It is generally agreed that the world is round. If you stand in the right place, the curvature of the horizon is impossible to ignore. What is not generally agreed upon is what covers the world beyond The Valley. In the south, where the inland Sea of Blades is the largest body of water, it is said that The World Beyond is covered in mountains. In the north, where The Fingers of Affliction are to many little more than a gap between bodies of water, it is said that the Ocean covers The World Beyond.
The people of the north do not know the unspeakably vast majesty of the greatest peaks of The Perfect Horns, and the people of the south do not know the unspeakably vast majesty of the endless horizon of The Peaceful Waters. Neither throughout the centuries have proven conductive to travel, and few ever go to the opposite ends of The Valley to see the respective barriers of the north and south. Only to those few who do, and grasp the sheer size of each respective barrier free from the distortions of merchants and travellers and adventurers and dry, dusty tomes ever come to the conclusion that the answer may be both, or neither.
This story starts in the south, surrounded on all sides by the titanic mountains of The Perfect Horns, in a cave called Blowechoes the Scars of Coal, where a lone Dwarf with greying hair and wrinkled skin sits in a corner, putting pen to paper.
The Journal of Logen Berelas, Greyseer
24th of Galena, 714
I have lived my life in and around this cave. When I was young, I played with friends in the little nooks and crannies of this place. I have hunted beasts in the caverns below, and climbed the mountains above. I have plied my trade as a bonecarver here. I have grown old here. One month ago, I looked up from my work, and I realised that I was going to die here, and be forgotten like my ancestors were forgotten. I have become a very different dwarf to the one I once was. It's been a long time since I feared change like I used to. So I'm leaving. I've gathered my things, I've said my goodbyes, and I don't expect I shall return. I want to see what the world has to offer, the places there are to see, the secrets there are to find, I want to see The Peaceful Waters of the north, where the sea goes on in every direction as far as boats can sail, or I will die trying.
Whatever I find, whatever mementos and things I gather, I intend to bring them to the Museum of Boltspumpkin, and present them for whatever it is they may be worth. I see no use in dawdling further, so I'm going now. And if I do die, then at least it won't have been in this cave.
In a valley winding its way from its base to the south to some unseen ending far to the north through the titanic mountains stands a rocky little hill, just east of the thin river at the valley's centre. All through this valley, as far as the eye can see there is only rocky wasteland. From a hole in the hill's side, a figure emerges, clad in cloak and hood to shield from the sun, high in the cloudless sky above. A gentle breeze blows in from the west, and the cloak rises a little.
Far below, the river winds its way through the rocks and sand. A little way ahead, He can see the Monastery. The last bit of home he intends to visit before he goes.
Soon, he reaches the river, and begins following it north, to the Monastery.
He had gone up and down this path a lot when he was younger to pray, back when Gods had played a large part in his life.
even back then, no-one remembered a time when any actual monks lived here, but it was still a place of worship regardless.
People have come to these rough, but expertly made stone buildings and scattered shrines poking out of The Desert of Eviscerators to honour the gods for centuries. The Dwarf doesn't take long to find what he's looking for, he knows where it is.
He looks up.
'Thanks for the sterling advice, My Lord Obvious, right on fuckin' time.'
He takes the die, and places it in his bag. In the past dice had been lost during visits, but there was always a replacement to be found when they next came to the shrine, so he didn't feel particularly bad about it.
'Whole lotta fuckin' use it'll be if Great And Mighty An's gonna be like that all the time.'
He puts the Rucksack on his back, and after a long sigh, he begins the long trek north, into the great unknown.
I'm trying out one or two new ideas in terms of storytelling here, I'm still torn on some of it, but here it is regardless. I'm not sure I'm as fond of this story as I came to be of the Mothman's tale yet.
Author
Topic: Museum III, adventure succession game (DF 0.47.05) (Read 473637 times)