The Shine of Blade and Stone

[danielmn]

Garlus stood in a massive cavern, the vaulted ceiling of which held massive stalagtites, some even connecting with stalagmites below. The walls of the cavern glittered in many places, showing veins of precious metals and even not so precious. The green and orange hue of copper,the dark grey of hematite, the bright yellow of gold...the metallic glints of silver and mithral, all bending and weaving through the limestone of the cave. Water dripped down from up high, and a small stream passed through the cavern, offering more glints of metals, as well as the multihue of many different gems. The echo of a hammer rang in his ear, as his head turned toward the only light within the cavern. A large forge on the far side, with a being that sent sparks flying in wonderful displays of color. As Garlus wandered closer, he could easily see that it wasn't a forge hammer being used...whatever this being used was too big and unweildly...an enormous hammer with a long haft. Confused at the sight, he wondered closer to the being, curious as to what sort of smithman would use such an instrument...and for the making of what....

The figure turned, an enormous dwarf with a beard almost to his waist, wearing a leather apron, perhaps a foot or two taller than Garlus....the dwarf reminded him of Grimstadht, but there was certainly no mixed blood in this one. The dwarf stood looking at Garlus a very long moment, as if in deep thought, then a very slow grin found it's way to his face. Garlus heard words in his head...like he had experienced at the Star Court for a moment...the dwarfs lips never moved.

You are early, I am not done. But soon. Awake....awake and keep the secrets....

Garlus startled from his sleep....and had an itching in his fingers to work on some gems.

[danielmn]

Every strike of the hammer pushed the needless drama away from his mind. Dimetree, Settlestone, strict law faded as his tensed muscles relaxed into the fluid motion. He grinned and began humming. He much preferred the hammer to some lance peice. There was a feeling in him that all was not right at High Hold...that indeed a lanceboard game was being played by the Red Knight. Garlus couldn't figure out if the monk was a peice on the same side as the battlepreist...and if not, which side he was on, as well as the priest. Politics frustrated Garlus. He would rather not deal with politics at all...the same for Settlestone. Vying for power, and who was to say the one was better than the other? Perhaps Jonas could be persuaded to read their paths. The hammer slid forward again, ramming against the glowing mithral. The priest..well...his kin could give all of the dirty looks he wanted. It didn't change the fact the the dwarf had relied on longleggers to settle a dwarven dispute...to settle dwarven politics...knowing when the female was dead her son would come seeking her killers. No, the Priest was mad because his plan of usurping power had failed. He had thought to use the longleggers to his advantage, and gain power. Instead, Garlus had ensured Grimstadt was spared and remained in charge. If the preist wanted Grimstadt out of the way, it would be done proper. It would be done through the will of Settlestone. The hammer came down again, flattening the mithral further. He shook his head, and let it all be driven away. Not his clan, nor his place to do anything. He was not asked, they dould deal with their own problems until they saw fit to ask. The ones at the Hold, he was not sure. He had a feeling someone there was tied into the recent Cyric happenings, but no connections had been made yet. Distance was needed, distance and information. He missed Coravia, the elf had made sense of much, and had a way of hearing things. Garlus had a like mind, but it took longer for him to peice things together.

The hammer came down. Customers.... he poked his head out of the door. Gareth, and another he did not recognize. The two gazed at the armour racks, Gareth bow in hand.

"Stow yer bow. Yeh need seemaht adjustahd tehl meh."

He went back to his work, heating the metal and hammering again. The sheild would be a fine peice when he was done. He had given over the shield he had found within the ruins of Settlestone the day before to the Lady's College. It belonged there, if anywhere...where people could truely appreciate not only the craft, but the history behind the peice as well. The man there had said it would be put with the statue. That felt right to Garlus. He must pull some weight at the place, to have been able to offer coin for it. A gift threefold...to the College, to Rundarr, and to Isolia. Garlus grinned wide.

Garlus checked on the two again. Browsing, one in the market for something not metal. He directed them to the market and went back to work. Time for the etching soon, then the laquer, and finally the setting. The emerald would look amazing with the shield.

[danielmn]

Garlus found himself in an expansive cavern, bedecked with ore and gems along its walls. He had been here before, but couldn't remember when...or the path in getting there for that matter. But he had been here. The light of a forge and the clank of a hammer drew him deeper into the dark place. There was no feeling of danger though...it felt like home in the Stormhorns. Safe, welcoming. Garlus strode toward the sound of the hammer on metal...slowly a large dwarf appeared, hard at work on something Garlus could not see. As he approached, the large dwarf turned toward him, then took what he was forging off the anvil and set the enormous hammer he wielded down. Garlus felt the need to kneel with his head bowed, and did so before he sat on the cavern floor facing the wide-faced dwarf. Words came into his head, though the dwarfs lips made no movement.

Moradin grants me the use of his anvil from time to time. The All-Father sees the wisdom in the forging.

Garlus opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again.

You are working Mithral now, yes? This is well, and is as it should be. You are an example to all of those who follow the silent way of the secrets under. You forge, just as you have been forged. Your path is long, and filled with many faces. Your moment is a gem, cut carefully and with purpose, to be placed in a larger work.

There is more for you than Duma. Much more that you have yet to find...secrets within your own self. Seek them out, so that they may aid you, and the faces that gather around you. When it is time, you will know....

Garlus slowly wakened.....

the forge hammer in his hand.

Forge. Build. Believe.

[Burt_Reynoldz_Mustache]

Forge. Build. Believe.

Are these direct lyrics from that Bernie Taupin 80's song "We Built this City on Rock and Roll" ?

[danielmn]

Garlus sat and pondered long amongst kin. Sat and pondered a gyre of thought where points of experience fit in, but on different levels. Aspects of that which surrounded him everyday. Longleggers.

Though so different from one another, so alike they were, with different motivations and intentions. Some granite, but only on the surface. Righteous in judgement, many...though so different from one another. In many ways, the ones that disdained the others did so because underneath it all, they were so similar. Unwavering, always believing themselves correct...but with different motivations behind the fact.

Take the Helmites...unwavering to a fault...then again, he had seen Rathalan admit he was wrong about Knut. Granted, it had taken his death to do it...but on the whole, righteous, with the intent of preserving what order had been made out of the wild chaos that was the Marches.

Take the half fiend...also unwavering, but reserved and noncommital enough that mistakes would go unnoticed. And if not, he was quick to call on the mistakes of others to his defence. Just as truthful, yet a different motivation. To appear stronger than one of his own village. Even if that meant going after one that he had lain with, one that bore his child. As the Helmites, no loyalty but his own cause. A realist...lacking all hope.

Take the Lathanderites...unwavering in their own optimism, trying theor best to help and not make mistakes in the process. Just as detached as the half-fiend, but with a different purpose...to prevent the force of change. He found acceptance and hope, but also an idealism that would secure that Lathanderites would continue to be needed well into the future.

It was different than kin...like seeing a wall being built with different placement, different stones, different heights, as if in competition with one another...the wall doomed to never be right, to always topple to be rebuilt over.

Perhaps in time it would change. The dwarves had waged war on one another in the past. A state of calm had settled over his kin, and the focus on outward threats unified them. It struck Garlus as strange...the fact that weakening something....could make it stronger. He imagined many saw the dwarves as a weak race, one that had run its coarse. But as Garlus looked about Felbarr, at his kin laboring and living, it seemed less strange... he saw what becomes of dwarves after the smelting, after the gangue had been removed. Hard strong metal, ready for the forge.

One day. One day, Garlus would stand while each were returned to the stone. Rathalan and Lemual, in resplendant armour. Ashan, clutching some long forgotten item he had saved from some ruin. Dimetree...perhaps wearing a smile. Mimosa, perhaps clutching a Jade. Marcus and Ashton, lowered in with their books of spells. Xujja, with a defiant expression. A man, with a brooch. Dawn.....he stopped and wiped an eye. What made one weak, made one strong. Where numbers failed, will and years succeeded. It was no happenstance his feet had set to traveling. The gaining of knowledge, the seeking of dwarven ruins...excuses to leave. He remembered the Half Orcs face clearly...the face of his brother in his dying breath. Garlus let a tear fall to the snow, and clutched his axe to his chest tightly and whispered...

Fehr Clan Ironbeard. Fehr Duma.

Live. Breath. Love.

[danielmn]

Garlus ran a hand through his hair, then went back to the slow process of etching the shield. His mind lost in work, a helm and a suit of plate to make after. Many days of work. It would give him time to cool his head.
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Being around so many humans was not easy. They didn't listen. Once again, righteous. And they were slow to let things go...nevermind the fact that they stood back, watched others work, and then commented on it after. In the name of understanding. The fact was Garlus was not perfect. No one was, no matter how hard they tried to appear as such. Something Xujja and Marcus had in common. Why Marcus got so angry, and refused to let it go until he made someone else look the fool instead. Take the eyes off of him, and put them somewhere else. For Garlus, the mistake was done and he was more than content to drop the issue a few moments after it had happened...but Marcus's pride just wouldn't let it go. Garlus had knocked both the Shaman and werebeast back into submission without killing them....the others just went on a rampant slaughter. How were they any better than the Helmites? For all of his trying to understand...their trying to understand, somethin told Garlus it would take much longer for the lessons to sink in. He didn't know if Louen made the right call....but that was something Louen and Garlus would have to live with. Garlus was more than content to live with it if it meant getting the young one experience in making decisions. Louen had done fine in the cave...he did not do as well this night. But that was no measure of his leadership, even the best have bad days where things keep going wrong. Garlus had at least shut Marcus's mouth until Winter's Edge, where the two could talk in private instead of the incessant whining in front of the others. Unprofessional and childish. Garlus kept forgetting Marcus was just a boy, trying too hard to be a man. Looking to hard at others for what he should do and loosing sight and sound of his own head and heart. Garlus hoped Marcus was helping at the orphanage for himself, and not the approval of those around him.

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Garlus shook his head as he worked. The hammer eased the tension.
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Garlus watched the sun rise, then dug into the snow next to the river. He spread the mud across his face and began to pray. The small silver diamond with the green gem in his hand, Garlus emptied his mind and focused all his thoughts below....

He is walking in a vast cavern, deep within the bones of the world. In the distance he sees a greybeard with a long-handled hammer over his shoulder, leading a group of dwarves. As Garlus approaches, the greybeard smiles at him. The group seems to be headed for the entrance to a grand hall, whose gates are deepset in a wall of the cavern.

As they pass Garlus, he sees that the the dwarves move with purpose, as though a long journey is nearly done. Looking closer, he is surprised to recognize the faces of the dead kin who he returned to Citadel Felbarr. Their wounds have healed and they seem at peace.

The greybeard looks at Garlus for a moment, and the words enter his mind. "You are ready now. The forging is done." The greybeard touched the silver diamond. "Keep to the path. Through the forging, you will forge."
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Garlus continued etching the shield that belonged to Dimetree. It would be a nice addition to his armour once completed. He stopped and went over to the furnace, pulling the glowing metal out with a pair of tongs. Laying it on the anvil, he began to hammer the piece into shape. Wards plate. He worked on Dimetree's pieces in between the heating of the metal for Wards armour.
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Garlus hoped the topazes would make good offering. Being from the horde of Bluetusk, King Warcrown should be pleased.

The beauty is in the making....not the keeping.

[Mick]

Keep it coming, Dan!

[danielmn]

Garlus watched Vonlyr leave in righteous indignation at the words and beliefs of the respected Jonas. Garlus was quick to follow. Here he had helped this man...and his belief would have him holding a Duergar's hand in kinship. The thought was ludicrous. Moreso for Vonlyr...how anyone could consider the races under to still be any semblance of what they once were was beyond Garlus. "Red Bull" he stated more than said as the red haired woman snickered, obviously enjoying sewing her strife. She did not remember him.....which was expected. Self important. But he remembered her...the last Legion Seargent he took mouth from before he chucked his badge on the ground. The Seargent who left one of her command in the street to bleed to death while she took the comfort of an inn to gain information. He had little respect for her actions then, and even less now.

He looked to Vonlyr outside as the elf collected himself. Garlus pursed his lips as he found in his own mind he was starting to prefer spending time with the elf...he thought clearly, seldom rose to anger, even in the heat of battle. Garlus respected the clearheadedness of the elf...as well as the dignity and honor he carried with him. He gazed to the stars a long moment. "Whot twere unce elves ahn darves, ehr elves ahn darves nay mere."

The two spoke a moment, then Vonlyr departed, obviously agitated over the words. Garlus grunted and eyed the stars. Another lesson in Pride perhaps...one the paladin should have steared damn clear of if he wanted to keep the few allies that had been willing to help him in exchange for his life lessons. Garlus ran a hand through his hair. He would ask next if his oath had been served. It was high time to get back to his own kin. He had had enough of insults, even if they weren't meant to offend, and enough of everything around him changing while he was still stone. Perhaps another reason he prefered the company of Vonlyr now...he wasn't so quick to change.

[danielmn]

Garlus knelt silently by the small graves, placing flowers on each. His heart weighed ten and one hundred stones...some things one had little control over. Nothing one could do but watch as the misery unfolded itself, driving a few away, the rest away from light. Vonlyr had taken his leave. Dawn rapidly falling into something new, growing away. Louen departed and changed forever, blaming anything his finger could point to. Jonas alone and cold, nothing left. Attal, still himself....a vocal version of the Aurilite if anything. A realist with no hope, no strive for better. Garlus eyed the sun as it rose...

Humans. Always changing. Unreliable...funny to say. Garlus was the one who had left...but returned to make amends just the same. He was not afraid of making mistakes, or facing them. He wasn't sure if he could rely on any of the humans now...as much stone as he himself was, he was no mountain. They did not even know themselves...how is one supposed to give trust to such? To count on such? One of the reasons he had left in the first place...he had no patience to hold the hands of the young while they ask why. He was no father yet, and would only do so with his own children. Even Dawn had said she had almost attacked them because of the stranger. Louen forsaking everything for some damned blade and path of nose high righteousness.

He sighed as the sun came over the mountains and hit the graves with light. He hiked his pack on his shoulders, and set out for Mithral Hall. He had heard there to be rare adamantium being worked by one of the smiths there, and Garlus had an itch to watch and learn. Past the village he had stood guard in so many nights...humans. He was done with them save to check on Jonas...abandoned by those he had tended.

[Mick]

Very nice, Dan.

[danielmn]

Garlus sits, his legs dangling over the cliff, the water rushing off to splash in the pool below and wind it's way through the land. He sits, staring at an enormous old dead trunk next to the water. He chants quietly, almost in reverence.

Bone to bone, solid stone, return to earth is he.
A mighty man, bear for friend, and watcher of the tree.
Winter years have an end, on we he did rely.
Through gnoll and ogre did we send, to die beneath night sky.

He stares into the trees, a slight grin on his lips. It almost makes up for the children. On each knee is an iron coronet...nothing fancy in and of themselves...simple bands. Inset into one, four phenalope stones, rosy purple and black streaked. The forehead of the coronet has a deep purple amethyst, in an opposed bar cut, reflecting light beautifully. Lord Vonlyr. Garlus doubted he had recieved a proper burial compared to his title in his own lands. He didn't even know if the elf had been left proper, buried with armour and weapon. He regreted not making the coronets out of mithral now. Both were deserving of such. The other coronet held four fire agates, all brilliantly polished to refract the light. In the forehead of this sat a deeply lucious red garnet, emerald cut. Tessle Amblecrown. He doubted she recieved a proper burial fit for one of her spirit either. He runs his hands over the stones, smiling softly. In the giving is the letting go. His eyes wander to the sky as it slowly brightens, and he rises to greet it.

He eyes the stump again. To die in peace. To accept. Garlus had a feeling he would have liked to have known the old man.

[KalevD]

Bravo sir.

[danielmn]

*scrawled painstakingly onto a page in a leatherbound book within the possession of one dwarf, Garlus Ironbeard*

My friend. I sit at the base of these steps, and I mourn. I knew more of you than most, and yet not near enough as I would have liked. Stone to stone and bone to bone, I did hope for you with all in my own being. But you had not the time to make up for your own darkness. It is more saddening to see others lights dim, and they live on, whilst yours was just starting to glow bright.

Forgive me, for giving you a sling, when you needed a hand and heart.
Forgive me, for not following you when you needed someone there the most...even if you unteathered your own being.
Forgive me, for letting you find your own way when I could have helped you more.

I know where you have gone, and I mourn all the more.

You will forever be etched in the granite of my memory, your half grin, your swagger, the smell of your drink.
Your bravery, that I can honestly say surpassed my own. When I see a ship on water, when I hear your own kins voice, I will always think of you. Stone to stone...You have brought me many releifs...in my guidance, you have brought me more worth than any hammer upon anvil ever could. I helped you change. It gives me strength.

You will be laid to rest with everything you have earned. You will be spoken of from my own ancestors, for I shall speak to them of you when the fire burns low. Clan Ironbeard will remember you, so that you will never fade.

My friend.

Rugo.

[KalevD]

Fantastic work Daniel.

I never had the chance to give Rugo's passing the full attention it deserved, sadly, the timing of it prevented Venrill from doing so. However, I don't think anyone could have eulogized him as well as Garlus did.

RIP Rugo, you deserved far better than the fate you received.

[danielmn]

The young dwarf, not even bearded, approached his father, tugging on the long black and red cloak. Father, who is Garlus? The elder dwarf furrowed his brow a long moment, looking to the youngling. Now tell me child...where did you hear that name? The youngling shyly held up one of the many leatherbound books detailing the history of Clan Ironbeard, and openend the front of the book. He reverently pulled out some weathered parchment that had been tucked away. The elder curiously opened the small missive, and his eyes slowly softened as he began reading, a slight grin upon his lips.

Drogan,

I have high hopes that this letter finds both you and the Clan well. It has been three years since I have left you in my own search. Though I am beginning to find what it is I myself seek, I have also found much of which should be of interest to the Clan. I write to you now from atop a battlement, named the Northern Vigil, which overlooks the Anvil of Felbarr. If stories have reached you, then I can assure you that they are to be believed. The Citadell of Many Arrows has indeed fallen to kin, led by Lord Emerus Warcrown. Many Clans have rallied to his banner, as the Citadell now boasts a host of eight thousand kin. Though it is expected that the orcs will attack Felbarr within the coming years in their next great push, the morale of this Hold is strong, as is its determination to rebuild. Mithral and gold once again flow from the mines.

I have seen the gates of Mithral Hall itself, though only select few are allowed inside. Another dwarven outpost, Settlestone, occupies the slopes of the mountain on which Mithral Hall itself resides. Once again, the stories are to be believed, as the Hall is once again in dwarven hands.

There is room in Felbarr for our Clan, if you deem it best. However, if the iron, copper and emeralds flow strong, the Clan can hold. I will continue to write per year, and if within ten the Clan has not arrived, I will return. Father and my brothers can contact me through the use of letter at Ironshields Smithy within Silverymoon itself. Let father know that the forge has grown bright for me these last years, as well as the chisel and that my own path has been set, that I follow in his own path of the stone. Know that I bring honor to the Clan here, and that you will be known if you come.

Garlus Ironbeard



The old dwarf sighed slowly with a feint smile. The youngling looked to him inquisitively, then shyly asked "Who was Garlus, Master Drogan?" The old dwarf chuckled, then nodded slightly. "I have not heard that name in many years, Torlan. Come...have you ever heard of the tale of Bluetusk?" The young dwarf shook his head with a smile, as Drogan led him down the stone hall toward the fires of the Greathall.