A Story of Three {Part One} Spoiler: Ambiance -I- A gust of mountain wind graced the Dwarf Lord as he approached the clearing before the gates of the hold, warm and dry with a hint of seaspray that was customary at this time of year on the coast. The air was alive with the sound of steel meeting steel, meeting the steady clang of hammers and stonework to create a melody that never failed to make him smile. As he stood by the gate, his idle daydreaming was cut short by the approach of Arthas bannermen, arriving day after day at the hold for training and armaments. Perhaps a gesture of good will, he wondered as the two men approached, flanked by men-at-arms on either side. The first man seemed to be the leader, he thought to himself as he watched them stand before him. Resplendent in a surcoat of crimson and deep gold, with scripture and symbols befitting a bannerman to Ailor leaders. His face was plain enough, blonde with keen hazel eyes, with a green hilted arming sword strapped proudly at his waist. While he stood tall with a graceful step, the one that followed behind him seemed a stark contrast. Short and portly, with more a waddle than a walk, bearing a greyed and browned surcoat that seemed out of place with the usual gold and red Dothrak had seen the others with. Though, Dothrak was shorter still. ‘He gave them a polite nod as they approached, watching the pikemen on either side of them with slight apprehension, before the tension was relieved when the men stood at ease in unison, eyes scanning about beneath a helmeted visage as their pikes stood tall. Dothrak leaned on the long-hafted axe beside him nonchalantly as he began to speak. “I hope Argost is to your liking, lads. Bit of renovation goin’ on in the back.” He spoke with an accent that was customary of Mithorrin. Better they see him as the Dwarf he is, and not some pretender Ailor, perhaps. They peered down at him, before a warm smile met the lips of the blonde one. “Yes, you have been fine hosts. Our men are thankful for the training, and the meals. Even if they don’t say it for the first one, heh.” The bannerman spoke with a slight lilt that was unfamiliar to him. He shrugged it off as he replied after a moment, the rustling of trees in the summer wind adding to the symphony of steel and hammers. “Aye, well… y’know what they say about us dwarves, ey? Love our axes, and our ale. I hope the gear was to yer likin’?” “It was. Our smiths have the schematics now, though I doubt they can reproduce the work you’ve done. Have you an office, of some kind? We should speak politics.” Should have expected that, he thought to himself. He gestured them along as he returned into the mountain of Argost once more, elaborate stonework placed by thousands of hands passing above them as he nodded to the gatekeepers. The sound of sparring faded to echoed hammering and chatter across the halls, as he crossed the walkway to the center of the entrance. A grey light emanated from the grand pillar in the centre, as it always did, illuminating scripture and runes that were the pride of its design. A muffled sound of awe or two could be heard behind him as he continued to walk, likely from the men-at-arms beneath their helmets. He grinned slightly as he continued further in, bringing them through another set of wooden gates before arriving at his chambers. He gestured a hand for them to sit in the ornately decorated chairs, before pouring a flagon of ale for each of them with a rehearsed motion. Golden liquid bubbled in the cups as he poured a flagon of his own, savouring the taste of it before moving on to business. “Politics? I… I can’ say I have much experience, with that.” “Mrm.” the blonde man would take a sip of the ale, sighing slightly as an inevitable response to a good drink in midsummer, before continuing. “Well, perhaps not politics of our own. The Insidian Supremacy have allied themselves with some Northerner rabble. Jacobins, the lot of them.” Jacobins. The word was unfamiliar to him, in truth. Perhaps he’d heard it once or twice before, though he never knew the true meaning. The confusion was evident on his face for a moment, blonde brows furrowing as the dwarf thought, before the expression faded and he focused on the matter at hand. “Guessin’ they’ve got some men, then.” “Yes, they do. Nothing to worry about on their own, but… with the Insidians? It gives some pause. Their fighting ability is yet to be seen- King Robert has sent for scouting missions, but… So far, nothing.” At that, Dothrak’s began to race with possibilities, considering the potential for cavalry, siege engines… any number of machinations that could be used by their newfound enemy in the north. Perhaps he should send scouts of his own. “Eh, s’pose it doesn’t matter. We’ll give ‘em a fight, regardless.” The man took another gulp of ale at that, before replying after settling the flagon in his hands. “The war is well, all things considered. Their raids on our lands have ceased, for the most part. Soon we’ll retaliate, when our men are trained and outfitted.” “Mmh. Fair ‘nough. How do th’ battles fair?” He’d take a sip of his ale at that, flagon concealing his slight concern at the answer to that question. He didn’t know their armies well, or their tactics. “We have won most of the skirmishes, so far. King Robert has surrounded himself with capable men.” The man took another sip of his ale at that, before glancing around the room, frowning slightly. “Where are your advisors, my lord?” “Busy.” “Mrm. Fair enough. I was told there was another, leading the hold, is all.” “Another?” “An Ailor. One of your marshals spoke of him. A… Lord Arnyn? Where is he to speak with us?” Dothrak would sigh at that, muttering a few words in his own tongue into his flagon before chuckling slightly. That was a good question. TL;DR Argost backs Arthas and their lads so yeah ganggang ratpack
