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[Prudent Viper]

Prologue

Thulthu Rawlens. Oh, how he had screamed as Sibrek had twisted his sword around in him. They say monsters like him, monsters like Sibrek, they say they don’t feel pain as mortals do, but this one, he had squealed like a stuck pig. He was unworthy of the gift. Five hundred years of undeath, five hundred years to learn, to gain power, and Thulthu had learned nothing. He had stood in his keep, unarmed and unguarded, while he told Sibrek of his family, who had died hundreds of years before. Bah!

But... as Sibrek had drunk of his dark free flowing blood, perhaps the elderly vampire had whispered something, something barely discernible. Perhaps, Thulthu had said “thank you.”

Sibrek had left, as the townspeople- the stupid, disgusting creatures, they had praised his name, spitting on the corpse of the trickster.  He went south, to return to his homeland, the Mountainhomes of the Constructs of Fancy. On the way, he and his two followers had been ambushed in goblin country. That was where he learnt of his transformation. Dark voices spoke to him, guided his every stroke of his sword arm. He bested the goblins, but there was hunger within him that needed to be sated. Sibrek turned, and started towards his companions. One, a crossbowman, raised his weapon too late. Sibrek ended him with one swift thrust, then angered. He had wanted him alive!

“Bese, no! Limul, what have you done?” 
Sibrek smiled. A smile filled with malice and ancient sin, a smile that chilled the Ica’s heart. Ah yes, Ica, sweet Ica. A barmaid she was once, before the goblins had razed her village to the ground. Then vengeance had filled her heart, and she had joined up with the closest army she could find, coincidentally, that was Rawlen’s. It was from her that he had learned the secrets surrounding the mysterious lawgiver. She was a pretty human, but Sibrek had other desires. Still covered in the blood of her friend, he charged at her, slapping the copper scimitar out of her hand as he did so. His fingers wrapped around her throat, an unbreakable vice. She passed out after a minute or so, and Sibrek fed. He was no longer hungry.

Then Sibrek had come here. It was called Darkstandards, a newly established, but quickly growing outpost. He had changed his name, no longer Limul Scrapefigures the Fuschia Sicknesses, now simply Sibrek Copperrelief. A necessary precaution, as people are somewhat prejudiced towards his state of being.
Obviously it was not precaution enough, for the leader of the place, Atir, a prophet they called him, had taken one long look into Sibrek’s dead eyes and knew him for what he was.
So they had captured him. Sibrek believed he could talk his way out of it. He failed, and they locked him away, in the husk of an unfinished bauxite tower.

These dwarves, no, these unthinking, unknowing... barbarians, they had tested him, tested him to see when he would break. He faced more foes in combat over those few short months in his entire life. Uncivilised beast-men armed with primitive spears, vicious predators, multitudes of imprisoned goblins and kobolds, giant insects – the vampire had killed them all. He had not broken, but he had become stronger. He had also become hungry. For, over his short time as a “hideous bloodsucker” (as the prison guard who stood outside his door called him), he had become somewhat of a connoisseur. The fluids of goblins and kobolds were tasteless, unpalatable while the blood of beasts was unacceptably bland and lacking in consistency. Dwarf had an earthy, though not unpleasant flavour, and human was very varied, though always had a vibrant colour. While he would be extremely happy to drink either of those species instead of the horrible slop he was forced to “live” on, what he truly desired was an elf. Elf blood was a glorious cacophony of flavour that truly fuelled and revitalised him. He had only had the pleasure of this beautiful taste sensation once, when an elven foreign diplomat had made the mistake of hiring him. Oh, what a night that was. Elves, assuming you can steer them away from the “plight of the trees”, are wonderful conversationalists. He had quite enjoyed their little talk, almost enough to not drink him. Almost.

So, Sibrek the Sanguine sits, in a room covered in blood of a hundred different creatures, with nowhere to look, but up, into the night sky, awaiting his chance. Vampires are patient, for they have all of eternity to plan their vengeance. Sibrek does not need to be patient, his mental acumen far exceeds that of his capturers, he already has a plan.

More coming soon...

[DreamerGhost]

Looking good and interesting. And that elf was realy naive, to just go around with a dwarf like that.

[Prudent Viper]

 I think the general consensus of the DF community is that Elves are the very definition of naivety. Though I admit, maybe that particular pointy eared hippy won't have won any intellectual exercises 

This is the essentially the story of my current fortress, and it's  utterly mindblowing collapse, plus some creative license. This may even end up as a community fortress once I've gotten to current events.





A lone voice pierces the blanket of darkness, strong and true.

“Whosoever would blight the world, preying on the helpless, fear me! I know you, children of the night, and shall slay you where you stand.”

A mass reply, speaking as one body,

“For we are the warriors of Belal!”

“Bodies corrupted beyond reckoning, they stalk the land, leaving destruction and catastrophe in their wake. I shall purge them from this land.”

“As judicators of the Future Universes!”

“The Taint, the hellbeast, demonspawn, animated cadaver.”

“They will burn!”

“What of the beast-man, the undying, the corpse charmer and the monstrous ones?

“They too shall burn!”

“The night is dark, and full of terrors.”

“Only with faith may we light the way.”

“I name you all his champions, guardians of the light, knights of Belal. With valour, war and fortresses we do his bidding.”

“For Valour, War and Fortresses!”

“It is done. You may rise.”

A large fire bursts into life directly in front of the dozen or so initiates gathered here, and Atir is allowed his first glimpse of the place he has spent months at, training in complete darkness. He, and the others, is standing in the husk of a grand hall. It’s majesty is unaffected by its ruined state, even with the charred remains of the furniture that once decorated this place now strewn carelessly across the floor, Atir is awestruck.

The voice calls out once more.

“Come now, new devotees, let us chant the Third Litany of Light. You, Atir, may lead.”

Atir leads the congregation, but as he speaks, their voices fade, and he is left alone.
A faint murmur escapes from his lips as he clenches his fist around a silver pendant, a pendant shaped like hammer.

“The night is dark, and full of terrors.”

A full size silver hammer lies next to him, on the edge of a pit. Deep within this pit, is the very personification of evil, the hellspawn, the bloodsucker, Sibrek Copperrelief. For this is no pit, but the very top of the great bauxite tower, Zon Rigoth, and around its antiquated ruins lies the fledgling town of Darkstandards, which itself is encased in mighty smooth chalk walls. There once dwelled a great evil in Zon Rigoth, a terrible demonic, fiery breathed lizard king, that required all the great heroes of the time, and more, for those were not enough to defeat the monster. The Order of Belal was formed then, only consisting of a handful of brave men and women of every race, to rid the world of this blight. With great sacrifice, and greater loss, they succeeded, where armies of thousands had failed.

But the Tower remained. Battered and broken yes, but still present, continuing to choke the land as evil after evil settled there. Vampires, Necromancers, Witches and many more horrors were drawn to this place.

So after the last crusade to purge this place, Atir had determined that this grand structure would no longer be a den for various darknesses, but a shining beacon, to safeguard the world from the corruption in the southern lands. Belal himself could watch from atop the citadel, radiating an aura of purity over this sinful world... 

All this would have to wait, for evil occupied the tower once more. Atir knows of several dozen commandments that charge him with picking up his hammer and caving in the beast’s head, then hitting it again and again, till the cursed thing finally stops twitching, but something stays his hand.
Atir knows that conventional methods are not working. The forces of light are losing this war. The world grows darker, every day as the evil tempts more damned souls to its banner. As for the Order of Belal, the champions of valour, they are all dead. Atir is the last.

So the grizzled veteran watches the vampire from time to time, struck with both a unfulfilled need righteous justice, and a guilty fascination.  He prays every night to absolve his sins, and to beg his god to guide him, to help him find a weakness, a chink in the armour, no matter how small, so he can drive a sword into the heart of his lord’s shadowy foes.

The fate of the world stands on a knife edge, and is already beginning to tip over, into the all consuming gloom.



Unbeknownst to the holy warrior, he is not the only one who watches the vampire. Another presence has often scaled these ancient walls, sitting and observing in the same place where Atir is now. It does not pray to any mortal god, and is only interested in its own dark desires...

[DreamerGhost]

That's some amazing detail from a fortress. I thought it was adventure mode, with sibrek as your adventurer. Shall there be a battle of three diferent sides, or mabye, two will join forces against a greater force? Will have to wait and see.