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Author Topic: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.  (Read 27219 times)

Quantum Drop

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #330 on: July 23, 2020, 10:54:45 am »

In case someone goes artefact hunting, what would qualify as a container for the game? Are we talking a chest or a backpack?
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Smithsoldier, Succession Game - Year 11

This is a masterwork image of signature demons and a character limit. The signature demons are doing unspeakable things to the character limit. The signature demons are laughing. The character limit is in a fetal position. The character limit is screaming. This relates to the creation of the Grand Signature of Idiocy by QuantumDrop in the early winter of 2020.

Bralbaard

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #331 on: July 23, 2020, 12:09:27 pm »

In case someone goes artefact hunting, what would qualify as a container for the game? Are we talking a chest or a backpack?

In the first game, artifacts had to be put in containers BEFORE they were transported off-site, and had to remain in those containers the entire time or transport back to their places of origin. So artifact doors and other large goods were more likely than not to teleport back.

I think it might even have been the case that artifacts had to be put into containers in fortress mode before offloading the site (so that would be in a chest or bin) for it to work correctly. That would need to be tested, because a lot has changed and if I recall correctly Toady has been fiddling with artifact storage and site retirement since then.
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tonnot98

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #332 on: July 23, 2020, 01:15:23 pm »

I like that this stress-test of world generation during play could bring up so many interesting bugs and features. I remember in the first game we've been playing so long that any human or dwarf we talked to in adventure mode (thereby making them a historical figure) would immediately die the next minute because they're a good 100 years over their life-span.

Edit: Just realized elf populations probably dropped because of all the forest retreats I visited with outcasts. The castle I started at had 80 of them.
« Last Edit: July 23, 2020, 11:25:42 pm by tonnot98 »
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Not sure if dying of old age is an honor or a shame for weaponmasters. On the one hand, it means they never got the opportunity to die in glorious battle. On the other hand, it means nothing could beat them in glorious battle.
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tonnot98

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #333 on: July 24, 2020, 12:17:40 am »

Okay I'm done early. Two fortress failures later, and I'd rather not throw more dwarven lives away. The new fortress is "Homesafe The Shrine of Guarding" and the other is a reclamation attempt of Shotgleeful, after the Cyclops was driven out by Fidale.

https://dffd.bay12games.com/file.php?id=15156

Slap me on that turn list again, I'm raring for another go. I'm sensing that soon, after a bunch of heroes manage to do some great deeds and successfully retire, there will be a great culling of evil.
« Last Edit: July 24, 2020, 12:20:09 am by tonnot98 »
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Not sure if dying of old age is an honor or a shame for weaponmasters. On the one hand, it means they never got the opportunity to die in glorious battle. On the other hand, it means nothing could beat them in glorious battle.
Meow.

Quantum Drop

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #334 on: July 24, 2020, 05:22:28 am »

I have the file. Will post something more when the interesting stuff starts happening.
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Smithsoldier, Succession Game - Year 11

This is a masterwork image of signature demons and a character limit. The signature demons are doing unspeakable things to the character limit. The signature demons are laughing. The character limit is in a fetal position. The character limit is screaming. This relates to the creation of the Grand Signature of Idiocy by QuantumDrop in the early winter of 2020.

Bralbaard

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #335 on: July 24, 2020, 08:20:20 am »

The new fortress is "Homesafe The Shrine of Guarding"

That is the site where you defeated the Titan, right? Interesting.
I've updated the turn list, maps and other relevant posts.
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Quantum Drop

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #336 on: July 24, 2020, 11:54:33 am »

Unknown Date, Granite 718.

The Monastery of Wanecloister was a silent place, located high in the hills and unwelcoming at best to many. It was barely inhabited, now, after the elderly Mother had died of old age – now, it was all but abandoned beyond himself and a Human.

Perfect for one such as him.

Long before dawn, Lonelythrall the Hideous arose from a straw bed in an unlit cell. He crossed the room to the basin of ice-cold water in the corner, plunging his face into the freezing water without hesitation.

He felt nothing, of course. The infernal curse that creature had placed upon him had long robbed him of such feelings.

The water was still dripping from his scaled face as he moved to the small shrine beside his straw bed. Every morning he knelt before it in prayer, speaking the prayers to the God of Gods and His fellow deities that the Abbot had taught him. Every morning there was no answer, the Gods rightfully refusing to answer a sinner such as he.

“My flesh is corrupted. My mind, tainted. I am unworthy to stand in His light, or to receive His mercy.”

Taking a firm birch in hand, Lonelythrall drew in a breath.

“For my sins, I beg Your forgiveness.”

The gnarled wood cracked sharply against the useless wings on his back. He ignored the slick, dulled feeling of blood running down between his shoulderblades, drawing back for another blow.

“For my sins, I beg Your forgiveness!”

The birch struck home, adding one more gash to the many half-clotted ones already there.

“For my sins-!”

The birch stopped mid-descent.

There was something in the cell with him. Something behind him.

And to his front, and his sides. Within him, and without.

There were no words or sound; He did not speak in such a crude, vulgar manner. Yet He spoke nonetheless, comforting and commanding at once, and Lonelythrall knew what He commanded him to do.

Lonelythrall bowed his head in reverence, trembling in rapturous delight as he felt His blessings saturate his unworthy flesh. He was barely able to make his jaw work in the face of His magnificence, and the purity of His immaterial presence.

“As you will it, Mighty One, it shall be done.”

The presence withdrew.

Lonelythrall arose from his kneeling position with the air of a man possessed, shaking hands reaching to a tiny dent in the floor.
 
Beneath it lay the bronze relics of a life long gone by. Reminders of the impurity that tainted his flesh and bone; that which made him a monster in the eyes of God and Man alike. Now, they would be His instruments in the mortal lands.

 A war hammer. A tarnished mail shirt. A helmet still stained with dried blood. Two dulled gauntlets.

Lonelythrall donned them each without hesitation. His commands burnt within his mind, willing him to ignore the memories they spurred within him, and he obeyed.

He knew exactly where the God of Gods demanded him to go, and he set off into the wilderness without a backwards glance.

Unknown Date, Slate 718.

He has called me, and I must answer.

My first travel was westward, to a tower the rare visitors to our Monastery called ‘Mysterydressed’. Someone had evidently been there before me; several Goblin corpses lay upon the ground, bearing wounds that would kill a man thrice over. They were rotted and decayed, bone and sinews alike exposed – perhaps the result of unclean sorcery.

Other than a few wandering ravens and carrion-eaters, there was almost nothing to aid me in fulfilling His command. Much of the main tower was empty or ransacked, with books lying upon the floor and indents of footprints in the dust. Yet He smiled upon my unworthy form, and guided me to a small building upon the outside of the pit.

Within lay His gift to me: two bronze high boots and a well-crafted shield, burnished and unmarked by battle. I thanked His generosity as I put them on, setting off into the wilds once more in the moments after.

I will write more when I have the time. As of now, I hear something in the dis-


A mad howl echoed from the treeline, and Lonelythrall had barely a second to drop his quill and draw his weapons before the beast was upon him.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

A great weight slammed into his chest, hurling him backwards from the force and weight, before a carving knife raked across the bronze mail of his chest. Though the darkness of the night prevented him from getting a close look, he could smell its breath – hot and stinking, reeking of death and bug innards as it drew back for another blow.

He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his skull; a clumsy swing of his hammer missed, the creature taking full advantage of his distraction. A second blow hammered into his foot, while a fist rammed hard against his helmet.

Blood flooded his mouth, sudden and coppery, as the creature’s blow drove teeth into his tongue. There was no pain, but the strike left him staggering, almost choking on blood as it slid down his throat. He was being tossed about like a rag doll, beaten by some accursed abomination despite all that He had given him.

He was failing Him, and at that, Lonelythrall felt something give way.

“Perdition!” He thundered, letting His holy rage flood through him. “Blasphemy!”

His swings were growing wilder, more erratic; they missed by feet now, rather than the previous inches. The heart in his chest was pounding hard enough that it felt ready to tear loose as he fought for his life, dodging out the way of one blow only to take another to the chest.

He could dully feel bone chip as the blow reverberated through the box of his ribcage; it didn’t seem serious, but the sensation was enough to drive him to strike at the beast with his shield. It missed as the creature leapt away, snarling, and charged in again with its fists cocked back to strike. He shifted himself to take it, shield down and his teeth bared.

The knife was the first to hit, snapping apart halfway along its length as the copper broke upon the bronze. The creature’s fist, on the other hand, was still very much intact; its fingers scraped across the mail of his shoulder before sliding free.

More blows landed. A pair of punches, a kick, yet he felt nothing. Otherworldly clarity had suddenly come to him as the creature drew close – he could see every inch of its twisted, unholy form in detail, from the saliva drooling from its lips to the pulsing vein in its neck.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

That feeling from the cell was back. It was within him and without him, behind him and in front of him, taking control of his frail limbs and filling him with His strength and prowess for a moment.
The world seemed to slow as he span upon his heel, letting the hammer slip through his grasp until it was as far from his hand as possible. The heavy, killing face of the bronze war hammer smashed hard into the beast’s face, driving the solid metal through solid bone and into the soft, vulnerable brain behind.

The monster collapsed, blood and bone shards fanning out from the shattered skull; Lonelythrall rolled out of the way as its carcass hit the floor. Despite his wounds, he was exultant – he had never felt so alive, so furious and energetic, and he was proving that he was worth something to Him.

Lonelythrall went on bent knee, placing his hammer upon the grass, and began to pray once again.

“In your name, God of Blood, I offer this unworthy creature’s skull to you, that its soul may serve you better than it did in life…”

Circa 6th Felsite 718.

Many Humans may not worship Him as their creator and master, but their craftsmanship makes them useful. The iron helmet and high boots Embracebelt was so generous to ‘loan’ me certainly prove that. While it in no way matches that forbidden legend of Steel, the lost material the Dwarves were said to wield, it will be more than useful in my hunt.

He has led me to the lair of a Roc, one of those great sky-dwelling monsters that ravaged the world in Ages past. I see many loose copper arrows scattered about this place – He intends me to slay this Beast, and He has given me the tools to do so. I know not if this shall be my end, but if it is, I die with the knowledge that my death shall earn a scrap of His forgiveness.


Lonelythrall crawled through the dirt surrounding the Roc’s lair like a worm. A single wrong move would be the death of him: the Roc would see him and seize him in its talons, hurling him to his death upon the ground or tearing him apart with its great, hooked beak. In his hands, he clutched ten copper arrows between thin fingers, his eyes fixed firmly upon the Roc’s every movements.

Once he was in range, he carefully placed all but one upon the ground. With this single arrow, he drew back an arm, and hurled it as hard as he could towards the Roc’s mighty form.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The first one struck; the beast screeched aloud in shock as the arrow tore though the muscle and bone of its leg. Its own weight did the rest, sending the overgrown turkey smashing face first into the dirt. His other arrows followed suit – each one struck the vast breast of the bird, each one resulting in a spray of blood and a sharp wheeze from the creature.

As the Roc staggered drunkenly, trying to regain its feet with one leg damaged beyond use, Lonelythrall leapt from concealment to strike.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

His hammer smashed home against the beast’s neck and head before it could react, leaving the beast reeling, before another strike impacted its guts.

The creature vomited copiously, snarling in rage as the trauma forced its meal back up through its throat. He kept up the attack, dancing around its butcher-hook talons as they slashed down at him, occasionally raising the scratched metal of his shield to block a particularly violent or swift blow.

A lucky blow to the skull left it staggering drunkenly, stunned for a moment by the bronze hammer’s blow. Without hesitation, he began striking the skull repeatedly and as hard as he could – it felt like trying to dig through accursed Slade barehanded, each blow seeming to do nothing beyond bruising or twisting the neck.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

It recovered for a moment, forcing him to dodge out the way of its flailing claws as it took to the sky; a downwards lunge toward his form was countered by him spinning out of the way, lashing out to strike at its frustratingly-thick skull with the hammer once again. It had been stunned once more, eyes unfocused, and he had felt the satisfying sensation of bone shifting under his blow. It was dying, inch by inch.

Lonelythrall leapt upon its blood-slicked form, exulting in the bloodthirst that now flowed through him.

“Blood for the God of Blood!” He howled like a rabid animal, letting the savagery instilled into him at the moment of his creation flow freely. “Skulls for His Throne!”


Before long, the Roc lay sprawled out in the open plain of its lair, twitching in pain on the ground as he straddled its massive neck and struck again and again, striking the beast’s stone-hard skull until it was nothing but a mass of splintered bone and shredded flesh, its brains spread across the dirt of the place it had once ruled. Even then he didn't stop, driving the hammer into its chest until it felt not unlike a bag of jelly, organs pulped or laid bare and its shattered ribs sprung open.

The red haze cleared.
 
Lonelythrall slid off the monster and sank to his knees. His hands were shaking, disgust and shame burning hot in his gut. He had given in to his bestial nature, embraced the curse that tainted him in all things’ eyes. Had he spent so long flagellating and meditating to try and control the monster in him, only to fail Him and give in to it?

His stomach heaved and he tore off his helm, emptying his stomach onto the stained grass. The beast was caged once again, locked behind iron-forged walls of discipline and faith, yet he had failed the monks that gave him everything and failed Him-

Cold wind blew across his scaled flesh. There was something in the Lair with him.

Lonelythrall’s body shook as His presence returned. He had not failed Him; it was His will that Lonelythrall should give in to his nature when facing a monster such as the Roc, for some beasts could only be slain by an even greater beast.

Sometimes, savagery was warranted, and he felt his doubts and horror fall away in accordance with His divine proclamation. The presence vanished as suddenly as it had come, leaving no trace but His decree to be honoured.

Lonelythrall rose from the ground, already scanning the Lair for a branch. The Mighty One may have shown approval of his actions, but his penance to the Order was yet to be paid.

OOC: I cut out all the bits where he was training for purposes of length. That Night Troll in the beginning almost got me; if it weren’t for that lucky wild bash, I would’ve been done there and then.
Also, I found something really spoilery right near Boltspumpkin’s doorstep. Do you want to know about it now, or at the end of next post?

« Last Edit: July 25, 2020, 10:01:27 am by Quantum Drop »
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Smithsoldier, Succession Game - Year 11

This is a masterwork image of signature demons and a character limit. The signature demons are doing unspeakable things to the character limit. The signature demons are laughing. The character limit is in a fetal position. The character limit is screaming. This relates to the creation of the Grand Signature of Idiocy by QuantumDrop in the early winter of 2020.

Unraveller

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #337 on: July 24, 2020, 12:11:56 pm »

(( Keep us waiting! Put us on the edge of our seats! ))
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tonnot98

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #338 on: July 24, 2020, 12:50:03 pm »

The new fortress is "Homesafe The Shrine of Guarding"

That is the site where you defeated the Titan, right? Interesting.
I've updated the turn list, maps and other relevant posts.
Not on it, but near it. Turns out that forest only had the initial illusion of being normal...

That Night Troll in the beginning almost got me; if it weren’t for that lucky wild bash, I would’ve been done there and then.

I swear, those things feel much harder to fight than most megabeasts!
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Not sure if dying of old age is an honor or a shame for weaponmasters. On the one hand, it means they never got the opportunity to die in glorious battle. On the other hand, it means nothing could beat them in glorious battle.
Meow.

TheFlame52

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #339 on: July 24, 2020, 05:28:13 pm »

Not on it, but near it. Turns out that forest only had the initial illusion of being normal...
Oh yeah, I discovered that myself, when I looked through Bralbaard's initial save.

Superdorf

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #340 on: July 24, 2020, 10:14:32 pm »

...holy cow.

That was spectacular.  :o
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Quantum Drop

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #341 on: July 25, 2020, 02:28:28 am »

...holy cow.

That was spectacular.  :o

I aim to please. And to break upper spines, of course.
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Smithsoldier, Succession Game - Year 11

This is a masterwork image of signature demons and a character limit. The signature demons are doing unspeakable things to the character limit. The signature demons are laughing. The character limit is in a fetal position. The character limit is screaming. This relates to the creation of the Grand Signature of Idiocy by QuantumDrop in the early winter of 2020.

Quantum Drop

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #342 on: July 25, 2020, 03:00:53 am »

Shorter post this time; hopefully the end'll make up for it.

Circa Hematite, 718

Though the journey through the mountaintops has been long, His guidance has led me to fortune once more. Within these high peaks, a Dwarven Fortress dwells – while I cannot claim to know their half-lost language well, I can make out the word ‘throat’ upon the tattered flags that hang above the entrance.

The initial entrance hall was deserted – not one of those walking beards was about, yet there were still beautifully crafted goods laid out as if for trade. Some were iron weapons that menaced with spikes of stiffened fabric, others were wrought from fine silver and painstakingly engraved with odd patterns. Most of it seemed to be meat and thread, mixed with a few roughly-cut gems here and there.

Entering the deeper reaches of the fortress was easy enough. No guards, no Dwarves, just one long spiral of downwards-slanted ramps. Most of them were slippery with moss and water, dripping down through the rock after rainfall; more than once I almost lost my footing, forcing me to crush myself against the wall and pray to the Mighty One that I would not plunge wholesale into that abyssal shaft.

I was on guard as I reached the bottom of the makeshift stairs; I still remember the horrible tales of Fortresses fallen to fell beasts, which would take over the ruin and slay any who dared to enter.

There was nothing, of course. The halls were covered in a thick layer of dust, broken only by the occasional track of footprints upon the smoothed stone that form the walls and floors of this Fortress. A few far-off sounds, echoing through the abandoned corridors, were the only sign that living things still walked in this place – more than likely rats or other vermin. The fort seemed as dead and empty as Mysterydressed, its citizens long fled or otherwise vanished into the mountainsides.

It didn’t take long for Him to guide me to the armoury – a massive room, the entire floor covered in weapons and gems. Most of the haul was either foreign or useless to me: iron maces and silver blades, mixed in with cut gems and carved bone goods. I could feel His displeasure at the sight of the silver blades, useless for anything beyond chopping vegetables or as a vanity project. Only three pieces were of any use: an iron war-hammer, heavy and brutal. A spear and axe of the same, both decorated down the haft.

I had just stowed them in my pack when one of the doors creaked open.

It seems that this place is not so abandoned after all. A few still walk these halls – a Goblin and at least two Humans.

I did not bother speaking to them. Considering their apparent residence here, I sorely doubted they would take well to me taking weapons from their stockpile. Instead, I crouched within the shadows of the darkened room, barely breathing until the patrolling Goblin Swordsman vanished once again into that stygian maze of tunnels.

The moment they were gone, I slipped through the shadows and back to the main stairwell. I was gone into the night before they had any chance to see me or register my actions, letting Him guide me through the blackness toward His goal for me.


13th Felsite, 718.

The end of His task is in sight.

A mighty structure carved from blackest stone, dark as the Underworld from which it was spawned. Even as I write this before the entrance of this strange place, I can see the monsters dwelling within: lizards twisted into humanoid form, clad in bizarrely-frilled fabrics and carrying weapons covered in horrid blisters and markings.

Whatever creatures these beasts are, they reek of unclean sorcery and Demonic power. No thing of His creation could be so unholy.

I can feel Him within my mind, urging me forwards and calling me to the depths of this infernal place. They are His final test of my faith – the final threat I must face and best before I may stand pure before Him.

Yet for now, I resist His call – when night falls, I will enter this place and face whatever Devils lurk in its depths. It shall be my crucible, and I will either scour my flesh clear of my sins, or die penitent before His eyes!



« Last Edit: August 08, 2020, 05:40:06 pm by Quantum Drop »
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Smithsoldier, Succession Game - Year 11

This is a masterwork image of signature demons and a character limit. The signature demons are doing unspeakable things to the character limit. The signature demons are laughing. The character limit is in a fetal position. The character limit is screaming. This relates to the creation of the Grand Signature of Idiocy by QuantumDrop in the early winter of 2020.

Quantum Drop

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #343 on: July 25, 2020, 08:07:43 am »

WARNING: This chapter contains major and very much unavoidable spoilers for what is arguably the endgame of Adventurer Mode. Read this at risk of spoiling your Fun, but know that it is important to understanding certain parts of later chapters.

Night of 13th Felsite, 718.

Lonelythrall crawled into the structure like a worm, keeping his form pressed tight against the stone. There wasn’t so much a floor as much a pit in the centre of the entrance, bordered by jutting slabs of black stone that acted like walkways, all connecting to a single downward stairway. He pushed himself closer to the ground, inching forward, ignoring the cold, slick sensation of the stone against the few exposed portions of his flesh.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The creature had not noticed him. It looked like a lizard, twisted into a mockery of His sacred form – the beast stood on its hind legs and clutched a weapon in its hands, legs and arms sheathed in that strange blistered metal. Frilly fabrics covered whatever the armour did not, some parts billowing loosely from its frame, others clinging tightly to the creature’s scales. It seemed like a guard of some sort, standing still as a statue with its wicked pike ready to strike anything before it.

A pity, then, that he was coming from behind.

Lonelythrall reared up behind it like a snake readying to strike. His iron warhammer raised high, before coming down hard on the creature’s neck, right at the juncture between the creature’s robes and its cap.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The creature’s entire body jerked in shock as the blow landed. He had not heard bone crack, but the way that its pike clattered to the ground made it clear – its spine was broken, or at least damaged. The lizard’s flailing arm missed him by a good foot as it crashed to the floor, the abomination finding its limbs would no longer obey it.

His next blow almost missed – the creature was downed, but it was still dangerous, twisting its head out of the way so that the hammer head would impact its lower body.

“Viqo! Eoci Bideob Idohceixed!” The creature wheezed its hate for him through a fang-toothed mouth, bright eyes ablaze. He retorted with another strike of the hammer, this time to the head.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Bone splintered and gave way as the hammer punched through meat and bone alike, driving sharp splinters of bone into the brain of the beast. He guided the twitching body to the ground, careful to limit the noise it made – this one had been weak, but whatever monsters lurked within the depths could easily prove much more dangerous.

Lonelythrall made to move away, only to find himself forced to turn back to the body. Another motion to leave drew similar results, this time accompanied by an unnatural pulse of irritation. He did not desire him to continue, not yet; only when he turned back toward the corpse did Lonelythrall feel His approval pulse in the back of his mind once again.

He crouched over the corpse, digging his fingers into the gap between the blistered metal and the flesh of the corpse. Then, grimacing beneath his helmet, he began to strip the corpse of its equipment – his tattered robes were quickly replaced by the creature’s, his iron gauntlets and boots cast aside and replaced with those forged from the blistered metal. It felt faintly warm to the touch, as though some of the forge-fire remained within the metal.

Newly armoured, he set off deeper into the Stygian maze.


Spoiler (click to show/hide)

He wasn’t sure how long he wandered those twisting pathways, fighting the murderous denizens of the structure; those lizard-like creatures made entirely out of fire had proven particularly aggravating, requiring him to strike and then dodge away with tremendous speed, lest the resultant blast of flames catch him and cook him in his armour.

Others required finesse. They were the guards and warriors of this antediluvian place, armed with those strange metals and fabrics that he had seen earlier. They would come for him in one and twos, and every time he would fight back, spinning away from their attacks or blocking their blows before retaliating with a strike to the neck or chest. Once the spine was damaged and its weapons dropped, he would close in and finish them with repeated blows to the skull – something he was beginning to get down to a fine art.

Two of the creatures barred his path in short order – one was an almost exact duplicate of the pike-wielder from earlier, with only the jagged-edged hammer to set it apart, while the other bore no weapons at all. Both carried heavy, bulky shields of blistered metal, dulled eyes flaring to sudden, murderous light as they laid eyes on him.

His new hammer, freshly pried from the grasp of one of the dead creatures, hit home against the lower body of the first Hammerman. There was no satisfying snap of bone, not this time, but the creature reeled from his blow as its comrade charged in to attack, snarling like a beast and skittering forwards on all fours.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

He was just a second too slow with the block. A claw skimmed the edge of his shield, slipping between the rings of his mail shirt and punching into his spine.

His legs gave out with barely a warning, sending him sprawling to the floor. For an instant, terror thrilled through his heart, as he was robbed of the mobility he had known all his life – no amount of effort would force his newly-useless legs to move, not in the face of the damage to its nerves. The Hammerman moved in, weapon lifted high to deliver the finishing blow.

It was the single worst thing it could have done.

Lonelythrall had been born in the mud, after all, and learned to fight while sneaking about like a gutter rat. His legs were taken from him, but that had only made him more dangerous.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

His hammer leapt up to brush past the guard of the hammer-wielding lizard; it smashed into his exposed throat with a sickly thud. The creature staged back, choking on its own blood, as he lashed out at its fellow, driving the hammer head into the beast that had wounded him. It collapsed as he had done, its upper spine shattered by the blow of his war hammer, screaming like the animal it was.

The fight continued on the floor: their strikes blocked by his shield, his hammer flashing to deliver revenge. Bone cracked and muscle tore as he beat them into submission, aiming for the poorly-armoured heads and chests of the beasts, blocking and parrying whenever they tried to fight back.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The Hammerman was soon gone, twitching on the ground as it bled whitish ichor onto the black stone of the Vault floor, but its fellow continued to fight until he drove the hammer directly into its ribs, leaving it wheezing through broken lungs before the hammer fell once more – this time, he aimed for the head, and there was no denying the visceral thrill of satisfaction than ran through him as its skull broke apart under the force.

He didn’t bother trying to rise or even loot the bodies – His call was growling stronger the further he went, a deep, gnawing need in the back of his skull. Instead, Lonelythrall slithered onwards, crawling ahead at speed.

After what felt like hours of travel, dragging himself along inch by inch by his hands alone, he pulled himself through into a side passage. What waited there almost froze him in its tracks.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The abominable creature stared down at him with murder in its great eyes, the ashen tick’s furious hissing overtaking the bellows of the two Warriors that stood by it. Within the back of his mind, Lonelythrall left a new pressure – a sharp, furious hiss of a voice, cold as the grave and furious as battle.

“You seek something not meant for your kind, beast. You are a mistake in His design, and I will not allow you to claim the slab. Be crushed under the weight of your sins, and perish as the worm you are!”

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Lonelythrall’s jaw struggled to work once more as his limbs seemed to lock up. It was the same feeling as that sensation in the cell, months ago – the presence of a power far beyond him. A dark, Dwarven goddess, speaking through her favoured monstrosity to the one who defied her. The mighty beast began to close with him, its guards rushing forth, only for all three to freeze in their tracks as something mighty crashed down upon all of their shoulders.

The air was alive with divine power as He intervened in the battle, His divine voice thundering through the fabric of reality as He spoke. Though Lonelythrall only caught the briefest glimpses of His will, he could feel the intent and emotions behind it: steel-hard determination accompanied by the hot white fire of rage at the other voice’s interference, the Mighty One angered by His creation’s defiance of His perfect design. It lasted only for a few seconds, fast as the blink of an eye, yet it felt like an eternity to him, locked beneath the gaze of two Gods.

“…Very well. The Bloody-Handed One has decreed that your fate lies elsewhere. Defeat my Archangel, and by right of Battle, ye shall claim the slab.”

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Without a word, the Archangel charged. Its ashy legs bounded across the Slade floor at speed, long trunk swinging and bellowing in blind rage as its creator’s emotions spilled over to Her creation.
A massive leg smashed into the ground beside him as he rolled away from the kick; his answering blow missed as the tick leapt away, trunk flailing towards him like a mace. His shield blocked the blow, sending tiny flakes of ash scattering in all directions as the tick retreated to prepare its next blow.

This time, the Archangel leapt forth, feinting to the side with a kick. As Lonelythrall went to block it, its fourth foot came up into a kick, driving into the blistered metal gauntlet that covered his arm. The force twisted it sharply, bruising the muscle as he raised his shield to block a second kick from the creature.

Yet in its recklessness and its creator’s haste to slay him, it had been left exposed.

Once more, he let loose his bestial nature for a moment. He would pay his penance later - right now, He had commanded him to slay one beast with another. An inhuman roar tore free of his throat as he lashed out with all he had.

His divine metal hammer, blistered and bloodied, slammed against the hard-packed ash of the Archangel’s head.

His blow tore the head from the beast wholesale, the ash no match for divinely-wrought metal. The Archangel’s body stumbled, as though surprised at the sudden lack of its head, before collapsing over completely; drifts of ash poured from the body of the beast as it began to collapse, the fatal damage beginning a complete breakdown of its form.

In moments, the Archangel was no more than a pile of cold ash upon the floor.

“No... NO!”

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The Dwarven goddess’ howl of rage echoed within his skull for a moment before being silenced, accompanied by the pulse of His savage delight. The two Angels, formerly standing as still as statues, suddenly leapt for him, weapons drawn and infernal hatred flaring in their eyes; they found only the brutal swings of his hammer, and then oblivion as he shattered their skulls. Their bodies hit the floor in sprays of whitish ichor, accompanied by fragments of bone and pulverised meat. 

Lonelythrall didn't waste time, crawling into the final chamber as He commanded him to – there, atop a pyramid, lay the item He had chosen him to retrieve. A slab forged of heavy brass, intricately engraved with a message.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

He raised his trembling hands to the slab, and gripped it at the edges. A mighty heave raised it onto his shoulders; another sent it into the pack upon his back. It was incredibly weighty, slowing him to a crawl, slower than he had ever been before, but Lonelythrall felt no discomfort or pain – he felt only His command, to bring it to a Castle of relics and history.

And, of course, there was the matter of his offering.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he moved to the nearest of the Angel corpses. Drawing an iron axe from the depths of his pack, he raised it above the lizard’s head and began to pray.

“In your name, God of Blood, I offer this unworthy creature’s skull to you, that it may serve you better in death than it did in life…”

OOC: The ‘axeman’ right near the start damaged my nervous tissue (I think - my lower spine shows function loss, and hasn't healed after fast travel), which meant I was quite literally crawling through the rest of the Vault. The Archangel, wierdly, wasn’t in the slab chamber at the time I fought it: it was in a side passage, with a pair of Warriors. Still, it was kind of anti-climactic – I’d hoped for more of a fight.

My official submission to the Museum is the Slab of Ur Urkul Tihsa, though the dozen-ish Angel Warrior skulls are a bit of an add-on that I couldn’t resist. Would've taken the Assistant skulls too, if they left any behind.

So... what now?

Do I carry on with this guy and try to go Werebeast in order to heal his spine? Retire him and build a fortress with divine metal ready to be claimed? Go to Deepvaulted and figure out what the heck went wrong? Hunt Megabeasts until one gets a lucky blow in? Any ideas?
« Last Edit: August 12, 2020, 01:55:30 pm by Quantum Drop »
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Smithsoldier, Succession Game - Year 11

This is a masterwork image of signature demons and a character limit. The signature demons are doing unspeakable things to the character limit. The signature demons are laughing. The character limit is in a fetal position. The character limit is screaming. This relates to the creation of the Grand Signature of Idiocy by QuantumDrop in the early winter of 2020.

Superdorf

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #344 on: July 25, 2020, 09:29:42 am »

Go dice-hunting! Any die with twelve sides or more has a decent chance of transforming you temporarily into a beast when rolled, healing injuries in a similar manner to the were-curse. Fitting, no, for your dwarfish penitent to seek a miracle from the powers-that-be?

I aim to please. And to break upper spines, of course.

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Remember kids: a good fortress is a bunker, a great fortress is a tomb!
tormenting the player is important
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