Writen after my first "Your strength has been broken" lose screen, following the game of adventurerer immediately following. Size your window until the line below is just at its limit for the author's intended readability.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Jeweled eyes stare down at you from a great engraved burial alcove. They glare at you with the hardness of dwarven hatred, but it matters little, the massive sapphires will soon be pried from their sockets by your knife and pocketed. Then you can be gone from this musty dwarven crypt and its haunting dining halls, cobweb-choked halls and bedrooms strewn with bone.
Nimbly you mantle up onto the stone sarcophagus under those gleaming gems and raise your iron knife to the face. Its tricky work, and your footing is poor on the polished stone. You try to adjust...
And find yourself on your back, legs in the air. You've nearly realized you slipped when a leathery thud slaps your chest. Your hand grips for the object and your fingers wrap around a spine. A book's spine.
A great sigh of relief and a glimmer of hope goes through your mind. Perhaps this contains some clue of hidden wealth? Lighting a nearby brazier you sit on the sarcophagus and stretch out your legs.
Peeling back the dusty leather cover, the first page greets you with fresh white parchment.
Journal of Myorin II Itonabras (Hallseer).
It is the 1st of Malachite, 1053. Letters from my father have not arrived since last autumn, when a human merchant delivered great bundles of mail from his colony Zugobinod. I fear that his endeavor to create a city in the frozen North has found more hardship than anticipated, and I journey in his footsteps to learn his fate.
Aside from confidence, I have armed myself with the humble steel short sword he gifted to me at my coming of age, and a suit of steel chain mail I purchased for the journey. I do not know what perils the road may throw at me, but I am intent on being well-suited to facing them.
With determined steps I pass the gate-wardens of my ancient mountainhome, Erithkogan, where my father once strode out three years before. I go to see what tragedy befell him, or what riches have made him close the gates for fear of envy.
Rain besets me not a hundred steps out of the gates. I hope such is not an omen.
3rd Malachite, 1053;
Attacked on the plains! Under stars alone I sensed a dangerous presence and drew my sword. Soon enough, eyes shimmered in the warm damp of night, prowling about me. A Cougar! Deftly I rolled away from its predatory lunge and hacked with my sword, hacking into its lower back as it dove past. I stepped away to see if I had severed its spine, but soon it recovered and was charging at me again. The two of us collided in the dark and the great beast forced me away, reeling. But I knew the beast suffered worse than I, and so I struck it again into the leg, mangling the limb. The beast gave into pain. Immediately I grabbed the limb and twisted it for good measure. With the beast vulnerable as it was, I took my time, wringing the life from the animal.
I had not killed before, I must confess, and so to save myself balking against a goblin I decided to torment this poor beast until I hardened to it. Soon I had it gripped by the head, gouging out an eye, beating its head with my shield, gouging away the other eye... the horrible bloody mess of the big cat's face was slick with blood. Soon my fist's abuses left a patch of its gut strangely soft, and I knew I'd damaged the beast's organs. In a flurry of punches I soon left the animal dead, not from my attacks, but from blood pouring from sightless eyes.
I took a bath in the nearby lake. I do not wish to do this again.
4th of Malachite
Tegacocu, a human trade outpost northeast from across the plains from Erithkogan, grew from trade with the mountainhome. Across the broad flat expanses their caravans rolled every year, bringing leather, food and timber for the weapons and iron that guarded them from the nearby goblin tribe to the south (I am fortunate to be getting as far away from there as I have!). I dropped in to try and sell my kill, but having found a tavern and warm bed first I went about it in the proper order.
At dawn I set out to find a merchant. I discovered, much to my curiosity, that many buildings in town had been built below ground. Given the scorching climate the humans intelligently followed our lead in building underground for most things, which spares them the heat of the surface world.
But then something strange occurred to me. I had arrived at night, stumbled bloodily into a tavern, and pitched myself into a bed. Running through my memory, I did not recall speaking to anyone. In fact, the room looked rather dusty and decrepit. Shortly it became apparent; the town was abandoned!
This had two terrible implications. The first was the moral question of who to pay for my bed was removed, and replaced by where to find him. The second was that the chest of money I discovered in a storehouse may, or may not, belong to the first man or dwarf to find them. Confident I could put the money to better use than the next rogue, I put the gold and silver in a sack and hauled it away. I also cleared out the central food store, but left the household stocks be. Then I headed away with a heavy heart.
It was possible the humans had been overcome by a recent goblin raid. It was likely I could save at least their kidnapped children from the slave pits. But how likely was it I could fight my way into a goblin city? Impossible. When I returned, if I returned, I would have to see to a vengeance, if only to repay the souls of these humans for the provisions I acquired.
6th of Malachite
I arrived in another human town farther into their forests. Accokpirni it was called. Here I had little luck finding inhabitants either. I did, however, find plenty of money, and a fine iron crossbow and shield in two abandoned stores. Diligent oiling had preserved them with only a trace of rust. As I worked a whetstone over the rusted patches, I soon drifted to sleep. Nightmares drifted in and out of the darkness. Goblins came silently, skin smeared black with soot, coming out of the night... taking their slaves, breaking spirits... then the war parties came.
7th of Malachite
"The Romantic Luxuries". The first place I find inhabited by living humans turns out to be some sort of fur-rugged imitation of a king’s feasting hall. Needless to say human culture is quite different from ours back home, as well as the appearance and general demeanor of their females. Or at least, these females. I received numerous, curious offers to do some such dance or another no sooner than they saw my leather moneybag (tied to my belt with rope, gold is heavy). However it was something you had to pay for and I politely refused. More practical things than "the naughty dance" with the opposite gender of the wrong species existed, like selling this damnable carcass and getting my hands on a good beer. All I found were a lot of bad ones, as I fearfully anticipated. How could something so pungent smelling taste so watery? The bed was just as lousy, and smelled something worse.
The next morning I had a conversation with Mayor Ulaagen, who was on the second story balcony surrounded by women in leather skirts and nothing else. He greeted me with a "Praise be to Kas the Strong Hegemon", whatever that meant, and we started talking. I realized his last name meant Sensual Owl. I began to seriously wonder if those towns were attacked by goblins, or if everyone simply fled here. Then he explained to me that Strusnu the Cyclops was southwest of town and apparently terrorized everyone away. It explained the fall of local morality if husbands had been killed fighting the monster and the widows were left to dance for their money.
On the way out I had a word with his bodyguard Pestrat. Looking back to his master covered in nubiles, he explained to me that life was, in a word, jealousy. Still, he felt his duty was to stay in this sleazy hovel and refused my offer to roam abroad. He said to go with Tolon. I really need to learn who these gods were. On my way out the door, however, I got a hold of a drunk to be my guide when he sobered up.
There was a sizable castle in town which I immediately avoided, seeing as I was carrying quite a lot of stolen gold. It also began raining, naturally, which I found maddening. The sound of raindrops thunking on my steel helmet was so mind-numbing I actually took it off to feel the rain in my hair. Speaking of which, its still not dry and smells like dried cougar blood. I must take a more thorough bath as soon as hot water is found. A cold bath is no bath at all!
It was time to do something for the money I'd acquired. A cyclops, was it? Gouging two eyes was easy enough, I supposed one eye would be no challenge at all.
8th of Malachite
The cave the humans called Lucogkulur was a sink-hole in the sand, burrowed out by huge hands to create something of a liar. My drunken comrade followed me, becoming increasingly worried and complaining about losing his "buzz". I suggested he refresh it with one of my liberated swords. He declined. Together we gleefully brawled and bashed our way through dozens and dozens of ratmen, until tragically he became separated from me. I called out and searched frantically through the cave. His familiar face would greet mine in a bloody grin laying a few yards from his neck. Above the carcass stood a terrible, gore-covered cave swallow.
I named it Melucaf, Charmedcarries. It had lured my companion away with sweet singing and now his soul was carried away to the spirit world. I could have named it "Filthy feathered ----er", but alliteration only belongs in poetry. My companion had only managed to inflict a minor abrasion on its feathery wings, proof that his fists could not beat the downy pillows of the giant swallow's feathers. I trusted my steel would fare better.
We were soon in a bloodied wrestling match. As I had learned off the rat-men, gripping the throat of my enemy was a practical opening move. It was under that razor-sharp beak, however, and my steel gauntlet was badly scratched getting a grip through all that feather and ivory. But grip I did, and began hacking mercilessly with my sword, digging into its breast. The feathers were like armor, deflecting half my force simply trying to force through. I was glad to have not taken after a warhammer, but was certain a spear would have suited me better in this fight.
But a bird's legs are spindly affairs, and soon my sword broke the monster's doubled-back shin, sending it to the ground. I had found the beast's weak point. Swing after swing landed into its legs, hacking off first its right foot, then the whole leg, waves of pain coursing through my victim. The bloody frenzy of a vengeful kill took me, and my steel fingers began to crush the life out from the bird's screeching throat. Slowly, certainly, the last traces of breath were crushed and cut from its body.
I turned to my fallen comrade. We had known eachother only a brief time, and he told me he was drinking away woman problems. His wife, apparently, threw him out for not having a profession. He hoped to return with a fortune from the cyclops; instead he was brutally killed by this beast. I suppose I wrought his fate for him. I burned him to spare the body from the carrion-beasts. I write this entry in the firelight.
His name was Unirgiki.
I emerge from the cavern to find the moon's phase rather advanced. I call off my search for the cyclops.
15th Malachite
The gold was heavy, I cast it off upon the widow. She did not seem the slightest bit happier about her lot, but I didn't remain long. She was too polite. Rage I could have stood against, sorrow I could have assuaged, but simple cold conversation was too much. I walked long down the coast of the sea, passing northward to my father's mountainhome. I trusted in fortune to guide me. I did not stop or think during this long march until I was attacked by a bear in the forests called Gosmerfotthor, or Umbral Forests. Resting from the exertion I penned these words.
16th Malachite
Mountains in the north! Grandgates must be close! My heart is lightened, and my feet hasten onward through the foothills. The countryside is cool and fresh, like a clean cavern deep in the mountainside, but covered in a thick carpet of grass. The ground begins to fold and roll under my feet into the distinct crinkled appearance of a mountain's base.
17th Malachite
A wolf-pack found my trail. Up until now I only fought isolated beasts, but a group of intelligent foes frightened me. I ran as quickly as I could for a thicket where perhaps they would be slowed and forced to fight individually, but no apparent luck. The three beasts assaulted me in the woods one after another in a rapid assault column. The first tackled me to the ground, and although I terribly bloodied the monster, it still rose with me on my armored back. But as it dove back for my throat I made a parry that sent its head and legs high into the air, and then a great backhand strike clove its chest so hard the beast was flung away.
The second beast's teeth scratched steel; tremendous jaws! It gripped my shield-arm's pauldrons in its fangs and tore into the leather jacket underneath the shoulder. Such intelligence! I feared for my life for the first time since the caverns as hot blood flowed down the side of my breastplate. The beasts were flung into frenzy by the onrush of pungent scent. The third wolf lunged head on and was caught and impaled on my sword. I let it slide off the blade to one side and turned my attention to the red-mawed assailant.
Its eyes burned red into mine and I stared at it for a moment in morbid fascination. Such hate. I wondered if goblins could hold such fire in their minds. I thrust the sword through its skull to the hilt.
18th Malachite
Another wolf-pack. I hate these hills already. I slaughter the four bloodily in a whirl of steel and stumble downhill toward the sound of running water. A brook flowed cheerfully in a little ravine, giving me an opportunity to bathe at long last. Cold water though it was, I finally decided any bath was good enough when one is covered in blood and grit.
3rd Slate, 1054
For the record of scholars, the change in hand is not the original author's intent. This journal was discovered by the road leading to Zugobinod, or "Grandgates". My expedition discovered numerous half-deteriorated artifacts scattered in the nearby forest, including several scraps of bone still within steel armor. We conclude Myorin II Itonabras was struck down by the wolves which assailed him on this road. My own expedition has suffered similar attacks to further support this point.
We, too, are headed for the abandoned halls of Grandgates. If we should find a similar demise, or if we should win glory for our mountainhome, only grit and fate will decide. I leave this journal in the hands of our scribe to be kept safe until the remains of Myorin the First be discovered.
I am Onul Oddomunil, Heiress of Zugobinod.
You close the journal and blink at those two sapphires staring down. Perhaps its best to leave them.
Author
Topic: Within a Dwarven Tomb (Adventurer's Journal) (Read 1742 times)