History
At the heart of Dwarven culture, powering their unwavering dedication to honing their skill, is the deep-seated belief that every hammer blow, every meticulously carved rune, every piece of armor forged, serves a greater purpose. Every dwarf has, at one point, felt the loss of Deepforge keenly. As bright as the shard within their hearts might burn, it is nothing more than an ember that will never fully warm them.
As the survivors of Deepforge carved out their new haven on Yrdde, they whispered a solemn vow. Never again, they swore, would they be caught unprepared. Never again would their skills, their craftsmanship, their artistry be deemed insufficient to face the horrors that had consumed their world.
Thus, the tradition of the Judging was born - a yearly ritual where every dwarf who dedicated their life to crafting weapons or armor would present their finest creation to the Council of Elders. These offerings would be meticulously evaluated, compared, and stored within a sacred vault – ready and waiting to be wielded in the final battle.
Event Highlights
The Offering
Every blacksmith, armorer, weaponsmith, and runecarver gathers within the heart of their hold – Runesholm’s grand Hall of Ancestors or the sprawling clearing beneath Everbranch's Elder Oak – to present their finest creation. A hushed silence falls over the assembled crowd as each dwarf, one by one, approaches the Council of Elders. They offer their creation, a piece of their heart poured into steel or wood, and stand in quiet anticipation.
The Elders, their eyes keen and weathered with the wisdom of centuries, inspect each offering with meticulous care. They run calloused fingers along the edge of a blade, testing its balance and sharpness. They scrutinize the weave of a chainmail shirt, searching for any imperfection. They examine the glow of inscribed runes, ensuring the energy flows with balanced potency.
With a solemn nod or a whispered critique, the Elders pass judgment, comparing the current offering to the craftsman's previous work, their memories spanning generations of offerings. A grunt of approval, a suggestion for improvement, a rare nod of acknowledgment that marks exceptional craftsmanship – these pronouncements shape a dwarf's reputation and guide their lifelong pursuit of mastery.
The judged creations are then carefully stored within the hold’s vault. Rows upon rows of weapons, armor, shields, and tools, crafted by generations of dwarves, gleam in the flickering lamplight, waiting for the moment the final battle arrives.
The Remembering
While the Judging carries a heavy weight of history and purpose, it has also evolved into a grand celebration, a time when the usually stoic dwarves let loose, their voices echoing through the halls, their mugs overflowing with ale, and their spirits alight with camaraderie and a healthy dose of inter-guild rivalry.
While the weapons and armor take center stage, the Judging also provides an opportunity for other artisans to showcase their talents – weavers display tapestries depicting scenes from dwarven mythology, jewelers offer their latest creations fashioned from gleaming gems mined from the mountains, and musicians fill the air with the rhythmic pounding of drums and the mournful strains of stringed instruments. Groups of humans, typically a rare sight in Holds, are often seen during the Remembering, flitting between the various market stalls and sampling goods. Many trade deals are solidified during the festival, mostly during the daylight hours before the ale flows freely.
The aroma of roasting meats and freshly baked bread mingles with the sharp tang of dwarven ale. Tables groan under the weight of elaborate dishes – hearty stews, savory pies, smoked fish, and sweet honey cakes – a culinary feast enjoyed by all, regardless of rank or craft. This celebration serves as another facet of the Judging - the darkness may return one day, but there are countless things to enjoy in the here-and-now
The Judging… honey, talk about your dwarven extravaganza! It’s like a fashion show for axes, a beauty pageant for breastplates, all set against a backdrop of mountains and enough ale to drown a sky-whale. I’ll give them this, those stubby, bearded artisans take their craftsmanship seriously. They spend months, sometimes years, crafting these masterpieces of metal and wood, each detail polished to perfection. And then they just… hand them over to collect dust! It's a tradition steeped in history, of course, a reminder of their lost homeland and that whole “preparing for the end of days” thing. But frankly, darlings, I think it's just an excuse to get absolutely hammered and boast about their hammer-swinging skills. It's all quite endearing, in a rough-and-tumble kind of way. But while they're down in those stuffy vaults, lovingly polishing centuries-old axes, the world's moving on. Hopefully to somewhere better, a place where those vast armories never see the light of day." - E Dawnstrider
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