumping to their throats, the village’s protectors became insufficient, and the ways of defense crumbled under the weight of growing threats. In the face of these mounting dangers, the council of Hefrumm recognized the need for a stronger, more structured force to safeguard their people. Thus, the Thorns of Hefrumm were reborn - a restructured and revitalized militia, built upon the remnants of the village’s former Bears, but now imbued with a newfound purpose and ferocity, to provide safety to their sacred lands. Founding The Thorns of Hefrumm were founded on the principles of resilience and protection. Their name, inspired by the sharp, unforgiving thorns that guard the sacred groves of the forest, symbolizes the unyielding defense they vow to provide. The founding ceremony, held under the ancient canopy of the Elder Tree, was a momentous occasion, marked by the blessing of the Brathmordakin and the swearing of oaths before the spirits of the ancestors, before departing on the first hunt. The reformation of the Thorns was not just a matter of necessity but also one of unity and return to ancient tradition. It brought together the finest warriors, scouts, seers, and druids of Hefrumm, forging them into a cohesive force dedicated to the survival and prosperity of the village. The Thorns quickly became a symbol of hope and strength, their presence a reassurance that Hefrumm would stand tall against any foe. Ancient Origins The past of the Thorns is filled with myth and legend, originating from a time when writing was not yet a common sight in Hefrumm. The original Thorns dated back to the times of Atlas, back in an age when the dwarves lived in different holds due to the fall of the old Kingdom of Urguan at the hands of the Kingdom of Kaz’Ulrah. It was in this time of dwarven holds that Hefrumm was created and joined the Confederation of Hammers. In this Confederation Hefrumm formed its own militia to protect itself from incursions from the Kingdom of Kaz’Ulrah and its orc allies. Even after the recreation of the Grand Kingdom of Urguan the thorns remained. Later on the Constitution of Hefrumm stated in its Article VII that Hefrumm is allowed to create militant institutions if its chiefs deem fit for it to be needed to guard and safeguard Hefrumm. But that all military groups formed in Hefrumm will be subordinate to the Legion for as long as the Grand Kingdom of Urguan existed. Despite attempts to integrate them fully into the Legion of Urguan, it never came to be. Serving in all its history strictly as a Hefrumm militia. Eventually, during times of peace in late Arcas the Thorns vanished as an institution. Eventually, under High Chief Garadyn the Green the Bears of Anbella were created facing out the ancient order. However, the Bears of Anbella never filled the role of the Thorns, serving more as a police force of the law rather than a military force. This was done with the intention of protecting forest dwarves from harassment of foreigners coming into the village, rather than for waging battle against the enemies of Hefrumm. Initiation Trial To join the Thorns of Hefrumm is to embark on a journey that tests the very essence of a dwarf. The initiation trial, known as the "Path of the Thorn" is a grueling rite of passage that pushes candidates to their limits, both physically and mentally. It is said that only those with the heart of the forest and the spirit of the mountain can endure the trial. The Path of the Thorn begins with a trek through the deepest, darkest parts of the forest, where candidates must survive on their wits and instincts alone. Along the way, they face challenges that test their strength, agility, and knowledge of the land. From battling fierce forest creatures to deciphering ancient runes, each trial is designed to hone the skills necessary to protect Hefrumm. Those who emerge victorious from the Path of the Thorn are not just warriors - they are the living embodiment of Hefrumm’s indomitable spirit, ready to defend their home with unwavering loyalty. Code of the Thorn The Thorns of Hefrumm are governed by a strict code, a set of guiding principles that shape their conduct and decisions. These rules are more than just guidelines; they are the very essence of what it means to be a Thorn. I. Protect the Forest: The forest is sacred, and its defense is paramount. A Thorn must be willing to lay down their life to protect the natural world that sustains Forest Dwed heritage. II. Honor the Ancestors: The spirits of the ancestors watch over Hefrumm, and their wisdom guides the Thorns. Every action taken by a Thorn must honor their memory and uphold their legacy. III. Unity Above All: The strength of the Thorns lies in their unity. A Thorn must never act selfishly, or in a way that endangers their comrades or the village as a whole. IV. Adapt and Overcome: The world is ever-changing, and so must be a Thorn. Flexibility and resourcefulness are key to overcoming the challenges that arise. V. Courage in Adversity: Fear is a natural part of life, but a Thorn must never let it control them. Courage is the greatest weapon in the face of adversity. Structure The Thorns of Hefrumm are organized into a clear hierarchy, ensuring that every member knows their role and can act swiftly and effectively in times of crisis. The pyramid of command is composed of five distinct roles, each vital to the militia’s success. 1. The Root Warden At the top of the pyramid stands the Root Warden, the supreme commander of the Thorns. This leader is chosen for their wisdom, experience, and deep connection to the forest. The Rootwarden makes the final decisions and guides the overall strategy of the militia. 2. The Branch Masters Directly beneath the Root Warden are the Branch Masters, seasoned warriors who command smaller units within the Thorns. Each Branch Master would eventually be responsible for a specific group, taking care of their training and coordination. 3. The Thorn Cloaks The Thorncloaks are the elite fighters of the Thorns, chosen for their exceptional skill and unwavering dedication. They serve as the personal guard of the High Chief, Seers, as well as the Root Warden and are deployed in the most critical missions. 4. The Thorn Watch The Thorn Watch is the core of Hefrumm’s militia. These fine warriors already have shown their resolve, passing the initiation successfully under the watchful eye of a higher ranked member, showcasing their lion heart and dedication to protect their lands. 5. The Thornlings At the base of the pyramid are the Thornlings, the newest recruits who are yet to complete the Path of the Thorn. Though they are still learning the ways of the unit, they are no less important, for they are the future of Hefrumm’s defense. The Thorns of Hefrumm stand as a testament to the resilience and determination of the forest dwarves. They are the shield that will guard the sacred grove and the sword that strikes down those who would harm the village. With their roots deeply entwined with the land, the Thorns will continue to protect Hefrumm for generations to come.

[!] A parchment of fine make, its edges kissed by flame and adorned with intricate, charred patterns, drifts through the realms of Aevos, carried aloft by a mysterious flock of jet-black crows. These dark-winged messengers deliver the missive to those whose minds are keen and whose hands are skilled—scholars, sages, and masters of the arcane arts. The script upon the parchment, penned in a flowing hand, reads as follows: To the revered keepers of knowledge, I, Ragram Emberhall, Scholar of Hefrumm and humble dweller of the forest dwed village, seek the counsel and tutelage of those well-versed in the ancient and wondrous craft of Animatii. It is my fervent desire to expand my understanding of this arcane discipline and to explore the depths of its remarkable potential. If my humble request stirs your curiosity or resonates with your spirit, I invite you to join me in a discussion of terms and possibilities. Together, we may unlock the mysteries of this art and weave new wonders into the fabric of our world. May wisdom guide our paths. — Ragram Emberhall [!] The crows, their purpose fulfilled, vanish into the twilight skies, leaving behind the scent of woodsmoke and the promise of knowledge yet to be uncovered.

Ragram studied the decree, his brows furrowed in deep thought as he considered the implications. "Hmmh, looks loike et's time te take matters ento our own 'ands" he declared, pinning the message back onto the board. With a resolute nod, he continued on with his day, a cheerful whistle escaping his lips.