My name is Aether, born into a world in which sun and warmth was replaced with fire and burning heat. Into a world where all the life I knew was a life of servitude. That has changed now but this is a story about then, before my life changed.
My first memories are hazy but are the only memories of happiness I ever remember from the first years. The memories are of my mother working at the forges of a fortress I do not remember. They are the only memories which link fire with happiness in the first years.
One day as my mother was working the forge, and I trying to get her attention by pulling her beard, a man I had never seen before came running in. He yelled something about a great evil, a darkness, which would destroy anything in its path. A darkness which would engulf us if we stayed.
I heard screams from outside. Frantic high pitched yells of terror.
My mother reached for her hammer, and slung the anvil on her back. “I’m ready” she said, “But where shall we go? All I have ever known is here and I have no relatives elsewhere.”
“The king is leaving across the ocean; I know not where else you could run.” He said as he left
My mother produced a backpack out of her chest and placed me in it, “Do not get out of this pack or look out unless I say so. Your eyes are too young yet for the horrors we may face.”
She swung me and the rest of her load on her back. From this point I know not what happened, but I heard and guessed much. Screams echoed throughout the streets as we ran for the Inn where my father stayed, for he was a warrior whose friend was beer and his lover a hammer, being my father was merely a necessary evil. She spoke to few people on the street but on all lips was tales of woe from lower in the city.
As we got closer to the inn more and more smoke could be smelled. Suddenly my mother stopped and was still.
“Mother?” I whispered, her only response was one which was rare among dwarves, a sob.
She moved again and reached down to the ground. She picked up something and placed me and the bag on the ground. She opened the top and showed me my father’s war hammer. She said nothing but merely unscrewed the bottom and opened a secret compartment, inside of which was a rock slab, on which was engraved the model of a hammer. “This is the model of the hammer you were to have when you grew up, protect it with your life, for it is our last family heritage.” She gave it to me then and closed the top of the bag.
The city was quiet now. Not the quietness of peace, but one of death. Her running speed increased down the slope. As she ran I now heard cries in the distance: “The king has left us! All is lost!”. I also heard cries closer, not from dwarfs’ mouths, but from inhuman tongues. These were getting closer and closer as we ran, catching up to us from behind. Until finally I heard a smash and my mother dropped to the ground, uttering a soft sigh.
I lost my memory then, and I remember a time later, a few years in fact. I was in captivity, a slave. I was the lone captive of my city. I never saw my captors faces for they always worked through other races to coerce me. Luckily I was not treated as badly as other dwarves from other cities captured by the darkness. They had to work in the mines. I was also not treated as bad as the elves, they were put to work cutting down trees. I was the lone dwarf of those captured who had any knowledge of metalsmithing and using the forge. I was kept slightly more fed than the other dwarves for this reason and my arms were not shackled.
For a year we toiled in the dungeons of our captors, me making tools to torture the other prisoners, and the prisoners increasing the size of the dungeon. But there was one chink in the dungeon’s armor keeping all the prisoners imprisoned. There was only one mess hall. It was a place where we could all meet, and thus, naturally, we started planning an outbreak. By this time all the elves had died from torture and shame.
I was the one who initiated the outbreak in the plan. After saving bits of iron from various things, I created the hammer whose design my mother had given me. I then proceeded to break the locks on all the cages, freeing the prisoners. The guards, who were then goblins, came down to see the ruckus. I broke the locks on their heads and let the brains go free. The guards out of the way, we went up the dungeon steps, preparing at any moment for an ambush.
At the top of the steps more guards came into conflict but our sheer numbers overwhelmed them.
We got to the main corridor without incident and could see the gate. Goblins were on the other side of the moat and we rushed to meet them. “For freedom!” A dwarf in the crowd yelled. “Freedom! Booze!” The rest of the crowd roared back.
As we approached the gate they started raising. Reaching the top when we reached them. “Now what?” a dwarf said, “We’re trapped inside.”
“Nonsense.” I said as I strode up to the upright bridge.
“For Armok! For Father! For Mother!” I yelled
I struck the bridge with as much force as I could muster in me, and the bridge fell with a crash. The hammer in my hand shattered. The goblins were smashed under the falling bridge and their blood could be seen running down the hill.
We ran for freedom, we ran to find the nearest port we could find to join our king. Wherever he has gone. Or at least his descendant, so we could offer our aid in removing this threat. Surely our knowledge of the enemy could be used.
We found a boat owned by the enemy but the guards on the boat were not prepared for our fury. We boarded the boat and set sail. Moving with the wind and giving oar strokes as never been seen before. The freedom was like the strongest spirits you could withstand and we soon made it to new land, a town.
“The king?” We asked, “Where has the king of our kingdom gone?”
“Far across the ocean is a fortress under which the king reigns now. I have not heard news for a long time but surely you shall find him there.”
Once again we set sail, came again to new land. There was no town. It was a pleasant looking beach. We decided to camp there until dawn. In the distance we could see undead but we were not scared. We had been more undead than them for years.
During the night we could see a light in the distance; our watch woke us up and showed it to us. We decided to head for it. Maybe this was the fortress our king rules, a fortress named Markedangels.
We approached and saw the zombie hoards, truly there were many and for others maybe they were a difficulty, but for us they were as easy to withstand as whipstrokes in a torture chamber.
A living dwarf approached opened a door and ushered us in, “Welcome to Markedangels strong warrior, we have need of your kind here. Please close the door behind you, the night brings many horrors.”
“I must speak with Chilton” I said
“Alas he is dead, but you can speak with the current mayor”
“Dead? Dead?! But from what?!”
“You must have seen the zombies on the shore?”
“I see, well I shall speak with the mayor then, see that these dwarves get good rest and beer. They have a story to tell that you may wish to hear. Does Chilton have no descendants then?”
“Nay, he was ever depressed and took no wife.”
As we approached the mayor I thought of our hopes and how much they rested on our king, how much we hoped we would have someone to rally a force to take back our mountainhomes. Perhaps we do not need him, but we need strong leadership. Maybe this mayor is of such a weave.
I spoke with the mayor, we had much discussion and his first task for me was this: to record all that I remember of the fall of my homelands and my return here so that future dwarves may remember why we are here. I have now finished my task. I rest my pen. I shall now pick up the hammer and train for the day we take back the mountainhomes and reclaim our heritage.
-May your axe stay sharp, your hammer stay balanced and your head doused in booze-
~~Aether
“Aether” Urist McUrist has been wrathful lately, he experienced the death of a kingdom recently, he was tortured recently, he was caught in the rain recently, he experienced the death of a loved one recently, he experienced the death of a friend recently, he took joy in killing recently, he has been parched for booze recently, he had to drink water lately, he has been haunted by his memories lately, he re-experienced his loss lately, he took joy in saving friends recently, he made new acquaintances recently.
He is an devout worshipper of Armok, he is a casual worshipper of Gembish.
Gembish takes the form of a male dwarf and is generally associated with mountains and war.
He has the appearance of someone who is 60 years old and is one of the first of his kind.
He has the body of one who was once huge but has shrunk from malnourishment, his eyes are copper red, his skin is tanned, his beard has been shaven clean and is only now growing back, his mustache is short, his hair is black, his nose bridge is convex, his chin is quite wide.
He is very quick to heal and very strong.
He likes iron, steel, mithril, plump helmets, and wine. He absolutely detests water. He like goblins for the sounds their heads make when they die. Whenever possible he consumes goblin pie.
He is not very patient, he has a good memory, a good intellect but is not very good at reading emotions. He is very straightforward in his actions and prefers to take things up close.
A short sturdy creature fond of drink and industry.
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Topic: [Succession Game] Markedangels The Water Of Living (Read 134771 times)