Adil Sodeltilesh had always felt like a failure of a man.
Pure happenstance had left him as the king of the Rim of Cobras, a small confederation of dwarven mountainhomes and outposts. He knew he had done nothing to deserve it, and it made him miserable. He had never slain a single foe; he did not even have any martial skills to speak of. He wasn't a masterful craftsdwarf nor a clever diplomat. No woman had ever loved him, not even with all his wealth and trappings. He was just the disappointing only son of a proud and mighty queen.
When he had signed the embark orders for a small expedition, he nearly forgot about it soon afterwards, for it was such a trivial undertaking. He had cast the courier a doubtful look when the young servant had interrupted a lonesome meal in his private chambers. He wasn't uninterested for long.
The god metal. The sky weave. Crystal wind. No matter what it was called, it was the most prized of all good things within the earth. Occasionally, little flecks of it would be found in riverbeds and lava flows, prompting a mass migration of dwarven fortune-seekers. This wasn't such a finding. No, it was nothing like anything ever spoken of. A spire, a twisting ribbon, rising from the darkest depths and fanning out bare to the sun. A tower of adamantine had been found, creating a shaft which pierced the heart of the earth.
This was Adil's redemption from mediocrity. His nightmare of being merely a hastily-engraved line in the annals of royalty was banished from his mind. He would be Adil, the Adamant King. Adil, lord over the most prosperous of all dwarven empires. He immediately commanded that dozens of the finest craftsdwarves to go ahead and prepare a new capital of the Rim. It seemed even the gods themselves were hailing Adil's coming reign in this place, which had been consecrated as the Voice of Stone. A humble farmer was stricken fey, and boldly seized a piece of the sacred adamantine. By the guidance of the divine, he wrought from it a perfect crown.
An intelligent and comely woman known as Tholtig, a member of the expedition party, was appointed duchess of the growing city. After four years, she sent word to the Mountainhome that all was ready for the government to be re-established in the Voice of Stone. Adil proudly led a procession of his warriors to claim his solid adamantine throne.
At first, Adil was ecstatic. Emissaries from the world over came with caravans of tribute, and no material desire went unfulfilled. The Voice of Stone was the fortress that his ancestors had prayed for. Not only was its wealth unmeasurable, but it was impregnable. A sea of shattered goblin bones and broken arrows washed up against the tower, nothing but so many speckles against the vast expanse of barren limestone.
After watching his own bodyguards spar, however, Adil had a sobering revelation. None of this could be attributed to him at all. He was still the miserable man who fate made king. It hardly mattered if he was king over a hovel or the spire of the gods. The hearts of the people were with Tholtig, their charismatic duchess. Never one to idle, Tholtig had carved many of the halls of the fortress with her own two hands. She attended every party and yet still had time to see to her administrative duties. She knew everyone in the fortress by name, even the flood of little children. In contrast, Adil realized that he had not grown close to a single person under his authority. They treated him with steely formality, and, he suspected, resent at his uselessness. He took a deep breath, and laid his hands on the masterwork spear in his decorative weapon rack. He asked his guards to teach him how to defend himself.
His greatest comfort in life was his dogs. There were nine of them, gamboling about wherever they could follow, eager to please and unquestioning of Adil's good character. They would frequently get in the way when his guards were trying to teach Adil something. They would be annoyed, but he would laugh it off and offer the dogs treats. One of the guards in-particular he began to feel fond of: Iton, young and beautiful and swift with the sword. He commissioned a rose gold statue of warriors, just for her, to show his affection. He couldn't quite understand the look on her face, but he was sure she was happy.
An effort had been launched to discover just how far down the spire went. Many in the Voice of Stone were fearful that it went straight through the earth and came out the other side, and that too much tunneling would cause the whole fortress to plummet into nothingness. The miners, however, discovered caverns like those of myths, with glowing pits with no bottom that could be heard if something was thrown in. The rock there was so dense that the finest steel could not do more than crack it. Tholtig led an expedition down to these eerie pits to erect a monument to dwarven accomplishment in this secret place. The royal guard accompanied her, including Adil in his full suit of adamantine armor. To the disapproval of everyone except himself, his dogs followed along, barking and prancing.
The deep caves were silent unlike any other cavern in the earth. There was no water dripping or moss crinkling underfoot. The soldiers had been whispering amongst themselves that surely there were demons and dark gods who would find them there. Hours passed as the artisans did their deed under the direction of Lady Tholtig. They would soon ascend again, leaving this place that was too deep even for the children of stone.
A drone was heard from the red pits. The ears of the royal dogs perked up, and the animals peered into the abyss as the dwarves stumbled backwards and reached for their steel. The noise only grew, terrible and resounding, until at last it burst out at them: a winged worm, flailing and writhing, its scales reflecting the red glow.
The arrows flew as the soldiers rushed together, forming a wall of armor between the great beast and the fleeing craftsdwarves. The dogs barked and lept at the thing. One latched onto it: Ushat, enormous and brown-coated, the favorite of the king. The worm croaked and flung the dog off, a moment after belching ignited breath. Set aflame, the dog yelped and slipped, tumbling into the wound of the earth.
There were none who fell that day, save for Ushat the king’s dog. By the strength of metal and dwarven bone, the great worm was torn asunder, his white blood left to run into the fresh carvings. Adil had done nothing. He had only stood back, his weapon raised and his eyes wide. When all were ready to depart, Iton placed her hand on his spear. “He was good and brave,” she said. “He should not have been the one born a dog.”
Adil did not leave his chambers for some days. He stared at the glistening walls and ignored his dogs, who sat, heavy under the mood, huddled together. It was Iton who finally dared to enter his chambers without permission. She had brought his spear. “We have been waiting for you,” she said flatly. “Are you attending training today, or not?”
He did not even think of it before he had thrown his mug, though he missed the young woman completely and struck the golden-furred Urist between the eyes. There was a sickening crack, and a whimper, and the dog’s eyes came unfocused. Iton seized Adil by the beard and drug him out of his royal chambers, through the courtyard, glowering at the other guards. None dared say a word. Soon he was thrown before the feet of the woman ranked just under him, Tholtig.
He was charged with attempted assault and animal abuse. Tholtig sentenced Adil, her own king, to a month of confinement. It was by no means uncomfortable: he was kept in a furnished room with the same food and drink as the working class. However, all was common stone and wood. There was none of the god metal for him to gaze upon, and it was maddening. Everything he was, was only for the adamantine. Without it, he was nothing.
Nothing.
Iton came to visit him, with the seven remaining dogs. She was wearing a full suit of adamantine armor. When Adil saw her, he was overcome with lust- not for her, but for the metal. Remembering what had befallen their littermate, the dogs attacked him as his hands reached for Iton’s throat. She did not even draw her sword. Her king lay in pieces, his dead eyes reflecting the blue glitter.
They laid him in a tomb of pure adamantine, with the blue crown upon his brow. They drew a mark in their records to signify that the dynasty of his ancestors had ended. His life was but a single line: “Adil, only son, never married. Fought in no battles. Reigned during Lady Tholtig’s discovery of the Voice of Stone.”
A few weeks later, a young child was stricken fey by the gods. From the limestone bedrock of the fortress, she masterfully carved a little statue depicting Tholtig, who was crowned as queen. Adil, the man who could not accomplish anything even with the greatest gift of the gods, was never spoken of again.
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Here is the map this was played on.
