A sort of prologue for dwarf fortress I wrote for fun read and tell me what you think
Snowy peaks rise to the north, vast green planes stretch to the south. To the east a great wood of oak and willow stands, the pointed eared folk dance around their trees in mirth singing for natures praise, their girlish voices giving life to animal and plant alike with joyous verses. Upon the southern plains farms spread like a patchwork blanket, on their fringes human villages lie quiet under the light of the moon, tools of sweat and toil lie abandoned till the sun shine upon them again.
Beyond the villages great walls of stone rise in a circle looming over the buildings they protect, humans tall and proud walk the streets laughing, shouting, quietly talking among themselves of work and valour, heroes and law. A mighty castle rises above the hive of human ingenuity, whilst from the ramparts flags fly the crest of the king, emblazoned for all to see a symbol of law and might.
Away from the human plains to the far West lies a great marsh; the stench of evil lies heavy in the air. Wicked looking plants rise out of misty marshes. Feral beasts hunt the night, sniffing out their next kill.
Within this mire fires burn their orange glow blurred by the mix of heavy mist and swamp gases. Around these fires short squat creatures sit talking in guttural voices about their latest kills, showing off trophies of heads; some of beasts and some humanoid. Away from the fires tents of leather stand decorated with skulls, spikes of bone, and hair woven into rope. Great racks of meat hang within the smoking tents, and makeshift fences form a perimeter around the encampment. Here, within the western marshes the goblin horde survives ruled by the warlords who sit upon thrones of the fallen.
Back towards the north where the snowy mountains rise like the spine of a dragon is a door set into stone. An image of a hammer, masterfully engraved, shines brightly out from its surface. Within, down a stone hall sounds of industry echo, the roar of a furnace and the clash of a sword on an anvil, the gruff voices of short bearded people can be heard from the raving of a lunatic to the laughter and merriment of the drunk. There is no silence within these mountain halls as long as the Dwarves fill its chambers and winding corridors. Dwarven warriors train within the barracks fighting with mock weapons and regaling their comrades with tales of victory and booze. Within lavishly decorated chambers the nobles send their subjects running around like ants on fire with their insanely random demands. Deeper down the miners toil digging away rock and ore, unearthing precious gems and metals. A pickaxe strikes a boiling crust and a great crack is made as miner peers through the opening. A great sea of magma glows through the crack and great pillars of glowing blue ore rise out from the molten flow; “Amarok be praised we have found the holy Adamantine!”.
And so starts a new chapter in Dwarven history with the clock of destruction beginning to tick. The lands of infinity exist ever-changing as the elves, humans, goblins and dwarves fight for dominance. But only through peace will the sentient races survive against the onslaught that will come from the deep dark recesses below.
Author
Topic: Dwarf fortress a short prologue (Read 1245 times)