to part with whatever gifts Aulë had to offer. Even though level-1 altar only allowed for some petty craft items for blacksmiths, jewelers and artifact makers, already at level 4 Aulë offered his followers an unexpectedly hefty gift, the Heavenly Hammer. Imagine a tank dropped from the top of the Empire State. Bang! Even if it missed your head, the man-made earthquake would break your legs, crush your bones and knock out all your teeth from a carelessly dropped jaw. A century-old Naval expression had described it as "kinetic concussion". That's when the armored deck buckles under your feet through shell impact, kicking you so hard that it snaps your bones.
Basically, our talks had gone nowhere. The dwarves were quite understandably wary of being ripped off while trying to push their own agenda. Me, I stubbornly stood my ground. Luckily, the Fallen One arrived to my rescue in the most sinister of his guises, appearing to the dwarves as a dark void swirling under the empty hood of his night-sky cloak. The apparition inquired coldly if a guarantee from a High God would suffice.
While the dumbstruck dwarves shook their beards in agreement, I surreptitiously added a few more items to the contract, namely the restoration of the two forts that protected the access to the main gates as well as some improvements to the castle defenses. I'd done my bit of fortification studies by then so I couldn't speak in terms of something as dumb as "a very high wall" any more. All those escarpments, bastions and ravelins were pouring out of me right onto paper, generously covering the blueprints of the castle's forthcoming upgrade.
Once I had their signatures, I gave the Fallen One an inconspicuous thumbs-up: well done, bro! His glacial glare pinned me to the ground, freezing my spine solid.
In the end, I was the last of all to come round. I wheezed, wiped off the streak of saliva dripping from the corner of my once-grinning mouth, and clicked my neck back into place. Oh well. I shouldn't go too far humanizing the Fallen One, forgetting his status as a Dark God. The dwarves were muttering between themselves, casting reverential glances my way with just a tad of sympathy. No one said that being a First Priest was easy. Okay, it was time to wrap up this show. Everyone had agreed on the terms. I really needed a break.
The gold had dropped into my account later on that day; the promised craftsmen had arrived via a cargo portal early next morning. They had immediately proceeded to restore one of the dilapidated castle wings, to ensure comfortable lodgings for themselves. Those midgets loved their creature comforts! Amazingly, no sooner than the first wheelbarrowfuls of rubble got moving, a makeshift tavern was set up next to the construction site. You couldn't hide anywhere from the aromas of grilled sausages and fresh beer anymore. How was one supposed to work when a whiff of barbecue called your name through an open window?
Once they settled down and stuffed their bellies, the dwarves set off to work.
They scaled the collapsed fortifications, tapping the ancient stones with prospecting hammers. Soon they pronounced their diagnosis and decided on the course of treatment. A gray-haired architect — a Famed Master, no less — attacked the task with an ardor uncharacteristic for his age. He would, wouldn't he? Restoring an uncategorized castle could bring him a few precious points. There were not so many jobs of this caliber left in this world, and even fewer individuals eager to pay for them.
Having said that, his professional rivals weren't too jealous. They were also busy. There were two more ambitious construction projects under way in the Valley of Fear.
The first one was the building of the new temple grounds. Understandably wary of the forces of Light destroying Aulë's new Altar, the dwarves asked us to allocate them a plot of land right in the heart of the valley. Once their ancient priests had realized the nature of the divine
Basically, our talks had gone nowhere. The dwarves were quite understandably wary of being ripped off while trying to push their own agenda. Me, I stubbornly stood my ground. Luckily, the Fallen One arrived to my rescue in the most sinister of his guises, appearing to the dwarves as a dark void swirling under the empty hood of his night-sky cloak. The apparition inquired coldly if a guarantee from a High God would suffice.
While the dumbstruck dwarves shook their beards in agreement, I surreptitiously added a few more items to the contract, namely the restoration of the two forts that protected the access to the main gates as well as some improvements to the castle defenses. I'd done my bit of fortification studies by then so I couldn't speak in terms of something as dumb as "a very high wall" any more. All those escarpments, bastions and ravelins were pouring out of me right onto paper, generously covering the blueprints of the castle's forthcoming upgrade.
Once I had their signatures, I gave the Fallen One an inconspicuous thumbs-up: well done, bro! His glacial glare pinned me to the ground, freezing my spine solid.
In the end, I was the last of all to come round. I wheezed, wiped off the streak of saliva dripping from the corner of my once-grinning mouth, and clicked my neck back into place. Oh well. I shouldn't go too far humanizing the Fallen One, forgetting his status as a Dark God. The dwarves were muttering between themselves, casting reverential glances my way with just a tad of sympathy. No one said that being a First Priest was easy. Okay, it was time to wrap up this show. Everyone had agreed on the terms. I really needed a break.
The gold had dropped into my account later on that day; the promised craftsmen had arrived via a cargo portal early next morning. They had immediately proceeded to restore one of the dilapidated castle wings, to ensure comfortable lodgings for themselves. Those midgets loved their creature comforts! Amazingly, no sooner than the first wheelbarrowfuls of rubble got moving, a makeshift tavern was set up next to the construction site. You couldn't hide anywhere from the aromas of grilled sausages and fresh beer anymore. How was one supposed to work when a whiff of barbecue called your name through an open window?
Once they settled down and stuffed their bellies, the dwarves set off to work.
They scaled the collapsed fortifications, tapping the ancient stones with prospecting hammers. Soon they pronounced their diagnosis and decided on the course of treatment. A gray-haired architect — a Famed Master, no less — attacked the task with an ardor uncharacteristic for his age. He would, wouldn't he? Restoring an uncategorized castle could bring him a few precious points. There were not so many jobs of this caliber left in this world, and even fewer individuals eager to pay for them.
Having said that, his professional rivals weren't too jealous. They were also busy. There were two more ambitious construction projects under way in the Valley of Fear.
The first one was the building of the new temple grounds. Understandably wary of the forces of Light destroying Aulë's new Altar, the dwarves asked us to allocate them a plot of land right in the heart of the valley. Once their ancient priests had realized the nature of the divine
Similar Books
