The royal smith
The magma forges were pulsing with action. Of the many pillars blocking access to the hot liquid below, 5 had been opened so far. There was much to be done, and TheFlame52 had requested some apprentices from the baron, who had been eager to provide her with a few helping hands. The bookeeper GRRM was among them, as the royal smith had been put in charge of managing the army's inventory.
''That's 4 iron spears, a copper battle axe, and a wooden spear. We are stahed in terms of crossbow, however, read the bookkeeper.
-With 8 soldiers, and possibly more to be drafted soon, we'll be short on melee weapons, The Flame commented. I'll be sure to make some iron swords once those plates are done''
Within a few weaks, the 10 iron breastplates had been finished, more than enough to outfit their current militia. The baron had insisted that they make some more iron mail shirts, for a crossbowdwarf squad. 3 helmets were scavenged from the goblins, but they had been wielding bows, not axes. The helmets were patched easily enough by the royal smithess, but there was a great need for more swords and axes. That meant more ore. furnace operators had been instructed to melt some tetrahedrite, which would provide them with copper at least, as well as silver. Iron was best kept for important pieces, or for making steel, so it would be a good idea to craft boots and gauntlets out of copper, at least for now.
On her daily trips to the forges, The Flame could see the engravers hard at work, smoothing the catacomb. The overseer princess had been inadvertantly buried with the commoners, but her younger sister now rested in her own tomb. It pained the smith to know that a member of the royal family rested in such a way. No doubt, it was a way for the commoners to spite the royals: few of them were happy to see the pretty rooms they so dutifully built under the roasting sun be handed away to the newcomers. Her cousins had been eager to grab the choiciest bedrooms, leaving most of the fort sleeping in a windowless common room on the third floor.
And cousins, she had many. Thanks to a strange wedding between her mother and father, TheFlame, fifty second royal blacksmith, was the cousin of every single member of the royal family, on both side. the king were her cousin. the king's daughters and sons were her cousins. It was hard to keep track. It did, however, come with some perks, as nobody dared refuse when she requested the title she now holds. She had been doubtful when the king requested that they all visit Murderflood, but her presence here in these time of need was now a blessing. The forges were crude in terms of fashion, but definitely large and able to host the greatest of metal industry of the kingdom, in time. She was told the designer had fallen victim to his own creation, giving his life to gift them the hot blood of Armok. She was glad to know that he had been memorialized in the middle of the dinning hall.
Speaking of which, the dinning hall! It was a spacious area, for sure, but non-engraved, and full of mismatched chairs and tables. Copper and iron were best kept for outfitting the army, but silver was meant to enlighten the halls of a fortress. She saw that they could spare a few bars, and thus created 4 silver statues. Two for the baron's office, and two for the dinning hall. There would be more, in time. For now, she should probably focus on the swords.
The statues laid there in the forge, with nobody to move them. She was told that most of the outpost was busy carrying logs back to the courtyard, for an attempt at soap production, and mass-production of bins and barrels, had left them lacking of wood. She worked so hard on those statues! did nobody care to haul them to the surface?
I bet they are afraid of the beasts. Recently a third creature had claimed the caverns as its domain. This one she had not seen, but she could hear. It was close, very close, lurking right underneath the forges themselves. TheFlame was quite used to the monster noises. when she got really focused, she often found herself banging the smith's hammer to the rhytm of the clashing bangs coming from the depths. Beasts were as lava to her: a terrifying and deadly thing, yet soothing and harmless when caution was taken.
GRRM was done with the inventory, and he had moved upstairs to pillage and sort through the looted clothes, and reassigning the deads' belongings. Words was that the barracks were to be set on the second floor of the warehouse, where the armors and weapons were kept. Nobody had created a wood or rock weapon rack as of yet, tho. Wood was still hauled back inside, and people were too lazy to carry the boulders upstairs at the time. Meat was running low, and so was fish, so they had butchered a few boars, in preparation for the ceremony...
Their Champion, Cerol Toothslayer, was to be officially proclaimed as such on the last day of the year. She had received her badge, but a real celebration was in order, her yoral cousin Rith had decided.
''Some feast will be welcome, after such tragic moments'', he had added. TheFlame had hoped that her silver statues would be unveiled on this occasion, but they still sat unhauled in a corner.
A shame. Booze and roasted boar were served, and dwarves lowborn and royal danced and cheered in the lone cactus for their champion. At the peek of the event, the Toothslayer was handed the artefact Mat Luk, a beautiful skirt decorated with opals.
* * *
Epilogue:
The bookkeeper
George was sitting at his desk, overseing a fine roasted boar chop, leftover from yesterday's feast. He was almost done putting all the files and numbers from the last year in order. There was a lot, but GRRM was sort of used to sitting alone in a room and writting down stuff. Language was his passion. Words were his friends. The tragedies and deaths of the fort meant little to him, until he was able to romanize them and put them in words. Gnott QT would be here any minute now. The bookeeper shared his office with 2 others, but they were seldom there. the milicia commander had little use for his desk, and the broker spent most of his time in the warehouse sorting which goods he'd sell next season.
Maybe I'll suggest moving his office there as well, so I get this place for myself...Gnott QT entered his office at once, obviously in a rush. Dutifully, the bookkeeper handed over the piles of files he had prepared. there was a lot. Enough to compare with a manuscript, some would say.
''No, no, no. George, we talked about this. i just want the numbers, and like, a list of how much food we have left. I don't need a fucking novel about what you think everyone is going through in this fort.
-That's... I figured you'd love to read it?
-I'm busy, George. I need to be able to sort through information quickly. this... Are you seriously including a narration of TheFlame52's thoughts on the forgotten beasts with your military supply report? That's...
not very useful, George...''
The mayor was definitely annoyed, and now the bookeeper was too. He had worked hard to make these, pooring his heart and soul into his narrative reports. How could Gnott QT discard his work so easily? His gaze wandered and came back to the roasted chop.
I bet it's getting cold now. Yet another disapointment to add to this day's story...''...And stop that. With the weird look. I know you're mentally narrating all this in your head, as we speak. Don't. Just give me the save, George. I need it to do my work.
-
Fine, there it is.-Ok, what's the version?
-It says so on the page!
-No, you just wrote
''The princess is dead, and so is the princess. GRRM hands over the final paperworks to the mayor Gnott QT, who is to act as overseer for the following year...'' That's what I'm talking about George. I don't care about this. I just need the file version.
-Oh... hum... 40.24
-Now was it
that hard?''
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Topic: Murderflood: OPERATION PIMPSTACK (Ardentdikes III) (Read 38066 times)