((NOTE: The posts on pages one and two are material from the first incarnation of this fort. For up-to-date stuff, skip over to page three. -Gig))
From the journal of 'Gigmaster' Kubukvudthar, Warrior of The Large Standards-2nd Slate, 251, Spring-
[...] And I
still can't believe I was told - told! - to gather up and pen
turkeys. Allas's Grace, I hope none of my blade brothers hear of this. I can still smell the fowl droppings on my hands.
Yes, that is a pun, journal. Suck it up.
Anyways, things are going surprisingly well. The lack of weapons or armor we arrived with had me scared for a moment, but apparently the skimping worked out (the leggings I'm wearing were hammered out not more than three days ago) and the people our King, may His liver last long, sent to set up his shield wall have proven capable to varying degrees. I feel sorry for our solitary Builder though, running around doing thirteen different jobs at the moment. Apparently our Chef and leader felt the same way (funny, isn't it, how the Chef's always turn out to be the social mavens? Control the booze, control the world). He ran around, ranting that tradition was going to get us killed, and demanded that everyone pick up trowels and the granite we carted from the mountain homes.
I'll admit, that rankled too... but not as much as the turkeys. Especially with the quivering, gently wafting mass of tendrils and tentacles to our south. Armok give me strength, but that blight is
bloody close. At least we have a full set of walls and a roof. We're incredibly lucky to not have any undead running up to us from the Lurching Hills, otherwise we might have died the moment we arrived. We did have a pack of dingo prowl up from the south, but they were of the living persuasion, and left us be. Though how anything short of an elephant survived a walk through the Lurching Hills is beyond me.
Other good news! Nish, our junior minor (poor weak thing) was fortunate enough to run into a sedimentary layer! And lignite! And hematite! Thank Allas, we were worried about having to take the time punching through an aquifier. That's going to be bloody important - our war with the goblin nations to the east means that these shield wall forts are going to have to be self-sustaining. For the most part, anyways. I'm looking forward to having an iron breastplate to strap on... some of the men were giving me... looks... when I was stripping down and throwing on my new armor. It's not like there was anywhere else to do it, journal... *shudders* Men. Ugh. Armak.
Maybe a couple of cloaks for good measure, too. Though no one knows when our first dwarf from the Stitcher caste will arrive.
Our other big worry is food. Since most of our allowance was spent on the 82 boulders of granite we hauled in, we couldn't take much food with us. And most of it was random, scraps like bumblebee brains and rat meat. I've had worse jerky in the army, but some of our soft-skins might not warm up to the idea of chewing on a rat leg or two. One of our two yak bulls we rode in with was butchered to make up for it yesterday, and we celebrated the completion of the walls with a haunch or two. But it doesn't stop us from giving the plump helmet farms down below concerned looks. The Miners dug them out as fast as we could... but first priority was chipping out enough mudstone to finish the roof. I suppose life is more important than booze.... but... Ehh.
In the meantime, I still lack any good space to work out and train. At least I can size up the others with my free time - those miners look like they'd be good hands with a hammer, and Chef Athel has an archer's sharp eyes. I was charged with making sure everyone in The Early Post - our group's title - would be fit for combat, and I'll fall on my own spear if I have see people squaking and fleeing from any bleedin' undead chipmunks.
So things are looking good, though. Surprisingly good. Unsurprisingly, this has me very, very worried. At least our builder will have the armor stands finished by next week.
Allas's grace upon us all.