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Dwimmermount IC:

prior to his execution Termax was just as adamant in his beliefs as Marcus and was a genuinely good man. How could a man like that go on to lead an empire that ruled through chaos, terror, necromancy and all manner of dark sorcery? Who was this Sarana? Where did she learn what she knew? What happened to her? She doesn't appear in any other stories of the Termaxian Empire that you have heard. Was she executed as well? How did man create the gods? What manner of sorcery could allow a man to become a god?
Hatched too soon, the godly egg, he thought once, late at night, his thoughts taking on the queer pattern of the old phrases in the chronicle. "O-o." Or maybe the whole body was what was needful?

Did they just chain the head down there? What if it's re-united with the *original* body? Would he be sane again?

But when Vindar explains his discovery to Gargrim, the dwarf is still deep into an epic bender, face on a bar table and a flagon in hand. He lifts himself up party with some effort and stares Vindar in the eyes, "By the gods, man! Why would I give a pig turd? Now quiet down and grab a drink."
This isn't the first time he's tried to re-interest the dwarf in the world around him, so this time he's come prepared: Vindar flips his fold-up slate to the back and shows his work: I can hardly stand up sober, man! is written on there in blocky, irregular chalk letters.
 

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Yrel and Robert: For the past several weeks you have both heard a swirl of rumors surrounding Dwimmermount. The ancient fortress has stood abandoned for nearly two hundred years since the Man Become God, Turm Termax and the empire that bore his name was violently overthrown. However, if the rumors are to be believed the powerful wards that have sealed off the seat of power for empires from time immemorial have been sundered and the gates to the great stronghold lie open.

Following the rumors you made the trek to Muntburg, a small castle town at the foot of the mountain, home to a tiny garrison from the City of Adamas and rented a room at the Passwatch Inn. Upon your arrival you learned that not one, but two groups of adventurers had undertaken expeditions into the dungeon. The first, sponsored by the Church of Typhon in Adamas had returned almost 3 weeks ago with nearly half their number in the caverns. They were quickly wisked back to Adamas by Gerald of Had, the Proctor of Typhon in Muntburg. Shortly after their departure a second group, financed by the dwarven ghetto in Adamas calling themselves the Iron Defenders departed as well. Several days later, a mere two of the original five members returned, though they did rescue two surviving members of Typhons Fists, and a Dwarf.

One of the surviors, a dwarf by the name of Gargrim has been spending most nights getting positively wrecked in the common room of the Passwatch Inn. He hasn't seemed to be very amiable to being approached, but this evening a human wearing a peg leg who is obviously familiar with the surley dwarf has interrupted his drinking excitedly showing him a manuscript. You're not 100% sure, but you think he might be one of the members of Typhons Fists who was rescued by the Iron Defenders.
 

Yrel, Elf Magic-User/Thief

Yrel is a little bit scared of Gargrim. He wants to approach him and learn what has transpired, but so far all he can work-up the courage to do is sit at the adjacent table to the surly dwarf and surreptitiously eavesdrop.

Yrel's sheet
 
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Robert had been looking for a way to enter into conversation with the dwarf for some time but could not find a suitable time. However, now there was a chance and ordering three flagons of what the dwarf was drinking he approached the table with a friendly smile. He was somewhat nervous of the non-human, he had never met one of the ancient race before and was unsure how he would react.

"Begging your pardon sirs but are you recently returned from Dwimmermount?" he starts as he places the flagons on the table. "My name is Robert and I am seeking work. Would you perchance be planning another venture to the 'mount? Would you be in need of another sword-arm?
 

Gargrim gives Vindar a hard look. "For a guy so smart you forget a lot. I can't read, you dolt!" Why don't you show it to your shadow over there," he says indicating the creeping-forward-Yrel. Gargrim then looks to Robert, "So, you want to stab some orcs over and over again and take their loot? Now you're speaking my language, lad. Pull up a chair. You ever go orc-stabbing before? How are you in a fight? Can you translate words between fighting talk and book talk, 'cause I may need a go-between."
 

Robert laughs heartily at the dwarfs comments and nudges forwards a flagon.

"Indeed I can fight, however I cannot say I have had the opportunity to repeatedly stab orcs but I am pretty sure it works the same."

He looks over at the other man and the paperwork he was trying to protect from spillage from the tankards. "yes, I can read... depending on the language of course." he adds with a smile.
 



Vindar sighs, then holds his slate at an angle so the other human can see it... (He's missed Yrel's soft words entirely.)

Vindar is an average-sized man (a bit on the tall side) with thick dark hair down to his shoulders and haunted eyes. He's starvation-thin right now, his skin scarred in odd places with either burns or small cuts. The whole of his lower right leg is of course downright missing and he looks like he's sweating just standing there.


OOC: Vindar just has his fold-up slate right now so no risk of spillage. ;) He didn't bring the manuscript itself.
EDIT = Leif, Vindar's speech colour is gold too. (It's the whole 'silence is golden' thing, of course.)

il_340x270.731908759_bijx.jpg
 
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"Oh, I can read this no problems master dwarf." Robert states with an easy smile. "I would be happy to read to a fellow companion, if one were such?"
 

Into the Woods

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