IC 5E Throne of Night Campaign - The Journey Begins
Bugrem chewed on his pipe stem, whisps of smoke escaping from the corners of his mouth as Jothoun checked Brok's harness for the umpteenth time since Lord Rogar had called his shield dwarves together. In response, the broad-shouldered hound rumbled deep in his chest - not a growl, but a warning that a growl might be forth-coming. He slapped at the coarse black fur, feeling the taut muscles beneath and running his hand down Brok's shoulder, signet ring glinting in the day's light. Reassured his mount, even as he removed the pipe from his mouth and let a ring of bluish smoke escape to disperse, "Enough, old friend - Brok is ready, for when Lord Rogar calls upon his rangers to lead the way"
Behind the old dwarf, he could see Drogo and Vigo tightening the straps on their own packs, the two halfling brothers laden with pots and pans and rations whilst the jabbered to one another in their earthy native tongue. Even after these many years, he had a scant few words, but he thought it was something to do with bacon. Or maybe a pie.
"It won't do for you to fall flat on your face in front of the thane, young master", grumbled Jothoun, his voice like gravel and granite grinding against one another, even as hs words insisted on the older forms and named him a striping, forgetting they had marked his hundred-and-forty-third year this past midsummer, "We'll need to mind the smallest thing on this .. 'quest', mark my words!"
Chuckling, Bugrem noted his Lord's hearth-warriors making themselves ready and mounted up himself, checking his weapons and Brok's harness before he swung up. His eyes glittered black in light, a fell mood settling over his shoulders. Grasping the reins with one hand, he worried at the signet with the other, turning it over and over.
Glancing at the movement, Jothoun nodded sadly, near bowed by the weight of the Stonesinger battleaxe strapped to the back of his studded leathers, and Bugrem's mouth softened, but only a fraction, as he whispered a familiar prayer to their ancestors, lost to flame and fire
Today might be the start of something, or its end.