"I think... It might be better to leave."
"With you on that, pal." says Flax. "Let's go."
You swiftly depart, still cautious and wary of your surroundings. But nothing interrupts you on your way out, except perhaps for a cluster of young trees, with trunks of desirable size. Nothing uniquely good looking, and perhaps unfit for a proper staff, but as a walking stick it'll surely do. Flax too did appreciate one, although he hasn't trouble walking anymore for the most part, having a longer, albeit less civilized weapon seems to give the man joy and verve. Wooden or not, you can imagine how hard it hits when this chap swings it!
Behind the woods you could see some hills, not very large or noteworthy like the ones near the ruins, but about just as many, sitting one next to the other, perfect for the fox people to have their mounds dug there. You didn't see any passing by, though.
"How is it you have so many of these hills grouped like this on your side?" you ask.
"Tales tell of great wars with pale giants, that have lived here ages ago." Sas says. "Some folks claim it is bodies piled, marking the battlefields of old."
"Giants? That's interesting..."
"You haven't heard of them?"
"Must have a few times already, but I don't know of a tribe of ours that would pass these stories on, it was always in relation to you..."
"Say, Flax, you hardly ever tell us anything about your people, and your stories!"
"What do you want me to tell?" the warrior shrugs. "There's not much to it, really."
"Nonsense, surely that can't be! All of men have their stories."
"Easy for you to say!" Flax chuckles. "We arrived fairly recently, we're new to the land. Giants, tribes, spirits, lore... None of that there. I can tell you of accounts, feuds, kings, history... Doubt that's what you want to hear."
"I'd very much like to! But I just don't think that's all there is to the heritage of your people!"
Flax delves deep into his memories, and ultimately manages to pull something out of his head, much to Sas' excitement.
"There are some stories father used to tell us..."
"Well, bring it on, then!"
The tall man smirks, and begins.
"When man was still young in this world, he had nothing. No weapons, crafts, knowledge, his hands were bare and he had a lot to discover. But many of those ancient secrets were well guarded. The secrets of gods... And by far we weren't the only ones who sought after them. Many, many tried to retrieved the long lost secrets, but no one was able to face those guardians and live. Yet, as they were busy fighting, dwarves burrowed into the lair and stole the riches. Amongst them, the most important secret of all, the secret of forging."
"And so now all of the lore was locked away in the depths of the earth, with dwarves, all of the treasure was theirs. And no man, nor god that found liking in him, could venture underground and claim them. But we needed the secret of forging. So we had to lure the dwarf outside."
"An offer was made, if they were to share the secret, we would give them jewels, that they did not yet have, treasures they did not possess. And dwarves, in their pride, convinced that surely they have all of the world's jewels with them beneath the earth, accepted. What a surprise was it for them then, when we brought them pearls and amber, they have never seen those before, and were to keep their promise. But they tricked us yet again, and gave us only a part of the knowledge. To this day, man still doesn't have the full secret of the forge."
"So you don't like dwarves?"
"Ancestors probably didn't. As there's... Very little left where we're from."
"The story speaks of them quite harshly, you must agree. Are they that nasty?" you ask.
"Look, I have no beef with dwarves, we have a few near our ground and they're just fine."
He pauses.
"I guess, I never met those. But the ones I had, let me tell you, there's quite a bit of truth in it! They're all well and good, until they have to give up their treasures!" Flax laughs.
"But the forging secrets I get. See, our folk have not one at all."
"Yes, it is the power. That was something else my father told me, too. Your god can forsake you, your master can turn on you, you friend can betray you... But a sword in your hand never will."
It was some time after midday, when you've made a stop and ate your hares. You were told it is a custom amongst the mankind, to eat a dignified, mouthwatering meal when the sun is at its highest, for it is the time when those at work need it the most.
"And when the farmer's boy can't help at the field yet, he brings him the lunch basket instead!" Flax informs you, as Sas prepares the fire for the second hare. "All have to help somehow. But I'm sure you're no strangers to that here..."
"And is it true your bread is so cheap you eat it every day?" asks Sas. "At our place we were lucky if we got a fish shipment from the nearby settlements!"
"Bread is... Well, yes, our daily bread. The fates of it and mankind are woven together for all times... It gives you strength and makes you tougher, but it's also bitter, like life itself."
The prepared meat gives you well enough strength for the trip, and a short stop giving some rest to your legs is always welcome. But, you can't sit for long, and embark right after you finish eating.
Flax has a lot to share about his homeland, and he keeps you entertained for a good while. He tells you about lawgivers, courts, oaths, and castles, of which you have never heard. He presents the concepts as very mundane, you see them as outright mythical, shrouded in mystery. Sas isn't as much intrigued, though he still finds it all interesting, and can't wait to gaze upon these things himself.
At last, another day of travel came to its end. You have nothing to eat this evening, but you don't mind. Once again, Flax insists on you resting, while he'll and Sas can take care of the watches. You don't object to this, as, to be completely honest, you could use some extra rest. You're not as exhausted as you were after the busy day in the ruins, but still feel somewhat weary from handling the seed and all the spellcasting around. Tired, you fell to slumber fairly quickly.
You've been having peculiar dreams as of late, so any new sights, however odd, can surprise you. Yet, perhaps something strange happens after all, as in this dream you see yourself. You don't feel your body, it is only your consciousness gazing upon the image. You know you are dreaming, thus you observe the incoming visions without worries. No trace of Wraithcaller, yet... Nor Nami, or anyone like that.
You're sitting in the snow, polished shank in one hand, rough branch in the other. You slice into the wood, neatly, cutting the bark off. The splinters are falling in an arc, but the work is going slowly. You speed up, with increased force each cut.
Then, the blade slips, ending up deep in your wrist. You feel no pain, and no blood is coming out the wound. The whole scene is as if devoid of any feeling...
Another vision surfaces. The environment is very unclear and blurry, but there are two lads standing, and you recognize yourself in one of them. They're talking, the other youngster seems to be explaining something to you.
"...waiting in a ligthless cavern, awaiting the elder. And it is reflection of theirs, you can..."
"Nonsense, those pass on. Part ways with this word."
"How is it you can summon them at all, then?"
"One can, should it be done soon, so they're not gone yet. But they can't go back afterwards, poor souls..."
The other smirks.
"There is a way..." he utters, as you raise your head toward him, intrigued.
The vision dissipates, and a new one is forming.
You see a grand hall, opulent and pompous in its decoration, yet dim and dark, its riches hidden in the shadow, only a few chandeliers and candelabras light up the room. There is empty space in the middle, where floor tiles are cracked and particularly dirty, the ground does not even seem to be even there, being dented on multiple spots. This space is outlined by three tables, each having a host of men and women sitting by, dining, chattering, you can clearly see, yet you do not hear them. There isn't much food at the tables, but the people don't seem to be bothered. You spot a wolf man among them, too, as well as otherwordly beasts chained nearby, particularly at the left wing of hall.
Much of the seats aren't of note, but there is a large throne behind the middle table, in the center. A man covered in a dark green cloak occupies it, you see pride and confidence in his face. Despite being fully involved in the ongoing feast, he tries to maintain a kind of distance from the others, watching the whole scene from a higher position. His company is of varied kind, some are dressed in rags and unkempt, while others wear rather rich garments.
At the table to the right you spot a familiar face. Rathegaru, in the flesh, and he seems to enjoy quite a prominent spot in the wing. Just as you remembered him, only his attire is different and he doesn't have the earring. His platter is full, unlike many of the others, and there is a strange ornate box in front of him.
You're inspecting the scene, when the one upon the throne starts speaking.
Immediately, the chatter stops, as everyone turns their attention towards him. He then gestures at certain participants, those stand up and speak back. And you begin to hear their voices, slowly and surely you can make out the words.
"... the stocks, unfortunately. However, we are positive the brigade should succeed without any further interventions." the current speaker says, and sits down again.
"Marvelous." nods the headman. "Now, as you have surely noticed already, one of our expeditions have returned, in rather pitiful numbers."
The crowd cackles, their sights focused on Rathegaru, who isn't exactly pleased, but maintains his composure. With a move of hand the foreman invites him to report.
"Indeed, and despite the losses, the outcome was splendid!"
He reaches for the box, and opens it, revealing the earring he wore back then, resting on a piece of cloth.
"I have successfully retrieved the artifact, however, I was not able to determine its intended usage... Yet."
"I will take care of that." the chief says. "So the site is cleared?"
"Might not be now, but fear not, for another success ensures us many, many more visits. The guardian is dead, and his remains are still fresh."
The foreman's face is struck with surprise, as is many a face in the crowd. Then slowly, laughter and cheering emerges.
The cackling isn't quite as demented as that of Wraithcaller, but you can see a lot of similarities. The chief doesn't open his own mouth, instead, he raises his cup. The gesture stirred the mob even more, but soon the chairman silenced them with another.
"How did that happen?" he asks.
Rathegaru smirks, takes a deep breath, and begins.
"After long and strenuous battle, we were pushed under ground!"
You can see a large portion of the audience scoff and whisper to each other, but Rathegaru doesn't mind and goes on.
"There was indeed a burrow beneath. Soon, I was the only one left, but I managed to seal myself shut, separating me and the beast!"
"Cut the chronicles short, would you?" the chief interrupts him, making the more talkative attendants giggle and the man frown. "What is the state of it now?"
Rathegaru seems a bit offended, but doesn't complain.
"With a shattered block I have torn the beast open. It tried to escape me, but ultimately bled under the hills nearby to death."
Ah, you are pretty sure that's not how things went. The listeners however, unlike you, weren't present at the events, and appear convinced, only a few keep scoffing.
"The carcass should be still there." Rathegaru continues.
"Not sure?" the headman asks, raising his voice rather aggresively.
"For I had another encounter there by the hills. I met Wraithcaller."
The hall falls silent. Even the unimpressed chattering types appear to be legitimately surprised and caught off guard. So does the one upon the throne.
"I have invited him to cooperate and to visit, he did not seem to be interested in harvesting the remains..."
"Maybe it taints his relation with the spirits... Say, how did our elusive Wraithcaller look like?"
"He was tall with broad shoulders, brown hide, adorned with feathers and teeth, and a peculiar medallion. His antlers did not branch out a lot, but were not puny, either..."
Everyone grows quiet again, this time Rathegaru included. The reason is the chief's frowning face, an expression the attendants seem to recognize and fear. He gives the old man a chilling glance, answered by a look of confusion, unsure, but not at all submissive.
Rathegaru knows the next exchange isn't going to be pleasant, but maintains his confident appearance, unlike many within the mob, shaking and outright assuming defensive poses.
"Umil... You blasted simpleton!!!" the foreman barks. "Outcasts do not have antlers! Do you really want to tell me, a passerby peasant tricked you?!!"
Rathegaru's face starts running is sweat, he has troubles keeping his stern outlook. You feel like he's going to snap any moment now. No one in the hall dares to speak, the tension grows.
The chief's expression takes a turn, however. After he cools off a bit, he smiles, grins even.
"Opmuthro claim me, you really are turning senile." he chuckles. "Might think about that replacement, would not you say?"
The mob begins to laugh with the boss, assured it's safe now. Even those sitting near Rathegaru, whose nerves have somewhat settled down, still, he doesn't look very happy. One of his associates seems a little bit too excited, sharing his feelings to others rather vigorously.
Because of the clamour, you can't quite make out what exactly he said, but it must've been really bad, as Rathegaru responds with a swift arm movement, tipping the smack talker's seat over. This agitates the crowd even more, the whole gathering seems to be absolutely enraptures in joy, nearly all but one.
The chief wants to carry on, though, and enforces silence once again by a few raps of his ornate cup against the table. The assembly obediently pipes down.
"Back to business..." the headman says, and takes a sip. "I doubt any hoof-goof, aside from our dear elusive Wraithcaller, would have any interest in the carcass. But we should secure it regardless. I shall assemble a brigade later, do not leave the base until that is taken care of."
He turns to the other wing of the hall, which chairman seems to be a hulking, unkempt, vicious man, like no you have ever seen. Even though you don't like the label much, he is what one would call a freak. Many within the collective emit a picture of foul, rotten, deplorable and cruel beings, though often fair and groomed on the outside, their manners and glances speak for themselves. But this man, this one reflects that feeling with his outer appearance. This one looks how the whole scene feels. Corrupted. Evil. And it is to this man, the next words of the chief are addressed.
"I want a regiment of maws to be prepared and given to the team, make sure you see to that! Any extra equipment will be welcome, we need to seize this marvelous opportunity!"
The hulk answers with simple nodding, as if this was his daily routine. You certainly don't feel that way, the foreman makes it sound so grandiose and important. He has a way with words, it seems, and now he shifts his sight back to Rathegaru, though he the speech is clearly directed towards everyone present.
"I truly do not want to understate the undoubted success of this operation, we have the artifact AND the exotic remains. Damn the deer, ultimately this is a triumph! And all who have contributed shall acquire their fa..."
The scene turns orange, all of sudden... No, that's the sky. You have woken up.
The sun is rising, a lot of the land is still under shadow, but dawn is breaking. Sas is still sleeping, and so is Flax, who should be on watch, and probably was but didn't last long.
What do you want to do? 
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Topic: Dwarf Fortress -Drawings- : Tales of the Deer Wizard (Read 170226 times)