Getting grabbed by an original night troll is probably the most nervewracking experience
Tell me about it. I didn't have any business winning that fight - I've had multi-legendary weaponmasters killed by night troll grab'n'gores. Thob is truly blessed by Egesh, I guess.
one minute everyone is sitting around fires being friendly then we turn our backs and they're killing each other
To be fair, that sums up a lot of Dwarf Fortress... maybe it's not so strange after all
As the party was leaving the forest retreat the next day, they stumbled upon a small natural cave in the ground. There were signs of habitation nearby, so Thob poked his head down to take a look. He was not expecting to see a naked elf:
In the elf’s defense, the only nearby garments were a pair of iron boots and a small necklace. The elf shared his accommodations with a goblin skeleton, which was fortunately still dead. Given the utter lack of anything remotely like furnishings Thob figured the elf was either crazy, or some sort of ascetic, or maybe both. He cautiously introduced himself.
“Hello, dwarf,” the elf replied. “I am Mato Feasthexes. Praise be to the True Honor.”
“Uh, yes… praise, indeed.” He seemed reasonably sane; ascetic, then. “So… what do you do, here, exactly?”
“Well, I was butcher for about two hundred years…”
“Impressive, but what—”
“…until I was made an administrator of Waningnature retreat. That was, oh, let’s see… maybe three hundred years ago?”
Thob tried to press the elf on his
current situation, but Alisa butted in. “‘Administrator,’ huh? So what, you got to boss everyone around and call yourself important? Power is such a sham.”
“No,” said Mato, “it’s power that makes the elf. Those without power are… well, you see what it’s like.”
“Typical goblin lies!” shouted Alisa, predictably enraged. “You ought to be ashamed for oppressing those people—as you obviously must have!”
“I really don’t need strange humans insulting me, you know,” said the elf.
“Fine!” growled Alisa, “I didn’t want to argue, anyway.”
Thob was unable to get a straight answer from the elf about his troglodyte lifestyle, so he bid him farewell. The party set out through the forest, heading north towards the larger elf cities they had heard about.
The weather was gray, wet, and cold up here. All through their journey that day, through the “Russet Forests,” mist and snow surrounded them, obscuring the sun.
The following day the weather cleared enough for them to see the shapes of giant trees ahead.
But the retreats were deserted: all the big trees were empty and snow-covered, and the only life was some giant red squirrels that Strodno chased around.
Later that day they reached the large forest retreat of Lushnights. Here, too, massive tower-caps dominated the surrounding forest, along with large fungiwoods, all covered in snow. Atop some of these Thob noticed strange creatures—though what wasn’t strange on the surface?—dwarf-shaped, but covered in long, narrow gray feathers, and sprouting two large wings:
They were as polite as most of the “experiments” Thob had encountered; one told him that there was “nothing organized around here,” a phrase Thob had heard many times before.
The market of Lushnights was quite a bustling one: elves, goblins, humans, and more of the gray-feathered folk stood around bins and barrels, conversing and haggling.
As before, all they sold was meat. Thob was surprised, though, that most of it came from rare cavern animals, not from any surface beasts—it seemed the goblins had a taste for deep delicacies:
Under the branches of a large fungiwood was a nice, wood-floored space which must have been a tavern, once; a faded sign nearby read “The Wayward Bear”:
Though nicer than the other elf tavern Thob had seen, there was still no alcohol to be found.
Outside the retreat, to the north, there was another large camp of what Thob guessed were refugees.
There were many canvas tents here, quite close together, with fires burning between. Most of the “refugees,” if that’s what they were, seemed to be goblins.
One of these passed by the party. She had somewhat darker skin than Strodno, and her hair was a bright fuchsia; her clothes were quite fancy, and she wore several ornaments made of bone and hair.
She might be someone of importance. Thob greeted her, hoping to get some information on the local area. “Oh hello, Mr. Mysterious,” she replied. “Call me Ûsbu—a servant of the True Honor.” (This True Honor seemed like a popular sort in these parts) “An undead hunter, you say? I’m something of a hunter myself, you know. Well, less of a hunter, maybe more of an… extraction specialist. A rescue operative, if you will.”
“Oh, that’s nice!” said Thob. “I just heard the other day about people who go around kidnapping children from their homes—isn’t that terrible? Good to see someone helping these kids out.”
“Yes, I try to find a permanent home for them.”
“Before I hunted undead,” said Thob, “I helped tracked down ancient artifacts—the heirlooms of my people, lost for centuries. Ever done anything like that?”
Ûsbu shook her head. “Not me,” she said. “But if you’re looking for work in that line, I know of a lost treasure to look out for—a mighty hammer they call ‘The Rock of God’, supposed to be held by some ancient warlock. A goblin I know, name of Ducim Planebrass, might pay you well for it.”
“Really? Where’s this Ducim holed up?”
“She’s a baroness at the dwarven fortress of Boldwhipped.”
A dwarven fortress? Were there more dwarves in this world, still alive, still—hope against hope—making booze? “Where’s Boldwhipped?” Thob asked with barely-suppressed excitement.
“Way down southeast,” Ûsbu said. “And I mean
way down.”
How far we've come already!
Thob would go as far as he needed for a swig of strong dwarven ale. He thanked Ûsbu for her help; if they didn’t find any booze up north, he knew where to travel next.
Before they could leave the camp, though, the party ran into a bit of trouble. Or rather Alisa did—Thob didn’t know what had started it, but Alisa somehow got in a spat with a passing elven priest. Fortunately it didn’t come to blows, because at the first threat from the priest Alisa caved, quaveringly dropping his spear when the elf demanded it.
“He stole my spear!” moaned Alisa as the elf walked smugly away. “Aren’t you going to do something?”
“Knowing you,” said Cañar, “I’m guessing you deserved it.”
“We’ll try to find you another one,” said Thob. “There’s got to be some in the towns up north.”
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Topic: Thob Goes to the Surface (Read 62277 times)