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[Broseph Stalin]

There was a flurry of blows as Angzak turned back the kobold spears. Occasionally she would seize an opportunity to lash out and her crossbow would connect with bone.  Spearheads found only the polished wood of her weapon and arrows sailed past as she sidestepped the incoming missiles.
   The kobold's determination had been sharpened by Dumplin's care packages but their confidence melted like snow when they stood beneath the gaze of a hardened soldier. It took only one solid blow for any given kobold to be reminded of it's place in the natural order of things and to break rank.
   Dumplin's first shot went wide and her hands slipped when she attempted to load another bolt leaving a deep gash in her finger. She struggled to redraw the crossbow and knock a blood stained bolt. The second projectile sunk into the flesh of a tree with a bassy thud. Something was wrong. From the far side of the parapet Inod had no trouble hitting his targets. She had resisted the effects of exhaustion until now but she could no longer deny her deteriorating condition had crippled her.
   Angzak was surrounded below, spears were now beginning to glance of her armor instead of being effortlessly batted away. The kobolds were circling her and began to work past her to probe the defenses for holes. One of the infiltrators stopped, training it's eyes on Athel.
   For a moment the air became like molasses and the world slowed to a crawl.  Athel had lost consciousness and had no means to defend herself. Angzak was wholly occupied by the attackers on all sides. The militia was still mobilizing, it would be some time before they launched the counter offensive. The Baboons were still en route to the roof, they wouldn't get there in time.  If Dumplin couldn't find her mark there was no hope for Athel to survive.
   She fought through the pain and in one perfect motion pulled pulled back the drawstring and rested a bolt in the groove. This was not a death trap. It wasn't a massive conspiracy by a being of terrible brilliance and resources. It wasn't violence and hatred endemic to a system of government. It wasn't even a staircase designed to break the will of the most undervalued dwarves in the fortress. It was a kobold, one kobold without the reflexes or armor to protect itself from a clean shot. She wasn't the helpless dwarf who crossed the great Loveless Mountain range to find nothing but burning rats and heavy stones. She was a veteran soldier with a crossbow in her hand and she would not allow Athel to die.
   She was conscious of every little piece of the world that created the moment; the gentle westerly wind, the tightening of her muscles as she depressed the trigger, the buck of the crossbow as the string rocketed forward, the scream of the wind as the broad head of the bolt cut through the air, the sickening sensation as the wind picked up, the feeling of dread as her bolt pulled so slightly left, and the bassy wooden thud as it buried itself into a tree.
   The crossbow fell from her hands as Dumplin dropped to her knees in tears.

[Reudh]

Poor Dumplin', wasting a martial trance like that.

[Broseph Stalin]

   A short while later the drawbridge was lowered and the legions of Arrowstockades fell upon the ambush like wolves reveling in a brief slaughter before returning to the fortress. They were soon replaced by legions of haulers sent to loot the dead and haul the corpses off to the heap, one among their ranks deigning to scoop up Athel's broken body. Her corpse was stripped of all valuables and interred in one of the stone receptacles identified by a slab bearing her name , the manner of her death, and some trite fact about her. It was all very quick and very clean and within a few hours the Kobold's weapons, armor, and various personal effects had been re-purposed into metal bars or burned to ash while Athel's clothes had been snapped up by haulers, her armor given to some other future casualty of war, and the woman herself forgotten by everyone who mattered. The fortress carried on.
   Athel who had jumped at the call to serve, Athel whose love for her home bordered on the delusional, Athel who had so proudly toiled in the caverns had fallen to the aura of pain and death that followed Dumplin Lakewanders.  Dumplin was vaguely surprised to find after a short crying jag that she too was ready to carry on. After a thousand tragedies had befallen her with the promise of a thousand  more to come it really didn't make sense to dwell.
   She did not spend hours obsessing over the shot that could have saved Athel, or regretting the decisions that had gotten her killed, she did not wish with all her heart to have died in her place. Dumplin Lakewanders didn't really care anymore. And she finally understood. It finally made sense why nobody ever complained about eating glop or being unable to see their families or working for days on end. They just didn't care. Like a swimmer caught in tide her instinct was to fight but she finally recognized that it was so much simpler just to let go. She finally understood that surviving in Arrowstockades wasn't about achievement or perseverance or dedication or planning or friendship or believing in a higher purpose. It was about accepting that you were going to drown.

[Broseph Stalin]

Life advanced rather steadily with her new found distaste for it.
“Lakewanders you're hauling stone”
“I don't care.”
“Lakewanders you're on patrol.”
“I don't care.”
“Dumplin are you alright?”
“I don't care.”
“Dumplin you just stepped on that dwarf!”
“I don't care.”
“We need to convince Degel to fill out the squad.”
“I don't care.”
“Where have you been, I haven't seen you or Obok in days?”
“I don't care.”
“I need to find two new dwarves for the squad.”
“I don't care.”
The overseer was inescapable and the savagery of the world was unavoidable. Only now did she understand the delusion that she could somehow prevent everyone or anyone from dying was foolish. She was cradled by hopelessness like a snowstorm snuffing out a traveler, it was comfortable feeling to accept there was nothing left to do.  Every new day was a slow march towards her inevitable death but that had been the case since she'd arrived in the fortress, it wasn't a frightening idea anymore.
   Perhaps it was her brighter outlook or just a coincidence but the overseer like a great snake sensing it's prey had stopped struggling no longer deigned to crush her. Her labor was reduced down to military and hauling duties. No more gutting fish or managing hives or burning carcasses, the fortress was very generous with it's boons when it was certain they would provide no comfort. Training became easier too, now that it was up to the thoroughly uninspired Degel to manage training. He didn't Dumplin's knack for such things and instead of practical training exercises and aids he simply organized general demonstrations and sparring session. Her social life was much simpler now that she decided not seeing her husband for days at a time and having no friends didn't warrant any bad thoughts. Her disregard for the insanity of the fortress made her a more efficient worker as well. She worked every moment of the day save when she was hungry, thirsty, or could no longer remain awake. In between work orders she'd simply head to the dining hall and loiter until a new one came down. Resigned to a life of ignominy and an insalubrious death things were finally looking up for Dumplin Lakewanders.

[Timeless Bob]

Welcome to corporate culture.

[sebcool]

You've done it. You have officially broken Dumplin.

[Meme]

An amazing story! I can't wait for more!

But poor Dumplin...

[Broseph Stalin]

Sorry the updates have been so erratic, I've been crazy busy. I've gotten sick five times since September, I think stress is actually damaging my immune system. I have a general outline planned for the rest of the updates so I should be able to get the ball rolling soon.

[Meph]

 

[ShadowHammer]

+1

[Broseph Stalin]

Dumplin early by chance, the concept of time had become devoid of meaning and the suns position in the sky no longer influenced the way she went about her business. She went off to collect intact bolts left in the forest by hunters and the engineer's new machination. The guild had created a device they called a “Shotgun” that consisted of a minecart striking a barrier at high speed and sending it's contents ,loose bolts or miscellaneous weaponry usually, flying into the forest and unfortunate invaders.  It was fairly light work and the walk gave her a chance to wake up before she had to haul stone or preform her militia duties. But today was unusual, Feb was standing at attention with a scrap of paper resting on a scrapwood plank and quill at the ready. Something about the scene seemed familiar and spurred Dumplin to look to the horizon. The fortress was uphill and she could just make out in between the thick trees a caravan of migrants approaching the fortress.
   The lies of Arrowstockades had enticed another group of poor souls to be swallowed up the wicked fortress. One, maybe two of them would have the talents to be given a chance in their chosen craft and reach legendary ,or passable by Arrowstockades standards, prowess. Four or maybe five among them would be tall or strong enough to be passable militiamen and most of those would be sent to ad hoc squads that would be with 100% certainty wiped out before their third engagement. The rest would preform menial labor day and night until something killed them.
   Dumplin carried out her labor as near the fortress as possible to gawk at the new migrants being processed. Tall ones, short ones, fat ones, some were very old and had come seeking rest, others were quite young and sought to make a new life, some were common laborers hoping to make a modest living, others were upper class tradesmen who had come to find the fine treatment they felt they'd earned. But all came with broad smiles and looks of hope having braved the Loveless Mountains and found the fabled Arrowstockades. Each and every one of them was going to die in the fortress, most sooner rather than later.
   Dumplin wandered nearer to listen to Feb judging the new crop but he spotted her on the approach and signaled for her to come over. Feb pointed to the two standing at the front of the line.
   “Two garbage dwarves,” Feb said. “The woman's militia too. Show them to their work assignments”

[Meme]

Dumplin?

[Broseph Stalin]

Finals, I'll try to throw up a few updates here and there but in about two weeks my schedule will free back up and I can get back on track.

[Broseph Stalin]

“Hello,” said the stupidly happy male dwarf. “My name's Okon, Okon Cluttercraze. This is my wife, Lolor Siltlock.”

“I don't care.” Dumplin replied. “Follow me.”

Dumplin began the long practiced route to the stockpiles but the pair behind her stopped short just inside the door with confusion and a bit of fear evident on their faces.

“Are those traps?” Okon asked.

“Yes.” Dumplin replied.

“Well how do we get in?” Lolor asked.

“Avoid the traps,” Dumplin replied.

Dumplin deftly stepped around the triggers and without a thought expertly navigated the maze of death and dismemberment. It was several minutes of careful tiptoeing before Okon and Lolor were with her once more.

“That seems very irregular.” Lolor said.

“Well,” Okon offered dusting himself off. “I suppose if there's that many traps the fortress must be truly fantastic.”

“That's a reasonable thing to suppose.” Dumplin said.
Dumplin proceeded but again they stopped, this time to gawk at the  great indoor/outdoor enclave ,even richer in plant and animal life than the wilderness surrounding. They looked in awe at the shear number of dwarves shearing, picking, planting, milking, and otherwise working.

“It's more beautiful than I ever imagined,” Lolor whispered.

“It's magnificent, certainly worth the hike I'd-- Armok's blood what is that smell!?” The question was accompanied by dual gagging fits. 

“Burning corpses.” Dumplin replied.

“Is that usual?” Lolor asked.

“Never ending.” Dumplin replied.

The tour continued down the central stairs to the stockpiles and once more they stopped looking around at the great sandy halls and the great brass roads.

“This is amazing!” Okon said. “This is place is more impressive than the lords castle back in the city and it's just a store house!”

“You know,” Lolor leaned in smiling. “Miss...”

“Dumplin.” Dumplin said.

“Well Dumplin, I've heard all sorts of stories about the dining hall, could we visit there before heading off to work? Just for a moment?”

“No.” Dumplin said deflating Lolor's simle. “Infantry or Archer?” She aksed.

“Eh? Oh! Infantry.” Lolor said.

Dumplin pointed towards the nearest stockpile. “Finished goods, Armor, Weapons, Gems, Ammunition. Find a shield, a set of armor, and whatever weapon you're best with.”

“Do you have any recommendations?”

“Suicide.” Dumplin replied.

[Liber celi]

Absolutely worth the wait.