8th granite
I remember my father with something just short of fondness. He always guided me, helped me. He was my light and warmth. But then the ice wolves took him, and I had to fight fire with fire, ice with ice. I became like them, and through that beat them. I have two of their pelts, their father-murdering pelts, hanging in my room. But killing them didn’t stop the ice. I don’t know what can, and I do not care. The ice is part of me; I am the ice.
I got a message from a shivering boy. He came slipping and sliding through the halls, falling over and knocking against walls. In his hand he clutched a letter. I calmly walked sure-footed over the icy ground and prised it from his stiff hands. “Thank you” I said, baring my teeth with what I hoped was warmth. The boy shivered all the more, and I let the smile die. Foolish child. I walked away and left him to crawl hesitantly back the way he came.
In the letter I found the following from the Fort archivist.
and also received the news that our broker had a baby boy. I joined in with the celebrations, and stood watching the party. I smiled at anyone who came near. For some reason, a large circle of space gradually grew around me. I wasn’t bothered. When the party ended, I left and went to my room, staring with crystalline hatred at the pelts of the wolves. A death to their entire ilk! And to Highmax…The traitor amongst us. As day fades, I sit in a chair, watching the pelts, thinking on how to get my revenge on him. My thoughts move slowly, but they get there eventually, like a glacier tearing apart the hull of a ship. Towards dawn, I suddenly smile, and lie backwards. I fall asleep dreaming stony dreams of my plans.
4th Slate
Two interlopers in the one day! Migrants pour into the fort, exceeding our bed capacity. With reluctance order a new bed wing, under advice of the Councillors. I do not understand why; the dogs could easily sleep amongst the ice boulders. But what came next gave even my Councillors shock; A beast from the depths. I have no concern for it. Let it come! I will pit the strength of winter against it. My Councillors seem anxious about my expression, so I straighten my face from its scowl. But they will see yet; they will all see.
10th Slate
Ever since I was a child, my father would tell me tales of the things in the depths. Cool diamonds the size of your fist, sparkling emeralds jutting from the wall. I want to find these things, so I order the miners to dig away from the comfort of the tundra and snow, and delve towards the bottom of the world itself. Even if I have to pass through this land of water and turgid vegetation, I will. Nothing will stand in the way of the mining operations! My father would have wanted it, I‘m sure. Why else would he tell me such things, if not for me to look for them. He wanted them, so I’ll get him gems the like the world has never seen.
15th Slate
I stand panting in my room. The fur pelts are still there, the walls of ice still stand in resolute positions. But it has changed, I have changed. The world is different. It feels as if my veins are only now holding blood, my entire universe has swung upon its axis and swung me with it. Everything seems to shake; the walls, the floors. With a cry, I fall to the ground, writhing on the icy floor. The cold pierces me. As my fingers claw the floor, I recall what happened. I was with a miner, inspecting a lump of see through rock which could have been diamond. It hadn’t been. I harshly ordered the miner back to work, and pointed to the ground. With a scared expression, he swung his pick. It hit the floor in a spray of miniscule stone chips. I felt the coldness well up in me, his inability driving it on. With a roughened fist, I backhanded him. He flew through the air and landed in a lump some distance away. I looked at him dispassionately. He twitched, and I looked away. I picked up his pickaxe.
It pounded into the ground as I swung it, using the ice to stiffen my sinew and muscles. I punched holes into the ground as I worked, muscles straining with the effort. Where before the miner had thrown up mere fragments of rock, my swings had hewn entire stones from the floor. Some time during this, I heard a faint scuffing noise as the miner rose to his feet. He started to talk to me in angry tones. I ignored him, venting my coldness into the rock and shattering it. My body was slick with sweat. He laid a hand on my shoulder, still speaking with heat in his voice. I turned slowly around, and fixed my stare upon him. He stood staring at me in defiance. I narrowed my eyes, and his hand trembled. Whatever he saw there broke him, and he ran up the stairs shouting curses at me. With a wheezing, grinding laugh I turned back to my work.
Many hours passed, marked only by the size of tunnel I had made. Eventually, my muscles grew tired and each swing was a strain. I kept at it, keeping my father in mind. He would be so proud of me. It was with that thought that I swung that pick for the last time, and broke through. A red light bathed my face, and I screamed out in agony. The heat seared my face, blinded me. It seemed to melt into my soul, and lit a fire there. The pain was excruciating. It felt like I was on fire. I passed out.
In the darkness of my unconscious mind I could still see that fire. It roiled and burned, seared and melted. And then it gathered to a greatness and took the form of a face, a face which I can barely recall. It was as if the fire was the only face I had ever seen, the only face which had a right to be seen. It opened its mouth and spoke into me, my entire existence rocked to the sound. “I AM THE FIRE THAT OPPOSES YOUR ICE. MY NAME IS NOT RELEVANT, THOUGH YOU MAY KNOW IT ALREADY. I HAVE RECEIVED YOU FATHER’S SOUL, AND SAW IT TO BE GOOD. THE FIRST THING HE DID WAS ASK ME TO BE GOOD TO YOU. HE WAS A REMARKABLE MAN; I HAD HIGH HOPES FOR HIM. BUT HE IS DEAD, AND YOU CARRY HIS BLOOD. SO I GIVE YOU A GIFT. THE GIF OF WARMTH; USE IT WISELY, OR DIE USING IT.” The face vanished, taking the darkness with it. I woke with a gasp, as if rising from a deep place under the sea; and then I ran, stumbling, crying. Slipping on the ice floors until I reached my rooms. And here I am now, letting the heat take me, guide me. Consume me.
16th of Slate
I have gotten over the pain of the fire, but the flame itself is still there. I feel it burning and pulsing inside me like a second heart, it almost is so strong that I believe it could melt the entire fort around me. As it is, it stops me being ice. Good riddance, I say. I still shake when I think back to some of the things which I had done, what I was planning to do to Highmax. And here we come to the problem. While I know much of my ire was unfounded, he still did not help my father, but stood by and watched. I cannot allow this to go unpunished, but he controls much of the army. I have replaced my coldness towards him with a burning hatred, and have found myself unable to do anything but wait, and watch. When we pass in the halls he smiles and nods at me respectfully, but I still see that glimmer in his eye. It reminds me of me, when I was encased in winter. The Sun save us from him ever gaining control!
“Alarms! Death in the Deeps! The beasts have come. Women, children; HIDE. They come, they come! Curse the last overseer! Who makes gates without levers? Curse him! They simply walked into the fort. Men, to the deeps! We must stop this threat to our homes, our families! March with me, for your very lives depend on it!” The troops who had been milling in a heap now rally to me, and fall in to my step. “Come! To the deeps! There are beasts in the deeps!” We march downwards to the shriek of the women and children, a long column of death. I grin. The beasts don’t know what is coming.
We walked through the icy halls, and then descended into the rock. Our ribbon of steel wound its way down…down….down. I remember the last time I took this route, the time when my old life was seared out of existence. I imagine again the feel of flames licking me, and shudder. I feel tempted to call off the march, but I don’t think even I can stop it now. We march on, an unstoppable avalanche of Dwarves. As we stride through the lower levels faces peak from around corners, and seeing what is coming their faces set in steely determination. Miners stop their operations and join us, becoming one with us. The avalanche increases in size. At the head of the Mining Company walks Lor, their leader and director.
We come upon the first of the Beasts, Forgotten since the dawn of time. It raises its snouted head from its kill, one of the haulers. Its head is smeared in blood as it roars its defiance. We roll onwards, and a gleam of fear passes through its eyes. It puffs up, body bloating outwards. Then, it releases a storm of dust, a huge steaming cauldron. The troops stumble, and then move inexorably onwards. Dwarf and mist hit each other, cover each other. The mist covers my vision; I can barely see three paces in front of me. Strange shapes boil out of the whiteness, then melt back in. At one point I see a wing, leathery and black. When I follow it, it fades back into the mist. I stumble about until I reach the end of the mist. As the thin tendrils give up their grip on me, I see Highmax standing there. With him is a good quarter of the military. They do not move, only stare at the mist, and listen to the sounds of destruction. They are smiling, smiling with grins as twisted as themselves. I feel the flame rise in me again, that burning brand of anger. I walk up to Highmax and stick my face close to his. I can see each whisker of his beard and feel his damp, clammy breath on my skin. His grin fades. “What are you doing here, Highmax. The beast is back that way,” I say with a sharp jerk of my head towards the cloud of mist.
He looks uncertain. “We were…going after the other beast, Overseer, the one behind this one. I gathered my men to…kill the other one.”
“Well let’s get going then, Highmax. There is no need to wait.” I withdraw from him and stalk down the hallway, Highmax’s men following behind me like a pair of wings fanning out on either side. I stifle a smile of victory. I am at the head, and Highmax is following behind. He effectively gave me control of his troops, for the time being at least. Ah, how I long for the day when I can part his head from his shoulders! One thing at a time, though.
We go onwards and find the Beast. Githu, some of the guards have named it. It is in the shape of a deer, but its heart is evil and it is armoured with scales. I charge forward, a war cry on my lips: “FOR FLIERMANOOOOOR”. The deer looks up, startled, and starts to charge to meet me, lithe muscles moving beneath its skin. Its horns are aimed for my chest. 10 feet. 8 Feet. 4 Feet. I know the next few seconds will spell my doom, and the blood of my ancestors, of my father, will once again stain the ice. Funny, I always thought I would die of some natural cause like old age. Failing that, I would have liked to charge at a great beast of towering muscles and incomprehensible strength, staring it in its eye as it ends me, and I end it. And yet here I am, charging a bloody deer. The warmth in my heart weakens with that thought, then surges forward again. I
will take this down with me, even if it is my last action. 2 feet.
Suddenly, a blur flashes in front of my eyes, a pair of blades parting the air in front of me, driving Githu off. Highmax stands before me, blades held up before him. His face is twisted into a rictus snarl of hate. Githu stops with a sceech of rage, and I stumble to a halt. Githu’s nostrils flare, and he bares sharpened teeth at Highmax, who doesn’t move. The troops flow on either side of him, a tide of steel, and begin hacking at the Forgotten Beast’s sides. Blood arcs from it, and all is covered in red, slimy gore. With a grin, I join in, feeling the hot blood seep into my clothes, my hair…even my skin. Soon, I am drenched in it. Even while the fight is going on, I can’t help but look at Highmax. His face is lifted upwards in rapture, eyes closed. A smile spreads across his face like oozing ink. My axe swings, and hacks a leg off, but the beast still attacks. It was horrible, bucking and convulsing. The pain only seemed to make it more violent.
A noise to the side, like a savage growling sound. I look to Highmax again, and his teeth are bared. With a deep throated growl which pierces the din of battle and the distant explosions of mist, he lunges forwards, straight for the scaled throat of the deer. His teeth penetrate the hard outer layer and rip the throat out. The deer convulses once more, then drops; dead. I stare in shock..He just tore its throat out with his teeth! Truly, I will have to be careful dealing with this one. He seems more like a beast than the felled deer.
17th Slate
Nausea sweeps through the military. Even I am infected, though I fought Githu and not Ngogngo
26th Slate
The Nausea Epidemic has gone, all are sound again. Thank the gods. For many days the ground was slick with vomit, and none thought it would leave. Worst effected was Blademan, who still runs through the halls and paints them green. He has yet to get better, I do not know if he will.
28th Slate
I sit in my room and glare with suppressed rage at the pelts of the wolves that killed my father. My anger at them is enormous, but not all consuming. With a sigh I turn back to the desk in front of me. When my thoughts were chilled I didn’t understand. I didn’t even think of anyone else. But now I know that a personal hunt for vengeance isn’t possible. We are running out of food, and Highmax is good, if somewhat insane, as a defence mechanism. Our stocks of booze are decreasing, and I dread to think on what will happen if they go. With another sigh I sign the order, and a Dwarf rushes in, snatches it up and carries it off to a farmer. We’re building a farm in the caverns, now that it is clear of Forgotten Beasts. By all things good and warm, I hope no more of their foul kin come!
18th Hematite
Curses! I call again the military, and we again go on our march of doom. The tread of our feet echoes off the walls, and we march to the time of our heart beats. Highmax walks up front, a grin of anticipation on his face; I know he awaits the feel of hot blood pouring down his throat again. I shudder with the coldness in his eyes, and can’t help but feel that I am sending a monster to fight a monster. I almost wish that the crow will win.
20th Hematite
One died to the forgotten beast, and his name will forever be carved into our hearts as the first to die in our long battle for the caverns. For that is what this is; a war. They own the depths, and we want it for our farms. And so, we fight. For Farm and Family, we fight! Though creatures from the dawn of time may assail us, though our arms be torn off and our limbs shredded, we will fight. And when all is done, we will raise our plump helmet toasts in our dining halls, and drink the ale of our people. For we fought for it, and we will have it. To further this need, I have set a squad of ten training at the entrance to the farm. May their blades be ever sharp!
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Okay, this is what I have done so far of the write up. I have finished the year in game, so I can post the link now and let the next overseer work, putting his write up in to a word document until I'm done if he wishes, or I can post the link in the next half.
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Topic: Old style succession game, Fliermanor Revive. Dream-wings freeze fast. (Read 52093 times)