Tortoise Slice
A Slice of Steel, Stone, and Hex Crystal
The Northwest Canton of the Kirinal Concordance Zone, the Tortoise Slice, takes its name from the famous moving city of the dwarves known as The Tortoise. Hexworms pupate here, leaving behind cocoons full of hex crystal, the world's most valuable resource. The members of the Tortoise Conclave have become richer than their mountain cousins as they pour their wealth back into technological research.
I have no quarrel with the earth dwarves of the Tortoise Slice, they're way less snooty than their highland cousins! I know a lot of people like to go there for fancy maharlitech gadgets. But don't you forget that psychic beer was first brewed by a crazy earth dwarf! Despite all their new gadgets, they still make the best axes you can find. They have not forgotten the Song of Steel!
In the Northwest region of the Zone the dwarves, halflings, and allies mine Hex Crystal and research new Maharlitech technologies. Their control and command of magitech devices gives them a powerful voice in the Concordance for Survival.
When the dwarven kingdoms were given a stake in the Zone, the haughty mountain dwarves sent poor and low-caste dwarves to the lowlands to "dig in the dirt". Calling themselves "earth dwarves" these exiles fought and died in the Far War. Afterward, when the generals and grags returned to the highlands, the veteran earth dwarves were given plots of dirt that their "betters" had no desire for.
Until the discovery of hex crystals and the Maharlitech Revolution. Now these so-called "dirt dwarves" are wealthier and more powerful than their mountain cousins. The thanes and the grags have returned to the Zone to try and claim a stake in what they foolishly gave away.
The Northeast Gate
The Northeast Gate provides access through the Pit Wall to the Tortoise Slice and regulates goods coming in and out of the Manifest. This heavily fortified checkpoint is guarded by soldiers of the Hex Crystal Battalion. Traders, mercenaries, and travelers pass through on Days of Trade or Harvest. Grag overseers inspect everyone and everything entering through the gate.
On Days of War, the gates are closed and the rocky sky fortresses float towards the wall to repel invaders.
Mercy's Return
I scanned the horizon, watching for dark wings.
Today’s Manifest had delivered a towering green forest. The Surveyor of Worlds had declared a Day of Harvest. Salvagers entered the Kirinal Pit, axes and saws in hand. They would take their share of the Zone’s Toll before the Manifest returned to its home world.
The air thrummed with grinding steam saws and the distant hum of skyships ferrying lumber.
Beside me, Grag Skinnfinger hacked dustily into a stained handkerchief. He tracked every crew that passed through the Northeast Gate in his ledger. The black-clad dwarf ensured that all tariffs and duties owed to the Conclave were recorded in perfect detail.
Then, I saw it. The crow I’d been waiting for.
I exhaled, steadying myself, and began the words of the red triangle to fortify my mind. Then, I nudged the grag.
“Mercy is returning.”
The human-sized crow wheeled down to the Pit Wall where I stood with my duty partner. Scout Sgt. Alvin “Mercy” Rider slid off his mount, lazily saluting.
“Lt. Irontooth. Grag. Keeping the Wall safe for the Concordance I see.”
Mercy's expression didn't change, but I saw the smirk in his eyes.
The grag hacked a cough, “Lieutenant, this halfling was assigned to search Sector 42 wasn’t it?”
“This halfling's named Mercy, but it’s 'Scout Sergeant' to you grag. And you’d best watch that grackle, one strong cough and you'll blow off this Wall.”
I sighed. “Enough flirting you two. Just tell us about Sector 42, and you can get out of each other’s hair.”
The grag turned his attention to Mercy and I could feel the spore-ridden mind skittering over the surface of my thoughts.
“As ordered, I flew recon over the mushroom grove in Section 42., " Mercy said smoothly, "Just ordinary, non-sentient fungi. Nothing to report.”
The skittering intensified and Mercy and I winced as the grag pressed harder.
Right on cue I pointed down to a cart exiting the gate below.
“Grag, isn’t that Jessa Quickfingers? I think she’s trying to run psychic beer under those cabbages.”
The grag lurched, leaning over the wall. “Check those cabbages!”
Mercy winked, shot me a quick salute, and hopped back onto his mount.
Then he was gone, heading to the Skar.
Skarhir Kos
The earth dwarves built well when they constructed Skarhir Kos, their "Fortress in the Dirt". They dug deep, raising walls using the ruins of Kirinal and stone quarried from the Manifest itself. Their halfling allies from the Warmshires joined them, reinforcing the stronghold that now squats unyielding on the edge of the Pit.
The name Skarhir Kos means "Shield Against Chaos" in dwarven, and it has earned that title well, the "Skar" is the only one of the Eight Fortresses never to be breached. Over time, it has been fortified with maharlitech defenses. Most impressive of all are the three flying citadels, each powered by salvaged multiversal dwarvish magitech.
The Reluctant Grag
When I swore my oath in the Deepest Halls, I thought I knew what my life would be.
My hopes were dashed when I was assigned to "dirt duty" in the Kirinal Concordance Zone. An exile. A punishment. I could not imagine a fouler, more impure place for a grag to be sent.
But now?
I have tasted foods from a hundred lands. I have read books from across the multiverse. I have seen new worlds in the Manifest with my own eyes.
I discovered love with the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.
All of it is against my oath.
I was waiting for him when he landed in the aerie of Skarhir Kos.
“I greet thee, Scout Sgt. Rider, in the name of Commander Crystalhand, whom I have the pleasure of serving.”
The dusky halfling scout grinned, “I told you Killin. You can call me Mercy”
I smirked. “On duty, you are Scout Sergeant Rider and I am Grag Stormtoe. I have been instructed to take you to the Kamera War Room.”
“As you wish Stormtoe. I have a report for the Commander.”
We left the aerie, walking through armories stacked with cannons and heavy armor. We walked up from the Pit Wall, unbroken and vast circling out around the Pit. We ascended the gangway leading up into Sky Citadel Kamera, our assigned flying fortress.
Inside the War Room, we found Commander Crystalhand’s Second, Captain Tumad Sundown, a golden-shelled kappa from the warm southern lands. The turtle man saluted smartly.
“Mercy. Grag Stormtoe. The Commander has returned to The Tortoise. You may make your report to me.”
“Yes Captain.” replied the Crow Rider, “As ordered, I inspected the giant mushrooms in Sector 42. Nothing unusual, aside from their size.”
“Thank you for the report, Scout Sergeant."
Then the Captain turned to me.
"Grag Stormtoe, you are dismissed.”
I knew it was coming, but by my oath that I object.
“Captain Sundown, as a Grag of the Halls, I must be present for any formal discussions so that I may report to my superiors.”
The kappa's reptilian eyes locked onto mine.
“Understood Killin, formal discussions have ended.” A pause. No change in his expression. “Mercy and I are going to talk about fishing.”
"Fishing." I thought to myself.
"Go on. See your little green friend."
Chastised I saluted and backed out.
Their whispers followed me.
I fled to the arms of my lover.
I have never been happier.
The Tortoise
The Tortoise is a mile-wide domed city on rails, traveling towards or away from the Pit based on danger, or profit. Its daily position is set by the Tortoise Conclave's mysterious "Formula."
Built as a fortified Embassy City, its engineers convinced the Conclave to raise its walls into a dome, shielding it from aerial threats. As salvaged magitech and hex crystals revealed new possibilities, they took the next step, setting the city in motion - literally.
Now a densely packed, multi-tiered arcology, the Tortoise is alive with industry. Its bustling corridors are filled with dwarves, halflings, and kappa. The latter were drawn to the city by curiosity. They found their patient hard-working natures were a good match for the residents of the newly named Tortoise Slice.
The most sought after quarters lie deep inside, closest to the ground. The higher levels up the shell house the poorer residents.
The Frass Shoveler
I wait at Scute 13 where shit gets done.
I saw his crow land at the Scute 8 Spike.I figure it’ll take him a half hour to wade through the crowd to get over to me.
While I wait I get to work.
Most folks think of the Tortoise Slice and picture hex crystals, heavy armor, and flying citadels. What they don’t think about is all the worm frass that industry creates.
That’s what I think about, because I’m the one sifting and shoveling it out of the Tortoise’s ass.
I spot the hooded figure out of the corner of my eye. Without looking up, I grab an extra shovel and toss it over.
“Best get to work Alvin! This pile of worm shit isn’t going to shovel itself!”
A sigh. “But… Hargour. Time is…”
“Whatever it is can wait until we’ve got this frass sifted and sorted.”
The halfling sighs again. He stumbles a little, but grabs the shovel and gets to it. Say what you will about the little bastard, he’s strong for his size and he doesn’t slack.
I note that for later.
Minutes pass. Then we hit the real prize, hex crystal flakes that I had buried just deep enough to escape notice.
The moment we touch them, illusory duplicates shimmer into view, taking our place.
Mercy and I slip away with the next shift change.
We weave through the bustling steel corridors of The Tortoise, moving towards the Head.
Mercy starts to speak, “I need to…”
I put a finger to my lips and nod towards a pair of grags in the crowd.
“Hold. There could be ears, or minds, listening.”
He shuts his mouth. Smart.
We make our way past homes full of laughing children, forges with smiths toiling in the ways of our ancestors, workshops buzzing with artificers crafting our future. The air is thick with the scent of baking bread and mushroom beer. The smell of dwarven hearths mixed with the tang of molten steel. The smell of the Tortoise.
I remember when none of this was here.
I remember laying the first stones of Skarhir Kos. I remember the first steel beams of the carapace, long before the city moved on tracks.
The crowded halls tighten as we enter the Neck, the fortified corridor leading to the Head, where we steer the beast I helped to build.
I shake my head before the defenders can snap a salute. They allow us to pass without remark.
Finally, we reach my quarters. I hesitate for a breath.
Pride. And shame.
The poor dwarf who first came to the dirt would never believe how grand his station would one day be. Would he admire what we’ve built? Or curse what we’ve become.
I push the thought aside.
Inside my shielded office, I turn to the Scout Sergeant.
“Mercy. Your report.”
“Commander Crystalhand, sir your intelligence was correct. I found a little brother right where we suspected it would be. But this one is already corrupted we'll have to destroy it.”
I nod.
“Did you get a sample?”
“Yes sir. The damned thing has been trying to get into my brain the whole time.”
“Good job Mercy, I'll send Cpt. Tumad out to do the job. Take it to Mother and Father. Mercy, get that thing away from you.”
Farge McDrakon
Built around the Outer Ring station that services the Tortoise Slice, Farge McDrakon's true wealth lies underground. The grags serving Thane McDrakon discovered caverns ideal for mushroom farming and quickly seized the opportunity.
They imported fungi from the Ironspike Mountains, becoming the first slice to grow their own food after the Catastrophes. They beat even the elves by decades. Their farms were worked by prisoners, sentenced under harsh, often fabricated, laws to keep the labor force full.
Over time, the mushrooms mutated in the magic-rich dirt of the Zone, creating new and profitable varietals. The greatest discovery came with Hexocybin Mushrooms, the main ingredient in Psychic Beer, a brew that became one of the Tortoise Slices most lucrative exports.
Meeting the Mother and Father
I keep Sombra low, skimming the Kirinal River, staying out of sight. No trains, no travelers, no eyes on me.
Once we reach the outskirts of the Farge we land.
“G’wan girl, I’ll meet you at home.”
Sombra fixes me with a “look”. Then she takes off for the Roost to meet her fellow scouting crows.
I pull my hood up and walk through my bustling hometown. I smell my favorite buttered mushrooms, but I don’t stop. I have one more errand to run.
Thane McDrakon’s Prison and Brewery is full of light and activity. From a distance, it seems to be a normal workplace. You can see the workers going in and out, but if you know how to look you can see a thickness in the air. The walls breathe on their own.
Spores fill the air. The workers all move a little too smoothly. Their eyes don’t blink. Their working caps are covered in colorful mushrooms. They move as if they share one mind.
The thing in my pouch stirs as it senses its siblings. I hear it in my mind. “Eat me. Let me be part of you.”
I whisper the words of the red triangle. The voice claws at my thoughts, desperate to be consumed. I grit my teeth and force it out. My vision clears. My head is mine again.
Just a few steps more.
A great oak tree stands outside the gates of the brewery. The air around it is clear. The weight in my head lifts and the voice in my pouch goes silent.
I approach the oak that guards us from the thing in the brewery.
“Oak Father! I bring you and Mother news from the Manifest.”
The face that was always on the tree becomes visible as the oak opens its eyes.
“Hello, little Mercy. As always, it is good to see you. My love, wake up! Little Mercy is here to see us.”
A knot in the bark opens up, just wide enough for a halfling to fit through.
I squeeze in. I became a Crow Rider to be in the open sky. These tight spaces make my stomach turn, but I persevere.
I pass through to the Oak Heart, a space larger on the inside than the outside. The air here is also thick with spores, but these feel different. The bark pulses with life, a fungal colony, the Myconid Mother, embraces the great oak’s wood.
The sample I carry hums and the colony around me responds.
A hundred eyes open all around.
A sad voice says, “You chose correctly little Mercy. As you always do.”
“Mother, it is as you suspected. One of your siblings rouses in the Manifest forest. But the Matriarch was there before me. I could only save this little one. The Commander has sent Captain Tumad to deal with the rest.”
I take the red-capped mushroom out of my pouch. It cries. Whether in sorrow or joy, I don’t know.
The tree trembles as Oak Father and Myconid Mother weep.
“Oh my poor brother. I pray that the kappa captain is merciful.”
I put the crying mushroom on the ground with its cousins and I turn away.
I don’t know if mercy is possible anymore.
When I saw this in my notifications, I at first pictured a pastry. XD I love the diversity of the Tortoise Slice, though my favourite bit is obviously the mushroom farmers of Farge McDrakon. :D The bits of prose with the tarot cards are a really lovely touch to this article.
Explore Etrea | March of 31 Tales
Thank you! Now I have to figure out what the best "slice" in each Slice is! Is it pizza? Is it pie? Is it both? Thanks, for the praise. Whenever there are mushrooms in my articles, know that I'm thinking of you!
Learn about the World of Wizard's Peak.