The Dwarves are a dying ember in this world. Once, our flame burned bright. We scoured our enemies, built great monuments. Now we are scattered and broken, laughed at, confused for short men and freaks.
I am a Shieldtempest. My parents gave me the unique name of Th4DwArfY1, for I was to embody my people. It was a lot to rest on my shoulders. But I tended the family forge and beat glowing hot metal into blades. And I dreamt of glory and the revitalisation of my people.
And now I hear whispers. We are dying in great numbers. There is no future for us. And so I think of my own mortality and determine one thing. I will become a necromancer. My culture will live.
I will live.
I set out without companions. The world is large and terrifying, and I grasp my bronze battle axe frequently. I have some practice in its use. Hopefully it will be enough.
A pack of wolves attacks me in the wild.
I use skills I didn’t know I had. I lunge, parry, dodge. I fight a pack of wolves and destroy them utterly. My hands tremble as I cut off their heads and harvest their meat. I pack a head. The first kill of Th4DwArfY1, soon-to-be-necromancer and saviour of his people.
I travel until I reach my target. Even in my cave home, we’d heard the rumours. A dark tower. The dead walking. A place to learn unfathomable secrets.
It is surrounded by pyramids, but seems eerily silent. I enter from the front. I gasp, seeing a fellow dwarf. He is bright blue. I blink, realising what it is.
The tower is full of such statues. It unnerves me. I find a book on the Mountain Homes and pick it up. The writing is beautiful, and in a Dwarven script. The author is Cog. A fellow dwarf? A precursor to myself? Certainly this tower seems a tribute to my species.
I climb many twisting stair cases, searching maze-like rooms. There are some dead, but they are altogether friendly. And then I find it. In the highest room of the tallest turret, sitting on a plain table. Shoselostar. A silver slab. Beautiful. I pick it up and read it, and it is like my eyes are opened for the first time.
I move down the stairs again. The slab is heavy, but I drag it behind me, my smithing muscles bulging.
Then I see her. A beautiful Dwarf dressed in faded clothes. “Cog?” I say, and she inclines her head. She is my height.
“You have read the secrets?” the Necromancer asks, nodding to the fallen slab. I incline my head. “Let me show you their power, friend.”
She gestures, and I feel a movement in my bag. Despite myself I yelp and drop it. A wolf’s head rolls out, snarling and rocking side to side. I step back, then lean forward. True power. A way to shape the world.
I grin, but as her hand falls to her side I see something. I frown, focusing on it. I blink. “What is that?” I say.
“Nothing,” she replies. She is smiling at me. I nod but step forward.
“I’ve never seen nothing before. I’d like to see it now.” She frowns, but I do not move. She sighs and lifts her arm.
“I was just putting it into storage,” she says, glancing away.
I step back. “Is that… is –”
“Yes,” she says. “It is. So what? You are a necromancer, now. You will learn the way.”
“Never,” I snarl. She frowns and shrugs, pouting.
“Well, there’s nothing to be done now, is there?” she says. I shake my head.
“I can think of one thing,” I say.
She fought well, but not well enough. I pick up her fallen sword, admiring its craft. I am an axe dwarf, but when one of the heirlooms of my people comes into my possession…
I strap it to my back and leave the tower, new sword a comfortable weight on my back. I wish to see my people once more. I will find one of the new fortresses. Maybe I will dwell there, immortal, eternal. Sharing the culture of the dwarves.
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Topic: Museum III, adventure succession game (DF 0.47.05) (Read 408778 times)