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We set out before first light towards the north. We enter the high Plains of Breath, at the foot of the mountains.
The roc's enormous nest looms on the hillside to the west, an imposing crown of gnarled branches and some whole trees. The creature is not visible, and we approach warily.
A few paces away from the nest sits the roc, watching over her domain. I hesitate for a moment: she must be twenty feet tall, with white feathers speckled with a few spots of black, her talons sunk into the earth and her razor beak glinting in the sunlight like bronze. A true primal spirit of the skies if ever there was one.
Suddenly she turns a deep black eye on me: with a cry like a dragon's roar she unfolds her wings, each at least thirty feet across, and sends up huge clouds of white dust as she takes flight. The force of her mighty wingbeats nearly nocks me off my feet, but I dig in with my heels and face the gusts head-on.
Ado is overcome by her presence and bolts away. We must only hope the beast doesn't escape into the sky.
Asseg and I attack: my broadsword, which can slice through the limbs of my enemies like butter, does little to this creature aside from making small cuts. Asseg's morningstar is more effective. I dodge several attacks from the beast's fearsome talons and sharp beak, but Asseg has a finger scratched off by a grazing blow.
Suddenly a look of wild fear enters the roc's eyes: it beats its wings in a desperate attempt to fly off, but Asseg's mace meets it on the way up, tearing deep unto the bone.
With an anguished cry the beast collapses on the ground, roaring in pain -
- until I silence it, driving my sword through its brain. Dashran the Mountainous Jewel, the terror of the north, is dead by my hand.
The huge corpse lies splayed out on the hillside, blood streaking its white feathers and running onto the grass.
Since the beast is too large to be carried back to civilization - even its skull would weigh hundreds of pounds at least - I look around for some other trophy. In the roc's nest are two eggs, small enough to fit in my pack; their unmistakable size and texture will be proof enough of my deed. And who knows: if they hatch, I might have two more allies in the fight against Spearclaws...

How right you are. On with the journey.

---

Observing the horrible sight at the trade depot, I doubt that anyone could have survived down in the fortress, if there are any more undead. Furthermore, I cannot risk Ado in those depths: he may be a weak and unprincipled coward, but he is my companion, and I've lost one already. We must take the long way around the mountains.
I hesitate when I check the map. Unless we swing wide to the south, the way around the mountain takes us dangerously close to the dark tower of Windcanyon. These zombies almost certainly came from there, sent by the foul necromancers. We ought to stay well away from that accursed place; we will make the arduous trek across the mountains.
We go around the fortress and onto the road that, inexplicably, climbs the sheer cliff above the fortress. It peters out not far off. Why build it in the first place?
Picking our way across a landscape of black boulders and gravel, we head northwest towards Brushglazes. Hopefully the same fate has not befallen it.
As if to signal our departure from the haunted fortress, a green sward of mountain avens and hair grass stretched before us.
Ok Ado, I get it. When we've finished off Spearclaws we'll see about rescuing your daughter.
After about a mile night begins to fall. We camp in the middle of a wide, low field between the mountains - a very exposed position, but hopefully nothing will bother us this deep into the mountains. I hope zombies can't track. Ado takes first watch.

At dawn we start out over the rough, rocky ground. Ado needlessly kills another kea, wasting several arrows.
He only stops shooting keas after he runs out of arrows. At least he's training his skills. I pick up 24 perfectly good arrows from the ground and give them back to him in exchange for his coin purse.

Coming down off a slope, I refill my waterskins at a brook and take a short rest.
To the north looms the great volcano, the Profane Furnace. It is said to be the home of Doto the Tin Flames, the god I worship.
Since we are so close, I decide to make this an impromptu pilgrimage: I shall petition Doto for good fortune in the coming trial.
The way up is a steep scramble over dense grass and patches of rock. Ado continues to shoot keas: I'm not giving his arrows back this time.
I climb to a high ledge and gaze down into the caldera: waves of heat rush up towards me, causing me to sweat even in the cool weather of early spring. Far below a writhing black surface streaked with bright orange churns and sizzles. It is a beautiful sight, indeed; a worthy home the god of creation, where one can see the primal forces boiling up from deep within the earth. I make use of Ado's senseless killings and throw three kea corpses into the flames as an offering to Doto. I also offer a prayer for the dwarves of Headlabor, that they be accepted again into this ancient flow of creation and renewed.

A little after noon we descend another sheer wall into the Jungles of Cremation. We have passed over the mountains; the fortress isn't far now.
A short trek through the bamboo underbrush and thick-growing fruit trees brings us to the fortress gates. Inside are dwarves, living dwarves: I rush to meet them.
After the horror of Headlabor it sets my soul at ease to find these dwarves alive, going about their ordinary lives.
The stockpiles are full of fine dwarven craftsmanship, and the smell of delicious dwarven cuisine wafts from the kitchens. Furniture crafted from rare minerals and cavern wood catches my eye: I may buy some for my mead hall, which is rather spartan at the moment.
In a statue garden I find a macewoman, wearing a helmet that bears the lychee tree crest of the Combined Union, my home country. She tells me her name is Asseg Oceanriddles.
I ask how she came to be a guard in a dwarven fortress: she declined to answer, saying only that she was a mercenary. However, when I told her of my quest, to raise an army to slay Spearclaws and restore peace to the Combined Unions, a flash passed across her face - a flash of anger, and perhaps hope. Then she asked if I was looking for recruits right now.

We, now three, will rest awhile in the comfort of Brushglazes and the company of dwarves. Then - I have a roc to kill.

It's a forgotten beast, so no: FBs are randomly generated per world, so each world will have different ones. Of course, any number of similar FBs may appear, and many that are even worse, such as those made out of stone or metal.

It's an older convention. I just used it to sound more archaic.

---

Today is the 23rd of Granite, 125. As the sun dawns over the rolling hills, my companions and I begin our journey to the north.
Starting from the hamlet of Danceconfuses, we will follow the road to the east, across the Sweet Dune and into the mountains. At the Dwarven fortress of Headlabor we will take the deep road under the mountains, emerging on the other side at the fortress of Brushglazes (not shown). From there we head a short way north to the nest of the vile roc, Dashran the Mountainous Jewel.
My first companion is Strohe Worldteachers, a priestess of Radir, the god of dusk and twilight. She slew five invaders during the defense of Heavenrelief and now wears their bones as jewelry.
My second companion is Ado Troughpassed, a bowman I met on the road, and probably one of the most beautiful people I've yet seen in DF: tan, muscular, with long blond hair, sky-blue eyes, and high cheekbones. He's basically Legolas. He looks every bit the part of dashing adventurer - let's see if he delivers.

We set out and travel unmolested along the road, passing through the two dwarven hillocks.
By late afternoon we have crossed the yellow sands of the Sweet Dune and stand at the foot of the mountains; we should be able to make it to Headlabor before nightfall. As we follow the road across a barren landscape of volcanic andesite (Headlabor lies in the shadow of the Profane Furnace, an active volcano), our hearts are high, thinking of the warm dwarven welcome and mugs of stout ale that await us in the fortress.
As we start into the mountains Strohe informs me of a vampire back in the Combined Unions. I make a note of this: when we have slain the roc, we will deal with this loathesome creature of the night.

Just before dusk the quartzite walls of the upper fortress rise before us. But something feels... off. Even at this hour the trade depot should be alive with activity, the sounds of haggling drifting out from the fortress gates. But there is only silence.
Coming out of the gates I see a clothier, a human, probably here to trade. He looks deeply troubled - I ask what the matter is.
An insurrection? I've never known the dwarves for revolutionaries. Strohe seems on edge, muttering something about "revenge" - maybe the goblin invasion messed with her head a bit.
What? O, horrors! The trade depot is covered in blood and body parts - dwarves and humans alike all have perished! I draw my broadsword: whoever - or whatever - did this may still be around.
Suddenly it strikes me that one of the corpses is standing up, and turning to face me. The living dead have captured Headlabor! All the stories say that the undead are nigh unkillable, and as strong as ten men. Gripping my sword firmly in both hands, I prepare to see if the stories are true.
The human corpse is not alone - to the north are five more zombies. One is a skeleton, clothed in rags and wielding a battle axe of dwarven steel. One hit from that, and all is over.

The battle begins. The zombies may be strong, but they're slow - even so I must dodge as I strike to avoid being knocked over by their charges.
A solid strike to the legs and they fall over, unable to charge. I set about mincing limbs with my blade.
Uh-oh: Strohe takes a crippling blow to the foot. Somehow a zombie is able to break her bones with a cloth cap. They really must be as strong as the legends say. I rush to her aid...
...but I am too late; the beast brains her with its cap, caving in her skull.

With Strohe's death all the zombies bend their glazed eyes on me. I prepare myself to avenge Strohe's death.

Tried to rescue some townsfolk (including the law-giver) from an impending goblin invasion. Brought one lady to her husband in a nearby hamlet, but she wouldn't stop following me; so I just went back to the town and dumped everyone.

I shouldn't have bothered in the first place: a check of Legends informed me that 1) the supposedly impending invasion had already happened about a week ago, and 2) the town of 40 inhabitants had successfully fought off an invasion force of over 1100 goblins. No wonder everyone had a title and was wearing goblin-bone jewelery.

The human necromancer Cero Bluntblaze.

Supposedly the animals declared a war, instead of an insurrection:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

I notice that's only the first battle in the war. What else did the rebellious livestock get up to?