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[Niccolo]

The Story of Mengidos
Or how I conquered my fear of Terrifying biomes

Hello, Bay12. This here is a story of my current fortress, Mengidos. It's being written something along the lines of an actual story, rather than the usual diary format. I'll try and keep things pretty accurate, but... well, artistic license will occasionally creep in.

I'll try and get a season or two up each day, but playing time can be limited with a full-time job detracting from my ability to kill elves play.

Also? Pictures will come very, very soon.

Spoiler: Biome and Game Statistics (click to show/hide)

Biomes: Terrifying forest and Terrifying Mountains.
Water: A brook, running N-S.

Spoiler: Starting Seven Dwarves (click to show/hide)

Expedition Leader: Doren Asstukon, Weaponsmith and Axedwarf
Militia Commander: Ushrir Tusungreg, Armoursmith and Axedwarf
Medtob Idenzon, Carpenter, leatherworker and Axedwarf
Tun Sanreblokum, Stonemason and Axedwarf
Erush Egulzuntir, Miner
Tobul Astebavuz, Miner
Urvad Uzolkubuk, Woodcutter and brewer.

Prologue: The Founding of Mengidos

Spoiler: The Founding of Mengidos (click to show/hide)

It was the Age of Legends – a time when Men, Dwarves and Elves shared the land with creatures of terror and might. Titans ruled the world of Ospazstrasp and all creatures knew to fear the coming of these legendary beasts.

In the 126th year of the Age, brave Dwarves set out to establish an outpost deep within a set of mountains home to all manner of evil creatures. The Dwarven Queen sent them forth, having decided that the villages and towns near to the terrifying mountains were to no longer be afraid of the night and all it held.

Four Dwarves, axes in hand, vowed to their queen to fight these abominations for the glory of all Dwarfkind. Trained in the arts of weapon- and armour-smithing as well as masonry, carpentry and leatherworking, the Queen knew of no better Dwarves suited to surviving in the face of the terrors that made their home in the mountains and surrounding forests. She gave them three of her finest hounds as companions and assistance and gifted them with the keys to one of her personal cellars.

Two brave miners volunteered to travel alongside them, wishing to aid in conquering the forces of darkness in their own manner. As their friends and family bid the six brave Dwarves farewell – perhaps for the last time -  a woodcutter offered to give them a lift in his wagon.

After many weeks of travel, the seven Dwarves arrived at the innermost point of a small valley. The four axedwarves’ axes were notched and covered in the blood of a dozen evil creatures; three of the axes had been damaged beyond repair and lost to Dark Gnomes, as had their armour. The only surviving supply of metal was a small quantity of copper that had been salvaged from a wrecked traders’ caravan – and through sheer luck an encounter with a fire imp had resulted in a large number of trees being burned down to lumps of charcoal.

As a final curse upon the Dwarves, dark gnomes stole the wheels straight off of the woodcutter’s wagon one night as they camped! The Dwarves could go no further; this place, with a small brook for water and large forests of alder and oak for wood, would have to become their home.

And so, with the last remaining axe devoted to fending off packs of dark gnomes from the meagre stores remaining, the miners hefted their picks and attacked the mountainside – and Mengidos, “Lashcalls”, was born.

Chapter One: Spring, 126

Spoiler: The Dwarves settle in (click to show/hide)

“Hurry yer fat arses, ye human-livered boggards!” Ůshrir Tusungreg roared, waving her well-polished axe at the fleeing donsy of gnomes. “Move those supplies inside before the bloody gnomes come back!” She stood over the broken wagon with a menacing glare on her face, terrifying her compatriots almost as much as she did the dark gnomes. Doren Ässtukon, the weaponsmith – and the unofficial leader of the group – had put her in charge of their defences. It was a job she took seriously and gleefully, whistling the Queen’s gift of war dogs to her as they chased off a second group of gnomes.

“Give the buggers hell for me!” Urvad Uzolkűbuk yelled  in reply, hefting a barrel of the queen’s finest mushroom wine onto his shoulders. “Bastards stole me wagon wheels!”

The miners were nowhere to be seen, though Ůshrir wasn’t surprised. They had attacked the jet walls of the mountainside with the wild abandon that only miners are capable of and had nearly cried with joy when they struck veins of haematite only a few metres in. Within a few days Erush Egulzuntîr had emerged from the hole in the mountain, blinking against the bright sun reflected off of the last snow to melt, to inform the waiting dwarves that there was now a room to store everything in.

Miners being miners, the old Dwarf had a strange idea of what constituted a room; it was little more than a large space hewn out of the rock and filled with the rubble of the miner’s passing. The floor was still uneven and there was no light to speak of, but it would suffice.

It had taken Tun Sanreblokum all of a day to carve a set of double doors for the modest entrance to their home and less than a week for Medtob Idenzon to sew together some bits of leather – scavenged from the Traders’ caravan wreck that the seven had passed on their way in – into sets of armour, boots and gloves for the four Dwarves who knew how to handle weapons. The woodcutter and the two miners refused armour, saying that the armour inhibited their ability to swing their tools.

As the last barrel of food passed through the doors and into relative safety, Ůshrir sighed and climbed down from the wagon. She whistled up her dogs and walked inside, pleased to finally have a chance to drink. Maybe she could spend a little quality time with her dear Tun, too. He took so long to tire out, for all that he was rather round.

Doren was already hard at work in the forge, putting the finishing touches on a set of copper axes. “Sorry, commander,” he grumbled in his rolling burr as she passed. “We have nought but copper to work with. The stuff is only fit for young sprouts, but it’s all we have until we can get the smelter up and running.” He passed an especially sharp one to Medtob with a wink and a smile as she traded it for a leather cuirass; as the commander’s attention wavered towards the wine he pulled the cuirass on, noting that it fit him quite well. “I’ll turn out what I can, but the diggers’ll have to give me more to work with.”

Ůshrir nodded vaguely in his direction as she picked up a barrel of wine and began to drink noisily. “Don’t…” she mumbled as she stopped for a breath; “Don’t use it all. I’ll…” She took another large mouthful of the wine and sighed happily. “I’ll bash out a few helmets. We’ll need them, don’t ye doubt.”

“Good, ye do that. I’m going to grab that lazy sod ye call a lover and go see what we can find to eat outside. If ye see Urvad around, tell him to build us a still. We’re going to need it before Summer’s out.”

The commander snorted as she hefted a heavy hammer and began knocking a bar of copper into an approximately hat-shaped form. “Then get that whale of yours to build us some barrels. Or did ye want him to brew it and just pour it into the dirt?”

Doren chuckled. He and Ůshrir had been friends and comrades for years, along with their respective lovers; the four of them had been feared by beasts and Elves alike for their axes. The jibes between them flew thick and fast at the best of times and it was only when they stopped that Dwarves knew something or someone was about to come to terms with being turned into pants.

*****

Spoiler: Meet the Miners (click to show/hide)

Tobul Astebavuz led a happy life. He was at his merriest with a pick in his hand and at the forefront of the digging works, feeling the earth itself yield to his pick’s point.

The earth called to him. It understood him. And he knew, without a doubt, that it wanted to be carved out by him. Whispers in his ears told him the best way to strike a rock to cleave whole slabs free at once. A thousand little cracks and whorls on the surface told him what lay in front of him, even in the darkest of mineshafts. And though he was barely skilled enough to be considered professional, he loved the earth.

Erush thought he was odd, but agreeable. The old miner didn’t have quite the same love of the earth or the intuition about how to strike it as Tobul did, but he adored digging gems out of  the rock. There was something satisfying about working for hours to find a beautiful, sparkling diamond. It didn’t bother him that he only had the rough rock to sleep on; as long as his pick was in his hand and the rock before him yielded treasure like the thick vein of haematite he and Tobul had discovered earlier, he was happy.

Tobul stopped for a breather and wiped sweat from his brow before tying his hair back in a ponytail. “Damned hair keeps getting in me eyes,” he muttered to the empty room. He eyed his handiwork; a large hall, carved out of the disgusting siltstone that made up nearly half of this mountain, stretched around him. The woodcutter – what was his name again? Urvad? Who cared, he wasn’t a miner – was busy placing a set of weapon and armour racks in the middle of the room. “Oy, what are ye about?” Tobul called. “This ain’t an armoury, it’s an entrance hall!”

Urvad looked at him pityingly. “We’re going to be up to our arses in werewolves soon, digger. We’re not here for fun. Them four that call themselves The Cremated Oars need a place to keep themselves sharp whether ye like it or not, so the faster ye dig ‘em a proper room fer swingin’ an axe in, the sooner ye can have yer precious entrance hall back.” With that, he swung his notched axe up onto his shoulder. “While ye go play with yer rocks, I’m going to go brew us some beer. Unless ye like to drink the rocks too?”

Tobul growled at him and stomped off. With any luck, he and Erush would finish carving out the living quarters by the end of summer. He swung at the rock face with a growled curse, working out his frustrations in the only way he knew how.

*****

Spoiler: LashCalls becomes safer - a little (click to show/hide)

 Tun smiled as he put the finishing touches on the front gate. Although nobody had quite gotten around to constructing the mechanisms necessary to close the gate, he at least was finished with his work. A good, solid wall built from blocks of jet stood between them and the outside world, giving them a safe haven to retreat to should the forces of darkness outside their walls begin to overwhelm them. He was proud of his work on these walls and the gate. Hopefully they would stand firm against all that these terrifying mountains could throw at them.

He knew that their test would come soon. One day, very soon, they would come. The werewolves, the titans, the goblins and the kobolds – all would catch wind of this new fortress, the bastion of Dwarven light against the darkness of these mountains.

And Mengidos would be ready.

Dwarf Count: 7

[Niccolo]

Chapter Two: Summer, 126

Spoiler: Tobul is stupid (click to show/hide)

The stone fell before the two miners in a flurry of chips. The two barely stopped to eat and drink as they hurried to carve out something more homely than a cave filled with all manner of workshops.

Tobul stopped to consider something for a minute. “Hey, Erush. I think we need a well here.” He looked around. “Erush?” Shrugging, he struck at the floor and began to dig down to below the water level of the nearby brook. Erush was a miner. He’d know what was going on.

It took him the better part of a week, but a large cistern now sat squarely under the fortress. “Good. Now… The brook is… oh dear.” Tobul swore loudly, the words bouncing off the walls of the jet-lined cavity. Sighing, Tobul licked the wall closest to him. “There we go. That’s east.” Without further ado, he attacked the wall furiously, aiming for the brook which he was certain was nearby.

Fully another week passed before Erush roused from his deep slumber, rubbing at his aching shoulder muscles. “What is that cursed hacking?” he growled, stomping on the floor beneath his bed. “I swear, if that idiot is mining down there I’m going to take me pickaxe and mine out his brains!” he grumbled and stormed down the main passageway, swinging angrily at jutting out pieces of rock. “Stupid miner and his stupid dirt fetish. Can’t even get any of me beauty sleep and we don’t even have a well to wash…”

As a small flicker of Dwarven intuition ignited in his brain, he turned and hurried outside. “That’s what the cursed idiot is doing!” he yelled, charging past the shocked woodcutter. “And knowing that fool he’s left himself no way out!”
   
Erush sloshed his way up the brook, grumbling about his wet feet. “I swear, that boy.” He swung at the rocky dirt floor, hoping he didn’t accidentally cause a flood. “No brains, that one.” He dug into the floor, following the sounds of Tobul’s pickaxe – and before long, nearly took the trapped miner’s nose off as he carved out a piece of stone. “There ye are, fool! Next time dig stairs!”

Tobul mumbled weakly at his fellow miner, scratching at his throat. “Thirsty…” he muttered and stumbled out of the hole. “Need… wine.” As he clambered up the ramp Erush had carved, he stopped and smiled blearily. It was a weird site, shiny teeth surrounded by the dirt of two weeks’ worth of dust. “Thank ye.”

*****

Spoiler: Three brave souls try their luck (click to show/hide)

A week later, Ůshrir looked up from the plant she was stripping of fruit. The morning sun gleamed from where the sun was just peaking over the summit of the eastern rim of the valley she now called home. Picking their way gingerly down the mountain were three dwarves and a horse foal, of all things.

“Ho, the Outpost!” called the one in the lead. Ůshrir didn’t like the look of her. The way she carried herself, the string sticking out of her pocket… A fisherdwarf to the bone. “Ye are from Mengidos?” the fisherdwarf called again as she clambered down the last bit of the mountainside. “The queen sent us to help ye build. Who’s in charge?”

Ůshrir picked up her axe and tilted it so the morning light caught the freshly-sharpened edge. “Ye cannae fool me, evil creature. Take one step closer and I will cut yer arms off and feed them to ye!”

A heavy hand clapped on her shoulder as Doren stepped up beside her. His axe rested calmly in his hand, but Ůshrir could see his muscles tensing in preparation. All of a sudden, they relaxed. “No, I know of them. That one in the front is Dodók Dastotrithlut. She’s made a name for herself in the northern provinces as a fisherdwarf. She’s quite accomplished.” He stepped further forwards and waved the three dwarves in. “Come on in, ye brave souls. Welcome to Mengidos. I’m Doren, the leader of our lovely li’l band. Ye’ve arrived just in time to help us lay in stores for the coming months.”

Dodók sighed and eyed the bushes. “Ye don’t want me to fish, do ye.” It wasn’t a question. Her shoulders sagged. “Okay. Let me just pasture me horse over yonder and we’ll get to work.”

The expedition leader shrugged apologetically. “Unless one of ye friends is willing to clean the fish for us…”

The Dwarf next to her sighed and raised her hand. “Kogan Tobularkim. Carpenter, though ye have a better one than me I suspect. I’ll clean ye fish for ye.” Dodók clapped her hands gleefully and eagerly tugged her fishing line out of her pocket, horse foal and surroundings forgotten.

Ůshrir glared at the fisherdwarf. “She’s going to get taken by the evil out here, don’t ye doubt.” Doren raised his bushy eyebrows questioningly. “Oh, fine. I’ll teach her to fight. Since ye asked so nicely,” she grumbled and turned back to the berries. “Ye owe me.”

The leader chuckled and followed her. “There’s a good girl. We’ll make a commander out of ye yet.”

*****

As all of this excitement took place, Tobul and Erush were attacking the upper levels. Erush marvelled at Tobul’s skill; with each swing of his pick, the master miner would carve out whole swathes of stone.

Erush knew he was nearly as good as Tobul, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Tobul simply bonded with the earth. At any other fort Tobul could have quickly made a name for himself as a miner, yet he had chosen to come out here to the far end of nowhere.

The old miner figured his partner just didn’t need any recognition beyond that of the rock being blown away by his pick.

As they carved out a passageway, Erush stopped for a short breather. “So… tell me again what ye plan is?”

Tobul cracked out a piece of siltstone and examined it closely for precious gems. He seemed to have a sixth sense for them. “Well,” he explained, gesturing in a roughly north direction; “We’ll carve out a nice big dining room somewhere there. If we c’n link these passages properly, the other Dwarves won’t bleat like lost sheep about bein’ too far from everything.” His pick swung east. “And over there we’ll sink a shaft down a few levels, give the others space for workin’ in. It’s got to be far from the rooms, y’see.”

Erush shrugged. “If’n ye say so. I still say ye were an architect in ye last life.” He attacked the stone voraciously, aiming roughly in the directions Tobul had pointed out.

*****

Spoiler: Kogan forgets why she's lucky to be here (click to show/hide)

“That’s enough fish!” Doren dropped his hand on Dodók’s shoulder, startling her. She glanced around at the large pile of fish she had caught; the catches hadn’t even registered to her. “We’ll be up to our necks in fish if ye don’t stop fer a while,” he continued. “Come. Give me a hand movin’ these beds, or else we’ll all be sleepin’ on the rocks until winter.”

The poor carpenter in charge of gutting the fish smiled gratefully at the expedition leader. She was sick and tired of gutting the thousands of fish that Dodók caught – and every time Kogan thought that she was done, there was more to cut up and prepare. At least now she had an end in sight! “I pray a proper fish cleaner comes soon,” she muttered darkly as she stabbed her boning knife into yet another fish. “I could rinse meself a dozen times and I’ll never get the stink of these bloody things out of me hair!”

But who would come here? Who would want to brave the treachery of the mountainside to come to this dark, damp, fish-smelling hellhole? Kogan grumbled as she sliced up yet another fish and added yet another small cut to her hands. She was a carpenter, damn it all – not a fishery worker!

The grumbling carpenter-come-fishery worker handily forgot the whole reason that she was here. Unlike Dodók the fisherdwarf or Urist the leatherworker (who had been ordered to start carrying boxes around on account of this place having no leather), she hadn’t been sent here by the Queen.

Or rather, the Queen had sent her here by ordering her execution.

Kogan had always been possessed of a wonderful grasp of language. She was beautifully descriptive when she needed to be, though sadly her skill with words did not extend to knowing when to hold her tongue.

“Hear ye, hear ye! To all who produce items carved of wood, the selling of your craft is hereby prohibited in the name of her Majesty Libash Likotidok.”

“What? Ye cannae be serious!” The calls came from all across the large workshop, home to a dozen carpenters and woodcrafters. “How are we to eat? To pay fer our drink?”

The herald had shrugged apologetically, though it was plain he held the carpenters in disdain. “it is not me place to question our Queen’s orders, ye bunch of whinin’ Elves. If ye’re so angry, go take it up with her.”

For his slight the herald didn’t last long. Kogan wasn’t sure what had happened to the body, but given the proximity to the magma pipes she had her suspicions. Most of the other woodworkers were content with that, but not Kogan.

Not when she could feel an argument building in her, words piling on top of words as her rage boiled. So she had marched straight out of the workshop and into the Queen’s throne room and told the Queen exactly what she could do with her prohibition.

Well. That had gone down about as happily as expected.

The Queen sat regally upon her throne with her heavy golden sceptre gripped tightly in one hand. Only a careful eye would have noted that her knuckles were white against the brown skin and that her gaze was carefully stripped of all emotion. “I care not for the whining and complaining of the lower class.” She carefully enunciated each word. Kogan guessed she was either slow or really, really angry. “You can return to work when I find your… profession less repulsive. Now, leave my presence before your stink taints us all.”

“That’s all ye have to say?” Kogan demanded. “Ye dim-witted, self-absorbed excuse for a Dwarf! What bed do ye sleep on? What barrel holds ye wine? What beams support the roof of ye castle? It’s all wood, ye stupid clown!”

The Royal Guard had not liked that. Their axes, shining blue with the holiest of metals, had risen in unison. But even that threat hadn’t halted Kogan, now that she was on a roll. “Ye truly care not at all for those who are a part of ye fortress? Ye are stupid, aren’t ye? If ye cannae see that ye fortress needs wood just as much as it needs stone and ore then ye’re more stupid than the sheep on ye dinner table. I suppose next ye’ll outlaw the makin’ of glass, ‘cause a mirror would show ye that ye’re uglier than a dead goblin’s arse?”

“ENOUGH!” the Queen had thundered. “I will not sit here and be abused by a coarse-tongued peasant! Captain! Bring me her head!”

That brought the fuming carpenter up short. Perhaps it was time for her to go. With any luck she could hitch a ride with an outward-bound caravan. Before the Captain, in his impressive – yet heavy – steel armour could get even halfway to her, Kogan was pumping her sturdy Dwarven legs as fast as she could. She only had to keep ahead of the message about her execution; no time to grab anything – it was long past time to be gone!

*****
And so, summer drew to a close in Lashcalls. The Dining Hall was progressing smoothly, although Tun had yet to find time to begin making tables for the large hall. The industrious Dwarves of Mengidos had survived another three months of this Terrifying place, with nothing to show for the supposed terror except for a single dead Dark Gnome that rotted near the abandoned remnants of the wagon.

The fortress had food and drink to spare as well as beds enough for twice their number. With any luck, the onset of Autumn would bring with it a trading caravan, although the ten dwarves knew it would take more than the rumours of a new fortress buried deep in these mountains to tempt even the most daring of traders.

They were far from help, they were far from friends and family and they were far from safe. But they would survive – for they are Dwarves.

Dwarf Count: 10