In the depths of the Museum, there are one hundred journals, each one the tale of someone who ventured into the great unknown in the hopes of carving their name into one of Boltspumpkins' many plinths. This one is bound in stone, and on the front is carved the name
Solon Riftworks.
Entry 1
What has become of our world? I have lived all my life in Mischiefpit, but word spreads quickly. There was a time when we traded with Duskhome in the north, but that trade has stopped. There are no great armies in this part of the world which could have slaughtered its people, did they dig too deep, and find something they should not have? And what of the hands of Planegifts? The ones who, for a brief moment, Dwarfed every other people upon Orid Xem with sheer numbers, and then just as quickly, vanished from existence? What of the Human Kingdoms of the south? The cold has begun to eat away at their peoples, their Cities and villages have been emptying, their crops left frozen and withered in their fields? Is the world getting colder? What of Raki and that terrible Pyramid in the north? What did he do? What has happened to him? What spurned him on to do what he did? And always, always is the Museum at the heart of everything. The place where every story begins... or ends, in one way or another. There was a time when I could satiate my curiosity in other ways, but I have given in. I need answers. I don't know what awaits me, but the world feels like it is unravelling at the seams, breaking apart at the weak spots. Is this the work of the Gods? Of the Blood God? Of the things that wait and hunger in the great beneath? Of some Magician or Goblin ruler? I do not know. I will not find all the answers, I am one Dwarf in an empty world, but I will not stop looking until I find... something. I do not know what. I shall make for Duskhome first, it's close-ish, and I can stop off at Mosshill on the way. From there, I shall make for the Museum. I can only pray I make it there alive.
Entry 2
I've made my way west, my plan is to cross the river here at the coast, as there's no good way to cross it further upstream for many miles.
... It's a lot bigger than I remember.
I was worried for a while, but the Gods are with me, and the river delta was forgiving. Next stop, Mosshill.
Entry 3
I kept walking through yesterday, and slept through the night. It's bright and early now, so I checked my map, and...
... I've a long way to go.
Well, it's a beautiful day. There isn't so much as a lone farm in all this valley until you reach the mountains, not a speck of civilization in sight. I'd appreciate some company if it were available, but I enjoy the solitude as well, to a degree. The world is beautiful.
I was following a stream northwards, and I came across a lake, almost completely hidden by the trees on every side, reaching down to the gentle waters. I didn't know this place existed. I've always wondered what's at the bottom of rivers and seas and lakes. Perhaps there are underwater caves down there? Perhaps there are fish which have never seen the light of day right down there, so close to the surface, and yet so far. I can't imagine a life like that. What beauty and art would there be to a life spent in absolute darkness? What would be the point of living? Maybe I should ask a Crundle, heh. Or better yet, a plump helmet. Ah well, there's still a long way to go. Best keep moving.
And there I was talking about the beauty of the world... of course it had to rain.
Well, a tree is as good a shelter as any, I suppose. The smell of woodsmoke from a campfire is a wonderful thing. I'll keep going tomorrow.
Entry 4
Not much has happened today, though I found a patch of hills in the otherwise universally thick forest where the trees are a little less dense. It was nice to stay there for a little while, but I'm still not at Mosshill yet. The closer I get, the more i think about Gor, The Pit. I've heard strange and unpleasant stories about it, but I've also heard other things about it more recently, such as it disappearing entirely. I shouldn't... but... Maybe just a peek? I don't know. I'll reach Mosshill, then I'll decide on that.
Mosshill is right ahead... and Gor is just across the mountains. It's so close... it'd just be a quick peek...
I wanted to reach Mosshill before nightfall, but it looks like I was too late for that. It'll have to wait until the morning, I'm tired and I don't want to get lost in these woods in the middle of the night. Here's to tomorrow!
Entry 5
I've reached Mosshill. It's a very small place, built as an Iron Mine for the Staff of Kissing as part of their revitalization. I've never been, but we at Mischiefpit have been trading with this place since it was first founded. I like it, it's cosy and welcoming, if cramped.
While looking around, I had a peek at their Temple, a little shrine to their Pantheon at the northern end of the Fort. I don't know many of their Gods, but I have heard of Alron Oiledsteels.
Whether or not a certain God is or isn't someone else's god in disguise is a heated topic that has probably caused religious wars, but I do know that the Staff of Kissing and the Walled Dye both traditionally agree that Alron and Uzol are the same God going by different names. Which one is the older name, however, is a matter that they never agreed on, though the long collapse of the Staff of Kissing followed by the long collapse of the Walled Dye had something of a dampening affect on people's desire to engage in international Theocratic debate over nomenclature.
Uzol, depicted as a Male Dwarf and associated with minerals.
Dwarven Gods aside, I was able to get an audience with the Fortress's leader. Well, I say audience, I knocked on the door and he said to come in, but the point stands.
His name is Asmel, he was a little spooked at first on account of me carrying an axe, but he quickly calmed down. We chatted for a while, and it quickly became clear that all is most definitely not well around here.
Asmel is extremely anxious about the Duskhome business, but there are so few people here that if something terrible has happened, they can't afford to send anyone for fear of even a single death. For now, they're able to survive on what they make themselves, but they're extremely isolated, and the future is extremely uncertain for them. When I asked about Gor, he became unwiling to say anything at first, but he relented quickly on certain details. Shortly before Gor was founded, a strange Dwarf passed through the area, met with another stranger, and then disappeared into the woods. Soon after, a hunter found his corpse, seemingly after having simply lain down on the ground and died of starvation just out of sight of the trade depot. Then, Gor was founded. Rumours of its disappearance reached Asmel, but he had refused point blank to send even a single Dwarf to take a look at it. I prodded him further, but I couldn't get even another word on the matter out of him. He knows more, I can see it in his eyes, but it looks like I won't be getting answers any time soon. Discussions were more or less wrapped up by this, as Asmel became suspicious and passive aggressive after this, so I said my goodbyes and left. He was at least nice enough to give me some food for my journey though, which I am thankful for. I need to know. I know I shouldn't, but even if it's just to find an empty field, I must see it. This could be a terrible idea. I don't know what's down there... But I want to at least take a peek. Perhaps I'll find nothing. Perhaps I'll find something. But I need,
need to know.
If I make good time, I'll be there before the end of the day.
The mountains are beautiful. I can't wait to reach Duskhome and see true peaks, tall enough to breach the clouds, like the ones from back home at Mischiefpit. I've heard that those mountains are even taller still than the ones I grew up in, perhaps some of the tallest in the world.
I've passed the snowline. Ahead of here is the Tundra of Heroes, the coldest place in the known world. Before that, however, is Gor. I cannot express how terrified I am of what I may find there, even if it is nothing.
I'm almost there. This cold is unlike anything I've ever known. It cuts through your clothing, gets into your bones, and roots itself there. It's so cold. So cold...
I've arrived.
There is something in the snow.
It's not moving. I'm scared. I'm scared.
There's something else. It's up ahead.
I... I want to go home... I... I...
... It's coming.
The Journal ends here. It is not known how this journal entered the Museum's custody, but there is a bit of writing on the last page in different handwriting to the rest of the book, which simply says "Note: Could not find the body."
The End
My plan was to check a few places out to 100% confirm whether or not they still existed or not and provide the observations of a confused character in-Universe trying to get a handle on what was going on, but to quote myself, Dwarf Fortress giveth, and Dwarf Fortress taketh away. Rest in peace Solon Riftworks.
Author
Topic: Museum III, adventure succession game (DF 0.47.05) (Read 409707 times)