View Full Version : Of Living Rock And Liviol
From Voluspo (http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/poe/poe03.htm), part of The Poetic Edda
Then from the throng did three come forth,
From the home of the gods, the mighty and gracious;
Two without fate on the land they found,
Ask and Embla, empty of might.
Soul they had not, sense they had not,
Heat nor motion, nor goodly hue;
Soul gave Othin, sense gave Hönir,
Heat gave Lothur and goodly hue.
An ash I know, Yggdrasil its name.
With water white, is the great tree wet,
Thence come the dews, that fall in the dales,
Green by Urth's well, does it ever grow.
O (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q32GujU0luI)f Living Rock and Liviol
http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mbc8m0Z52V1qlnu3lo1_400.jpg
Diplomacy was lost on Dalasi Yrene. The idea of talking your way out of a fight stood against everything he held dear. He was born to be a soldier, destined to lead. Swords, strength, and valour were his weapons, not syllables and semaphores.
“Someday, you will be the death of me,” he remarked to his brother.
Cydnar Yrene, a born historian, not a soldier, looked up from his book. He rolled his eyes in a non-chalant manner. Every turn of the wagon’s wheel had caused Dalasi discomfort. His temperament soured the further they travelled into the mountains.
“I do not see how an afternoon in the company of dwarves could ever lay you low.”
“Dwarves,” Dalasi hissed. “You know how I feel about them.”
“All too well I fear. This will not be a repeat of the incident with the gnome (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?23951-United-By-A-Cold-Desire-(Closed)&highlight=dawnbringers).” Cydnar restrained a chuckle.
“That is not what I am afraid of,” Dalasi snapped. He turned to look out into the wilds of Alerar. The barren and hostile land distracted him from his frustrations.
Cydnar let out a long, wistful sigh.
“Then enlighten me?” If his brother had doubts, it would be best to have them aired long before they arrived in Kachuk. Once they arrived, there would be no abating diplomacy’s ardour. There would be o contained the swordsman’s hot-headedness, and all rested on their playing their part.
“I do not see what an allegiance with the dwarves can achieve.”
It was a fair concern. For centuries, the Hummel had remained viciously isolationist. Their place in the world was to defend, hidden and unseen, the people of the surface. They never got glory. They never got praise. They never got credence in the tomes of history. It was how it had always been.
“The materials they can procure are beyond the reach of our geomancers.” Admission of fault seldom won Cydnar battles, but here, it defeated Dalasi with ease.
“You have yet to tell me what we are going to do with it.” He looked back into the cabin, Fae eyes glinting with mystery.
“You never asked.” Cydnar put the book down upturned, but on the correct page to return to later. “I seek to reforge the Timberlake Blade.”
“Could you not have trusted me with that information sooner?” Dalasi bemoaned.
Cydnar nodded. “I could, but I am certain you would have talked me out of the methodology used to achieve our goal. I promise I will be more forthcoming in the coming months.”
“I will hold you to that,” Dalasi scoffed. He had heard false promises born of Cydnar’s station too many times.
He looked out the window in silence, realising they were far from home now, and further still from ever being at peace. The grass plains and woodland thickets had vanished leagues ago, and now only jagged rock and crumbling spires welcomed them to the dwarven heartland.
“Dalasi, we have clung to the old ways too long…”
“The ways of Yrene,” Dalasi seethed. The swordsman looked at Cydnar with fire in his eyes.
“Such ways no longer guarantee our survival,” Cydnar clarified.
“We’ve only ourselves to blame for that,” Dalasi reminded.
The Hummel’s fall from grace was due to their pride. When Xem’Zund ravaged Raiaera, they deemed themselves it’s saviour. Their armies had fought the death lord hosts. Their kin had fought alongside humankind’s unlikely heroes (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?20244-MQ-Dawnbringers&highlight=Dawnbringers). In the heat of the moment, their Thayne gave his life to end the Corpse War. That sacrifice had put the ways and virtues of the Hummel to the sword, as well as its faith.
“I will make you a promise, brother.” Cydnar picked up his book, closed it reluctantly, and tucked it into his satchel. He strapped it shut, set it to the floor, and adjusted himself on his seat.
“I am all ears,” the soldier erred. He rested his hands on his lap.
“You will wield the Timberlake Blade.”
The wagon came to a trundling halt as it came about. The duo began to make themselves presentable after a day’s travel from Ettermire. The smog of Alerar’s industrial heart had done little for their already umbrae complexion.
“I will hold you to that as well,” Dalasi said, donning his hirsute demi-cloak. He ran his hair behind his ears, checked his face in a pocket mirror, and tightened the straps of his scabbard. The bastard sword slumbered peacefully, calling from its dreams to be drawn.
Cydnar wore the black and grey robes of mourning, attire usually reserved for state funerals. They symbolised the death of the Hummel state itself, reborn anew as something entirely more wholesome, purposeful, and without restraint. He wore simple jewellery on his wrist, nothing more than bands of silver. They mirrored his snow-white har.
“When we meet the Mountain King, do not mention the Umber Hulks (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?24884-The-White-Tree-Wilding-(Solo)/page2&highlight=Semantics+of+Sundering),” Cydnar reminded. He doubted the Mountain King would welcome the news. The undead, Forgotten Ones and airships were enemies enough for one culture to contend.
“Brother, diplomacy is your gift. I would never deny you such pleasures,” he promised, with a wicked smile.
“I was afraid you would say that,” he lamented. “Gloat all you like, but when the sword that forged out people’s place in the Underdark is yours and the Hummel call you Southswain (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?21829-The-Semantics-Of-Sundering-(Solo)&highlight=Semantics+of+Sundering)…,” he trailed off.
He stood the moment the wagon stopped moving, and stepped out into winter’s first evening. Dalasi, pensive, stepped out behind him.
The Under City, Hall of the Mountain King. It was the hidden gemstone of Alerar. It was more legend, than throne room, and unfortunately, for the Yrene brothers, no elf ever saw it and lived to recount its beauty. The entrance to the cavernous city of Kachuk-di, called the Croft in common, was as close as they would get to the king.
“Oh my…,” Cydnar muttered. He closed the wagon door with one hand, and stared upwards in amazement.
They stood at the bottom of stairs several hundred feet high. On either side of the Croft, statues stood in vigil. Each was a dwarf as large as the tallest of the Black Palace’s sceptre towers. They had been carved from the mountain’s bedrock, as had the Croft, and the stone steps that would take them inside were polished smooth and jet-black. This was the heart of Alerar shaped to match the heart of its true people.
“Brothers Yrene,” proclaimed a voice.
Dalasi stepped forwards and bowed. He waited with arms folded for the ambling descend to descend the final feet. He approached, wind behind him, and hirsute features forced into a smile. Dalasi’s enmity to dwarves matched by the dwarven enmity to Dalasi.
“I am Unbar, the Envoy of the King.” He crossed the rubble to meet them and shook both their hands.
“I am Dalasi, and this is the High Salthias, Lord Yrene” he gestured to Cydnar.
“I prefer Cydnar,” he retorted, trying to appear meek and humble.
“Nonsense!” Unbar half-roared. He waved his arms exuberantly. He pointed up the stairs and began to climb back up the slope, leaving the elves staring at one another.
“Allow him this small moment,” Cydnar whispered, recognising obedience and a sense of duty in the dwarf that he, when he had been a mere squire, found intoxicating.
“I am not going to enjoy this…,” Dalasi grumbled. He bit his lip, but fell into line. He was fond of Cydnar, above all over elves and kin, but he was an equal in Hummel culture, not a servant to titles and idolatry.
“Before such noble vestiges of dwarven might, how could this not be a pleasure?” he said aloud, scuttling after their host with silent footsteps. His spider silk boots made light work of the arid ground, and his lithe form sprinted up the steps with ease.
“Aye…,” Unbar mumbled. His expression told Cydnar the dwarf had this conversation on a daily basis. “They are Unger, and Dura,” he pointed left and right respectively.
“Forgive my ignorance Unbar. I know little of the Kachuk dwarves.” He nodded solemnly, which Unbar caught, and appreciated. He pointed to the right, at the more waifish statue.
“Dura, the first, and last, female Mountain Ki-, sorry, Queen.”
“The last?” Cydnar pressed, eyebrow raised. He seldom heard of gender bias in the cultures of the surface. That said, he had yet to recognise the difference between the respective genders. They appeared much the like.
“Kachuk was in uproar for a decade, such was the taboo before she drove the Death Lord Syllabi from our walls.”
Cydnar’s eyes widened. He had fought in the Ghoul Glades (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?19948-Of-Shadows-And-Dust-(Task-Vs-Cydnar)&highlight=), where his love had died, and days before the siege took place. They had tempered the host’s attempts to summon a demon from the days of the Mylar.
“That is a mighty feat. Why was she not worthy of the Stone?”
“Unger, who succeeded her, did not think as much of her as you.” He pointed to the left statue dismissively.
Cydnar looked up at the King’s face. It was bleak, rugged, and tormented. He was more the dwarf Cydnar had come to expect. He was more akin to the dwarves he met in Salvar, Scara Brae, and Raiera. They were a hardy people, scattered to the winds after their civilisation collapsed. Kachuk was their last true bastion on Althanas, as Ict was for the Hummel.
“I understand,” he reflected. Political ideals had driven daggers into king’s backs and usurped queens from rightful thrones countless times throughout history.
“Then why the statue?” Dalasi asked. He remained a few steps behind, as was custom. He held his hands in the small of his back to caress his blade’s edge. He kept war close, to be at peace with diplomacy.
“Despite Unger’s backwards ways,” he glared at Dalasi, as if to suggest discretion was advised, “many people in Kachuk could not simply forget the dwarf who had slain the Death Lord herself. The axe which she wielded on that grim day still hangs above the Stone, where it shall do, until the stone that shields and births us crumbles.”
At that, Dalasi had to smile. He was pleased such bigotry did not seep into the general populace. That said, he started to understand why it was Unbar they were talking to, instead of the King. After centuries of armies and tyrants coming to Kachuk’s walls, to raid their halls of gold and precious relics, they had become as wary as the Hummel, and just as guarded.
The party came at last to the steppe. Archways leading into the mountainside invited them in. Each of the pillars that separated the portals from the feasting hall beyond were three hundred feet tall, twenty feet thick, and covered in grudges, triumphs, and tribulations. They symbolised the three pillars of dwarven culture. They were honour, stone, and resilience.
“How are we to proceed with negotiations?” Dalasi asked. “My brother may get side-tracked by the ‘ambience,” he forewarned with ample sarcasm.
“If Lord Yrene wishes to explore the hall, its tapestries, murals, and oath speakers, then he is free to do so after we have drafted our charter.” Unbar pointed through the archways.
“After you, ser,” Dalasi bowed.
Unbar continued inside, heavy boots carelessly wearing another year from the glistening floor. Outside, the steps were one great carving, but inside care had gone into the architecture, design, and appearance. It was a remarkable achievement; given it was all granite and slate.
“You should begin with the nature of your request. The High King is eager to learn of your reasons for wanting that particular item.”
Cydnar considered his reply as they entered the hall. The roof obfuscated by smoke, lost in darkness high above their heads. It was a thousand feet deep, and several thousand feet long, stretching far to the left and right. A long table ran the length of the hall. It was heaving with visitors, citizens, and tradesmen.
“The Hummel are potent geomancers,” he began, following Unbar as he led them to a quieter part of the table. It was free of occupants, cleaned of grime, empty tankards, and spoiling food. “We can dig into the earth far deeper than conventional mining, but our smiths have long forgotten how to work with even basic metals.”
The Hummel, in their exile, had turned to crystal to forge. Cydnar’s hauberk, and blades, were made of a material the dwarves scorned, too reliant on the virtues of steel and the might of mithril to see otherwise.
“An unfortunate exchange,” Unbar said sombrely. He gestured at the table, offering two adjacent spaces on the bar bench to the elves. “Understandable, given the environment you inhabit.”
Cydnar was certain the comment was not malicious, but as their guide mounted the table, and made to sit opposite over thirty feet of oak, he dwelt on the relationship between their people and how it came about. He smirked. He and Unbar were both children of the Under Dark, but unlike Unbar, Cydnar wished to flee the paternal nest.
Cydnar frowned. He rested his palms flat against the table. He was certain their discussion would be brief, so he had little time in which to impress the burger, and in turn, the Mountain King.
“The Hummel find it necessary to relocate to the surface.”
This surprised Unbar. Whilst he was one of the few dwarves of Kachuk, alongside the traders and servants of the Croft, he was only ever ‘at home’ beneath the mountain. The Croft was, to him, a burden he had to bear in his duties to the Stone.
“A strange notion,” he contemplated.
“Our home, unlike Kachuk, has not proven unassailable.” There was sobriety in his statement.
Unbar produced a dossier from his endless pockets and set it onto the table. Between quill flicks, he nodded, listening to the same story he had likely heard a hundred times. He penned the elven names, and the dwarven, for all three of them whilst Cydnar continued.
“The Haematite we use to arm ourselves, to build, and to better our defences requires constant repair. Repair, suffice to say, we will not be able to maintain outside of the crystal geodes of our cities.” Without crystal, they would be better off naked, fighting in the moonlight, and dancing in the scourging sun.
“You seek simple weaponry, then?” the burger piped up, seeing an opportunity to turn their historical reminiscing into his true enjoyment – brokering a deal.
Dalasi took his cue, and set a small crystal sphere onto the table. It rolled chaotically into a recess. Its violet form shone with its own light.
“We seek means to finish smithing one weapon in particular,” the captain revealed. He turned to Cydnar.
“In Hummellian, it is called Islathain. In common, the Timberlake blade. It was forged in the first age of our people.” Islathain meant ‘ice heart’. It represented the cold and uncaring way in which the progenitor races of the Hummel treated their offspring.
Unbar tried not to seem disrespectful.
“That is a weapon?” he half-spat.
Cydnar shook his head. He reached for the orb with a slender finger, and touched it gently. The enchantment placed upon it called the aforementioned sword. He leant back. Unbar, suddenly worried, did the same.
With a flash of magnesium light, and turquoise glow, the Timberlake Blade manifested on the table. Its shimmering blade the only colour in a barren chamber. Every pair of eyes in the hall fell upon it.
Unbar was not sure how to proceed. He resorted to habit, and finalised the basic information on the parchment. When finished, he turned it one hundred and eighty degrees, and slid it forwards enough for Cydnar to claim it on his side of the table.
“The Mountain King was curious to know why you requested living rock,” he frowned.
Living Rock, or liquid Liviol, was a porous and fossilised Liviol tree. They were immeasurably rare, thought extinct, and prized amongst the elves for the rock’s curious property. With little effort, it became liquid and set as hard as adamantine in a day, not months. Its ability to carry magic, as is the case with true Liviol, made it ideal for forging axes worthy of kings.
“It, when combined with the properties of this sword, will allow us to grow replicas of the blade. It will help us make Haematite more durable.” Islathain was the Father sword for all the blades and hauberks of the Hummel.
“In turn, Kachuk would receive?” Unbar was tiring of the constant history lesson. Unlike Cydnar, and perhaps more like Dalasi, he liked to cut to the chase. Once they signed and agreed upon the charter, he could return to the Mountain King’s Hall and find peace once more. At least until the next envoy came calling.
“In our communication, we offered any precious metals you were no longer able to procure in the veins of this mountain.” Cydnar had offered the dwarves of Kachuk anything they desired. The Hummel could find it easily enough, but most metals were worthless to them.
Unbar looked casually around the hall, and took in the ancient stone and crumbling statues long forgotten. The older ones were of kings even he could not name. Some were missing heads, many missed limbs. Despite many newer statues standing proudly in the hall, too many had crumbled to dust. This charter, perhaps, could bring life anew to the Croft.
“The Mountain King, and the Consulate of Miners, have become increasingly greedy for mithril.” The delivery of this requirement appeared to be less authority and detailed than Unbars superiors might have liked. Cydnar appreciated his candidness.
“We have discovered deposits (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?23951-United-By-A-Cold-Desire-(Closed)&p=194283&viewfull=1#post194283) in Salvar, beneath the border with Berevar.” Dalasi relied on his astute military mind to keep track of the whereabouts of his tactical units.
Cydnar nodded and picked up the quill.
Unbar smiled. “Two tons of mithril for the amount of Liviol requested. Two additional tons for each full moon to pass until year’s end will bring us to the second part of your request.” Unbar held the cards now.
Cydnar raised an eyebrow. “Smiths to teach us to fold steel?” he asked hopefully.
“The Norland brothers have done respectable work, from your account of their exploits.”
Cydnar chuckled. “Yes, they are quite the duo, Nalin and Bazzak (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?23951-United-By-A-Cold-Desire-(Closed)&p=194277&viewfull=1#post194277).”
“Each month a trio of our best steel smiths resides in Ict, you will provide the quoted amount of mithril. Until such a time comes as you wish to alter that agreement, or you no longer need them to teach your smiths the relevant skills, will this be agreeable?” Unbar smiled warmly. The crackling of logs in hearths and low chatter filled the hall, covering the tension, and the trivialities of the bartering table.
“My respect to you, Unbar. You have quite the way with this bazaar of stone,” Cydnar commended.
He signed the charter without hesitation, and passed it to Dalasi. Whilst the swordsman signed his own name, Cydnar reached for the Timberlake sword. With a tap, it vanished unceremoniously.
“I have been the Burger to the High King longer than I can remember.”
“I have no doubt, ser, no doubt.”
Dalasi returned the charter to Unbar, who undersigned their scrawl with a stoic, runic print. He rolled it up, slipped it into his chainmail, and made to stand. Before he could, Cydnar and Dalasi stood to attention. Unbar rolled his eyes.
“There is no need, Lord Yrene. I am merely the ears of the High King, not the Stone Father himself.”
“As good as, to us,” Dalasi flattered.
He stepped away from the table, ignored the stares, and turned his attentions to the medley of exchanges in the hall. Furs for meat, diamonds for coal, and weapons for wives and kitchen wenches. Despite Kachuk’s isolationism, it receive everything from the outside world it could not provide for itself. Dalasi had to admire their tenacity, even if he could not understand it.
“How will the mithril be delivered?”
Cydnar pointed to the sphere.
“That is a Vorpal stone. It acts as a one-way portal from Ict, to Kachuk. Only the High King himself can activate it, so it is up to his judgement wherever or not we can be trusted.” Cydnar passed Unbar a sheet of instructions.
He drove his hands into his sleeves and jumped from toe to toe. Despite the fires, the hall was cooling as darkness descended and winter’s kiss froze the jagged peaks.
Unbar scanned it.
“Very well. I will deliver this to the Mountain King. We shall expect the shipment on the harvest moon…,” he narrowed his gaze at the page, and then looked up inquisitively at the elves, “Correct?”
Cydnar nodded. Dalasi acquiesced to finally fall silent, and stood behind his brother, eyes averted from their host. Unbar set the scroll on the table, and gestured out into the evening air.
“Then if it is all the same to you ser,” he nodded at Dalasi. “Lord Yrene, the Liviol will be sent to the wagon shortly.” He bowed. “Now I bid you farewell.”
Cydnar and Dalasi bowed at the knee, and then drew a serpentine sigil in the air – a blessing of their Thayne.
“Farewell, Unbar, and thank you.”
Unbar grunted dismissively. He walked away towards a trio of guards in golden armour. Each brandished axes that could shatter cliffs, and carried beards that could deflect cannon balls.
“You may explore the halls if you wish, to take in our ‘history’, as you’d put it,” he shouted as a departing offer.
Cydnar turned to Dalasi excitedly.
“Only if I can see that orc about his barrel of wine…,” he spat. He had been eyeing up the merchant ever since he had signed his line of the charter.
Cydnar was away before Dalasi could scold him, leaving the soldier on the path to a celebratory drink. It would be the first toast of many for what he hoped would be a prosperous future for the Hummel.
Enigmatic Immortal
12-14-13, 01:18 PM
Thread Title: Of Living Rock And Liviol (http://www.althanas.com/)
Judgment Type: Quick Judgment, Little Commentary (As agreed upon by user)
Participants: Dalasi
Plot: 21/30
Story- 6/10
Setting- 8/10
Pacing- 7/10
Character: 20/30
Communication- 7/10
You had a strong sense of the dialogue in each action the characters of your story portrayed. It never felt flat and while at times confusing, that’s not due to a lack of understanding but more a desire to know what happens next right away.
Action-6/10
You made sure to give life to the characters by informing me what was going on around them and what they personally were doing. The key here is to not make it feel like you did it for the sake of doing it which admittedly it felt like at times.
Persona- 7/10
You know these characters well, but not as well as the Tantalum. Getting there though.
Prose: 21/30
Mechanics- 8/10
Few errors in spelling or tense. Nothing to be scared of.
Clarity- 6/10
One thing I find in stories like these, where the Dialogue has to drive the point at times is what I like to call “Who’s Line is it?”: It starts well enough and it’s clear who is talking, but then as the conversation goes on you stop describing who is doing what evolving into two characters just talking, or possibly more, at once. This is where the use of action is key.
Do not think you were a terrible offender of this. You had moments where it slipped, but you kept it concise enough to not get horribly lost. But this is something I want you as a writer to be aware of.
Technique- 7/10
Wildcard: 5/10
An enjoyable read sir. Thanks for working on me with the light commentary.
Final Score: 67/100
Dalasi Recieves:
XXX 1045 EXP!
XXX 135 GP!
Congratulations!
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