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[Bralbaard]

So, Bralbaard, I see you reclaimed

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Edėmtusung

Are you attached to that place? Do you have plans for it? Do you mind if I... mess with it after adventure mode?

About the reclaim

I'm not attached to the place at all. feel free to improve on it. I did not get much done.
Actually my first choice for a reclaim was Treatyseed, but ehm...

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

 let's just say that the place can not be salvaged.. I had to go for plan B instead.

Thanks for providing the link QD, I forgot to paste it.

[Lurker Z]

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

 let's just say that the place can not be salvaged.. I had to go for plan B instead.

Could you expand on that? I reclaimed Treatyseed in a throwaway save some weeks ago and it worked well enough.

I'm not attached to the place at all. feel free to improve on it. I did not get much done.

Thanks. I wasn't planning to improve on it, I had a plan that may or may not work. Nothing that can corrupt the place or anything, but it might not survive in the historical sense.

[Bralbaard]

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

 let's just say that the place can not be salvaged.. I had to go for plan B instead.

Could you expand on that? I reclaimed Treatyseed in a throwaway save some weeks ago and it worked well enough.

I'll send you a PM, posting here would give away serious spoilers for those interested in visiting.

[Unraveller]

Aye, aye, I should be able to complete my turn tonight or tomorrow! Or another day more.

Edit: So far, things look grim! Both in and out of game haha! My laptop isn't exactly the most robust, chugging along. Still, it'll get done.

[Lurker Z]

There's no hurry, you have a whole week after you get the game to do your turn.

If you finish earlier than that, you can use the rest of the time to make a fortress (if you want, you can just give the game with the adventure or do a fortress too).

[Unraveller]

Henceforth is the collected logs of a young man. The tome is bound in thick, robust leather, the pages long since waterlogged. The text can be somewhat discordant, written on a variety of different materials, assorted cavern dyes remain brilliant and vibrant in their ink even to this day. It seems that the many dates written throughout the journal have been written in later on, or replaced existing texts. . .

On the surface inscribed is the name; Galka Linarad or Galka 'Kinddrummed'

Limestone 16, 802
    32u Native Gold
    48u Tetrahedrite


Limestone 19, 802
    12u Native Gold
    9u Tetrahedrite

        A collection of flames illuminate the deep. The gleaming mail of the Armored Group is blinding, we cannot help but turn away.
The captain collects our haul, saddling their cart and oxen with the ore. They can see the look upon our faces, how our wide eyes differ from theirs.
He gathers us, or rather the foreman, Bekdil does. As always, the captain assures us that our hard work and toil is the foundation for the glorious Realm of Silver.
His speech is full of passion, not one of us can wait to see what our labor has built.
       
        I could not help but ask the man, perhaps for the twentieth time, what the Realm was like. Just to see him kneel to one knee and speak, 'It is like no other,
not one single mote of this darkness even so much as touches the land. . .' I cannot wait to see his kind face again, says he'll bring me another book, in a tenday, as Bekdil always says.


Limestone 22, 802
    59u Native Gold

        Ah! I must ask how they keep the light from burning out there![/b]


Limestone 25, 802
    31u Native Gold
    45u Tetrahedrite
    8u Galena


Limestone 28, 802
    65u Native Gold
    12u Galena

        They've brought a new face with them this time; they're a strange fellow I think. Smaller than any of us, covered in hair. But they're loud and fun.
The captain bears the most serious look I've seen about him as he converses with the short man, they stare at the walls long enough for more than a few torches to burn through.
I make sure to ask the bearded one my question, can you believe that he merely laughed? 'Ye mean the sun, boyo?' He bellowed with a chuckle, sure enough for all the Deferent Abyss to hear him.
They laughed all the same.

        But. . . He added something more. 'Shame ye'll never see it huh lad?' And that was all, he patted me on the back and the Armored Group decreed we'd move on to another vein of gold.


Sandstone 2, 802
    It takes some time for us to get set up again. This part of the cave is much, much tighter. Bekdil said they'd need me more than ever. Of course, I'd oblige,
but I used the opportunity to ask her what the 'Sun' was like. She was stunned, like it was a ridiculous question. 'You've seen it before when you were very young.' She said.
'You aren't missing a thing.' The way she spoke, she only made me more curious. . .


Sandstone 8, 802
    30u Native Gold
    128u Native Silver

        Silver. . . Shining, beautiful silver. My arms are tired.


Sandstone 27, 802
    I nearly forgot you existed, no I thought I'd lost you even. I'll do better to keep up writing in you, at least you won't turn away from me.


Timber 3, 802
    O' Sun so bright, ashine,
    Alight mine Silver Realm sublime,
    Osmos pluck me from this pit,
    New life wish I commit.


Timber 15, 802
    I can't take it. They keep sending me into deeper, tighter holes. The men keep joking that I won't crawl back out. Maybe next time I won't.


Timber 18, 802
    The Armored Group, not even all of us together could get past them.


Timber 22, 802 -- (( Day adventure began ))
    Bekdil Irumtokri, Bekdil Wavetwist. . . I finally spoke up about how I felt, that we should we all demand to be let out, she didn't take my grievances the right way.
Oh Bekdil. Bekdil. We raised our voices, echoes through the caverns beneath a shimmering trove of native silver. All I wanted was to bathe my eyes in the sun before I die. And now. Now. . .

    ( The writing trails off. When it picks up again, the script is marginally different, just enough so to suggest it was written later on that night. )

    She drew her knife, I know she didn't plan to use it, she only wanted the best for us, us forgotten few cast into these squalid halls. My greed, this lust, for that foolish dream.
I stepped forward to call her bluff, we struggled, I found my fingers tight around her carving blade's grip, the silver gleamed and danced against the torchlight, a crimson flow ran from her neck.
I gave one final look to the others, some returned with rage, others indifferent, some couldn't even muster to turn their heads and look. I bolted off into the endless dark.

    Oh Bekdil.

    Forgive me. I will pray forevermore that Omsos guides your spirit away from this place.


Timber 22, 802 -- Supplemental

    ( From here on, the penmanship is significantly worse than before. )

    Something snarled in the darkness. It knew that I was coming, disturbing its rest. A massive white bear was upon me, it tore my right index finger off with its bared fangs.
I drove Bekdil's knife into its head again and again before it crashed me against the stones. Before it stopped moving, it tore into my right leg. I think. . . I'll sleep here.


Timber 23, 802
    I cannot move my leg, I've never felt such pain. I'll rest here a while longer, maybe the dead bear's den will keep away any other deep creature's hoping to feast on me. At least I won't go hungry.


Timber 25, 802
    Somehow, I mustered the strength to drag my body further into the darkness. For what felt as an eternity I crawled and I crawled, in the far distance I swore that I could see light.
Thinking that it was the Deferent Abyss, I quickened my pace, but as the air grew dry and hot with each of my fingernails scraping into the fungal growths, I knew it was for naught.
I'd come upon a pool of magma. The warmth put me to sleep in an instant.


Timber 26, 802
    I wanted to rest longer, thinking maybe another cycle or two would be enough to get me back on my feet, but I'm still crumpling under the slightest pressure. I moved on, inching forward,
grabbing vermin and flora as I go to fill my rumbling stomach. As I write this now, I look down from the crest of the deepest pit imaginable. No light that I can muster from burning the bear fat can so much as grace the bottom.

    Maybe I should throw myself in. At least then Bekdil would not wander alone.


Timber 28, 802
    The sound of rushing water, it is both a good and bad sign. As I wave my torch above it, all manner of wriggling parasite ducks and hides. My mouth is parched, having been sated only by blood.
I quickly tear off my ragged shirt, using it as a filter to refill my waterskins, and so the water is good. Yet all the same, it is the only way forward, forward toward. . . Toward the Sun. I hope.

    I will cast myself into the murk when I muster the will.


Timber 28, 802 -- Supplemental
    Emerged from watery passages, with the intentions of turning in for a little while, drying out my toes against a flame. However, whence I rose my eyes from the infested drink,
several pairs more of voided slits are there to greet me. Their white scales gleamed against my dim bear-fat torch, each and all of them serpents in the shape of men.
Long have the miners of the Deferent Abyss spun tales of the serpent-folk as boogeymen, who'd swallow you whole soon as they'd look at you.
   
    I gave the first words and to my surprise they returned a greeting in kind. Glad for it, lest their darts and blowguns be trained my way. . . Six of them.
Some deep, inner part of me was saved in this moment, some part that believed all hope had died alongside Bekdil. Bekdil. I tell them of my plight, I tell them of the Sun, my journey to see it.
But they know nothing of such things, nothing beyond their little tribe. Not so unlike me. For hours I agonized over the thought of staying with them, living out the rest of my life as some disfigured pet to the beast kin.
But. . . But that would be an insult to Bekdil's spirit. I must continue, she is the only thing that keeps my muscles strong, pulling me forward.


Moonstone 3, 802 
    The beasts of the dark do not even seem to give heed to me anymore, the crocodiles, the giant toads, the bears, they merely allow my passage.
Perhaps I have become like they now, accepted into their fold, another creature shambling blindly into the infinite black. Perhaps I am even more pitiful a prey than wriggling earthworms on the fungal floors.
Or perhaps a guardian watches over me, delighting in my well-deserved suffering.

    Endless waterlogged passages, endless damp and cold, all of has left my leg festering. I will never walk again. But I haven't the heart to hack away the dead weight either.


Moonstone 7, 802
    I take only that which I need, nothing more. Omsos the Aquamarine of Earth, they are her sacred beasts, she imparts upon me images ever constant, images of Bekdil.
It is the labor she gives me to carve that image into my mind. I pick away with the old Mason's silver knife, where once tools and equipment lay, now this pack is full to burst of carven idols.
May this be my apology, my legacy. They will see the light cast over the Silver Realm as I. They must. . . Even if I wear my flesh down to the bone. They must see the light.


Here's a little taste of what's going on in the adventure thus far. Endless cavern wanderings. A young miner dragging themselves through the dark, acclimating to life as little more than a beast.

[Imic]

I'd like to request a place on the turn list again. I'm loving the story so far Unraveller, you have me hooked.

[Unraveller]

Thanks Imic! I'm glad. I scrawled that stuff out hastily without terribly too much thought last night. Glad it resonated somehow. Tangentially, Galka has become a many times over legendary swimmer in these caves, Superhuman Endurance and Toughness came quick. This is first time I've ever had an adventurer that spent all their time below. No fast travel in sight. Ever time I feel I stumble upon a way out, my hopes are dashed, just as Galka. Haha.

[Lurker Z]

Didn't read the whole story, but your best bet is to run into some underway passages. Some should be able to get you to the surface. I don't know how many player fortresses connected to the underground, then made doors for tired adventurers, but good luck on your adventure.

My fortress Eskōn has lots of entrances and exits to the underground, but there's the problem that some underground regions might not be connected to the rest.

[Unraveller]

Moonstone 10, 802
    This slight body of mine endures, it has grown strong. My flesh thick and undaunted by the sharpness of the earth. My muscles bringing me forth with ease.
My mind unperiled by that which shambles in the deep, for it is I who have become that very thing. I do not even bother drawing that silver blade to fell the beasts of this dark land,
nor do I bother whittling together torches to find my way. The sounds, the dripping of water, the barest movement of slick fur against rock and fungi. The feelings, the nigh imperceptible rush of damp,
thick air betraying the safety of each passage. I am a beast. I am a monster. I am no longer man.

    I fear that without you, without these bindings, without Osmos to focus my thoughts, without the image of my penitence to carve in each bone, in each flat stone. Without these things,
I would surely succomb to these primal urges. This desire to abandon all else for fangs and claws and the stoic embrace of the deep. There are cycles that I feel I am lost,
lost to the search so completely that I do not even feel a single thought come across my mind, that I wriggle through caverns, through tunnels, into deeper pits, submerged 'neathe flooded passages, all merely for the sake of it.

Moonstone 13, 802
    I must see it. I must see the Realm of Silver. The light, Bekdil. I must. I must.

Moonstone 16, 802
    (The following few entries are scrabbled discordantly.)

    I look away.
        All this time and I look away.
    Osmos punishes me.
            My eyes sear shut, occluded and pained.
    Osmos punishes me.
                    This warmth burns hotter than magma.
            It's unbearable.
    Bekdil punishes me.
        She punishes me.

Moonstone 17, 802
    I cannot go beyond. Forgive me.

Moonstone 18, 802
    She comes to me without end. No matter how far I retreat into the comfort below. Her blood spurting unceasingly.

Moonstone 20, 802
    This is not a life worth living.

Moonstone 20, 802 -- Supplemental
    O' Sun, O' Osmos, Aquamarine of the earth, O' Bekdil, take me now. I cast this body into the light. May your judgment be its final act. . .

Moonstone 20, 802 -- Supplemental
    Even now in these lids that demand to be closed can feel their gaze upon them. It is a flagellent pain. It is one I ask upon myself. My life is spared, my journey does not find its end.
It took more strength of will than ever I could imagine, propping myself against a stone, I rose both hands to these eyes. And to them these fingers. Opened.

    I saw. . .

   

   

    Beauty.

    For only a flash, and no more lest they never again be opened. An endless sea of white dust blinded me so, surrounded either way by spires of rock taller than any cavern's ceiling.
I sat there for a time, forgetting the bestial lust within me, forgetting the callousness of the world below. And now, now I must show Bekdil the world that her life's work had wrought, the Realm of Silver.

Moonstone 20, 802 -- Supplemental
    The air here was ever more frigid than the deepest caverns below, one gust blew through my tattered clothing and chilled me deep to the bone. But this air, I've never tasted anything so refreshing.
Even with my eyes firmly shut again, I decided to continue, to use my intuition and drag myself forth. Across the long stretches of endless white sand, infinitely easier than jagged rocks and constant parasites.
To my surprise, eventually, I began to hear the sound of rushing water, I drew closer and closer to the source until my body was half-submerged in the icy shallows. It stung my heart to its core, that coldness,
that coldness mixed with the warmth beaming down from on high. I lowered my mouth and drank my fill. Already I'd tasted something better than the air. I decided quickly that I must set my eyes upon it, I must retain this image forever.
Again I tore open my sight to immeasurable pain, and immeasurable gratitude as well.

   

    Yet I kept on, moving ahead, for in that brief moment the overwrought distance revealed a strange vision to me. A pull that I could not explain. Before long, my hand was against what I thought to be a tree.
But it was oh so much more.

   

    Devoid of any and all but the comforting dark, here I sit and write. But I cannot contain my excitement! I'll rest here for a little while longer and continue on. What wonders await me?

   

Moonstone 26, 802 -- Supplemental
    Twas oh so many. Just a few inching moments beyond the little wooden cave was an immense masoned statue, it bore a glorious image indeed, I had to look, how could I not? Though I cannot say of whom.
Their figure reminds me of the short man that the Armored Group's captain had brought to survey the Deferent Abyss.

   

   

    I will gladly sacrifice my eyes for the sights laid bare before them, three other wooded caves stand tall crossways about the place. I was able to bear the full weight of my decayed vision within them.
None empty as before. The first bore seemingly countless rows of vibrant thrones and tables too, each and all crafted with such care, such decorum. Never before had I been able to admire such work that reveled beyond the mundanity of pragmatism.

   

    The next was a greater sight even still. It was no coffin of wood, but rather a monolith of stone. Every block perfectly put in place by masters of their crafts, each one depicting a story far beyond the likes of me to recall.
Within? The floors refracted the light above in exquisite rays of azure and cobalt, this was a memorial hall no doubt. Statues lined the walls, some of the women as before, many others just the same, little squat men and women.
The figurines feel heavier in my pack. I will not forget this karmic debt, it is yet unpaid.

   
   

    The last of the constructions was perhaps the most grand. Never in my life had I felt beddings so sublime. The cloth and wood hugged my body tight as I cast myself upon them, for which I lay now writing this.
So many rows of fine beds, I wonder if the ruler of all the land lived in such luxury. The surface is indescribable truly. It's a silly thing, you whom read this, do you laugh at me now for my amazement in such novelties?
I will rest here for some time. Time enough to acclimate my eyes, time enough to carve.

   


So, originally I did not want to end Galka's journey about the abysm to end so soon and without much more incident. But eventually I came to realize that there isn't terribly a whole lot more to talk about when it came to it. I definitely wanted to include more drama, especially toward the discovery of the surface, but ultimately much of that would be fabricated. Sure, it wasn't so dynamic an ascent, fraught with danger, but it's so much more than it reads, at least toward the young man. Imagine their perspective best as you can. Aside from that, endless wanderings in those caves aren't exactly the most. . . Fun so to speak. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it deeply for all the time it gave me to think, but it took many, many hours IRL to actually find a location that led up into the surface. Essentially my thought was to try for every cave until I found a connection. Had this last one not worked out, Galka would have been bound for Deepvaulted. Which I feared deeply, that nearly century's old place. Who knows what horrors still lurk there, even after descents from those the likes of Lonleythrall.

Spoiler: Map of the general path Galka took beneath the earth. (click to show/hide)

I know it doesn't look like much, but believe me, it took a month in game to actually get from the north to south there!

EDIT Part of the post got cut off. Fixed it.

[Unraveller]

Moonstone 24, 802
    A lumbering figure, standing no less than twice my size. I watched it through strained eyes as the Sun fell deep in the sky, rendering the land more softly to my sunken sight.
The tusked creature loomed about the shrine for a while too long, with great snorts it took in my scent more likely than not. It was a troll, and not the first I'd ever seen.
But in those times I'd stood shoulder to shoulder with a score of other miners, picks slung over our shoulders. Here and now it was just myself, and it.
A streak of the days below came back to me, my head calmed itself, await for the moment to pass. Until the beast took a handful of my carvings, that I'd left to sit before the sacred place.
It blew a single chortling breath upon them and crushed the bone figures of Bekdil underhand.

    In that moment, I saw nothing but rage.

    I could not blame the troll for its actions, nor was my heart so heavy for what I'd done in return to it. And yet still, I set its bones down where it stood, now in the shape of a memorial to the beast's life,
just as well I wrap myself in its furs, for chill is terrible here. My carvings have taken on the likeness of Bekdil ever-greater day by day, moment by moment, and still, my heart aches.
I will do this labour given to me with all the strength I can muster.

Opal 3, 802
    My eyes have begun to open once more, even under threat of the blistering Sun. The endless flatlands of white sand are still difficult yet to look upon, but in time I will adjust. I must.
On this day, earlier, my stores of meat from deep below had begun to dry up. I needed new food. And so of course I set out to hunt, but these great open plains were not my choice grounds.
The wild beasts whom root around in the flora amongst them can see me long before I approach, even with my body so close to the ground. Rather, I wriggled my way into the rivers,
there I could move faster than any man on foot. In no time I had dove forth, snapping the neck of a creature not unlike the cavern crocodiles below, but I was not privy to my spoils just yet. . .

    The first face I'd seen aside from Bekdil's for what felt as a lifetime appeared to me.

   

    I climbed out of the river, but I could not find my words at first. They were choaked within my throat. Yet. . . The squat man did not give me the chance to speak up. Without pause,
he charges forward at me, smashing his knuckles into my face, sending me reeling back into the river. I clambered up the other side, my voice cracked through.

   

    I chose to flee, it seemed they were not so eager to leap into the water. I swam down river quite a ways, yet I myself had no intentions of leaving behind my penitent idols,
the thought hadn't even crossed my mind at that moment. They did not relent however, the man and another alongside them tracked me down, I imagine it was none too difficult given the distinct trail I'd left behind.
The pair had caught me out amidst the sand. No matter how adept I'd become at dragging myself forth, they bore the strength of legs that I had not.

   
   

    No amount of words would reason with the little men. They pressed on. And so. . . They underestimated this deep dweller. As the light dwindled, I had carven figures for they, to add beside the troll.
This fate is cruel. It has changed me. Even as I gaze at my image reflected in the clear waters, I realize, I will never return to being that hopeful young miner. I can only imagine that they mistook me for a wild beast.
They had seen through this guise of flesh.

Opal 4, 802
    I did not merely sleep off those disdainful feelings. I took them and put them into my craft, molded them, another row of idols looked back at me with the innocent face of the person whom cared for me most.
I counted them then, each and every one. Rows upon rows upon rows of work; the first labour given to me. Six-hundred-sixty faces of Bekdil Wavetwist looked back at me,
I could make out the clear distinction between those I'd carved below the earth and the most recent. And though they filled the room to its absolute heights, I felt no closer to forgiving myself, or for her forgiveness.

    I cast out all but the absolute essentials within my pack, and for the next few hours I stuffed every last figurine in or strapped around the thing. When at last I threaded my arms through the leather sack fit to burst,
and forced myself forward, its immense weight came down upon me with a shattering heave. A great thump echoed through these lands, my back nearly buckling under it.
Had Osmos not tested me, not hardened my body for so long within the depths, then I surely could not have moved it an inch. Such was merely another labour handed down to me.
Should true salvation be my goal, should I truly regret the act that I committed, then this pack will become lighter than air, and I shall see it to Omon Obin. The Realm of Silver.

Opal 4, 802 -- Supplemental
    It was not long, dragging this weight with me alongside the flowing water that I happened upon another short figure. I was wary, readying myself for conflict. Yet, as I inched closer I realized.
This man was dead, their arm, a leg scattered about. Their flesh was paler than the white sands, I suspect they've been dead for a long, long time. Untouched by rot for the unbearable cold.

   

    I cannot help but feel deflated at the sight. Fallen to the beasts of the waters where I had lived. This man was no different than the other two that had beset upon me, kinsman perhaps.
In that moment I had hoped that he would have seen reason unlike the others. But in my mind's eye, I see him drawing his blade much like the rest. But such a fate did not occur.
I gathered the small man's body, and the pieces, just the same I hefted him over my back and slowly crawled back toward the shrine. In the Deferent Abyss, it was not uncommon to inter fallen miners,
death was all around us in those days. We would take the fungiwood and fashion boxes for lack of better words, and seal the dead within, then bury that box deep inside the earth for an eternal rest.
I will do the same for this lonely one. May he be with his gods and his people once more.

   

    As I was moving his body into the casket, something clattered out of a pouch. It was a little die like that ones that the older miners would cast.
It rolled, it rolled and it rolled until it stopped upon a narrow crescent much like the Sun that took over when the bright one fell. Instantly a strange feeling washed over me,
the weight of my pack had lightened ever so slightly. That odd die, I took it along with me, I hope that the spirit of the fallen man will not damn me for such an act. . .

   

    Tomorrow my journey truly begins.


OOC: I hadn't realized until I dug a little deeper. The curiosity got to me, a dead dwarf out here? Well it turned out that the cave that Galka managed to climb himself out of was Blowechoes the Scars of Coal. A site owned by the Vessel of Life, which if you paid attention to Cog's appearance, you'd note is part of the Walled Dye! Turns out just seven dwarves lived in the cave, though I didn't see any until later on. The two most definitely attacked Galka on sight, which I found strange, but more curious. That isn't the best part though. Turns out that the dead dwarf is none other than Logen Belabras, or Logen Greyseer, one of the very early adventurers! Played by Imic, in 714 he was eaten up by an alligator and left amidst the frigid cold, undecomposed. Now he rests entombed in Lengthgear. I really enjoy this part of the Museum games.

[Unraveller]

Opal 5, 802
    An early start today, I took one last look upon the comfortable confines of the shrine that I've come to know as my home for a goodly while. It is a quiet place, serene,
had I not this desire to see the Realm of Silver, to see all that our work in the Deferent Abyss has helped to support, then I may have just stayed here. Happy to ply my carvings until I grew old.
A place like this, it alleviates the impure thoughts within me, it focuses this mind back to humanity for which in the last month or more I sorely lacked. Should we see Omon Obin in all its glory,
then I think I will come back and settle down here.

    I set myself and the heavy burden I carry out again beside the river, as I write this now, another structure is set on the horizon, it glistened a bright cyan under the middling light above.
Such beauty. The building looms over a tiny collection of what I assume to be homes.

   

Opal 5, 802 -- Supplemental
    Such cruelty, this fate. Such cruelty. I ask Osmos, Aquamarine of the Earth. I ask Etu Lovelycherished, and Loli Fairclearing as well; have I not paid my karmic due? No. What a ridiculous question.
I had brought myself up to the cliffside where the microline structure sat, surely the seat of power in this place. I lay outside the double doors of the place, I could hear movement within.
Truth be told it wracked my nerves ever so slightly. In that moment I could only think of the short folk who met their sad end at my hands. I swallowed those trepidations, and had opened the door.

   

    What I had seen then, a pair of figures, human I thought. And another, a body slumped upon the ground bloodied and dessicated. A rush of air came over me, the stink of death and decay had filled my nostrils with
a stench so putrid that I retched and recoiled. The sound I made, or maybe it was my mere presence, caused the two to snap toward me. It was then I realized they were something else, I had no words, nor did they.
Their faces were palour, and bore an expression most hollow, with an ethereal haste they darted forth against me, the shock had left me stunned. A leg connected with my body, kicking me back out into the light,
and so they followed, bringing their reeking scent. Nothing could have halted their advance, no sacred words, no hopeful promises, they'd only the look of dead things on their still moving visages.

    I drew the silver carving knife that had put an end to Bekdil Wavetwist, for I could not escape.

    They do not tire. They do not succomb to pain. They twist their limbs in fashions beyond the purview of mortal men. Have they wills of their own? Or are they creatures possessed solely by malice?
I drove the silver edge into their bodies again and again, countless times as I pushed myself quickly off the ground with the great strength afforded to me to evade their onslaughts.
They did not cease their vile movements until every last drop of blood was spilled out onto the earth. They looked oh so very much human.

   

   

    As I rest now here, I crawled into the microline building and whisper a short prayer to the man whom had fallen to them earlier. A man whom I so desperately wish could hear my words, to share a laugh,
one that after so long I yearned for. It did not come. In the decayed interior I came upon a gleaming knife of bronze metal, I took it up as my prize. Looking over the blade that Bekdil had left for me,
it was tarnished and gnarled from the battle, I could not afford it any more damage.

   

    After a little longer yet I'll look out over the buildings below. I pray it is not the same within.

Opal 5, 802 -- Supplemental
    I sit now in the square of the little hamlet, 'Sizzleoils' spoke a sign outside. To a horror that had not registered in that moment, the symbol of Omon Obin blazed beside it.
This was the Realm of Silver that the captain of the Armored Group had so fervently spoke about. This was the Realm of Silver that I dreamt of seeing. This was the Realm of Silver that Bekdil died for,
surely I see now the makings of why the subject oft' sealed her and the older miners' lips. The homes here are empty husks of fallen, rotted wood. I imagine it was those creatures that drove them all out.
No bodies, just emptiness.

   

    I know for certain my ancestral homeland sprawls greater than just here. I must continue on, for Bekdil's sake. For my sake.

Opal 5, 802 -- Supplemental
    Gearedseige, the sister to Sizzleoils, its sight is much the same to my dismay. My spirit sinks deep into my stomach as I pick through the wreckages no sign of anyone ever having lived here save the disheveled buildings.
With a heavy heart I will continue upward, to the hall overlooking this place. But not without my knife ready.

    It was inevitable.



    I can barely so much as breathe. My lungs sting at each sigh, my bones radiate pain. I had opened the place like Sizzleoils before it; another of the hollow monsters there stood over another saddened corpse.
This was unlike the two before it; clad in orange armour, wielding in one limp arm a massive maul. I steeled what will I could muster despite the day's trials, hoping that I could pierce its hide to bleed it dry.
But no such luck would come. We battled out into the decayed field, my pace unable to keep up with its onslaught proper, it could punish any and all mistakes I made with deadly force, and to it I felt my sting was no worse than a mosquito.
The light had fallen in the sky during our clash, I caught myself briefly on thick brush, long enough for the hollow one to smash my left arm with its hammer, rendering it useless.

    Thereafter I cannot recall so clearly. Whence my wounds had grown dire, a primal part of me took over. The same side that had seen me through the tribulations below the earth.
I morphed into that very same beast who bite the throats out of cave bears without a second thought.

   

    I am exhausted. I will rest here.

Opal 6, 802
    On the horizon I see it, a massive collection of buildings, from here they look to be intact. A sign I had passed earlier named this place 'Partnerdaub', a true gem of civilization.
But I was wary, and yet I strove forward, the weight of my pack growing heavier and heavier still.

Opal 6, 802 -- Supplemental
    Beautiful. Magnificent.

    It has been a true lifetime since I laid eyes upon my own kind, people. Living, breathing, laughing people inhabit this place. They are not overcome by some palid curse that leaves them little more than malefic husks, no.
There is so much vibrance here, from market squares of those selling every type of good imaginable to places of worship. I am in awe. Truly, honestly. And though I bore the strange looks of passersby for my shambling
through the streets wearing a bag overloaded by countless idols all carved of bone, all with the very same face, still I was fulfilled. In truth I could not manage to eek out a conversation before I sat down to write.
I made attempts, few, yes, the first thoughts on my mind were for Sizzleoils and Gearedseige, I asked for what I could but it seemed each and every man and woman dismissed me, pointed me toward the castle and sent me on my way.

    So be it.

    From what I understood, The Sloppy League ruled here, though no one could divulge the leader. Regardless it seemed the folk here were very quite busy with their lives and had no time for the disfigured cave dweller
crawling in their city raving about monsters. I do not blame them, I will seek out the lord here at once. But for now. . . For now I'll take a moment's respite, sitting at a quiet shrine overlooking Partnerdaub.
I suddenly recalled the twenty-sided dice that had been left to me by the old, old short one. A mountain; I can't help but smile.

   

Opal 6, 802 -- Supplemental

   

    Good fortune indeed. Good fortune. 'Tis surely my only salvation here. Now I write from the outskirts of Partnerdaub, my hands tremble, fear and rage intertwined. I went to see the lord, yes.
As the populace suggested I do. At that time I ignored their shifty eyes and strange glances, filing such thoughts away as merely the oddness of my personage. But I should have seen through it,
should have seen that something was amiss. I moved forward through the great gates of the citadel, there was awe, yes. But I have no mind to write about it. Imagine the surprise upon my face when I see. . .

   

    A sea of congealed blood flood neathe their boots, a score of them, the same haunting looks on their drained faces as they all snap toward me, as if they could sense the my simple livingness.
I scrambled away fast as I could, the weight of my many figurines becoming ever more apparent, even though the travels had strengthened my muscles so great. As fortune would have it then,
it seemed the weight of their arms and armour, grey or silvery, kept them from giving proper chase. I had been able to find myself corridors and halls from which to squirrel my body into, picking up momentum as I broke out into a mad dash,
or climb I suppose. Between here and there I crossed two rivers until at last I felt no lingering sense of dread.

    The people of Partnerdaub, I am convinced that they feed these horrid, these twisted humans. For what dark purpose I cannot say. Such musings are beyond the comprehension of a simple miner.
I will find no succor here. Even though Omon Obin appears glorious to my deprived eyes, it is beginning to look like a false glory. The roads lead onward.

Opal 7, 802
    Corpses line the streets of every village I come through, the further north I travel, the worse overrun these places become. These Blighted Thralls ransack the living without purpose, merely fulfilling some innate need to destroy.
There is a part of me that resonates. I choose not to avoid any of these places, not one. Whether they be abandoned and ruined, or in the midst of chaos and bloodshed. I must see all of Omon Obin with my eyes,
lest when one of these monsters inevitably strikes me down, I wish to look upon Bekdil once more and beg forgiveness.

   

Opal 8, 802
    I am no hero, I slink, I crept along the earth through each hamlet, watching as the few meager remnants of my people are torn apart or worse, transfigured into yet more monsters.
Today I have witnessed the very source of the Blighted creatures birth. I laid low in the tall grasses, watching as a hammerman tore out of a home with one of the hollow figures on their trails.
He did not fare well, not nearly as I had been fortunate enough to when accosted by the beasts.

   

    The transformation was instantaneous. There mere sinking of its teeth into the man's flesh seemed to drive all the life away from him. It was sapped and dispersed into the air never to be seen again.
A disease. It is a disease of madness and of hunger. This Blight, the 'Obin Blight'. It has swept across the Realm of Silver callously, choosing the very same moment that my fate has been tasked with escaping the Deferent Abyss.
Such is karmic retribution. No longer do I condemn the people of Partnerdaub, they keep their Blighted kin locked away in the castle, feeding them strangers in hopes to pacify them. Maybe in hopes to one day cure their ails.

   

    They did not cease their battle. Continuing to hack away at one another until all the blood had been drained. The very next moment the victor had spotted me, intending to do the same. I had no choice but to slit its throat handily.

   

    This place, Stabbedechoes was probably the worst of the disease I'd seen. The few survivors either bar themselves in their huts or make desperate attempts to flee only to be bitten and overcome with the desire to consume.
I keep a vigilant eye now, even as I write this, sitting below a statue of Mucka, the Great Horned Owl diety governing the wind, sky, stars, and darkness. The former three spheres wholly new to me, but the last. . . Not so.
She watches over me even in this festering place. Enough so that I may rest.

Opal 9, 802
    Picking through the rubble of yet another empty hamlet, thankfully none of the Blighted ones to be seen, I come across something that I sorely missed. I hadn't realized it until my eyes laid upon it.
A magnificent pickaxe, its blade sharp as ever, gleaming a dull silver. The sudden glee, no, the nostalgia that I felt when I hefted the thing over a shoulder with my one good arm, it was something I cannot describe.
I could not stop myself from thinking back on the Deferent Abyss, the miners going on with their lives, fulfilled by their work. Dangerous, yes. But full of camaraderie, time flows by quicker than one realizes.
I imagine they're still down below, picking away at golds and silvers and metals more to feed into Omon Obin, untouched by the Blight. But now, seeing the state of things I wonder where all our effort has gone, all these years.

    Only to be torn apart.

    I feel a pained fury welling up within me, I nearly break the tip of my dulled quill. So much toil, so much suffering, all with thoughts to a better tomorrow for the people above. I wish I'd been more of a coward,
never having the gall to talk back to Bekdil. At least then I wouldn't be subject to this horror. At least then we could all continue with our sing-song labour, and a meaningless death could have been avoided.
Such thoughts. They show me that I am still weak. The Aquamarine of Earth continues to test me, to strengthen me. Am I chosen for some great purpose? No. I am merely a penitent, broken man. . .

Opal 10, 802

   

    Scarletbronze, a town that rivals that of Partnerdaub. No overwhelming sense of awe or majesty is afforded to me this time, not even as I see living folk here or there. They are decided more scarce in this place,
at least across the roads, many of them holed up in their homes, quarantined from the oncoming disease. The people here do not put on any guises, there is a distinct fear in their eyes. When looking upon me,
one or two no doubt assume at once that I'm an infected ghoul come to spread my progeny. But there is a spark of life in me yet. I can make no conversation with these folk, no, I drag myself straight to the castle here with purpose,
casting my immense backpack off in the street.

   

    I breathe deeply. Blood is spattered about. I know what I will find.

   

    The Blighted Thralls poured out of the keep with haste toward me, sensing my life. Each and every one of them garbed and armored like the soldiers they were before. I assume the disease began with the nobles,
maybe some divine curse for their exploitation of poor, humble folk like the miners of the Deferent Abyss. Serves them right, I feel no pause raising my iron pick, nor letting it fall.

   
   
    Unable to easily gore their heads, I elected to sweep the legs out from 'neathe them, bringing the hollow figures down to my level that I may end their sad torment. As I swung for one of the beast's legs,
it lurched forward, mouth agape. That moment, there was no time, I twisted away as fast as I could. Just enough to escape a similar fate.

   

   

    With ease, like crushing rock for ore, blood gushed out of the viscera where the monsters' heads once were. I poured every last bit of my strength into each blow, crashing through armour a tearing them apart.
Their lumbering movements were no match for the alacrity of my body, built by the labours of Osmos. Yet still strikes found their mark, breaking the bones of my already deadened limbs. So be it. I have no need for them, begone fear. . !

   

    When at last it was done, I surveyed my work. All the men who once called themselves the leaders of Scarletbronze, overtaken by disease and transformed into monsters -- they lay still in castle keep.
I brought myself out from the castle, onto the streets to collect my bag. A face or two crept out of their doors to see me, a shambling man, bearing great wounds, trailing crimson abaft. I called to one, "Where lies the capital of these lands?"

    ". . . Entrancegrape, the east." One croaks.

    And then another, "You will find the law-giver of Omon Obin there, Sutar Taxedpuzzle."

    I head east. My journey, my labour, still incomplete.


OOC: Had Galka Linarad not spent so much time swimming and wrestling cave monsters through the entirety of Timber, I doubt he'd have the physical prowess to deal with any of this. These Blighted Thralls are no joke! Hope you folks are enjoying this one, it's been a long time since I've played Dwarf Fortress. As it happens, I'm almost done reading everything up to the present. Here's to another century?!

Hope there's still enthusiasm for this, since I've quite a bit!

[Quantum Drop]

Excellent story, Unraveller; this has definitely gotten me hooked! Can't wait to see how this develops.

[Unraveller]

Finishing up my fortress and I'll send out the final post for this one tonight! Having a lot of fun. It's been ages, last time I participated in the Museum was the second incarnation. Though I always feel it was overshadowed by the legendary first. And of course now the ascendant third. Haha. I really do hope we keep on going for a while yet.

[Unraveller]

Opal 11, 802
   

    A chance encounter nearly had me striking up a proper conversation, though my words were quite rusty, as I happened upon a traveler, Cobar, while the both of us entered the hamlet of Wordsscald.
Regretably, I could not so much as ask the man what his business was on the road, any such notions were ruined as a farmer, mad with the Obin Blight, burst from their hovel and nigh instantly dug their
ivories deep into Cobar's shoulder. Within seconds he too was a slavering, hollowed out shell of his former self. I had no choice but to put the both of them down.

   

    Every home here in Wordsscald is rife with the same sights, one or two of the Blighted Thralls looming endlessly over a corpse as I batter the door. Couples I suspect, that have succombed to the disease
and are filled with an overwhelming urge to slay their own kin, or kith, or otherwise. The closer I draw toward this Entrancegrape, the tighter my grip on this pick becomes, though I do not truly know what
my aim is when I arrive -- I must see this Sutar Taxedpuzzle. Lord of all Omon Obin

    Without a moment's rest I drew myself from door to door, creaking each and every one open and without fail the same scene would play out. An innocent soul corrupted by the blight would streak forth wordlessly,
desiring nothing more than to bare its teeth into my body, and to them I would cast down the iron pick. I made no sudden movements, never, I didn't have the luxury of missteps or rash action, mine was a patient,
smoldering fury. Even so, things appeared grim more often than not.

   

    I awaited the day that I would become like they, or perhaps in this wanton killing, I already have.

    A sight darted past me in the late hours of the night, a figure who's gait was not so horrific. Chased by a pair of the Blighted Thralls, the armored pikeman crashed through another wooden door to make his final stand.
And he would be joined. He was cornered, to the gods he said his prayers, raising his weapon for battle. Abaft, I arrived, splitting into the head of one of the thralls just as he had cloven the other one asunder.
We were quiet then for a moment more, looking on at one another. He had said then, breaking the quiet, "Who the hell're you s'posed to be? Urist McClaus?" The joke was lost on me at the time, completely,
referring to the overstuffed pack weighing me down.

   

    Dur was the one to continue speaking, he seemed to have a knack for it that I did not. "It sure is nice to see a friendly face. I take it you ain't here for a vacation." Those were the words that flowed out of his mouth
as he rested the pike upon himself. Before I could respond he added quite straightfowardly, "So, ya gonna help me clear this ol' place out fer me wife, or ya just gonna stan -- er, sit there?" How could I refuse?
The man simply had a way with words. Together the two of us charged out into the streets, drumming up as much noise as we possibly could with abandon, the living who dwelled hear, I imagine could only see us as
insanity-driven, mad, no concept of self-perserverance whatsoever. They were likely correct.

    Side by side, strangers though we were, the night wheeled by as wave after wave of the infected townsfolk shuddered forth. Between my pick, and his pike, we must have put down thirty of the sad men, women,
and children who could not control their violent urges. Dur grew tired, his swipes, his pace, it had all slowed. I did what I could, but it is no surprise that sudden action is not my forte. A bronze knife had plunged itself
by way of the thralls, piercing his lungs. A mortal wound. As he doubled over, I ended the beast rightly. Thereafter, I shuffled him gently to unsullied house. There, the pikeman, the stranger Dur. There he took his last
few breaths. Some delirium must have overtaken him in those final moments.

   

    He called out a name that meant nothing to me, they must have been one of his old friend that we'd slain together. No, that we put to proper rest together. I could say nothing even so, the accusation shocked me for
oh so many reasons that you might understand if you'd read along. And just like me, Dur turned inward, he held upon my shoulder.

   

    Aye. Aye. . . "You did the right thing." I affirmed it, I believed it. I still believe it. At last, he spoke of his wife, Strospi, and their unborn child too. Think he'll name it Galka. The fool. . .

   
   

    This is a life worth living. He breathed his last, hero to Wordsscald. I merely came along. Though I'd only known the man for a handful of hours, it was a dire blow to my heart. But his spirit will go on, and have no
trouble with judgement passed down by the gods. My pack is as heavy as ever. I remained here, with him for a time, carving an idol for the man as I had done so many before.
 
   
 
Opal 13, 802
    Flaxplays, how quiet this hamlet. I knew the sound, that eerie lack of sound. No beasts flying overhead, no insects chirping midst the grasses. No sounds of bustle within, neither from man nor its corrupted counterpart.
It could only mean that the latter of the won out here, that no clean-blooded folk remain. My first glance down the main thoroughfare confirmed such suspicion. Deep crimson X marks were hastily dyed onto each and every door,
demarking the entire village under quarantine. It does not sway my resolve, this desire, this need to see all that Omon Obin is, to see what it will be. Yes, yes I do despise the state of my people. I despise the thought of my good
friends, the people who were and always shall be my family, the thought of their century's long history of mining to be squandered. But as of now, I still do not know who is to blame, if anyone is to blame.

    That night, one of the many doors I opened -- As ever, I raised my pick, ready to strike at the first hollow face it came across. A shape made itself known within, and so I let it fall. They let out a howl, or more a yelp, and
I barely managed to halt my blow in time. A young boy, maybe half my age or younger still, clad in ill-fitting armour clanked forth, taking hold of an iron blade just as tall as he, and lowering it my way, no doubt thinking I was
to be yet another thrall with a massive growth of cancerous flesh ready to do him in. I shouted, something along the lines of, "Fool! Don't stay in a place like this!"

   

    What if the realm's army had marched through in hopes to cleanse the infected, abandon towns, with flames? Let alone putting yourself among the blighted ones. He couldn't muster a response, raising the oversized guard
on his helmet to see me proper. I told him to sit tight right where he was and slammed the door shut. The commotion I made had drawn the attention of those that dwelled there. . .

   

    Turot, his name was, I learned it so as I wiped the corrupted blood from my pick. He was the last survivor of the Obin Blight here in Flaxplays, couldn't leave it, didn't know where else to go he said. He did not grieve for
the loss of his people, no tears were in his eyes, only a desire to survive. The boy was admirable, he reminded me of the same boy who cast himself into the darkness below the earth. I took pity on him.

    Together the two of us put Flaxplays behind. Finding a goodly hill to rest upon just as the Sun crested the horizon.[/i]

Opal 15, 802
    When we awoke, eating on the rations I'd kept, Turot's head was awash with questions for me, always more questions. To list a few;
    'Where'ya from?'
    'What did you do there?'
    'Why did you leave?'
    'What's with all the figures?'
    'What's wrong with your legs?'

    It was difficult to answer some of which he wanted to know, but I did not feel a need to hide such things from him. I spoke my all that had occurred, I spoke of the regretful death of Bekdil Wavetwist,
I spoke of the long days spent in those caves, I spoke of carving each and every last one of these six-hundred-sixty figures as my penitence, and driving myself onward up to here as another part of the forgiveness
I sought. Can you imagine what he said? No judgments, no hate, just simply, 'Why don't you just pray, and tell her that you're sorry?' He could not have realized how his good-natured words had shocked me so,
had made me recall the feelings that welled up within after I'd cast that die the first day I'd come across it.

    Even so, Turot did not linger on the topic, next from his mouth was this, 'So, you're heading to The Museum right?' The Museum? I pressed it, returned the question. And so we stayed encamped until the next day,
he recanted many things through the voice of his mother. Of this Boltspumpkin, of the Museum it held, filled to the brim with stories and objects from countless legendary heroes in the last hundred years. I was enraptured,
I'd never heard such stories save the few that the Captain would regale us in those mines. He looked on at me with such awe, pegging me as the same breed who'd slay ancient foes of man, who'd sojourn on epic quests,
and who'd return with storied songs. But I was no hero, and Boltspumpkin was not my destination.

   

    'First we must get you somewhere safe.' I said.

    'I'll come with! Ya seem. . . Lonely.' He replied.

    Turot is an frenetic boy, but he puts a smile to my face. For the first time since I've begun this craft, I gently carved a momento of him to keep.

Opal 16, 802
    Following his guide, we arrive in Weatherponder. To our good fortunes, the place is devoid of any and all blight so far as I can tell. It was a good change. The people here are wary of strangers to an extent, this I can understand.
And yet even so Turot manages to hold good conversation here and there. I decide that I must speak with the leadership here, in hopes to better understand the situation, maybe they can shed light on this disease, seeing as their
people are unaffected. Turot manages to set us up with an audience, many abbots of the local order seem to rule here, thankfully, I am a devout man.

Opal 18, 802
    What is wrong with me? Turot passes me strange glances from the camp. I submerge my head 'neathe the river, guzzling, guzzling. Yet I cannot slake my thirst. This dryness in my mouth. I must truly be accursed.
Is this another labour handed down to me from on high? Have I not done enough to show my regret? I detest it.

    Let me recall the prior night's events. . .

   

    When, that night we stood before the Permanency of Chains, the main hall there in Weatherponder, I could feel something amiss in the air. I demanded that Turot stay back to his dismay, then released my bag,
he would watch over Bekdil. I did not so easily forget what I'd seen, and what I'd done in Partnerdaub and Scarletbronze. After a few steps more, the clamor I heard from on burst out into an absolute cacophony of battle.
Greenskinned little men, twisted and gnarled for who I have only heard storied as goblins rush in, out, and around the hall, chased away and killed by armoured men. Crimson flowed free against a backdrop of frigid snow,
painting that white canvas so fatally. This was not my fight. I laid low, I could do nothing but watch.

   

    In the chaos, in the clamour, I'd spotted something. It was a sight I could not explain so easily. As the green folk died in the snow, I looked inward, a number a fat abbots within garbed in white looked on as their guards
dealt mortal blows, all of which bearing a sense of dread, or fright on their faces, perhaps it was an attack? But one of them, a pale figure, thin, they could not hold back the wicked smile on their face as they watched the
slaughter. And I could not take my eyes off her, drawn to that gaze, that flesh stretched gauntly over high cheekbones. The shadow of the abbey hid her well behind the others, but my eyes were well adapted to the dark,
a dark that I could tell this woman used herself.

    As the fighting neared its close, she rose both arms and whispered black words. Before anyone had realized it, a body shambled to life within, the spitting image of those Blighted Thralls I'd cut a swath through to get her.
I could not hold back, bursting from the snow I did proclaim --

   

    The look of surprise on all the abbots' faces at the sight of a man quickly crawling toward them, pickaxe in hand was one thing, but it did not even come close to the shock that was apparent within that woman's eyes.
She recoiled back into the hall as I charged forth, it was only then that the clergymen realized the hust within their midst, their soldiers running far off to chase down goblin kind. With one mighty swing I'd lain low the Thrall,
and readied myself for the pallid abbot who hid away. I called to her, and she called back -- Uja Hoodbathed her name, and I, Galka Kinddrummed had ruined her plan. I imagine the goblins were a distraction, a scapegoat
as well for her to propagate and blame the Obin Blight on.

    It was no matter, I wasn't thinking of such at the time. My mind was overcome with fury. Not a fury for my plight, and my frustrations, but rather for the people I have come to know over my journey, and for my desiccated
homeland. I think to Dur, and to Turot the most, and how this blight destroyed that which they held dear. In my rage, I made mistakes. Uja surged forward toward me, spitting venom in her words, her speed was unmatched by any
beast I'd ever seen before. With unearthly power, she drove her bronzed dagger through my one good arm, the pain causing me to drop my only weapon. However, she gave up her only advantage. I had tensed all the muscles in
my strengthed arm, keeping the blade lodged firmly in the wound. And in that moment too, I took her down by the throat squeezing as hard as I could.

   

    But no amount of force could seem to suck the life out of her, nor did it keep the words in her mouth, 'I curse you! I curse you! I curse you! She repeated again and again, clawing at me with her dagger-like nails, casting my
blood all over the abbey. That old Galka, the one who slunk through slick caverns and preyed on blind beasts in the deep and the dark came forth.

   

    I tore into her neck with the only weapon left to me, her blood like a vile ichor singing my tongue.

   

    I rent her to pieces in gruesome, primal fashion. Putting an end to who I thought to be the progenitor of the Obin Blight. The clegy folk did not utter a word to me thence as I slunk out of the hall, I would not wait for their
guard to return to see me put to the sword. I crawled back toward Turot who waited anxiously. He came over to my side to lift me upon his shoulder, I had lost too much blood, and soon after, consciousness.

    And so now, here I am, by the river. Fearing that I bear an even darker disease. . .

Opal 20, 802
    Two days later we stood before the castle of Entrancegrape, within, supposedly, was the lord of all Omon Obin. The Law-giver to the people of the Realm of Silver. In truth, even then I did not know what I had precisely come for.
I suppose in that moment it was comeuppance. For the Deferent Abyss, for Bekdil, for all the people of the 'glorious' Realm of Silver. Turot begged me to let him join me, but I could not, I could not bear to see him under duress,
not if within those walls was a cabal of ghoulish and hateful monsters like that of Uja Hoodbathed. Again, he was set to watch over Bekdil and wait for my return.

    'If I should not, live well.'

    It was all I could manage at that time, my thoughts so clouded.

   

    I opened the gate. And within. . .

   

    Blight. I was sickened in that moment. For the armoured beast, so lacking any thoughts, any soul, any humanity, with a drive only to consume the flesh of the living, that very thrall, suffused with blight did not even seem to
realize my presence. It did not look my way even as I approached. I slew it where it stood, so as to not be drowned by that realization. Thereafter I was standing before the lord, Sutar Taxedpuzzle, no more thralls in sight.
I bit my tongue at the words I wished to speak then, he was of course, my king.

   
   

    He would not budge, he would not even so much as confirm the existence of the Obin Blight. Even when I dragged the disease ridden corpse to his doorstep. No, that is when something upon his expression changed.
I demanded he do right by his people, and he responded in kind.

   
   

    With a snap of his finger, descending from the heights of the central keep was another monster, this one looked to be a true foe.

   

    Sutar sicked their blighted hound upon me without a thought, without a care in the world. His aloof actions. . . They pained the core of my being. They pained the person that I'd become after the many labours given to me,
after my sorrowful journey. I danced out of the path of the beast's weapon;

   

    It fell upon its master's head with a sick crunch. Killing the corrupt law-giver instantly. I suppose you could say this too was karmic retribution. . . There is nothing more to speak of the incident at Entrancegrape.

    I emerged, feeling no more victorious for all that had come. I could only hope that my actions have polished the realm's sheen. Tarnished still as it is. I have seen all that Omon Obin has to offer, I have completed this trial,
and I am better for it. I grow weary. Perhaps it is time that I stop living in the past, and look ahead.

   
    Galka Kinddrummed closes shut his thickly bound journal for the last time, the same book that has survived all of his tribulations. "Come on then boy." He begins, a world-weariness in his rasping voice.

    "Where to next?" Turot asked. Helping the begrudging crippled man secure his heavy pack.

    "The day is young. And you've still a dream to fufil, no?" Galka's lips pursed into a bit of grin, he couldn't hold it back.

    "You don't mean. . ?!"

    "I do."

   
    One month later they say a well-traveled man with arms like tree-trunks lumbered into the castle of Boltspumpkin without taking a single step, a leather backpack filled to the brim and overstuffed with carvings, a young boy riding on top, half-awake. A new item, or. . . Items were left in a quiet little corner in the heights of the eponymous Museum. A collection of sixhundred-sixty well-carven figurines, each bearing the visage of a human woman, Bekdil Wavetwist. A testament to the penitence of their little-known creator. Beneath the submission, a little plaque read simply, 'Do not hold on for too long.'

    Just as soon as they came, the two were gone again.

   
    Some two years later, The Walled Dye had completed a grand new construction, The Silent Tower. It was a place of somber worship and study, a place to lead a quiet, comfortable life. It was an attempt by the dwarves to begin their first great library, to put a pen to tapestry of history, to proclaim loudly that the Walled Dye lives, and will live on. Monuments to the heroes of the last century whom joined with the group to raise it up from the ashes there stands. They say you might see that man's face again there, overlooking from the top of the tower, plying their masterful trade. Every now and then passing a stern look over the southern kingdom of man.

       
    OFFICIAL SUBMISSION -- 660 Bone figurines of Bekdil Wavetwist

    OOC: So! That was all quite a grand time. I still have so much to say about the turn so I'll just start. I never truly intended for Galka to become a Vampire, it definitely wasn't in the plan. A strong part of me wanted him to grow old and die peacefully. I did not realize at the time that Uja was a Vampire either until I did some digging. For a good while I had honestly thought them to be another thrall or other intelligent undead, though they did seem to raise another Blighted Thrall, I don't understand how it could have appeared suddenly inside otherwise. It wasn't until I properly killed her that I noticed it. Coupling that with the tearing out of her throat and the happenstance of Galka being thirsty at the time, I almost couldn't refuse that confluence. So, for now we have a very introspective grand master bonecarver who'll live their eternity for now in the Walled Dyes newest site. Should I ever get to play him again, I'll likely explore that curse more indepth, didn't do much with it this time as it only happened at the very end of his adventure.

    Speaking of which, Urdim Eshom, The Tower of Silence, is an attempt to build a grand library. Though I don't have the patience to wait many, many, many years for my dwarves to create an extensive catalog, only so much they can write and copy in two years. Even so, I hope it will give a neat, quiet place for future adventurers to visit should they be scholarly minded, or even for new adventurers to begin their career there, cloistered away in the mountains! Perhaps even aiding the Walled Dye in building a historically significant collection of books? There's a TON of writing material for one to work with should they chose to! The main library is one z-level down should you be interested. While the other side, the tower, is basically just a meta memorial to the first 64 adventurers up to Galka. Nothing crazily special mind you.

    There seemed to be a main topic of interest amongst the dwarves;

   

    Perhaps after making up with the Walled Dye folk that attacked him at Blowechoes, Galka expounded much upon the existence of this Obin Blight'.

    Instead of droning on too long, here's the save! -- SAVE HERE
Please go ahead and add me on for another turn!

    Hope you folks enjoyed as much as I did.

Spoiler: Also rescued that amulet artefact for Lurker! (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Also these two fun things and a suggestion for a future player (click to show/hide)

A kea stole my artifact gold short sword, haha.


Scary message right here. Turns out they did absolutely nothing but party. Didn't even murder any dwarves. Cool.


I didn't make mention of it as I couldn't easily fit it in. But in a completely abandoned human town, I came across two kobolds squatting inside a house. Turns out one of them wants to become a legendary warrior! What would you guys think about someone possessing her and making that happen? I'd be down for that! Maybe could usher in a return for Kobolds?