I think that you just have to start a new poll with the same questions attached.
Alright, I've kept you all waiting long enough. Write-up time:
The diary of Stephen "Wolf" Rodriguez, human adventurer:
Entry 1:
War? War never changes.
Nobody knows what sparked the great war. Some say human supremecism, some say dwarven arrogance, some say elven snobbishness. In the end, it doesn't matter. The war was fought, the world was scorched, the old ways were forgotten. To many, the time before the great war is considered a dark period in our history, when our race sought to demean ourselves by trading with the "lesser races". They claim that the extermination was necessary in order to move on to a brighter future. But me? I don't buy that crap. If the legends I have read are true, the dwarves crafted some of the finest goods, far superior to those we can make.
So I have set off in search of these treasures of the past. Ancient accounts tell of a fortress ten miles from my hometown, hidden in what is now a lush valley. Nobody goes there: they claim it is dangerous, the work of the devil. But I know better. They are like most of my race: scared of the past, unable to face humanities mistakes. Some day, I hope to visit one of the great dwarven shrines, to pay my respects and offer one apology, more than the entirety of humanity has given.
Entry 2:
I have arrived at the site. The ancient walls of the fortress are still visible above the surrounding vegetation. My first glimpse at the fortress and I am filled with awe: the fortress's walls, despite being made of wood, are still standing all of these years later. Such fine architecture.
As I approach the entrance to the fortress, I nearly trip over a crumbling ruin. I clear off some of the overgrowth with my sword as my eyes widen. There are stones beneath my feet, in a pattern that seems to indicate that this was once a center for trade, just outside the fortress walls.
I walk over the remnants of an ancient drawbridge and continue into the fortress. Within the mighty walls lie the remnants of workshops. They lie in disarray, but I pass on, not thinking much of it.
Walking down the staircase, I find little of interest on the second level, a stairwell long since dried up. On the third level, however...
The dwarves had hollowed themselves out a massive quarters on the third level. I do not stop long, however: I will work my way up from the bottom.
Down and down I go, deeper into the fortress. Most of the levels are mining excavations and similarly uninteresting things, but on the last level of the staircase I see a hallway, extending off beyond the reach of my torch. The walls are covered with engravings.
The first part of the hallway depicts the founding of the fortress by the original seven. Even from the beginning, however, there is tragedy. I reach a clear boundary line, and beyond it the engravings change. They depict a new leader, whose name I can only translate to Jerbot. He attempts to lead the dwarves out of their troubles, but more troubles befall the fortress, and many of the dwarves, including the first overseer, are shown running around, insane.
Then I reach the second boundary line. The engravings change once again, and for the worse. Dwarves fighting dwarves, insane glints in their eyes. A spiritual leader attempting to hold his people together through the troubles, but all for naught. The number of dwarves appears to be shrinking rapidly, and one scene shows the high priest, striken by melencholy, refusing to eat or drink. The spiral seems to continue, until it finally seems to stabilize. But so much blood... so much pain...
Slowly, I trek back up the stairs, past the third level. As long as I live, I doubt I will ever again have the heart to enter another fortress. But first... there is one thing I must attend to.
I walked over to a half-destroyed altar, likely from the time of the downward spiral.
"I'm sorry..."
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Topic: ☼SILVERGOOSE☼ Of Masterworks, Mephs and Magma. (Read 24011 times)