My first attempt at serious (ha! Serious... Well, it's a serious attempt at writing a story, so I guess that counts) writing. Was originally meant to be a short story thread, but I realized I really liked the characters. Thus, the current story was born.
The interesting thing about this story is the participation that occurs, although it admittedly doesn't help keep things simple. Those with characters can, if they wish, provide 'journals' that provide backstory to the character and advance the story. Don't make the same mistake I did and disregard these journals, as they add to the story and should be taken as canon. If you read something in my updates that conflicts with the journals then my word is fact (I'm the law round these here parts) but I try to prevent this and journals are, by and large, actual things that happen with the story. If you're reading this thread for the first time,
slots are full. More to the point this story, due to my foolish and constant extension of it, has ground to a halt and only time will tell if it starts up again. Sorry.
Drawn using
this, because DF is too restrictive in that respect. Pictures will be used whenever I feel they are appropriate, which will hopefully be a whole lot more from now on.
The dwarf called for everyone in the tavern to come to him. They did so eagerly, aware of what was happening. The man was a bard and tonight was the night of stories, tall tales, or historical sagas. The dwarf spoke, his voice carrying over the crowd.
"Come one, come all, gather round the fire, feel its warmth! Sit back and relax, get comfortable. I understand you came for a story and this tale's a long one. But I assure you, this one won't disappoint and better yet, it actually
happened. Gather round, gather round! For whilst the wind bites outside, we are safe and warm. and tonight, I shall tell of one of the greatest stories of our time! Prepare-"
To venture north, into HellThe mountainhome’s main barracks7 dwarves had left, to start an outpost on the edge of the world. Madness? Perhaps. The very first letter, delivered via pigeon, was a hastily scribbled note. They had discovered something wonderful beneath the mountain, better even than magma, something a dwarf only dreamed of and were preparing to mine it out. 3 months on and no more letters had arrived. The king feared the worst, and ordered an expedition to be sent north, to see what had become of them, and to bolster there defences and resolve if need be. Kib Olonlegon looked out at his most trusted men. He was the only axe lord among them, a testimony to the king’s unwillingness to waste money on a standing army, but they all knew how to take orders and they could be relied on to do the right thing, and wouldn’t abandon there posts if they were tired, thirsty, hungry or had a broken toe. All were experience miners, with the exception of the two marksdwarves, who were hunters. In total, they number, him, 3 axedwarves and 2 marksdwarves. And together, after gathering the necessary supplies, they left.
The outpost
Kib looked out at the desolate rocky wasteland and shivered. They had past the last trees miles ago and the only water came from a small brook, a far distance away. Hell, there weren’t even any boulders! He had seen a few animals and noticed his sharpshooters looking on in eager anticipation, but with the current development, that’d have to wait.
Kib checked the corpse in front of him, trying hard not to vomit. The poor dwarf had been ripped to shreds. He was almost unrecognisable but Kib could just make out an expression of abject terror on his face. Checking the two other corpses, he noted that they had the same expression. Both were in better shape, but both sported enormous burn marks on there backs and they looked as if they had been burned nearly in half. He sighed, and shivered. Already the men around him were looking worried. He turned towards the small entrance in the mountain, and noted the lack of a trade depot. These dwarves must have been killed around the time the outpost was started. Surely no dwarf would neglect to build a trade depot, especially in a barren land such as this? It did not bode well. He knelt to get a better look at the entrance
“Hello down there!” He called down the ramp, into the gloom. No answer. He sighed and stood up.
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we’re going in. Keep alert.”
He hunched his shoulders and walked forward, axe in hand. What he saw next shocked him to the core.
Poll
Author
Topic: To venture north, into Hell: Othtar Noloc, world at war (Read 99870 times)