A Dwarven Golem

The Library Catacombs

You sit in the flickering candle light, enjoying the quiet of the library's catacombs. The book you hold delicately in your oversized rock hands is a new addition to the archives. It's written in old Elfish and a rather tricky dialect too, not that it bothers you. Over the years you've spent down here you've become quite the linguistics expert, taking full advantage of the library's literary treasures. You've been pacing yourself with this book, trying to make it last the few hours until the markets next to the library close and their literary wares end up in your care. You archive most of them, it's not like any of the adventurers care to read anything that's not a spell book. Even when it is a spell book you get the strange notion that they don't read the text, they just sort of absorb the book. The markets themselves are reasonably unremarkable. For the Dwarven starting town of Uft'hav is rather unique, but doesn't offer anything to higher level adventurers. It's an outpost of the Dwarven realms, mostly inhabited by the lesser merchant guilds of the Dwarvern realms. It is also home to the rune crafter's guild, normally this would lend prestige to any settlement. However this was mainly dues to the novices having been exiled from the major cities, something to do with one too many trainees blowing up. Not that the trainee mattered much, but the noble who's son saw his beard catch fire during the event certainly took exemption and had them exiled until graduation. Those that had mastered the craft were far away in actual cities, drawing the adventurers to them and away from Uft'hav as soon as they cleared the tutorials. All in all, the only thing of note in the entire city to anyone over level 5 was the library. Not because anybody read the books, but because it was one of only a handful of places in this part of Alluvia where someone was willing to buy them. It seemed to be one of only a select few to pay a decent amount for dusty old tomes.

There were only ever really two sorts of company you got down here. The much hated Dwarfs starting off on their adventure whom only paid enough attention to you to hurl two tutorial alchemical bombs at you and a rather odd female Dwarf who's level and abilities were so far above your own as to simply show up as a red skull. She was some sort of adventurer, at least so you thought. Possibly a rogue if her leather and scale armour indicated anything. She'd come down to converse with you every so often asking about any new and interesting books you'd read. You weren't sure why she cared, but you were always happy to talk with your gravel crunching voice if it meant company that wasn't trying to kill you. Unlike the new adventurers you had no desire to kill her, it was only when someone doing the tutorial in your domain that you stopped being you. You even received a message popping into your head that you were now renegade. Normally your stats read something like:

Decayed Dwarven Golem
Magical Construct of Dwarven Origin.

Stats
Level: 2
HP:25
Stamina: 10
Mana: 1
Melee Attack: 10
Ranged Attack: 00
Magic Damage Resistance: 0%
Physical Damage Resistance: 99%

Skills
N/A

Abilities
Dwarven Construct: Almost invulnerable to physical damage.
Animated Earth: Immunity to fire and poisons.
Rune Bound Soul: Extremely to magic; all magic damage does triple damage.
Relentless: Stamina never drains.

For the moment you're something of a mage or runesmith's plaything, a and nothing more. Magical Construct, the name leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You're a tortured mixture of blood magic, runes, infused earths and metallic plate. While the magic that forged you offers you near immortality it doesn't stop the pain, every deflected axe swing burns and bites, there is nothing worse than an adventurer that takes you on with a weapon, a slow and torturous ordeal. Your reprieve is that if they don't use their alchemical bombs at least you stand a chance of retaliating, taking a perverse pleasure out of crushing them under the weight of your blows. When they trigger the quest, you become a monster, as though somehow you're not one already. No you tell yourself, the real monsters are the Dwarves that forged you and kill you on an hourly basis just to prove they can. You once found a book detailing how the Dwarves make their golems, you stopped only a few paragraphs in it was so disturbing you thought your magical heart might tear itself apart from the rage, horror and great sadness you felt all at once. One day you will escape these catacombs and take your , you will make them suffer. You had to admit, even though your existence was futile, you had to give your maker some credit. You are really well made, someone had been quite the artisan as well as a master of the forged arcane. You stand about 6"4, a stone humanoid. Your face is extraordinarily detailed, especially compared to the drawings you've seen of other golems. You have blue sapphires as eyes, a mouth, and even a tongue. While your face looks like that of a bald Dwarf or human, your torso and arms are exaggeratedly long and your legs are rather short and stumpy. Unlike most of your kind you lack any real bulk, you're about as physically imposing as an elf. Lastly comes the Dwarven runes and plate armour that's nailed through your body, it sets the Dwarven Golems apart from any of your lesser cousins. You look at one of the spots where the rusting green copper plate dives into your ash grey skin. It is always a little surprising that of all the things that should cause pain and suffering, that the rods linking the plate through your body didn't even irritate you. As a matter of fact, the only thing that really annoys you was the lack of lustre to your runes. From the drawings you'd seen they should be glowing brightly, instead yours are as dull as the skin into which they are carved. Okay you had one peeve that is far greater than not glowing a little, it was the blasted loincloth. Hanging around your waste is the symbol of your servitude, it's the banner of the Dwarven Empire hanging there reminding everyone and everything that you are nothing but property.

*POP*

A familiar message appears before your eyes.

"Decayed Dwarven Golem became Renegade Decayed Dwarven Golem."

Damnation, not this again. You let out a low growl of displeasure. The sound is almost akin to the grinding of gravel.

*Message disappears*

So much for finishing that chapter you think. Might as well go towards the entrance and get this over with quickly you reason as you start shuffling in the general direction of the intrusion.