What's this? A Slaves to Armok: God of Blood Chapter II: Dwarf Fortress/Mass Effect crossover? I know, It's stupid. That's why I like it.
Those familiar with me already know that I update infrequently. You want frequent updates? Fuck you! I can write and shit! Can you write? Fuck no! That's why you're complaining about infrequent updates. Just write your own fanfic of my fanfic, if you want it to frequently update!
Mass Effect belongs to Bioware and EA, and costs some good money.
Slaves to Armok: God of Blood Chapter II: Dwarf Fortress belongs to Tarn and Zach Adams, and it's freeware.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock,...
Trrr-click, trrr-click, trrr-click, trrr-click, trrr-click,...
Cha-chuck, cha-chuck, cha-chuck, cha-chuck, cha-chuck,...
The sounds of cogs turning, grinding against each outher, loud despite being freshly oiled, filled the corridors of Nïr Iroludos, 'Land of Northman', the newest addition to the starfleet of Idithboshut, 'The Systemic Alliance'. Within her halls, dwarves scurried about, dilligently performing their tasks. The Combat Information Centre on the frigate's top deck was buzzing with dwarven speech. One dwarf was happily humming a song, to the rhythm of the gears. Another was grumbling about the weather. Another still was so focused with her task, that the computer console in front of her was the only thing she saw.
Thus, that last dwarf was completely unaware of the fact that the door leading to the lower deck behind her had opened with a loud sound of grinding metal gears, and that a dwarf wearing adamantine armour had entered the deck. He was stocky and round. His hair was clean-shaven. His sideburns were tied into braids. His long mustache was neatly combed. His beard was tied into a braid. He had a scar running over his round left cheek, his wide nose and his slightly protruding forehead. His hair was raven-black. His eyes were silver. His skin was bronze. He was wearing a suit of steel armour. All craftsdwarfship was of the highest quality. On the item, there was an inscription in gold. It read 'N7', in dwarven runes. It menaced with spikes of gold. He was also armed with a steel axe, shield and a fully-automatic steel crossbow. His shiny gear was trully a sight to behold, but the dwarves didn't have the time to admire it.
The dwarf walked through the bridge, nodding at dwarves who saluted him. He crossed the CIC, entering the narrow corridor, lined with computer terminals where about a dozen dwarves worked dilligently. He finally arrived at the bridge, where an elf and a dwarf dwarves were seated, the elf on the right side and the dwarf in the middle - the helmsdwarf. An avianoid alien stood behind them, observing their work.
"The Voidgate is hot. We're going in," the helmsdwarf reported into the intercom, a massive network of speaking trumpets that carried sounds across the ship. "Entering in three... two... one..."
While the dwarves aboard the ship hardly felt it, they had just jumped thousands of light years across space in but an instant. The Relays, or Voidgates, as the dwarves preferred to call them, could transport objects over unimaginable distances by creating a mass-free corridor, through the use of element zero.
"A'right. Let's take a look at our situation," the helmsdwarf said. "Thrusters: check. Navigation: also check. The heat sink is also working. Drift: just under 1500 kiloUrists."
The alien hummed. "1500 is good. Your captain will be pleased." With those words, the avianoid left the bridge.
The helmsdwarf, dissatisfied with the comment spat, his saliva nearly missing the spitoon in the corner. He was short, even for a dwarf, and thin. He had long, wavy hair, sideburns and beard and his mustache was arranged into double braids. He wore seven blue pig tail caps with the ship's name enscribed onto them in golden thread. "What a fucking pisser."
The elf on the right raised his eyebrow. He may have lacked a beard, but the straight, black hair of the fair-faced dwarfoid was neatly arranged into braids of dwarven fashion. He had high cheekbones and a fair, almost feline face. He was slim and short. "Uh, I think he meant it as a compliment, Matonkutam. What's got you so upset?"
The helmsdwarf, Bisól Matonkutam, 'Jokespeaker', scoffed. "Remembering to pack your spare pairs of socks for the jurney? That's good. I flung us half-way across the galaxy to a target the size of a watch gear, Tokmekid, you knife eared prick. Besides, Nihilus is a Spectre. They always mean trouble. It's making my beard stand on end."
"You dwarves," the elf, Ziril Tokmekid, strangely bearing a dwarven name, meaning 'Littlerock' replied, looking at the pilot from his console. "This must be your grudge against turians speaking. The Citadel Council co-funded this ship, so they sent an agent to make sure nothing goes wrong, as is usual when dwarves test one of their toys."
"You see, elf, that's what the turians want you to think. There's more to this shakedown run than the nobles are letting on."
The round dwarf standing behind him grunted. "As always. I'll bet they're running another one of their 'projects' behind our backs. It was inevitable."
"Oh, commander Emärzuden! Didn't see you there, sir."
Commander Urist Emärzuden, 'Animalkeeper' (or Shepherd, if you will), pounded his right fist upon his chest in greeting. "Matonkutam. Tokmekid."
The vibrations of a trumpet bell next to the helmsdwarf's seat grabbed their attention. It was the speaking trumpet from the briefing room, on the far side of the deck. "Matonkutam! What's our situation?" a deep, authoritative voice said through it.
"We just passed the Toririnod, captain. The Nïr Iroludos is still in one piece, it seems, praise Stodir the Smith of Metals."
"That's good. I'll want a full report for the admiral when we get back."
"I'll speak with the scribe. Oh, mind yourself, Nihlus Sholil Åmmeboggez is coming your way."
"He's here."
"... Heh..."
"Tell commander Emärzuden to meet us in the conference room for a debriefing. And keep working!"
The trumpet went silent. "Got that, commander?"
"You soured the captain's mood and I have to pay for it? That's horrible, Matonkutam."
"Hey, don't look at me! Captain Udosnóton is always in a bad mood."
"Only when speaking with you," the elf commented.
Commander Emärzuden left the bridge, walking back towards the CIC. He thought of the way the captain sounded. It might be that something was going wrong with the mission. That perhaps the secret that Matonkutam had mentioned was coming to bite them in the behind (and then slowly devour them, as those things usually went). Or, on the other hand, he could simply just have woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning... along with the military rations for breakfast giving him an unhappy thought.
"I'm just saying, Angtilat," Emärzuden heard a dwarf speaking in the CIC, rather frantically, into the speaking trumpet that led to the perpetual motion generator in the engineering deck, "A turian agent aboard our ship, breathing down our necks every chance he gets? That's alarming!" It seemed Ïkor Kamukdostob, 'Priestclearing', the navigator, was having a conversation with Isden Angtilat, 'Rednesschild', the chief engineer, about the Council Spectre. The dwarven commander decided to join in.
"I understand. But, you need to understand, this ship as much a work of craftsturianship as of craftsdwarfship. It was a joint project, so the Council sent an agent to oversee its testing. It's to be expected."
"Navigator Kamukdostob, greetings!" Emärzuden said.
"Ah, commander Urist Emärzuden. I was just having a conversation with engineer Angtilat. It was riveting." The navigator saluted by pounding his chest with his right hand.
Ïkor Kamukdostob was a middle aged dwarf, probably between seventy and eighty years old. Both his hair and sideburns were clean-shaven, and his greying long mustache and beard were neatlycombed. He was also slightly less round than the avearge dwarf and a bit taller. He wore a blue uniform made of pig tail cloth, rimmed with golden embroidery of runes and scenes of battle. The most prominent embroidery, in particular, featured a group of axe-wielding dwarves, standing over cowering turians and laughing.
"I take it you aren't fond of having a turian on board?"
"Stodir, no!" the navigator shook his head. "I don't trust him one bit. He's an agent of the Council after all. Commander, Spectres are bound by no rules. As long as they don't anger their masters, they can do whatever they want. Plus, he's a turian! They're almost as bad as the dendrophiles!"
"We have an elf onboard, Ziril Tokmekid. You have no problem with him?"
"That's different. Kid was born to second generation exilees, in a dwarven fortress. He's practically a dwarf." He pointed towards the image of dwarves and turians on his uniform. "The turians attacked us unprovoked, destroyed Sitalonol, where my grandfather died. It's why we put this image on every naval uniform." He sighed. "But, the captain seems to trust him, and I trust the captain. So, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt."
"It's to be expected," Urist commented. "Well, the captain wanted to see me. I'll talk to you later."
"I'll leave you to it."
So, it seemed that the whole crew was wary of the Nihilus. Urist didn't care about turians one way or another, and it seemed that some dwarves aboard shared his sentiment. But, more than likely, most of them at least mildly detested them. Rarely, some (traitorous) dwarves liked turians, for their discipline, but a vast majority still held a major grudge against them, for Utharlar Gemesh, the 'First Meeting Conflict', which happened a little after the dwarven commander was born.
On his way towards the conference room, which was on the far side of the CIC, or, as the dwarves called it, the Map Room, for the giant map situated at its centre, Urist admired the fine craftsdwarfship of the incredible machine. It was a dwarven computer, based on mechanical logic, operated by gears that displayed a grid of metalic tiles with runes and other simbols on them upon its upper side, which represented various things, from asteroids to stars. Levers and knobs on the platform overlooking it could be used to move around, zoom in and out, making the gears within the computer turn and switch the displayed tiles for new ones. The machine was massive, almost 20 cubic Urists in size, taking up a quarter of the CIC.
Emärzuden ran into two dwarves, a young male and an older female, who were having a conversation in front of the debriefing room. The male dwarf, who went by the name Ifin Tokmektustem, 'Littlecourtesy', was young, probably in his early thirties, and wore a short beard, sideburns and hair, all brown and wavy, with his mustache clean-shaven. His sking was pale. His blue eyes always glimmered with excitement, with his smooth face ever-jovial. The female, Enam Rítlibash, 'Cutaxe', was older, likely pushing towards her nineties, with her long, straight silver hair already turning white in some areas. Her skin, smooth though showing a few scars, was a darker tint of bronze.
"Hey, commander!" Ifin greeted, pounding his chest in a salute. "What do you think, after this shakedown run, do you think they'll send us on a something more exciting? I'm itching for some real action!"
"Settle down, Ifin," Enam warned. "Last time you said that you almost ended up crushed by that atom smasher. And I always end up having to mend your bones in the infirmary. That's annoying."
"Oh, come on doc! We're aboard the most advanced starship our civilisation's ever had, and they're sending us to the most uneventful planet in the Galaxy? You must admit it's disappointing."
"Easy there, Tokmektustem," Emärzuden said calmly, gesturing with his hand for him to calm down. "Better a boring planet than a hellish world full of reanimated corpses and hostile tin-men. I like a good brawl, but looking for trouble is a sure way to get yourself killed, or worse."
Ifin scoffed. "That's easy for you to say, commander. I mean, you're only fifty-five and you're already one of the most well known heroes of our time. Urist Emärzuden, of the Neshast Otadnob." 'The Risky Seven'. "Your group slaughtered those thresher maws on Tarangeshak, held off the attacking pirates on Kironråsh until reinforcements arrived, and then lead the counter-attack onto Torfan, where you butchered the entire base."
Urist nodded at each event mentioned in affirmation. "And sometimes, I wish I never did. There would be less mucking about then and I'd be stationed off in some peaceful fortress. Say, Tokmektustem, you're from this planet we're going to, Uthardasël. What's it like?"
"Well, like the name suggests, it's paradise: tame wildlife, no demons or cursed lands,... It's so safe, that most dwarves live in hillocks on the surface, rather than in underground fortresses. It's mostly just farmlands, with a few mines here and there, and a lot of wilderness. But, well, even paradise gets boring eventually. I enlisted as a soldier in the garrison as soon as I turned twelve. Proved myself in training so the planetary management sent me to join Duthnuruvel fleet. And now, I'm here, on a mission home, aboard the most advanced ship in all the fleets! With a turian Spectre no less! That makes me excited!"
"Strange," the commander commented. "Most of the crew seem to be weary, indifferent at best, of the Nihlus. What's your opinion of him?"
"Working with the Citadel Council's super-agent? Even if it's just for a boring mission like this one, I'm excited!"
"Ifin has heard too many bard's tales in his life," the doctor cut in. "He has this romanticised vision of the Spectres in his head, that I find myself disagreeing with. They are meant to deal with the threats to galactic peace, by any means necessary, answering only to the Council. They aren't bound by conventional laws and that's troubling. I imagine they'd even assassinate his majesty, the king, gods bless him, if the Citadel saw him as a threat."
"I guess that the fact that he's a turian only makes the others distrust him even more?" Emärzuden wondered.
"For half a century, we've held a grudge against the Turian Hierarchy, over the Conflict," Enam answered. "Many brave warriors died defending Sitalonol, until the baron gave the order to flod tne surface with lava - for none shall ever conquer a dwarven fortress. But I think the animosity towards all turians is a bit exagerated."
"Might be true," Urist agreed half-heartedly. "The captain's waiting for me. Good day."
"Good day, commander."
The dwarven commander stepped through the silver door into the debriefing room. The place was circular in shape, with several speaking trumpets lining its far sides, leading to different parts of the ship. There was also a mechanical ticker tape printer, connected to the vessels external communications system. When the ship received a message (in the form of small packets of mass effect fields that turned gears on the mechanical receiver, of course - the dwarves had no need for electro-magnetics!), the communications officer on the bridge could send it here directly. Currently, said job was done by the helmsdwarf.
Urist noticed the Council's agent who had caused a state of unease among the crew, staring at the ticker tape printer, but no sign of the captain. The turian, having heard the dwarf enter, turned towards him. Despite being almost twice his size, more the size of a human, the alien didn't intimidate the dwarf one bit. It was a well known fact across the Galaxy that, despite their size, the industrious creatures had the strength of a krogan.
"Ah, commander Emärzuden, I'm glad you arrived here first. It'll give us a chance to talk."
"Hello, Nihlus Kryik! Don't travel alone at night or the bogeyman will get you," Urist greeted.
The turian chuckled. "You'll have to explain that greeting to me one day..." He paced around the room, holding up a pig tail scroll, rooled around a fungiwood scroll roller. All craftsdwarfship was of the highest quality. On the item, there was an image of farmlands and dwarves in charcoal. The dwarves were labouring. It contained a copy of 'The Joyous Days of Joy', a written work by Ïngiz Amurúk. The written work contained a detailed description of Uthardasël, the dwarven colony world. The writing was humorous at times, but overall kept a serious tone. Overall, the prose was passable at best. "I'm interested in this world we're going to, The First Heaven. What do you think of it?"
"I don't care much for aboveground nature one way or another," Urist stated.
"But it's not just natural beauty, is it?" Nihlus debated. "It has become an important world to your civilisation, hasn't it? Something of a... bread basket. Is that the expression? It has become a symbol of tranquility for your people, hasn't it. But how safe is it really?"
"Safer than the average dwarven colony," the dwarf mused. "What are you trying to say?"
"Aside from some initial problems, The First Heaven hasn't faced any hardships in all its history. This - I still can't understand why you still use these - this scroll's author seems to think that its inhabitants have grown complacent in their safety; their military force is small, comprised mostly of outsiders and there are no serious defences to speak of. And, the system itself is fairly exposed to an attack."
Emärzuden crossed his arms. "But who'd want to attack Uthardasël? The goblins of the Tainted Fang of Suffering are satisfied trying, and failing, to raid our more outlying colonies and there haven't been any batarian slaver attacks in a while. I mean, what would they even steal? All the masterful craftsdwarfship can be found on more fortified worlds."
"I think," A deep voice came from the door, speaking in a thick mountainhome accent, "we should tell Urist Emärzuden here what our quest is all about."
It belonged to a muscular dwarf. He was quite tall for a dwarf. His cheekbones were wide. His nose was wide. His very long beard was neatly combed. His very long sideburns were neatly combed. His very long mustache was arranged into double braids. His hair was tied into a pony tail. His hair was black with a hint of grey. His eyes were black. His skin was chocolate. He had two imposing scars, one on each cheek. His left lower leg was gone. He wore a bear fur coat. It was decorated with hanging bands of gold thread. On the item, there was an image of a bearman in golden thread. The bear was striking a menacing poze. The image was the symbol of Duthnuruvel, 'Guardbear', the most famous of Idithboshut's fleets. The man also walked using a steel crutch which also doubled as a battleaxe. Despite the fact that the dwarf was in his mid 100s, he didn't look a year over 80.
Urist Emärzuden pounded his chest, saluting his commanding officer. "Greetings, captain Arom Udosnóton. Romek thunen Kethil!"
"Long live the cause!" Arom Udosnóton, 'Manborn', saluted back.
"I don't like being kept in the dark, sir," the commander stated. "What's going on?"
"I dislike it as well, I agree completely," the captain answered. "But this was kept quiet for a good reason. Lazyhill is in The Plain Plane on The First Heaven. The locals, hoping to dig a well, unearthed an ancient artefact, a lighthouse. Craftspastmanship."
"Gethudos?" Urist wondered. "Then it must be at least fifty millennia old! That's astounding!"
"I agree," Arom nodded. "Remember the last time a discovery like this was made? The data cache on Otung jumped our craftsdwarfship centuries ahead! Who knows what we might learn this time. It could be the greatest discovery of our age!"
The commander hummed. "Or the most dangerous one. Now I see why this was kept secret."
"Indeed," Nihlus agreed. "Obviously, a prothean beacon goes beyond solely dwarven, even dwarfoid, interests. We are supposed to bring the beacon back to the Citadel for study."
Urist raised an eyebrow. "I have to disagree with you there. The beacon was found on a dwarven world, so it's up to us to decide what to do with it. If we, we alone, studied it, we might finally be able to break the stalemate with the Tainted Fang of Suffering!"
"This decision comes from his majesty, the king," the captain explained. "We are to extract the beacon and transport it safely to the Citadel."
"Alright," the other dwarf conceeded. "Sounds easy enough. That's worrying." He stroked his beard ponderously. The last time he had said that... "But what about Nihlus Kryik? Couldn't we have done that without his supervision?"
"The beacon is not the only reason I'm here," the turian stated. "And neither is this frigate."
"Nihlus is here to see how you handle yourself in action," the captain said for him. "He's here to see if you have the hair to become a Spectre. Think about it, Urist Emärzuden! The first dwarf to do so!"
Urist looked on, shocked by the statement. He loved excitement, and a good tumble, and the position offered plenty of both. But he was conflicted by this, as he also valued peace and tranquility. Not to mention how humble he was - his fame was bad enough as it was. "Well, crap..."
"The Council is also considering to give the honour to a goblin, so as to remain impartial towards our war," the captain added. "Plus, the pay is good."
That stopped any further complaints from the commander. He had a strong sense of duty, and was known to have a bit of a greedy streak. "Alright then..."
"Glad to see you agree," Nihlus said. "This will be the first of many missions together, commander. Maybe you'll get to tell me what that greeting of yours, with the bogeyman, means!" he joked.
Urist grinned. "It's a funny thing, actually. The-..."
Before he could explain, a voice coming from the speaking trumpet cut him off. It was Bisól, the helmsdwarf, and he sounded frantic. "Uh, captain! We just got a message from Uthardasël! You might want to take a look!"
Casting a glance to the other two sentient beings in the room, Arom stepped towards the trumpet. "Send it down here, Matonkutam!"
Trrrrr, trrrrr, trrrrr, trrrrr, trrrrr...
The ticker tape printer came to life, writing words onto the thin strip of paper like the mechanical typewriter it was. The turian admired the fine craftsdwarfship, astounded by how much the dwarves had achieved without ever discovering electricity. Soon, the message was printed and the captain tore the strip from the device. "Uthardasël arôlrashgur naselbelzagith. Enkos saràmråsh. Zagith asrer shash. Uthardasël inem usen. Absam usen," he read it out loud.
Tense silence filled the room, the message silently resonating through it.
"Excuse me, but for those of us who don't understand the dwarven toungue...? Nihlus broke the silence.
"Right, let's see," the captain realised his mistake. He took a moment to translate it into tradespeak in his head, the language that the translation software on the turian could process. "The First Heaven is under attack from an unknown foe. We have taken a great number of deaths. The enemy came from out of nowhere. We need help. We seek help." He took another look at the strip of paper. "It's followed by an unintelligible mess of runes, like a great mass effect source came between us and the sender, before cutting off completely."
Urist spat. "I was right about this seeming too easy. That leaves me worried."
The turian's mandibles twitched. "Indeed. Our mission hasn't changed though. A small strike team could quietly move in and extract the beacon. We need to make sure it doesn't fall into the invaders' claws, whoever or whatever they might be."
"Gear up and meet us in the stockpile deck," the captain said as the turian turned to leave. "Matonkutam, take us in quietly! Make sure our stealth system is operating! Emärzuden, you go and gather your squad." He took one more look at the message. "This quest just got a lot more complicated."
Codex Galactica
-Dwarves
'A short, sturdy creature fond of drink and industry.' - the dwarven Great Tome of Knowledge
Dwarves (from tradespeak: short folk), are an asarioid mammalian species, originating from the Planet of Rock (dwarven: Nitom Id) in the Ad system. On average, they grow to about 140 cm (incidentally, this is the length of an Urist, their standard unit of length), and weigh between 60 and 80 kg, with little difference between males and females. Their skin colours can range from pale pink to dark brown. Their most prominent feature are the hair that grows on their heads, specifically their males' facial hair, which starts growing at birth and is a source of pride for them. They also have a higher sense of their surroundings, reportedly being able to sense minerals behind thick walls of dirt and stone. Their life spans tend to be between 150 and 170 years.
The dwarves live both in elaborate underground fortresses carved into the ground or in surface hillocs and are naturally talented miners, smiths and carvers. They are omnivorous, but most prefer to consume meat if possible. Their metabolism is also heavily dependent on alcohol, so they consume it from birth.
Once in their lifetime, dwarves are struck by a flash of inspiration (called mood), and will, if they can find the right materials and an appropriate workshop, create something the dwarves call a legendary artifact. These creations are of masterful design and, according to the dwarves, cannot be destroyed by any known means. However, if a dwarf is unable to materialise their inspiration, they will usually go insane.
Dwarves share their planet of origin with several other sentient species (called dwarfoids), including, but not limited to, humans, elves, kobolds, and (according to the dwarves, their natural enemy) goblins.
The dwarves call themselves Udos, and their females Aral.
-The Relay 314 Incident
The Relay 314 incident, known as the First meeting Conflict by the dwarves, was a short conflict between the Turian Hierarchy and the Systemic Alliance, which lasted from 2130 to 2131 Citadel Era. It started when the dwarves, oblivious to the existence of other sentient life, activate Relay 314, alerting a nearby turian patrol. As this was a breach of the Agreement of Cautious Exploration, which prohibited unauthorised activation of dormant relays, the patrol took a hostile stance towards the newcomers, instead of engaging the First Contact Protocol The centre of the conflict was the dwarven colony Westmountain, which the Hierarchy only managed to occupy after a year long siege, only to be forced to retreat when an erruption of magma covered most of the planet's surface in lava. The conflict finally ended when Citadel Council intervened, mediating peace talks between the two forces.
Saràmmelbil Misttar
-Turians
A militant creature which holds order and discipline in the highest regard.
They hail from the world Palaven and are known for their part in the fleet of the Citadel. Thus, they fill the role of a Galactic Hammerer, and bring peace to unruly worlds with their guns and warships.
The adults be about one Urist and three tenths of an Urist tall, but only hold together about to one Urist of weight. They have a couple of mandibles on their mouth, two long fingers and opposable thumb with talons on hand. Their skin is made of thulium. The heads of males, arms and legs of all, menace with spikes of thulium. They look much like a bird twisted into dwarfoid form, yet bear live young. Their flesh is different from our own, built of dextro amino acids.
Some (traitorous) dwarves like turians, for their discipline.
-Utharlar Gemesh
On the 13th of Malachite, in the 457th Year of the Endless War, Turianilid did, without provocation, attack dwarven adventurers of Idithboshut exploring beyond Toririnod Sitalonol. The year-lasting war after saw the fall of Sitalonol, but not with any lack of a fight; Nanul Zokun was, indeed glorious. But by the time the reinforcements came, the planet was already ablaze, and the turians were retreating. By the 21st of Felsite, in the 458th Year of the Endless War, a peace treaty was signed with Turianilid.
The war was no victory for our people, but it did also mean the discovery of intelligent life beyond Nitom Id.