#lost dwarven caverns
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Lost Dwarven Caverns, isometric map by Diesel (David S LaForce) from “Visitors from Above,” Spelljammer adventure by Shonn Everett in Dungeon 28, March/April 1991
#D&D#Dungeons & Dragons#Diesel#David S LaForce#dungeon map#isometric dungeon map#Dungeon magazine#Spelljammer#lost dwarven caverns#isometric map#AD&D#dnd#Visitors from Above#Shonn Everett#Dungeons and Dragons#TSR
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Dungeon: Grandfather's Hungering Maw
Said to have been carved by an exiled dwarven king after his name and ignominious deeds were stricken from the records of his clan, this brooding edifice contains a darkness far deeper than any normal glacial cave.
The dungeon's name comes from a settlement in the foothills, with a mostly human population ignorant of the monument's dwarven origins. In their myths the face is infact that of a great giant, tricked by the folkhero founder of their village into staying very, very still while he was served a great feast, growing so spoiled and indolent that he was eventually buried by the mountain snow and froze solid. A recent series of avalanches that've buried paths and even destroyed homesteads have put it into people's heads that grandfather might be waking up.
Adventure Hooks:
A merchant caravan the party is riding along with takes a detour up into the highlands, following rumours of a village that's paying a premium for foodstuffs of late. Upon arrival they're strongarmed out of their cargo by a crowd of armed villagers, who heap the provisions on an overburned yak cart set to depart up the mountain on the next day. Fear of the giant has made some of the villagers turn into a panicked mob, emptying the granaries and raiding their neighbour's larders to supply ever larger and hastier "tribute" runs up to the mountain's mouth. Food is growing scarce in the village, and those with the foresight to worry about winter provisions dare not speak up: An old woman was accidentally killed trying to fend off the toughs uprooting her garden, and her still warm body was piled into the yak cart next to her unripe rutabagas.
Seeking the power of her infamous ancestor, a disfavoured daughter of the dwarven throne has ventured to the Maw with a group of sellswords in tow in the hopes of discovering the means of making herself queen. Down into the mountain's gullet they've found a great labyrinth, hewn over centuries by the still shuffling corpse of the nameless king, unable to fully rest until he has constructed a tomb worthy of his hubris. The would be ruler and her entourage are eating well thanks to the unsuspecting villagers' food deliveries, and have a few agents in town helping the process along while they continue their delve.
There's more than a stone worn skeleton and a few fortune hunters inhabiting the depths. A millennia ago Ahlkenahl the Vanquisher was a feared demon of war, thought invincible before the dwarven king forged a ring with the fiend's true name inscribed upon it and forced the Vanquisher to pledge an oath of eternal servitude. Driven into exile along with his mortal captor, Ahlkenahl has resentfully laboured alongside the king as he descended into witless undeath, even centuries after the ring was lost somewhere in the tomb along with the chipped fingerbone it rested on. The demon's occasional demolition filled bouts of rage cause the avalanches on the mountain's exterior, and they've only grown more frequent as he's attempted to stop the Heir and her underlings from finding the ring.
It's a three way race between the players, the dwarven heir, and the fiend to see who can find the ring first, having to not only battle eachother, but subterranean monsters, collapsing tunnels, and freezing glacier caverns along the way. Of course Ahlkenahl doesn't play fair, as the fiend can revive any body that finds its way into the Hungering Maw (such as dead villagers loaded on the Yak cart or slain sellswords) into undead minions, growing in strength as the situation becomes more desperate. The fiend can even send the undead down into the valley to do his bidding, chasing after whichever group managed to get the ring first or even go on a murder-filled supply run to bring back more bodies.
Simply getting the ring isn't enough to control Ahlhenahl, as the war-demon's true name is written in an infernal script that must be researched before it can be understood and spoken aloud. This gives the party a chance to catch up if the heir makes it out of the labyrinth with the prize and vice versa. It likewise gives Ahlkenahl's undead minions time to become a real threat both in number and as he deliberately creates more fearsome versions.
The Vanquisher can freely communicate with anyone holding the ring, an ability originally intended to allow the exiled king to command his bound demon in the field which now allows Ahlkenahl to whisper temptation into the ear of whoever holds it. Think of what he could do for them if they let him out of the labyrinth, the enemies he could slay, the kingdom he could carve on their behalf. Sure it would mean unleashing a walking massacre on the landscape but what's a little carnage between pactmates?
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All good things must pass...
This is a treat fic for @samayla for the 2023 @whiteoliphaunt.
Pairing: Thorin x Bilbo
Words: 1 335
Warnings: None
Prompts: Snowed in, gift giving, sharing traditions
“Maybe, we could…” Thorin II, generally called “Oakenshield”, scratched his beard pensively as he looked out on the endless blanket of snow that made it patently impossible to discern the single path leading down from the hidden cave.
“Dear,” Bilbo sighed, his nose twitching in dismay. He opened his mouth to remind his friend and lover of the fact that, despite being an esteemed king and a fierce warrior, Thorin had a pesky tendency to lose his way even at the best of times.
Indeed, the brave Hobbit was far from eager to tumble off a rocky ledge or fall down a ravine that was treacherously obscured by the snow in a ludicrous but eminently tragic accident.
Nevertheless, Thorin seemed so tense and unhappy already that his heart misgave him, and he swallowed his confession of doubt and fear in favour of a more selfless argument.
“I do not doubt that you, your dwarven instincts, and your sturdy boots could find a way down, but I beg you to remember that I am at a distinct disadvantage,” he commented in a soft, pleading voice, motioning at his furry, bare toes.
Of course, this was at least partially disingenuous; Bilbo’s feet were inured to both icy sludge and searing heat, but he could not feel all too guilty for fibbing when he saw Thorin’s eyes light up with relief and tenderness.
“It was such a nice idea to come here,” the Hobbit went on, willing his jaw to relax and suppressing the full-body shivers threatening to ruin his nonchalant delivery of those much-needed, reassuring words of love and support. “I do not mind staying a little longer. Surely, there are more things you can show me in your favourite grotto?”
The smile pulling at the corners of his mouth now was as sunny and genuine as it would have been had they comfortably stood in front of the Great Hall’s roaring fires.
Growing up, Bilbo—as was the wont of his kind—had himself favoured certain flowers, fruits, and trees, and he had never doubted the legitimacy of those instinctive preferences.
Thus, it made perfect sense to him that Thorin—who had only recently returned to his ancestral home—would have treasured places he had not seen for many decades.
It filled Bilbo’s heart with tingling warmth to know that his beloved did not only yearn to spend his future with so unlikely a consort, but that he was also recovered enough from the ordeal of the quest and his almost fatal bout of Dragonsickness to grant Bilbo a glimpse into a long-lost past.
“Did you come here often?” he prompted, threading his stiff fingers into the warm fur of Thorin’s collar and tugging gently to distract the King from his morose musings.
“Not as often as I would have liked,” Thorin admitted. “I was the heir, and my duties lay elsewhere.”
“Shame, it’s so pretty.”
Despite the howling wind and the blistering cold, the small cavern, nestled into the flank of a forlorn part of the Lonely Mountain’s foothills, held a singular, enchanting charm. Even in the chiaroscuro caused by the thick veil of heavily falling snow that was blocking out the daylight, age-old crystals glimmered faintly from the vaulted roof, and Bilbo couldn’t help being reminded of the intricate chandelier he had once seen in the Thain’s house as a fauntling.
“What would you do when you came here then?” His teeth were clacking miserably by now, but he was unwilling to let the conversation die.
With a jolt, Thorin seemed to abruptly snap out of his self-recriminatory reverie and firmly slung his arms around the smaller frame of the one he had chosen to be his partner in all things.
“I am so sorry,” he mumbled under his breath. “I have failed you again! Come here, let me warm you up!”
Opening his heavy coat, he wrapped Bilbo into a cocoon of warmth before settling his bearded chin atop the mop of messy, honey-golden curls with another deep, tremulous sigh.
“I am still waiting for an answer. Did you do frivolous, unprincely things?” Bilbo teased, feeling perfectly at ease now that he was sheltered from the biting cold by the fragrant, comforting bubble Thorin had created for him.
He knew not what expectations the overly serious King entertained within that stubborn, laughably haughty mind of his, but Bilbo himself could not imagine a better place to be during a snowstorm than in Thorin’s arms.
Having lived a solitary life before embarking on his Great Adventure, he was not fazed by the idea of being cut off and isolated—he even sometimes preferred being left alone, and, after the bustling activity of Erebor’s reconstruction and repair, he was profoundly grateful to get a moment of intimacy to simply talk to his husband.
“I…I could show you,” Thorin finally replied haltingly. “Sit over there.”
Shrugging out of his coat, the dwarven king draped it around his cherished consort’s shoulders and padded cautiously to the mouth of the cave.
“It is silly,” he admitted when he returned to where Bilbo sat, huddled against the far wall, and set down a heap of powdery, pristine snow.
Again, the Hobbit pressed his lips together to keep himself from saying something imprudent that would upset or discourage Thorin.
The gleam of pure hope and fond reminiscence in those bright blue eyes was so rare and precious a sight that it didn’t even truly matter if the puerile pastime Thorin was about to share turned out to be truly anodyne or vapid indeed.
Wordless, Bilbo watched as Thorin busied himself around the cave, collecting pieces of fallen crystal and small, iridescent stones to build a miniature of the throne room such as it had been before Smaug had laid waste to his beloved kingdom.
“It’s so beautiful,” Bilbo breathed, as ever fascinated and humbled by the craftiness and skill of the many-layered miracle that was Thorin.
Once upon a time, he had met a disgruntled, distrustful king in exile, and it never failed to awe him when he unearthed pieces of the young dwarf Thorin had necessarily been before everything had been taken from him and his family.
“Funny that you’d escape your princely duties only to recreate the very room you’ve fled,” he added in a light voice.
“Wait…” Thorin cautioned him. “May I ask for one of your cherished handkerchiefs as a sacrifice?”
Without hesitation, Bilbo handed over the worn cloth square, too curious to discover what the other had in mind.
“It’s a poor gift,” Thorin whispered as he extricated a piece of flint from his pocket and set the fabric alight, “because it doesn’t last, but…”
“Hush,” Bilbo interrupted, mesmerised by the dancing shadows and the kaleidoscope of colours the small flame cast upon the domed walls of their little sanctuary. “This is absolutely stunning. I understand why you loved coming here!”
Blushing furiously, Thorin looked up at him from where he knelt on the floor.
“Thank you,” Bilbo croaked, tears of emotion and depthless adoration turning his voice raspier than usual. “We Hobbits love ephemeral beauty; after all, even the most gorgeous flowers die and the most glorious of summers must end.”
Sliding to the floor beside Thorin to hug him to his clenching chest, Bilbo allowed his starry eyes to overflow, trusting that even his tears would be well-guarded and safe in Thorin’s mighty hands.
“You’ve graciously gifted me a fleeting flash of colour and heat to counterbalance the deadly white of this storm,” he breathed into a reddened ear, framed elegantly by silver beads and dark hair, “and you’ve granted me a glimpse of your precious soul’s eternity.”
“The storm has finally abated,” Thorin mumbled sheepishly. “Should we dare the descent?”
“Not yet,” Bilbo replied softly, spreading out the coat he’d been cowering under on the floor. “Let’s stay a while yet and watch the lights dance as if we were alone in the world. We are safe, Thorin. Let’s savour that! Together!”
I hope you'll enjoy this <3
Lots of love from me!
#og post#Fanfiction#writing#IDNMT writes#jrrt#Tolkien fanfiction#WO2023#WhiteOliphaunt 2023#Bagginshield#Thilbo#Thorin#Bilbo#Thorin x Bilbo#Snowed in#Gift giving#sharing traditions
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I’m reading the Pathfinder ‘Lost Omens: The Mwangi Expanse’ setting book (guess whose copy arrived recently!), and I’m on the section on the Mbe’ke dwarves of the Terwa Uplands, and I just. I want to mention the origin story the Mbe’kes tell about themselves:
“This is the story that Mbe’kes tell.
Long ago, dwarves marched upwards on a Quest for the Sky. They saw many wondrous things on that march; temples and treasures, magics and mysteries. One group of dwarves, who would later become Mbe’kes, finally emerged in a sheltered valley.
They looked about the rocky sides of the valley, and they looked at the great blue thing above, and mistook it for just one more cavern, if perhaps larger than most. Sages stroked their beards and engineers hefted their tools, and the dwarves set about breaching the vault of the sky. They climbed the tallest mountain in the land, braced the sky properly, and started digging. Dwarves, of course, can dig through anything, and so quite soon they broke through the sky into the Plane of Air.
The People of the Air were greatly surprised by these strangers. First a great hurricane-spirit tried to chase the dwarves away, but the dwarves had fought worse beneath the earth and were not cowed. Then a great djinni of the west wind offered the dwarves fine treasures to leave, but nothing matched the wonders the dwarves made themselves. Finally, a curious cloud dragon asked what in the seven stars above and the three stars below the dwarves were doing.
Once they understood their mistake, the dwarves descended back to Golarion and looked about the valley from which they’d emerged. They could most certainly make a home there, and did, and ever since Mbe’kes have been good friends with cloud dragons.”
Now. A couple of things. First, the actual historical and archaeological record tells a different story, suggesting that the proto-Mbe’ke initially fought for territory with the cloud dragons in the Terwa Uplands (evidence includes a suspicious number of old Mbe’ke relics made of dragon bone), but eventually the two groups made peace and became the firm allies they are today later down the line. Second, the Mbe’ke have a proud tradition of ‘tangle-tales’, an expression of their humour, which involve telling the most ridiculous, nonsensical, over the top stories possible with the straightest face possible, and responding to them just as seriously to encourage elaboration, until someone finally breaks and laughs. So. Tall tales are a prized tradition for Mbe’ke. And third, there’s this later note:
“If one were to ask a Mbe’ke, they would say that their people are famed for three things: first, they are the most stubborn of all dwarves; second, they are the most argumentative of all dwarves; and third, they have absolutely no sense of humour. This last will be said with a perfectly straight face.”
Their humour and culture is a combination of dwarven stubbornness and pragmatism, and cloud dragon whimsy and curiosity. And in that context …
I just really love that origin story? As a thing they tell about themselves. Because you can see …
The things they pride themselves on are being stubborn, argumentative, and secretly humorous. And it shows. Their origin has them climb out of the earth, look up, fail to realise that the sky is not just another ceiling, and then impossibly dig through that as well anyway. Stubborn, yes. Heh. And then, in the Plane of Air, they cannot be driven away by force, because come and have a go, and they can’t be driven away by bribery, because we’re dwarves, you can’t offer us anything we couldn’t make ourselves, but they can be politely knocked back by someone gently arguing with them until they realise their own idiocy. In this story, the cloud dragons were just ‘lads, what are you at?’, and the Mbe’ke looked around, realised their cosmological error, and just went ‘oops, our bad mate, thanks for the head’s up’, packed up their kit, and went back down a layer.
I love so much that this is a story they tell about themselves. That it shows what their pride is held in. In stubbornness, in doing the impossible, in refusing to be driven back by any insurmountable obstacle or show of force or attempt to undermine their integrity, but also in recognising their own foolishness, in acknowledging their own errors, in having fair dealings with people who deal fairly with them, and in poking some gentle fun at every previous thing on this list. Yes, it’s showing them in their best light, according to their own values, and the reality is often different, but it does illustrate quite well what those values are, and it’s fascinating.
And I also love some of the little details. They climbed the tallest mountain in the land and braced the sky properly. Like, if you’re going to do this ridiculous thing, you’re damn well going to do it right. Is it plausible or even possible? Irrelevant. Do it right regardless. I love that they saw another vast ceiling, another impossible barrier, and the ‘sages stroked their beards, and the engineers hefted their tools, and the dwarves set about breaching the vault of the sky’. Like, right, on we go! Another job, let’s get it done. They’re so … dwarvish. And god I love dwarves. You cannot stop a dwarf from digging. I love them.
Ahem. Anyway. I like the Mbe’ke a lot? Also dwarves. Just. In general. Heh. Carry on!
#pathfinder#pf2e#lore#mwangi expanse#dwarves#mbe'ke dwarves#i just love dwarves#worldbuilding#mythology#story telling
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Base Building: Great RPG Mechanics
#RPGMechanics Week Seven
I’ve always loved the idea of developing a “place” in play: a location, a home, an organization. I remember when Advanced Dungeons & Dragons arrived it presented the concept of high level fighters & such having a castle or keep. The rules limited this privilege limited by level– you needed a ton of experience before you could be lord of a fortress. And it also cost in-game money. A hefty price tag would consistent mechanic in ttrpgs for years. If you wanted something big– vehicles, robots, a wizard’s tower– you had earn hard cash first.
That system would evolve with cash-based economies joined by point-based ones. Champions and accounting-heavy games would eventually create systems for detailed base-building. But these were often architectural and mapping sub-systems and just involved making a big vehicle that didn’t move. There would be other approaches, but the next big shift came with Forged in the Dark’s Crew Playbooks.
Developing your Crew offered many benefits: increased effectiveness in certain areas, physical locations offering a benefit, new access, additional members. A tier system and crew special abilities added to that. You picked elements from a flow chart on the Crew sheet, another version of experience points being converted into benefits. This system offered a striking new area for game design. I’ve talked before about how games like Girl by Moonlight and Vergence use those as campaign and series frameworks.
But one of the most exciting new Forged in the Dark approaches has been that of Mountain Home. In MH you play Founders, leaders setting up a new Dwarven Settlement. The settlement itself acts as a kind of crew playbook, but there’s a shared template. You can choose between claiming a lost fortress, building a buried metropolis, being on an exodus from their previous settlement, or seeking to mine a new mother lode. Each has questions to help set things up and there’s a definite shift in tone between them. The choice of settlement type impacts abilities, special discoveries, and a couple of other things.
Mountain Home, like other Forged games, has a distinct cycle of play. The Settlement Phase is final part of Mountain Home’s play cycle and includes the Downtime phase. It marks the end of the year–something which mentally gives the players a sense of closure and the larger span of time happening. The phase begins with players activating Claim Buildings. I’ll come back to that in a moment, but basically there are effects: like special healing or increasing reputation which are based on particular buildings.
Downtime actions in the settlement phase include the usual FitD choices, like training and clearing stress. But the big ticket item here is the Long Term Project. As with other FitD games these can be flexibly used for lots of things.
These projects include two of the most important aspects of Mountain Home: Discoveries and Claim Buildings. The players’ settlement is broken into four rows and five columns. The rows represent depths from Surface to Depth 3. Each of the intersections of Depth and column have two spots where players can eventually build Claim buildings. But to do so, they first have to discover and explore them– a long term project. When they finish that project, the GM rolls to see what kind of location it is (Earthy Caves, Iron Vein, Lava-Filled Caverns, etc). The depth and kind of discovery affects what kinds of buildings can be constructed in those two associated spots. There’s also a set of special discoveries which can get triggered, unique to the kind of settlement being built.
The other big long term project is establishing one of those Claim buildings. As I mentioned, some have requirements for where they can be built. For example a Lumber Mill can only be built in a Surface Forest, a Research Library in an Ancient Ruin, an Iron Guildhall in an Iron Vein. These have different Tiers (up to IV); the clock for building them is 3+Tier. So with a couple of people working, a building can often be finished in a single Settlement phase.
This breaks the concept of base building away from just point-buying or experience spending. Instead the act of creation is part of play. That’s novel and opens up what you can do in play. Functionally you have two things. The first is the idea of a space which needs to be prepared: explored, excavated, etc. Players take actions and invest in handling that. Then there’s actually choosing and building things in those uncovered areas.
The selection of buildings is really interesting, but with room for the players to add more. Some affect the Trade roll which is made after the Downtime phase, generating treasure. Others are permanently dedicated for effects. For example, you need to dedicate a Farm of some kind to raise your settlement’s Tier. There’s enough options and interesting ideas there that the players will always have tough choices– and each settlement will be different. When I ran it players did projects to come up with the plans for new buildings (which they then spent actions building) including a Hot Springs.
I would say the Settlement map, the Claim buildings, and that whole system is really the secret sauce of Mountain Home. It’s great and really makes adding what are effectively elements to your crew sheet feel super satisfying.
You can easily hack this in-play base-building I can imagine using this for developing a space colony; it maps easily to that. You could adapt it for something post-apocalyptic like Forbidden Lands or Twilight 2000. The players find an abandoned base or town and have to work to restore it. For something like Urban Shadows or Vampire, it might be about extending influence over the area. One idea I’ve mentioned before is the concept borrowed from Wrath of the Autarch. In this fantasy setting, the players are exiles who had fled and found themselves at a long-lost supernatural fortress. They have rebuild that in order to gather allies and strike back at the Empress who drove them out.
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Some of my best friends are liches
Deep in the belly of Wave Echo Cave, Taako, Magnus, and Merle follow behind Gundren Rockseeker, listening to him weave tales of lost riches and dwarven treasures. If you ask Taako, the whole thing sounds a little melodramatic and campy; he’s just here for a payday. At some point, while Gundren fiddles with the massive vault door, Taako sees something odd.
Just off the path, he sees what looks like an umbrella lying on the ground. Kind of an odd place to have an umbrella if you ask him, not like you see a lot of rain in an underground cavern. But it looks finely crafted, the handle a solid and intricately carved mahogany. So finely crafted that he feels weird just leaving it to collect more dust and grime; instead, he decides to slip it into his backpack before rejoining the group.
“We’re about to have a whole trove of riches at our disposal, boys,” Gundren says as the door opens with a loud and imposing thunk. Before they have a chance to set foot inside the vault though, they’re all but thrown back by a wall of heat. And then there’s a wall of what looks like red fire that comes streaking down the tunnel to the vault.
“Boys! Oh boys, I’m so sorry I was gone for so long! I was trying my best to shskshskshkksh the khshkshkshshshs but something went wrong,” this figure cloaked in flames says to them, her voice full of this unearned familiarity. And affection, even. The whole situation makes Taako’s stomach tie itself in knots and his heart clench uncomfortably; something about this feels so viscerally wrong.
“Do you guys know this thing?” Gundren murmurs to them. The figure turns her attention to him and he stiffens. It feels like the fire that laps at the end of her robes starts to burn brighter and hotter.
“Of course they know me, I’m shskshkshk! And frankly, dwarf, you’re at the top of my shit list because your dad shkskhskhskhs and shkshkshkshks —"
“Um. Hail and well met, scary fire lady!” Magnus interrupts, giving a little wave. “I’m sorry but, at the very least, I don’t know you. Also half of what you just said did just sound like ckhschkschkshck.”
“Haha, very funny, Magnus,” the figure says, crossing her spectral arms. There’s no face in her hood, just darkness illuminated by a faint red glow but it she had visible eyes, she would be rolling them.
“I don’t either, sorry,” Merle says with a shrug.
The figure stiffens. “Gods, did something go wrong with shhkshkshkshks? Is that why? Taako, come on, you remember me, tell them.” She floats over towards Taako and the weight of her gaze on him feels like he’s being sprayed with fire.
“Listen, I don’t know who you think we are or how you know our names but I barely know these clowns, much less you,” Taako snaps. He feels bad about it and he can’t pinpoint why but he’s not too keen on this overly-familiar tablecloth floating in front of him. She makes him queasy and gives him heartburn.
“Taako, stop fucking around,” She says, all of a sudden very serious. She reaches out and tries to touch his shoulder and Taako recoils.
“Don’t fucking touch me! I don’t know you,” he spits, flinching away. Before she’s even able to lay a hand on him, his skin feels like when he got a sunburn when he was a lot younger and some rando slapped it; stinging, burning, excruciating
“Y-you don’t…None of you?” she breathes out. Suddenly her form starts crackling. “This has to be kshkshshskhskskh. Of fucking course it’s skhshshshkskhsks! She couldn’t just accept that—” Arcs of red lightning begin tearing off her form. She looks down and shakes her head. “I’m going to fix this!” she yells before functionally vanishing from their view.
“So…Let’s tear into that treasure, huh?” Gundren offers before starting into the vault. Magnus and Merle follow closely behind. Taako follows them a little further behind, the whole ordeal having given him the creeps.
[[Finish reading on ao3!!]]
#rip (reeses in pieces)#taz#taz balance#the adventure zone balance#reese writes#taako#lup#barry bluejeans#magnus burnsides#merle highchurch#lucretia#>:3
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21 or 22 for the artifact prompts!
thanks for the prompt! this one really got away from me. it's in the style of a dwarven folk tale - a first for me
an unstrung bow that whispers when touched, or the story of brother treasure-hunter
Before the Roads were new and after the Thaigs were lost, back when the Stone knew your name, a brother of ours was treasure-hunting far from here. Rockfall had separated him from his sisters; time had taken him from his home. A great cavern opened before him.
The shine of the stone in his lamplight echoed back its story. Long before, a city had risen. Long before, a city had fallen.
“Good hunting,” he said to himself and left the collapsed stone behind him.
Brother Treasure-Hunter was a wise dwarf and knew to watch for the bones of the lost among the rubble. Here there were many, broken and unburied where their city had crumbled. Fallen cities are good for the treasure-hunter, and good for the ghost.
Brother Treasure-Hunter’s bag soon grew full with gold and gems, heavy with scrolls of memory, long before even half the Thaig was searched.
“I must bring my sisters next,” he said. “They will dance with joy when they see the riches here.”
He pulled out his map to mark the Thaig and the rockfall that had brought him there. And he saw the land around him was unknown.
“How do I find my exit?” he asked to the Stone. “It is time for me to leave.”
A wind whipped through the cavern, pulling him towards the distant southern wall. Brother Treasure-Hunter followed the path the Stone had shown him, remembering to care for his steps. No bones crushed under his heels.
The Stone-wind blew out his lamp.
“Thanks,” said Brother Treasure-Hunter. “I needed that to find my way home.”
His hands found the wall and he let his eyes find the darkness. The Thaig was different in the dark, as it always is. The southern wall seemed further, and the wind weaker. The ruins he had seen just before him were now empty halls.
Brave as black, Brother Treasure-Hunter started walking again, although the southern wall never seemed to draw nearer. He walked for many minutes in the dark and silent.
Who knows me? Something whispered in the wind.
“Brother Ghost, I apologize,” said Brother Treasure-Hunter, feeling something hard and brittle against his boot. “I will move your bones from my path.”
But what he picked up was not cold and dirty bone, but warm and broken wood.
Raise me, whispered the wind, so I may know you.
Brother Treasure-Hunter raised the wood until he could see the fine make of its shape, curving into an elegant bow. The hand that held it turned cold, the splinters of the ancient wood pricking blood from his skin.
Ah, child of Stone, I have not known a hand like yours, the bow whispered to him.
“And I haven’t known a curve like yours,” replied Brother Treasure-Hunter. He knew the heavy comfort of a shield and steel too well to have ever been tempted by the safety of a distant shot, indeed. “I will put you from my path and leave you to rest, Brother Bow.”
Not so quickly, Brother Bow said, I may not know your hand, but I will learn. You will find my vengeance to me.
Brother Treasure-Hunter had no such plans. “Esteemed Brother Bow,” said he, “I don’t know your vengeance and cannot shoot. Besides, you are broken by forgetful time. If you wait for my return, I will bring you my sister, who can shoot.”
I don’t need to wait, said Brother Bow. I will learn your hand.
The wood warped before him, recarving itself before his eyes and worming splinters deep into his hand.
See, I have learned your hand, said Forgotten Bow, and now I will find my vengeance.
“Brother Bow,” said Brother Treasure-Hunter, trying to find himself time, “you are still unstrung and have no arrows. And I don’t know what vengeance you seek.”
I do not need such things, said Forgotten Bow. Your Stone remembers me.
The cavern lit the flickering green of half-remembered flame. Brother Treasure-Hunter’s ruins were no more; they had rebuilt themselves to the towering carvings they once had been. Blue ghosts flickered in and out of doorways.
You see your people, yes, said Forgotten Bow, and now you see mine.
An army of green flowed in from the southern wall, bows like Brother Treasure-Hunter’s in their hands. Brother Treasure-Hunter knew the wars, and this was one.
“What vengeance do you want?” he asked Remembered Bow.
I will bring the sun to my forgotten ones, said Remembered Bow, and that will be vengeance enough for me.
“I could never be buried in the sun,” said Brother Treasure-Hunter, “What of my forgotten ones?”
They are not here; observe them flee.
And the lyrium-memory did, collapsing the northern exit behind them. And then fell the southern.
“I will help you,” said Brother Treasure-Hunter, remembering the pain of lost Stone, “if it will satisfy your vengeance.”
You see the light, all the way up there? asked Remembered Bow, Sight me at it and hold still.
And Brother Treasure-Hunter did.
He saw a flash of light, bright and burning past his face.
He heard the rumble of a rockfall and fell to the ground.
The Stone split open. The sun found the ground.
Away faded the ghosts of green, and away crumbled Remembered Bow.
Thank you, whispered the wind.
In thanks for its vengeance, Remembered Bow gave us a growing thaig. Brother Treasure-Hunter remained wise, and stopped treasure-hunting. He was lucky once; no one is lucky twice.
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Snapdragons (2/?)
Description: Maeria attempts to do her job, and live her life, but the arrival of Elrond throws that off course.
Maeria chases after Gerda and Gamil who both have their father’s prized antiques on their heads.
“You may keep playing, but you must give me your father’s things. It is too dangerous for you to run with them on.” She chides them, once she’d caught them both.
All three of them turn when Disa’s voice echoes through the home. “You must stay for dinner.”
“He must be leaving.” Durin’s protests follow.
She looks at the children and gestures for them to retreat into their rooms. Then she sneaks down the stairs and peeks her head out. A male elf stands between Durin and Disa looking quite amused.
As if sensing her gaze, oakwood eyes flicker her direction, and she jolts back behind the wall.
“Who is—oh Maeria, she’s the sweetest girl.”
Maeria curses Disa’s hostess nature and waits for her to call for her.
“Maeria, will come down her?”
Maeria steps from behind the wall and ducks her head as she enters the main chamber. “You called?”
Disa nods, and gestures to the male elf. “This is Durin’s friend, Elrond, he’s staying for dinner.”
“No, he’s not.” Durin grumbles.
Elrond stands tall, taller than her, which is odd to her at first considering she’s been the tallest for nearly a decade. He has short brown hair, and warm brown eyes. He's quite handsome, his face is open and kind, his relaxed posture makes him seem nonthreatening. He smiles at her, and she returns it.
“A pleasure to meet you.” She inclines her head towards him.
“And you, it is a pleasure and a rarity to meet another elf in Durin’s home.” His voice is smooth, steady, practiced, but not without warmth.
“Maeria has been helping me keep the children from tearing this whole place down for…how long now?”
“Fifteen years.” She supplies helpfully.
“That’s another thing you missed, friend, we got an elf to help us with the children.”
Elrond gives Durin an affectionate smile. “I dare say that’s rarer than anything else I’ve missed.”
“Their wedding was quite beautiful.” She says, earning a smile from Durin. “And the children are lovely.”
Disa waves a hand dismissively, pretending not to be beaming with pride. “It’s a team effort.”
“Will you be joining us for dinner as well, Lady Maeria?” Elrond asks.
“Oh, well I—”
“Of course, she is.” Disa said. “Elrond’s visit has given a reason for her not to disappear into her room and eat alone.”
Maeria bit the inside of her cheek. She knew Disa meant well, but now it seemed as if she turned down their offer to eat with them regularly.
“Wonderful, Lady Maeria I would love to hear of how you found yourself in Durin’s employment.”
They all sat around the table and Maeria ate in silence, enjoying the banter between Elrond and Durin. Disa had prepared a simple meal, adding garnishes to elevate each dish. Maeria picked the garnishes off and set them aside. She enjoyed the potato soup without anything extra. Preferring substance to flash, something left over from her time traveling.
Disa passed her a roll, and she took it before tearing off a piece and moving to dip it in her soup.
“Lady Maeria, I do wish to know how it is you came to work for Durin?”
She looked at Elrond and set down her roll. “I was orphaned after the death of my brother, and I got lost in the mountains. I took refuge in a cave for shelter and in my panic stumbled upon an old dwarven trapdoor. I found myself falling and eventually landed in a cavern. Lady Disa found me and took me in after hearing my tale of woe.”
“She’s a wonderful singer, the stone doesn’t respond to her, but she can draw quite the crowd.” Disa added.
“I am nowhere as good as you, my lady.”
Disa smiled bashfully. “See, this is why I keep you around.”
Maeria laughed and caught Elrond’s gaze. “I am half-elven, with a mortal mother, there is no need to call me ‘lady,’ I meant to tell you that earlier, Lord Elrond.”
“Surely your father was of high standing, your beauty is that of a rose grown in the soils of Valinor.” He praised, no sign of false flattery in his voice.
“So charming.” Disa said in Stone-Speak, wriggling her shoulders to Maeria.
“Silver is used in tongues and daggers.” She replied, giving Elrond a polite smile. “Thank you, Lord Elrond, but I never knew my father, he left my mother and I, when I was a babe.”
Elrond’s handsome features dropped into a frown. “Truly?”
“Yes, unless you mean to imply my mother was a liar?” She raised an eyebrow.
He shook his head. “No, I would never imply that, I am just having difficulties imagining any elf abandoning their child.”
Maeria took a sip of her wine. “I was told half-elves with mortal mothers are looked upon less favorably than those with mortal fathers.”
Elrond ducked his head slightly. “I must confess I would not know; my father was my non-elven parent.”
She only hummed in acknowledgment. He was a beloved son, welcomed by the elves, a small part of her she thought had died long ago, flared with jealousy.
“Elrond here, is looking to petition the king.” Durin said, breaking the tension.
“For whatever reason?” Maeria asked.
“His superiors wish to build some fancy tower and need our help.”
She raised her glass in Elrond’s direction. “I wish you luck.”
He bowed his head in thanks, and soon the conversation returned to idle chatter.
Maeria sat atop one of the bridges, legs hanging off the edge. The city is quiet, and the lights sparkle like stars in the darkness. She leans back on her hands and breathes in the night air. It's been ages since she's seen another of her kind, and she hopes he'll leave soon. The words written in the letter her father left them still burn in her mind. If he, who was so highly respected, acted in such a manner, surely the other below he acted the same.
Durin sat beside her with a huff. “I want you to go with Elrond.”
She gave him a confused look. “Why would I ever wish to among elves?” He knew of her anger, the anger of her mother that festered within her and brought about her ruin.
“Because you care for the dwarves.” He said, looking up at her. He knew she would say yes, he wouldn't have to order her to go.
She sighed. “I will be ostracized, untrusted, I do not think I will be of help.”
“Not alone you won’t, I’ll be coming as well.”
She relaxed her shoulders. “You should have said that earlier.”
Durin smiled. “I just wanted to give you a little scare, just for the humor of it.”
She shook her head, an amused smile on her face. “I’m telling Disa.”
“No, you are not.” Durin ordered.
“Good evening to you both.” Elrond sat on her other side.
“Evening.” They both said.
Maeria subtly scooted closer to Durin who elbowed her, and mumbled "be nice." Then stood. “I better be getting back to Disa.”
Maeria moved to stand, but he shook his head, leaving her sitting beside Elrond.
“Durin tells me you possess a great power.” Elrond said, his oakwood eyes shining with curiosity.
She nodded, and flipped up her palm. Flames burst forth, dancing within the boundaries of her palm. She felt no heat, she never did. “A gift, from my brother.”
“Is it a ring, or a necklace, that gives you the ability?” He asked, voice hushed with awe.
“No, the flame is within me.” She closed her hand, extinguishing the flame. There was no smoke, not embers or burned skin. Only her undamaged palm remained.
“Fascinating.” He breathed, reaching for her relaxed hand. He gently unfurled her fingers and held her hand up to the light. "And there is no pain?"
"No, I cannot be burned." She let him continue inspecting her hand and suppressed a shiver when his fingertips brushed down her palm.
"What a wondrous gift, was he a sorcerer?"
“It has come in handy once or twice.” She said, avoiding the second part of his question.
He noticed her avoidance but did not push further. Instead, he changed the subject. “And you will be joining us on our journey home?”
“To your home, yes.” She nodded, then cast her eyes out at the wonders of the Dwarven realm. She would miss her home, the constant hum of machines, and chattering in Stone-Speak.
“Might I show you the wonders of Lindon while we’re there?” He still had her hand within her grasp, but neither of them seemed inclined to pull away.
She met his gaze. “You may. I cannot promise I will find them wondrous, though. Elves are not my favored people.”
“Perhaps that will change once you see our city.” His fingertips drew patterns absentmindedly on the skin of her palm.
She took back her hand, resting it on her knee. “Perhaps.”
Tag List: @nyctophilic0vitnir
Also Nycto! Do you want to be tagged only in my ROP fics or all of them?
#ring of power#rop fanfiction#elrond x oc#elrond x reader#elrond rop#young elrond#Snapdragons#meg's writing
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Book worm questions: 43, 44, 49, and 50 please :D
43) Title of a book you own that's in the worst physical condition you have. Explain what happened to it. Post a picture if you want: Dragonflight by Anne McCaffrey! Alas, I don't have it to take a picture of, because it fully disintegrated. It was an old printing, on the pulpy paper that yellows quickly and swells and curls in humidity, and I got it already second-hand and from an un-air-conditioned stall at a giant flea market, and then I read it a lot. The glue went out of the binding and it was just a collection of pages, and the front cover had already softened to nothing, and then one day I was rereading it and couldn't hold the pages together well enough to read it at speed anymore. Runner-up is Dragonlance: The Lost Histories: The Dragons by Douglas Niles, which is as you can see now two half-books and a free-floating front cover. I got it in 1998 and have read it multiple times a year every year since.
44) The book(s) whose stories have become part of your very makeup: I listed a bunch in my answer to carrionfourth, but actually The Dragons is another good answer, as is Key of the Keplian by Lyn McConchie and Andre Norton. I got them both at the same time, and grew up with them (I was six in 1998. they might not have been entirely age-appropriate, but that didn't matter, because what they actually were was a bribe. to keep my mouth shut, about something which I won't now disclose, because they were a damn fine bribe). Also the Dragonlance: Dwarven Nations trilogy by Dan Parkinson--all of them to some extent, but most specifically and vividly the scene in the second book, Hammer and Axe, where Handil the Drum collapses the caverns. The first time a book broke my heart.
49) Do you prefer hopeful, humorous, very emotional or darker books? It's very important to me that a story has a satisfying and happy ending (gotta be both) but I usually enjoy any sort of tone on the way there. Sometimes I'll be in the mood for funny or intense or agonizing or uplifting specifically, but I think more often it's the satisfaction I crave.
50) What kind of book have you never read but always hope to find at some point in the future? This one is definitely not something I’ve never read before but it is something I’m always looking for more and better examples of--people having mind-links with animals. I do want to see there be bleed-through effects so that the humans pick up more of their friend's instinctive behaviors and the animals gain more human perspectives, but I'm so so picky about how it's handled. Love how Tamora Pierce did it with Daine in the Immortals quartet. A Companion to Wolves by Elizabeth Bear came close but then really lost me at the end, but I love how I've seen fandoms use the setting as an AU. Oh, you know what. It's like a hyper-specific somewhat more violent daemons AU. I'm looking for something like His Dark Materials, but with more cool fight scenes and less religious undercurrents. All recommendations welcome!
#asks#zahnie#I was thinking how A Companion to Wolves and the Dragonriders of Pern books have similar potential as AUs#and then I realized. this is just even more of my ongoing search for daemon AUs. I do love those little soul critters so#oh! that's also the Key of the Keplian! the Keplians are magic psychic horses and they form a warrior's bond with the main character!#oh I just want every single magical psychic animal bond book ever. I want them all.#to go back a bit though I think I'm probably due a reread for the Dwarven Nations trilogy#gotta get back to my love Handil. the first pyrrhic victory that was ever really presented to me as equal parts tragedy and triumph#absolutely devastated tiny babby Alexis
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Purpose & Index
This blog is a project for me, and maybe you, to walk through DND's modules in release order. So this blog has basically 3 goals:
Show off some weird interesting ideas from older modules
Shine light on obscure modules
Look at how modules grew as an art-form
Isn't that's fun and interesting?
Index
I will try to keep this up to date, bug me if it goes untouched for too long..
Pre-G1, part 1: Temple of the Frog (1975)
Pre-G1, part 2: Palace of the Vampire Queen, The Dwarven Glory, and The Misty Isles, Wee Warriors (1976-1977)
Pre-G1, part 3: Lost Caverns of Tosjconth, WinterCon Ver. (1976)
Pre-G1, part 4a: City-State of the Invincible Overlord, Tegel Manor, Modron, Judge's Guild (1976-1978)
Pre-G1, part 4b: The Thieves of Fortress Badabaskor, GenCon IX Dungeons, Citadel of Fire, Judge's Guild (1978)
Pre-G1, part 5: The Tower of Zenopus (1977)
G1, The Steading of the Hill Giant Chief, Gary Gygax (Jul 1978)
G2, The Glacial Rift of the Frost Giant Jarl, Gary Gygax (Jul 1978)
G3, The Hall of the Fire Giant King, Gary Gygax (Jul 1978)
D1, The Descent into the Depths of the Earth, Gary Gygax (Aug 1978)
D2, Shrine of the Kuo-Toa, Gary Gygax (Aug 1978)
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Little Mouse pt 4
Chapter 4: Repurcussions
Chapter 3
Pairing: Raphael/ Tav (femme drow)
Summary: Raphael makes a play for power when you disobey him. You need to learn your place and Haarlep is the tool he will use. They might manage to be better advice against him than you realize. That is, if you can survive the punishment
Tags: MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS ONE, torture, whipping, flaying, gore, fingering, blood
You awoke to a feeling of absence. The bedside where Haarlep occupied was empty. No, not empty, there was a key in the place where they slept. Raphael was here. You picked it up, studied it. It was heavy, ornate. This could belong to any of the garrish doors in this house.
You put on the outfit left out for you- a slim leather set that was dyed red. You appreciated how modest it was but considered its purpose.
The entrance to the boudoir was open. You were free. Well, free to step outside- Raphael wanted you to find him.
This all must be leading up to your punishment for touching Haarlep again. Though nothing happened, it was probably an exercise of power. You grabbed the key and threw on the sturdy boots left out for you. Were you going to fight to the death?
Stepping outside the room you saw people. Wait, these weren't people, they were souls. You couldn't really tell. They were barking mad, some literally so. You did your best to avoid them but they all gave you their own cryptic batshit warnings. Finally you ran down a hall into a door that was locked. Trying the key, it wouldn't budge. Great.
“Can someone tell me where this goes?” You asked, frustrated. Debtors cowered in your presence. Moving along, you saw a row of doors ahead of you. Unbelievable. This was the devil's torture? Mild inconvenience? You made your way, trying another lock when you felt a debilitating, sharp pain on your abdomen. The strike dropped you to your knees, knocking the wind out of you. Pulling your armour from your chest, you examined your stomach in shock. You saw nothing. This was a threat from Raphael- hurry or die.
You replaced your armour and ran down the hall to a dwarven man in a room of mirrors.
“Stop. You do not belong here” he snapped at you. Catching your breath, you showed him the key, desperate for direction. The man scoffed at you. “You're standing on the door, drow” he pointed at your feet which indeed stood upon a circular plate.
Nodding frantically, you placed the key into a small opening on the plate on the floor, using the key as a handle to lift it. “Thank you!” You wheezed out.
“Fuck off” he said, shutting the door in your face.
You climbed down the ladder practically jumping when you saw the bottom to avoid falling in case Raphael struck Haarlep again.
Running through the deep caverns of his home you realized this was a prison. A beautiful dwarven woman was chained in the distance. You almost approached her when you felt the second strike. This one burned hotter than the last. You fell to the ground, clutching your knees. He must have hit the first wound.
You didn't have time to recover. You got up on your feet and ran, clutching your stomach until you saw him.
Haarlep was chained much like the dwarven woman was, though with a less grand scale. No pillars of stone for Haarlep, just chains and a sadistic devil. They were bleeding from the wounds on their stomach. You noted Raphael held a barbed whip.
“Ah, you made it. I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost, little mouse” Raphael placed his whip down onto a table with a number of torture instruments. You recognized quite a few from your upbringing in Menzoberranzan.
“I'm here. What do you want?” You asked, eyeing a complex looking tool with a screw. You wondered what appendage this was for.
Raphael grabbed your chin and roughly focused your eyeline to Haarlep. “What do you see, mouse?” He squeezed your jaw, smushing your cheeks in a demeaning way.
“I see a captive” you spoke through his iron grip.
“Acceptable,” he released your face. “You see yourself. A victim. I see potential. Clay in need of molding. A blank canvas” he explained, moving to a chair in the corner of the room.
You began to understand what he really wanted from you now. You weren't going to be the victim, but the perpetrator of this torture.
“You think I'm going to torture them?” You asked, appalled.
Raphael leaned into his chair, lifting a chalice to his lips and taking a long, dramatic swig. “Yes. I know you will. Because if you don't, I will” he gestured to the table and that corkscrew device suddenly filled you with dread.
You walked over to the table and lifted a thin, long blade. Sighing, you walked over to Haarlep. They thrashed uncontrollably against their chains when you walked behind them. “Be still. You'll only make it worse” you hated how you sounded.
“Tell me, have you taken to the art of torture before, mouse?” Raphael asked, peering over his chalice.
You ran your hand over Haarlep's back. The skin was soft and moist. “Of course I have. My mother personally instructed me on the methods I employ. She was considered particularly skilled at interrogation and sadistic torture” you pressed the blade into Haarlep's skin, just between the spine and shoulder blade. They thrashed again.
You removed the blade from their back and moved to the table. You lifted a mace in one hand and the blade in the other. They stopped moving. “Thank you, Haarlep. I need precision for this to work. And to keep our arms” you placed the mace down and returned to their back. Again, you began to lacerate in a vertical line to the lower back, careful to not press any deeper than the fatty layer. Your back burned with the cut but the blade split Haarlep's skin easily. You tried to disassociate yourself from Haarlep's form. This was not you, only the incubus. They hissed at your blade's sting but did not squirm.
“You must have a wonderful relationship with your mother. She sounds charming” Raphael mused.
You pulled the skin at Haarlep's shoulder until it was taught. “We don't really talk” you lifted the blade to their shoulder but your hand was shaking.
To steady the blade, you pushed it into the fat of their shoulder, moving the blade towards your initial cut. The knife snagged on a fatty knot and you pulled the knife from the incubus’ shoulder. They howled in pain, you could hardly keep from blacking out.
“Where is the particular cruelty? It seems you're causing yourself more pain than our Haarlep” Raphael challenged you.
You felt hot wet blood pooling at your feet. You had to move fast. The last cut. From tip to tip, forming an isosceles triangle in the flesh. It was also the longest cut. You braced the knife against Haarlep's skin. They shuddered under your touch. “Be still. One last cut” you could barely hold the knife. Haarlep turned their head to look you in the eye. Their wild, terrified eyes blown out with shock. Your eyes. Why were they scared? A dip in the pool could easily solve their massacred flesh. You peered between their legs and back to their eyes. This was a trick.
“Oh Haarlep, I couldn't pity you” you thrusted two bloodied fingers into their absolutely drenched cunt. They were never scared, they were an effigy of you.
Raphael watched as you fucked your image with with one hand and delivered the final cut with the other. Your screams greatly outmatched Haarleps. Still, Raphael was impressed. You let Haarlep rock themself to completion on your hand before you tried to peel the skin from muscle. It wasn't successful. To your credit, you peeled a third of the flesh off before you blacked out, screaming and sweating.
You woke up in the restoration pool, Haarlep fully recovered. “You're not dead” Haarlep smiled at you.
Touching their back, you couldn't even feel a scar. Haarlep moved closer at your touch. “I need to get out of this place, Haarlep. Please” you pleaded with them.
They kneeled over you, forcing you to tilt your head up to look them in the eye. “It can be done. Make the right deals, play the right games. But you must know the rules you're trying to break” they explained.
You nodded, understanding. You had to stay. They tucked a lock of hair behind their ear and kissed you, settling into your lap. You laid your hands on their hips, pulling them closer.
They broke the kiss before you. “I'll leave you with that” they rested their arms on your shoulders.
“Why does he even have us room together if we can't touch?” You asked, irritated. You didn't particularly enjoy Haarlep's company but it was oddly hard to resist. They were an incubus though which wasn't making your decision making process very fair.
“Oh you won't be sleeping in the boudoir tonight, pet. You have the esteemed honour of joining the master in his chambers” Haarlep explained, moving off your lap. You shuddered at the thought.
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11 + vali for the sensory prompts ! bonus points if u add valmellia flavour >:3c
11. Blood at the corner of your mouth | set during Wintersun, Act 3 | cw: gore, cannibalism, sacrifice | AO3 Link
It is an alluring sight, really, when he returns to the caverns where the dwarven shaman had lived, and found Camellia kneeling over the crumpled body on the ground, lost in the ecstasy of serving Mireya's hunger. He always did appreciate a woman who had a healthy appetite.
The sacrifice’s guts spilled across the floor - she had not been quick or clean this time, judging from the overwhelming smell of blood and how long it had been since Valerius had taken their companions outside to let Camellia ‘deal’ with her.
Watching her go through the same ritual without reeling from the revelation is exquisite. Droplets of blood trickling down from her mouth, the shuddering moans of pleasure as she takes in each bite – this time, a piece of intestine – with the proper deportment of a lady. He licks his lips, envious of her, eager to participate and passion coiling up tight in his belly.
Patience, he chides himself.
When she opens her eyes, she looks directly at him, her eyes darkened with lust and hunger. A sultry smile curls her lips upwards, and she beckons him towards her. He is by her side in an instant – Camellia leading him over to the nearby pile of furs, pushing him back onto them before straddling him. Impatient fingers pull at each other’s laces to feel one another’s bare skin. Her tongue slips into his mouth – and he can taste the shaman on her, still feel the flecks of blood still at the corner of her lips.
By the time they are finally sated, Camellia catching her breath and falling on top of him, the fire that the shaman had been warming herself by has nearly died, and peeking from beyond the entrance of the cave is Wintersun’s hazy dusk. Valerius had made sure to position the camp more than a few strides away from the cave’s mouth, to make sure the sound did not carry and reach the party.
She stretches herself out like a cat, dragging her nails over the bare portion of his chest. She’d eagerly pulled at the laces of his gambeson to feel his muscles, his heartbeat as he’d taken her. “Mmm, thank you, Commander. Your dedication to closing the Worldwound is, as always, much appreciated.”
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For Gavros: "Once a fearless explorer, delving the unknown in pursuit of magical artifacts, he now prefers the comfortable life of the research division" - any particular exciting past delves of his? Was there a specific event that pushed him into "retirement", or was it more on his own terms?
"Exciting delves, hmm?" Gavros rumbles, evidently amused. He gently closes the large tome he'd been reading, carefully marking the page with a bookmark he'd kept tucked within his ample mane.
"Well, let me see…" he muses for a moment, idly tapping his chin with one claw. "Ah, yes, this one should tickle your fancy. A tale from my early days in the Order."
He settles his inestimable bulk down on a nearby bench, offering you what little space remains to join him, and begins to spin his story.
"I was quite young at the time, you see, and little more than a Novice. I'd been granted the rare opportunity to join an expedition into the ruins of an ancient Dwarven city. To say I was eager would be quite the understatement!" he chuckles, shaking his head.
"Regrettably, in all my excitement, I neglected to study up on the nature of Dwarven rune-traps. While navigating a precarious ledge, I failed to decipher the expulsion rune carved into the wall just ahead of me. Before I knew it, I had been sent flying right over the edge, plummeting straight down into a bottomless pit of pure darkness."
The older charr pauses here for dramatic effect.
"Or, so I thought! As it turns out, the pit bottomed out into a vast underground lake, just deep enough to break my fall without much injury. Less fortunately, this lake was also home to a sizable population of cavern skale. Let's just say, I'm lucky I managed to hold onto my shield, hah!"
He bursts into a resounding laugh, voice echoing off the stone walls.
"It took near on two days before the expedition could locate me down there! Let alone bring in a mesmer to portal me out. The whole incident nearly lost me my apprenticeship, but I'd daresay it taught me a valuable lesson in preparation."
Letting out a nostalgic sigh, he stretches his shoulders back, his massive joints crackling audibly.
"As for the retirement, it's nothing exciting. Rather, a decision my body made for me. These old bones of mine aren't what they used to be..." He glances down at you, a sparkle in his eye. "But don't you dare think for even a moment that I couldn't whip you senseless in a proper tussle, youngster. I'm still a charr, after all!"
#oc asks#gw2#rhys writes about gw2#c: gavros scrollseeker#readmore bc this went a little long heh#ty for the ask joooosh <3
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Dwarf Fortress Blind Play Diary: Day 8
Fluid Dynamics
Sorry for the little break between updates. I've been a bit ill and lots of christmas prep has been going on. We should be clear for the next couple days though!
As you can see in the title images we're playing with lava today. You might be wondering why though. Surely, after the last entries water fiasco, the settlement of Quicktrouble is tired of trying to get liquids to behave?
The answer is this beastie. A forgotten beastie. One that I have taken to calling the roadrunner for reasons that will soon become apparent.
This beasts layer was breached by a vertical shaft that intersected the roof of its cavern. This meant that it couldn't actually reach us or harm us in any way. It would however block any downward progress.
So, to avoid combatting this monster with expensive dwarven soldiers, I decided to flood its home with lava and watch it burn to death.
Thus began operation soup bowl. Don't ask why I made the bowl so big. I think at some point the idea was that we would make it into a lake to have a house for my mayor on but that never quite came to fruition.
This soup bowl is just above the huge cavern, and linked by a channel to a massive lava reserve. With just one mined tile the roadrunner would be torched to a crisp!
You might be asking though. Once its torched, how will you stop the fire so your dwarves can explore the now-safe cavern?
Well as you can see here we have a second channel leading to a second drain! This one diverting from the moat. Once the monster is slain we will simply pour water over the lava and everything will be fine. Probably.
This is where Rin comes in. A moody human bard in a fortress full of much happier human bards. They are the ultimate sad girl musician. In fact, the saddest in the whole fort. So the natural candidate for the dangerous task of breaching the lava-wall.
This did not end well for them. Of course it didn't. This last sad mood was at least kind of justifiable though.
Her sacrifice was not in vain though! As the soup bowl filled magnificently. Not as fast as I'd hoped, but we cant have everything. Not that it mattered, because I had overlooked a key property of any roadrunner.
When faced with a dangerous falling object it did what any roadrunner would do.
Move out of the way.
So I did what any good coyote would do!
DROP A SECOND LAVA WATERFALL ON THE ROADRUNNER
(please ignore the pickaxe in the lava flow it belonged to the second saddest citizen of the fort but I didn't get a screenshot of their name)
This, predictably, did not work. Neither did the third giant lava waterfall. At this point the forgotten beast had actually wandered off totally unprompted, so I decided to cut my loses and flood the cavern with water and end the whole charade.
The above screenshot of the floodgates being opened was taken mere moments before a crash occurred. One that lost me quite a bit of progress elsewhere in the fort (coming to a diary entry near you soon), but none of my lava-related mischief.
I took this as a sign to stop messing around with flooding things, and leave that for another fort.
There was one promising development that occurred during all this though! The king moved in! And the next entry in the diary will detail the incredibly opulent house I made for him!
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The Kings takes the court, chapter 1
This is a fanfiction about the anime GATE, an anime I despise so much but I like the premise so I am making fanfiction that builds on the premise but in a good way. Please note that this is an au, so anything that might have been from the anime expect to be thrown out as I see fit.
CW: Violence, gore, traumatizing content in general, viewer discretion advised, this would be considered pg-13.
Here is a link to the story on Royal Road, where you can keep track of it if you like.
https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/55173/a-king-takes-the-court-a-gate-fan-work
anyway, on to the show!
In the pitch blackness of his abandoned cell, Jeremiah sensed movement from outside. Explorers perhaps? Plunderers? Spelunkers probably. No man would dare venture this far underground lest they loved to do so or they wanted something THAT badly. Using inhuman senses, he heard people speak in a foreign tongue from very far away. Had centuries passed by in his cell to the point that languages of old had been forgotten? He had a hard time telling any more. With no sunrise to fear, time becomes a foreign concept. Using his darkvision, Jeremiah saw a stalactite on the ceiling above him, big enough to be held like a dagger. In fact, his cell looked to be that of a cave. Many millennia had to have passed, as this room was once the finest prison a noble prince such as himself could be given, even so deep underground that the dwarves dared not venture.
Groaning, Jeremiah slowly rose to his feet. Each movement felt to him like he was cast into a statue and breaking out over and over. His body slowly came to life, the soreness of laying on stone for this long hitting him all at once, as if his body was catching up on lost time. He began to hack and cough before a spider's web and a dozen spiders sputtered out of his mouth in a frenzy, bile and dirt coming with it. After eventually spewing his mortal contents, he brushed the grime off his body, in the process disintegrating the last shreds of the noble clothes he wore before his slumber.
It took even longer to finally coerce his limbs into taking an extremely slow and stilted step forward, and then another soon after as his nervous system re-ignited after being essentially dead. After an agonizing amount of time, he made it to the pristine prison bars which were once his cell. Made of Dwarven Adamantium, they were perhaps the only thing here which withstood the test of time. Bars so unbelievably durable that it takes the great forges in the realms of fire to soften them enough to bend.
Jeremiah placed his hands on the bars, and pushed with an inhuman strength, causing the Adamantium rods to crumble the weak ruined frame in which they were contained, and fall to the cavern floor. The immortal man picked one up, a Dwarven Adamantium staff would make a fine enough weapon. Far away, a rhythmic rumble started up. Constant, but consistent, metal ground against rock. He was free now, so he tried to leave and investigate, only to be met with collapsed rock. He was properly entombed underground, and so he sat down on the most comfortable piece of rock he could find, and began to meditate.
Time was impossible to discern here, but that did not bother Jeremiah. All he knew was that the sound of metal grinding against stone slowly became louder as he waited. And wait he did, that was one thing Jeremiah was good at. He let the grinding of stone get closer and closer over what could be either minutes or years, with no way to tell. Until one day, or perhaps was it one minute, the grinding took on a completely different tone. Seconds later, narrowly missing his head, a rapidly spinning metal implement pierced through the wall behind him, spraying debris and water all over him, before quickly retreating. It happened so fast that Jeremiah had barely the time to process what was going on before a strange implement made of glass and metal filled the once pitch black room with a brilliant white light. On the end of the implement was a lens that vaguely resembled an eye. Through unknown means, the ‘eye’ moved itself around in place, presumably to look at all this room had to offer. He had no place to hide, so he continued to meditate as it settled its gaze upon him before sliding back through the hole it had made. A faint white glow shone through this hole, and while Jeremiah did not need to breathe, he could taste fresh air slowly filter in.
Soon, the grinding sound began again. This time much louder as it had a hole to travel through. But the waiting continued. The drilling and grinding slowly imprinted itself on his skull until his meditation became nothing but the thrumming and drilling. It would have been enough to drive a mortal man insane. Time went much more slowly now, as boring regular events began to occur more frequently. True boredom began to set in. More speech from people he could not recognize, variations in the noise, things which made meditation harder. It almost became agony for him, until another metal implement spun through below the first. Jeremiah stood up with his Adamantium Rod in both hands as men began talking on the other side, extremely close now. Within arms length. A new noise was heard, fast and pounding. Very loud. Digging at the rock between them. Over what he could discern was probably hours the men slowly carved a small tunnel to his chamber. What were their intentions? To slay him before he had a taste of freedom? To collect him like a prized treasure? Time ticked by slowly as fear began to set in. Inch by inch they got closer, until finally the rock was only a thin barrier between the two.
But Jeremiah did not let fate come to him, he took it himself. Using his inhuman strength, and what remaining essence was in him since before the Torpor, he used his long Dwarven Adamantium Rod to bash down the remaining inches of rock. And then all of the sudden, after thousands of years of isolation, there he was. Standing stark naked and emaciated in front of five men, four of which were in odd bright orange vests, and the fifth having resembled that of the clerics of many years ago. It was a relief, to see that some things didn’t change. The relief only lasted moments though, as in a panic the Cleric thumped his staff on the floor, sending a wave of burning holy energy through Jeremiah, causing his back to arch forward in agony.
But it was weak.
So, so weak.
Truly, was this the best humanity could now offer me?
Jeremiah quickly found out, as in retaliation he caved in the cleric's skull and stuffed the holy man’s jaw into his stomach with his new rod weapon, all in one elegant motion of his stiff arms. The other four tried to flee, but Jeremiah needed to feed. With the stiffness of his Torpor beginning to dissipate, he stabbed the dull end of his Adamantium Rod through one of the men to his right, before flicking his wrist and caving in the spine and ribcage of the adjacent man. Jeremiah then withdrew the rod from the man with a bloody SCHLEAM before throwing it straight through the third man’s skull like a Javelin, sending the man flying far down the tunnel. The final one had gained some distance, so Jeremiah went on all fours and sprinted after him like a beast. In one leap, he was atop the final man, pinning him with his face in the rock. Bending his torso backwards to such an angle that it broke his back, Jeremiah bit his neck and began to feed. And indeed hungry he was, for after draining this man to a husk dry as a bone he was nowhere near satiated. So of the men who did not instantly die, he went back and ate their remaining essence as they bled out on the floor. The last one murmured a word which was foreign to him, but his tone let Jeremiah know exactly what he was saying. It was, in fact, the first word he learned in their language.
“V-vampire…”
Jeremiah liked the name.
The Vampire, going back and grabbing a second Adamantium Rod and dual wielding the two, slowly began to walk down the huge dark tunnel that these men had seemingly spent so long carving out. He let his two rods drag against the floor, the low scraping noise they made filling the tunnel with a Cacophony where there had once been silence besides the grinding of metal on stone.
For a time he could hardly track, Jeremiah walked down the tunnel, not knowing where it went but greatly appreciated having a goal to work towards now. The recent feeding should last him quite a while, if he tempers his movement. What he did not know however was how long this tunnel would go on for. Only dwarves were known to dig tunnels this long and wide, and they most certainly did not make them circular like the one he was traversing. More importantly, the people he fed on were not dwarves, but humans. Jeremiah found this strange. But even stranger were the things he encountered while traversing this tunnel. After a long trek, there was a large square room with big supports made of painted steel, and off to the side was a strange contraption with a large drill at the end of it, which The Vampire found arcane and odd. He saw a sack of sorts in the sort of the drill contraption, so he ripped it open and looted its contents. Among the items was a strange pair of clothes, not like the orange neon vests worn by the mortals he fed on, but instead made of finely sewn wool. First was a shirt rather large for his size, with the insignia of a skull and crossbones on it. Jeremiah liked this shirt, he put it on. Next was a pair of even looser gray pants, not like commoners where it's held up by rope, but with the rope sewn into the fitting. While The Vampire found this odd, he welcomed not being nude and put it on.
Off to another side was a series of large lock boxes stacked vertically, twenty in total. While Jeremiah had no key, he found that ripping open the doors with his bare hands worked just fine. Inside, The Vampire Found:
More clothes, none he liked besides what he already had on.
Many strange thin tablets, likened to those of runes but made of glass and a foreign material.
Mortal foods, wrapped in strange materials.
More vests, which he did not put on.
A steel knife sheathed in a strange material with the ability to fold itself. Jeremiah pocketed this ‘folding knife’ as he called it.
A strange contraption made of metal and glass, when he bashed it in a certain manner the contraption emits a white light. He had no need of this, so he left the contraption on and set it back down.
Satisfied with his search, he began to trek to the opposite side of the room where he entered from, which was a similar circular hallway.
There was a rope made of a soft material going from the drill contraption into the depths of the tunnel. Jeremiah assumed that this would lead him out, so he began to follow the strange rope.
For what felt like hours, but probably only minutes, he walked down the tunnel in silence. Once more letting his Dwarven Adamantium Rods scraping against the floor. He found all of these contraptions very strange. Had people changed this much since he was last awake? But what bothered him more was the Cleric. He was so impossibly weak, his call to the gods was barely answered. It was a given that the cleric was quite likely inexperienced, but in that moment The Vampire was at his weakest. If humanity had wanted to defeat Jeremiah The Terrible, that was their best shot at ever doing so. And the cleric simply failed. Which ultimately was good for Jeremiah in the end.
If humanity has grown soft in my absence, I shall remind them what true fear is.
Eventually, Jeremiah approached a similar square room, this one with numerous branching tunnels going out from it. The rope converged with other ropes from other tunnels into a bundle of sorts, snaking down a smaller passage to the right. The Vampire took this path, following the bundle for a short distance until approaching an odd metal cage below a long vertical shaft, assumedly to the surface. An air bellows of sorts? The bundle of ropes snaked up the shaft, so he assumed so. This would be his way out. After being trapped below for so long, the prophecy shall soon be fulfilled.
Leaving one of the Adamantium Rods behind, Jeremiah grabbed the strange rope with his free hand, beginning to slowly climb upwards. He still conserved his strength, for he did not know how long until his next feeding. The Vampire heard a series of small but loud explosions from above, and hot bits of metal suddenly hit The Vampire on the forehead, the surprise nearly caused him to lose balance and fall but he catches himself at the last second. More bits of metal hit Jeremiah’s body, many more flew by. They hit hard, but no mortal means could have slain a great vampire such as him, so they merely bounced off. After a brief pause, the vampire had begun to climb more, ignoring the odd slag being directly launched at him. At least, until there was a loud SNAP, and the rope bundle he was climbing broke. Jeremiah started to fall back down into the depths; In one swift movement he pushed himself off the falling rope and onto the wall of the shaft, using his inhuman ability to latch onto them like that of a spider. This was met with more bits of metal being launched at him from a different angle.
Jeremiah was starting to get annoyed.
Using some of his essence, the powerful Vampire moved up the shaft like a wolf bounding after its prey. Jeremiah begun to hear people talking from above, the air started tasting fresher. He was so close to freedom now, all it took was one final bound and-
CLONK
Jeremiah had hit something hard and metal.
Where once there was light filtering in, a metal cap covered the exit. Jeremiah tapped it with his fingers. Mere steel, and a lot of it. From above, Jeremiah heard shouting and footsteps quickly moving away from him. Although they may be weak, The Vampire had to admit that they knew when to retreat. For just one moment before, Jeremiah had seen the moon, and it was glorious. But once more he was stuck underground. Surrounded by rock and a metal slab. Jeremiah could normally lift an object such as this, but not when climbing. That wouldn’t stop him however. Accepting the fact that he had to expend more essence to leave, he raised his fist and sent it crashing down into the rock side, creating a decent indent that allowed him to hold onto the rock with his hands. Jeremiah began to dig, clawing at stone and throwing it down the shaft below. His nails were like steel, able to pierce the hard stone and pry it open with his fingers. Even with his immense strength, though, this took time for him to do. Hours passed by, silence from above. Just digging. But Jeremiah was so close, he could taste it. The Vampire yearned deeply for moonlight on his pale skin once more.
Finally, he made a small cubby in the wall big enough for him to crouch down in. This will do. Jeremiah built up energy in his legs and put his arms up towards the ceiling, like a crouching frog ready to jump. Essence flowed from Jeremiah’s dead core, slowly concentrating, moving down to his legs, before all at once being released. And released it most certainly did, pushing off the rock ledge with so much force that the entire side of the shaft he was on collapsed. Reactively, his body punched into the steel slab, for a micro moment making a dent, before pushing the entire thing off its hinges as Jeremiah, along with the massive slab of steel, careened high into the night sky. Down below, there was a resounding BOOM as a trap the men trying to kill him had set up exploded, creating a raging inferno. But this did not concern The Vampire. He was free! Riding the massive steel slab like a surfing board, Jeremiah saw the tree line after so long in isolation. The creature of evil rarely admitted this, but he liked the natural beauty of it all to some measure. Up in the sky, amethyst dragons flew by over an expansive forest. Where once this land had been owned by the Reclainians, no doubt they have been replaced by someone else. In the distance, Jeremiah saw the mountains, where surely the dwarves still resided. And beyond that would be the swamps and enchanted forests the elves claimed as home. Everything will now be different in this new world, but like the cleric he met before, some things did not change. Like the moon, it was indeed still there. And…
A very strange black dragon flew in the distance. Flying at impossible speeds across the horizon, billowing out smoke as it went. Jeremiah looked closer with his Vampiric senses. It was metal. Another contraption? The Vampire wished to ponder, until he realized that he was falling. Too weak now to transform into a bat, he gripped the huge metal slab he was falling with and pointed the broad side downward, this slowed his descent somewhat. The Vampire ended up landing on top of an oak tree, crushing it with the steel slab which cushioned his fall to a degree, making a resounding CRRRANCH which cushioned his fall to a degree. Ultimately, he was relatively unharmed, although that whole ordeal has left his new clothes in tatters. He made a note to get some reinforced apparel if Jeremiah plans to go on more odd adventures such as this.
But that was neither here nor there. I am free! Truly free. The Vampire took a moment to sit down and soak in his surroundings. Fresh air. Flowers resting under the moonlight. Mushrooms on a fallen log. Nature.
How revolting.
Jeremiah hated this, he desired ash, the bones of the dead, dark mist to blot out the sun. Skeletons roaming. Cursed earth. Fear. Monsters must roam. The weak must hide under his protection. This? It was too good. Too pure. Not an enchanted forest, but it is still unsettling for Jeremiah. But a more pressing matter suddenly presented itself to The Vampire. The dark night slowly began to grow brighter. Sunrise was coming. They will be looking for him under the protection of daylight no doubt. He must hide.
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Realm nine: Again
Faced with a choice for the first time since my suffering started, I choose to go back to the beginning. We found ourselves outside Mirkwood once more at the lake shore. I guided my companion towards the Lonely Mountain silently. Baldur was being particularly careful and seemed lost for words as we hugged the shoreline all the way to Dale.
I would say I was disappointed to not recognize anyone passing through the mountains front gates, but I don't think I was actually looking for anyone in particular. We wandered right into the throne chamber where a pair of very grey haired dwarves were conversing quietly, one of which was wearing a gilded crown. Thorin seemed very well adjusted to his role as venerated king as he spotted our approach and could not conceal his surprise.
"It can't be. Bes? Is that you?"
I simply nodded as he met us halfway.
"By the stones. You haven't aged a day. Though you seem to have survived a great many dangerous adventures since last I laid eyes on you." He reached for me and I stooped low to receive his warm greeting. But the weight of my burdens had me fall hard, and I ended up crumbling at Thorin's feet silently crying. Baldur quickly reached out to comfort me as the dwarves bustled about, sending servants to prepare a room and supplies to tend to me and my companion.
By nightfall I had managed to find my voice and regale my old friends with an abridged version of my quests. Thorin bade us to rest as long as we needed, that the Hero of the Mountain had a permanent place of honor here. It moved me to tears yet again and I slept well into the next day. We lingered in the Dwarven kingdom for a few weeks until word came from Algarond about Gimli and Legolas. So we set off to find the glittering caves with presents from the Mountain for the newest settlement.
Along the way we ran into Gandalf who joined us after seeing how deep my silence went.
"Your song is missing, my dear."
"It hurts too much right now."
"Perhaps you should seek out the Lady of the White Forest next. She might have a remedy for your damaged soul."
Baldur pestered the old warlock about the "Lady" but Gandalf seemed to take great delight in being vague, much to Baldur's aggravation. Gimli was more emotional than Thorin had been and Legolas more expressive in his sympathy than I had yet seen him. I brushed aside their worries and spend yet more weeks getting lost in the beautiful caverns. Gemstones of all kinds and sizes lined the very walls in most of the chambers and the builders had decided to frame the twinkling ceilings while leaving the crystal completely untouched.
It was the pride of the settlement and for good reason. I spent countless hours simply sitting beneath the sparkling array of the veritable calidescope of different gems, highlighted by the strategic placement of softly glowing lanterns. The play of light was mesmerizing. When I was left completely alone I could sit and listen to the gentle, far away patter of water dripping down the walls or showering slowly off a few brilliant clusters. I felt the beginnings of my healing process and knew it would be years yet until I could laugh freely again.
Two months we lingered in the bejeweled caves, admiring the natural beauty packed into each antechamber. But I slowly felt the need to wander so we struck out to find the White Forest as Gandalf had suggested. Baldur seemed especially humbled by the towering bone white trees. The wood was quiet and serene. Until we were found by a patrol who immediately escorted us to Galadriel. She seemed happy and sad to see me again. Baldur remained alert as she approached and it occurred to me that the elven matriarch carried the same air of immese magic power that Freya did.
As the Lady came close I turned to Baldur with a steadying hand and a murmured reassurance that we were very safe here.
"I welcome you, wayward champion. And your companion. Tell me what has caused you such terrible scars. "
"Stubbornness."
"It is more than that. These scars have infected your soul."
"It was fine until Aldar's fall. I failed terribly. I was never good at dealing with guilt. "
"You are only human. Your taskmaster can't expect you to preform miracles."
"But I have accomplished miracles. I made a mistake. In my arrogance, I have lost a key figure. I had to take his life."
Sorrow and regret overtook me then and I was bedridden for several days. Indeed, Galadriel used every means at her disposal to assist in my healing process, which allowed me to find my feet sooner rather that later. But the pain in my soul remained unchanged. The rest of the season I meditated under the trees. I communed with the woodland creatures and feasted with the elves. At seasons end I saw fit to move on again and Galadriel sent us away with her blessing.
At the edge of the forest I decided to revisit another realm, this one with a great deal of unfinished business.
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