The FortressIn the dwarven fortress of Datanzalis Stinugosh, the military is everything. Having been founded mere hours away from the goblin stronghold of The Dark River, its dwellers were forced to militarize almost from the moment of its birth in order to survive. Much of the dense forest around the volcano into which the fort was carved was brought down to feed the ever-hungry forges, leaving barren brown soil in its wake as the sky filled with the black, acrid smoke of the fortress’ arms industry – actions from which the vegetation is yet to truly recover.
Kosoth Salvesank was one of those tasked with feeding the forges and the industry of war that the fortress ran upon. He was smaller and slower than the other dwarves, much more used to the clear air and rockier land of the mountain halls in the east.
He had come from those distant peaks in the hope of joining the fortress’s soldiers; like many others, he had heard of Adilatir’s sudden militance and the abrupt increases in military actions. He’d sought the honour and glory inherent to joining the ranks of such a militarized fortress. The military, of course, had taken one look and deemed him unfit for service in the frontlines, relegating him to the sweltering forges that formed the heart of the fortress.
It was that which saw him beside one of the few remaining trees, right at the very edge of the fortress’s boundaries. Kosoth had heard the tales of Bil Hammertome and Glloyd Ancientborn the Round, of Lonelythrall and Fidale Umberrazors, told and retold by the few travellers the fortress received. Heroes one and all – and almost all hailing from humble origins. If the military thought him unfit to stand with them, he’d prove himself as the adventurers of old had.
While he had lost track of his original plans in the rush of excitement, nerves, and preparations, Kosoth had hung around the main hall of the fortress enough to learn that to the south-east lay a number of hamlets and encampments – all near to the Grand Museum of Boltspumpkin, a place equal parts legendary and infamous for the way it attracted mercenaries, wanderers, and adventurers of all stripes.
When he’d finally managed to pluck up the courage to ask if any of the few travellers visiting the fortress knew where he might find someone to train him in combat in those settlements, most of them had simply shrugged him off, or denied any knowledge of such people so fiercely that he had almost slunk off to the alcohol storage in embarrassment. Eventually, however, one of them – a hard-eyed, faintly sinister-looking character, wrapped from head to toe in thick robes – had quietly drawn him aside to their table.
The creature stared across the table at him, seemingly gauging his expression, before slipping a small shred of paper across the table to him.
«Go south-east to the town of Diptramples,» It read, in a tight, neat script. «Seek out the surgeon from Scarletbronze. Tell him that Belom sent you.»
By the time Kosoth looked up from the paper, the creature was already gone.
It had been difficult, sneaking out past the guards with a backpack full of dwarf-sized armour and a couple iron weapons. He’d half-expected to be dragged out of the crowds moving through the fort’s corridors and denounced as a thief, but he’d managed to slip out through the maze’s gate and run over the sweating iron of the moat’s bridge, out into the barrens beyond.
Kosoth hesitated one moment, looking back over his shoulder at the bulk of the volcano and hill. Some tiny part of him knew he’d never return – ‘borrowing’ the gear he wore from the armoury all but guaranteed that – but the rest of him was too busy buzzing with the excitement of what he was about to do.
He shook his head and breathed deep, silently resolving to return from his adventures in triumph or not at all, and began the journey that would lead him to the hamlets and towns south-east of the fortress.
The SurgeonWhen he first arrived at Diptramples, Kosoth’s first impression was that of emptiness. The town’s streets were almost entirely bereft of people, even at the height of the day. Dust and shreds of litter blew through the empty streets as he walked toward the squat, broad hall. He had heard of such buildings; they were the human equivalent of taverns. If the supposed surgeon was to be anywhere, he hoped it’d be there.
He pushed open the door and half-walked, half-crept inside. The hall was almost completely empty, with a thick layer of dust across the smooth stone of the floor and the bulky pedestals set against the walls. A few decaying rags of cloth caught against his iron boots as he came to a halt, eyes flicking about as he searched for any sign of habitation.
“Hello?” He called out. “Is anyone there?”
Something shifted in the silent mead hall, somewhere between the low creaking of wood and the noise of shifting leather. Kosoth turned to face the source of the noise, hand creeping down to the iron morningstar and mace (liberated from the long-dead bodies of an invading goblin and the armoury, respectively) at his side.
The source of the noise swiftly became clear as a hooded human came marching down the stairs, robed frame bedecked with odd fetishes and carved bone icons. The man paused as he saw Kosoth, fingers running to touch the leather-wrapped handle of an axe. He was lightly-armoured, compared to Kosoth, wearing only a simple set of copper gauntlets and boots.
“What are you looking for, dwarf?”
“A surgeon from Scarletbronze. Someone called Belom sent me –”
The human raised a gauntleted hand, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“You found him. My name is Ketas Indigovaulted. Now… precisely what is it that Belom sent you here to do?” Though his features were unreadable beneath his hood, Kosoth had the distinct impression he was being glared at. “I doubt you were sent here simply to deliver a message.”
“I… I want to be a soldier. Belom told me you could train me as -”
Without another word, the man strode past Kosoth, toward the still-open doors of the mead hall. Kosoth was forced to half-run to catch up to the human, struggling to match his purposeful stride.
“Where- where are you going?”
The human paused a moment, let out a low, rasping sigh, then turned to stare down his nose at Kosoth.
“We are going to train.” He crossed his arms, light glinting off the edge of the copper shield he wore. “Follow me.”
The next few hours were something of a blur. The ‘training’ seemed to amount to little more than instructing him to seize hold of a small, nearby animal, then dodge and block as best as he could.
It was night by the time they stopped. Kosoth’s arms and fingers were covered in small gashes from the pecking of ravens, he was barely able to stand upright from the aching in his legs, and his beard was matted with sweat, blood, and small chunks of bird. Ketas had not been idle, either – his fists and chest were similarly cut up and his bare chest was shiny with sweat, but he was still standing where Kosoth was about ready to collapse over.
Ketas nodded approvingly as Kosoth released the creature he had caught in his fist; the dwarf was advancing faster than he had anticipated.
“Armok… damn…” Kosoth wheezed from the ground, having finally collapsed from exhaustion. “How’d… how’s a surgeon know…”
“I come from Scarletbronze, dwarf.” Ketas retorted, bending down to begin setting up the campfire for the night. “When you stitch enough half-dead men up, you learn how to take them apart.” He bent down to press a wooden cup against Kosoth's mouth, filled with a pungent, foul-tasting fluid. "Drink this and get some rest. We start early tomorrow.”
The MuseumIt was around a week later that the training concluded. Kosoth had shed much of his former fat, and many of the tiny cuts and scabs had changed into thin, curving scars across his hands and chest. His armour was scratched and dented and soaked through in several places with sweat and blood after a run-in with a pack of dingoes. Despite everything, he could not deny a feeling of elation – he was hardly on par with Sarvesh or any of the other captains, but he was learning how to
fight!
"You have done well, Kosoth." Ketas remarked, watching on as the dwarf finished re-packing his gear. Though he'd doubted the brew would work as intended, at first, the effects it was showing so far were promising indeed - the dwarf was proving a swift learner both physically and mentally, all while fulfilling its secondary function.
"Where to now, then, sir?"
“South – if anyone knows where to find glory, they will be at the Museum.”
Little further in the way of talking was required. The two adventurers set off at speed as the sun crested the horizon, pausing only briefly to feed and water themselves. It was around mid-day by the time the two of them walked through the doors of the Museum itself.
As Kosoth conversed with the staff and retired adventurers below, no-one noticed Ketas slip away from the group, nor when he crept up the stairs to the higher levels of the keep. No-one noticed when he slipped back down them, a tiny bag carefully concealed within the pouches of his rope-reed skirt.
Several more minutes of back-and-forth natter and discussion would pass before one of the Museum’s staff – an ancient goblin woman – mentioned a rumour of dark goings-on to the south-east, in a tiny hamlet by the name of Inchedtwists.
At the urging of Ketas, Kosoth would agree to investigate the settlement and bring back word as to whether or not the rumours were true.
With that, it was decided – and with it, the fate of many an unfortunate they would encounter in the future.
The InfectionInchedtwists, at first glance, seemed entirely abandoned. Several of the houses sported sides choked by weeds and the occasional bush; others were entirely abandoned, the roofs collapsing inwards or covered in a thick head of aboveground moss. The streets were entirely empty, without a single wandering animal – tame or wild – to be seen, as was so commonly the case with abandoned or fallen settlements.
Ketas and Kosoth moved through the hamlet cautiously, aware of the possibility for creatures lurking in wait. Both of them had their weapons drawn and shields raised, eyes flicking from corner to corner as they advanced upon the mead hall that dominated the hamlet’s skyline.
The two had barely reached the doors of the hall when the wooden doors bulged outwards, then gave way with a resounding crash. Splinters of wood pinged off their hastily-raised shields as the duo looked into the shadows of the hall, trying to see the cause of the sudden destruction.
Within the hall, two figures were brawling furiously with one another – a goblin and a human. Or, at least, what had once been a goblin and a human: the former’s hunched frame was grotesquely proportioned, pallid skin stretched almost to the point of tearing over thick ropes of unnatural muscle; an infernal red glow blazed from its blank eyes, burning with murderous intent. Its opponent looked little better – much of its skin was covered in dozens of thick, knobbly blisters and growths, pus spewing into the air as several ruptured under a punch from its foe; what little was not blistered was red and raw, hanging off from the body in bloodied flaps to expose the teeth, or torn away entirely to reveal an eye bulging free of its socket.
Startled for a moment, Ketas swiftly shook off his surprise and rushed full-force against the goblin, driving his copper battle axe down into the shoulder of the grotesque creature.
There was a moment of resistance as the metal met the bone, then the entire arm fell away from the shoulder, arcing off to smack against one of the walls. The goblin, seemingly recognising the threat posed to it, attempted to half-punch, half-claw at him; Ketas replied by nearly side-stepping the goblin’s fist, letting it split the air beside his hip before rushing forth once again. A second blow severed the beast’s left hand; a third proved fatal, severing the creature’s head from its shoulders entirely.
Opposite from him, Kosoth was engaged in a brutal brawl with the human. His mace struck hard against the ghoulish creature’s arm and hand, shattering bone and bruising muscle with each blow; the ghoulish woman retorting with jabs of the ceremonial knives she had drawn from her belt. Her mutilated features were twisted in a look of murderous fury, seemingly unhindered by the injuries her body was sustaining. A hasty swing towards her head missed, the ghoul darting in under his guard to sink her teeth deeply into the flesh of his hand.
Kosoth pulled back with a hiss of pain, instinctively clutching the bitten hand against his chest. A retaliatory blow from his mace caved in the ghoul’s skull, twisting the head about to an inhuman degree; its filthy nails raked across the mail shirt covering his chest in reply, sending him staggering back for several steps.
Ketas wasted little time in charging across the room to deal the death-blow. As with the goblin he had been facing moments before, his axe sheared through the ghoulish woman’s throat, before a rough shove sent both head and body clattering to the stone.
With both threats out of the way, Ketas whipped around to face Kosoth. The dwarf’s bite wound was beginning to close up even as blisters sprang up around the site of the bite. The supernatural contagion that the ghoul had carried was beginning to spread through his blood, and quickly, at that. He resisted the urge to grin; this was a type of undead he had never witnessed before, even in Scarletbronze, and he had little doubt that his fellows in Omon Obin would be interested in such a being's occurrence.
Ketas cast his mind back to the Museum – there had been a slab there, buried beneath a pile of similar artefacts. He’d read it while the staff and retired adventurers were distracted; learned the secrets of life and death from under their noses. It was now that that the knowledge contained on the slab came to the forefront of his mind: the nature of such ghoulish entities, the ways by which they could be created and controlled – it would seem that the very same contagion described on that slab was now raging through the body of the dwarf before him, transforming him into something greater -
His train of thought was interrupted by a sudden, flaring pain in his muscles. His eyes snapped down to the pouch at his side – and the tear in the cloth, from which a quantity of dark, sooty powder was trickling onto an exposed section of his skin.
Ketas Indigovaulted was not normally one for foul language. As his muscles began to bulge and grow in the same manner that those of the goblin had, however, the stream of curses he let loose with could have turned the air blue.
Post-scriptum: This tale is probably going to be shorter overall than my past writeups, since the vast majority of what they did amounted to running around creating ghouls, killing the occasional demon, creating more ghouls, exploring one site, then creating yet more ghouls.
As a side note, I
think (not entirely sure) that I've figured out why the named Herograves sarcophagi went AWOL. The TL;DR of it is that it would seem that I *dropped* them then put the adventurers' corpses in them rather than actually *building* them then putting the adventurers' corpses in, which would explain why they abruptly vanished and (maybe?) reappeared in Irthu's posession. My apologies for unwittingly causing that whole mess
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Author
Topic: Museum III, adventure succession game (DF 0.47.05) (Read 409731 times)