Snorri looked around the room at the assembled council of dwarfs, each of whom was of a similar stature to Buulk, sporting elaborately platted beards, each more intricate than the last. He looked to Buulk as the dwarf cleared his throat and began to speak. “Let it be known that I, Buulk the Man-flayer, Duke of Green Hill, have called this emergency session of the council on this night.” Snorri heard the scratching of a quill and looked over to see Frankin sitting at a table, now hurriedly reciting Buulk’s words in the hug. “Well, what's the emergency?” asked one of the councilmembers in an annoyed tone. Buulk raised a hand to silence the dwarf before continuing. “The members of the council present are as follows: Quartermaster Argus the Sheild-biter, Law Master Fenn the Ink-spiller, Priest of Bones Flokki the Oath-spitter, Commander at Arms Dougle Oak-feller, Feild Master Ren Horse-speaker, and Finnally Blacksmith Kult.” Buulk waited for Frankin to catch up with the minute before he glanced at Snorri, apparently unsure as to whether to add him to the minutes or not. “And Snorri Snorinson, Gnome.”
Looks of confusion shot between the council members: "What's a Snorri?” Argus actually asked Buulk whilst staring at Snorri. Buulk hushed him with a gesture: “This is Snorri.” He said it in a gruff voice, gesturing to Snorri. “Man-kids do not have a right to talk at council, my duke; I move to have whatever name you have given the thing stricken from the record.” Fenn the law master said with a tut. “And that ink-spiller brings us nicely to the first point of order.” Buulk said in a harsh tone, growing sick of the councilmembers interruptions all ready. “Snorri is not a man; he is a gnome, and thus I am unsure of what he technically is legally. Hence, he is not a slave. Hence, he is on record.”
Once again, the clan members looked from Buulk to Snorri before one of them, an old dwarf with a long grey in a dozen long white braids, addressed the gnomee directly. “Is this true?” he asked. Snorri took another sip of the amber liquid Buulk had poured him early before replying. “It is. I am Snorri Snorrinson, and I am a gnome," he said to both the old-looking dwarf and the council at large. Gasps of shock rang out from around the room. One bleary-eyed council member fell from his chair, colliding with the room’s cold stone floor with a thud and a dwarigh curse. “Blimey Buulk, You didn't tell us he could speak dwarfish. You could make a lot of gold in the pits with this one," one of the council members joked before quickly being silenced when Buulk shot him a visceral look in the fire light.
“So why haven't you chained him?” I asked Kult, the blacksmith, from under a pair of jet black bushy eyebrows. “It is a little complicated," began Buulk, thinking carefully about how to explain the situation to the council. “As you know, since I was awarded these lands, we have been monitoring our territory’s population of mankids; for two centuries, we hadn’t found one, and our working theory was that due to overharvesting, the population had died out.” The council members groaned as Buulk began to ramble. “Get to the point, Buulk; we talked about this at our last meeting; no need to go over our history yet again." Flokki, the prettiest, interjected, clearly wanting to get back to his bedroom as quickly as possible. "Well, the Flokki point is that I was right when I said they were living underground—that old one I asked about last week—you remember the triangle he drew over and over again. It turns out the arrow pointed to a cave on Greyhold Mountain. Apparently, there were thousands of them living under the mountain.” Buulk explained before another member of the council interrupted him yet again. “What do you mean, WAS?” The quartermaster asked hastily. "Well, let me get to the point.” Buulk snapped back at him before continuing. “So I entered the cave, and there was this huge door like something we would have built. Nothing I could do would open it. Then, as I turn to leave, I get just out of the cave, and the dam thing opens. and outflies Snorri being chased by a goblin spider rider. I killed the spider just as the door closed, and the little guy came charging at me with his sword drawn. Just as he got to me, he passed out. woke up four days later, speaking Dwavish.”
Snorri looked around at the council members; each of them seemed to have now fully woken up. They paid attention to Buulk’s story with wide eyes, finally stopping their non-ceding interuptions of the Duke. “So you are saying the hidden population of mannkidds you bet our entire treasury on finding has been found, only to be overrun with goblins before we could act?” Argus asked after waiting a few moments to see if Buulk had paused for questions.
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"Well, at first, I figured we might be in with a chance, especially when Snorri here turned up alive, but yes, apparently for 200 years weve been walking on top of an underground city filled with Mankidds, and yes, an army of goblins does appear to have wiped them out before we found it.” The councilmen's faces darkened at that; they had been searching for the Mankidd population's home for centuries; without it, their main source of gold was gone. “So why have you not chained this one? If he speaks dwarish, he would fetch at least enough gold to get us through the winter,” Fenn, the lawmaster, asked. Buulk raised his hand to hush the questions. before turning to Snorri, “Would you mind placing your sword upon the table, Snorri? I feel it will serve as a better explanation than I can give right now.” Buulk asked.
Snorri pulled Arcop’s blade from where it sat on his lap and placed it on the table in front of his glass. Serveal concerned looks shot between the council members. “Is that a death-weaver?” Asked Kult, the blacksmith, eyes wide with shock at his getting up from his chair to move close to the blade. "I'm not sure,” replied Buulk. “Hence the emergency meeting. You are the blacksmith; what can you tell me?" Kult bent in close to be able to carefully read the runes that glowed upon the blade of Snorri’s Magical Sword. “Could be,” he said, trying to draw out the words as much as possible to give him time to think. “These carvings are in Old Dwarvish; I can read them, but they mean the sword is really old. From everything I've read about them, it seems to be, Can you show me the cuff?” Snorri raised his right arm, allowing his sleeves to fall back and reveal the dark metal cuff that enclosed his right arm in a tight metallic grip. Kult let out a hum before raising a single finger to poke at the chain linking Snorris wrist to the sword.
“Does the chain extend when the weapon is thrown?” He asked. Snorri nodded. Kult stood back. “In my opinion, it could be, but would that mean he would be mad with battle sickness, you know, like trying to kill us and stuff?” Another of the dwarfs got up from his seat and moved to where Snorri and Bulk sat. “Not neccessarily, the battle sickness only occurs during the period of servitude.” Flokki, the priest, said as he bent down to get a close look at the weapon. “Where did you come upon this sword, Snorri?” He asked.
“It was in our artefact vaults for centuries. When the goblins attacked, I was in charge of watching it. The explosion went off, and when I came too, it was attached. My best guess is that I was thrown into the glass box.” Snorri answered the priest honestly as the council members looked on in hushed silence. “And after, did the creature inside it talk to you and make a deal with you?” Flokki pushed. Snorri nodded. “It asked me to bring it one thousand souls.” The rest of the council let out loud chuckles at his sword, and Buulk raised a hand to silence them. “And did you?” askedFlokki in almost a whisper. Snorri nodded. The laughing council member fell silent. Flokki took his seat and nodded to buulk. “It is indeed possible; during the period of servitude Death Spinner’s Gran, there were certain boons; if there were no orks visible, he killed a thousand goblins.” the priest said before falling silent.
Buulk turned his attention to the law master. “So given that, where do we stand legally here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. The law master took awhile to repond before finally opening his mouth and saying, "Well, now I guess you have two options legally speaking. If the sword is indeed a death-weaver and your Mankidd friend has indeed managed to bind it to himself, he would be granted certain rights under our laws; however, if the blade is the rightful heirloom of a Dwarvic family, you would be legally responsible for its theft. Therefore, I advise you to do one of the following: First, you could kill it, take the sword to the capital, and ask someone at the blood forge which house it belongs to, or secondly, you could take Snorri and the sword to the capital. Either way, my advice is that a sword could get you into a lot of trouble if stolen, and your best bet is to take it to the city rather than wait for someone from the city to come looking.”
Buulk smiled at the lawmaster’s words; he preferred travelling to the boring, repetitious work of ruling the erritorium. “Quartermaster, Can we supply the supplies for a trip to the city?” He asked, “For you, my lord, yes, we can spare the food; the only waggon we can spare, however, has a broken wheel and will need time to be fixed.” Angus said this from another of the tables. Buulk looked at Kult. “What say you? Can we fix it before Dawn?" He asked the younger dwarf. Kult nodded. "Right,” Buulk said to the greater group. “I will make haste to the capital with Snorri; I trust my honoured council will take care of things hile I aam one." The council replies with a chorus of low grunts. “Well then, councilmen, I bid you good night.”