The adventures of Rola Olaomo.
I began like many elves: in the mysterious places of the forest, hidden from the mundane humans. But as I developed, I never had the same connection to the animals of the land as my brethren.
The enchanted trees of our forest retreat seemed to know this: I was the only elf child who'd ever gotten lost in the forest. Needless to say, I'm not too attached to the forests.
It is because of this isolation from the world, it is said, that I have no pity for the suffering of the animals and the trees. Instead, I've honed my body and skills toward combating the dangers of the world. The wars with the humans have halted completely for almost a century... And I've been tasked with finding out why.
I traveled far from my home, heading south. The bandits were easily evaded in the forests, but once I got the the plains it became much harder. I set my sights on the southern mountains because of the smoke I saw there. Mountains weren't usually where humans built their homes, but maybe almost a century without warfare had driven them mad. Well, madder than usual.
I arrived in midmorning on the 22nd of Malachite and walked up the slopes to the nearest house. I could almost hear the wooden walls screaming in pain... and a sick smile touched my lips. Opening the door, I almost jumped when I saw dwarves crowded inside, conversing in their strange tongue.
Remembering what the merchants of our people had taught me, I ask them why they aren't in their underground fortresses. They stay completely silent. Instead of continuing on this path, I decide to ask them where I can find some humans. They say that I should travel straight north, and also mention a Museum far to the north that sits in the capital of the human civilization Omon Woge. That will be my destination. After all, museums are storage places for history, and it will likely have a record of what keeps the humans from their wars.
I enlist the help of one Melbil Enkoszulban so that I don't have to search desperately for shelter every time the sun sets and begin the march to Dinnerwandered.
Once we passed through the mountains, we walked into a horrible area filled with plants that blinked at us and tentacle grass that pulled at our clothing. Spotting a village a short walk away, I lead us over to find shelter before the sun set. We walked through the farms that they somehow scraped out of the evil soil until we came upon a building. I open the door slowly, and the conversation inside dies instantly. Inside there are goblins, horrible creatures that frequently sent raiding and logging parties into the forests we lived in. It was on them that I honed my killing skills while I was young. They take one look at me and see the image of two mountains – the symbol of the nearby dwarven civilization – on the breastplate I had pilfered from a house in the village I recruited Melbil from. I slowly step back and close the door.
“Let’s go somewhere—“one of the goblins from inside runs out and attacks Melbil before I can finish my thought. She reacts with several savage blows before I know what’s going on, but I quickly join her and start bashing him with the mace I had also taken from the village.
Instead of staying here to be slaughtered by a hundred angry goblins, we move north to try to get to the next village. As we’re making our way north, constantly vigilant for angry townspeople, I spot something.
A massive waterfall, completely frozen with the night cold. If we weren’t so unwelcome here, then I would stay and marvel at it for a little longer. We leave the village behind and follow the river north, toward Dinnerwandered. When the sun sets soon after, I build a fire and we make camp for the night.
Early the next morning, long after the fire burned into nothing, I kick Melbil awake and we make our sleepy way north again. After a few hours and a freezing river crossing, we arrive at the village of Masterticks. I hope that this one isn’t filled with angry goblins; something tells me they won’t be happy to see me.
Abandoned,
Completely abandoned. Well, at least it’s not filled with angry goblins. That’s what I thought at first, anyway. After looking in every house, I find one with some seemingly friendly goblins and one disease-worshiping human. I knew they were mad, but revering illness? I need to avoid this human. The goblin in charge, an administrator, is far more interesting:
Surely he knows what has caused the humans to stop going to war.
“I was sent from my home, hidden in the forests, to discover why the humans have ceased their aggressive behavior toward us for almost a century. Do you know?” I patiently await his response while he strokes his recessed chin in thought.
“I think,” he begins slowly. “I think you should look around the village.”
“Why? There’s nothing here. Just abandoned, decaying… oh.” I realize, suddenly, that I’ve seen no trace of life here other than the ageless goblins and one human.
He nods. “You understand. This is good. The humans, and even the dwarves, have been struck by a strange illness. Breeding is impossible. Children do not grow. Surely your retreat has seen the same?”
“We elves reproduce slowly once we have completed the necessary enchantments for the forests, and do not age. My birth being one of the few in the last century is not strange.”
“I see,” he says. He starts polishing his shield, obviously thinking this over. I notice that his breastplate has an image of two mountains on it.
I offer to bring him along with me, but he politely declines. Having had quite enough of this place, I start walking north yet again. After a few days, stopping only to sleep and to drink, we find our way to the human village of Pickpets. Since the sun is setting, we introduce ourselves and ask if we can stay the night. When they say yes, we find ourselves a corner and promptly fall asleep. At dawn we are loudly awoken by the sound of violence.
Apparently, a goblin thief had snuck in – probably to avoid the bogeymen – and the villagers just started ripping him apart. I scramble away from the melee and watch as the mob beats the poor creature to a pulp. My “interesting mornings” quota fulfilled, I go to the nearby river and have a drink.
“We should be only about two days away from the museum,” I say to Melbil.
“The Museum,” she corrects.
“That’s what I said.”
We start moving again, but we don’t get far before we are ambushed by bandits.
I try to get to her in time, but Melbil is cut down too quickly. If only she had been wearing armor. Oh well.
And so am I. Damn that hurts.
The save is
here. Also, sign me up for another turn, please.
Author
Topic: The Museum: Adventure mode succession world (DF 34.11) (Read 781371 times)