Part I:
A Stampede of Trials
The wagon creaked to a halt.
“We're here! This is the place the ancestors described to us!” The voice of Etur Blazesyrup, who was driving the wagon, rang from outside.
The dwarves who were inside stepped out into the spring air of the forest of golden bamboo, hornbeam, ash, chestnut, oak and many a other tree. Ahead of them rose a steep hill, its top rather barren.
They led the wagon up the slope to get a better view of the surroundings.
The location was perfect.
A central cliff rose above the woods, with only a few stunted trees atop it. The cliff was at the confluence of two rivers that joined in a ravine. A small waterfall could be seen in the south-east. The eastern slope of the hill was sand -- good if the dwarves were to make glass -- and the western slope was composed of claystone with clusters of microcline, gypsum and veins of coal in the form of lignite.
They spotted several mulberry trees down the east slope and, if their eyes didn't betray them, there was silkworm silk to be found here, too. Of course, it was nothing compared to giant cave spider silk, but it was something humans prized very much.
Now, the dwarves needed only dig a space as shelter and to store all their equipment. A temporary hole, mind you, before they would begin work on Seerspire proper.
As Rimtar 'Bobbin' Salveblue began to bark orders, Rakust the Seer suddenly raised his hands. His head jerked and twitched a couple of times unnervingly as his eyes rolled back, the white of them only showing.
Rakust began to speak in a voice that felt as if it was disembodied: it was the eerie voice of the Ancestors speaking.
“This is where you shall build your home. This is where you will prove yourselves to us, whether we deem you worthy or whether you shall fail. You shall each have your chance to oversee labor and citizen alike. You shall each have a chance to prove your mettle,” the voice of the Ancestors proclaimed.
“First it will be up to 'Bobbin' to oversee, for gathering a group and riding a wagon is no way to prove one's worthiness. But now 'Bobbin' can show what she is made of, and that we wait to see. When we see it fit, 'Bobbin' will step down -- unless she gives up of her own accord, proving herself weak and incapable -- and we will choose a new overseer,” the Ancestors said through the Seer with a strictness and seriousness that should not be taken lightly.
The Seer then walked to 'Bobbin', placed his hands on her shoulders and continued with a voice the others did not hear, “Be warned, young one. For during your time as overseer you shall face deceit.”
The ancestors went silent after those words, and Rakust was soon back to his normal non-possessed Seer-self.
It was time to get to work.
24th Granite, 275“Is it sealed! IS IT SEALED!” 'Bobbin' yelled in panic to the dwarves as she looked at Mebzuth who was lying on the ground, wincing in pain and holding the toes of her right foot.
“It's sealed alright! Can't you see the bloody boulders in front of you? The--
AGH--Damn, I think my toes are broken,” Mebzuth grumbled and moaned from the floor. “That stinking piece of filth came out of nowhere! I think it gave Etur a solid whacking, too. I heard them bones crack.”
Granite was barely over and the first trial had arrived.
There had been a sighting of an undead goshawk in the sky early on, and Bëmbul had a small scuffle with it when he was fishing (despite clear orders not to). Nothing he couldn't handle: a solid punch and the half-rotted bird of prey was propelled away.
But this was different.
This was a large monster that had crawled from the stream, its bloated form half-covered in scales, half in flabby skin: a river troll.
Digging the stores and shelter was not finished and most of the equipment and goods were still in the wagon when it came. It sent the dwarves packing quickly underground -- though not before Mebzuth and Etur were injured -- for this was something they were not capable of handling. Not the least bit at all.
So they sealed themselves in. For now.
Unfortunately, this meant sealing most of the livestock outside, and to be massacred by the troll.
And if the dead came back as undead here, as it seemed, this was going to be a serious problem.
A temporary infirmary was set up in a small nook with a sand floor. This was intended to be the dormitory, but since there was no wood, there were no beds. Sleeping on sand and bare rock was not going to do good for the mood of the dwarves in the long run.
For now they held it together.
Thîkut the Jeweler was tasked to be responsible for the wounded and assigned the position of Chief Medical Dwarf, as per tradition was the title. There was currently no need for an artisan, but need for somebody -- even one with no skill -- to tend to the injured.
Gaining access to water proved to be easy: a passage was dug to the river to fetch water for the patients. It was sealed with a door and hatch. Hopefully it would be enough to keep unwanted visitors out.
'There, that wasn't so bad. Quick thinking there, Bobbin,' the Overseer proudly thought to herself.
'No one died and the wounds might heal with time. But I don't know how, how we will manage to get things done with this few hands at work...'Yet, the immediate matters were now dealt with. There was plenty of drink and food (especially after the pony that ran in was butchered) for the time being, but a continued source of sustenance needed to be secured...
Of course, there were always the dogs, if food became scarce.
And then there were the cats, too... But unlike dogs, they kept the rats at bay.
Still, in the long run access to the wagon needed to be regained, for it held all the seeds they had brought with them.
Bobbin was not at all sure she would succeed in such a venture. She was one to dishearten easily, but in circumstances like this one, well, it felt like all her hopes had been crushed in one fell river troll swoop.
As the dwarves toiled under the surface, making plans on how to reclaim their wagon, unbeknownst to them a foul weather crept towards them: a cloud of blighted ash had drifted into the Forests of Naughtiness from the east, making its way through the woods.
“This is no way for a dwarf to drink,” Thîkut Curlclasps said to himself as he wiped his mouth and beard. “Water of all things -- for Osod's sake! And without a well! Disgusting!”
Thîkut, the Chief Medical Dwarf, was outside at the river bank while the rest were still holed up inside.
Let us think on that for a second: Thîkut was outside. OUTSIDE. He was not
supposed to be outside. No. He was supposed to be INSIDE. Like the rest.
What had happened, one might think?
Well, we can only guess... But the likely reason has to do with the water source.
For you see, the open access to the river was deemed too risky. Something could creep in silence out of the river -- like another river troll, for instance -- and head straight in when nobody was watching the door.
So a more secure water source was dug. A deep cistern filling from the river, the inflow secured with stone fortifications and grates.
It was a good and clean source for water, and mayhaps even fish.
However, apparently building it was not so safe. It was likely that when the old water source was being sealed or the intake channeled, Thîkut had wandered in his thoughts to fetch water for the patients.
And noticed that there is no more flooring where there used to be.
Grabbing hold of the cliff, clinging for his life as the stream rushed below him, he must have climbed up, up onto the hill in panic. Instead of doing the wise thing and climbing back inside.
But we might never know the true reason for why Thîkut was at the river bank, flocks of undead raven swarming the skies and an animated barn owl corpse giving the dwarf a spook. It would be up to him to tell the story if he ever made it back inside alive.
Fortunately for Thîkut, work on a side passage was complete. It had been originally intended as an attempt to sneak out and fell a tree or two on the west slope. Wood was desperately needed for the infirmary: beds, crutches and splints.
It was unlikely that the attempt would succeed without attracting attention, but it something had to be tried.
But now the focus had shifted to getting Thîkut inside ere the undead came aware of the way in.
Alas! Thîkut was too slow!
The river troll, who by this time had died and risen as an undead river troll, heard the sounds. It lurched with incredible speed down the slope and into the passage.
But it got trapped between two doors. Perhaps all hope was not lost?
The Ancestors and Fate were on Thîkut's side. He made it inside, but not before trying to foolishly head in through the main staircase -- which was sealed. He was lucky that the swarms of undead that had grown outside did not get him.
He barred the door behind him. At first it seemed he was trapped, but at least out of immediate danger. From beyond the door in front of him he heard the muffled growls and wails of the reanimated river troll.
But he also heard the sound of a pick hammering stone: the others were on their way. He would be saved.
It was at that moment when he remembered that he, too, carried a pick.
1st Hematite, 275The Journal of Rimtar 'Bobbin' Salveblue
“It should be summer by now. We are still unable to leave the safety and comfort of the rock. The world above is shut from us. We have no seeds to sow, no plant to brew, no wood to work. Mebzuth is still lying on the cold sand floor of the infirmary. She is beginning to complain due to being refused alcohol and given only water.Things are not looking bright, but we are still safe. How long will it last, I know not. I am feeling more and more that I might not have been the right choice by the Ancestors. But surely they could not have been wrong, could they? This must be their way to test us, to make us struggle for our survival and future. To be prove ourselves to be able to build anew a kingdom worthy of the days of old.Yet, sometimes I feel the Ancestors are merely toying with us. Laughing their beards off at our misery.I try to shrug off such thoughts. Such heresy. Now my thoughts return to the warning the Seer gave me before my trial began: 'you shall face deceit'.Deceit... Deceit...Why did Thîkut go outside? Was it an accident? On purpose? He has been awfully silent about it. Mayhaps it was a trick? A trap. Deception. Perhaps Thîkut is trying to befoul this venture of ours? To lead us to ruin? Is he alone in this? Or is he working on someone's behalf?I must keep a close eye on him. In case my suspicions prove to be true. Let us hope that is not the case.”
20th Hematite, 275“Look, it was only a raven,” Stâsost Hellstrap said to the other dwarf. “Perhaps it was dead and flying, but it was still just a raven.”
Two dwarves stood under the boughs of sallow trees, looking up the hill. On the top they saw the wagon, but there was no sign of life. There was only sign of... Unlife.
A rotting horse carcass lumbered on the slopes, its jerking movements quite comical. Though it was far from anything to joke of: something of that size could make quick work of any, say, foolish dwarves who decide it is a good idea to migrate into a haunted forest.
“You're right, I guess,” Zutthan, the other dwarf said. “I'm feeling quite good in any case. Let's just stick here for now. I'm sure the Certain Tombs will soon show their beards... Say, what's taking Tulon, Èrith and the others so long?”
Little did these fools know that there was no entry into Seerspire for now. They would have to fend for themselves.
They were unlikely to survive.
Indeed, it did not take long for unnature to run its course and all the new arrivals lay dead...
Well, they didn't actually
'lay dead', for their bodies began soon to shudder and move, so they were more accurately like 'moving dead'.
But the ground was splattered in their blood, teeth and other body parts, at the very least.
However, soon the undead dwarves were trapped in a passage with lockable doors. The winding passage led into a chamber, which currently had an undead river troll in it.
They had been lured into the chamber by a dog the dwarves put there.
For they had come up with a cunning plan that
had to work...
*CRUSH!*The wall came down on the troll, smashing it into oblivion.
This would be done over and over, again and again until all the undead were disposed of.
It was slow, tedious, but effective. An old dwarven tactic that rarely failed.
However, the life of a dog was not the only cost: Thîkut was lost in the process.
It had to be that Osod, the god of death and suicide, had bestowed a suicidal tendency on Thîkut, for once again he chose to run out into danger instead of inside into safety.
Needless to say it is horrifying what the animated rotting carcass of a horse can do to a dwarf.
In the end it was Bëmbul who saved the day.
Bëmbul, who was now manager and bookkeeper, was the only one who dared venture out when it was deemed that enough of the undead had been culled. It would have been quicker to unload the wagon with all hands, but it was far too risky.
So before the Overseer resorted to lottery, Bëmbul volunteered. And he succeeded.
He did not bring everything back. Only the plump helmet spawn and Thîkut's pick for now. Those were deemed the most valuable items. Everything else could wait longer.
Not only did Bëmbul head to the wagon: he felled a horse chesnut tree next to the side passages.
At least some wood could be accessed now. Things were starting to look a bit brighter despite the many fumblings of Bobbin as Overseer of Seerspire.
1st Limestone, 275The Journal of Rimtar 'Bobbin' Salveblue
“Praise the Ancestors!Our time here does not appear as brief as but only weeks ago. There is still some faint light and hope in this grimness surrounding us, but we have fought hard for it. Our livestock we have mostly lost, much of our equipment still lays in the wagon, but now at least our fields are sown. Plump helmets will grow. And from them wine will flow.Bëmbul's outstanding bravery in the face of imminent death by masceration, laceration and what-not the dead have at their disposal saved us. I know not if he fully grasped how dangerous it was outside, but his confidence in his skills proved true. I must commend him, and surely the Ancestors must have seen how he deftly ran up the hill, the dead ravens soaring above him, swooping down at him as he ran back with seeds and pick in hand, dodging the winged undead, barely making it in before they got to him.
It was his bravery that gave me strength to head out myself and gather the wood we need. It was not as great a feat, but one certainly requiring more courage than I thought I had in me. Maybe it was the Ancestors giving me strength, maybe it was a deathwish from Osod? Only the Seer knows and he has not spoken with the voice of the ancients since we came here.Regardless, both Mebzuth and Etur are now on the way to recovery. I took the position of Chief Medical Dwarf after Thîkut fled to his doom. I may never know whether he was trying to deceive us, to cause our destruction. It might be that I misinterpreted the signs of treachery. Deception might still approach from somewhere else, either from within or from without.But now, finally, work can begin properly and I intend to lay the foundations of Seerspire still before I step down and pass the mantle -- unless, of course, the Ancestors require me to do it before so.”
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Had quite a few close calls there. I'm surprised I lost only one dwarf (excluding the migrants for whom there was no hope) and that was due to typical dorfy behaviour: instead of running back, you run straight to danger when spooked by the dead.
I'll play at least until the first year is over. Shouldn't take too long, but you never know with this kind of embark...
Author
Topic: Seerspire - The Trial of Spirits [Overseers Welcome! DF0.47.05] (Read 9875 times)