In any case, here's my next story piece -- as a minor point of interest, it is by far the longest I've written for this fort (even though it's mostly a device to set up a possible new hostile race if I ever do a sequel, lol):
There is a city carved into the mountains -- Mirrorrasped is its name. A vast dwarven metropolis, with winding halls and dizzying tunnels snaking deep into the heart of the earth itself. Small, clear-glass lanterns are set into the polished stone walls, their light illuminating the stony faces of dwarves -- young, old, ugly, handsome, fit, fat -- passing through the polished-stone halls, quietly going about their business in such a manner as to attract as little attention as possible -- particularly those of the enormous, stolid guards in full armor which were stationed on every corner, not a word slipping out of the metal helmets which concealed their faces. There was a time, once, when there were normal guards, whose faces could be seen and who would even occasionally speak, and whose righteous fury the dwarves did not live in utter terror of, but they had been seen less and less. There were whispers, even, that the old fortress guardsmen had been steadily going missing one-by-one as they were replaced by the hulking nightmares, but the Royal Archivist had firmly stated that such rumours were false, and so, for all intents and purposes, they were -- at least, when the guards were around to hear, and they always were. Still, there were always those who doubted the "official" version of events, and those people continued to murmur, continued to speculate...
Somewhat-deeper in the underground complex, within the vast, heavily-guarded royal stronghold, there is a small, unassuming room -- judging from the various empty boxes and wooden paraphernalia strewn about, it looks to have perhaps been originally intended as a storage room of sorts, although it obviously was no longer in use, at least for that purpose. However, a small push of an innocuous-looking carving and a bit of downward pressure applied simultaneously to a nearby shelf would reveal, quite quickly, that the room was likely far more important than it initially seemed, as a hidden door -- utterly-indistinguishable from the surrounding unworked stone wall -- swung smoothly up into the ceiling of a hidden passageway, which ramped upwards.
Should one choose to then traverse this narrow, haphazardly-carved tunnel -- clearly not designed to impress -- they would find that it opened out at the end into a large, rough-hewn stone chamber dimly illuminated by fungus-lanterns and filled with strange iron vats, cupboards, iron workbenches, and metal cages smeared with what could very well be dried blood. Meticulously-detailed diagrams -- mostly anatomy charts of various animals, humanoid and otherwise, although there were some which appeared to be blueprints for various tools and devices -- covered the walls and workbenches.
At the interval of time this narration describes, two people were in the room -- one a tall and broad-shouldered male dwarf, his hair and voluminous beard grey, clad in a flowing purple robe and bedecked with an eye-searing array of gold jewelry; the other was a dwarfess of average height, with bushy black hair and dressed in a blue robe with dull beige trim. The dwarf had recently arrived, and was just about to initiate conversation...
"I have come, my dear, as you requested," said the dwarf unctuously; his name was Erib Catchtowns, more-formally referred to as His Gaudiness, and he was the monarch of the Torrid Lash, which Mirrorrasped was the capital of. His aged face was set in a stern, smoldering expression, although there was a certain air of eager expectancy to his eyes. "I trust the tests have been going well?"
The dwarfess, who went by the name of Urist Ashoklam and was more-commonly referred to as the Royal Archivist, nodded curtly. Her thick bangs obscured most of her face, and most of the remainder was usually concealed behind enormous, darkly-smoked glasses; however, for this occasion, she had opted not to wear them, revealing dark-grey eyes which looked astoundingly-youthful for a dwarf that was supposed to be well into her last decades -- indeed, she looked barely older than twenty, with a soft-featured face unlined by age -- although there was an eerie sort of oldness to them, as though she'd already seen this conversation play out over and over again in marginally-different forms countless times in the past and was now largely going through it by rote.
"But of course," she said, her voice twanging with unconcealed smugness; "Development of the new breed of enhanced personnel has been completed, and they are -- as one would expect -- a success on all counts." She continued to explain to Erib as she picked up a set of clear glass vials filled with swirling, blood-red fluid off one of the workbenches and led the king towards the nearest of the cages: "As I had hypothesised, introducing the enhancing agent directly into the target tissues in small installments over the course of seven months, rather than injecting a single, larger dose into the bloodstream as we previously had done --" they were now next to the cage, which the Archivist gestured towards as she continued "-- almost completely eliminates intellectual retardation in subjects while reaping near-equal increases in strength, resiliency and body mass, and simultaneously greatly-reducing harmful deformities and degeneration of vital organs."
Erib nodded vaguely, trying to follow along as best as he could; this wasn't exactly his strong suit. He was a ruler, not a textbook; that's what the Archivist was for. There was almost something resembling actual, genuine joy in her normally-drab and clinical voice as she described the fruits of her research, a fact which disturbed Erib almost as much as what he was currently looking at in the cage.
It was -- or at least had been at some point -- a male dwarf, he knew that much. Not one of his, not from the Lash -- he had strictly forbidden the Archivist from using their own brothers and sisters for her dark work. No, it had likely been a spy or some other criminal "rescued" from the Pit. A dwarf, once, but now Erib knew not the word to describe the creature in the cage. It was an enormous, hulking monstrosity, a good head taller than Erib and grotesquely-muscled, although the way it shrank away from the pair as they approached and curled up against the back of the cage, clearly-terrified, made it seem small and pathetic. It was unclothed, and scars, needle marks, and weeping pink sores covered its exposed skin. Its wildly-bearded face was bony and angular with a heavy, misshapen brow ridge, and small, irregularly-shaped spurs of bone jutted from its shoulders, collarbone, and ribs.
None of this was upsetting at all to Erib; quite the opposite, the Archivist's previous creations had been even more deformed, this being a promising improvement. No, what was disturbing Erib so were its eyes: vivid green, with a dull red glow coming from within, yet -- surprisingly -- with an unmistakeable intelligence and awareness to them. The previous subjects had been rendered nearly-mindless by the treatments, only capable of following basic commands after extensive training, but as Erib looked into this creature's eyes, he knew, with a chill in his gut, that there was something -- someone, even -- in there looking back at him. He could see its fear, numbed by despair. He almost felt sorry for it... almost. In the end, serving the Lash in even this capacity was still far too great an honor for treasonous scum like him.
"The fact that they retain much of their personality and will is problematic, of course," continued the Royal Archivist smoothly, either not noticing or choosing to ignore Erib's visible discomfort, "But breaking them shouldn't prove too difficult."
Erib considered this for a moment, then nodded, his expression grim. He took no joy in the thought of whatever unspeakable torture the Archivist intended to use to get the beasts to comply, but he would readily admit that the end result was quite enticing. He grinned slightly -- or, less charitably, bared his teeth -- as he imagined the carnage the Lash's enemies would suffer at the hands of these new abominations. "Excellent work, Lady Urist," he said, allowing a small, controlled measure of awe to enter his voice.
The Archivist's lip curled for a brief moment, as though Erib's praise -- a rare and sought-after commodity to most -- was somehow offensive to her, but soon returned to her usual distant stare. "But of course," she said dismissively. She stroked the vials in her hand, gazing at them contemplatively for a moment as their contents swirled like a thick fog, then muttered on without looking up, as though speaking more to herself than to Erib: "Now that that's finished, I could perhaps begin testing the effects of in utero exposure... that should be quite interesting, yes..."
Erib grimaced slightly; he wasn't quite sure what a "utero" was, but knowing the Archivist, it likely wasn't something he had any business dealing with. "You may pursue whatever projects you fancy, provided it is to my -- that is, the Lash's -- benefit," he said; "However --"
Erib stopped cold; an icy, mirthless smile was suddenly playing on the corners of the Archivist's mouth, giving him pause. The Archivist turned away from Erib, towards the cage; she stepped forward, extended her hand, and rapped sharply on the rusty metal bars with her knuckles, causing the creature inside to cringe away in terror, whimpering hysterically. It was a pathetic sight. The Archivist giggled quietly, clearly enjoying the effect her antagonism was having on the traumatised former dwarf.
Erib gritted his teeth. "That's not necessary, Lady Urist," he said sharply, but the Archivist ignored him, and continued to knock on the bars again and again; the creature covered its face with its hands, trembling in terror as she giggled to herself, her eyes glittering cruelly. Erib watched the scene with horror; he had no particular sympathy for the beast, but this was decidedly-distressing behaviour to see in one of his most important subordinates. "Stop that at once!" he commanded, but the Archivist continued to gleefully-torment her subject, giving no indication that she'd even heard him.
Suddenly, the creature stopped trembling. It tensed up, motionless, for a moment, the sudden cessation of movement causing Erib's insides to twist up; his old battle-instincts, along with something far more primal from before the dawn of humanity, detected a calm before a massive storm.
Then, just as Erib feared, the storm struck. There was a massive, incomprehensible din as the creature emitted a guttural scream and launched itself in the Archivist's direction, slamming its palms into the cage's bars with full force; Erib -- to his immediate embarrassment -- jumped at the noise, although the Archivist didn't even flinch -- she simply stood there, grinning serenely, as though she was watching the most sublime comedy routine ever devised. The creature roared deeply, its yellowed teeth bared, and pounded the cage with its fists, the dull glow in its eyes now a hellish red ember that reminded Erib of the great magma sea. A chill ran down his spine as he watched the creature rage, beating the bars of the cage savagely while screaming loud enough to make Erib's ears hurt, the intelligence he had seen in its eyes now replaced by a blind, insane fury. The solid-iron bars of the cage buckled and bent under the sheer force of the monster's assault. A word floated up from the depths of Erib's mind as he watched the scene, a fragment of the myths and nursery-stories his old mother had taught him: "berserker".
And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the creature's furor subsided, the fire in its eyes dying back to a dim glow. It blinked confusedly, as though it had forgotten where it was, then sank to the ground, cradling its head in its oversized, bony hands and moaning out a noise which, a few moments later, Erib realised -- nausea gripping his stomach -- were |words|, ponderously-deep and slightly-accented but very clearly-enunciated: "Please... let it end..."
Erib looked away, clenching his fists, as the monster -- the 'berserker' -- dissolved into loud, hysterical sobbing. He took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves, then said to the Archivist, who was still looking at the cage, visibly-enjoying the spectacle: "As I was about to say, madam, you may conduct whichever experiments you believe will lead the Lash to ever-greater prosperity." The Archivist didn't acknowledge Erib's words in any way, but he continued nonetheless: "However, you must first prepare for a change of venue. We shall shortly be relocating our base of operations to Clobbermountains, you see. Despite your constant naysaying, they've managed to grow quite prosperous in the past few years." Erib licked his lips in anticipation as he imagined the sheer wealth that the isolated fortress had been producing -- wealth that, by all accounts, should be his. He was the King, after all. That was his right, after all.
The Royal Archivist's attention immediately snapped to Erib, though her expression was distant as always. "That is not acceptable, Your Gaudiness," she said matter-of-factly, over the berserker's cries; "Clobbermountains is squarely in the heart of enemy territory, with no allied settlements for miles. It's a miracle they've survived the attacks this long. Quite a poor location for a nation's seat of government. Besides," -- she gestured to the surrounding cavern with her hand -- "all of my research is housed here. It would be quite inconvenient --"
"It's not open for discussion," interrupted Erib firmly, folding his arms; "Everything's already in order, and we'll be leaving early next Spring." He gestured around at the various diagrams and equipment; "We'll be setting up a new laboratory, of course. Keep what you will take with you, destroy what you won't. Or don't, if it pleases you." Erib shrugged nonchalantly; "As long as it can't be traced back to us, I care not how you dispose of it all."
The Archivist stared at Urist slack-faced for a few moments, her brilliant, cold mind apparently-unable to comprehend what had just happened. Then, livid, white-hot rage twisted across her face, her bare teeth gnashing, shoulders hunching, her soft, delicate hands twisting into vicious claws primed for strangling. In that moment, Erib suddenly became terribly, uncomfortably-conscious of the fact that the two of them were completely-alone, without anyone else to bear witness to what may happen; that nobody knew they were down here, or even that this room existed. In that moment, Erib was afraid -- an alien emotion to him. He didn't particularly like it. It made his stomach feel tight.
Not a moment later, however, the Archivist regained her composure, her features settling smoothly back into their usual configuration as though nothing had happened. "...Of course, Your Gaudiness," she said evenly, turning away from him; "I shall make my preparations at once."
Erib shivered; there would be a reckoning for this, he knew it. Rage like what he just saw on the Archivist's face didn't just vanish -- usually, at least; the memory of the berserker's ephemeral fury flashed across Erib's mind. No, anger like the Royal Archivist's just fermented, growing stronger and more refined over time. Nothing for it at the moment, but he made a mental note to watch his step for the foreseeable future.
In any case, the news had been delivered -- for better or for worse. "I shall take my leave," he announced. No response; the Archivist didn't even turn around. She simply stared at the berserker silently, not moving a muscle. Not wishing to engage with the woman any longer, Erib simply turned around and left back down the tunnel we had come in through, his footsteps echoing down either end.
As he approached the tunnel entrance, Erib heard another noise, or rather a combination of noises, echoing through the tunnel: a loud, metallic clanging, as though someone was roughly kicking a metal bar over and over; a woman's furious shrieking; and, beneath it all, a soft, low, sonorous whimper.
Next one will be about banshees. Fun fun fun!
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Topic: (34.11 Succession) Clobbermountains -- The End(?) (Read 387915 times)