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[Uros]

Hello and welcome to my first little story here :3 Want something else? Read more, lazy bums. Though I will say that this story will be kept alive thanks to comments, so poke anything you are interested in :3 But be warned that I want a reason for good and bad comments, I don’t like praises or dejection if you don’t have something solid backing you up.

Also, someone up for drawing references for the characters presented in these stories? I am only a writer, so you won’t see them anytime soon otherwise (Please, if you are going to offer up, be able to do a good drawing, or show me an example of your work first please :3).

Also... damn limit 40k characters! I had to cut it in two!

Chapter 0º: Treachery in Gerimal’R’Ha, the mountain home.

***

This is a more serious and not supposedly cannon (Is there any cannon here?) story set in Dwarf Fortress. There could be adult themes, though besides gore and bloodshed? I think everything should be fine. If someone knows about my work already… well, you already have a head start over the rest *snickers* however I highly doubt that… which is good, so don’t go seeking it out!

I haven’t seen that many stories of DF that don’t involve a game or the like, so I wanted to throw one of those weird things in here.

If you cannot stand heavy detail and large chapters, well, do you see that red X button? The one up there? Get to the clicking, now.

There are notes at the end of each chapter (probably). May have little spoilers.

***


Two days and two nights, Gormagh had been chained inside the finely crafted prison for that long after he almost went crazy, keyword being ALMOST.

“And they still think I was crazy…” He murmured with hate, half whispering to himself “I will say it any times necessary… I DIDN’T MURDER MY FATHER!” The door to the cell didn’t bulge, the guards did not move, nor did Gormagh’s anger.

Two days ago he had seen his father getting killed by a creature that looked like a red gargoyle, in fact much larger and brutally  muscular, with red empty eye sockets and a fiery tongue made of something ethereal, much like its fangs and claws. Gormagh had to admit that, after his mother’s death thirty years ago, when they were fleeing from the forth of Kagh`Dumthad, he had been moody, easily angered and always suspicious of the dark and strange shapes.

Then he got drunk once in his life, relaxed down… and woke up to see his father dismembered and that creature atop of his corpse.

He remembered how it all happened, and the things that led to it: He was ten years old and Kagh’Dumthad had been experiencing a golden age during the past thirty years with no ambushes, no sieges and no Forgotten Beasts or giant monsters appearing anywhere. Its population had been growing and, by what Gormagh remembers, there were near one thousand dwarves in there with at least one hundred of the dwarves being assigned to the army to ensure there was no problem in sight, or at least no problem unattended. Commerce was good, the underground farms and forest were getting bigger by the day, and even the damned elves were being friendly to the dwarves for once! (Which he didn’t care about and he doesn’t care about even no).

Of course it all went to SHIT.

And yes, he would easily curse in human, but that is a tale for another day ok, because, right now? We are talking about demons, ugly and feral demons that were everywhere and wanted to fight against every living creature in the forth.

The forth had been standing for at least seventy years, one of the few lucky ones that lasted that long, but not the sturdiest or luckiest one. Kagh’Dumthad had exported mostly iron, chalk and many kinds of precious crystals. Sadly, as profitable as it had been, the forth had been made initially under the promise of Adamantine, which made the dwarves dig downwards, albeit slowly thanks to the many gems and some gold veins that took their attention every few weeks.

However they DID find Adamantine after many years, something that was celebrated in the fortress like if it was an historical event, in fact the age changed that day, or so the intellectuals say, to The Age of Fate. The day when Adamantine was found, Gormagh was born, however, in this fortress, and in many other places, only one or very few children were born and no women got pregnant, not during five months. That made the dwarfs, and most other races, scared as if the Age of Fate meant that it was the end of all of them, which made the dwarves in Kagh’Dumthad fear the precious metal, as if it was their fault and the desire to mine the precious blue ore was what brought this change to the entire world.

Whatever the case, though, around half a year later everything returned to normal and life returned to its course. One of the most powerful magicians in the realm came forth to calm the masses, assuring that the event had been bought by a magical miasma from somewhere underground, luckily the thing was not permanent and the studies had made him able to asure that it would go away in a few years. It was good news for everyone, though birthing and pregnancy would now need to take much greater importance and care on every settlement until the magical effect wore off completely.

A few days after Gormagh turned one year old, the mining of Adamantine began. It turned out as a slow process, thanks to the fact that there were many gems and precious metals ordered by the mountain homes and most merchants, as well as there was a bit of an agenda. Kagh’Dumthad’s mayor wanted to use the metal to equip his warriors before anyone knew about the vein, so the works went slow and nobody knew if it was greed, precaution or fear about something. In fact it took nearly the ten years Gormagh lived in there for the deposit to run thin, with almost two hundred ‘blocks’ (The common slur for two to three person/dwarf wide space) mined before things got nasty.

Ten years, a huge amount of plans, bright future ahead… and then the miners struck the darkness. A dark voice surged forward to engulf the minds of everyone in the fortress as night spread all over the site, hundreds of miles wide, alerting the neighboring nations and settlements of what had happened.

“The circus… is in town”

Enraged creatures of many sizes and forms covered with teeth, claws and spikes charged out of the hole at blinding speed. The first death echoed through the many levels of the forth with incredible speed and agony as the miner’s limbs and guts were plastered against the remaining blue metals in the walls, turning the once promising cavern into a literal hellhole as the whole squad of miners was torn apart in few seconds.

The lower levels had mostly storage rooms, fungus forests or even some farms, there were few dwarves there, but there would be none as the hordes spread like a tide, cutting down anything they found. It was disturbing to see such focus in the killing, they didn’t even wait and relish, or even stopped to eat or even torture those they left behind. There was oh so much life in the three upper levels… they wanted it to a point where they could not think of anything else.

Gormagh only remembers to this day a very specific set of memories: The screams from those few hours, how many dwarves went to the upper level where he was with his mother (the captain of one of the squads that formed the military), then being passed to his father (one of the appointed nobles instead of a full born one). One only memory is clear: that her mother told his father to take Gormagh out of there with as many survivors as he could. Then she turned, voiced to her men and charged to battle.

If the damn ruler of the settlement had decided to finally create the equipment he so wished to bestow to their men, then maybe all of this would’ve turned in a better way. Yet it is no use complaining now, for, as it was, Gormagh knew that steel was powerful and the ruler had thought that it would last until the whole process could start. The problem is that it was not powerful enough; it just served to turn a battle into a slaughter.

Getting angry at that wouldn’t help him though, the memories simply continued to take his full attention.

His father turned away and took him with at least other fifty dwarfs sane enough to follow him, the rest simply tried to find weapons or to hide wherever they could, panic settling down on their minds. Whatever happened, though, it would leave nothing behind. Gormagh still has the card (if it hasn’t been confiscated) that was given to his father, stating that ‘The place was a total mess, there were no demons, but there was little from the people that once lived here, not even blood… We haven’t found your wife’s armor, or even part of it, to bring you a memento…’

Rest assured though, escaping was as much of a bad idea as staying. The group was a day away from any safe place, which meant that, with few supplies and only one soldier that had been assigned to them; there was basically no light at night and no defense whatsoever.

It was a perfect spot for the Boogeyman to hunt.

While extremely cowardly and usually only ten or twenty times bigger in number than the creatures they attack (also one of the most weak dangers at night, at least individually), the invasion of the demons, creatures of pure evil, seemed to stir these deformed predators of the night. Gormagh was imprinted special hate to these creatures as they struck from the shadows, breaking the neck one of the few kids he had known since he was young, then tearing at anything else, even other Boogeyman that got close enough when they began feeding on the carcasses.

Fist against a mantle of dark bodies, a single poleax gleaming in the night… Only five dwarves got out of that alive: He was one of them, his father was the second, Zothorgham, the old Dwarf Knight, was the third and the only one that still lives to this day. There were also a couple of young dwarves that got away unscathed, but a huge beast he didn’t even remember correctly thanks to the shock dismembered them a few kilometers away from this city.

“Damn, that was loads of FUN!” He chuckled in the solace of the cell, which didn’t help his case. It was obvious his mind had been tampered with when he was young.

The shock and these memories had been giving him fits of anger and sadness, even of happiness, for the last days. Hysterical or manic laughs had been heard, he had even broken down one of the steel shackle from the wall in his maddened anger at one point! Right now his left arm was still healing from the muscles he had tear up with such a stupid outburst…. At least the medic had been nice enough to visit him to heal that.

Still, he was not done with what he remembered. After he came back he was protected by his father, mostly because he was so shocked that either nothing mattered to him anymore or he basically pushed away anything and anyone but Zothorgham (Zo, for shorts) or his father. Even his uncle, Harn’Athar, the one in charge of this Mountain City thanks to being the descendant of the one to found it, had been basically pushed away by the young dwarf back then. But, who could blame him?

Each night the visions of blood pouring through dark halls and the many eyes and cackling at night made Gormagh shudder, and for a dwarf, people as hardy as the stone they used for most of their homes, this was something that would make others nervous.

The young ‘un would take five years to recover, time that his father, Pogh’Athar, used to carve an indestructible pick out of demon bone and flesh, as hardy as Adamantine, thanks to how hard it was to find a true demon, not spirits of hate inhabiting essence of metals, soils or rocks like it was so common.

Said pick ‘The Athars’ Undying Wish’ would be made out of the skull of one of the demons that had been killed by Zothorgham in his travels after their home was destroyed.

Gorham hated the thing. It was made of demon, maybe the only species asides the boogeyman that made him reach at the thought. Like most dwarves in this island/continent, he was very tolerant even towards the elves (to an extent), but thanks to his story… seeing his father’s legacy made him sick to the bone.

The handle of the pick was a massive femur, big enough to need both hands even for a dwarf to handle; all of it was engraved in runes that prayed to Armok, god of blood, to siphon the life out of the undying material. Its base was the crystallized eye of the demon, now soul linked to the owner of the weapon until he died; the soul would look through its blue and icy surface to give whispers to its user so he or she would jump away in time to evade fatal attacks… from time to time.

Now the top of the pick was much grosser than what other bone picks to this day: With the still oozing skull of the demon Gaghar, The Pig Impaler, being used to hold the massive claw of said demon inside its maw.

Gaghar was a massive monster, tall as three humans and with a body of pure flesh and bone. He was a natural born demon, those that were very powerful but incapable of using their magic powers in fear of burning themselves, though he was able to use fire and ice thanks to the twin claws it had on its shoulder; one white and crystal like for the ice, and the other made of molten rock, solid enough to change only so slightly as it controlled fire.

Its face was that of a mutilated pig, having three snouts, a massive maw with three rows of serrated teeth and a single tiny eye, the one that now is the pommel of this pick. That huge and cavernous maw is the one that holds Gaghar’s claws, the fire one on one side, and the ice one on the other.

To this day Gaghar’s huge head, somehow shrunk back after his death, still oozes blue and red ichors that trails down the pick’s edges when it is used, sometimes causing fire to burst from where it hits, if not a little ice spear.

Many say that Gormagh’s father Pogh’Athar, was possessed when he made this pick, for he hardly had any skills worth mentioning besides being a good leader and a perfect book/story keeper or accountant. However Pogh simply said that he wanted to give his son something if he ever did as most dwarfs would once he was old enough and he had that thirst of vengeance; he wanted his son to have a weapon that would be the bane of demons.

Still, after those five years Gormagh wanted nothing to do with battle outside of the mountain home, he even hardly went out to see the sun (Though he still did as it was enforced so no one would get that damn aversion to the thing). All Gormagh wanted to do was being a good miner when he grew up; making sure no one would touch the Adamantine so no one else would suffer the fate his home fort did.

This, of course, lead to some problems.

Gormagh did not eat, talk or sleep with anyone else. He was a loner that also practiced under Zo’s care to become a skilled fighter in case something unexpected and undesired were to try and take root with him nearby. It would go like that for the last fifteen years, giving him an excuse to shield himself from society. This was mostly because, even if Gormagh would not openly admit it, he did not want to make any more friends or have a family, knowing that what he saw when he was young would probably repeat itself again, even under the Mountain Homes, where runes of protection were made so no demon would step in even after the dwarves had all perished... if that ever happened.

However, two days back? Two days back, fifteen years after he became ‘normal’, Gormagh was told by Zo to finally go out, maybe meet a fine dwarven girl (Or whatever he liked) and get boozed up! Not that he didn’t like booze, hell be frozen! Of course he liked it! But Gormagh had that strange desire to be sober and wary, mostly wary, as it had been mentioned before.

So he did as he was told, went to the bar Zo went when he had free time and tried his best to not be socially inept with a girl. What he found was, strangely, a goblin girl called Nizoma, one of those that the dwarves had ‘freed’ near their Mountain Homes.

In fact there were three huge ‘goblin’ cities that had been freed by the two Mountain Homes that were in this area, alongside a few Elven Forests and even two Human Settlements that had been overrun by kobolds (which also joined to their ranks when they surrendered). Honor was, and is, very important to the dwarves, so killing babies, younglings, pregnant women, the sick, old or those that gave up their weapons would’ve been worst than killing another dwarf on purpose. Humans, elves and others would be so brutal as to not care, but the honor bound dwarves did accept those that had done no evil and, thus, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of goblins, humans and kobolds (And also a few hundred) elves that were basically loyal to these Mountain Homes.

Of course, most people didn’t like it, of any faction.

But that is not the point; the point is that he found the girl to spend some time with. They didn’t do anything of course, in fact he wasn’t sure he would like even a dwarf girl (or otherwise), much less a goblin one (if it was because of racial aspects or his story, he was not sure). She did, however, get him to crack a smile as they talked during the night.

Oh, and drink, we shouldn’t forget the four barrels of ale he chugged down after a life where he hardly drank anything that wasn’t water.

The rest was blurry, but he remember waking up, ‘Undying Wish’ in his hand as he tried to get up from the ground, and that thing looking at him intently as the body of his father lied in the ground.

“I swear… from this point onward, I will only drink water except when there is not a single chance of ANYTHING bad happening” Gormagh grunted as he got up, the shackles luckily either out of his harmed hand or high enough so he could stand “If father could see me now… what shame I must giving him in the afterlife”

A slight problem could be found in that plan, of course.

*SLAM!*

He probably wouldn’t have a chance to even drink water or shame his father too much.

“Gormagh’Athar, your sentence has been set”

The Hammerer of Gerimal’R’Ha, this mountain home, was an exceptionally old dwarf called Hamman Thargios.

He was a dwarf that had suffered gigantism thanks to his mother being exposed to an evil spell during her pregnancy. The unusual condition affected him to such an extent where he was taller than even a human, yet he was as wide as a dwarf would be if any of them had his size, which meant he could wrestle trolls bare handed.

However his white hair and beard at the age of two hundred and fifty years had grown long enough that it could tell you this aged dwarf hadn’t aged so much by taking risk or using his size to combat creatures… not that he hadn’t helped defend this mountain home from a dragon or anything (as Gormagh liked to tease him of his old exploits) or that he had such a strong form that he could put even some giants to shame. Still, the old man’s only wish was to intimidate everyone (More so with his ornate platinum armor and blue steel hammer) so no crimes would take place.

“I cannot fantom you doing what I have been told, young ‘un, but I have to deliver justice even if I don’t like the idea” He growled in his deep and booming voice.

If you had to have any consolation in front of such a huge executioner, it was that he needed the two guards to get inside the cell, take the shackles from you and get you out so he could properly execute his duty, and you. The thing was that it was no help at all when you were face to face with a fully plated giant dwarf that had a hammer that would, yes or yes, flatten you in one swing, and Gormagh was face to face with the rune covered master craft.

“Problem is, you have not been sentenced to death” Hamman looked down, his ornate platinum helmet hiding his old face and red eyes from Gormagh’s view, though his face was that of hate if the young dwarf had seen it, not for what it was said that he had done, but for something else “You have been given a job to exchange for your life”

“A job?” The guards weren’t sure if they had to hold him still, but Gormagh would’ve preferred if he could run. This smelled fishy “What does the council want with me?”

“I cannot say, details are yet to be decided”

Hamman signaled for the guards to put cuffs on Gormagh and go away before he pushed Gormagh in front of him, the halls only barely big enough to fit his huge form which made him rely on the heavy slabs of iron that bind the supposed killer’s hands and weighed him down.

“I can say, though, that if I was in your place, even with all I know today and all the adventures I had to endure” The old dwarf would crack a smile if he wasn’t in such a foul mood “I would prefer the punishment I can deal, that has a better chance of ending with you alive” He would quickly add, though, as he saw the young dwarf’s look “Maimed, yes, but alive”

“Just… just what do they want?”

“You know population grows slow out there? Don’t you?” Hamman asked, not really expecting an answer “You are the prime example of what happens out in the world: Forts die, they die young. They have sentenced you, as the son of a noble, even if an appointed one, to lead a party to one of the forts that were lost a few weeks ago. There are too few places to live and too many mouths to feed it seems…”

“B-but you said they hadn’t decided on the frigging details!”

Gormagh did his best not to yell as they exited the tunnels to the dungeon and went in one of the main halls. This one, four levels underground, was basically littered by training grounds and living areas for soldiers as well as some storage rooms and a dining hall. Further on, though, there were workshops and foundries.

Even with this place usually being empty except for the soldiers, today there were so many people looking at him that, for once, Gormagh didn’t need an excuse to feel awkward when someone laid eyes on him.

“Why do people don’t believe me?” He whispered with anger as he walked forward, prompted by Hamman “I… I would never hate my father, much less hurt him”

Hamman stayed silent as they walked towards the Halls of Justice, a massive room that could fit all the Forgotten Beasts that were once found in here. Back then the walkway, five blocks wide, had been littered with statues commemorating those that had given their life for the Mountain Home, right now though, it was littered with the workshops and foundries mentioned before, the catacombs taking the eerie works of art that honored the dead.

“You have isolated yourself from the dwarven world” Hamman said with a neutral tone “No one knows how you are, except that you have a ‘special’ history”

It was a bitter truth, yet it seemed that his plans to live a life he thought idyllic had backfired on him to such an extent where Gormagh was ashamed of ever hoping to remain alone. He wanted none of the pain he once suffered; now he was going to force to live through another kind of pain because of what he had tried.

“My greatest hope is that your destination is an easy one and that you change to become a different dwarf, otherwise...” Hamman spared a glance to the side, some of the military dwarves eyeing Gormagh with clear intentions “I think you aren’t going to be welcomed anywhere else if rumors spread”

“Thanks Hamman… but that will be hardly possible, and if you try to help they will think that it was because you and my father were friends” Gormagh let out a dejected sigh, that Hamman looked to act rough around him in this situation was not only part of the job, but because otherwise he would be said to be giving favoritisms “Not turning me into a flat imprint on the ground is already enough, I know you would do it as ‘mercy killing’ to any other poor sod in this situation”

“That and it is my duty to take you to the elders. I am not sure why, but at least one of them is watching my very move…” Hamman spat at the ground with anger “Those that are born noble sometimes like politics, complots and money more than anything else. I wonder what I did to anger that one, asides being in good terms with your uncle”

In any other situation Gormagh would’ve laughed, but right now he wasn’t in the mood. Hamman was of common birth, he preferred to do what he had to and what was right, so he would usually befriend the appointed nobles (Usually book keepers, expedition leaders or even merchants), but those that had blue blood by heritage? Hell, he despised them for reasons he had never told anyone.

Rest assured though, Gormagh knew that, even if he asked Hamman to simply turn him into a part of the ground, the public still loved him so much that not even the elders would be able to touch him. It was an option that Gormagh was weighing in his mind as they approached the golden gates engraved with the iconic image of a couple of guard dwarfs with adamantine shields and axes.

Interestingly enough, someone had, back in the day, thought that it would be nice to carve some rock crystal and make a few blocks worth of wall on the rightmost side of the corridor, just where the underground river passed. It made a perfect mirror for those nobles that wanted to look good or, in Gormagh’s case, for those that were going to probably give themselves their last look, in hopes that if they had to go, it would at least give an impression.

Wouldn’t be the first time someone asked to get clean before they were smashed by Hamman or banished, weirder things had happened.

It had been only two days, but between his mental… problems as he seemed to slip from sanity into craziness thanks to anger, Gormagh looked like pure shit, and he would be the first to admit it.

Back then he had long red hair and a modest beard, right now though, his hair had been cut down and a special cream made of several weeds found in the so called ‘evil’ regions had been applied to ensure he would remain bald and beardless until he was administered a different cream to counteract it. The only spots of hair that had been left made it look like he had a Mohawk made of spike like hair separated by two inches each, with two more lines on the sides growing smaller spikes of hair.

He had to wonder why, but it had been established from the old days, mixes of grease and oils were used to model the hair or the beard of dwarves that had killed someone else so as to show their shame before being punished, however usually the beard was cut to shame the wrongdoer even more. Something newer was that, with other species, tattoos are placed in their skin.

Grease and oils, of course, would explain the stench and why his muscular body was still shining wherever grime hadn’t found its way. His face was covered in dried dirt from when the guards came in his house and he tried to fight his way out after they didn’t hear him out, he only made it to the nearest farm plot before being tackled down. Otherwise his face looked serious while devoid of most other emotions, leaving behind a mask that would not let you see what he thought or felt. The only thing that could tell you something were his yellow eyes, a weird color for a dwarf, though most the time they looked glassed as his mind was somewhere else.

His body had been basically trained by Zo to be muscular, even in his small, as any other dwarf, stature. His arms where twice the size of a human, his back wider than that of a gorilla and his legs looked like they could take any kind of punishment without breaking, that if you didn’t count a toned chest that had the marks of many weapons as Zo wasn’t a gentle trainer. For a dwarf achieving this form was easy, but they had to train with fervor. Now that he thought of it, probably his looks, while being a ‘simple’ miner, did give out a vibe that he didn’t want to really transmit, which was much worse now that he only had tattered prison pants to cover his body.

“Gormagh’Athar?” One of the guards had approached him as Hamman talked with the other “The elders await you. Do enter, now”

[Fallow up next post]

[Uros]

[Follow up]

Gormagh nodded and walked forward. Hamman wasn’t allowed in if the sentence hadn’t had anything to do with him doing the job he was supposed to, so Gormagh would need to face the elders, including his uncle, alone. Taking the few steps that separated a form of safety that was Hamman from what the elders had decided, Gormagh gulped down as he went inside the massive open space, hearing the violent slam of the gold doors before they were locked down.

From within the room lights stirred to life, most of them gemstones specially treated to hold within a very small drop of magma. Someone had decided that the intimidating eerie red light they gave would make criminals, or public meeting, much more intimidating or profound, as the things were hidden until someone activated the pressure plate.

With him it didn’t do more than make his thin patience and quite unstable mind return to an angry setting where rage could be easily triggered.

“Seriously? You have to pull this shit on me?”

 Gormagh didn’t want to spat at the perfectly kept floor or strike at the pillars he had close to him, even if that would break the shackles. What he wanted, though, was to smack one of the elders across the hall. It didn’t seem to bode well as the usual squad of six dwarven guards closed on him.

“Didn’t it make you happy enough, Xuthagan, that my father is dead?” The young dwarf was pressed to kneel down by one of the guards; it was too hard to resist in his position and would end much worse for him if he did anyway “Get off me!” He growled “I am not going to kneel down in front of that snake!”

In the hall, asides the six guards, there were five elders.

His uncle, Harn, almost the vivid image of his twin brother, had the long red hair, thick moustache and braid beard. Unlike Pogh, he was gruffer in appearance, having served in the militia for twenty years when he was young before he was appointed as the Mayor after his father was killed by a monstrous beast that had lived in the mountain the city was set in. He was not much taller than Gormagh, but in comparison he was much stronger and his red eyes seemed to hide his feelings as well as his stern face, always set in some short of frown.

In his seventy two years, he was the younger, and unlike his twin, he had not tried to make a family.

The sheriff of the mountain home, Kharpa Takios, a short dwarf female of no more than one meter twenty eight, was an appointed noble, much like Harn. She always had a smile on her face, though everyone knew that under the cloak and clothes she wore, she had chain mail and a short sword or two in case she needed it. At the age of seventy seven, she had been made elder thanks to her knowledge of detecting wrongdoing and steering anyone, even foreign species (such as the goblins) into a better way of life… or dealing with them swiftly.

She and his uncle were the ones he could count as more or less friendly, the other three? Two of them, yes, well, going towards the ‘maybe’. However, what about the last one of that trio? That one would not help him, at all.

One of the ‘possible’ helps in his case was the baron: Quarolex of Mumbra, a black dwarf that was part of the native dwarves of this island/continent, was even shorter than most dwarves, his height being one meter and twenty centimeters exactly, with their top height only ten centimeters taller. They were, however, much bulkier, resistant to magic to an extent where they couldn’t be affected even by their own runes and, in general, bald, but with huge beards. Quarolex had all those traits, including a heavy and wickedly looking axe made of purple iron (or Corrupted Metalstone) always in his hand, with plate armor instead of the fine garments used by them. He cared not for luxuries, like any Mumbran dwarf, however they lived only for and by honor…

Lanar of Clsoste, the general of this mountain home, was different than the other dwarves, much like Quarolex. She was of the ‘above ground’ dwarves that were also native to this island/continent. The Clsosters were isolated under the sun (or so the story says) when the Mumbrans took the underground, they learned to use bows and dig small burrows, never able to dig under the earth until the Mumbrans allowed them back in.

Lanar is basically the example of the normal Clsoster: a bit thinner and less bulkier than most dwarven folk, but also of a meter and fifty with no much problem, with extremely long green hair and eyes attuned to see in the dark or light with no problem. She, like her kin, is an adept user of poleaxes (With one made of blue steel strapped to her back), light armor (In her case blue steel chainmail) and even capable of using some kind of light with the palms of the hand. This last and weird bit was, seemingly, a not so negative effect of being exposed to the sun during a few generations of their people (Rumors say the light harms cave dwelling creatures for some reason).

Both of them were married, eighty and eighty two respectively, and had a child that, if nothing else, made them want justice and security in their home even more, so their young dwarf could grow up as one of the few Murstes dwarfs in this little world (the half breed of both native species, pale and hairless, but seemingly in tune with the cave creatures to the point of taming them with but a thought). This meant that, maybe, he could say something to earn their favor as, since he didn’t do anything, the one that killed his father, the demon, was out there.

Xuthagan, however, was something else.

He was the liaison of the mountain homes out in the bigger continents. An old dwarf of one hundred and eighty seven, Xuthagan was a squat dwarf, no taller than 1.30 as he was hunched forward, wore purple clothes lined in gold and had his always trusty staff to carry him around. The old man had always a greedy face, with a snake’s smile plastered in his lips as he went about, his grayed hair and beard showing not only age and wisdom, but the talent to lie and hide things whenever he found it opportune. The only person he did respect was the actual king, for he had been the son of his hero and savior, and thus like family to him… anyone else? Well, let’s say that he found it more appalling to have those ‘appointed’ nobles nearby than the plebe.

“Your father was a happy fool that got on my nerves, I will grant you that” Xuthagan commented, for once serious “But I am not happy about what happened. We have lost one of the best book keepers we could get; the people liked how he did his best to stay happy every day and how he tried to comfort others. This will give much trouble”

“Personal matters aside” Harn’s tone was quite menacing, the usual neutral voice very much put aside for this “We are here to offer you a chance so everyone here would forget about what you have done…”

“I have done nothing!” Gormagh yelled, pushing the one guard off of him, just to be tackled by two more.

“We know” His uncle kept on going, though his anger was still obviously there “We think that it was thanks to your father’s little craftsmanship that a demon came here, that is why you are going to take that thing away from us AND help our population problem being at least relieved to some extent” Giving a signal, the guards lifted Gormagh up “Because the situation is getting desperate and most of the people would release their anger at anything they could”

“Namely you” Lanar stated with a blunt and cold tone, much the same as her face “We have worked to have the closest thing to a perfect community here, but only a mountain home is ALMOST safe, forts die off too quickly while population here grows and grows… We need to secure at least two more that are safe before next year comes in, or we risk a revolt”

“The fort of Hagkalonus is located at the edges of our territory” Quarolex got up as he talked, walking towards Gormagh until he was in front of him “It is very close to the sea, near one of the old towers some of the forgotten wizards practiced their arts. It seems the battles that once took place near the coast took the interest of some necromancers and they have erected a little city of the dead under that tower”

Quarolex, like most native dwarfs, hated undead much more than they would the elves, since this place had been crawling with them since the beginning of time thanks to the native humans of the region. For this reason it was better not to make a comment about the spite that showed in his face and voice as he talked.

“We know your father taught you to lead people, even if you don’t talk much you can rely on Zothorgham, who has applied to go if it is you who lead. Two of the Urist clan, Urist Joffermon, also known as Pick, and Urist Hoffars, also known as Cut, have also volunteered their mining and gem cutting skills, as well as their army background, to help you” Quarolex didn’t show it, but everyone in the room was sure that sending some of the Urist would be bad “There are other misfits that would like to go, as ambassadors for the merchants and because no one else seemed interested in helping you”

“Blunt and direct, I like that” Gormagh chuckled a bit, he was not good at sarcasm either “Still, you know, I have heard you out as you said this, but… WHY THE FUCK WAS I IN PRISON FOR TWO DAYS WHEN YOU KNEW I HAD DONE NOTHING TO MY FATHER?!”

This time four dwarven guards had to restrain him. Gormagh had been under too much stress to simply take kindly the fact that they KNEW he had done nothing and still left him in a prison, his mind rotting down, for TWO DAYS. It made him see red, bottled down emotions hard to control as they came rushing like a tide of unstoppable water.

“I am sorry, young Gormagh” This time it was Kharpa, with her sweet voice, the one to talk as she averted her eye “But there is another theory as to what could have happened”

Gormagh stopped, looking straight at her, this time though the guards had to keep him bound as only part of his mind seemed to be focused of remaining civilized, the rest wanting to tear something apart.

“In the many continents lycanthropes have returned from hiding, the necromancers have also tried again to raise armies. It seems the Age of Fate will be the one to decide who reigns supreme, much more so with vampires also trying their best to infiltrate cities and important places” Kharpa gave a tired sigh “No one knows this, but one of the guards in the lower levels had turned into one of those blood suckers, an offer made by someone… He killed his teammate and I made sure he couldn’t get another chance at such a thing”

“I made sure to go with one of the squads to see the body and irrefutable proof of a cave dragon’s attack” Quarolex patted the young dwarf’s shoulder “We are under too much pressure with all that is happening, your case may be that of someone trying to ally with the demons and making you an escape goat. The only thing we can do is to ‘kick you away’ and force you to do this task so anyone here would forgive you, no one wants to believe that you are innocent, they all thing… you are not all there”

Gormagh looked down yet again; definitely he had been quite the fool.

“It will be only two years, three tops” His uncle assured him “But we need to find the one that did this, or, if the case was the one we first thought, we need the thing summoned by my brother’s pick to be killed. Either way you cannot remain here, if you do we either let Hamman do his duty… or some of the other dwarves will do out of spite and anger about everything”

Well, it went better than he thought, to an extent, so he simply nodded “Who else will I take with me? How was the fort lost? And finally, will I find any survivors? I know it hasn’t been long since it was lost, Hamman told me, so I want to know if I will have extra manpower” Gormagh looked up “I don’t want another fuck up like what happened at my home, I want details and everything planned like if YOUR lives depended on it”

Harn chuckled a bit, though his factions turned serious again quite fast “The population was one hundred seventeen dwarves, they were attacked by both feral mountain goblins and one of the necromancer clans, but since they ended fighting between them…” The Mayor turned pensive for a second “We… we can only guess, but even if I try to calculate more, I doubt more than ten, maybe twenty dwarfs could survive while the fight continues and since both sides want the fort so much…”

“How much time do I have then?”

“Now that you are free” Quarolex had taken what bind him and let his hands free while he talked with his uncle “You can depart tomorrow. We have information about two forgotten beasts that were found by the fort before it was attacked, you can also talk a bit with everyone that will be part of your expedition and get some supplies and those personal belongings you need”

With that settled down, Gormagh just wanted to get out of there and have things done. Right now he was thinking specifically about one single thing, the rest being secondary.

He was innocent and everyone would know it, because he would either kill the demon that took his father away or they would find who let the damn thing in to do such a thing! He didn’t care if only Hamman could administer justice, he would be happy if the one responsible was killed, by either his hand or anyone else, but that person had to die!

Such a dark trail of thoughts was stopped after he turned around and was face to face with the goblin girl he had met at the bar.

“Good timing” Harn had basically walked to his nephew’s side as his thoughts darkened “This girl is Nizoma Magharan, her grandfather, Umugho Magharan, was the one that helped us against his brother to conquer the goblin settlements that are near here in exchange of saving his wife from his brother’s clutches. She is the leader of a group of four (including her) that will go with you as ambassadors for any of the species willing to trade, and to offer some variety in any combat tactic you have to employ to recover the fort” Nizoma simply smiled and gave a little bow “I must admit I am not comfortable with most goblins, much less elves, but this girl and her friends are completely loyal to us, I could bet my life on it”

The girl just poked her tongue out as if child like. Just being a bit smaller than Gormagh, Nizoma wasn’t that small of a goblin, though she did show that she was of the most civilized versions thanks to her dyed hair of purple coloration (the most civilized goblin nations created dies and other potions in alchemy, though metalworking was still not their best aspect). Unlike the most feral cousins, Nizoma didn’t have that large pointing nose, or the lack of a nose either, it was almost human like, even if still a bit pointy, you could even call it cute paired with her very long ears (pierced at least six times each) and those friendly looking orange eyes.

Like most goblins, Nizoma was thin, obvious even under the black cloak and the leather armor she had been sporting even back at the bar, marking her either as an adventurer or one of the trained thieves that scout in search for creatures underground or enemies above ground. The thing also gave away that she didn’t have the best female appearance (you could say), as by default goblins were quite modest in that, still it was obviously very nimble and the two wicked black serrated daggers gave away that if she was faster than you, there would be problems.

“We already had a talk before this mess started” The girl finally talked, showing the fangs that marked any orkoid’s canines, the others had been humanized by dwarven doctors. Though her voice was quite sweet for what was mostly a pest, a VERY intelligent pest, she did have a bit of malice hidden within, as most goblins do “He was quite the gentleman, if a bit an awkward talker” She did her best to look serious as she extended her hand “Would’ve preferred to have met you again in any other circumstances, it was good to see a smile in such a dark face for a change”

“Yea” Gormagh nodded as he shook it “As every goblin, thinking either of fun or some mischief most the time… but thanks”

“Now that that is out of the way” Harn interrupted as kindly as he could “We should get going, you need to depart in no time”

There was a collective nod and, in few minutes, the room was left dark… for a while.

*** At night, with most work stopped and the hall closed off… ***

A cloaked figure had been waiting in the halls, the pressure plate had been broken down and the wait would be worth it, as the dwarven boots would make sure to leave a mark that would turn the already paranoid elders even more paranoid than they were when they found them.

Of course, paranoia usually meant that what you thought wasn’t true.

“You are late” The cloaked figure hissed, not giving out any feeling or even a flash of movement to look behind him, where another figure had appeared not long ago “I don’t mind waiting, but I need to know you are mentally prepared to go against what you  believe in”

“You took me away from that wretched prison” The other figure hissed “I owe you enough to hear you out… but this inactivity is killing me!”

“That you want to destroy and kill is encomiable, but would give away too many things” The cloaked figure turned, throwing a little amulet so quickly that not even the hand under the cloak had been seen. The other figure caught it effortlessly though, both of them way too fast to be normal by dwarven or even human standards “What do you see in the amulet?”

“Simply a pray to Armok by the pathetic dwarfs… Why did you give me this?” The figure crushed the amulet, letting the gold bits scatter on the ground.

“Armok is the top deity of these worlds, when they are devoid of life, he breaks them, when they become stagnant, he breaks them, if chaos stops flowing, he breaks them” The cloaked one seemed to chuckle as he talked “Most people don’t want to see the truth, but it is not so hidden, Armok doesn’t even care to! He wants a bit of madness and panic to run amok, and believe me, it is not a pun: If he doesn’t have what he wants, he reforges the worlds after breaking them, starting them anew”

“If this is going to become a sermon I am better out of here” The figure growled in anger, a red air cloud showing in the darkness as the batting of wings echoed in the hall “I would much prefer to kill something”

“And that is exactly what I want you to do” That, for now, made the other stop “The demons win or the evolved species does by the end of each world. Ours is nowhere near the end, but I know as well as you do that this age, the Age of Fate, was brought because there seems to have been a variable in this one world. We need to make sure that we exploit it, we NEED to make the demons rule, but we cannot have it happening only with murder”

“Why not!?” The other figure flashed its teeth, the red form of a squat, but massive demon, was shown as it came closer to the cloaked one “We have done it like that since these worlds were made! No matter how many universes, how many alternative versions, we are there… and we KILL”

“Which shows why you never achieve what you want” The cloaked one pushed the demon away with one leather clad hand “I, however, know of a way for you to control this world without getting smashed into nothingness until Armok reforges it” When no response was given, the figure simply let out a chuckle “Baffled maybe?”

“Explain”

“Gods only have power where there are believers of their faith, where people believe in them as what they should be, however, let’s say that you poison that knowledge since they are young, that you change facts to some that would look pretty darn possible… Why are demons the bad guys? And this is a fact, why are they the bad guys? They embody the essence of desires and feelings in most worlds, with the gods doing basically the same or simply showing other kind of powers” A little flash of light was seen within the cloak as what seemed to be an eye flickered with a red glow “Who says the gods, those that everyone think are the embodiment of good, are who they say they are? History is written by the victors, the losers usually forced down to such acts where their old ways have been lost or removed as they are forced to do whatever necessary to survive”

The demon thought about those words, its claws rubbing againts its chin before a dangerous and toothy grin formed “That would be incredibly devious… I like it”

“I knew you would” The cloaked figure nodded “But we need to start somewhere, that is why I used the blood of the Athar to summon you, that is why I wanted you to kill Pogh’Athar first” The figure threw some kind of dust in the air, the figures of the Athar that remained alive forming in front of them “Only Harn and Gormagh remain, to acquire all the power you left behind in your prison you need to kill fewer people that with someone that was an easier target, it also gives me a much bigger margin to create the story of how you, a demon, escaped from that old fort where you had been trapped and, sadly, had to track down the one that wanted to trap you again under the earth… A very sad story of brutality and murder that could’ve been avoided with a bit of talk and comprehension that the dwarf didn’t want to give you”

 The demon was unable to hold its snickers, but at least the thing didn’t burst out in a full fledged laugh. It did help the cloaked figure even more though, as it left bits of its demonic dust and other components scattered everywhere as it tried to control himself.

“This could very well work… but how would we mask the violence IF we get the civilizations to hear us?” The demon asked after he calmed down enough.

“Easy: There are many worlds out there, practically an infinite number of them, and all of them have trapped demons and are ruled by the gods… A ‘holy’ crusade would motivate a new regime, don’t you think?”

That made the demon giggle again “Sounds perfect” Which made the demon’s claws point at the cloaked figure’s throat “Where is the catch? You haven’t told me everything” This was the time for the cloaked figure to stay silent “What? Do you think that I am simple minded just because of my little act? We do love destruction, but while most are content with that, I am a natural born demon, I want more than that, I am WORTH more than that, so I want assurances here”

“Very well” The cloaked figure groaned “I am half demon, or Jkhaar, as you may have it” It grunted “We are present in every world, but are hated more than your kind because we are the offspring of those who consort with demons… I want my kind free, I don’t care of what species they come, I want them, the lycanthropes and the necromancers, those that have been shunned, to roam FREE!”

“Works with me” The demon let the cloaked one go “It means you will do your best so we end getting what we both want: Those you mentioned have little population and capabilities to control the worlds alone, but get my kin with them… and we will get everything together” A wicked smile showed, gleaming thanks to any spark of light “I think this will be way too easy”

“Not so much” The cloaked figure dusted off its cloak as it regained its footing “The Athar has an inane hate towards your kin and the damn pick was consecrated by one of the wandering clerics that took rest here. Everyone heard how the weapon made of demonic materials was enchanted to fight evil, not its own kin, so if it was to struck anyone evil it would do damage, while letting anyone innocent go unscathed” Coming closer, the cloaked figure looked up, the red glowing eye looking straight at the demon “Now imagine what would happen if the young Gormugh’Athar were to come back, see that a demon had been welcome here and that it claimed to be good…”

The smile in the demon’s face evaporated just then.

“You assured me that I would not need to kill that one, the damn weapon didn’t even let me come near him when he was drunk! If that pest comes in here and messes the plan, your desires AND MINE, will be flushed down the drain!” The demon punched at the ground, leaving a hole with not so much as a grunt “You better get him killed or lost forever, because otherwise this nice plan of yours isn’t worth a damn plump helmet in a starved fortress”

“I made arrangements already” The cloaked one gave a dark chuckle “Why do you think I moved some strings to save his ass? No one will ever dare to go back to the place he went once everything is done…”


*Notes*

Main cast:

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For better descriptions, read the story (Redundant? NOT ENOUGH!)

Gormagh’Athar:

Various data, more or less DF style:
Male dwarf.
30 years of age.
Gormagh is 1.43 m of height.
He has yellow eyes.
Spiky modified red hair (Read the introductory chapter) thanks to his ‘status’ as a killer.
He has a stoic face, incapable of showing much emotion.
He has a broad shape and though looks, showing a rough life, partially self imposed, which includes various weapons’ marks.   
Has a bit of pale skin, but he seems to have been used to the sun to an extent.
He is both a miner and a warrior. (Mighty Pick)


Nizoma Magharan:

Various data, more or less DF style:
Female goblin.
30 years of age.
Nizoma is 1.35 m of height.
She has orange eyes.
Long purple hair (permanent die), something common in the most civilized goblin settlements thanks to alchemy and desire to stand out in a way of rebelling.
Humanized teeth thanks to dwarven medics, has large canines that seem to grow fast like with most goblins thanks to Ork heritage.
She has a thin shape and modest looks, which makes her capable of hiding almost anywhere.
Light green skin thanks to mostly night time activity or underground explorations.
She is a thief. (Dual wield, daggers)

*---*---*

Fun Facts (Making shit up):

The Urist Clan:
The Urist dwarf clan, known widely for their luck, or lack of it, is the most widespread clan of dwarves in the world. There is a legend of a female Urist that was the first and also quite the powerful one; she even got a clan named thanks to her deeds, even if that happened after her death.
To this day the Urist are the most resilient and courageous clan, usually being the ones to lead the migrations to create forts, however it has been also proven that, for some reason, they are either masters of one or two skills, but usually pretty pathetic at the rest. The myth behind this is that the first Urist was so powerful, that a demon sent a curse to all her lineage so no one else from her blood and flesh would have such qualities.
However the Urists are fine with it, they usually have two things they love to do and those are the ones they train since they come off age, which usually leaves their social skills lacking, inept at medicine or farming, or simply so near sighted that they will leave a dying companion they could have saved ‘Just because’. There are very few dwarfs that would go in an initial expedition with an Urist clan member, but once you cut out their problems, they are the best kind of dwarves you can find.
Problem is, that the rumored curse also seems to make them, and everyone close to them, die horribly, a pity.

Block (In measurement):
A block is usually a space of 3 square meters, though each fortress seems to change it slightly (Or a lot). The usual width is enough for three dwarves or humans (for a generic description) to pass by with little problem (That being not so truthful thanks to their gruff nature). Small rooms, workshops and the like are 3x3 blocks wide, usually being 5x5 if one wants to give some luxury or space to the place, corridors are 2x2 and halls can usually be 10 tall per 20 wide (For example).

*---*---*

Forgotten Beasts

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***

Marino Klammar – The Godly Touched Spider.

Back-story:
The runt of the litter from a massive batch of cave spiders, Marino Klammar, as most other spiders from the caves, had no name, no feelings and almost no intelligence. Being smaller than the rest of its kind made the poor creature’s life a constant fight, as even being pitted against the weakest of creatures was a fight to the death. The miserable creature had to resort to draining fluids from fungus and sparse fish, unable to compete against almost any creature.

This, though, made her develop a small intellect over its first year of life, without it she would’ve died without a thought.

Such development, probably by the magic properties of the caves she was in, attracted the attention of one of the greater demons that had laid its eye on the region. It promised Marino a life where she would never have to fear being preyed ever again, the power to hunt and the skill to survive. With its little intelligence and simple desire to keep going, the poor creature accepted, though reluctantly.

Then she was touched by the demon, and everything changed.

As Marino writhed in agony, one of the gods pitied the poor creature, pushing the power of the demon away and taking its place to heal the poor thing and boost its intelligence; however the damage was already done. Marino would wake up, a translucent figure of impossible shape standing before its huge and mutant body, waiting for her to wake up and simply give her a gentle touch on its new maw, now an artifact for destruction.

A flash of light enveloped her, and, for a second, she turned somewhat human, yet still monstrous in appearance. That passed quickly though, as it was a phase simply to bestow her with feelings and knowledge akin to a human by the god before Marino went back to its monstrous form and the god went away…

After that Marino resumed her life under the grown, fighting to survive no more, but yearning the day when she would be found by someone, as even if she could not talk, loneliness would erode away her life for thirty nine years, until…


Description:
Two to three times taller than a human, Marino’s body is covered on its upper zone by a black chitin, practically made out of steel as were its needle like hairs that littered the surface of her body by the hundreds. Her lower body is composed of a yellow like muscle covered in an almost transparent flesh barrier that seems to exude some kind of venom. The back of her abdomen has a huge silk organ engorged and mutated to appear like a serrated mouth of some hellish creature capable of spitting venomous strands of the silk impressive distances away.

Her legs are covered in some kind of green substance that sparkles and shines with its own light, most likely some kind of moss or even maybe a natural gem that her body generates. She has fourteen legs, six that are in contact with the ground, six that grow upwards to take contact with the ceiling and two that spawn forward, some kind of pincers growing on their ends to gnaw or snap at whatever comes too close with unfriendly intentions.

An once arachnid face has been torn into a wicked image of savagery. Eight mandibles, two opening upwards, two downwards and four sideways (two to each side) seem to hold the creature’s many massive chelicerae.  In the centre of these horrific and murderous weapons lies a tubular mouth lined with many serrated teeth that seem to spin around constantly with the only job of draining fluids and then spiting any carcass out. Each ‘mouth’ has four eyes on the head segment they are attached to, making it a total of 16.

   
Skills, powers, etc:
She has the following qualities: Poisonous web, lethal poison if injected with the creature’s fangs, acidic damage if the creature tramples you, steel like resistance, extremely fast regeneration thanks to the acids inside of her.

***

Kääffäär – The Absorber of Bodies.

Back-story:
A massive squid like creature when he was normal, Kääffäär was brought from an underwater sea to the depths of the fortress where it was found and where it still resides. For some reason this great squid had the desire to consume creatures nonstop, some speculate it is because of the gem it had incrusted on its forehead, most probably placed there by some magician with desires to test new magical spells.

Soon, however, the creature found himself with no food, or that those that he could eat would avoid him like the plague as even animals had instincts that told them what was dangerous… and antinatural. It would only take Kääffäär weeks for his stored and decayed prey to evaporate as he ate them or scavengers took them away. With the only thing the creature had; instincts and desire to live, being tested to its maximum, someone took an interest on him.

Many years before Marino would even exist, the demon that offered her the deal to change would appear to Kääffäär, and others, though Kääffäär would be the only one to show readily in front of the dwarves after his change, one that he took gladly after the offering of the demon: Power, the capability of bringing prey to him even from afar, and to ensure he would live forever.

Being touched by the high demon didn’t even hurt the creature as his form changed into a monstruous mockery of what he once was, however what intelligence he gained made him care little, as form was not what he was after. The monster was after the simplest pleasure life could give you; food.

With his powers he would ensure no one remembered him after each time the fort had to be left behind, if someone made it out alive. Every time dwarfs came back, he lied there, waiting, eating any creature that moved to the levels where the lakes and seas underground would offer the brutal but cowardly beast’s protection, as well as ensuring at least one of its spawn was always in a safe place to escape in the almost impossible case that someone struck him down.


Description:
Many times bigger than any human, probably as tall as a dragon, Kääffäär has a huge bloated body that can occupy four ‘blocks’ (Imagine it in DF  standards) with its tentacles included. The slender form was lost long ago, now simply a huge belly like form with many gasses and openings from which the spawn it creates drop to the water before being bound to its master’s will. On top of the huge belly rest the now blind eyes of the monster, a huge crystal of many colors surveying the land and mesmerizing any that looks at it and has not a strong will.

Its mouth is massive, lipless but with hundreds of small beaks outlying it as it seems to extend to the whole frontal form of the creature, being big enough to even fit an elephant inside. Deep within the mouth lies a canal, anyone unlucky enough to fall inside and survive the outer atrocity that would butcher any bigger prey would find what seemed to be a hellish contraption made of flesh, muscles and bone. The only mission of such a thing was to smash into a pulp any creature that went inside its stomach, live or dead.

Finally Kääffäär’s tentacles lie in all over the front of its body, twenty four massive walls of flesh that flail around wildly, knots of bone, flesh hooks and their own girth making evading them almost impossible and quite painful. The biggest treat, however, were the slits that the tentacles had on their top, surrounded by the suckers. Capable of absorbing living or dead beings and send them towards the acid inside of its stomach, the tentacles were the most dreaded and feared part of the creature, a horrible way of ending your life if they caught you was more than assured.


Skills, powers, etc:
He has the following skills: Many insta death attacks (Mauled with the maw, trampled over someone, absorbed by tentacles) and produces 26 attacks at a time (One per tentacle, the eye and the maw). He also can come back even if you kill it, create minion creatures and form an army if you aren’t careful, and cannot walk on ground, only in water.

[The spawn haven't been documented, yet]