Life and Reality in the Time of My Ancestors
by Suril Copperscarred "the Bloated," Baron of the Even Councils
authored in 805
Some 465 years ago, in the year 340, the human Dark One, Ad Beltbutters of Heroicgem, was raised from the dead by a necromancer and then abducted the human Ebe Authoredamaze in Planegifts, and performed depraved experiments on them. Ad abducted two more people, Adith Dearsave and Lecit Sculptedclubs and transformed them likewise. The result was the race known as the Hands of Planegifts. They are slightly larger than a dwarf and slightly smaller than a man, with a thin cylindrical torso not unlike that of a serpent, narrow hips and shoulders, a snake-like face, clawed hands and feet, two useless bat-like wings, all covered in jagged, overlapping black scales. Stories passed down through generations through this race show the Hands of Planegifts at the time held incredible loyalty to their masters, their onslaught against the mortal world unwavering for two centuries, before dissention in the ranks finally created splinter groups that fled to various wildernesses, human hamlets and elven forest retreats. With the eventual defeat of the necromancers these populations would technically become free. However, many Hands of Planegifts felt deeply guilty for the destruction they caused, and since the sixth century aided the repair and resettlement of the human and elven settlements in the northern peninsulas. They planted crops, even in uninhabited hamlets, tended livestock, maintained houses, and built their own societies. In the seventh century, their numbers grew to an estimated three billion, outnumbering mortals by a thousand to one at least. The reality is, the Hands of Planegifts do not need to eat, drink or sleep. They do not grow old, or weaken with age. Simply, the urge to reproduce led to a population explosion at the beginning of the Age of Heroes that went entirely unchecked for decades.
Eventually, it became obvious the Hands were doing far more harm than good, between banditry and lawless violence. By the millions, they fled the land. North, south, east, west, across the seas and mountains, to perhaps form their own realms in distant lands. Those that remained suffered genocidal attacks, as they were all believed to be outlaws. Even those who lived peacefully in hamlets were targeted. Now, in the beginning of the eighth century the violence finally winds to a close, with the majority of fighting occurring around outlaw and wild Hand of Planegifts populations.
I was born in the Nations of Honoring in 604, and hid during the cleansing of my people, and though I must admit I do not agree with every tradition or every decision humans make, I was always partial to the "civilized" way of life. Only a few months ago I struck out on my own journey, not to seek revenge or adventure, but for answers to questions that plagued me and every one of my kind. You see, we never quite valued life the way mortals do, our time on this world being theoretically infinite did not detract from the fact that it was often brief and brutal. Hands of Planegifts do not often believe their own life or the lives of others particularly valuable, leaving the dead to rot in the sun, or taking no interest in defending each other. Unlike mortals, we were created to value servitude to a master, and be willing to die for their needs. The question has always been; what is the value of life? The meaning? The purpose? Apart from the act of having been created, or born, and in the absence of someone to dedicate our labors to, what is the purpose of continuing the race of the Hands of Planegifts? Like mortals we of course feel some instinctual urge to reproduce, but not necessarily any emotional attachment to one another, or desire to live or give life, or fear of death or loss of others.
So my journey began, from the castle of Wheatbrands where I served as a craftsman. I said my goodbyes and took with me only my carving and boning knives, clothing and a backpack. In the deserted hamlet nearby I borrowed a finely crafted and decorated bronze battle axe, a weapon I was familiar with both from felling trees and cutting wood into useable sections and defending the castle alongside its guards. There in the fields I met a Hand of Planegifts named Galm, who sowed the crops and tended the fields despite being alone in the hamlet otherwise. Galm had done so for decades, but didnt have any particular reason to. He had no family, no masters, no friends, sometimes didnt see another soul for over a year. Sometimes farmers from other villages would come by and take some food, leave a trinket in the mead hall in "exchange" despite Galm offering produce for free. He was, as he put it, staying occupied despite having no purpose. A few hours walk from there I encountered a grizzly scene in the wilderness. A "wild" Hand was attempting to fend off a Freak of Twilight. I did attempt to intervene, but the Hand's throat was ripped out before I could fell the beast, who then turned on me. This was, in fact, the first living thing I'd killed that wasnt a simple animal.
But it would not be the last. Not long after I encountered a human outlaw in the woods, who threatened to kill and rob me. These sorts were not at all uncommon in the Nations of Honoring. "Outlaw" leaders are just as common now as official lords of the land, if not more so. On my journeys I was accosted many times by them. Often they would allow me to leave unhindered.
I sought the priests of the land, first. From hamlet to hamlet I walked, searching for priests, monks, or wisement who had some new perspective on life for the unnaturally living. "You do not belong in this world, it is better off without you" was one sentiment, "all things have a place in the makers' plans, you must simply wait" was another, though far less common. Many more would suggest finding some work to do, that developing skills and plying trades was worth enough to live on its own. But such occupation could not be given a reason fitting the perspective of a race that depends on none of these crafts. Hands of Planegifts do not need to eat, drink, or sleep. We do not require shelter, the beasts of the wild rarely harass us. Our children grow so fast and are birthed so easily they and their mothers have little need of protected surroundings or special consideration at all.
I grew tired of monks and prophets soon and thought perhaps one of those who understands the process of our creation may know more; I sought a necromancer. But alas I could not find one in the Nations of Honoring, nor did the elves or goblins harbor any that we knew of. But then I heard a rumor from another traveller that a group of almost exclusively Hands of Planegifts had gone to reclaim an elven retreat far to the north. So I set off on a rather roundabout journey to reach them. I went north-east towards the sea, and along the way I encountered a battle between two different night creatures;
Eventually one lay dead and the other, crippled, crawled towards me. After fumbling for a while I finally killed the creature, and continued my journey towards the sea. Near the coast I encountered a camp. Upon investigation, it was totally deserted except for a single yak carrying empty trade bins. Who abandoned this animal out here and what happened to them I could not say.
Not far from there I encountered a bizarre structure by the sea shore. It was like a pyramid composed of cut wooden logs, four small campfires blazed outside the entryway. Inside I found a coffin, flanked by two store rooms each with a cabinet and a table. Upstairs was a workshop for carving wooden furniture. A single book on one of the tables provided no knowledge of this place. However, when I exited the structure, I soon came face to face with an undead giant albatross. The corpse was hovering not far off the ground, seemingly ignoring me completely. So I hacked off its head. I rummaged around the area some more, looking for clues. There were no signs of any mortal living here. Not food or water or sleeping arrangements. But then, lying on the forest floor, I found a large slab. On it was the title "Uklasut" and below that the subtitle "The Secrets of Life and Death." The contents I would not have the space to transcribe here, and as an immortal myself I can make no use of them. Unfortunately the secrets of life and death are not synonymous with the why of life and death. Necromancers raise servants to carry out their tasks and protect them, not to answer such questions.
It occured to me then that this artifact had once been housed in the famed Museum at Boltspumpkin, and had been at one point stolen by the insane lion tamarin man Raki Umberclan the Bulbous, who was reportedly dead and then raised from the dead at his own self-dedicated temple. Which would mean this bizarre structure was the fabled Monkeycurse. But the slab was eventually returned to the museum according to rumor, so how did it end up here again? There were no clues to enlighten me further, as any left behind had been swallowed up by the jungle. I felt the slab too heavy to carry safely, as a Hand of Planegifts I must jump across rivers for we are unable to swim, so I left it there, in the casket inside the temple.
I continued, from the temple, west-north-west across the interior of the peninsula, in the shadows of the cursed mountains there, where I found a cave along their northern flank. The area was littered with the occasional trinket of little to moderate value, but uninhabited. Whatever beast this cave belonged to was nowhere to be found. The forest retreat of Fillembrace was only a days travel further west. There, I did find the Hands of Planegifts who came to reclaim the site, and a single elven merchant who accompanied them. From those I spoke to, the retreat was important largely as a place for the living to dwell. The merchant had come along to supposedly fulfill the need to establish trade between the settlement and Posthill, the nearest major market. They were troubled, however, by a gang of outlaws from a nearby forest retreat, Rackripe. The gang was composed mostly of elves and goblins, and had been quite successful in plundering the surrounding region, preying on the vulnerable peoples. I made it my personal objective to clear out the gang before moving on. However, I did not realize the full scope of the task I was setting out on.
As it would turn out, the parties sent by the cheiftain to coerce goods from the surrounding retreats were so successful because of both their numbers and the equipment they had succeeded in acquirring. Not only elven armor, but various metal armors including steel and even several pieces of golden armor. I struck at their vulnerable flanks, decapitating archers where I could, but the fighting ended with drawn-out brawls where my only advantage came from crippling opponents, and the fact that almost all of their weapons were made of wood, unlike their armor which dulled and nearly destroyed my bronze axe. After slaying two dozen of their number, I was forced to retreat south, back into the Nations of Honoring to seek new equipment and allies to help fight. Two persons, Ozo Blowglossed and Oce Kinbites agreed to accompany me on what was sure to be a simple slaughtering of brigands. Indeed, they stood no match against us, and when they finally ceased to send troupes out to attack, we strode into Rackripe itself and slughtered the last of them. It was there Oce would become lost, although I believe he survived I feel he did not have the stomach for killing so openly, even though such deadly events were commonplace in the Nations of Honoring. When the deed was done, I and Ozo bid our farewells to the people of fillembrace and returned south. We learned far more of death and killing than of life in this endeavor. You see, though most do not know why they should live, if they have a desire to kill, they usually have some justification for it. In this case, Ozo and Oce followed me into battle for glory and the spoils of war; I claimed a nearly-complete set of golden armor for a prize and a steel helmet and mail suit. Oce escaped with his life, and Ozo made off with new iron and bronze armor. I sought out battle to defend people I felt needed defending, and they indeed asked for this help and were grateful for it. The bandits on the other hand killed those that would not surrender their possessions, they killed beause they stole from the relutant common man. The question I wish they could answer is, why? In a world so full of ruins, where one could make a living any number of ways without being troubled by lords and law enforcers, why resort to theft and violence?
Much the same question could be posed to the night creatures, the twilight freaks and howling freaks and various other night trolls. However, they may have not only an instinctual desire to kill, but a need to fulfill; These beings cannot reproduce on their own, and require kidnapping and transforming mortals to provide them mates. Such predatory behavior can be understood, but not condoned, especially with the accompanying violence and hostility they present towards all they encounter. Upon returning to the Nations of Honoring Ozo and I encountered many such night creatures stalking the wilderness, roads and the edges of towns. We succeeded in killing three, before Ozo's spine was smashed by one of the beasts, whereupon he suffocated.
Having exhausted my options in the Nations of Honoring and elven lands, I proceeded south around the seas to the lands of the High Confederacies. Goblins controlled the coast in between, and the only safe passage is through a dwarven fort crossing a strait across the peaceful seas. However, I took the long route and met no goblin patrols, though many could be seen in the distance. Dwarven fortresses at the foot of the mountains make the earliest stops along this route, but still lie two days travel away from the nearest hamlet of the Nations of Honoring. The first "human" hamlet, Peekedstill, is actually inhabited by dwarves from the Walled Dyes. The dwarven fortresses here are the safest means to travel southwards unmolested, but arent all connected to human road networks.
One of these fortresses, Emeraldcrown, is a marvel to behold. Built by the dwarves recently, it is built on the peak of a volcano of green glass, accessed by a long series of ramps and a gold-an-glass paved road connecting to a pre-existing roadway. The fort at the top of the volcano is splendid indeed and glows inside and out with the fire of the lava below. The trade depot hangs suspended over the chasm, surrounded by a ring of green glass towers, connected on the north to the entryway, to the west to a keep where the guard is stationed, and to the south to a dormitory and dining hall structure. Over the trade entrance ramps is a library built of green glass, a temple above that, and finally the mayor's office suites. The library was sparsely populated with copies of some older tomes regarding necromancer towers and other sites, and a handful of dwarves at the site claim to be scholars. They focus more on the history of the world and of practical applications of engineering, not on philosophy. One commented that the greatest purpose in life is to master an artform, and produce a great work worthy of legend, and no beast, no matter how unnatural their origins, should be denied this glory. The dwarves have a habit of such, producing bizarre items impervious to the ravages of time and torment. Legendary weapons, furniture, trinkets. Crowns. The fortress of Emeraldcrown was apparently meant to safeguard one such relic, Galleyhazy, made of green glass, statues of which surrounded adorned the halls and roadside throughout the ite. It was stolen at some point in the last fifty years. Below the mountain peaks there lay forges, and an enormous gallery of glass works. This was also surrounded by dormitories, dining areas, work shops, and farms.
The human town of Divedact was the next stop on my journey. There I met the lady of the town, one Artha Peacefulsong, an adventurer settled down to lead her people here. She was a necromancer, actually. She wasnt much for conversation or philosophy unfortunately. She was a worshipper of one Loli Fairclearing, a god of Peace of the Realms of Silver. She would not elaborate on where she learned the secrets of life and death, but the secrets she knew were not identical to those that I had read. Namely the animation of a corpse to the will of the necromancer was performed by a different mechanism, and their own soul was not bound to the undead directly, thus a corpse under her control could not be directed non-verbally by thought in the way a corpse raised by Raki the Mad could. A soul resurrected would also be bound by a different seal granting them different capabilities. She was not aware of how a race such as the Hands of Planegifts could be created, so such soulcraft was a mystery to either of us.
Loli taught that life was brought forth to bring vibrance to the mortal plane, in image of the world of the gods where many things also "live." All gods had some hand in the creation and shaping of various living things, and offered guidance to the living in their realms of expertise, such as creating and maintaining peace, in Loli's case. But the living lived, because the gods ordained to give them life. Why? Because the mortal realm was barren and desolate and slow to change without it. What purpose did allowing mortals to raise the dead have? None, but perhaps for the amusement of the gods that offered such powers. Perhaps to spread further death, disease, chaos, into the mortal world, entrapping more mortal souls for their power. Why would gods of death give mortals the power to create new life? They maybe didn't. The Hands of Planegifts may not be new life, but repurposing of life the gods already gave. Our unnatural, unliving aspects could be described as perversions through such warlocks of natural, divine intent, introducing aspects of other things into the living-framework of a human, from which we were derived. A chimera of human and animal components, however useless some may be such as our wings, which superficially resemble those of a bat.
Arthas supposed that the same purposes given to mortals still applied to unnatural experiments. But our path would be difficult, as seen by our population explosion, stemming from our desire to reproduce like a natural animal and our young growing to full size and becoming sexually mature themselves within hours of birth. Three billion souls is simply too much for such a area as we inhabit. Those that left it to seek fortunes elsewhere? Perhaps they will discover a purpose of their own.
I soon left divedact to seek out the wisdom of others. It was in the hamlet of Sprayoils that I encountered the most troubling of all mortal afflictions. There in the mead hall I found a group of goblins tearing each other apart. When half of them were dead, the others stopped and loomed over their corpses. I tried speaking to them, but they would not respond.
I soon saw they were completely mindless, as like one undead, though they still apparently bled and breathed. In this mindless state, the violence they inflicted upon the still living was insatiable, unyielding. I destroyed them all. I could find no others in the village proper, it was abandoned. (they were blighted thralls) After that encounter I chose to search some of the dwarven forts for librarie or scholars. It was an fruitless attempt, and both times I found shrines to deities and rolled the dice, I was cursed with bad luck. It was then I entered a town deserted, with a library in ruins empty of books, with the floors and roof caved in across most of it and nothing but a few sets of tables and chairs hanging on ledges attached to supporting columns. In the keep, however, a worse sight awaited me; the occupants of the keep fled from it as I approached, and inside I found an undead kestrel. Not a large bird by any means, but this one made for a truly deadly opponent. It had apparently killed several, as evidenced by the ravaged bodies strewn about the floor. The lords fleeing the keep were right to do so, as it took several hours work to finally put the creature down. It shrugged off blows so effectively as to be invulnerable. I had become so exhausted by the fight at many points that I nearly passed out. Eventually the two lords that had fled the keep returned, and I learned that the only surviving library nearby would be at the Museum at Boltspumpkin. Although it was said to be more of a library of trophies collected by adventurers and their journals than of scholarly content. Still, it was the best remaining option.
The trek south was largely uneventful. Most hamlets nearby are uninhabited. The castle of Boltspumpkin is itself ordinary, and reminded me at first glance of home, in Wheatbrands. Inside is the expected courtyard and keep. The keep, then, is where the Museum has been established. Here adventurers from all over the world deposit their offerings; gory piles of human skulls, hard-won dwarven artifacts, ancient tomes, bags of rocks. On the second floor, on the third pedestal from the left wall, I left a submission of my own; the nearly-complete set of gold armor I had taken from the bandits of Rackripe, the bronze axe I used to fell them, Ozo's whip and shield, and a gold goblet.
During my visit, I met not only the museum staff, but several adventurers who reside there, including the legendary Lonelythrall the Hideous. He, like many Hands of Planegifts, dedicated his life to a particular cause. He was chosen by Armok, a god I am unfamiliar with, to act as Armok's avatar in this world. He slew night creatures, great beasts, demons, undead, countless goblins, even angels. On the orders of a god, because that is his purpose in life. Others here felt the same about their lifes' work, the killing of great monsters and other evils. Despite what their younger years offered them, defending the realm from monsters and seeking glory and justice for the weak was their destiny, and destiny was the stuff of life.
I could not stay for long in the Museum, as I then got a letter from a messenger that caught up to me. At last, it appeared, our good lord of Wheatbrands had passed away. I had been called home to discuss the matter of his inheritence. On my way north, I stopped briefly in the keep of the abandoned town of Diptramples where I met on Nom the Cheese, a gorlak from the Walled Dyes. His final words on life were that one should try a bit of everything, even the most bizarre and unusual.
The trip home was uneventful, but I did travel quickly. And finally, from here in Wheatbrands, I can begin my own ruminations on life.
Author
Topic: Museum III, adventure succession game (DF 0.47.05) (Read 473279 times)