Hey, here’s the final entry for my last turn. Sorry this took so long.
Thoughts of Arcturus Cinderfang - Day 5We continue southwest. Finally, the goblin trenches begin to thin. It is a relief to walk in land unmarred by their war preparations.
We approach the mountains and are greeted by an awe-inspiring sight. Glittering in the midday sun, a citadel of carved gold blocks lies nestled between the rocky ridges. “Bloody dwarves, always so ostentatious.” Remarks Ithra, but I see the look of wonder in her eyes.
We enter the gilded keep and see that it is not abandoned. A few people cluster around a trading stall stacked high with various meats. Dwarves and things that look like dwarves, but less hairy, and stretched to be nearly as tall as me. Ithra identifies them as humans.
We are well-stocked with the bounty of my hunting, but we do acquire a more recent map. The humans and dwarves are eager to hear our story and have some interesting tales of their own. They tell us that this fortress was built long ago but taken by the undead scourge. It was reclaimed some decades ago with the resurgence of the dwarves. We ask more on how the dwarves came back from near-extinction and they are happy to fill us in. They tell us of the legendary museum of Boltspumpkin, which served as a spark that reignited the dwarven pride. It drove the disparate enclaves of the Walled Dye to unite and reclaim their heritage. They tell us also, of another clan of dwarves, the Staff of Kissing. They were rumored to have died out centuries before the apocalyptic march of the undead, having never claimed lands beyond their singular fortress. Yet when the Walled Dye returned to the world, dwarves claiming to be of that lost clan also made a resurgence. The dwarves mention that the original home of the Staff of Kissing, Latewhipped, is only a few days travel to the northwest. Such a tale of rebirth intrigues me, but we have our mission.
We spend a little time venturing deeper into the fortress. Despite the obvious wealth of its builders, the interior is sparse and barely lived in. This place must have been young indeed when it was conquered. The small current population may not measure up to its original ambitions, but their reclamation effort is inspiring, nonetheless. We thank the settlers for their hospitality and continue westward, following an ancient dwarven road across the mountains.
The sun hangs low in the sky as we journey away from the Perfect Horns once again. We find ourselves in desert scrub, rugged but far more alive than the wastes back home. I spot signs of a small camp on the horizon. Another goblin patrol? We should be far from their settlements now… I tell Ithra to hold position while I scout it out.
A diminutive brown creature wearing rags darts past me as I approach the camp. Memories of ancient cave paintings back home flash through my mind as recognition dawns on me. It is a kobold! Whispers of a dead race given flesh! I quickly follow it to the camp and see several more of the creatures.
To my horror, one of the kobolds is collapsed and bloodied on the ground, being beaten by one of its fellows. None of the others move to help it, or even react to my presence. What is this? Some kind of ritualistic punishment? I try to intervene, but my cries go unheard.
The injured kobold rattles out its death gasp and silence encompasses us. As if a trance was broken, the other kobolds finally seem to take notice of me. They wordlessly scatter and run away.
Poor degenerate creatures… A far cry from the cunning and ingenious architects of my home. Yet, they still live, long lost descendants of those mighty trap makers. The dwarves spoke of the rebirth of their civilization, could not the same be done for the kobolds? I take the body of the slain kobold. Whatever the reason for its execution, its life was still precious, deserving of proper entombment. I hasten back to meet Ithra. We make camp and I tell her of what has transpired. She agrees that our mission can tolerate a slight detour. We make plans to head for the sites most tied to the dwarven resurgence, Latewhipped and then Boltspumpkin. We shall discover the truth of their return.
Day 6We continue west on the way to Latewhipped. We pass by many settlements, but do not pause our journey. At the edge of what our new map identifies as civilized land, we do decide to make one final stop at a small human village. The map identifies it as the hamlet of Homagemoons.
At first sight, the hamlet appears abandoned. Several wooden huts lie in decaying ruin. We search further in and hear voices coming from a few intact houses. We find a small handful of humans living in them. They are welcoming to us. Hearing of our journey, they suggest that we seek the guidance of their god, Hibor Walkmerchants, at the local shrine.
I roll the shrine’s divining die as instructed and am shown the image of a full moon. The locals identify it as the “Mammoth Moon” and tell me that it is a sign of great misfortune. They wish us luck on our journey, but they refuse to meet our eyes when they do so.
Day 7The journey north takes us along the mountains. I once again see the striking glossy black of obsidian. Razor sharp ridges of it jut out from the ground in places. Alas, I am not able to use it for an axe blade. I will still need to rely on the crude goblin weapon.
The sun hangs low in the sky. We reach Latewhipped.
The entrance hall is unremarkable. Desiccated meats and cheeses still sit in stone pots, as if waiting for someone to buy them after all these centuries. We head down into the gloomy depths. The air here is dry and stale. There is a smell like ash from a long since extinguished fire. We enter a hall decorated with statues depicting monstrous creatures and horrific imagery. Is this a clue to the fate of this place’s inhabitants? Did they choose to record their final days in this way?
We descend further and come across a shrine quite similar to the one in the human village. I roll the die here as well. There is no one left to interpret the result, but I get an ominous feeling. Perhaps it is just the oppressive atmosphere of this place.
Further down still, we find a cache of supplies left by the dwarves. Weapons, armour, gemstones. The great crafts of this civilization, untouched since their fall. Ithra picks up a metal helmet and looks at it in awe. She identifies the material as the legendary dwarven steel. Unbelievably strong compared to the common metals known to human and goblin smiths. I let her take whatever she can wear. I take a few crafts to serve as evidence of our being here. A few books stand out from the pile, but I can’t tell if they have any relevance to our quest.
Hours pass by as we wander the mazelike hallways of dwarven residences. Beds still made, cabinets full of clothes. Whatever happened here did not prompt a panicked evacuation. Yet still we find nothing conclusive on what caused the dwarven resurgence.
We continue our search. The smell of ash is strong here. A fitting odour for this ancient tomb. But if it is a tomb, where are the bodies? Have they all crumbled to dust? We enter a new section of residences. The smell of ash is overpowering. I open a door…
…and am greeted by a monstrosity. A bloated blob of roiling ash, supporting an armoured plate. For a moment I swear I see dwarven faces in the ash. It exudes a cloud of dust that obscures my sight. Could this be the doom of Latewhipped?
I swing my axe, and something heavy clatters to the floor. I swing again, and whatever movement was occurring behind the dust ceases.
The dust clears, and the beast is no more. All that remains is a pile of inanimate ash and its heavy shell. How could such a weak thing exterminate a civilization? Had the centuries of isolation starved it to the brink of death? Or perhaps this was all that remained of a far more insidious threat. I spend some time checking myself over. Nothing feels amiss.
We complete our search of the fortress but turn up nothing more. We have evidence of its builders’ fate, but things are far from clear. Their return remains a complete mystery. I pick up some of the monster’s ash and its heavy shell. Perhaps they will mean something to the learned scholars of Boltspumpkin.
Day 11Little of note happens on our journey south. We make few stops; enough time has been wasted already. The days get colder the further we travel. Desperate wolves ambush us in the forests near Boltspumpkin. They are easily dispatched.
The walls of the great museum stretch before us. The sight may pale next to the golden fortress we saw up north, but it is still impressive. We enter the keep. It is a cramped, chaotic mess of bones and books. The goblin curator barely looks up to acknowledge our presence before returning to his work. His lack of reaction is testament to the many bizarre patrons of this place, some of whom we meet.
None here seem to know any more of the Staff of Kissing’s story than we have already pieced together. Nor can they offer more than a mundane explanation for the dwarves’ return in general. Perhaps it was naïve of me to think I could find a simple way to save the kobolds. I leave the remains of the ash beast in the upper floor of the museum. I hope a better scholar than I can glean some meaning from them.
It is time to resume our primary mission. We learn from the museum staff that The Creamy Confederacy recently reclaimed the town of Growlsuppers. Ledir Judgedbuckle, our lawgiver, has been living there personally to oversee its restoration. This is good news, Growlsuppers is relatively nearby. We say our goodbyes and set off once again.
Day 12The journey to Growlsuppers is uneventful. Our passage is aided by the freezing of a mighty river. The south is frigid indeed.
We approach the town. From a distance, it is an impressive sight with many sprawling structures. However, many of these are revealed to be abandoned ruins as we get closer.
We encounter no one until we reach the keep. Entering, we find Ledir surrounded by his courtiers. I start to speak, but it seems word of our journey has already reached them.
I press forward to Ledir, summarizing our journey and explaining why we have come. He looks puzzled for a moment and tells me that the elves have not dared to attack for over sixty years. I relate everything I was told of the invasion. Ledir calls on one of the courtiers over and speaks to her in hushed tones. She glances at me, says something back, and chuckles. Ledir explains to me that both elves I had been told were planning the attack are long since dead. In fact, Nisa Cleanfish was killed during the last invasion of my home. His words strike me like a hammer blow.
Was my family merely mistaken? Or was this whole quest an excuse to be rid of me? Goblins have perfect memory. Surely, they would know Nisa had been killed.
I thank Ledir and offer him one of the treasures from Latewhipped, a beautiful crown carved from gems the colour of rich golden honey. He takes it graciously.
With Ledir’s permission, I lay the body of the kobold I have been carrying to rest in the keep. I am at a loss on what to do now. My quest from home was nothing more than a snipe hunt and I do not know how I could help the kobolds. I shall stay here for a while and contemplate the future. Perhaps Ledir has some use for me.
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Topic: Museum III, adventure succession game (DF 0.47.05) (Read 475958 times)