This is going to be the first story I am going to be sticking with for any period of time. Well, that is, if I get any reviews. Anyway, I'll see you at the end of the chapter.
The manager, a crucial position within a working fortress. It is the position that approves and prioritizes the various tasks required to keep the industries in working order. The task of designating the jobs usually goes to the mayor, but in a fortress known as Bronzefire, in our language, that burden has been placed upon their manager, Solon, because for a majority of the time, the mayor is busy at parties and gatherings he uses to keep his position.
Solon is what would be described as your average dwarf, in terms of appearance. His carefully braided, black beard went down to the middle of his chest. He has a shaved head, never much caring for any hair besides his beard. He is fairly weak, but is able to recover from wounds quickly. He ordinarily wore a rope reed fiber shirt and pig tail fiber trousers, as well as bat leather shoes and an ever-present article of clothing that we would describe as a trenchcoat. The article was created through a strange mood that occasionally graced or cursed the dwarven people, and the one that created the article was the 'possession' variant, so there was no improvement in that dwarf's clothesmaking skill.
Ordinarily, Solon would be at his office, performing his duties. Today, however, was anything but ordinary. Today, the holy metal adamantine was discovered in the depths of the mine. Today, Solon halted the mining around the adamantine in order to prepare traps for what he knew was down there. Today, Solon was arrested.
It was sudden. Solon was meeting with some of the fortress's architects and mechanics in a temporary office built in the mines, going over designs for the traps, when the fortress guard busted in, and dragged Solon to the mayor's office for a trial. The trial was swift, and Solon was sentenced to death in the fortress arena, for "overstepping your position's authority." Solon was dragged to the arena armory, in order to get equipment that, as the guard commander put it, "give the crowd a show." Of the various items that were there, Solon only took a single -steel shortsword-. When questioned about this, Solon simply responded, "How long do you event think I am going to last?" The guards had no response.
Solon was taken to the holding cells below the arena, and was locked in cell 9 to await the fight that he would participate within. Solon leaned against the back wall of the cell, anger being the foremost of his emotions. 'Why the hell did the mayor decide to lock me up now!?' Solon thought. 'This has been going on for years! The only thing that has changed is…' His expression morphed into fear. 'No…he is going to mine the adamantine! Doesn't he remember the stories! Doesn't he remember that every time a fortress exports adamantine goods, it is quickly annihilated! He's going to kill the fortress in order to satisfy his own greed! The bastard!'
Soon, commotion began outside of the cell. 'They're opening the arena already? No, it is far too early for that…' Solon walked over to the door of the cell, and looked out into the hallway. He saw some of the animal trainers and caretakers escorting something with the guards. 'I wouldn't think that they would try to pit us against one of the fortress's tamed dragons,' Solon thought. 'The last time they tried that, the fight ended too quickly to provide any source of entertainment.' Solon continued to watch the procession, finally managing to see what was being escorted into the cell opposite his. The entity that was being escorted was a dragon, that would be only six years of age at most, and that would only be true if the growth of the dragon was stunted in some way. It had two scaled crests above its black eyes that ended with short, upward curving horns. Terminating one its front shoulders were two rows of spikes that diverged from the main row, which led from the end of its tail from the crests, at the middle of the neck. This last detail is not what caused Solon's mouth to open in amazement.
'A…gray…dragon?' He thought, 'How could this be? All dragons ever known to have existed since the world's genesis have only been red!'
Faream was scared. The gray-scaled dragon had only hatched four years ago, and was immediately taken away from the rest of his kind in order to prevent the spread of a disease that the caretakers thought he had. Eventually, he was released back to the draconic population, after no symptoms of a disease were found, but the quarantine had affected the view the other dragons had upon him. They treated him with suspicion, and he was often ridiculed by his own kind. He had been brought to the arena to be executed, because they began to believe that his blood was tainted, due to the fact that he was unable to breathe fire properly for his age.
When he was placed in the cell, Faream wandered over to the far side of the cell, and huddled against the back corner, tears streaming down from his eyes. 'Why do I need to die?' Faream thought, barely managing to form the thought from the weight of his sadness. 'I haven't done anything wrong. I was just born with a different look, and I haven't had the practice that the others had. This doesn't mean I have to die. Does it?' The dragon broke down completely after that last thought, unable to form a coherent thought for a long period of time, completely losing his ability to tell how much time had passed due to his surroundings, and the profound level of sadness he was experiencing.
Eventually, the cell was opened. Faream had enough control to recognize this, and look in the direction of the door, tears no longer on his face, due to the fact that his eyes were dry from the amount he had already spent. In the doorway was the silhouette of a dwarven guard in full body armor. The guard waited a short time, but when Faream did not move, the guard came in, and grabbed Faream by the base of the neck and dragged the dragon out of the cell into a new procession that was made up of the prisoners, surrounded by a few squads of the fortress guard. The guards forced the line forward, to its doom in the arena. One of the prisoners tried to flee, but had his spine broken in the attempt. The guards halted the procession, and Faream noticed that the two captains had walked away from their squads to speak. They broke apart after a quick deliberation, and one walked over to the dwarf that attempted to flee. The captain lifted up his axe, and cleaved the head off of the dwarf. The body slumped over, blood spurting out of the open throat, and the head rolled over to the feet of one of the prisoners in the procession. Faream shivered at the sight and closed his eyes, but he had to walk over the head as the procession was forced forward. There were no more escape attempts.
The procession eventually arrived at the arena undercroft, and was forced inside. The guard slammed the doors behind the procession, none of them entering the undercroft. Faream heard the door being bolted from the other side. There was no need for them to enter with the prisoners, because past that door, there was only one option for the procession to go, and that was into the arena for their executions. The prisoners could not stay in the undercroft, since it was flooded after all had exited in order to kill whoever tried to remain behind.
Above the undercroft, Faream heard the introductions the Arena Grandmaster was making. He heard the Grandmaster speaking of the crimes of the other prisoners, and the 'disease' that plagued Faream, even so far as calling the dragon 'Faream the Blighted' in his introduction. This cut Faream deep, sending him into another fit of sadness. Faream managed to prevent the sadness from striking as deep as it did in the cell, since he would need to keep his wits about him if he wanted to survive as long as he could, in order to prove that he was not diseased, or helpless. Faream heard one of the dwarves speak up. "Listen up, we may have a chance of surviving this," the dwarf said, brightening Faream's mood somewhat.
Another of the dwarves spoke up, "That's impossible, they make sure to kill off all the prisoners that are sent in." Faream's mood began to drop, before his mood was rejuvenated by what the first dwarf said next.
"Impossible hell. This fortress just discovered adamantine, and I was sent here because the dumbass mayor's greed has outpaced his intelligence again. He is going to mine the adamantine. I am a former resident of Sparkgear. You know those stories about digging up the adamantine and releasing horrors of the depths? They are true. Get the damn picture?"
Faream noticed the rest of the dwarves fell silent at the mention of the stories, and how this dwarf claimed they were true. He wondered what was within those stories that would so horrify the dwarves in that way. His thought process was interrupted by the second dwarf speaking up again, "what do we need to do, Solon?"
Faream saw that the dwarves had looked onto the first dwarf, who was apparently named Solon. The dwarf responded, "Just follow the instructions I give you out there, and we may have a chance at survival. Get ready, here we go."
The pathway to the arena opened up, and the Solon-led procession walked up into the arena, a sense of purpose in their actions that was not present before. Faream looked around in awe at the arena. The arena floor was roughly 75 meters in diameter, with four pillars rising up halfway along the radius in two lines that were perpendicular to each other. The 3 meter diameter pillars rose up 15 meters, a far cry away from the domed ceiling of the colossal arena. The seating for the spectators curved up to meet the dome of the arena, causing the whole thing to look like an inverted sphere with four entrances for the spectators, as well as the arena floor being a flattened area 10 meters down.
The prisoners looked up towards the platform that was above the gateway at the other side of the arena. The platform had the Arena Grandmaster, dressed in her ¤full steel armor¤, and her ¤steel longsword¤ on her right hip. Also on the platform was a team of nobles, one of whom Faream noticed Solon looked at with a sense of betrayal. Faream heard Solon speak under his breath, with sadness in his voice, "I would not have believed that my once greatest friend would accept the lies the bastard spoke about, and take my position without a second thought, as well as listen to that bastard." Solon's expression turned to one of fury, and Faream looked back at the platform, and saw a dwarf clothed in ¤adamantine robes¤, with gold colored ¤rope reed tunic¤ and ¤rope reed trousers¤ underneath of it, and gem studded, ¤silver rings¤ on his hands, as well as a variety of ¤platinum necklaces¤. Faream heard Solon speak a bit more, "Looks like the bastard has already started the mining. That makes our job significantly easier."
Solon was cut off by the Arena Grandmaster addressing the cheering crowd, "Let the executions begin!"
Like it? Hate it? Put your comments in a review. I can take any form of criticism, though I prefer constructive. Just for your information, the various symbols surrounding some of the words are quality indicators that are used in the game. I am using them here in order to signify how rich and how high in standing the characters are. If you have played dwarf fortress before, you will know what I am talking about, and may get the reference. For the others, I probably should warn you that I am going to be revealing spoilers.