It was only a matter of time before my two main hobbies, writing and DF, came together. After genning a new world I decided to chronicle the fate of my first fort there.
I'm relatively new to DF, but I just wasn't a fan of how most of my goblin sieges were over as soon as they began. So I messed around with the RAWs a bit and generated a new world to see how things went. It wasn't long before I found out what horror I had unleashed upon my unsuspecting, little dwarves. Day 9, to be exact, is when I realized that making Werewolves ultra-badasses with 350 speed wasn't such a great idea.
Regardless, I present, for your reading pleasure, the somber tale of Whippedcream.
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22nd of Obsidian, Year 14; outside the great gates of Woundroom
I may be writing from Woundroom, the richest Dwarven mountainhome in all of The Realms of Myth, but I am no rich dwarf. I am, or rather I once was, a wrestler of The Gloves of Wringing who enjoyed his work and had a nice, little room carved out for me and my lady; even had some sort of red lever in it, to boot! The gems were shining bright for me, indeed. I had just received a pair of finely-crafted steel greaves as a reward for my valorous action in saving two fisherdwarfs from a goblin ambush. I shined them for two hours, and when they shown like a lustrous lace agate, I strapped them on and took a stroll around the fort. I'll be the first to admit that I am not a humble dwarf. I see no shame in displaying my successes for all to see. But perhaps it was my vanity that brought me to where I am today. I came around the corner of the tunnel that leads towards the craftdwarves workshops in a glorious mood, simply in love with the world. Suddenly, a series of cackling laughter rang out from the west craftsdwarf hall followed by a loud crash and several voices shouting. I was shocked for a moment hearing the all-too-familiar sounds of combat in such an unfamiliar place, but, after overcoming my initial dismay, I leapt towards the entrance door of the room. I was met there by Vabok Boardwaxed. He was bloodied, screaming and running directly towards me with his sword drawn. I had known Vabok even before our time spent in the military when he was a struggling stone crafter. This wasn't like him at all. "What are you doing?" I shout at him, but it was obvious that he was hardly concerned with my protest. Later, I came to find out that he was taken by a 'mood'. When the fool couldn't find any turtle shell for his musings he went mad and began to destroy everything in his path. I'm not sure if knowing that would have led to a different outcome, but at the time I was simply terrified at the combat-trained madman sizing me up. He raised his sword and swung at me, but I leapt past him to the opposite side and rolled to my feet. He came to a stop, turned and began charging me emitting a blood-curdling cry. I stepped under his swung again but, this time, lifted him from under the shoulder and drove him to the ground and into a disarming lock. He dropped his sword but writhed and jerked violently under my grasp. I tried reasoning with him once more to no avail. I knew that I had to knock him out. I descending upon him quickly and maneuvered to get in position. Before long I had my arm around his neck with frim pressure. He continue flailing, weaker and weaker, until he went limp and I let go of him. Just about this moment, Domas Postfancied, the Hammerer shows up; late as usual. He rushes in, surveying the scene as he runs up, and promptly tackles me back to ground I had stood up from. I don't resist,(oh, what would have befallen me had I struggled) and he forcefully puts me into chains and yanks me to my feet. "What is this about?" I demand as he begins to lead me away. "What is what about?" He says with a quizzical look. "Let me go! I've only defended myself." I reply. "Ha, Scum! Do ye take me for a half-wit? I come up on ye standin' round a bunch o' beat-up mugs, and ye think me to believe ye didn't do it? Har-ha-ha!" Damnable nobles! I suppose that is why they assigned him to the hammering as opposed to any real work. I said no more as he led me to the dungeon, but the indignant scorn on my face let everyone know what I was thinking.
I spent three days in that stinking hole before I was brought before the king. I will say nothing ill of the King Lancedunites as he has brought as great fortune in Woundroom, but I also know that his is a deeply superstitious dwarf. This was evidenced no greater than my walk up to his throne. Great platinum columns on either side bordered the golden paved road leading up to the Temple of Tulon which was wrought entirely of platinum and tremendously tall. He testifies that Tulon and Volal, gods of metal and jewels, respectively, blessed Woundroom with its great wealth and sought to appease them always; hence the giant, platinum Temple of Tulon. Eventually, I arrived before him and my case was read. He contemplated for several moments before asking me if I had truly committed all these crimes; Vabok had apparently murdered one man and maimed another before finding me. "I certainly have not!" I answered. "Ask any witness or, maybe, Vabok himself when he awakens!" The king once again concidered the situation some time before speaking. "I find you guilty, and I decree that you shall be executed on the morn of Obsidian's twenty-fourth day. Excellent job, Domas! You are dismissed, and I shall dispense this villain soon!" Domas saluted him and left the room. I felt an icy wrath building within my chest and was about to lash into the king when he spoke first. "Alath, I truly believe that you are innocent, but my hands are bound." He said. I was inspired by his first statement, but trepidatious about the latter. I listened anxiously as he delivered my fate. "I know that Domas is quite simple. I'm surprised this doesn't happen more often. But he is a useful fool; possibly a dangerous one. I'm sure you discovered just how strong he is when he chained you, and that might is essential to the order of Woundroom. We have a great many jewels and riches here, and those attract many of the wrong kind of dwarves here; if you know what I mean. If I didn't appease him he'll find ways to appease himself. I don't want to find out what those may be. Do you see how this puts me in a bind? I cannot simply let you back into Woundroom. Domas will see you, and, if he doesn't slaughter you at that moment, you can be assured that it will follow shortly. But I know that you have served The Gloves of Wringing faithfully for years, and I won't doom you entirely. Recently, King Reinedfences of The Lance of Matches sent a group of dwarves to settle a fort west of the mountains. They've already claimed all of the hills on this side of the river, and we can't allow them to spread any farther. I have reliable word, however, that there is a much more promising tract of land to the west of the river under The Virtuous Mountain. Unfortunately, it's a bit of a dangerous place, and I couldn't think of anyone who I would trust to lead an expedition there. That, Alath, is where you come in. With your military background, I'm sure that you can brave any hostile environment in the name of Woundroom. Don't be discouraged. I'll be sending with you six other dwarves of equal caliber to yourself. Nothing will be able to stand in your way as you conquer for the greatness of Woundroom! Monom, my servant, will tell you the rest of the details on your way out. Good luck!" It was all still too raw to process, and I felt stupified as I said nothing when his servant began to lead me from the room. "Oh, by the way," The king added just before I had made my way out, "makes lots of money, or don't come back." He laughed with a somewhat derisive tone as the doors were closed before me. I've tried to forget the rest of the day.
Alath Tourrelieved
Author
Topic: The Tragedy of Whippedcream (Read 1556 times)