It is Felsite - late spring - of the year 235. The merchant mayor, Tun Dyefight, has been planning to abandon the fort for months - but the logistics of such an endeavor are daunting. There is so much of value in the dome - what do they take with them? What do they leave? Even besides the artifacts that were sealed away in hell, there are numerous sets of adamantine gear and weaponry, and various crafts made of steel and gold and silver; not to mention the countless prepared meals, cooked to perfection by Logem Buriedboard, chief chef and founder of the fortress. But what if the treasure of Weatherwires is cursed, and by taking even a part of it with them, they invite upon them and whatever dwarves who remain in the highest mountains that very same fate that befell the Diamond Cloisters?
There is no time for careful deliberation. On the 10th of Felsite, the merchant Stâkud Duskbooks is scared to death by Ilral Visioncloistered. As mayor Tun stands in the dining hall over Stâkud's body, beholding the merchant's final horrified, contorted expression, she resolves that this shall be the last of her mercantile kin to fall prey to Weatherwires. She gives the order for food and drink to be placed in the chamber atop the obsidian spire within the volcano, just behind the nether-cap door, Syrupsevers - enough food and drink to subsist upon during their long voyage back to the high mountains.
After giving the order, Tun stalks through the empty avenues and tunnels to the lever room, coming across no living thing - the dome is a dead place. If she had arrived at Weatherwires during the golden years, she might have stayed, and willingly given her life in defense of her home. But this was not her home, and she was realizing now that it never had been - the dome was a prison at first, and in the end, a tomb. Why had the Diamond Cloisters sought to bury themselves and their civilization within a mausoleum, even one so great? There might have been answers to these questions, but Tun would never know them.
Meanwhile, the body of Stâkud Duskbooks is interred into one of the available coffins in the mortuary, high atop the barracks, the last dwarf to be given a proper burial.
All the other dwarves busy themselves with moving about a hundred units each of alcohol and food - only two stacks of quarry bush leaf roasts and six barrels of dwarven wine and ale are sufficient for this. The merchant's spirits are high, as, for the first time in decades, they have hope - hope of survival. To remain in Weatherwires is not to invite death, but to welcome it with open arms.
All the other dwarves busy themselves - all except one. The commander, Èzum Openeddoors the Robust Stoker of Lances, continues his endless training in the antechamber above hell. He is unaware of the merchant's plan to abandon the fortress, and it is likely they they wish it so - he is 165 years old, as long as nearly any dwarf can be said to have lived, and will not last much longer. Why invite the old warrior to leave, to abandon the fortress for which he has seen every single one of his comrades die in defense?
No, the merchants all agree, it is better that he does not know.
Tun reaches the lever room, and with a mighty pull, ten hatches in the deeps slide open.
The final chapter of the saga of Weatherwires begins.
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Topic: The Saga of Weatherwires: Children of Dwarves (spoilers + image heavy) (Read 160419 times)