Urist sat squirreled away in her palace as usual. However, whereas she once secluded herself in her palace simply to enjoy pompous luxury and avoid interaction with peasants, she now hid in fear. It was a fear all mortals faced. She feared her own mortality. Kurk Quorcanes death had shaken her. She had remembered the seemingly youthful exuberance when he came to this fortress as a spry dwarf of only 100 someodd years. He was her first love, and now he was dead and buried...dead as all dwarves would one day be. Dead, as Urist herself would one day be. What did it matter if it was at the hands of a Khamerite or old age? One day someone else would sit on her adamantine throne, wearing her Imperial crown and merrily sipping sunshine from her priceless blue mug. One day someone else would farm the dwarven cattle for Armok. One day someone else would be the Chosen One....the center of some other tale that was not hers.
She continued to plot her defense against the Khamerites, but deep down she knew her days were numbered. Sure, Armok had promised to raise her to Godhood for her service....but promises are not as valuable as actions, especially when these are the promises of a God like Armok. She could see in the mirror. She was not blind. The wrinkles on her face ran deep. Her hair was long gray, and now turning white. Armok had not felt compelled to preserve her youth and vigor. It was getting harder and harder to walk her aging body downstairs to party at the adamantine statue. With a barrel or two of booze in her, she could still feel young again....but the next morning her body would remind her she was not.
She had wanted to ask Armok for some kind of assurance of her immortality....but how does one stand face to face with the God of Blood and ask for something of such magnitude? She had already asked him several times lately if she could kill Khamero and his sons, only to be told that the Khamerites fertility was too precious a source of life essence for Armok to give up breeding and feeding upon. If the energy derived from a single lineage of dwarves was too much for Armok to give up, how could he possibly expend the energy required to bring Urist to Godhood? Urist was grateful of the power and luxury Armok's influence provided her, but she was a realist to the bone. She knew Armok could not keep the promise he had made, for she herself would never keep such a promise either.
She had thought deeply, and decided that she should prepare for her death. If Armok would grant her an afterlife, then nothing would need to be done. But if Armok were simply using her, as he used all beings that were not Armok, then surely it would be wise to ready her and her dynasty for the day that will come. At night, while the Khamerites partied the twilight hours away, the Empress headed down into the earth. Deep beneath the surface, at the end of a long and elaborate maze of mining tunnels and secret rooms, Urist began digging her own grave.
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Topic: Blockedlance - No More Stops Until Ragnarok! (Read 419753 times)