The First of Many Steps:

Never before had the confident king breathed the cold, sharp air in Chamon, and it’s harsh nature tore at his lungs. Somewhere deep in his heart it tasted familiar, and yet the contrast was uncomfortable nonetheless. It unsettled Rungi, the way his senses could not simply appreciate the fresh air, but instead were perplexed by its ambiguous and jarring nature. Karugromthi lumbered forward, glittering puffs of steaming breath rising from his nostrils, his rider rocking ever so slightly from side to side as the bear strode across the rubble-strewn landscape they had emerged onto. Rungi scanned out ahead of him, noting that the rangers had successfully created a perimeter and two large blocks of hammerers had positioned themselves as ordered, stoicly serving as guards ready to collide with any foe that attempted to rush the throng as it filed through the Realmgate. Ahead of the ranger’s firing-line, the battle-hardened longbeard units were positioned. They had been given the honor of crossing through the gate first, and were tasked with making the furthest extension forward in order to determine the best course of travel while the rest of the assembled clans gathered themselves. Large as the gate was, this was still an unfortunate bottleneck, and he couldn't help but notice the way helmed duardin heads swiveled atop armored shoulders as they scanned for threats.

Rungi spurned the spirit bear forward, down the stone steps that arced out before them in great semi-circles. Dark grey dust covered everything. At first it appeared to be soot or ash, but as the warp-light emanating from the massive portal behind them played across the various surfaces, metallic glints and sparkles were visible. In the footprints left by the march, detailing in the stonework was uncovered. Even dulled by uncounted ages, the precision of the work was beyond the ability of any umgi he had seen, and not embellished enough for elgi. This was the sign he had hoped for, a sign that they were home.

Letting his gaze drift upwards from the stonework to the assembling forces, and then further upwards to the landscape around them, Rungi took in the magnitude of the mountains framing the valley, as well as of their quest. The Vengeful Throng, as the warriors had come to call themselves after a keg or so of hearty dawi ale, had emerged into what Rungi surmised to be a wide grassland surrounded by lone or clustered peaks. In the bright moonlight he could tell that most did not have the elevation to maintain snow-cover, although all around them the stuff fluttered down in abundance. In the distance though, the peaks appeared closer together, and were clearly higher. He could make out foothills that presumably grew into these monumental mountains. That is where they would go. That is where Rungi’s Vengeful Throng would begin to carve out their new home in this eery, but somehow comforting world.

…………………………………………

Snorri Saggasson took a swig from his tankard, it's once ornately engraved sides worn nearly smooth with age. The young king had given him a practically impossible task - Raise a hundred new warriors from amongst the tattered remains of the Karakigrom clan. It was an absurd demand, given that a few hours ago they’d been living (if you consider living selling their prodigious metalworking skills for hardened bread and overcooked, nearly rotten meat) in underground slums, most with perpetually dark ceilings from the soot of novice forge fires. A week ago, there was not even a throng for the warriors to swear oaths to. Snorri had been honored time and again with opportunities to join the longbeard units, whose sworn members had maintained their monastic training regimens in secret. He had even been offered to join his uncle’s Chosen, the secretive brotherhood of storied duardin warriors who were said to ever be at the ready, awaiting the moment when they would once again take up their ancestral white plated armor and hefty warhammers at the command of a great king. He took another sip through cracked, smiling lips as he remembered the sour look on the lord’s face when he had declined.

A large, meaty hand clapped the veteran on the back, making him cough up his last swig. “Ye oaf!” Sputtered Snorri angrily. “Ya made me spill me ale!”

“Yer grips getting weak with age,” retorted the unruly champion. In the next moment though, his cheeks began to grow more ruddy. “Apologies uncle, I meant no harm,” the heavily muscled warrior offered to his still scowling senior.

Snorri looked at massive dwarf they called Firebrow. He was pleased with the way the young’n had moved through training and not surprised the lad had battled his way to champion of the unit. Still, he was more tavern brawler than disciplined commander at this point. The old instructor would need to see to it that his charge’s careless antics didn’t spread to those they were responsible for. He turned away without acknowledging the foolish young thane further and nodded to a redbearded hornblower as the last warriors filled in the rear. There were still ranks to fill, Snorri grumbled to himself as he turned forward towards the lone duardin mounted on the snow white bear. Though he wouldn't dare show it, there was a spark of pride inside at the sight of his trainees. They were a determined bunch, leading a grudge-pony with relics and tomes of wrongs they had pledged to right. Snorri had also helped them bond by selling a light-as-breeze dagger to a clumsy manling for the funds to commission a tap pony. Now his regiment could remain "well-lubricated" with liquid courage as they steeled themselves for the days ahead. He locked eyes with the young king, and saw acknowledgement of his efforts returned.

…………………………………………

Rungi nodded to the greybeard at the sound of the first horn, and surveyed the troops gathering themselves. More of the brass and copper horns bellowed throughout the ranks. As the various blasts rumbled out their signals of each unit’s presence, Rungi swelled with pride. He had worried that the ambitious order given to Snorri, to raise a grand block of warriors like those spoken of in myth, would prompt his captains, whose beards piled on the floor when they sat around his council chamber, to mutter about how he is too naive to lead. And yet, even this challenge was nearly accomplished. The preposterous dream that started as two beardlings sitting around a red-bricked hearth while their elders read from the clan’s tome of grudges continued to take shape.
Looking down to his right, Rungi signaled for the hornblower of the Grundal-Thrynaz to order a march. Shields were hefted and tankards stopped. Almost instantaneously, a freezing wind picked up. As the drumbeats joined in beating out a methodical march, the icy sting turned to a sharper, almost bladed bite that tore at the noses and other bits of skin not safeguarded by thick beard or polished plate. Nevertheless, they advanced. As quickly as it had arrived, so too did the wind depart, a glimmering, silver tail trailing off into the darkness as though it had been a creature testing their commitment. “Forward into the mountains,” boomed the Revenger, prompting answering roars from throughout the single-minded throng.

Warriors of the Ice, sworn clansmen of Karakigrom.                                                                          Command for the 86-dwarf Strong Unit. Snorri Saggasson is the greybeard on the right.

Upstart Thane, Brom "Firebrow" Proudsong

Duty Before Reward:

The shaking of his hands had made it difficult to take up the floorboards quietly. Repairing and polishing the nine blue-stone shields was another labor, this one more of recalling old skills. As a child, he used to hurry from cart to stall all over the mines, smoothing, buffing and polishing stones in order to maximize the profits they’d bring in market. His father had a knack for bringing out the best in a stone and while he broke his back pulling them from the depths, his young son contributed what he could.

Two generations later, Dared Sootbeard moved much slower as he wrestled stones loose while his grandchildren scampered about with rag and oil. Though it had never brought back the wealth they had lost, the Sootbeards had carved out a reasonable existence in Azyr. Curses and insults had flown hurriedly across many tables between patriarchs trying to decide if they should heed the call of this Rungi, who would call himself king. Dared understood their fear. None sought to see their line ended by following along with another’s prideful folly.

But the Sootbeards had been raised to uphold their duties. When Dared had heard others talk of the business ventures left behind his stomach had churned violent as the sea. Before the realization hit him, the thickly muscled legs that had marched under enormous weights day after day were now marching determinedly through the whispering streets under a different weight, that of honor. As dawn’s rays finally crept down into the slums to illuminate his quarters a heavy knock on the door jolted Dared from his daze. At his door stood his three sons, two brothers, and five nephews, all steady of jaw and wild of eye.

Now these nine warriors joined seventy-six others and watched as their elder firmly grasped the muscled forearm of the famed warrior-trainer Snorri Saggasson in a comrade’s embrace. The massive unit halted as the greybeards turned to face the ranks behind them, the throng around them slowing to look on as well. Dared uttered a verse in a voice so deep only he could hear the words, then slammed the iconic staff he carried into the ground. In an electric flash, the Rune of Millenia bazed across the shield mounted under the figurehead with the now-glowing eyes. Throughout the ranks the Sootbeards roared and raised similarly illuminated shields.

“You honor us master Sootbeard,” came a voice that rumbled like the storm.

“King Rungi, these shields have been in our family since long before your or my time,” replied Dared. “It is said that they rally the brave to arms, and steel the heart of the throng in the face of shamans' guiles.”

“May they serve us well, and hopefully illuminate the path in the darkness to come,” said the king as his massive armored mount wheeled back towards the front. “For those days will certainly come.”

Tap Pony & Grudge Pony amidst the throng.                                                                                           Runic Icon visible above the crowd.