The last one was a year have been great for the clan. And the comming one is sure to be epic. For the Dwarfs, for the Wildhammers, and for the Stormhearts!
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It was by far the hardest journey Throrgar had made in some time, yet in the realisation of only being a few simple strides across the cobbled courtyard of Kirthaven. Guided by his mother’s arm as she’d link to his own, side by side as they’d accompany the other in silence. Soon to reach the doorway to which their Thane resides.
“Fer what may come o’ this, Throrgar, always remember that he loved ya. That -I- love ya with all me heart.” Haelga speaks through glistening eyes as she’d keep a hand placed upon the door. As if to be reluctant to open it, gazing up to her son at her side.
Throrgar stands quiet however, besides a low exhale, unable to even muster the right words to sooth his mothers worries. With but the simplest of gestures he’d move to cover his large hand over hers, gently as they’d begin to push as one against the creaking door. It’d swing ajar as the large frame of her son steps forth, soon to leave her within the dimly lit hallway. He did however turn a last time to look upon his mother, offering a weak smile before slowly closing the door behind. Haelga brushes her hand back against the door as it shuts fully, her head bowed slightly before finally taking her leave - wiping away a tear as she’d make her way back to the others.
Throrgar hasn’t yet set eyes upon his father who’d lay still within the bed at the opposite end of the room, swallowed now by many furs and blankets surrounding his fragile body. Instead he turns himself to the table at the far wall, collecting himself a mug and generously pouring a drink from the jug near by, likely Bronzebrew.
Throrgar pauses in motion as he hears the old Thane begin to stir again, having likely fallen asleep as he’d often do. Deciding at that moment to pour a second mug, so that he might have something to share, something to bring to the conversation that awaits him.
“I didn’t believe yer Ma at first, but here ya stand before me…” a raspy voice emits from behind. Throrgar finally takes a breathe before turning slowly, unveiling a face so far from what he could remember or recall, laying helplessly upon that bed. Grahda had grown increasingly gaunt, terribly thin is his face as his eyes sink ever deeper within their sockets. A singular hand ascended from the wrappings of fur, beckoning him closer.
Throrgar approaches calmly to the side of the bed, offering down the mug to the bedside table. “What gift have yer brought yer Thane?” he’d ask quietly, whilst removing a pillow from his flank and tossing it upon the floor. “Thought we could at least share something tae drink.” Throrgar musters, standing now with his own mug pressed against his chest. Grahda sprawls a little, leaning with a splutter upon his elbow as he’d grasp the mug with an unsteady grip - to which Throrgar leaves him to struggle with. He’d raise it only slightly as he’d speak “A momentous day be this, ta return o’ my -son-, I knew he’d see sense n’ come home tae me one day…” to which Throrgar knowingly ignores and withholds gesture, drinking at his own pace and desire.
Grahda wouldn’t show himself phased by his sons decline in toast, trying to move past his obvious resentment, he’d attempt another angle whilst propping himself up a little more. “I trust Selena tae be well? How’d she find ta journey?” in which he’d speak sincerely, clearly having forgetten what he’s already been told. This is unknown to Throrgar, looking away he’d have believed his father couldn’t resist, glancing at anything else than this insulting cripple before him - agitated greatly by his choice of words. “I’d have hoped you’d have remembered tae -only- letter I’ve written tae ya. She died, some time ago now.” he’d respond, knocking back a hearty mouthful of drink to swallow anything more destructive that could’ve been said.
“Yes, I-I’m sorry, I fergot she was killed, such a shame, such a loss. Forgi-…” Grahda is then interrupted by Throrgar as he’d kick the bedside table, leaning down as he’d bear over Grahda - his opposite hand clamped over the headboard. “I’m not ‘ere ta -forgive- ya. If we’re tae speak truthfully, I’d had hoped yer body had given out before I even arrived. Save us both tae hassle of never having this conversation.” to which Grahda lowers himself upon the intrusion, holding out a weak hand in defence whilst dropping his mug upon the floor. “I’m truly sorry fer how I treated yer boy…” as he’d try to touch Throrgar’s cheek. “Don’t yer touch me!” he’d shout in turn, slapping away the advance with ease. He’d get up in Grahda’s face, breathing down him as he’d speak with utter disdain towards him.
“I want yer tae feel as -unwanted- as yer made me feel, I could handle ta beatings n’ continued insult you’d bring upon me - but that soured truth o’ yer doing ‘et ta better me? Ya just liked tae -hurt- people, Grahda - just like Olgan did. Now ta attempt reconciliation with yer dying breath? After all that’s happened, after -all- yer put me through? Ya truly are pathetic.” Throrgar tosses what was left in his mug over the dying fire, grasping at Grahda’s furs as he’d strip him back in a fit of rage, leaving him exposed upon the bed of straw, with only a long thin tunic covering to his knees. Grahda groans as the cold soon finds him, uncomfortable as he’d hold his arms, attempting to contain warmth as he’d cry out to his son. “Twas all I -knew-! I wasn’t made tae be that o’ a father - but let me make peace with yer now, Throrgar, allow me that kindness!” now propped up on his elbow, his hand outstretched for Throrgar with a panicked expression.
Though his son now resides at the end of the bed, breathing heavily as his emotions soon convey all that anger in to overwhelming sadness. He’d look around at what he’d done to his father, quivering at the lip he’d respond “I will never forgive ya, fer tae life you’ve forced upon me.” he’d briefly lean, as if to pull some furs back to his father’s feet - stopping himself, conflicted. Grahda - though in great pain, moves about as he’d come to the edge of the bed, he’d be panting and sobbing, using whatever was close to help himself stand. “Throrgar, out o’ -all- me children, you’ve come home. Something -must’ve- brought yer back tae me.”
”I came back fer Ma, she’s endured so much because o’ yer own failures.” Throrgar moves away from the advancing Thane, scared of the feelings that’d erupt within. He’d plant his hand upon the door - looking for that lasting reason to leave. To which Grahda stumbles after him, frail as he’d fall upon Throrgar, holding his weight to the door - he couldn’t let him leave again. His hand pressed up to his son, sapped by the cold he’d utter “Don’t ya leave me, son…” to which Throrgar looks away, feeling a tear slip his guard. “Allow Ma a chance at finding peace, do what be needed be done, now let go o’ ta door.” he’d command, grasping his father’s hand in his own.
Grahda struggles but only briefly, the strength of his son is something he’s all too familiar with - though it was perhaps too much for his frail state.
“Don’t do this!” he’d plead a final time, though reeling from the heavy shove of Throrgar - falling heavy upon his back, flat upon the stone floor. Throrgar looks up at the ceiling, diverting his ashamed gaze away from the fallen Thane, he’d speak through a couple more tears as he’d finally pull the door a slight. “Give this family -peace- n’ close yer eyes.” as he’d step out from the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Grahda remains on the cold floor to be found by a passer by, crying as he’d long for the strength to follow, to pursue his son - he’d whisper through weak breathes.
“I have always loved ya…”
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Still want to punch him after reading that
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((Lately been aquireing a new gryphon since my last old one died from fighting some dirty orcs. Here is how Tharragh met Cliff.))
The windswept cliffs overlooking the great dark sea had a powerful effect on him. Tharragh had allways loved the sight. The unexplored depths of vast sea. The distant shores of adventures that might be out there. The unforgiving slippery rocks beneath his feet, one slip and it was a tumbling and a harsch death, breaking every bone on the way down. The wind whispering in his ear and playfully brushing around in his hair. The air filled with a scent of snow from the mountain, the flowers from the valleys and the salt of the Forbidding sea. The lustrous highlands behind him, glowing in the setting sun over the Aerie. It was like a dreamstate, and every time he ventured to this place he felt as if in a trance. Transcending from his own body and almost floating in spirit. It was in such a time, as he stood there saying a last offering word to the winds to carry his beloved Sarah to the heavens and beyond, it was in such place he saw him. He peered over the cliffs and saw the gryphon below. It had a bloodied claw stretched out on the rocks and seemingly trying to lick the wound clean. It scrieked out in pain, the sound echoing loudly over the snowy peak. Tharragh started to climb down, slowly and careful not to show himself to soon if the wild beast would attack him. As he got to the same ledge as the wounded gryphon the dwarf looked it over. Examining the wound and state of the animal from afar. He took a slow inhale before trying to talk to it.
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Calling all Dwarf friends! After a slow couple of months your favourite Wildys are back with a bang and looking for trade!
We are rebooting our Gryphon trade and are in need of buyers so if you or a friend find yourselves in need of a premium feathered friend just drop me, Grahda or Gally a messege!
Never waiver!
Clan Stormheart
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Modimites, I summon thee for gryphon trade…
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A communal League gryphon…
A brilliant idea. 
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I’ve been interacting with these guys for the last couple of days. They’re, hands down, THE place to go if you’re looking for Wildhammer RP. Solid bunch of guys and girls - the Dawn are VERY excited to work with them in the future.
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Ta lad, we are looking forward to committing Troll genoside with you in a few weeks time!
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If not for Clan Stormheart, the Paratroopers would’ve been dropping dead in the Wetlands! Together we protected the Grove and defeated the Orcish warleader, thanks again for joining us on our operation.
If you’re looking for Wildhammer RP there is no better place then to join then this guild!
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Thanks dude, we had an absolute blast!
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Grahda had always loved supper time, especially when it was the stew. Haelga’s family favourite boar-blasted chunks with a few choice vegetables - partnered with a helping of crusty sliced bread for dipping. But no longer is he able to taste nor smell it, having become numb all but from the sensation of warmth that’d run down his throat, whilst equally satisfying his hunger. Haelga’s ability to remain optimistic whilst in his presence becomes increasingly strained these last days, having to re-scoop mouthfuls from the bowl multiple times, fighting a trembling spoonful. Each meal time seemed gradually longer than the last, feeding her husband slowly and with total care, allowing him as much time as needed to chew, catching often the dribbled excess he’d find hard to swallow.
”Take yer time m’sweet, I’ll stay as long as need be, yer know that.” Haelga speaks softly, scraping around the bowl for another spoonful to offer. But Grahda can’t even turn his head anymore, the odd grunt or mumble escapes his lips through pained breathes. “Another.” he’d mutter, his head sunk upon a large feather pillow. To which Haelga happily obliges, offering the spoon to his lips as he’d slurp down most of it. “I’ve even got abit o’ bread, m’love. Fer dunking, I know that be yer favourite.” she’d force a smile, despite her eyes turning glossy - his frail state cuts her far deeper than any weapon could. Though Grahda’s eyes divert away, dismissing the idea it’d seem. “Nae.” he’d wheeze, loosening his lips as some of the gravy wets his chin.
She’d acknowledge always his wants and needs, leaving the hefty slice of bread within the bowl - placed now upon his bedside table for later. “I’ll just fetch yer a fresh mug o’ yer favourite.” standing then to move towards the table nearing the far wall of the room. Haelga begins to potter about, cleaning up what she’d fed Grahda for breakfast that same morning. “It’ll be tae same fer breakfast again taemorrow, m’love - cheese, bit o’ sausage. I’ll cook ‘et how yer like.” she’d speak up whilst her back is turned, clinging so desperately to a sense of normality as she’d secretly compose herself whilst he can’t see. To which her husband stirs a little, his large left hand slides underneath the furs that’d envelope him - producing the corner of a silver edged tome. “Haelga-… H-Haelga-…” he’d call out breathless, failing to reach the ears of his wife as she’d continue to make ready his drink.
She’d soon turn again, bringing over a freshly poured mug of the Thane’s favoured beverage - Bronzebrew. “Let’s give yer a couple of sips now, eh? That’ll wet yer lips nicely, m’dearest.” as she’d plant herself down near his side, a hand upon his lap - now only noticing the tome poking out from the covers. “Haelga-… Take, this-…” he’d speak again whilst sliding the book a little further out from beneath him. “This was Mairede’s gift - wasn’t ‘et?” Haelga questions, placing the mug down as she’d take the book with both hands - not to open it, smoothing a hand over the face of it, admiring its decorative emblem of their family, glancing back to her husband with a raised eyebrow.
”When ta time-… Be right-… Ya must read 'et.”
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Tharragh closes his eyes as his tears won´t stop bursting out unto his face. He starts humming a dark, low and silent song as he rocks from side to side. The bard thinks about all the good times the now dying thane have provided.
The dwarven bard hums where he stands, almost becoming one with the great hall. The elder Galvrin speaks about the life of the Thane and Tharragh starts rocking side to side.
The death of the Thane came as, not a chock, but a burst of heaviness over the otherwise smiling bard. He would hum his last tune as the air and earth would calm around him. Tharragh walks out from the dead Thanes hall.
((The great Thane Gradha is dead! Long live the Thane!))
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Long live the Thane!
Its the end of an era
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Thane Grahda Stormheart is dead, it didn’t take long for this news to spread amongst the many families of both Kirthaven and Thundermar. Taken then by word of mouth across the mountains, brought up in conversation within many taverns, between settlements and cities of Khaz Modan - some even stretching beyond our borders in passing comment.
A few Wildhammer of the Aerie might converse over many-an-ale, discussing how the ‘Bear of Batol’ finally met his end. Some heard he’d died atop his saddle, driving yet another Dragonmaw skirmish from the great Verrall river. Others heard a rumour that he chose to disappear within the untamed wilds, to die at the very heart of natures comfort. But the truth of the matter was much simpler, he had died of a ripe old age, denied the chance of any heroic demise upon a battlefield. He passed peacefully beneath a layering of fur, nestled within his bed. He was surrounded by his loving family until the very end.
His burial will be within the coming days, no-doubt, for a Thane’s death brings forth an hour of remembrance, grief and succession. Clan Stormheart will endure, a proud son shall step forward to stand upon the mighty shoulders of his forebears.
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The winds howled around his head, but the bard kept on singing. His voice echoing over the snow, over the hills and treetops, down towards the valley and village below. The wind had been pushing against him the last days, not in a antagonistic way, but yet hard enough so that he had started to wonder if the element had stopped aiding him.
His gryphon sat beside him, protecting his right side from the cold windsswept weather on the cliff. Tharragh laid his arm around the beast and smiled as he pulled his wolffur tighter around his own shoulders. His voice kept pushing and pushing to break the barrier of sound itself. The bard was determind that this was just a test, a way of the ancestors to try him in his belief. The bard changed his tune as he continued, shifting between dark and somber old mountainhymns to lighter and jolly childrenjigs of good intentions. The wind and air kept howling with him as he sang, all thrue the day and all thrue the night. Both the element and the bard becoming a low hum over the eastern valleys and cliffs of the highlands.
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Rest in peace, Thane Grahda… You will be missed dearly.
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Rest well, hero of Khaz Modan…
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Long live the Thane! 
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We are but days away from the Thanes funeral where will set the Old Bear to rest before selecting the next leader of our clan. It will be a hard few days but the future looks bright none the less.
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