Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[Camulus]

Sil Arkoth

Chapter1: Fintown




This thread serves as a tale, one that unfolds uncertainly yet truthfully, spoken of only softly by high sages who fear naught but eternal ignorance.

It is an undefined tome, fraught with dangers of both our world and that of the gods.
This reality of ours is always in fear of "The Fated Crash", a mystic event that destroys the fabrics of time itself.

If it were not for our many gods, the gods of the deep folk, the leaf mer, the scorned ones and us humans, time itself would cease to exist.

It is them that we praise for our survival.
Our existence, some still claim, is another matter.
There are some fiendish cults in this world of ours, cults that appear not even in the annals of history.
Yet it is this large collection of worshipers that are rumored to influence our morality on every possible plane.
I have heard that their caves are filled with drawings of large toads and tomes attempting to define 'The Creator.'

They speak only one word as they chant, pillage, torture and murder in absolute secrecy: ARMOK

-An unknown scholar-

[Camulus]

Fintown


Histories of the black sand

Time sweeps my very being across the planes, across the divide of time.

Slowly the void changes into a fluid construction, a plane inhabited by waves of colors not yet seen.

Then an image, a plane, another reality appears: Fintown.


As always, my mind absorbs.



In a desert filled with black sands and the occasional saguaro or highwood, the scurry of humanoid figures is seen.

They appear to be quite busy carrying varying sizes of rocks exhibiting a slight blue tint.
Amazed, I observe them stacking them on top of and next to each other.
A gathering of young beasts, seemingly not bothered by the creatures scampering about with their different ratios of rocks, graze next to this construction in motion.

Who would be ignorant enough to construct these walls in the middle of this desolate expanse?

It is only when I embark upon a more thorough exploration that the truth dawns on me.





These are dwarves.
On my plane they are named 'Deep folk', though I have also heard them called the stone tribes,  Duergar, Dwemer, Hylar, Urdunnir and even 'Ale peoples' on other planes.

My curiosity immediately plunges my being deeper into their reality, deeper into their laborious halls.

     



A patch of farms who for some reason have no crops upon them.
There aren't many plants in what I assume are the adjacent storerooms.

I will a descent.



Among us practitioners that transend time, space and all but the most powerful planar boundaries with our magiks, there are many well known facts and observations.
One such is that the ethereal form of the magik user has a severely lessened sense of smell.
I ponder upon this as my nose faintly senses fish and rotting meat.
I press on without much curiosity.

   



After entering a rounded room with two separate stairways plunging further into the depths, I take the left-hand one first.
I explore the other side in due course and gain a full measure of the dwarve's fortress and technological capabilities.

My final understanding of this level was that here the main part of their industry and sustenance resided.

On the far wall of one storeroom stood rock pots and wooden barrels filled with rum and wine.
Next to this treasure trove of liquors a brewer was busily creating more.
Truly a great festival or celebration is set to take place here if these people are stockpiling and producing alcohol at such a grand scale.

My study of the adjacent rooms introduced the dwarve's methods of carpentry and masonry.
Logs, some freshly cut and others already dry, were being transformed into beds, buckets wheelbarrows and storage bins.
Further on there stood some of these wooden bins filled with both raw and finely cut gemstones.

Going to the other room I found masons chiseling away at large chunks of rock.
After observing their finished products, ranging from functional doors, movable statues and coffers, I had to admire their mastery over stone.



The first living quarters I found where of suitable size and quality. There were adjacent dining rooms, with mugs at the ready next to the tables.
Truly this nation loves to drink.

I noticed that one room was bigger than the others, crowning them architecturally.
Was there a single ruler here?
This question remained within my mind for further pondering.





The last level that had been dug was filled with smaller rooms, some empty and othersalready filled with residents.

My tired being decided to settle on this plane for an extended time, simply because too many rapid  planar transitions have worn my abilities out to dangerous extents.

Fintown and it's activities becomes my temporary abode.

[Camulus]

My being has settled amongst the dwarves of Fintown for quite some time.
Slowly I am once again getting used to a linear system of existence, cause and effect exist within my world once more.

Today, therefore, is exceedingly interesting: A battle brews.




An assemblage of the scorned folk have entered the borders of the fortress via the river.

They are here to shed blood, my mind does not doubt this, for they have attacked a crossbow wielding human without much hesitation.

As I float above the future battlefield, I analyze the dwarve's reaction.

Their defenses have improved over the period of my habitation, they immediately choose to raise their drawbridge.
I observe intently.



The amassed revelers, dwarves and humans alike, seem to be oblivious of encroaching forces.
These peoples seem to only have three dwarves and one human enlisted in their guard, and only two of those warriors are armed.
If their defenses are inadequate, Fintown will surely fall.






I amusedly watch as the goblins scamper out of the river, leaving an assortment of their equipments behind in the frothing waters.

   


The only reason these creatures were able to choose this path of offense was due to the recent dual vertical drops of water installed by the industrious dwarves.




Why they would drain great amounts of water into the vast caverns below their feet I do not know, the logical method would be one where the water is stored for later use or mechanised in some manner.

[Nihilich]

Posting to watch. pls continu

[Camulus]

The man's corpse bobs up and down in the water, occasionally bumping against the bronze crossbow it once wielded as well as crude pieces of goblin clothing.

The creatures that sealed his fate are meanwhile scouting the area around Fintown for a way to enter the fortress.



They were halted by the drawbridge, yet I have observed a weakness in the dwarven defenses.

The outside walls give direct access to a hatch in the roof of their fishing shack, which luckily for them is locked shut.
Due to the walls being built into a sand dune, it may also be easy for an invader to simply jump into the fortress proper.



In my numerous visitations to the abodes of the deep folk, errors of this nature are quite prevalent.
Some dwarven communities simply do not have the acumen required to construct external structures, a skill which we humans take for granted.

The attackers do not discover this weakness, choosing rather to wander aimlessly through the surrounding desert.

This lull in excitement brings my mind back to it's previous contemplations: the cultural, political and religious structures of these dwarves.




As my astral being re-enters the depths they call home, I find a few dwarves excitedly conversing outside one of their crafting workstations.

They appear to be admiring a very large musical instrument, referring to it as a 'lestus'.
From what I overheard, many of them believe the creator to have been possessed by forces unknown.

I am quite familiar with the prevalence of possession-inspired constructions and artwork.

There are times when truly blessed individuals are filled with reverberations by the gods themselves, guiding them to create relics of true divinity.
Most possessions, however, are demonic in nature.
Amongst the various races, the deep-folk are more prone to these invasions of consciousness.

Some scholars argue that this indicates that dwarves are cursed in much the same manner than the goblins, just to a lesser extent.
I however have spoken to many that state the realms of demons lie beneath everything, which would mean that the dwarven possessions are a matter of proximity rather than one of fate.

On some planes this argument is erroneous: Demons freely roam above, at times the only beings I have observed to exist.
Taking more stable planes into existence however, planes such this one, the theory of subterranean demonic habitation gains more credence.

[Camulus]

I have come to the specific conclusion that the dwarven tinkerers of this place were not quite intellectually inclined.
Their actions have led to the slaughter of their kin.

The air was filled with noises I have grown to know well: The anguished cries of the wounded, their desperate voices lost in the metallic whirl of a  bloody battle.
Thus far my mind, by now accustomed to focusing on the mathematics of war instead of the terror, has counted about seventeen dead humans and dwarves.

                       





Amongst the deceased is the daughter of dusk, who I have identified as the leader of this place.
It seems that within their society, a leader is elected based on the initial configuration of the expedition party.

The events that led to her death were quite swift and unexpected:

The dwarves halted the tide of their twin waterfalls to construct a deep cistern for their wells.
It was then that two goblin warriors saw a way to vault over the walls onto a walkway next to the stairs.
One of them then started raining bolts down on workers and revelers alike before the pike wielder charged in.

Currently, they are slaughtering dwarves on the farming plots, spilling their blood onto the soil.




As the battle started, I observed a large group of the invaders who have not joined the fray.
Whether they will also mount the same attack, I have yet to see.



The dwarves on the road are panicked and clustered together, cut of from their rooms and family.
The four members of the militia, armored only in greaves of mule bone, push their way through the crowd, towards battle.
Only two of them wield weapons.

My senses swirl as I take in the complex bursts of activity.
Drunks stumble out of the inn, curious as to why a crowd would suddenly interrupt their frivolities.

Others rush themselves to the cellar stairs, no doubt to get very inebriated.
What solace they find within their tankards, I do not know.


Two dwarves, different from the rest, are in the temple of their goddess: Halstom Helmshields
As one of them prays for safety and the survival of their community, for the stones of their very walls to strike down those that massacre them, another silently meditates.

Their conduct fills me with a strange apprehension, a reminder of the gods that I have so long ago abandoned.
It is only fitting that in this time of peril, their goddess is one of fortresses.





After ascending the stairs, the paltry militia finally comes to engage their two foes.

The hammerer, who is not wielding a hammer of any kind, quickly succumbs to pain.
The millitia commander puts up a decent fight, almost severing his opponent's left hand.
He however also falls to the ground due to his wounds, with the other goblin bashing repeatedly upon his head with her crossbow.

It was then that I saw the pikeman, a hired mercenary, still standing, still fighting.


While my kinsman was busy furiously lunging at his foe, I glimpsed a strange sight, one that will stay with me for eons to come:



There, clinging to the uppermost part of the extensive wall, was the fourth member of the militia.
The hammer-dwarf must have scaled the entire cliff face.

Whether it was out of fear, or to reach his comrades in a very roundabout manner, I do not know.
My whole being admitted ignorance at this strange dwarve's eccentric battle tactics..

[XhAPPYSLApX]

Posting for later readsies

[Camulus]

My kinsman has fallen in battle to the goblin warrior.

These dwarves have a very strange way of viewing their enemies, a title of 'Azure Knower of Trades' was chosen and subsequently used by the horrified onlookers who witnessed the sluaghter.

It was then that a large group of the unarmed citizens surged forward, the intent to exact revenge etched into their faces.



Two of them started to engage the wounded pike wielder, their bare fists beating upon him in quick flurries.

The others soon joined the fray, with two dwarves who by their stance appeared to be trained in the art of swords, violently clobbering their foe's helm with stone goblets.




The Azure Knower of Trades then suddenly had her head bashed in through her copper helm.
It was done by the last remaining soldier of the original militia, the one who had perplexed me by climbing the cliff face all the way to the outside walls.

The battle ended when the crossbow wielding goblin also fell.


After the battle, I counted that more than twenty of  Fintown's residents have died.
There was still a sizable amount left though, with a large gathering of visitors trapped within the walls due to the goblins outside.

My ears were once again at peace as I started to wonder how well this settlement would recover.

[Wolfhunter107]

This is quite interesting. Posting to watch.