"Moldath V", Part I, Turn 99The Fractured Mind of Deler Laboredclutch15th Slate 937The wind whips my long bone-white hair though I feel no cold. I... do not know this place. I do not
know who I am.
Flashes of memory. A stench of rotten flesh, a glimpse of a blue sword, impossibly sharp. The tang of brimstone and burning bones. A metal crown in a hall of stone. Am I losing my mind?
I am standing in a bamboo forest, my back against a cool dolomite wall. A craftsdwarf waves at me nervously, some flicker of recognition on his face? He tells me I am Deler Laboredclutched, a ranger. My skinny, emaciated frame is pocked with disease and a mess of scars, and a miasma of pestillence engulfs me. Am I ... dead? What am I? My head spins, fragments and bursts of memories clashing and coming in waves.
I am not from this place. I do not belong. I am eternal but my purpose is unfilled. I stumble... my eyes are rotten husks but I sense the heartbeats of the living around me. Am I a monster? I pull my <bobcat leather dress> around me instinctively and head towards a grand building to the southeast, great doors of burnished gold set into finely worked stone. A cathedral? A crypt?
This church is bathed in a warm pink glow as sunlight streams through rose-quartz windows. Within is a miner, of noble disposition. I know he is Goden, and he looks concerned. Goden Papercleared the Slick Speechlessness of Shaking. He seems to know me and tries to dissuade me. From what? What is my purpose?
Coins litter the floor ... Morul Kan.. 912. The names mean something. The year? How long have I...
The church opens out into a grand museum. A merchant eyes many artifacts on grand pedestals. Something catches my eye.. An ancient axe, of unparalleled craft, its steel blade undulled by centuries of war.
Osturist Obot Zaled feels like it belongs in my grasp. The merchant eyes me quietly, his thoughts his own. Through the rose-quartz window I can make out the waves of a great sea. We are perched on the banks of some ocean, or perhaps a lake? The Sea of Blades! The name coalesces from nothing. This fort is perched on the Sea of Blades, in Orid Xem. These are dwarves of Morul Kan.
Atop the church/museum are many statues carved of the same dolomite as these halls. They depict the
Angelic Seasons of Light founding
Holykingdom. This must be where we are. A seat of power for the Morul Kan?
I leave the museum and enter the fort proper down a wide walkway, many masterwork engravings of The Awe-Inspiring Mark of Warriors line the way - an image of the God Shatag embracing nine longswords. This must be the symbol of the Angelic Seasons of Light. Suddenly I arrive at the trade depot, filled with many crafts and equipment, knee deep in freezing salty water.
The corridor leads to a grand meeting hall, completely flooded with brackish seawater. What calamity has befallen this place? Why did the dwarves here dig under the Sea of Blades?
I search this drowned folly and retrieve some waterlogged arms and armour from the forgehalls, before making my escape as dusk falls. These dwarves drowned fate will not be mine. I stumble westward, wandering on instinct alone. The moon is high in the sky and I find myself wandering, staggering, west... perhaps pulled to something familiar?