Nishka wrote:It's kinda unfair how roflcopter's noise announces your arrival to everyone.
Dwarfs are fearless they dont need to hide there presence from any one.
Let me quote a section from the Age of reckoning novel:
Empire in Chaos
UDO GRUNWALD SWORE and gritted his teeth as the gruff voice behind him continued its slow, rhythmic, mournful song, if that dire sound could be classed as song, he thought.
He didn't understand the words of course, but it sounded like some relentless requiem that droned on and on monotonously without end. When occasionally it stopped, Grunwald closed his eyes and listened to the blessed silence. It never lasted long.
They had covered tens of miles on foot, and he wasn't sure if his travelling companion had merely started the chanting song over again after these small breaks, or if it really was some torturous drone that truly had no end. He wouldn't be at all surprised if that were the case.
This wasn't the only thing that grated on Grunwald's nerves. His companion seemed incapable of moving without alerting every living soul within a ten-mile radius of their position. Every heavy step of his nail-studded, metal encased boots was accompanied by the clanking of metal and the jangling of buckles and chainmail.
Grunwald turned around to look upon his companion, his deep baritone voice still booming out from beneath his helmet.
Thorrik stood just over four feet tall, a decent height for his kin, and he was almost as wide as he was tall. He probably weighed twice that of a full-grown man, and that was before you included the heavy armour that he wore. Gromril, Thorrik had called the metal it was forged of, and it was unlike any metal that the witch hunter had ever seen. Stronger than steel, the dwarf claimed, able to deflect all but the most powerful blows, it was sometimes known as silverstone or hammernought. Within the lands of the Empire, it was called meteoric iron, and that was a name familiar to Grunwald, though he had never seen the fabled metal before.
Only Thorrik's glittering eyes could be seen beneath his fully enclosed helmet. Beneath this spilled his real beard, his pride and joy, a billowing mass of red hair that had been drawn into a dozen plaits with thin wire twisted through them and each decorated with a circular metal icon depicting a stylised dwarfen face. Ancestor deities, Grunwald had learnt.
He had no idea how the dwarf moved within such an immense amount of armour, let alone marched and fought. And it wasn't as if the armour was the only load that the dwarf bore - he carried a heavy looking pack across his shoulders, along with the mysterious large chape wrapped in waterproofed leather. On one arm he carried his solid gromril shield, and he carried his axe. Such a load would have been a heavy burden for a mule, let alone a man, but the dwarf bore it without complaint and he seemed easily able to march all day despite the weight.
Seeing that Grunwald had halted, Thorrik ceased his baritone singing and planted his feet in the snow, glaring up at the taller figure.
'What's the problem?' he growled, his voice deep and rumbling. 'Why are you stopping?'
'What was that you were singing, anyway? You have been singing it non-stop for days now,' said Grunwald.
'It is a traditional marching chant of Clan Barad, from Karaz-a-Karak,' Thorrik replied. 'It was the chant the armies of Clan Barad would march to war by in the time of my great-great-grandfather. It recounts the deeds of those slain during the siege of Karak Drazh, when Clan Barad came to the aid of our besieged kin. Rousing, is it not?'
'That's not the word that I was going to use,' said Grunwald. 'Can you not travel more... quietly?'
'I do not hide from my enemies. I have no need to travel silently.'
