16th of Felsite, 56This time, the elven diplomat did not arrive in secret. The point had been made well enough with the first year, their agent proving to the dwarves that an assassin could get past all the defenses the dwarves could muster and strike at the center of their fortress. Now Amayi Omumawada, Elven Ambassador came openly, with the full regal beaing and pride befitting the most noble and lofty of the races. Giant lizards and thrips bowed in respect, and sparrows chirped overhead as he walked past. Surely, the wretched mud-loving dwarves could not help but to be impressed by such a display.
The dwarven fortress was an ugly blight on the land, an uneven stone wall which blocked the view of the ocean. Behind the wall Amayi could hear the trees, lamenting that their brothers had been murdered and that surely they were next. Amayi made his way along the wall, to the garish entrance gate, flanked with carved statues of stunted dwarven bodies. The paved floor was stained with dried blood of goblins and kobolds, and chipped where bolts had missed their targets.
At the entrance to the fortress, a pair of giant serpents had been cruelly chained in place.
Was this a threat? Did they think to frighten the elves? If so, it was in vain. Amayi spoke a word in the high speech, and the creatures instantly calmed down, letting him pass.
He strode deeper into the fortress, unafraid of anything the dwarves had in store. Behind him, the elven caravan was just emerging from the forest.
24th of Felsite, 56Deep underground Athra's secret project was finally starting. It had taken ages for him to get a pick. Over a year ago Cilob had promised him that he'd have one soon. Daenyth had made a batch of picks, but it turned out that there were quite a few prospective miners waiting for picks, and Athra was far enough down on the list that he'd had to wait for the next batch. Then Daenyth's leg had been smashed by an ettin, and it wasn't until Doctor Cain was finished stitching it back together that the next batch of picks had finally been finished.
Now Athra was deep in the mines beneath the fortress. He had snuck a look at the survey charts of the caverns, and picked an obscure spot of rock, an area that had been ignored for having no useful minerals, and with no plans for official construction. Now he hefted his new copper pick, and swung it at the rock face for the first time.
Diorite chips flew as he bashed the wall with the pick. Sweat dripped down his brow, soaking into his beard. This was harder than it looked. The pick flew again and again, gradually widening the initial shallow hole into the start of a proper tunnel.
Meanwhile, back nearer the surface, Ral Mistemmeng was having a grand time reminiscing with her old friends. Eight former traders - three of them retired Liaisons like her - had all arrived together! They had spent hours drinking and exchanging gossip, Ral learning all about everything that had happened back home since she'd been there. She barely noticed Cilob yelling at her, until he actually walked over and grabbed her shoulder.
"Ral! The elves are here. All the goods are at the depot. You need to go trade with them now!"
"Phah, screw the elves. They've got crap for trade anyway."
"Look - just trade with them and get it over with! You can catch up with your friends later."
In the end, Cilob had to physically drag her away from the dining hall.
At the trading hall, a grumpy Ral met with the elves. Not only had she been dragged away from a party, but on the way up Geb had given her some strict instructions on what she was and wasn't allowed to trade them.
As if she would ever let the elves have one of Geb's crossbows! An as for the floodgates - why would the elves even want one? Ral wasn't sure there even were any to trade in the fortress in the first place.
Ral looked over the meager goods the elves had brought. "Where's the lumber?"
The head elf trader scowled. "Lumber? We have not brought any. You dwarves have butchered enough of the trees of your land. Their corpses lie in the mud, unused. We will not bring any wood until you learn to respect it."
"Fine. I see you brought us some of your weak elven booze, then?" Ral indicated a stack of barrels the Elves had somehow convinced a donkey to carry.
"You'll find that a bit strong if you try to drink it. It's Gnomeblight."
"That - what possibly possessed you to bring so much? We're nowhere near the mountains, there's not a gnome for a hundred miles around here! Did you at least bring cloth?"
"Of course, we have many bins of it. What have you to trade in exchange?"
"Ah, one of our chefs has prepared a meal just for you."
One of the elves peered at the fatty blobs suspiciously. "Smells strange. What's in this?"
"Warthog bacon fried in wild boar fat. It's really, really good, but you want to save it till you get back home."
While Ral haggled with the elves over fat-fried-fat (with special ingredients nobody but Saint Iridkonos knew anything about), Jacen the Soap crusader was hard at work in his soap factory.
Some dwarves might have thought that the fortress had enough soap.
Jacen knew better. You could never have too much soap. Tragically, he was almost out of lye.
And he knew the filthy non-soap-using elves hadn't brought any lye with them. The terrible possibility of running out of soap threatened.
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Topic: Brightwater: Community fortress of science, oceans, and animal taming (Read 154936 times)