Solom never could have completed her work. This much was fact- without argument. There simply wasn't enough time. Not, at least, for a mortal. She had begun it, true- but another would finish it. Others would finish it, with the ample time afforded by already being deceased. What began as a single script became a list of different styles and techniques used to write the following words- each undead wisp in turn taking the realm of the poltergeist to a whole new apex. There was one thing left unfinished, in the whole of Weatherwires. Unfinished, like their business. Unfinished, like many of their lives. Unfinished, like the hopes of the first dwarf who sent them all to this volcano in the hopes of a utopia.
Unfinished- but not for too long.
The ghosts were angry- sad- fearful... but they were Dwarves, with engravers among the damned.
And Dwarves struck the earth.
There would be no goblin ears to hear the clinking of chisel in many hands against smooth stone, each dead dwarf taking over for another when the energy lost in such an endeavor became too great. It was camaraderie- the very first example that Weatherwires had seen in decades, all to create a message that perhaps only one individual would ever see before the stone itself began to crumble away in time.
Dwarves struck the earth.
Ghosts remembered.
---
You should not be here. None of us should have been here, and you are no different- be you goblin, dwarf or human. None should never be here save perhaps the fungus-men we discovered and befriended so long ago- the ones that spirits whisper have been butchered.
Yes, spirits- Weatherwires is haunted, raider. Haunted with sorrow. Haunted with despair. Haunted with rage and anger. Haunted with fear. We saw these. Now, we are these- and you trespass upon our memories. You trespass in a place that will spell your demise, as it spelled ours. As it spelled the demise of the last intruders to ever glimpse this place- the goblins and trolls. Should you leave this place after glimpsing the legends within, never speak a word of it- sell not a word to any bidder, no toiled work we have constructed of blood, sweat, tears of adamantine to any merchant. They are all cursed, as we were. And if by some miracle the curse does not follow you and your ill-gotten gains from our prison, our tomb?
We will.
Remember only this, adventurer- marked by the gods as being no better than tilled soil for Buriedplagues's gardens, cursed into infertility by whatever hell this place was erected atop, having fought veritable wars against goblins and demons and beasts of the chasms, having been forced to rise from the grave and, in fits of madness, destroy the ones we came to love? We died. But we died as dwarves, and they could not take that from us any more than they could pry the Truesteel from our grip. We struck the earth, and the earth struck back- as it has always been, and always should be. Glory-seeker-
We Won.
---
What followed after the message was a list, of perhaps a hundred or more names each in a different script- some better-written than others. Among them are the names of one 'Ilral Visioncloistered', who records show to have died long before this missive could have possibly been engraved, judging by wear and tear on the stone. At the bottom was the handwriting of one 'Solom Townclenched', matching the first few words of the message as well as the last two. Archaeologists and adventurers alike believe it to be, at large, a practical joke as the ruins of old Weatherwires are continually excavated.
Or at least, they did- until they began killing each other.
Ilral never did sate his thirst for vengeance.
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This is a Masterful Engraving created by (various). All engraving is of the highest quality. This object menaces with spikes of dread and ominous foreshadowing. On the item is an image of Weatherwires in blood. On the item is an image of dwarves in adamantine. On the item is an image of Baros Buriedplagues in slade. On the item is an image of goblins in amber. Weatherwires is standing tall. The dwarves are stoic. Baros Buriedplagues's clawed hand forms the ground that the dwarves and the fortress Weatherwires is currently placed upon. The Goblins are running across Baros Buridplagues's arm towards the dwarves with weapons raised. The artwork relates to the fall of the fortress Weatherwires at the hand of Baros Buriedplagues and his goblin minions.
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Topic: The Saga of Weatherwires: Children of Dwarves (spoilers + image heavy) (Read 159438 times)