October 8, 2024

Commander Farsight Project Diary

Commander Farsight Project Diary

Commander Farsight, hero (and villian?) of the T'au Empire's Second Sphere Expansion. Armed with the Dawnblade, Commander Farsight is one of the few, if not the only, T'au Empire model that has any melee capability. 

 When I originally started my T'au Empire army, I chose a paint scheme of red and khaki for my custom crab inspired Cru'stea Sept. Looking at some of the canon Septs (A Sept being, more or less, what T'au call different factions), I really connected two of them. 

The first Sept I latched on to was the N'dras Sept, a faction that was heavily dedicated to the stealth suit wing of the T'au Empire. The T'au stealth suits, both the new XV25 and the old XV15, the XV95 Ghostkeel, and the stealth suit hero Commander Shadowsun are my favorite parts of the T'au Empire range and lore. The N'dras Sept was a semi-official Sept which was dedicated to the stealth suit range and the development of the XV95 Ghostkeel. Images showed them in a light desaturated green color (a color I very much liked), but most of the painted armies showed them in a saturated green-blue color (a color I didn't like).

The next Sept I connected with was the dark red of the Farsight Enclaves. These fish-folk were the followers of Commander Farsight, a radical and aggressive T'au commander. I really liked the dark red color scheme, and some of the more samurai motives of this Sept, but it also felt too "edge-lordy" for my taste.

After some debate, I finally just settled on creating my own Sept with the dark red of the Farsight Enclaves, mixed with a khaki color. I also focused on building up my stealth suit range of which my Ghostkeel is my favorite T'au model (although I really have a soft spot for the old out-of-print metal XV15 stealth suits).

However, a few years ago, Games Workshop released a new Commander Shadowsun and Commander Farsight model, and I really do like both of them. While I still need to get the new Shadowsun (I have the old fine-cast model), I was gifted the Commander Farsight model for my birthday this year!

 Commander Farsight would be the first T'au model I've painted in a long time. I really liked his sculpt and pose, so I decided to take my time to work on him and try out some new techniques. One of the new things I tried was panel lining with an enamel wash (Tamiya Panel Liner Black) to really try to get the model to pop. The panel liner was a little tricky to use cleanly, but had a great affect on some of the white and red panels. It probably took two passes to get a really dark black in the recesses, so I'm not sure I did everything correctly, but it easier than trying to panel line with an acrylic black wash. The hardest part of painting him was getting a smooth, bright white.

Below is a compilation of photos taken during painting of my Commander Farsight model.









Game photos, mid progress.




June 12, 2024

Hearth Guard - Project Diary

 Below is a series of pictures and notes regarding my recent new Warhammer 40,000 army project. After splitting the 10th Edition Leviathan launch box, and seeing a lot of my White Scars army get hit with the Legends hammer, I decided to start a new Primaris only* Space Wolves army.

While I don’t love the wolfy part of the the Space Wolves, I do enjoy the Viking part. I also like the baby blue color, but didn’t care for the whole model to be baby blue, nor did I want the traditional snow bases of a Space Wolves army. My solution was to create my own successors (or my own Great Clan if you’re really a stickler) called the Hearth Guard. They would be inspired by the Hounds of Morkai color scheme and take a more ritualistic and Icelandic tone. 

Miniatures List

Terminator Captain -Tx

Terminator Librarian -Tx

x5 Terminator Squad -Tx

x5 Infernus Squad -Tx

x5 Infernus Squad -Tx

Phobos Lieutenant (Conversion) -Tx

A. Biologis (Conversion-Librarian?) -Tx

SW Captain -Tx N/A

x5 Intercessors -Tx N/A

x5 Intercessors -Tx N/A

x5 Infiltrators -Tx

Ballistus Dreadnought -Tx

Redemptor Dreadnought -Tx

Invictor Dreadnought (Conversion) -Tx


Progress Photos


























Hearth Guard Colors

  • Armor (Main)
    • Dark Blue Grey (Pro Acryl)
    • Dry brush Russ Grey (Citadel)
  • Shoulders, helmet (Spot Color)
    • Russ Grey (Citadel)
    • *Relayer up after all over wash
  • Weapon & Metals (Main)
    • Dark Silver (Pro Acryl)
    • Screaming Bell (Citadel)
    • Extra color?
  • Aquila & Decorations
    • Bright Gold (Pro Acryl)
  • Pouches and Leather
    • Light Umber (Pro Acryl)
  • Webbing (& Blacks)
    • Coal Black (Pro Acryl)
  • Purity Seals
    • Zandri Dust (Citadel)
    • Magenta (Pro Acryl)
  • Lenses
    • Bold Pyrol Red (Pro Acryl)
  • All Over Wash
    • Agrax Earthshade (Citadel)


Lore 

Home World: Arinnheim - Icelandic fjords, volcanos and black sand beaches. Hearth Guard have a spiritualism which values respecting ancestors. Large, ancient statues and ruins scatter their home world. 

July 25, 2023

Learning How Imaginative Play Kept me Sane During 2020

 Originally posted December 24, 2020 on the Split the Party podcast blog.

Fellowship, one of the eight types of fun as described by Hunicke, LeBlanc, and Zubek in their MDA: A Formal Approach to Game Design and Game Research. Described as “game as a social framework,” it is the type of fun hardest hit by the COVID-19 pandemic. As lockdowns came into effect, gamers sought to gather around a digital gaming table using products such as Roll20, Zoom, and everything in-between. When our game group moved online, I suddenly realized that the fellowship I got from our weekly sessions was missing something big.

Our weekly gaming sessions served as a way for me to disconnect from the technology I’ve tethered myself to and engage with people I felt open to. Playing games online and spending more time in front of a screen at night was hurting my mental health. When the weather warmed up, there was a brief stint of playing games in person outside, but this stirred up a whole other bag of social anxiety. Ultimately, in August, this led me to step away from the RPG hobby for the remainder of the year.

However, I didn’t exactly step away fully.

While I diverted a majority of my time away from roleplaying games and to miniature wargaming, I still spent some time doing what I’ll call “imaginative solo play”. This is doing things like drawing maps, writing down plot germs, reading about a game, and the likes. I’m sure almost everyone in the RPG hobby has participated in this, in some form or another.

For myself, I indulged in a lot of game design. I spent time on projects that I was previously had trouble working on. Projects where I was never sure of who the audience was or how to make others enthusiastic about the game. Alone, the audience of the game was only me and, luckily, I was the one enthusiastic about them. My notebook became full of design skeletons which were going to be left undeveloped. And this was ok because I already got a lot of fun out of them. The fun I got wasn’t from rolling dice, doing funny voices, or playing with friends, but rather imagining “what if…” about those things.

This fun of “what if…” was never something I realized held legitimate value until I read the article The Imaginary Hobbyist in Volume 3 of the quirky miniature wargaming online zine 28 (or sometimes know as 28 Mag). In Pierre Tolmer’s essay he states:

Maybe the value is simply that it feels good. My head is filled with things that will never be, and that is great. I get a lot of fun from picturing them, and I have way too little time to do them all. I would not want to do them all.

This last sentence helped me put into perspective a few really important items that have been weighing on me and open myself up to, well, myself.

At the start of the 2020 pandemic, Uncle Atom, from the popular YouTube channel Tabletop Minions, talked about using hobbying as a way to abate fears. He asked that when people post hobby related things on social media that they use the hashtag #ShelterInHobby. When I first heard this I thought it was irresponsible, and thought it was encouraging us to ignore the issues happening by surrounding ourselves in a make believe world. It wasn’t until recently, when Tolmer’s article helped put things into perspective, that I realized that hobby time, solo or otherwise, was not mutually exclusive to maturity and responsibility.

And this helped set me free from myself.

Rule Zero and Narrative Miniature Wargaming

 Originally posted January 14, 2021 on the Split the Party podcast blog.

When I took a break from playing roleplaying games in the middle of 2020, I began to play a lot more miniature wargames in the time that was available. I was lucky enough to have a small group of friends who were willing, and trusted each other’s safety practices, to still get together in person. While the gaming was a blast, it hadn’t been more than a month or so before I began missing one of my favorite parts of playing RPGs. This being narrative, building a collaborative story with other people. So in September of 2020 I decided that I was going to give running a narrative wargaming campaign in Warhammer 40,000: Kill Team.

I’ve played in wargaming campaigns in the past, but this was going to be a narrative wargaming campaign. Your typical wargaming campaign, like you would find with Warhammer 40,000’s Crusade rules, are structured so that you and your group of friends build an army that you’ll play against each other with which you could, through some kind of an advancement system, earn perks for further army customization. The goal with these campaigns is that you end the campaign with an army that’s different to the one which you started with. While possible, these rules don’t typically incentivize building some kind of narrative. You still play competitive style games against each of your fellow opponents. You may set your games on the same world you make up, or even come up with a cool tale for why you’re fighting each battle, but I would argue that those aren’t really narrative games.

What I think is needed for a game to be a true narrative wargame is a Rule Zero. The Rule Zero, or sometimes known as the Rule of Cool, is a concept that “games are entertainment; your goal as a group is to make your games as entertaining as possible. If that means breaking the rules temporarily, or permanently as a house-rule, then so be it.” It can be found explicitly stated in many RPGs, including the 1980’s Basic Dungeons and Dragons where it states:

Anything in this booklet (and other D&D booklets) should be thought of as changeable – anything, that is, that the DM thinks should be changed… The purpose of these ‘rules’ is to provide guidelines that enable you to play and have fun, so don’t feel absolutely bound to them.

The Rule Zero is intended to give the power to the players to create (or remove) whatever is needed to suit whatever they are having fun with.

While in many RPGS, you can sometimes also find a version of the Rule Zero in board games and miniature wargames. In the board game and wargaming ecosystems, these Rule Zeroes typically revolve around confusion in game mechanisms or intent and are often seen as a mea culpa to poor game design or rules writing. As an example, here is the Rule Zero from the core rulebook of Warhammer 40,000 (Eighth Edition):

In a game as detailed and wide-ranging as Warhammer 40,000, there may be times when you are not sure exactly how to resolve a situation that has come up during play. When this happens, have a quick chat with your opponent and apply the solution that make the most sense to both of you (or seems the most fun!). If no single solution presents itself, you and your opponent should roll off, and whoever rolls highest gets to choose what happens. Then you can get on with the fighting!

This Rule Zero gives power to the players to make rules decisions, but doesn’t explicitly give the players power to make the game their own. Without that power, players feel locked into running what’s in the book and every game will feel like every other. With that power, the players will now be able to add or break what is necessary for a game to feel different and flavorful.

To make a proper, power granting Rule Zero for a narrative campaign I believe it needs three things. First, when I decided I wanted to run a narrative wargaming campaign, I made sure my opponent knew what they were getting into. I told them that I was going to run it like a Dungeon Master runs a game, and that I will add, change, and break any rules necessary to make the overall story as engaging as possible, and that they had the same ability to take power of any narrative bits when the need arose.

Second, I needed to make clear that I wasn’t running a game to win, but rather tell an epic story. In the case of this campaign, it was to tell a story of a small elite squad of soldiers and the discovery and recovery of an ancient artifact. My friend had just bought a Chaos Renegade Knight for their Warhammer 40,000 Death Guard army and I wanted to make a cool story about how it was acquired into the army. They weren’t just going to be given that Renegade Knight, they were going to earn it. I built and printed cool terrain, painted up some thematic enemy models, and made a big show about the whole thing.

Lastly, for a Rule Zero to work well there needs to be a understanding of what makes the game the game. If you use a Rule Zero to change 75% of the rules in the game, are you still playing the same game that you started with? Changing only what you need to for a narrative to come together will help keep the players focused on the cool bits, rather than having to worry about all the changes that were made. Also, keeping the general themes and intents of the game will help the players remember what their goals are. You don’t want to take a game like Warhammer 40,000, a game about fighting in a grim dark future, and turn it into a political intrigue game. You’ll want to keep the focus of bashing heads in as your main modus operandi.

There will always be a place for competitive wargaming. A game of skill and chance has its own worth in the thrill of the challenge. With an epic story and an understood Rule Zero at the table you can start opening yourself up to the narrative fun wargaming. However, with a greater understanding of what makes both types of games fun, you can choose to play a game anywhere on that spectrum now.

July 11, 2022

2971, Spring Finale (The One Ring 2e - Strider Mode)

2971, Spring

Dear Sister,

It is with immeasurable anguish and grief that I write this letter. Pomma is dead! Had it not been for my vow to write you every season I doubt I could ever overcome the struggle to put words on paper. I sit now in Mithlond in a pit of depression, too wracked with sadness to accomplish anything of value.

The cruel twists of events which prelude her demise have struck me with an unbound rage. As planned, we departed from those great safe Halls of Harmelt after the spring thaw had rent Old Man Winter from the mountains. With Annabelle at our sides, Pomma and I traveled north through the foothills of the mountains. The creeks and streams were high, but they proved no challenge to us. The route was easy, and the company of another brought great comfort to me. The days seem to pass more quickly and, in the aftermath of the events to follow, I cannot be certain how many days actually passed before we came upon that dreadful gulch in which lay the old dwarven mine.

An awful portent seemed to fill the gulch as the three of us descended. The pines in the gulch held no needles, some being just stumps which appeared to have had their trucks seeming wrenched apart by some primordial force. Evil hung so thickly in the air that one could chew it as it in return sunk its teeth into our skin. At one point, Annabelle had exhausted her spirit and would proceed no further despite our desperate attempts of encouragement. It was just as the light was dipping below the mountains when we found the old mine’s horribly sneering mouth. We decided it best to camp just outside the entrance of the old mine and proceed into its depths in the morning.

That night, I was plagued by awful nightmares. More than once, I was jared awake by some malicious daemon of imagination. At one point, whether in a dream or in reality, I heard a horse scream. At last, in sorrow, I resigned myself from any further attempts at sleep and charged myself with creating a pot of tea to help calm me. But the accursed wood from those evil pines refused to catch light and in a fit I hurled the small kettle against the stones of my fire pit.

The terrible crash rang across the gulch and stirred Pomma from what appeared to be peaceful slumbers. She rose from her spot and, in a manner that only she could achieve, placed a hand on my shoulder. Oh, what immense power of comfort that woman possessed! My anger had been quenched and my fear drowned by the sea of gentle life which flowed through her fingers. That power that she had taught me to imbue in silver and gold she contained in flesh and blood. What divine creator forged her with those magics?

...

Daylight had finally swept over the ancient mine’s mouth and we crept into its belly. Each of us bearing a lantern forged over the winter, the light revealed a well carved passage. The walls were smooth and the floor held a distinct set of recessed tracks. At about a hundred yards from the entrance we emerged into a large chamber! It had obviously been employed as a foyer to the rest of the mine. A dozen passages branched off in all directions, each with their own set of rails. A dozen mine carts populated the chamber, some resting on the old tracks which used to guide them and some stacked up, waiting for their chance to carry untold wealth from the ground. A multitude of ornate iron chandeliers dangled overhead, occasionally dwarfed by large chains belonging to ancient cranes.

I was bewitched by this chamber, but upon further examination my fascination quickly turned to horror! For every mine cart that I could reach bore, in its complete capacity, the skulls of our ancestors! I did not suspect it then, but we were soon to meet the agent of their terrible fate.

Pomma and I spoke no words in that miserable chamber. In resolute silence, we pushed deeper into one of the adjoining passages. We did not need to travel far before the venerable mine gave up some of its secrets. Dancing in the light of our lanterns, the remnants of a brilliant silver vein traced the wall. With a great blow of her pickaxe, Pomma took a great chunk of silver ore and I packed it away for analysis later.

Convinced with what we had discovered, we thought it best to return to the surface and begin thinking of future plans and endeavors. However, as we approached from our bountiful passage that great foyer we became acutely aware of a strange noise. We slowed our pace and approached the chamber cautiously to discover the bright light of another’s lantern. Squinting in the dark, there was Hjolin! He was digging through one of those wretched carts, the lantern hung from a large crook stuck in the ground next to him.

Pomma could not hold back words and charged Hjolin to explain why he was here. Hjolin, not one to be florid with his words, professed that he had followed us after his brother had refused his request to journey to these old mines. His voice started to rise. This place, this history, had been Hjolin’s dedication for his entirety, and the cruel torture of seeing some outsider come and claim it had pushed his composure past the limit. Hjolin was now here, and now he could rightfully stake a claim in its discovery, he exclaimed.

Now, however, Hjolin’s declarations were cut short. His last word echoed through the mine. Overhead the faint jingle of a chain was heard. The trio of us froze in stunned silence, before I started to slowly turn my head up towards that dreadful noise above. Sure enough, in those shadowed vaults, goblins were descending upon us! Upon catching my eye, they dropped from those chains! There were a dozen of these denizens of the dark on the ground, and more above swinging from the chandeliers.

I was immediately surrounded by four of them. Assuming these creatures were the catalyst for our forbearer’s demise, I attacked with a fury of revenge in my heart. I fell a goblin with a mighty blow, the other’s barbaric knives bouncing off my sturdy shield. A couple crude arrows were shot from those goblins swinging from the ceiling chains and one caught me in the thigh, my sturdy armor unyielding to its request for blood.

I rid the world of another goblin with the next swing of my ax and soon I could get a better look at the battles around me. Behind me, Pomma was holding her ground, two goblins lay at her feet while she maneuvered against a further pair. In front, the old lore-master was surrounded by a hateful group of four. In a decision I shall regret for the rest of my life, I pushed the pair of golins assaulting me towards Pomma and rushed to help Hjolin.

The fight was fierce. Ripping and tearing at those monstrous evils, I afforded Hjolin an avenue and ordered him to escape. Hjolin initially refused, but then I caught an arrow in my side and the resulting picture convinced the lore-master to flee. I had two goblins left to contend with. I checked on my companion, she too had a pair of goblins before her. She looked worn down, but appeared overall to be unharmed. We could hear, deep in the depths, the mobilization of those foul creatures and knew that the time for escape was nigh!

A crash from my ax cleaved one of my foes, but another terrible arrow found its mark. I was weary, and nearing the last of my strength. The time to retreat was now. I called out to Pomma, she rending a goblin to bits. She looked up, and in that dreadful, horrible, awful moment of distraction that last daemon found its mark. She gave a shudder and grimace. Focus gone, the awful monster drove the knife in again. And again. And again. Until Pomma dropped to the ground. Her lantern hit the ground and its flame went out. That was the last I would ever see of Pomma.

It was then that depths birthed their vile spawn. The squealing and jittering formed a cacophony which implored me to leave. But even through that evil noise I could hear the sound of the lantern, the pickaxe, the armor, the tools, the clothes being torn to shreds by that hideous mass. I ran. I ran with every ounce of strength afforded to me towards that dome of light at the end of the tunnel. Outside I saw Hjolin, hoisted him to his feet, we continued to run until every fiber of my being was spent.

We collapsed on a horrible stump. It was then that Hjolin finally noticed the absence of Pomma. “Where’s Pomma,” he said.

I hope you understand that what happened next was the pitiful display of a broken man. I dearly beg for your forgiveness, as the trauma of the events which preceded this comprehensively depleted mind, body, and soul. For, in hearing his inquiry, I leapt to my feet with a guttural roar and upon his frame. I screamed and I screamed into his face. I spouted oaths that should never be addressed towards those of our kin. And, in one final display of primitiveness, I crashed my lantern next to his quivering frame. Seeing the smashed lantern brought me back to my senses. I wept. For what felt like an eternity I wept.

I walked Hjolin back up the gulch, presented him with Annabelle and the silver ore, and said goodbye. He need not ask why I was not returning to the Halls of Harmelt, for that wise old lore-master already knew. What has become of him and that silver ore, I do not know, nor do I wish to at the present.

I traveled, alone, at a sorrowful pace through the bright budding plains south to Mithlond. It is here that I intend to spend the remainder of spring and the entirety of summer in thoughtful retreat, attempting to regain any confidence in the good of the world. In the autumn I plan to take the long journey back home to you. It is there amongst my family that I will recover, and there maybe, in due time, the wanderlust for knowledge may grow again until I set forth on adventure once more.

Affectionately,
Rori
 

July 10, 2022

2970, Winter (The One Ring 2e - Strider Mode)

2970, Winter

Darling Sister,

Excuse the brevity of this letter. The winter thaw has begun and my journey draws near, the preparations for which has caused me to forget my promise to write you.

I sincerely hope you had a cheerful Yuletide. As you may recall my plans from the letter back in late Autumn, I had spent the winter in these great, fading Halls of Harmelt. Pomma, my host, graciously chaperoned me through a myriad of holiday sacraments observed in the Halls. A great tree was brought into the center of the hall and adorn with fascinating and delicate baubles. Large lanterns were lit, the baubles causing their lights to dance across the Hall in majestic patterns and rhythms. The children would use chalk and trace the path of these patterns, creating a chaotic, yet ordered, array of constellations. I was enchanted. These ancestral practices refreshed my spirit, renewing my willpower to bring the knowledge of our forebearers to light and help the plight of our kin.

Pomma had noticed my enchantment by these ceremonies. Prior to the great Yuletide feast, she gathered me to a little forge where she mentored me in creating a bauble of my own. Never had I learned so much from such a simple craft. The shapes, the alloys, the process! They all conveyed a sense of joy, of comfort. They possessed a power, a magic! Enclosed with this letter is a small silver charm, crafted with these magics. Wear it wherever you need to bring an aura of happiness and amenity.

My only source of disquiet during this winter concerned the old lore-master Hjolin. He recused himself greatly during this time. It was rumored more than once that he could be heard giving a low chanting incantation, presumably some ancient and esoteric Yuletide rituals regurgitated from those dust caked tomes. When he was seen, the lore-master was bearing queer packages wrapped in paper and twine, their shapes giving no hints to the contents within. A chill seemed to follow in his wake.

But this chill could not dispel the blazing fire that was Pomma’s vitality. Her presence of the winter warmed my heart on the most frigid and frosty days. It is with immense pleasure that I shall have her as my companion during this voyage north. With the snow fading fast, I presume it shall commence soon. I shall write again upon my return to these Halls and share with you my findings in these ancestral mines.

Affectionately,
Rori

July 7, 2022

2970, Autumn (The One Ring 2e - Strider Mode)

 


2970, Autumn

Dear Sister,

I dearly hope you’ve had a bountiful Autumn. The weather here has started to chill and a day does not go by that I do not think of warming my heart your impeccable brews. There are thoughts that the snow will come early this year, so I now rush to write you before the post is frozen. I currently occupy a small room in the Halls of Harmlet, and it is here that I intend to endure the fast approaching winter.

My host, Pomma, was the scholar of principal interest in my coming to these Halls, as you undoubtedly remember. 13 years my senior, but possessing a youthful and adventurous esprit, I eventually located Pomma within a small study. Glasses covered in dust and soot, she pushed her nose from the tome on the table to greet me. She was very excited, for a strider looking for answers must be in possession of a mystery unique and alluring.

But alas, the mystery proved too elusive for my host. She possessed some ability to translate the ancient texts, but to comprehend in full their meaning was beyond her current abilities. You see, she had studied, or should I rather put it, is studying under the old lore-master Hjolin. It was Hjolin who initially instructed her on these old runes, hoping that she would be able to assist him in some great and secret quest. As the years passed by, Pomma recounted to me, Hjolin deeper air of reticence, sometimes disappearing for weeks at a time. Upon his return, he would provide no answers and make no statements for his disappearances. As Pomma’s instructor descended deeper into some unknown fissure, her mentoring grew erratic and she eventually committed herself to a different area of study regarding relic maps.

It was, however, that Pomma’s spirit would not allow the lore-master’s detached state sway her away from asking for council on my matters. As part of a clever scheme, quality pipe weed was acquired, intended as a gift to Hjolin, which would hopefully keep the old dwarf engaged in our conversation. It worked!

We approached Hjolin in his study the following evening after supper. The circular study was poorly lit aside from a lantern and dust lay thickly over nearly every surface that wasn’t the desk and chair in the center of the room. The study was ringed by numerous bookshelves hidden beneath long, thick curtains to obscure their contents. Oh, how I wish I could know what volumes reside behind those burgundy shrouds! A large supper had left Hjolin in a more pliable state. As he greeted Pomma and myself, I could hardly see his eyes behind dirty spectacles.

He inquired who I was and I replied with the gift of pipe weed and my story to this point. With lit pipes, I presented him with the silver bar which I had found. He snatched it from my grasp, hobbled into the chair beside the lantern lit desk, and examined it closely. For the entire time that he examined that piece, Hjolin never spoke a word. But he did not need to. As he puffed upon his pipe, an eldritch air in the room formed his thoughts in the smoke! I have no explanation for this trick other than the extreme concentration of timeworn and mystic tomes. The smoke waft about, forming words and pictures that were clearing in the mind of Hjolin. Too busy wrapped up in the bar before him, only Pomma and I noticed this magic, and only Pomma recognized the names of the books which the smoke relayed.

Upon completion of Hjolin’s study of the silver bar, he simply returned it to me with a long, low sigh. He claimed that it would require further study to unlock the mysteries of the bar, but our insight could detect his dishonesty. However, we did not press the matter, for we did not wish to arouse the ire of possibly the only being who could help crack the ancestral codes.

Soon after, we left Hjolin to his own devices and retired back to my host’s accommodations. It was then we discussed the events that took place in that curtain lined study. You can imagine my surprise, though not so much after spending more time with her, when Pomma started to shape a plan to liberate the books that the room’s magic had clearly shown us. Fortunately, this plan would never need to be put into action, as the next morning Hjolin was nowhere to be found. Without their master around to guard them, Pomma confidently strolled into the lore-master’s study and grabbed the three books from behind their dusty curtains.

We spent the next week reviewing these texts, only stopping for meals. What we uncovered during this study was that the silver bars were from an ancient dwarven mine, further north up the Blue Mountains. At one point in time, there had been a strong presence of our ancestors there, but some shadowy force had exiled them from their mountain home. This had fascinated us, and the allure of further secrets deep in these mines burned white hot. Once it became apparent that our desire to reach this ancient mine had reached a point of no return we decided to plot and prepare for the journey.

As part of these preparations, it was concluded that we should reach out for financing of such a perilous endeavor. The principal person we pursued in this effort was the master of the great Hall of Harmelt, Mjolin. Elder brother to Hjolin, Mjolin was much more approachable and receptive to us. We had caught him examining the Hall’s ancient golden metal works which adorn the great hall proper. He seemed displeased at them though, then, I could not understand why.

We relayed the story to present and proposed our expedition to the old dwarven mines. I was filled with ire when Mjolin responded that he had just heard the same story, and same proposed expedition, from his brother Hjolin the day prior. Mjolin had apparently denied his brother’s request for fear that his brother may have passed the age of harrowing adventuring. In return, I told of the challenges that I had overcome over the past few seasons to bring this information to light. Mjolin sighed, and stated that, if there were any chance of saving this great Hall, Pomma and myself were currently offered the best opportunity. He accepted our proposal!

Now we wait for winter to come and go. Over the winter we will study, train, and acquire the requisite gear for the treacherous journey North. I will send another letter prior to our departure, once the thaw starts to begin.

Affectionately,
Rori