From the desk of Leto Searchpraise, Junior Apprentice to the Historian’s Guild
23rd Hematite, 871
After two long years of copying old tomes and crosschecking census numbers, I finally get the chance for some real research! Granted, it’s not the most high-profile assignment. I had never even heard of this “Pictham” before now. Nevertheless, this is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. The guild will have no choice but to recognize my talents after this!
Pictham is apparently something of a folk hero down in the southern reaches of the Realm of Silver. “The peasant girl who would bring back the sun.” Not quite my cup of tea, but I can see how the tale might appeal to people of their… sophistication. Problem is, only the first part of her journey has survived in written record. The guild wants me to fill in the rest.
I suppose I should start by reviewing what we do know. Pictham Contestlabored was a woodcutter in the hamlet of Uddainan, “Brunchworkers” in the common tongue. A chance encounter with a monster put her on the path to adventure, and she set off seeking answers to her home’s troubles. She went to the town of Licstalcon,“Strifefularmor”, was rebuffed by the gods, and ended up recruiting the bandit Ases Skinnedhugged. The pair of them wandered the abandoned wastes, passing through the hamlets of Ithbisuden and Uñironu. They found treasure in Uñironu and came up with the idea of building their renown by making a significant contribution to the Grand Museum of Boltspumpkin. That’s where the record ends.
Not much to go on, but I’ve mapped out roughly the path they took.
Well I can rule out any field work! That’s past the Tundra of Heroes, and I have no desire to freeze to death trying to cross it. Now the museum on the other hand… I’ve visited there a few times in the course of my studies. There’s no better place to learn esoteric histories. The guild probably wouldn’t exist without it. If Pictham visited there, I should be able to find everything I need. Even if not, many travelers pass through it and I’m sure to have more luck picking up whatever fragments of her story exist in oral tradition there.
I haggled with the stable owner to get a decent horse. Still took most of my stipend, but it’ll be worth it if I can pull this off. I ride for Boltspumpkin at dawn!
24th Hematite
I arrived at the gates of Boltspumpkin shortly before dusk. The air here has an unseasonable chill to it. I am once again baffled by how people can actually live beyond the tundra.
Ah, but the task is at hand. It’s good to see the glittering black walls of the museum again! I gave my customary greeting to the goblin curator and her odd assistant and then began looking. Unfortunately, I can’t find anything Pictham might have donated, aside from perhaps some of the miscellaneous equipment scattered around. I tried asking the museum staff about her, but if they knew the name it was only from the story. A sad, but not unexpected outcome. Perhaps Pictham gave up on her foolish quest and went home. Or maybe she died in the wilderness.
No, the guild masters must have a reason to think this tale is worth investigating. I shall not fail them! I will need to dive deeper into this mystery if I am to uncover the truth.
10th Malachite
I have spent the last two weeks here poring over every bit of writing that might contain a shred of Pictham’s story. Which is quite a lot considering the veritable mountains of books stored in the museum. The only things it has in greater abundance are skulls! I’ve also been chatting up any visitors who have heard the tale, trying to stitch a coherent narrative from the many different versions they remember. There have even been some travelers from the far south who braved the tundra to get here. The legend of Pictham is still a popular topic for storytellers there, and their recollections have been quite enlightening!
As in most matters of folklore, there is an abundance of noise and nonsense. Little mutations introduced by each retelling. But with my keen intellect, I have been able to filter it down to a few common elements.
It seems that after the end of the written record, Pictham continued her journey North, picking up another companion on the way.
Together they crossed the Tundra of Heroes, battling monsters and abominations.
Finally, the trio met the end of so many would-be heroes when they challenged the malevolent tower of Patternedbegun! A fate hinted at in the original writing, but now confirmed by my investigation!
Patternedbegun! That cursed place is little more than a day’s journey from here. I shan’t risk that path, of course. There are goblins and worse along the way, to say nothing of whatever evil the necromancers may have conjured to defend themselves. Someone foolhardier than I can make the trek to find their moldering bones. But still, so close! They made it further than I ever would have guessed, only to fail at the cusp of their goal. A tragedy for the ages! This will surely get me the recognition I deserve!
By comparing the different versions of the story, I can get a pretty good idea of the order of events. The truth is revealing itself, I need only finish putting it together!
27th Malachite
First my money ran out, then the food. Can’t take the time to ask the guild for more. I’ve been reduced to begging for scraps from the museum’s patrons, and these last few days my horse has been looking awfully tasty…
But none of that matters now! My work is complete, and the adoration of my peers will make all the suffering worth it! Finally, we have the full story of Pictham Contestlabored!
Sunflower: A Found History
This work seeks to put to writing the full adventures of Pictham Contestlabored which occurred between the 8th and 27th of Malachite, 712. It picks up where the fragmented original record cuts off.
Pictham the Thrice-Cursed
I will not waste time reiterating information in earlier written accounts. However, I would like to make historic note of some events before Pictham’s true journey started. Specifically, her acquisition of a set of armour and a halberd in the sewers under Licstalcon.
It was not a simple bandit’s cache she stumbled upon. The treasure trove she found was in fact part of the Tomb of Heart. The gravesite of Naku Murderpuzzle, Holy Day of the Order of Butterflies.
Therefore, I name her Pictham Thrice-Cursed. First, by circumstance of birth, tied to that gods-forsaken land of endless winter. Second, by the rejection of her goddess when she prayed for answers. And lastly, by her own actions when she desecrated the tomb of a peaceful holy man. These curses she carried with her when she left her homeland, and each would eventually claim its price in blood.
The Sword Dancer
With renewed purpose, Pictham and Ases left the ruins of Uñironu and headed north once again. Nestled within a cluster of eight monasteries, they found the hamlet of Mitaedri, “Speechrags.”
Unlike many hamlets they had visited, Speechrags was a bustling community. They took their many monasteries quite seriously, although all but two would be mysteriously abandoned in the year 733. Perhaps due to the same religious unrest that had resulted in the destruction of their mead hall a few decades earlier. So it was that the weary travelers had to petition the villagers to stay in one of their houses for the night.
As luck would have it, the pair of them found exactly the right person to spend the night with. Dancer, poet and quite the swordswoman, Ngethac Spinecoasts was an adventurer at heart.
Earlier that year, she had resigned herself to a life of chasing wolves and petty bandits as a hearthsperson. Hearing Pictham’s tale reignited the old fire within her, and she insisted on joining the group. The next morning, the three of them set off together.
Bleak OutlookThe trio continued their way north. They mostly kept to themselves in order to avoid unwanted attention, and rarely approached civilization. They were strangers here, and tempting targets for any criminals desperate enough.
The closer they got to the tundra, the colder and more ferocious the wind became. Even Pictham began to wish for the relative warmth of her home. Chased by the wind, the travelers sought shelter in the trees of the Admired Jungle. How a frostbitten forest of wind-battered pines came to be called a jungle is a mystery for the ages. The trees helped to disperse the wind. Alas, night was upon them and temperatures continued to plummet. They would all freeze soon without shelter.
Relief came when Ases spotted a hollow hidden behind some tree roots. The companions rushed in and found a small, warm cave. For a moment it seemed that their fortunes had changed, at least until the smell hit them. A smell of rotting meat mixed with stranger odours.
A primal fear welled up inside the adventurers while Ases struggled to light a torch. He finally managed to ignite it, and the cave was bathed in light. What it revealed sent them all into fits of nausea. Piles of butchered human remains littered the floor, some old, some fresh. A cauldron writhed with a maggot-ridden mixture of fat, bone meal and crushed insects while skin was hung to dry along the wall. The silence that overtook them was deafening. And in that silence, the three of them realized something else. A small, rhythmic tapping which had been playing just below their conscious recognition had suddenly stopped.
All eyes turned to the corner of the cave which was still blanketed in shadow. Ases tentatively advanced with the torch but froze when he saw the freakish monster its light uncovered.
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Ama Kanilthomod, consort of the Bleak Creature
A large skinless humanoid. It has a curling trunk and it lopes quickly along the ground. Now you will know why you fear the night.
The creature seemed to sense his hesitation and took that opportunity to pounce, knocking the torch from his hand and nearly extinguishing it. In the dim light, Pictham watched as Ngethac drew her sword and lunged at the beast but was swiftly swatted aside.
Pictham knew she had to act fast if she wanted to save Ases. She steadied herself and raised her halberd. Then she charged forward and brought its blade down with all her might, aiming for the back of the monster’s head. The beast let out a bloodcurdling shriek and then collapsed on top of Ases, unmoving.
The three heroes took a moment to recover from that ordeal and then made a quick sweep of the cave, looking for any more surprises. Once they had confirmed they were safe for the time being, each of them set to work making the cave at least tolerable for the night. They carried out the corpses of the monster and its victims and laid down to rest. Sleep was slow to come, but when it did, the exhausted travelers fell into deep slumber. The rest of the night passed peacefully.
Edge of the Tundra
The next morning, the party made their plans for the voyage ahead. It is said that the southern pass into the Tundra of Heroes is host to unrelenting gales, strong enough to strip flesh from bone and freeze a man solid. The three of them discussed this and came to the conclusion that they should seek passage between the mountains of the Bearded Horns. If they kept to low paths between the peaks, the mountains would shield them from the worst winds.
Before leaving the forest, the adventurers made sure to gather as much firewood as they could carry. They would need it while crossing the tundra. Traversing the mountains was slow and avalanches were a constant threat, but they managed to reach the other side before day’s end. Coming down from the horns, they found themselves in the Warm Desert. Of course, that tiny patch of volcanic sand on the border of the tundra was the very antithesis of “warm.” The cartographer who named these regions must have been a fan of irony.
The travelers found a relatively sheltered nook, lit a fire and stayed there for the night. At dawn they set off to the northeast, into the unforgiving Tundra of Heroes.
Frozen Bones
Trudging through the tundra was grueling, but tolerable for the experienced southerners. The snow lay light on the icy plains, making for easier travel than the blizzard-fed snowdrifts they were used to. A hungry polar bear ambushed them at one point, but a few hammer blows from Ases swiftly dispatched it. Other than that, they progressed unmolested by wildlife or other threats.
On their second day in the tundra, the travelers encountered something on the horizon. Pictham spotted it first. A tower surrounded by a series of smaller structures, jutting out of the permafrost like the bones of an ancient giant.
The party approached with caution, but nothing could prepare them for what awaited them in the scattered ziggurats. Dozens of kobolds, both living and undead, emerged from the stone buildings! Thought long extinct by the learned and only a fairy-tale to most commoners, the little creatures swarmed out in defense of their dark masters.
Ases and Ngethac immediately sprung to action, drawing their weapons and taking up defensive positions. They met the approaching horde with flashing blade and crushing hammer. Pictham stayed back, something about this situation giving her pause. A still-living kobold sneaking up from behind finally spurred her to action, and she slew it with a single decisive strike.
The trio slew many kobolds and even one of the necromancers’ tortured experiments, but the necromancers themselves were left alone. This mercy would not last long, however. A few years later, Lonelythrall the demon slayer would pass through this place and purge them all as part of his grand crusade.
It’s impossible to say what Pictham found in that accursed tower, but it seems to have affected her goals greatly. Rather than continuing to the museum, she decided to seek out another tower to the north. Perhaps she thought it was there that she could find a suitable offering. Or maybe she saw the slaying of these undead abominations as a better way to earn the gods’ favour. Or perhaps, just perhaps, Pictham, spurned by her goddess, sought a new way to complete her quest through the dark arts. Who can say? The answers are locked behind the veils of history and death, and only the necromancers themselves have any hope of prying them out now.
Northward BoundThe travelers spent two more days in the tundra. On the third day, they emerged from the snowy wastes along the bank of The Purged Loot, the great river upon which civilizations were built. They followed the river for a time until they arrived in the riverside hamlet of Boundfangs.
At first Pictham was disappointed, thinking that they had found yet another ruin. She feared that the North was just as desolate and troubled as the South. Soon though, the party found signs of scant habitation. They approached the mead hall and heard voices coming from within.
Ases entered first, followed closely by Ngethac. The two goblins inside jumped in surprise at their sudden appearance. The goblins screamed at the group to identify themselves or die. Ases drew upon his experience with the criminal underground to rapidly construct a convincing fake identity. Ngethac however, chose a far more direct response, drawing upon her massive sword and cutting them both down before they could react.
The group found maps within the hall that showed much of the region to be abandoned. Most human settlements were now held by goblin squatters. The goblin civilization itself was barely holding together, but their masses of fortified pits still formed a formidable wall across the Swamp of Slipping.
After that encounter, the three of them agreed to avoid civilization until they reached their destination. Pictham and her companions continued onward to the necromancer tower of Patternedbegun.
Coming DuskAs the three of them made their way further north, the familiar snow and ice gradually receded, replaced by strange broad-leafed trees and rolling green meadows. Bees blissfully bumbled between bountiful fields of flowers while birdsong echoed from the treetops. To the adventurers from the south, it was as if the world had awoken from a long, dreamless slumber. Yet still there were no other travelers on the road. At least none that wanted to be seen.
It was the 26th of Malachite when they reached the shadow of Patternedbegun. Emerging from a vast field of sunflowers, Pictham spotted her target towering over the landscape. There the environment abruptly changed, rolling hills giving way to roiling swampland. More than that, the land seemed to lose its colour. Vegetation withered and died the further in one looked, as if the tower poisoned the very earth it was built upon.
The sun was low in the sky. Ases suggested that they camp outside the swamp and then explore the tower in the morning, but Pictham urged them onward. Reluctantly, her companions followed her lead.
The trek through the swamp was unpleasant but mercifully short. With the sun setting behind them, the adventurers approached the slew of smaller structures leading up to the great tower. The architecture was similar to what they had seen at Combinedinsight, but here the buildings were caked in a dark slime and half sunken into the swamp. It gave the impression of a place long abandoned.
As they penetrated further into the ruins without any sign of resistance, the party began to lower their guards. Ases broke off to investigate the entrance to one of the ziggurats. As he was examining the engravings there, Pictham suddenly saw a flash of movement. She called out to Ases, but it was too late. He stumbled backward, clutching at his throat which was now spilling thick gouts of blood. He collapsed upon the structure’s steps. A rotting undead goblin holding a bloodied knife emerged from the doorway and charged forward.
The women cried out, drawing their weapons and rushing to aide their fallen companion. As if waiting for this signal, scores of undead goblins began to emerge from the surrounding crypts. Pictham ignored the newcomers, her attention focused solely on the one that had felled Ases. With a furious strike she cleaved the fiend from shoulder to hip and then continued toward Ases’ body. More goblins emerged to block her path. In the dim twilight it seemed like the entire swamp was alive with them. Ngethac screamed that there were too many and they had to retreat, grabbing Pictham’s arm and dragging her away from the growing horde. That finally broke through Pictham’s rage, and together they carved a path back to safety. They retreated to the border of the swamp. Once sure the zombies didn’t follow them, they setup camp.
Pictham was distraught, blaming herself for Ases’ death. She vowed that she would recover his body. She would not allow her friend to become a plaything of the necromancers. Ngethac knew where this path was likely to end but said nothing.
As soon as dawn peeked over the horizon, the two of them approached Patternedbegun once again. This time the undead made no attempt at subterfuge, patrolling the place openly. Pictham wasn’t deterred. She marched forward, halberd gleaming in the new sun.
The zombie horde gathered to meet them. This wasn’t like the kobolds of Combinedinsight. These goblins were larger, better equipped and far more numerous. Pictham and Ngethac charged into them with murder in their eyes. There was a debt to be payed here, and only total oblivion would satisfy it.
Pictham fought like a demon, weaving between the ranks of corpses with deadly grace. Every swing of her halberd sent another goblin to its final end. Dozens were hacked to pieces in her wake. Yet for every zombie killed, two more took its place. Attrition began to take its toll. Muscles tempered by long days of felling trees now screamed in protest. Hundreds of blows glanced off Pictham’s armour, but eventually some of them found the gaps.
Searing pain wracked Pictham’s body. Her blood flowed freely, mingling with the muck and rotting goblin innards that lapped at her prone form. She had cut a clearing in the bodies, but more were coming to replace them. She knew she couldn’t keep up the fight. Pictham tried to stand but found herself unable to move her leg. She started to call out to Ngethac but stopped when she saw the swordswoman atop her own pile of corpses, also wounded and hopelessly surrounded by the advancing tide of undead. Ngethac caught her gaze, mouthed a single word, “go” and then turned to meet the horde, screaming a battle cry with the last of her strength.
With her last reserves of adrenaline, Pictham pushed herself into a crouching position and began hobbling away from the tower as quickly as her useless leg would allow. Ngethac’s courageous last stand was doing its job of drawing the horde’s attention. Dragging herself through the swamp was agony, but she pushed on. Before too long, Pictham heard the clumsy splashing of zombies behind her, following her trail. Ngethac had fallen, and now they were coming for her.
Pictham made it to the edge of the swamp, but then slumped against the bank, exhausted. Her wild strength had left her, and she could go no further. In the distance the glowing red eyes of undead goblins flickered in and out of view, growing ever closer. They had not turned back as they had the last night. Pictham knew there was no mercy to be found here. She spoke a quick prayer to Piral and then raised her halberd, defiant to the end.
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Hmm… perhaps a bit too editorialized for some of the more conservative guild members. Still, all the facts are there, and it’s sure to grab attention. Yes, I think I’ll be moving up in the guild very soon!
Just one more thing to add: the completed map of Pictham’s travels. Quite a journey indeed.
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Topic: Museum III, adventure succession game (DF 0.47.05) (Read 473601 times)