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[Specialist290]

Awesome Five kills in his first battle. Too bad about Sibrek, though--hope they weren't too close friends.

And the Surveyor's description of the artifact cracked me up

[Royal Surveyor]

Sibrek was kind of a sad dwarf.  He had no friends and, apart from his pump operating skills, really didn't do much else.  Not nearly as sad as that Mistem kid that's holed up in the dormitory, though, who has not been out of her room for a year due to an injury from a goblin bolt whilst she was a baby.  That's really sad.

Anyway, I'm surprised that Kubuk didn't receive one injury during the fight, and I think I'm going to erect a bunch of statues (but not making them a garden) at the point of battle.

Now, the reason I'm writing this is that I forgot to link to the spring survey for the year.  It can be found here. 

I'll likely be moving them to autumn, to coincide with the meetings with the liason.

[Royal Surveyor]

Summer, 1065
The rooms I have ordered created for the new Dungeon Master have been completed.  I have never met this particular dwarf in person before, and I know that there must have been a rift in the Edirkolruken, given the difficulty in which Erith and myself had in securing the blessing to establish this place.  Furthermore, I am not very enthusiastic about having the Onolshalig picking through my beard by way of their agent.  Still, it would be unwise to anger her, and have decided to make her comfortable to some degree, perhaps to win her to my side, or to at least assuage her potential opposition…
   Fath slung her crossbow and buckler over her shoulder, next to the quiver she had jump emptied at the archery range.  She stroked her beard thoughtfully as she walked to the stairway leading down into the caverns below.  Smiling, she thought of how nice it looked once she cut and shaped it into the fashion she had seen some of the dwarfess caravan guards sporting.  It tapered to a nice point a couple inches right below her chin, and everything on her face had been trimmed to a thumb’s width.  Even her beloved Iteb took a new notice of her.
   Her mind snapped back to the task at hand: to show the new, almost foreign noble her new quarters and other accompaniments.  She was happy to exercise her office, even if it did seem strange that both Iton and Erith were suddenly very busy, and therefore could not participate in this activity.  At least, she thought, it was a change from nearly continual practice at the archery range, as long as Ivorydiamonds could keep up with the demand for training ammunition.
   She walked down a long line of stairs, worn almost smooth by near continual use.  She figured that this Relicspotted would be found in the dining hall, as she seemed to spend most of her time there.  Indeed she was there, lounging-if it could be called that-with her back straight up against the rigid back of an obsidian throne.
   “Nerul Lokum?” Fath asked as she approached and gave a curt bow.
   The older dwarf looked up at her, seemingly torn from some thought.  Her beard was long, flecked with grey, and worn in a traditional manner with bone and wood beads holding long braids in place.
   “Ah,” she replied slowly, “You must be Eral Fath?”
   “Yes, Nerul.”
   “You’ve taken these new styles, have you?”
   “Nerul?”
   “You trim your beard, Fath, like the young women in the Mountainhomes.”
   “Oh,” Fath said, suddenly aware of her self-consciousness, “Yes, Nerul, I thought I would try something new.”
   “You’ll come round, Fath,” the elder said, gently stroking a braid for effect, “traditional styles stay around for good reason, as they never change.  Fashions change, and in a decade, you’ll regret that you need to grow long braids again.”
   “Certainly, Nerul,” Fath said, unsure of anything else to say to someone who held a permanent position in the nobility, then decided to try to bring the game back onto her terms, “Shall we look at your new holdings?”
   “Oooh, they’re ready?” Lokum asked rhetorically, “That was fast.”
   “Urnut Iton works quickly.”
   “I’m sure, when it pleases him to do so.”
   Fath was not sure what to think of the comment, but let it slide by.  She bowed in deference again to the elder dwarfess, sweeping her hand toward a door leading off of the main hall and accidentally slapping a dog that had taken up a position at her side.  It made a grunt of displeasure and wandered away.
   “Lead on, Fath,” Lokum said, rising to her feet and collecting a bag from under the throne.
   Fath led her into an adjoining hall.  It was spacious and occupied by two tables and two thrones, the taller of which was crafted from silver.  She explained that this was to be the other’s new dining chamber, should she desire to have privacy whilst dining, and received a nod in return.
   “Shall we move on?” Lokum asked.
   “Yes, Nerul,” Fath replied, a little startled.  The room was more than any other dwarf had for dining, and to dismiss it with such brevity was shocking.
   They moved downward toward the bedrooms at the base of the fortress.  The sound of the dining hall and manufactories dwindled.  Only the hum of the magma vent behind the black walls could be heard as they climbed a stairway and opened a heavy dark door.  On the other side was another spacious room, as large as Erith’s, smoothed to a near mirror finish, adorned with glass furniture.  Fath explained that this was the new sleeping chamber for Her Stability’s pleasure.  Again there was only a nod, and they moved onward, back up stairway.
   They arrived at the offices at the base of the manufactories.   The sound of hammers and goods being moved echoed through the hall here.  They crossed the office complex to the furthest door in the corner and entered another smooth stone room, with more glass furniture.  A wide, smooth obsidian desk sat on the far end and a tall, electrum throne stood behind it, both slightly elevated and looming over the rest of the room.  The roof emitted a great deal of heat, and Fath understood that above, the magma vent flared and one day may spill into this very room.  She felt uncomfortable here in the heat, and she dabbed her brow with a scrap of cloth she kept tied to the strap of her crossbow.
   “Your new office, Nerul,” she said directly.
   “Oooh, splendid!” the elder dwarfess said, clapping her hands together, “It’s so comfortable and warm!”
   It was only then that Fath noticed that she was wearing several cloaks, and felt her mind boggle at the chills this dwarfess must always feel.
   “Please, Eral Fath, send my regards to Urnut Iton,” she said as she dropped her bag on the desk, blueprints, papers, and other things spilling out in a messy pile.
Even though I had intended Relicspotted’s office to be uncomfortably warm, she is unflappable.  She loved the damn thing!

The new permanent recruit was injured in a sparring match…
   Erith walked down the quiet stairway, only the sound of his footsteps echoing along the deep shaft.  He did not enjoy his task, talking to a dwarf who had been wounded in sparring.  Still, he thought, it was his duty, so he should do something about that.  There was so many other things swimming through his mind: the new nobility that worried him, profitability for Abironul, offerings to the King and the Onolshalig.  He nervously toyed with his long beard, then pushed at the door.
   “Fikod?” he asked as he entered, looking at the bed in the small quarters.
   “I’m here,” the dwarf on the bed said lazily.
   “Everything alight?”
   “I don’t know, Eral,” the supine dwarf said softly, “everything in my right eye is pretty blurry.”
   Erith nodded, then said, “Look, you don’t need to keep the formality, this is a friendly visit.”
   Fikod nodded.
   “Kubuk said you took a pretty bad hit to the head, and told you to get some rest,” Erith said and sat at the foot of the bed.
   Fikod nodded again, then asked very softly: “Do you think I’ll get better?”
   Erith looked away a moment.  He’d seen this in one of the guards already.
   “No,” he said flatly, looking back at Fikod, “I don’t think so.  It’s probably zulashidek, Fikod, and that doesn’t get better.”
   “I fucked up pretty bad, eh?” Fikod replied, taking his turn to look away in near-embarrassment.
   “No, not really,” Erith said gently, “these things happen.”
   “No, not that, Erith, I mean, I came here, hoping to do something, and started wood burning, but didn’t like it, and then I ask you to let me join up with the troops,” Fikod replied, then stopped suddenly.
   “Hey, it’s alright.  There’s a risk in doing that, and you did pretty good already,” Erith replied, reassuringly resting his hand on Fikod’s shin.
   “No, no, Erith, I mean, now what?  It’s not like I’ll be much good when I can’t see out of my right eye, I’ve fucked up everything I’ve done here, or left it to try something else.”
   “That’s life, kid, there’s risks in everything, and sometimes things don’t come up in your favor.  At least you didn’t come up sevens or tens.”
   “Yeah.”
   “And it is your call, Fikod.  What do you want to do next?  Kubuk isn’t angry with you, he understands.”
   “I don’t know.”
   “Then take your time.   Get some rest, and when you come to a decision, you let Kubuk and me know.  If you want to stay in, I’m sure Kubuk will be happy with that, and if you want to join the geshudunthur, I’d be glad to have you.  I’m sure that we can come to an agreement no matter what.”
   “Thank you, Erith,” Fikod replied, “I’ll think about it.  I think, though, I’ll take you up on that rest now.”
   “Sure thing, Fikod.  Get better,” Erith replied, rose to his feet, gave Fikod a squeeze on the shoulder, and took his leave.
Otherwise, the summer has been a smooth season, even with the unfortunate events.  The child Mistem has perished in her room, never recovering from the injury she received while clinging to her mother’s back last autumn.  It did not come as much of a shock, and in a way, it is a relief to know that she is no longer in pain, though I have spent time consoling her parents.  I guess what pains me is that she never really had much of a life, never wandered the hallways like the other children, and never made any friends.  It must have been a lonely existence in her last months.

I might be in a worse mood if it were not for the fact that Lorbam and Erith have welcomed their first child into the world.  They have named him Kogsak Omenguild, a beautiful name.

I'm also happy that the troops have begun to follow Kubuk.  He did well this spring, and his skills only continue to improve.  He seems to be a natural field leader and is loyal to Erith's command.

Life continues.

[Specialist290]

Ouch. Sounds like either a brain injury or an eye poked out. Either way, not good.

Interesting insight into Dwarven culture there, and a rather amusing scene w/ the noble, too

[Royal Surveyor]

Indeed, it is a brain injury.  I figured I'd go with some common non-obvious (that is, not necessarily something that someone would say "Hey, that's traumatic!") brain injury symptoms: vision impairment, personality and cognition difficulties.

[Royal Surveyor]

Autumn, 1065
The troops were called out again this season to intercept and escort after an ambush was sprang on merchants.  It was more personal this time, however…
   Cerol Stockadetubes walked quickly through the trees and underbrush.  He knew that they had spotted him, but thankfully they were behind him now.  He still moved quickly.  They must not have bows, he thought, or otherwise he would already have been irrigating the soil.  He knew that the goblins would start sending smaller parties this way soon, so it was not such a surprise to encounter them on the way to Abironul.
   The party that suddenly rose from the bushes in front of him, however, was.
   “Umuz,” growled their leader, snapping a whip in the air, causing the others to leap into action, charging the lone dwarf.
   Cerol ran, briars tearing at the fringe of his cloak and trousers.  Only one of the goblins could keep pace with him, and that it did with fearsome tenacity.  In his instinct to run and perhaps survive, Cerol turned and ran north, however, away from the guards who had already been dispatched from Abironul to escort him to safety.

* * *

   “The marksdwarves are to take up the front, establishing a perimeter, and the rest of us will plow through, should it come to it.  The goal is to get the merchants and the liaison safely inside the walls,” Kubuk told his assembled squad and the supporting, but equally menacing marksdwarves.
   “Goblins!  Goblins!” came the cry of a lookout who had industriously stacked some logs near the wall where elven merchants had been massacred.
   Kubuk heard this and turned to his troops.
   “This time, it’s our people, our merchants.  No dwarf dies today!” he called.
   He slipped his helmet over his head, pivoted on his heel, and led his men at a jog out of the main gate.
   Once approaching where the goblins had been spotted, they were gone, but Kubuk saw movement in the forest to the north.  He knew this was where the liaison had been spotted, and cursed him under his breath for losing his bearings.  Soon, though, it became obvious that what he had seen was the liaison running, or perhaps this group was another squad sent to plunder the merchant wealth.
   It did not matter to Kubuk, though, and he quickly suppressed the thoughts.  He ordered the charge and ran quickly through the line of marksdwarves despite his new and heavy armor.   It was his time again.  He closed his visor and let out a warrior’s yop, joining with the tightly grouped goblins. 
Kubuk killed a number of goblins.  What is known from the interviews Erith conducted afterwards is that there were four encountered in the group Kubuk attacked, and at least one solitary goblin making its way to the fortress.  What is unclear is how many Kubuk killed alone, before his support caught up with him.  Three seems to be the most common number, even reported by Kubuk himself, but it is likely that he landed a killing blow to the forth before the others arrived to finish the job.

Another ambush awaited Cerol, and again it was fended off by Kubuk’s squad…
   “Rur!  Rur!  Nerul!  Rur!” Kubuk called out to the diplomat as he passed by.
   The marksdwarves were waiting a ways back, intending to escort the wayward diplomat to the gates.  Another squad of ambushers had taken up position northeast of the moat that cut off a large amount of the land north of Abironul.
   Kubuk was tiring.  He had already ran much in his heavy armor, catching up with the diplomat and beginning to walk him back to the gates when this group made itself apparent.  He glanced around quickly, assessing the situation.  Monom had already been killed.  The lashers made a painful swarm about the dwarf as Kubuk looked on.  Fikod, who had only appeared at the assembly at the end was already rushing toward his fallen friend, and Kubuk had fully expected him to resign today.  Again he pushed the thoughts out of his mind.
   Charging behind Fikod, he hoped to reach him in time.  He did not.  The younger dwarf was executed as Kubuk advances.  The goblins restrained him with their whips, laughing and taunting as they repeatedly struck him. 
   The violence would have been shocking to any other dwarf, but Kubuk was already in a rage, ready to stick, twist, and break anything that entered his vision.  As he approached, the doomed squad dropped their now-lifeless toy and turned on Kubuk. 
   Again, Kubuk was alone, but he was far beyond caring.
   He struck into the goblins with terrible and fell ferocity, seeking vengeance for his two fallen squad mates.  Their whips snapped in the air around him, ineffectual against his shield, impotent against his armor.  Their lives were nothing to Kubuk, whose mind melted away into nothing more than killer instinct: his weapon and shield becoming an extension of his body, his armor seeming to meld with him.  Again and again he struck at them, fenestrating their bodies again and again.  Some began to run, but that only made his remaining task easier.  The cries of mercy rang hollow in his ears as he slaughtered the last of them, a goblin of some rank who lay on the ground, bleeding profusely.  He lifted his visor as he ran it through the heart, and even through its body to the ground.  He stared into its eyes as it stared back.  Kubuk only felt contempt as he withdrew his spear.
   Kubuk was suddenly aware of Likod, the fallen Fikod’s sparring mate, who had come up to his side cautiously.
   “What now, Kon Kubuk?” Likod asked.
   Kubuk grunted once, coming to and finally taking his eyes off the dying goblin.
“I’ll stay here and stay watch.  Go back.  Tell them: it’s time to recover our fallen.”
I am given to understand that Kubuk slew another handful of goblins single-handedly again, and is becoming somewhat of a living myth among the soldiers.  Indeed, apart from the third ambush this autumn, Kubuk has claimed nearly all of the goblin lives spent here.

Another ambush lay in wait for those who were recovering the dead.  That group was sliced to ribbons by the marksdwarves who had been instructed to patrol the route, but not before they surrounded and killed the child Sakzul.  I am beginning to think that, perhaps, this place might begin getting a reputation of being a place where children go to die.  I never want it said to a misbehaving child: “Behave or you will go to Abironul.”

Trade was satisfactory.  Another set of offerings were made, and we have indeed become profitable.  We have doubled the initial investment within five years, no mean feat.  We also acquired some luxuries.

I've uploaded two movies of Kubuk felling goblins like rotting trees.
Movie 1 -- first Kubuk slaughter from this story
Movie 2 -- Fikod meeting his end and Kubuk avanging him

A new survey has been uploaded, as well (I figure I'll sync the 'surveys' with the arrival of the liason.)
New Survey

[Specialist290]

And Kubuk continues to make me proud I picked him Shame he couldn't save Fikod, though, especially after all the guy had gone through...

And wow, you seem to be having some really bad luck w/ the children there. Cursed goblins...

[Royal Surveyor]

Winter, 1065
(Warning:  Contains strong language)
The winter went very smoothly.  I assigned and joined the otungerith in building an obsidian wall around the perimeter of the dig site.

Fath has also requested, with good reason, that we make a fortified citadel over and near the entrance so as we may keep our military at the ready all of the time.  This will be the project for the spring, at the very least, and perhaps for this year.  Doren will be very busy making finished masonry to assemble this construction.  My thought is to combine an armory, archery range, barracks, and a small dining space to accommodate the military.

The recent deaths of Monom and Fikod have adversely influenced the morale of the troops…

   Likot sat quietly, alone, in the new dining hall expansion, heavy, dirty boots up on the heavy stone table.  A small cask of river spirits that supported a wooden sparring weapon sat alongside him, a glass tumbler in front.  He alternated his angry gaze from the tumbler to a metal cage in the same line of sight, and especially to the grey-skinned, pathetic creature inside.
   He had been doing this for days now, bringing a small cask of spirits, a glass tumbler, and a wooden sparring sword with him.  Each day he sat at the same table, staring at the grey goblin and the green glass tumbler.  He had not poured a drop into his tumbler for a week; he just sat and stared.  Others had noticed this behavior and had begun to talk I hushed whispers, out of earshot of the sobering Likot.
   Viciously and suddenly, Likot grabbed the long sword and slammed it against the table.  The goblin started and stared back at the dwarf; the dwarf stared back.
   Slowly and uneasily, Likot rose from the table.  He gripped the wooden sword clumsily and swaggered toward the cage.  The goblin stepped back in the cage, his eyes fixed on the half-sober dwarf and his messed brown beard.   The goblin’s feet bumped into a bucket that had been placed at the corner of the cage, the mixed alcohol and scraps of food sloshing onto the cage floor.
   “Ehhh, gobbo, you spilled your cow slop” Likot slurred and slowly dragged the tip of the wooden blade across the bars, each slip making a small ringing noise.
The goblin stared, moving away as much as he could, circling about inside the cage as Likot continued to drag the sword against the bars in a lazy, sloppy path about the perimeter.
   “Mato…. Mato…” Likot slurred, repeating the goblin’s name as he continued his path.
   “Learned... when they interrogated you,” he continued ominously.
   The grey skinned Mato felt his skin crawl as the dwarf said his name and continued to stay as far from him as he could, starting to cower against the corner of the cage.  Apprehension and fear were the only things Mato felt anymore, displayed nearly naked in the dining hall for their amusement.  Once in a while, a dwarf would pour table scraps and dregs from mugs into the bucket, barely keeping him from starvation.  Only once did Mato try to strike out at one of his captors, a dwarfess with a long beard.  It was a dreadful mistake and he was dragged from the cage and soundly beaten with a glass mug by one dwarf and an empty cask by another.  Since then, he had been resigned to his fate to live out his days in a cage, on display like an animal for the amusement of these dwarves.
   Mato’s mind snapped back to the present as a pain shot through his thigh.  Likot had stabbed at him with the wooden sword.  It did not penetrate, but it hurt like fire.  The dwarf laughed in a way he had never heard a dwarf laugh before.
   “Armokdamned gobo,” Likot seethed and struck the dwarf with the point of the blade again, “Filthy piece of shit.”
   Mato staggered back and fell against the bars of the cage on the far side.  The goblin could not recover before Likot had circled the cage once more, grabbing at the goblin’s matted, filthy hair.
   “I should do this place a favor and fucking finish you off, gut you like an Armokdamned fish, split you from crotch to sternum,” Likot said angrily, grinding the tip against the ridge of Mato’s shoulder blade.
   Likot then rested the blade across Mato’s shoulder so it protruded in front of him.
   “Know what this blade is, gobbo?  Do you know?  Huh?” he demanded.
   Mato made no sound.
   “Do you know what this blade is, you fucking gobbo!?” Likot demanded again, slamming the broad side down against the goblin’s collarbone.
   Mato made no sound.  Likot grabbed the goblin’s hair closer to the scalp, pulling his head back tightly against the cage bars, twisting so the goblin’s face looked up at him and striking his collarbone with more force.
   “Fucking tell me what this blade is, gobbo!  Tell me!” Likot yelled and spat in the goblin’s face.
   “Wooden sword!  Wooden sword!” Mato finally cried out, his instincts of survival taking over and thinking that if he tried to retain his dignity, he would surely be beaten to death by this enraged, sober dwarf.
   “Wrong, gobbo,” Likot slurred and struck the goblin in the neck, “Wrong you piece of shit.  Wrong!” he continued, striking forcibly with every statement.
   Mato cried out in pain, his shoulder burning and his arm going limp and twitching about uncontrollably.
   “It’s my friend’s sparring blade, you piece of trash,” Likot screamed, “Your people killed him,” he continued as he began to strike the goblin in the skull.
   “Fuck you!” Likot screamed and brought he edge of the blade against the goblin’s skull again, “Fuck you, gobbo!  You killed him! Fuck you!  Fuck you!” he continued shouting, continued beating, his voice slurring away into a roar as the sword began to issue strike after strike.  Mato felt his bones beginning to give way and blood filled his vision.
   By this point, other dwarves were gathering at the entrances to this hall, looking on with a mixture of horror and amusement. 
   “Siezehandle!  That is enough!” shouted an armored dwarf, pushing aside the crowded dwarves and entering the room.
   “Go away, Floorlulled, I’m having fun,” Likot seethed, holding the wooden edge against a bleeding wound on the goblin’s head.   Silence crept over the crowd of dwarves, the only sound was Mato’s sobbing.
   “Stop this instant,” the armored dwarf said in a deep, loud voice, “Stop!”
Likot looked up at his commander.
   “Put down Fikod’s sword, Seizehandle,” he commanded again.
The wooden sword clattered to the floor and Likot slipped back, sitting clumsily on the floor, his breath raggedly heaving.  Mato slumped forward, laying sloppily on the ground in a puddle of filth, blood, and slop.
   “Come on, Likot,” Kubuk said, putting his armored hands on the sitting dwarf’s shoulders, “Let’s go.  Let’s get you liquored up again, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”
   Likot began to stand and slipped, his whole body trembling with withdrawal and rage.  He finally stood, his back to his commander and nodded slowly.
   Kubuk led him out of the dining hall, towards the stores of booze nearby.
   “What the hell, you rabble!?  Haven’t you ever seen a beating?” Kubuk bellowed as he led Likot away.  The crowd parted quickly.
An incident occurred in the new dining hall, but I think that it was cleared up.  After Kubuk explained what had happened, Erith and Fath decided that no punitive action was necessary.  There is no harm in beating a gobbo, anyway, and there were mitigating circumstances, so it is quite understandable.  It is good to see that Kubuk is as loyal to his troops as they are to him, a real dwarf. 

[Royal Surveyor]

Spring, 1066

   “Rimtar, I’d like a word with you,” the tall dwarf said.
   “Sure thing, Eral,” Rimtar said in response as he set down a piece of ore nearly half the size of himself and stretched his arms over his head, “I could use the break.”
   “Outstanding.  I’ve a few questions.”
   Rimtar nodded and continued to stretch.
   “How are things with the Otungerith company?” Erith asked as he leaned against a stout support holding up part of the smelter.
   “Pretty good.  I can’t complain.  I mean, I’ve got a nice room and can more than provide for my three kids.”
   “I thought it was four.”
   Rimtar looked down a moment and wiped his brow, the heat of the magma underneath the floor was intense.
   “Not any more, Eral.  Mistem died last summer.  Her arm… never healed from that goblin.”
   “I’m sorry, Rimtar.  I didn’t know.”
   “It’s alright, Eral.  The others are healthy, and I feel blessed with what I have,” he paused a moment, “What was it you were asking?”
   “Just how things were with the Otungerith company.”
   “Fine, like I said.  What makes you ask?”
   “Curiosity,” Erith said simply, stroking his blond beard.
   “I doubt it,” Rimtar suspiciously replied.
   “Well, curiosity to an end.”
   “More like it, Eral.”
   The lanky dwarf scratched his back against the support lazily.
   “What do you really want to know.”
   “Not much, really.  Just a bit about morale.  I was thinking that Iton ought to run for mayor,” Erith finally said after a satisfied look crossed his face, the itch scratched.
   “Ain’t he close with Fath?”
   “He is, but he’s the one who has made all this possible for us, isn’t he?”
   “And?  He seems pretty comfortable with his job just managing us rungak.”
   “You, dear Rimtar, should talk to him about it.”
   “He’s your friend, Eral.  I dunno… I barely know him.”
   “I’d rather not, to be honest.  The rest might think I’m using whatever tied and influence I have, and honestly, I think he’ll do a wonderful job.  Besides, don’t you think that it would be better that the dwarf who is organizing all this should have the authority to put his plans into action?”
   Rimtar looked about, suddenly feeling nervous and conspiratorial.
   “Well?”
   “What’s in it for me?” the shorter of the two finally asked.
   “Glad you asked,” Erith said softly, handing over a dull metal goblet that had little heft.
   “Ethad…. Is that?”
   “Aluminum?  Why yes, yes it is,” Erith grinned widely, his teeth easily visible.
   “Where…?”
   “Spares from a few years back.”
   “Ohhhh…” Rimtar trailed off, his eyes fixed on the
   “Do we have a tustem?”
   “Yes, Eral, I think we do.”
Rimtar has asked me if I’d like to run for Mayor.  I’m plenty busy as it stands, but he does make a good point about having overall civil control in my hands.  Erith seems keen on the idea, but says that Fath is doing a pretty good job, even though I think he does not like having civil control lay with someone who is, in most cased, under his command.  It certainly is tempting…

There was a kidnapping attempt by the goblins this season, and they took the child Doren, who was wandering the field outside of the main gate for some reason.  Kubuk led a chase and killed the would-be kidnapper and recovered the child, though his hand was wrenched by the goblin.  He should recover before too long.

Thankfully, the elves did not send retribution for the slaughter of their merchants last year.  However, they only sent two donkeys and merchants this year, again without escort.  An ambush near the gates was quickly averted by the marksdwarves without any injury to dwarf or elf.  I believe that we were able to purchase everything we needed from the elves in exchange for an armload of stone bracelets and earrings

I have ordered the manufacture of coins this year.  While we are operating under the principles of Otungerith, and expect our efforts will be honestly and fairly rewarded, there will come a time when we will likely need these coins.  If not for personal use, then perhaps for trade.