"Moldath III", Part I, Turn 73
10th Felsite 858
Perhaps you will have read of my previous adventurers? if not, please allow me to introduce myself. I am Moldath Mournsaints. I was not strictly born on Orid Xem, and I have no parents. I used to be an amulet, but that is another story all together. I am a dwarf, a necromancer, and a vampire, and I am troubled by a terrible affliction. The Rot. It is not clear when it first took hold; I suspect now it is the result of the foul magic of a wight. When my flesh rotted away, I was tortured and flayed by amateur surgeons. My eyes failed me, and I was bitter and twisted. I became the Blind Sadist. Angry and hopeless, I was desperate for a way out. I discovered religion! Needless to say, where previously I considered myself an atheist, I am now a devout follower of Ala, for the Lord of Balance, Blight and Death has given me a new life, as a Fell One. Some even called me the Prophet of Froth!
When I settled in the abandoned human castle of Spicetrails, a short day's travel east of the fabled mountain, it was with hopes of a quiet retirement. That was in the autumn of 826. The years of torture and servitude in the horrible island fort of Ancientlibrary were not something I wished to repeat. For a while I lived the life of a hermit. I was unmolested, and content. Fate, it seems, had other plans. Perhaps driven by the endless yearning for fresh blood, I find myself tempted back into the world, and in the early spring of 841 I found myself drawn to dwarven civilisation once more.
Eskôn, Clearmasters, was not by then a new fort - it had been founded way back in 794. The Armors of Diamond were a stout folk, and yet seemingly obsessed by a diamond pedestal of some provenance. The fort itself was seemingly built atop the ruins of an older site - the monastery Wanderedhorses, a shrine of Bikda. My life in Eskôn started simply enough. I took the name of Ilral Palaceverse, a ranger and bonecarver, and was welcomed by the simple folks there. I am ashamed it took only 48 hours for the first dwarf to be found, drained of blood.
It did not take them long to accuse me; the outsider. Despite my protestations, they sentenced me to the hammer and the chain. Fifty hammerstrokes in all. In the end, they chained me up like some beak dog with a nickel silver chain, in the dungeon. I decided then to escape from this fort. Coming here had clearly been a mistake. It took only eighteen short months for me to gnaw through the chain and escape from Eskôn, amidst the chaos of an unexplained cave in, and luckily I managed to find my old armour and ... thank Ala! Godenrigoth! The adamantine scimitar, perfect as the day it was gifted to Kajeth Fatecrypts by Ala himself.
After leaving Eskôn, I head to a place I might find sanctuary - Kikrostzar, Stockadeoutrage. Perhaps King Tobul will remember I gifted him that artifact spear, and grant me asylum from the justice-hungry Walled Dye? The dwarves there at least were happy to see me, and I managed, for once, to keep a low profile.
When King Tobul died at the ripe age of 182, without spouse or issue, Queen Ral Diamondoiled was named his succesor. This made my position here a little less clear... Queen Ral had no relationship with this outsider, and so I decided I needed a way to ingratiate myself!
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Topic: Museum III, adventure succession game (DF 0.47.05) (Read 475060 times)