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The Long Night Part One: Embers in the Dusk: A Planetary Governor Quest (43k) Complete Sequel Up
- Thread starter Durin
- Start date
- Location
- England
He's good enough to be worthy of going. If he doesn't go, everyone else in the party will have a higher chance of dying. Plus, I feel putting Surt in the firing line, while not taking our own place would seem like it might piss him off.
Also, we need to get Syr into some frontline fighting. Perhaps have her lead Folkvangrs armsmen in the coming space battle? Hopefully they should see at least some action.
Surt likes to claim that his job title of Champion genuinely is his job description. He is on Avernus with a small number of elites as a volunteer for this kind of mission rather than running his planet. That's his choice. Rotbart has his own duties as Governor and commander in chief of the whole Avernus theatre.
A shot at Garkill is important and if Rotbart was the only, or even just the best, hero unit available for the job I'd say risk him. The 3 I mentioned are better and Jane is as good.
Is Sigurd in Salem as well?
A shot at Garkill is important and if Rotbart was the only, or even just the best, hero unit available for the job I'd say risk him. The 3 I mentioned are better and Jane is as good.
Is Sigurd in Salem as well?
Legends of Avernus: Diamond Hero King
Yet more troll mythology. Behold, the origin story of Diamond Hero King, who traveled the world with his wacky troupe of gimmick trolls.
~~~
Legends of Avernus: Diamond Hero King
~~~
Human. Bring food?
Good.
Story now.
~~~
Once, when mountains were hills and oceans were seas, there were two Tribes who lived on a mountain. Long ago, they had fought for the mountain, and the Tribe of Coal defeated the Tribe of Basalt, and claimed the east side.
The Tribe of Coal was prosperous. In the east, where the fire of the sun shone, the beasts were weak, the forests were colourful, and the stone was hard. To hunt one day was to be full for ten. The chief of Coal was named Red Chalk.
But in the west, where the Tribe of Basalt lived, the fire of the sun fell, the beasts were savage, the forests were still, and the stone was loose. To hunt for one day was to be full for two. The chief of Basalt was named Obsidian Heart.
On a day when the sky was grey and stormy, the Tribe of Coal had a new son of the chief, and drums sounded for seven days. The son was named Night Chalk, and the elders foretold a great destiny for the troll.
But as he grew, it seemed Red Chalk was cursed, for his son was weak and slow, and though his heart of ash, that fed on living things and dead things, was strong, his heart of fire, that fed on jewels and stones, was weak and strange, and no matter what light he stole, it would burn and stain to a soft streaking stone, and thus Night Chalk soon became known as Soft Lead among the young trolls of Coal. He did not like it, but could do little about it.
When Soft Lead was not yet old, but not very young, he was foraging the mountain shrubs to eat, for though they were thin and green, they had bones of stone to hold the mountains high, and were stronger than Soft Lead. So every day he would find a shrub and gnaw at its leaves, hoping to douse his heart of fire, and take the strength to hold mountains.
One day, as he was finding a shrub, he saw another troll. Because Soft Lead was the son of the chief, he knew all the trolls of the Tribe of Coal, but did not know this troll.
This must be a troll of the Tribe of Basalt, thought Soft Lead. He should not be here, as this is the east side of the mountain, and forbidden to the Tribe of Basalt.
"Hark!" said Soft Lead. "Troll of Basalt Tribe, explain yourself! I am Night Chalk, son of Red Chalk, chief of Coal Tribe!"
The troll of Basalt Tribe stood up, and Soft Lead saw that he was very tall, and in his back was wyrmscale. The troll turned, and Soft Lead saw that his knuckles were bars of iron. The troll opened his mouth, and his teeth were the colour of the night sky.
Then the troll said, "I am Brittle Glass, of Tribe of Basalt, daughter of Obsidian Heart."
~~~
What?
You not hear? I say daughter.
Hm. Voice of fire. Eyes of sea. Of course daughter.
No interrupt.
~~~
"Brittle Glass of Basalt Tribe," said Soft Lead, "for what reason do you trespass the east of the mountain?"
"Many years I have lived," said Brittle Glass, "and many things I have hunted, but one thing escapes me. I have never seen the birth of the sun that heralds a new day. Early did I rise, but earlier rises the sun. Forgive me this trespass, and I will remove myself ere the light of day shines upon the west."
Soft Lead was moved, for though his heart of ash was strong, his heart of stone was soft and brittle. "You are late," he said. "The colour of the sky heralds the new day with the shine of agate and garnets. When you rise and see the sky so, it is too late."
"I understand now," said Brittle Glass. "But little good this knowledge does to me."
"I will not speak of this to my father," said Soft Lead. "So you may come tomorrow and witness the rise of the sun." He gathered up his shrub leaves, and turned his back, returning to the tribe.
The next day, as he climbed the mountain, he saw the wyrmscale hide and iron knuckles of Brittle Glass. "Did you rise early enough to see the sun chase away the night?" he asked.
"Nay," said Brittle Glass. "I awoke when the sky was the colour of night, but as I climbed it turned and wore a skin of slate that barred the light of the sun."
Soft Lead understood. The morning had come with a great storm of thunderbirds, and a deluge rained over the mountain. "Perhaps you will have better luck tomorrow."
"Perhaps," said Brittle Glass. "Why have you come again?"
"During these shadowed hours, no hunting can be done for fear of slipping on running streams, and the beasts hide and cower in warrens and treeroots where we cannot reach," said Soft Lead. "So the tribe rest in quiet burrows, drink wines of sand, and hold contests of strength to turn the days to night. But I am too soft and weak to hunt, and so I can graze to my content."
"Our tribe must hunt, even if the sun is shadowed and mud swallows our feet," said Brittle Glass, smiling a smile of darkness. "We must reach through the roots of stone trees for beasts and fence the rivers for fish, even if we are swallowed by the current and stolen away to the sea."
Soft Lead's heart was again softened. "Brittle Glass, I promise, one day, you will walk on the east as freely as I. This oath I make to you as a troll, and as a friend." And he held his hand to his chest in the manner of oaths across Tribes.
Brittle Glass clasped his hand to hers. "I accept this oath of yours, Night Chalk."
~~~
Mm.
Hmmmm.
Story long. Must be hunted. Put in cage. Keep still.
~~~
One day, Soft Lead climbed the mountain to see Brittle Glass with many adzes and clubs of twisted wood.
"Come with me, Night Chalk," said the troll of Basalt, leading him to the west face of the mountain. "Today, we will hunt together as trolls."
"But I cannot hunt," said Soft Lead. "My skin of stone is the colour of night, and visible for miles. Every place I touch is stained, so easily does it flake and scratch away."
"Perhaps," said Brittle Glass, "but you are light and swift, and the press of your stone skin is silent and smooth. A hunter that is not heard but only seen is a frightening hunter indeed."
Soft Lead had never been feared, and the thought was good to him. Down into the valleys they prowled, chasing the thunder-deer and crag-snakes and many-headed-wolves. Soft Lead would lumber with his ungainly body, hollering and shouting, and make such a disturbance as to frighten the beast into the waiting club of Brittle Glass.
For the first time in his life, Soft Lead was hunting. It was as golden as the dawn upon his soft heart, to finally be as a troll should be. It was also very exhausting.
"Let us take a break," said Soft Lead, when the sun was high and the sky was as raw corundum. His throat was sore, his loud calls and cries resounding in his head.
"Only for five hundred heartbeats," said Brittle Glass. "Then, I will show you how to hunt by fire."
She showed him the magic stones of her left thumb and finger that would throw lightning when struck together, and sent him to lay down toxic logs and tinder in trails. These she set alight to burn and smoke a sea of fog, choking the needle-voles and snake nests for Soft Lead to bludgeon dead.
"This is tiring work," said Soft Lead, when the scent of smoke filled his nose and dirt streaked his hands. The toxins had caught in his skin of stone, turning it the colour of sky at dusk.
"If you wish to rest, then rest," said Brittle Glass.
"To rest is to starve," said Soft Lead, gnawing on the skulls of the snakes and tasting soft coal.
"Then starve," said Brittle Glass.
"I see," said Soft Lead. "I am sorry for your toil, when it is within my power to relieve."
Brittle Glass turned away. "I will show you how to hunt by lures." With a finger of obsidian, she spilled blood from her arm upon the catch, and kicked it into a gorge, where the hungry beasts fought for the scraps.
She exchanged her right arm of stone for the stone of the cliff, building a moat in the edifice. When too much stone was taken, the edge crumbled and broke away, heavy stone falling to crush the beasts.
"Meat is soft. Stone is hard," she said, as Soft Lead looked over the cliff. "Remember this." And she pushed Soft Lead off the cliff.
~~~
Story long. Throat dry.
Go home.
~~~
Human. Bring food?
Good.
~~~
In the gorge, Soft Lead had fallen, landing poorly. Stone he could swim through easily, but the flesh of the broken beasts halted his fall and shattered his chest.
For five days he was trapped in the gorge. In the day he would climb and roam, and in night he would walk into stone and hide. On the sixth day he found an exit, and returned home.
But as he approached the village, he heard not the voices of the Tribe of Coal, but the voices of the Tribe of Basalt. And he saw not the flag of Coal, but the flag of Basalt flying high. And in the chieftain's pit was not his father, Red Chalk, but a troll he had never seen before.
Soft Lead tried to run, but the trolls of Basalt were swift hunters, and lashed his ankles and cut his tendons. They wrapped him in vines and wide leaves, as one wraps a stampede-boar for the fire, and brought him to the chief.
"I am Obsidian Heart," said the troll chief, who stood ten hands high, and gleamed like glass in the night, "Lord of the East. Who are you, troll of Coal, to return to these lands that are rightfully mine?"
"What have you done?" said Soft Lead. "Where is the Tribe of Coal?"
Obsidian Heart laughed. "Five days ago, I broke open a dark spring, and drowned the village in tar. The men I slew with my warriors, whom I trained in the art of walking in seas, and the women and children I burned alive. Since then, I have taken my people from the west to the east, to settle and remake these lands in our image."
"I am Night Chalk," said Soft Lead, "son of Red Chalk. Where is my father?"
Obsidian Heart reached back, and pulled a stone from his throne. This he tossed to Soft Lead, and it was the headstone of his father. And as Soft Lead wept, and grasped it to his chest, as a son to his father, the red stone, once the colour of the sky at dusk, became brittle and dark as night.
"What a wretched child you are," said Obsidian Heart, "that you cannot even honour the stone of your forefathers."
But Soft Lead did not cry out to fight, and kill the killer of his father. He only wept, and Obsidian Heart grew tired of his misery, and commanded he be thrown into the mountain caves.
Because they had severed his tendons, he could not walk to his death. With ropes, they wrapped his chest, and dragged him to the caves, and gave him a drop of glass to bite down upon and meet his father. As he lay there, clutching the stone of his father, he felt the touch of Brittle Glass.
"Once," said the daughter of Obsidian Heart, "you promised I would walk the east as freely as you. You have fulfilled that oath."
"Why do I live, Brittle Glass?" said Soft Lead.
"You live because you are Night Chalk, son of Red Chalk, chief of the Tribe of Coal. You are the last of your Tribe," said Brittle Glass. "That is why you must never return." With those words, she left him, and soon there was only darkness and silence.
Soft Lead crawled deeper into the cave, away from the sun and away from the Tribe of Basalt. As he crawled, the stone of his father was worn away, for it had joined to his chest and turned to soft coal, and was rubbed against the coarse earth of the caves, and soon the stone had scraped away with his skin, blood mingling with the grains of stone.
His final rite of honouring ancestors performed, Soft Lead walked into the stone of the floor to die.
For a thousand breaths he fell into the caverns of the mountain, where time lost its darkness and space lost its silence to become a twisting, screaming sea. He fell into the mouth of the planet that birthed all the monsters of the world. He fell to the burning heart of the earth, where Jewels were born from the fiery bright Sea, ancient and gleaming with Light and Fire. And here he chose to die.
But as he drowned in magma, his broken heart of fire burned with strange light, and stole the colour of the blood of the earth. The mountains weighed upon him, the heart of the world squeezing with unimaginable heat, judging the troll known as Soft Lead, but named as Night Chalk, Tribe of Coal.
Still he fell, the weight increasing, the heat building, the pain incredible, as the earth denied him the arrest of stillness and death. His fingers burned away, then his arms, then his shoulders and ribs and lungs and still he did not die.
Then, as the magma reached his heart, he fell into a dark well of churning seawater and quenched his molten heart. For uncounted breaths, he slept in the waters, his heart cooling and hardening and cracking and fusing and still he did not die.
Then, he crawled. From the pit of darkness to the surface, he climbed with all the strength that had been denied him from birth, until he broke the surface of the churning sea and walked the diamond sands, and breathed pure air.
And his flesh was no longer soft and dark and brittle, but clear as the wind and burning with bright fire and colour. And when he stole the colour of stone, his heart of fire stained it not the soft coal of his birth, but a searing, unbreakable diamond.
For so long Soft Lead had burned, that he knew not where he was. So he began to climb. For a year and a day he walked, his flesh impervious to the talons and space-ripping claws of the cavern beasts, his touch a burning inferno contained within scintillating jewels. And he emerged from the caverns to the light of the sun at dusk.
As he descended the mountain, he saw devastation. The forests of his youth had been stripped, and the hills of the earth rent apart. Soon he found the cause, as the Tribe of Basalt hunted with glee, glutting on the spoils of the earth.
"Halt!" said Soft Lead. "Do you not see that you spoil yourself, and starve your children?"
The trolls of Basalt were wary. "Who are you, strange troll, to shine and glimmer so?"
"I am Night Chalk," said Soft Lead, and his heart burned beneath his flesh. "I am the last of the Tribe of Coal."
The trolls of Basalt were shaken, and set upon him with murderous intent, for what has died should stay beneath the land of the living. But Soft Lead's flesh, paved with diamond, could not be broken or harmed, and with a single stroke he felled them.
To the village he walked, slaying those trolls of Basalt. Those who ran, he let escape. Those who fought, he killed, a blow to the head that broke flesh and stone in one. It was the first time he had ever killed another troll.
Finally, he found his home, the house of the chief, now taken by the Chief of Basalt, Obsidian Heart. The foundations had been broken, the walls crumbled and burned.
"You dare enter my house?" said Obsidian Heart, and then he said no more as Soft Lead struck him and shattered him into a thousand pieces.
He emerged from his home, and called all the trolls of Basalt before him. "Leave this place," he commanded, burning with the shine of diamond. "This land was tamed by my tribe and soaked with the blood of my tribe, and so it is mine by right. Should a troll of Basalt remain here when the sun rises, I will slay them with these hands." Thus spoken, he turned back to his home, and removed the corpse of the usurper, and fixed the walls and joined the foundations and fired tiles for his roof.
Soon, night had fallen, the stars turning in the sky, and the village was empty as Soft Lead roamed the roads of his tribe. All empty except for one, who sat at the entrance of the village, waiting for the rise of the sun.
"Brittle Glass," said Soft Lead.
"Night Chalk," said Brittle Glass, laying her flesh with chips of iron and copper, as was her practice. "I will have the sunrise once more before you take my head. I am tired and weary."
"Leave, Brittle Glass," said Soft Lead. "You are the daughter of Obsidian Heart, and are now chief of the Tribe of Basalt. When I was to die, you spared my life against the wish of your father, and this debt will be repaid."
"And what will you do, Night Chalk?" said Brittle Glass. "Will you hoard this mountain and its spoils, fool that you are?"
"No. Too many have died for this mountain. I will stain the roots of this mountain with diamond that gleams with my warning, and all trolls who look upon it will know it is forbidden."
Brittle Glass bowed to Soft Lead, and stepped away. "Perhaps," said the daughter of Obsidian Heart, "we could have been friends, in another world."
"We are friends in this world, Brittle Glass," said Soft Lead. "Now go, before the sun sees you."
Brittle Glass did so, and soon Soft Lead was alone. And the sun dawned upon him, the shining diamond troll, and stained the mountain in all the colour of the sky.
~~~
Story over. Go home.
~~~
AN: Is that the end? Of course it's not the end! But the rest of the story is for another time, and good troll children should be going to bed.
~~~
Legends of Avernus: Diamond Hero King
~~~
Human. Bring food?
Good.
Story now.
~~~
Once, when mountains were hills and oceans were seas, there were two Tribes who lived on a mountain. Long ago, they had fought for the mountain, and the Tribe of Coal defeated the Tribe of Basalt, and claimed the east side.
The Tribe of Coal was prosperous. In the east, where the fire of the sun shone, the beasts were weak, the forests were colourful, and the stone was hard. To hunt one day was to be full for ten. The chief of Coal was named Red Chalk.
But in the west, where the Tribe of Basalt lived, the fire of the sun fell, the beasts were savage, the forests were still, and the stone was loose. To hunt for one day was to be full for two. The chief of Basalt was named Obsidian Heart.
On a day when the sky was grey and stormy, the Tribe of Coal had a new son of the chief, and drums sounded for seven days. The son was named Night Chalk, and the elders foretold a great destiny for the troll.
But as he grew, it seemed Red Chalk was cursed, for his son was weak and slow, and though his heart of ash, that fed on living things and dead things, was strong, his heart of fire, that fed on jewels and stones, was weak and strange, and no matter what light he stole, it would burn and stain to a soft streaking stone, and thus Night Chalk soon became known as Soft Lead among the young trolls of Coal. He did not like it, but could do little about it.
When Soft Lead was not yet old, but not very young, he was foraging the mountain shrubs to eat, for though they were thin and green, they had bones of stone to hold the mountains high, and were stronger than Soft Lead. So every day he would find a shrub and gnaw at its leaves, hoping to douse his heart of fire, and take the strength to hold mountains.
One day, as he was finding a shrub, he saw another troll. Because Soft Lead was the son of the chief, he knew all the trolls of the Tribe of Coal, but did not know this troll.
This must be a troll of the Tribe of Basalt, thought Soft Lead. He should not be here, as this is the east side of the mountain, and forbidden to the Tribe of Basalt.
"Hark!" said Soft Lead. "Troll of Basalt Tribe, explain yourself! I am Night Chalk, son of Red Chalk, chief of Coal Tribe!"
The troll of Basalt Tribe stood up, and Soft Lead saw that he was very tall, and in his back was wyrmscale. The troll turned, and Soft Lead saw that his knuckles were bars of iron. The troll opened his mouth, and his teeth were the colour of the night sky.
Then the troll said, "I am Brittle Glass, of Tribe of Basalt, daughter of Obsidian Heart."
~~~
What?
You not hear? I say daughter.
Hm. Voice of fire. Eyes of sea. Of course daughter.
No interrupt.
~~~
"Brittle Glass of Basalt Tribe," said Soft Lead, "for what reason do you trespass the east of the mountain?"
"Many years I have lived," said Brittle Glass, "and many things I have hunted, but one thing escapes me. I have never seen the birth of the sun that heralds a new day. Early did I rise, but earlier rises the sun. Forgive me this trespass, and I will remove myself ere the light of day shines upon the west."
Soft Lead was moved, for though his heart of ash was strong, his heart of stone was soft and brittle. "You are late," he said. "The colour of the sky heralds the new day with the shine of agate and garnets. When you rise and see the sky so, it is too late."
"I understand now," said Brittle Glass. "But little good this knowledge does to me."
"I will not speak of this to my father," said Soft Lead. "So you may come tomorrow and witness the rise of the sun." He gathered up his shrub leaves, and turned his back, returning to the tribe.
The next day, as he climbed the mountain, he saw the wyrmscale hide and iron knuckles of Brittle Glass. "Did you rise early enough to see the sun chase away the night?" he asked.
"Nay," said Brittle Glass. "I awoke when the sky was the colour of night, but as I climbed it turned and wore a skin of slate that barred the light of the sun."
Soft Lead understood. The morning had come with a great storm of thunderbirds, and a deluge rained over the mountain. "Perhaps you will have better luck tomorrow."
"Perhaps," said Brittle Glass. "Why have you come again?"
"During these shadowed hours, no hunting can be done for fear of slipping on running streams, and the beasts hide and cower in warrens and treeroots where we cannot reach," said Soft Lead. "So the tribe rest in quiet burrows, drink wines of sand, and hold contests of strength to turn the days to night. But I am too soft and weak to hunt, and so I can graze to my content."
"Our tribe must hunt, even if the sun is shadowed and mud swallows our feet," said Brittle Glass, smiling a smile of darkness. "We must reach through the roots of stone trees for beasts and fence the rivers for fish, even if we are swallowed by the current and stolen away to the sea."
Soft Lead's heart was again softened. "Brittle Glass, I promise, one day, you will walk on the east as freely as I. This oath I make to you as a troll, and as a friend." And he held his hand to his chest in the manner of oaths across Tribes.
Brittle Glass clasped his hand to hers. "I accept this oath of yours, Night Chalk."
~~~
Mm.
Hmmmm.
Story long. Must be hunted. Put in cage. Keep still.
~~~
One day, Soft Lead climbed the mountain to see Brittle Glass with many adzes and clubs of twisted wood.
"Come with me, Night Chalk," said the troll of Basalt, leading him to the west face of the mountain. "Today, we will hunt together as trolls."
"But I cannot hunt," said Soft Lead. "My skin of stone is the colour of night, and visible for miles. Every place I touch is stained, so easily does it flake and scratch away."
"Perhaps," said Brittle Glass, "but you are light and swift, and the press of your stone skin is silent and smooth. A hunter that is not heard but only seen is a frightening hunter indeed."
Soft Lead had never been feared, and the thought was good to him. Down into the valleys they prowled, chasing the thunder-deer and crag-snakes and many-headed-wolves. Soft Lead would lumber with his ungainly body, hollering and shouting, and make such a disturbance as to frighten the beast into the waiting club of Brittle Glass.
For the first time in his life, Soft Lead was hunting. It was as golden as the dawn upon his soft heart, to finally be as a troll should be. It was also very exhausting.
"Let us take a break," said Soft Lead, when the sun was high and the sky was as raw corundum. His throat was sore, his loud calls and cries resounding in his head.
"Only for five hundred heartbeats," said Brittle Glass. "Then, I will show you how to hunt by fire."
She showed him the magic stones of her left thumb and finger that would throw lightning when struck together, and sent him to lay down toxic logs and tinder in trails. These she set alight to burn and smoke a sea of fog, choking the needle-voles and snake nests for Soft Lead to bludgeon dead.
"This is tiring work," said Soft Lead, when the scent of smoke filled his nose and dirt streaked his hands. The toxins had caught in his skin of stone, turning it the colour of sky at dusk.
"If you wish to rest, then rest," said Brittle Glass.
"To rest is to starve," said Soft Lead, gnawing on the skulls of the snakes and tasting soft coal.
"Then starve," said Brittle Glass.
"I see," said Soft Lead. "I am sorry for your toil, when it is within my power to relieve."
Brittle Glass turned away. "I will show you how to hunt by lures." With a finger of obsidian, she spilled blood from her arm upon the catch, and kicked it into a gorge, where the hungry beasts fought for the scraps.
She exchanged her right arm of stone for the stone of the cliff, building a moat in the edifice. When too much stone was taken, the edge crumbled and broke away, heavy stone falling to crush the beasts.
"Meat is soft. Stone is hard," she said, as Soft Lead looked over the cliff. "Remember this." And she pushed Soft Lead off the cliff.
~~~
Story long. Throat dry.
Go home.
~~~
Human. Bring food?
Good.
~~~
In the gorge, Soft Lead had fallen, landing poorly. Stone he could swim through easily, but the flesh of the broken beasts halted his fall and shattered his chest.
For five days he was trapped in the gorge. In the day he would climb and roam, and in night he would walk into stone and hide. On the sixth day he found an exit, and returned home.
But as he approached the village, he heard not the voices of the Tribe of Coal, but the voices of the Tribe of Basalt. And he saw not the flag of Coal, but the flag of Basalt flying high. And in the chieftain's pit was not his father, Red Chalk, but a troll he had never seen before.
Soft Lead tried to run, but the trolls of Basalt were swift hunters, and lashed his ankles and cut his tendons. They wrapped him in vines and wide leaves, as one wraps a stampede-boar for the fire, and brought him to the chief.
"I am Obsidian Heart," said the troll chief, who stood ten hands high, and gleamed like glass in the night, "Lord of the East. Who are you, troll of Coal, to return to these lands that are rightfully mine?"
"What have you done?" said Soft Lead. "Where is the Tribe of Coal?"
Obsidian Heart laughed. "Five days ago, I broke open a dark spring, and drowned the village in tar. The men I slew with my warriors, whom I trained in the art of walking in seas, and the women and children I burned alive. Since then, I have taken my people from the west to the east, to settle and remake these lands in our image."
"I am Night Chalk," said Soft Lead, "son of Red Chalk. Where is my father?"
Obsidian Heart reached back, and pulled a stone from his throne. This he tossed to Soft Lead, and it was the headstone of his father. And as Soft Lead wept, and grasped it to his chest, as a son to his father, the red stone, once the colour of the sky at dusk, became brittle and dark as night.
"What a wretched child you are," said Obsidian Heart, "that you cannot even honour the stone of your forefathers."
But Soft Lead did not cry out to fight, and kill the killer of his father. He only wept, and Obsidian Heart grew tired of his misery, and commanded he be thrown into the mountain caves.
Because they had severed his tendons, he could not walk to his death. With ropes, they wrapped his chest, and dragged him to the caves, and gave him a drop of glass to bite down upon and meet his father. As he lay there, clutching the stone of his father, he felt the touch of Brittle Glass.
"Once," said the daughter of Obsidian Heart, "you promised I would walk the east as freely as you. You have fulfilled that oath."
"Why do I live, Brittle Glass?" said Soft Lead.
"You live because you are Night Chalk, son of Red Chalk, chief of the Tribe of Coal. You are the last of your Tribe," said Brittle Glass. "That is why you must never return." With those words, she left him, and soon there was only darkness and silence.
Soft Lead crawled deeper into the cave, away from the sun and away from the Tribe of Basalt. As he crawled, the stone of his father was worn away, for it had joined to his chest and turned to soft coal, and was rubbed against the coarse earth of the caves, and soon the stone had scraped away with his skin, blood mingling with the grains of stone.
His final rite of honouring ancestors performed, Soft Lead walked into the stone of the floor to die.
For a thousand breaths he fell into the caverns of the mountain, where time lost its darkness and space lost its silence to become a twisting, screaming sea. He fell into the mouth of the planet that birthed all the monsters of the world. He fell to the burning heart of the earth, where Jewels were born from the fiery bright Sea, ancient and gleaming with Light and Fire. And here he chose to die.
But as he drowned in magma, his broken heart of fire burned with strange light, and stole the colour of the blood of the earth. The mountains weighed upon him, the heart of the world squeezing with unimaginable heat, judging the troll known as Soft Lead, but named as Night Chalk, Tribe of Coal.
Still he fell, the weight increasing, the heat building, the pain incredible, as the earth denied him the arrest of stillness and death. His fingers burned away, then his arms, then his shoulders and ribs and lungs and still he did not die.
Then, as the magma reached his heart, he fell into a dark well of churning seawater and quenched his molten heart. For uncounted breaths, he slept in the waters, his heart cooling and hardening and cracking and fusing and still he did not die.
Then, he crawled. From the pit of darkness to the surface, he climbed with all the strength that had been denied him from birth, until he broke the surface of the churning sea and walked the diamond sands, and breathed pure air.
And his flesh was no longer soft and dark and brittle, but clear as the wind and burning with bright fire and colour. And when he stole the colour of stone, his heart of fire stained it not the soft coal of his birth, but a searing, unbreakable diamond.
For so long Soft Lead had burned, that he knew not where he was. So he began to climb. For a year and a day he walked, his flesh impervious to the talons and space-ripping claws of the cavern beasts, his touch a burning inferno contained within scintillating jewels. And he emerged from the caverns to the light of the sun at dusk.
As he descended the mountain, he saw devastation. The forests of his youth had been stripped, and the hills of the earth rent apart. Soon he found the cause, as the Tribe of Basalt hunted with glee, glutting on the spoils of the earth.
"Halt!" said Soft Lead. "Do you not see that you spoil yourself, and starve your children?"
The trolls of Basalt were wary. "Who are you, strange troll, to shine and glimmer so?"
"I am Night Chalk," said Soft Lead, and his heart burned beneath his flesh. "I am the last of the Tribe of Coal."
The trolls of Basalt were shaken, and set upon him with murderous intent, for what has died should stay beneath the land of the living. But Soft Lead's flesh, paved with diamond, could not be broken or harmed, and with a single stroke he felled them.
To the village he walked, slaying those trolls of Basalt. Those who ran, he let escape. Those who fought, he killed, a blow to the head that broke flesh and stone in one. It was the first time he had ever killed another troll.
Finally, he found his home, the house of the chief, now taken by the Chief of Basalt, Obsidian Heart. The foundations had been broken, the walls crumbled and burned.
"You dare enter my house?" said Obsidian Heart, and then he said no more as Soft Lead struck him and shattered him into a thousand pieces.
He emerged from his home, and called all the trolls of Basalt before him. "Leave this place," he commanded, burning with the shine of diamond. "This land was tamed by my tribe and soaked with the blood of my tribe, and so it is mine by right. Should a troll of Basalt remain here when the sun rises, I will slay them with these hands." Thus spoken, he turned back to his home, and removed the corpse of the usurper, and fixed the walls and joined the foundations and fired tiles for his roof.
Soon, night had fallen, the stars turning in the sky, and the village was empty as Soft Lead roamed the roads of his tribe. All empty except for one, who sat at the entrance of the village, waiting for the rise of the sun.
"Brittle Glass," said Soft Lead.
"Night Chalk," said Brittle Glass, laying her flesh with chips of iron and copper, as was her practice. "I will have the sunrise once more before you take my head. I am tired and weary."
"Leave, Brittle Glass," said Soft Lead. "You are the daughter of Obsidian Heart, and are now chief of the Tribe of Basalt. When I was to die, you spared my life against the wish of your father, and this debt will be repaid."
"And what will you do, Night Chalk?" said Brittle Glass. "Will you hoard this mountain and its spoils, fool that you are?"
"No. Too many have died for this mountain. I will stain the roots of this mountain with diamond that gleams with my warning, and all trolls who look upon it will know it is forbidden."
Brittle Glass bowed to Soft Lead, and stepped away. "Perhaps," said the daughter of Obsidian Heart, "we could have been friends, in another world."
"We are friends in this world, Brittle Glass," said Soft Lead. "Now go, before the sun sees you."
Brittle Glass did so, and soon Soft Lead was alone. And the sun dawned upon him, the shining diamond troll, and stained the mountain in all the colour of the sky.
~~~
Story over. Go home.
~~~
AN: Is that the end? Of course it's not the end! But the rest of the story is for another time, and good troll children should be going to bed.
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- Location
- Australia
I'm looking forward to the sequel.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
Mr Shine, him Diamond.
- Location
- Berkeley
Double down doubles the cost of an action. If said action is free, it can't be doubled down on.
- Location
- England
- Location
- The Void
he has pneumonia
- Location
- Alice Springs, Australia
1. a lighter scale
2. yes I do
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
- Location
- Alice Springs, Australia
better, no full updates for a few days however
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
Joyus news
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Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
?
Write up for character stats?
Are you updating them or changing them?
HanEmpire
Delicious
He's adding fluff text.
Hmm, Frederick's second weakest stat is diplomacy at 24 (25 with Avernites) (Though its higher than all but 5 other people we have character sheets for).
Since its merely on the upper end of "Exceptional" this is the stat we have a decent chance to improve. Luckily the person who can best help us improve that is handy: Seamus Lin at 41. So we should probably look at getting Frederick to try to hang out with him for the express purpose of brushing up on his diplo skills.
The weakest Stat is Learning at 23 (which Lin is also better than us at: 29). Other people we could spend time with to alleviate that are the following: Scott (27), Tranth(36), Tamia (36), Governor Garp of Jotunheim (29), First Artisan Granulf (34), Surt (nuff said) (est: 35-40), Governor Ulrik (28), Inquisitor Lord Varquez (27) (This guy is pretty awesome in general), First Councilor Aryz (33), Master of Sanctity Horatius Cocles (25, Yup the Dueling Paragon, Space Marine Hero/Preacher has a better education than his Chapter Master and Frederick)
Since its merely on the upper end of "Exceptional" this is the stat we have a decent chance to improve. Luckily the person who can best help us improve that is handy: Seamus Lin at 41. So we should probably look at getting Frederick to try to hang out with him for the express purpose of brushing up on his diplo skills.
The weakest Stat is Learning at 23 (which Lin is also better than us at: 29). Other people we could spend time with to alleviate that are the following: Scott (27), Tranth(36), Tamia (36), Governor Garp of Jotunheim (29), First Artisan Granulf (34), Surt (nuff said) (est: 35-40), Governor Ulrik (28), Inquisitor Lord Varquez (27) (This guy is pretty awesome in general), First Councilor Aryz (33), Master of Sanctity Horatius Cocles (25, Yup the Dueling Paragon, Space Marine Hero/Preacher has a better education than his Chapter Master and Frederick)
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Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
He probably needs to know a lot about other religions ect.
HanEmpire
Delicious
Not really, Saint Lin's Diplo-stat is so high because he's a Living Saint. His base diplomacy is only 15.
That depends on the mechanics of teaching then. Is it based on a characters base stats or total with all traits included?
HanEmpire
Delicious
Probably only including the traits that can be attained by the student, so things like etiquette.
In this case Frederick won't be able to get much from Saint Lin since the Emperor isn't around to give him similar holy powers.