I started a new fortress today and decided to write a backstory for it. I welcome comments and suggestions, and will continue if you folks want me to.
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Log of Ast âmdodók "Spokenclasped", First Leader of The Ageless Dark-Blades
10th Obsidian, 1060 -
The Mountainhome is lost.
We heard them coming. Eight days ago scouts reported the chilling pounding of goblin war drums from the valley bordering our capital. The Ageless Depths, as we called them, had withstood many goblin invasions before, and this one was to be no different. Dwarves were sent about arming traps, loading catapults, filling moats...most of them were familiar with the routine, barely pausing between daily labors to prepare for the siege.
Two days after the first report, the goblins could be faintly seen from the watchposts. The King ordered the militia assembled and sent out to meet the invaders, my son among them. He had proven inept and clumsy at the noble profession of mining but had retained a solid dwarven lust for battle. My wife and I were proud to see him heft his steel battleaxe and join the procession, a smile on his face and a lust in his eyes. I was also nervous, of course; the goblins are relentless and vicious fighters, as evidenced by the scores of engravings in our halls recording past battles. To pass the time awaiting his return, I did what I've always loved, tearing and tunneling through the earth in search of riches for the kingdom.
I'm still not sure when it started. It seemed one moment I was happily examining a freshly dug pink jade in hopes of presenting to my wife, and the next thing I knew the halls were filled with screaming, the clatter of steel on stone, and horrible shouts that could only have been the goblins. A small group of workers rushed around a corner in my freshly-dug tunnel, clearly seeking safety but finding only myself standing at a dead end. I remember staring at them for several seconds, bewildered, before the shock passed and instict set in.
Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was the aid of Armok Himself. I began digging for the surface like a dwarf possessed, crushing my way through stone and ore faster than I had ever known I could. The rest followed, a mix of panic and wonder in their eyes. They tell me I was screaming like a maddwarf; I don't remember. At one point the goblins must have found the tunnel, but as they approached I loosened the stone we had already passed. When they got close, I laid a final, mighty blow to the weakened tunnel wall, collapsing it on the fiends.
My arms were beginning to tire by the time I finally broke the surface. Outside, no danger was apparent, apart from one surprised goblin resting a few steps away from the hole. My pick in his throat promptly solved the problem. Our little group began running toward the southern forest, hoping to hide from the goblins before they noticed our escape. As we fled, the valley came into view, along with a sight that still haunts my vision. Ashes, everywhere. Charred heaps scattered in all directions. And looming above it all, a monstrosity I had only seen in fanciful engravings. Covered in chains and restraints, and held back by at least a dozen goblins, there stood a Red Dragon. The Ageless Depths had been doomed from the beginning.
We've been in the forest two days now. In total I managed to save six dwarves, two dogs, and a stray horse we found in our path. There has been no sign of my wife or son... The others look to me as their leader no matter what I say. My plan for now is to head south, toward the mountain range called The Gloomy Torch. Several months ago, the King ordered an expedition to the volcano there with the purpose of establishing a new fortress; they should have refuge for us.
16th Obsidian, 1060 -
We found the path through the forest and followed it for a day. We've just come across an abandoned wagon, probably an ill-fated trade expedition. I'm going to search it for anything we can use...
Armok help us. This wagon belonged to the Gloomy Torch expedition. They never reached the mountains.
17th Obsidian, 1060 -
We won't be defeated. Not this easily. Today, I grimly told the others that we would take the expedition's place. There are enough supplies left in the wagon to feed us for a time while we travel. We continue toward the Gloomy Torch, where I intend to hollow out a completely safe, Goblin-free haven for these dwarves. In memory of our home, we have named ourselves The Ageless Dark-Blades.
1st Granite, 1061 -
At last, the mountain. I can see how it got the name Gloomy Torch; dark clouds obscure the peak, and at night the crimson glow of magma is cast from a fissure in the mountain's side onto the clouds. The surrounding terrain is strange as well. All along the northern face of the mountain, trees grow among a light covering of snow, and there are a few visible pools of water. But the western face...is completely barren. Nothing is to be seen there apart from the magma fissure and a vast wasteland of black sand and ash.
We've managed to drag the wagon a short distance up the mountain before resting and planning our next action. I can see a section of clay in the mountain's face nearby. We'll put the first farm there before seeking a reliable water source. I suggested the name of Ibrukubal, "Ashenspirit", for the place, and the other dwarves agreed. In memory of my family, the Ageless Depths, and the Goblins that drove us to this fate, I shall personally strike the earth. May it be a safe place for Dwarfkind for years to come.
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Topic: Ashenspirit (Read 1518 times)