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<blockquote data-quote="Xorn" data-source="post: 4371497" data-attributes="member: 61231"><p>Catching the pain in Oleaf’s eyes as she looked at him, Omar sank his gaze to the fire and nodded in acceptance.</p><p></p><p>“A’ight then, lass, I’ll tell ye of me clan.” The dwarf procured a pouch of chew leaves from his pack and wadded up one of the strong flavored, gummy leaves into a ball and stuffed the pungent smelling plug into his left cheek, jabbing a bit of the stem into his mouth with a stubby finger. He made a long procession of folding up and stowing the pouch into his pack while working the chew with his gums and cheek, and finished his preparations by spitting a heavy brown syrup of juice into the fire; it sizzled angrily at him in protest, a noise that he looked to find comforting, possibly.</p><p></p><p>“Me clan was—is” he corrected, “is the Irontoes. Fer half a thousan’ years, we protected the halls of Hammerfast from attack, and ne’er a finer defender will ye meet than an Irontoe at one o’ the doors to tha city.” Having seen Omar’s prowess in battle, this was a point that didn’t need any more evidence to support it. “That was me life then, raised by me father to be a warrior and defender o’ me people, as noble a life as any dwarf may ever wish for.”</p><p></p><p>Omar’s brow thickened, and the fire seemed to lose some grip on his cheeks as the shadows grew with an emotion they had not seen from him before, and didn’t recognize. “’Bout one year past comin’ soon, orcs beset Hammerfast.”</p><p></p><p>“I remember that,” added Daichot, “I was part of a militia that was raised in Fallcrest to help.”</p><p></p><p>The dwarf nodded solemnly, “Aye. An’ help was needed after they overran the gates, an’ many dwarfs from my clan and not died that morn. But that was the day me clan ceased ta be.” Percy was listening intently. “We had fought off the orcs ‘afore, and though they numbers was greater than ours, ‘at was nothin’ new ta us. When they first charged the gate…” the dwarf trailed off for a moment, whether searching for words, or reliving the moment, it wasn’t apparent. “Me father… he sounded a retreat!” Omar was passive as he spoke, not angry or upset, but his face was ashen, and seemed to be unnaturally shadowed.</p><p></p><p>None of the others made eye contact; they didn’t need Omar to explain that the retreat was not what Omar thought was right, whether they were dwarves or not. “Some of me clan fell back with him—they thought we were falling back to a better position—but I knew there was none better place to stand and fight then right there. So I stayed. So did some of me clansmen. We held our line for a little while, but there were too many for us to stop them. Even though I survived the fightin’, I couldnae keep ‘em from getting past, and we was overrun.”</p><p></p><p>Omar spit at the fire, and to Percy it seemed like the fire didn’t sizzle as much this time, out of respect. “Of the four that stayed, two of us survived. Maybe we helped, maybe we didn’t—the orcs was past us then, so it dinnae felt like it mattered. We used passages the orcs couldn’ to flank ‘em, and we made ‘em pay heavy fer ev’ry step into tha halls they took, but tha fighting went on fer days…” he looked over at Diachot, “Till Fallcrest arrived with help.”</p><p></p><p>Omar was thinking about his story quietly, and as the others thought he might be finished, he started talking again, though it didn’t feel like he was talking to them anymore, just to himself. “I went to me father, when I found him, and I asked ‘im why he ran? Why didn’ he stand an’ fight, like he taught me? He clubbed me over tha head and tol’ me I wasn’ nae more ‘is son. His son would nae ‘ave disobeyed an order from ‘is own father. He took our family hammer and he cast it to tha floor of the Hall of Judgement, where the elders of all tha clans erased our clan name from the Book of Clans, fer tha dishonor me father brought upon me kin.”</p><p></p><p>The dwarf fell silent after that, just staring at the fire, jawing the wad of chew stuffed into his cheek.</p><p></p><p>“I thought your dad gave you that hammer? You stole it back!?” Percy was enthused at the prospect.</p><p></p><p>Omar thought about the question, putting himself in the halfling’s perspective to the story. “O’ he did gimme this hammer,” the dwarf confirmed, “but me mother gave it to me again—and if’n yer suggestin’ me mother was a thief, ye’ll be getting’ a taste o’ me fists. Takin’ somethin’ from a coward like me own father is not stealin’.”</p><p></p><p>Percy smiled wryly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it as an insult. My mom’s a thief, damned good one, actually. But there’s still something that doesn’t make sense.”</p><p></p><p>Omar sighed, and Daichot spoke up, “Not everything has to make sense, tonight.”</p><p></p><p>The dwarf held up a hand to the tiefling, “Nah, I ain’t never bringin’ this up again, so let’s get it all out now. What doesn’t make sense?”</p><p></p><p>“You said you love your father, just a little while ago, but you think he’s a coward. I admit I don’t know dwarves that well, but in my family you don’t love someone who embodies what you hate.”</p><p></p><p>Omar shrugged, as if that seemed like a moot point. “I love me father. I love me mother, an’ me kinsmen. Difference is which of ‘em deserve it.”</p><p></p><p>“That kind of makes sense, I guess.” Percy seemed satisfied with the answer. “So disgraced by your father, you shaved off yer beard and set out to redeem your clan name?”</p><p></p><p>The dwarf actually chuckled at that idea. “More or less, but I actually just got really, really drunk first, and stayed that way for a few months. Till I remembered—“</p><p></p><p>“Dwarves don’t feel sorry for themselves.” Finished Daichot with a smile.</p><p></p><p>Omar pointed at the warlord and grinned. The shadows pulled away from his cheeks and the color spread through his skin as the fire welcomed him back. Oleaf seemed to have settled a little, her lips were no longer trembling, and she seemed to have gotten past the pain that was wracking her. “What about you, little Percy? Why did you suddenly come to Fallcrest?”</p><p></p><p>The short little rogue shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, I slept with the wrong man’s wife.”</p><p></p><p>Oleaf smiled weakly, and Omar looked at the halfling blankly, as Daichot snickered at the simple motives that drove the rogue.</p><p></p><p>“What!? Where I come from, that’s a pretty common reason to pack up and leave.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Xorn, post: 4371497, member: 61231"] Catching the pain in Oleaf’s eyes as she looked at him, Omar sank his gaze to the fire and nodded in acceptance. “A’ight then, lass, I’ll tell ye of me clan.” The dwarf procured a pouch of chew leaves from his pack and wadded up one of the strong flavored, gummy leaves into a ball and stuffed the pungent smelling plug into his left cheek, jabbing a bit of the stem into his mouth with a stubby finger. He made a long procession of folding up and stowing the pouch into his pack while working the chew with his gums and cheek, and finished his preparations by spitting a heavy brown syrup of juice into the fire; it sizzled angrily at him in protest, a noise that he looked to find comforting, possibly. “Me clan was—is” he corrected, “is the Irontoes. Fer half a thousan’ years, we protected the halls of Hammerfast from attack, and ne’er a finer defender will ye meet than an Irontoe at one o’ the doors to tha city.” Having seen Omar’s prowess in battle, this was a point that didn’t need any more evidence to support it. “That was me life then, raised by me father to be a warrior and defender o’ me people, as noble a life as any dwarf may ever wish for.” Omar’s brow thickened, and the fire seemed to lose some grip on his cheeks as the shadows grew with an emotion they had not seen from him before, and didn’t recognize. “’Bout one year past comin’ soon, orcs beset Hammerfast.” “I remember that,” added Daichot, “I was part of a militia that was raised in Fallcrest to help.” The dwarf nodded solemnly, “Aye. An’ help was needed after they overran the gates, an’ many dwarfs from my clan and not died that morn. But that was the day me clan ceased ta be.” Percy was listening intently. “We had fought off the orcs ‘afore, and though they numbers was greater than ours, ‘at was nothin’ new ta us. When they first charged the gate…” the dwarf trailed off for a moment, whether searching for words, or reliving the moment, it wasn’t apparent. “Me father… he sounded a retreat!” Omar was passive as he spoke, not angry or upset, but his face was ashen, and seemed to be unnaturally shadowed. None of the others made eye contact; they didn’t need Omar to explain that the retreat was not what Omar thought was right, whether they were dwarves or not. “Some of me clan fell back with him—they thought we were falling back to a better position—but I knew there was none better place to stand and fight then right there. So I stayed. So did some of me clansmen. We held our line for a little while, but there were too many for us to stop them. Even though I survived the fightin’, I couldnae keep ‘em from getting past, and we was overrun.” Omar spit at the fire, and to Percy it seemed like the fire didn’t sizzle as much this time, out of respect. “Of the four that stayed, two of us survived. Maybe we helped, maybe we didn’t—the orcs was past us then, so it dinnae felt like it mattered. We used passages the orcs couldn’ to flank ‘em, and we made ‘em pay heavy fer ev’ry step into tha halls they took, but tha fighting went on fer days…” he looked over at Diachot, “Till Fallcrest arrived with help.” Omar was thinking about his story quietly, and as the others thought he might be finished, he started talking again, though it didn’t feel like he was talking to them anymore, just to himself. “I went to me father, when I found him, and I asked ‘im why he ran? Why didn’ he stand an’ fight, like he taught me? He clubbed me over tha head and tol’ me I wasn’ nae more ‘is son. His son would nae ‘ave disobeyed an order from ‘is own father. He took our family hammer and he cast it to tha floor of the Hall of Judgement, where the elders of all tha clans erased our clan name from the Book of Clans, fer tha dishonor me father brought upon me kin.” The dwarf fell silent after that, just staring at the fire, jawing the wad of chew stuffed into his cheek. “I thought your dad gave you that hammer? You stole it back!?” Percy was enthused at the prospect. Omar thought about the question, putting himself in the halfling’s perspective to the story. “O’ he did gimme this hammer,” the dwarf confirmed, “but me mother gave it to me again—and if’n yer suggestin’ me mother was a thief, ye’ll be getting’ a taste o’ me fists. Takin’ somethin’ from a coward like me own father is not stealin’.” Percy smiled wryly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it as an insult. My mom’s a thief, damned good one, actually. But there’s still something that doesn’t make sense.” Omar sighed, and Daichot spoke up, “Not everything has to make sense, tonight.” The dwarf held up a hand to the tiefling, “Nah, I ain’t never bringin’ this up again, so let’s get it all out now. What doesn’t make sense?” “You said you love your father, just a little while ago, but you think he’s a coward. I admit I don’t know dwarves that well, but in my family you don’t love someone who embodies what you hate.” Omar shrugged, as if that seemed like a moot point. “I love me father. I love me mother, an’ me kinsmen. Difference is which of ‘em deserve it.” “That kind of makes sense, I guess.” Percy seemed satisfied with the answer. “So disgraced by your father, you shaved off yer beard and set out to redeem your clan name?” The dwarf actually chuckled at that idea. “More or less, but I actually just got really, really drunk first, and stayed that way for a few months. Till I remembered—“ “Dwarves don’t feel sorry for themselves.” Finished Daichot with a smile. Omar pointed at the warlord and grinned. The shadows pulled away from his cheeks and the color spread through his skin as the fire welcomed him back. Oleaf seemed to have settled a little, her lips were no longer trembling, and she seemed to have gotten past the pain that was wracking her. “What about you, little Percy? Why did you suddenly come to Fallcrest?” The short little rogue shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, I slept with the wrong man’s wife.” Oleaf smiled weakly, and Omar looked at the halfling blankly, as Daichot snickered at the simple motives that drove the rogue. “What!? Where I come from, that’s a pretty common reason to pack up and leave.” [/QUOTE]
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