I must admit, the senseless slaughter of the day before had me shaken, but I quickly set that feeling aside and focused on the journey ahead. Another day passed as I made my way south along the Bearded Horns. I was hoping to find the nest of one of the mighty birds of prey that live in high peaks, the rocs. My efforts were rewarded when I caught sight of a telltale glint.
I feared that this nest might have been raided long ago by monster hunters. Still, I crept up to it cautiously. Imagine my delight when I caught sight of a proud living roc! Thankfully he wasn’t looking my way. Such a beast could swallow me in one bite!
Carefully making my way over to nest, I took note of the scene. The remains of two other rocs were still scattered about the area, and I saw now that the living one had scars from some past battle. Curiously, it seemed that the hunter had carved up the bones of one roc into many different crafts only to leave them strewn around the nest. Perhaps its vengeful mate had returned and eaten him before he could leave with his trophies.
Picking through the nest, I grabbed a roc’s gizzard stone, a carved piece of glass and a single roc egg. I left the rest undisturbed. Best not to leave too much evidence of my intrusion.
Greatest if the winged beasts, the roc rules the skies with unparalleled grace and might. One may fly a thousand leagues in a day and their wings have been said to blot out the sun.
The roc’s eyesight is unmatched in all the animal kingdom. It can track even small prey from many leagues away. Rocs of breeding age take advantage of this by decorating their nests with shiny objects to attract potential mates. This behaviour has led to many unfortunate incidents where a randy roc caught sight of some poor jeweler’s wares.
Roc eggs are curiously small and light for the size of the creature and, indeed, the offspring they produce. How an egg that weighs less than a kilo hatches a chick four times the size of a dwarf has never been properly explained. Roc feathers are often collected by peasants in mountain villages. They are tied into charms that are said to scare off evil spirits.
Leaving the mountains behind, I headed southwest. After swimming across a great river, I reached a cluster of dwarven hillocks. I explored the nearest. Most of the burrows were being used for underground farming, but I found a few dwarves in the civic mound. I spent a few moments swapping stories about dragon kings and such.
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Unfortunately, the dwarves were not much help tracking down more beasts. They did point me in the direction of a larger fortress, “Ashcinders the Molten Scar.” The name is certainly ominous, but if these simple settlers all go there to trade, how dangerous could it be?
On my way to Ashcinders, wolves ambushed me near nightfall. They were tenacious, but quickly fell to my whip. I stopped by another hillocks to find someplace safe to rest. Strangely enough, this one was filled with humans aside from the dwarven mayor. I met a macewoman called Reloth who offered to join me. She seems competent enough, and I could use the company.
Finally, after trekking through a dense thicket of trees, we arrived at Ashcinders. The entrance makes an imposing first impression, with the treeline suddenly ending and smoothed walls of stone rising up.
We walked around the perimeter first and ran into an eye-catching structure made of bricks of green glass. It had steel doors flanked by two statues made of an odd, blistered metal I have never seen before. One was the symbol of the Walled Dye while the other depicted a dwarf slaying an elf. I entered the building and found the trappings of a small tavern. To my shock, instead of any dwarves inside, I found a reptile woman.
The reptile woman claimed to be a tavern keeper, but that she didn’t work
in this specific tavern. Very curious. She did share an interesting ghost story with me though. A dwarf whose spirit remains tethered here out of desire for an artifact he once wielded.
The next floor of the glass building was filled to the brim with bins of steel weapons and armour, all of it masterful in quality. Why put this armory here? Were visitors intended to take from it. Is the fort’s materiel wealth so great that they can flaunt it like this?
If that floor impressed me, the next left me in utter awe. Again it was filled with bins, but instead of steel they held equipment made of the same blistered metal as the statues and… adamantine! The mythical blue metal! Light as a feather yet sharp as a razor and strong as the bones of the mountain! On pedestals around the room were named artifacts made of the same materials.
I tested a blistered shield and found it sturdy yet far lighter than my copper one. Well, if they left these bins out here, surely they intended visitors to avail themselves of the equipment? I took the shield, as well as a morningstar for Reloth. Just a pity the armour is sized for dwarves. I could use a lighter set.
I must confess, I may have indulged in a bit too much rum before leaving the tavern. The rest of my visit is a bit of a blur.
We went further south and found a field full of ash. The titular scar perhaps?
Following the ash trail up the mountain, we found a small gatehouse and some kind of penned in area where animals were grazing. The gate turned out to be a secondary entrance to the fort. We descended into it.
Inside we ran into some dwarves, showing that the place was in fact not populated solely by lizard people. There were also a number of tame grizzly bears wandering around.
Back at the entrance proper, there were rows of statues representing the Walled Dye blueberry bush as well as the fort’s own symbol. Some interesting iconography there.
We went deeper and deeper down the main stairway until we arrived at the burning heart of the fort. Here, magma was channeled to fuel many smelters and forges.
Returning upward, we found ourselves in some sort of memorial hall. To the north there were catacombs with far more coffins than should have been needed. The seemed to be mostly empty so the dwarves must have just been preparing for the future.
To the east we entered a room full of statues. I recognized them! Each one depicted a different adventurer who had contributed to the grand museum of Boltspumpkin! The center statues showed the start of the museum by Bralbaard and his eventual ascension to king.
To the south was another grand room filled with various artifacts. A mosaic of a dwarven face decorated the floor. Beyond that, there was another door that opened into a narrow hallway. I tried to continue through it, but a shooting pain in my arm pierced through my drunken stupor.
After that incident, I must have decided to return to the surface. I don’t remember much more beyond blurred moments and a growing feeling of nausea. We camped nearby, and I awoke with the worst hangover I’ve ever had. Let me tell you, headaches are far worse when your entire body is a head! My arm still hurts too, but I think the journey here was worth it. Seeing the museum contributors here so honoured has strengthened my desire to join them.
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Topic: Museum III, adventure succession game (DF 0.47.05) (Read 474117 times)