Angelcrux, Update Eleven: Casted Fates"If only Urvad were here to see this" remarked Libash, the fortress's new mechanic. The efforts of the past year's labor was finally bearing its first fruit.
Olin and Sazir dug away at the freshly casted obsidian, leaving rough boulders in their wake, ready to be hauled. Most of the rest of the fortress was busy doing said hauling, lugging them into a wooden minecart that rocketed the boulders back to Feb's masonry circle. Whenever the duo ran out of fresh obsidian to mine, the gates closed and a torrent of magma would be unleashed into the room before being rapidly cooled by water from above. It was a freakishly effective contraption, and would be an incredibly value asset in the years to come. Building materials were hard to come by in Angelcrux, to the point that common gabbro had started to become a carefully rationed material. Even wood was in short supply due to the massive undertaking to prevent excessive brush in the caverns.
But now... with an obsidian caster, magma pumped up from the magma sea could easily be turned into fresh boulders ready for working. Angelcrux was almost ready, but there was still something missing.
Elsewhere...
"Die, monster! Your kind cannot be allowed to exist here! In the name of the Heliotrope Empires, you will be slain!"
The small party of humans charged into battle, led by the rather zealous one that was doing all the talking. Molu sighed, and responded, resigned and a mite frustrated.
"Yøu have no reason to slæ me. I have rĕsiđed here, soliŧary, for two çenturies! What grüdge do you høld!"
*"Your mind tricks will not work on us, beast! You are an abomination and must be destroyed!"
Molu decided not to argue this time, seeing as there wasn't much point. The hypocrisy of the Heliotrope Empires was well known among the goblins, allowing necromancers to walk freely among them yet spurning foreigners and oddities as evil that must be destroyed. Molu was, of course, a demon. He had hermetically resided in Terrorfortunes for the last two centuries after losing his empire to constant human-instigated conflicts.
Molu crushed the skull of the first human in before sending the second flying backwards with a mighty blow to the chest. He was a
demon, and had little idea what these humans were trying, attacking him without a full war party.
* In under a minute his three assailants lay dead on the ground. And then he heard something else.
"Ŵho are yøu? Do you ŵish to slæ me as ŵell?"
A gruff voice responded.
"I am not. I come here on behalf of the dwarves. Their queen, Atir, has sent me personally."
It was then the speaker revealed themselves, coming out from the only cover around: a lone tree. He was... a bugbear. Not unexpected, of course. Bugbears were the most suited for such a harsh land, and due to their size and stamina, made excellent scouts and messangers. Diplomats less so, but Molu knew not to disregard the speech of his onetime serfs.
"Gø on, thĕn. Ŵhat cøuld the dwarvzĕ ŵant with me, and ŵhat ŵøuld I ŵant from thĕm?" he replied.
"They seek the downfall of those who would oppose them, and believe that you share a common foe with them."
Molu responded, skeptical.
"A shared ænemy. Wørking with dwarvzĕ. I am gaining little for such a large expenditure, đa?"
The bugbear was quick to answer. "The Heliotrope Empires. They have long plagued the world, and their necromancers have continuously besieged the final dwarven stronghold. I understand they're no friend to you, given that fearsome exchange. As for what you would receive... there is much. Titles, fame, but also..."
The bugbear took a moment to retrieve something from his knapsack.
"The path to power."
The bugbear held a sword, moving closer before offering it to Molu. The sword itself was... magnificent, of the finest craftsdwarfship. And terrifying, for Molu knew it well. It was forged from the metal only the guardians of his True Name wielded. If the dwarves had it... that meant they had the slab as well. Any diplomacy was a mere act of mercy. The sword was not a gift, but a threat. Not that this diplomat knew, bugbears were hardly renowned for their knowledge of metal. Clever. He chose his words carefully, hiding the revelation lest it give this negotiator power over him.
"Đen I accept this gįft, and will head to the dwarvzĕ."
The bugbear seemed surprised at how easy this had been, stammering a quick reply.
"I'll escort you to them, then! They will be most pleased with this!"
Molu left out that he knew exactly the way, and followed dutifully. He would speak with these dwarves himself and find out their real intentions.
*
They traveled for two days and nights with only one short rest for the bugbear (whose name Molu never bothered to ask) to sleep. As soon as the vault's spire came into view, the strange diplomat slinked off, giving some excuse about never really liking dwarves and pointing Molu towards a barely-visible hole in the ground near the base of the spire. Molu went down the staircase and entered into a long, straight, and narrow hallway, where a singular dwarf stood, resting a remarkably large hammer over his shoulder and wearing stunning armor forged from a combination of adamantine and more of the twinkling metal from his vault. These were the dwarves that would know his Name, then. The dwarf spoke.
"Atir really did it, then. You must be Molu. Welcome to Angelcrux."
Molu was disappointed to hear his name.
He knows. He must know. Regardless, Molu outwardly ignored the remark.
"I am here, đa. You dĕsire my power as I dø yours. Ŵhat are yøu to yoür førtress?"
"My name is Rakust Claspsoard, second eldest son of Solon Romancerims and Bembul Torchstatic. I am commander of the fortress military and wielder of Aroth Ilon, first of the legendary hammers. As the highest ranking member of the fort currently here, it's my job to greet you."
Molu went for flattery, actual impressiveness of his getup notwithstanding.
"Impressive, da. You know me already, so that concludes our introductions."
Rakust replied in turn, apparently satisfied.
"Then I'll get straight to the point: will you join us?"
Molu mulled over the question briefly before responding with his only real choice. Even if these dwarves did not know his True Name, this Rakust seemed a very powerful warrior, and his subordinates were likely nearly just as strong. It would be beneficial to learn more about these dwarves, to work with them to destroy the humans, and perhaps make a name for himself at the center of a new empire.
"Đa. I will join your little førtress. But first, you must break my cürse. I am Molu Metebásko Rohir Imthor, Molu Webbedtroubles the Demon of Turmoil. Face Turmoil and Prevail, and I will be your Älly."
Then everything lit itself on fire. Again.
*
DEMOGRAPHICS:Angelcrux stands at 85
* population and 150 million wealth, and is 79 years old.
Deaths (??):
I don't even know, man. A few?
Notable, that I know of: Udil, a child. Not present in the fort and viewing through relationships shows his upper body gone. Atir, the queen, is "travelling" but still alive, and Morul, the fortress smith, has simply vanished without a trace, likely due to his status as liaison. Will I get one of my own dwarves as the trade liaison next year? Has that even ever happened before?
Happiness: 50 fine, 35 ecstatic
Pixel Sketch!
These next few updates (probably just this one and the next, actually) might be a bit roleplay heavy, since I've got a lot of world to set up and also just generally some exposition stuff that hasn't really been mentioned in my fort-centric updates. Also I'll see what I can do about keeping up the little sketches. Most of them probably won't be directly related to what's going on (I have plenty of interesting artifacts to show off!) but I felt like Molu needed a special introduction to remember him by. My sketches aren't of particularly high quality, of course, but I figure it lets me (and everybody else) know what to think of when I'm considering a specific artifact or creature/dwarf, and also I figure I'll get better with practice, which is already showing because before I started these I literally could not understand how to make armor, much less a humanoid in said armor. I'll see what I can do in terms of effort, as you can imagine the writing, the playing of a particularly difficult fort, the little sketches, and the messing around with images is quite a bit more intensive than just saying "yooo my fort just got ruined by zombies" like I was in the first few updates I made. Might either drastically tone down update effort or update frequency (probably the latter, I've been enjoying this) when I'm back at uni, but that's not for another month, so we're good for now.
Footnotes:I am absolutely going to abuse the Russian/Nordic diacritics. Dude's literally a bear.Fun fact, Molu's special ability is webs.So, let me explain what's going on here. I chose a bugbear adventurer (gotta be the same civ as to not be hostile to the guy right away), popped over to Molu's camp (where he has indeed sat there alone for 200 years), gifted him a title (expedition leader of my fort) to make him not hostile to my fortress, gifted him the sword to hopefully get him to join me (which worked somehow, even though it probably shouldn't have, I don't really understand this part with the gifting and didn't invent this), and then meandered on back to the fort. I exiled the adventurer (whose name I actually don't remember, he was that unremarkable) right away after unretiring, since I didn't really want a bugbear in the fort, but it means that Molu is now part of the fort and will petition for citizenship in two years. For some reason his title is still master, even though that wasn't even the title he held while at his camp: his old civ is in ruins since he lost a war against the humans and then escaped prison, becoming chancellor rather than reclaiming master.Throwback to that one time.AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA