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[Broseph Stalin]

On day 72 the door opened and in the doorframe stood Ashmon.
“Hello Dumplin!” He said cheerfully.
Her eyes creaked open and adjusted to the light. Her voice was weak from thirst, they'd forgot to bring her water yesterday.
“It's Dumat-”
“Thank you.”
“I was supposed to be released weeks ago.” She said.
“We didn't get the order to release you until today.” Ashmon replied opening the cage. “We've been kind of busy lately, the orders probably got pushed back.”
“I need water.” She said.
“You have ale privileges back, let's get a drink in the dining hall.” He said leading her down the hall. Dumat took a mug full of strong ale and a plate full of  Tallow Lumps which consisted of minced tallow, finely minced tallow, well minced tallow, and a handful of acorns.
Dumat sulked into her mug. “That sentence was terrible.”

“You should avoid being in jail if you can avoid it.”  Ashmon said.

“That sentence was equally terrible.”  Dumat replied.

“At least you're well rested.” He said. “The woodcutters are back to work and almost everyone is either hauling or splitting wood ,the Overseer had two more farmers workshops constructed to process more animals and we have to step up the milking, shearing, cheesemaking, and weaving, the miners hit a big vein of gold ore and goblet production has tripled, the militia's are on an order to train nonstop for the next three months, and that's not even mentioning the King and all his lords have started issuing production mandates. Everyone in the fortress has been working around the clock.”

“How's Asen doing?” She asked. “He gets short of breath easilly.”

“He's well rested too,” Ashmon said. “He's been in the hospital all month.”

“What!?” She ask-laimed. 

“He was in a sparring accident, someone threw him off the roof.”

“I need to go see him!” She ordered.

“But you're on stone hauling duty.” Ashmon said. “If you don't show up for work you'll taken right back to jail.”

“Can I see Asen after I've finished?” She asked.

“Sure if you don't loiter.” Ashmon said. “The Overseer doesn't like it when people just stand around in the hospital.”

She finished her ale in one gulp and gulped down the rest of her tallow lumps. “Then let's get to work.”

Dumat followed Ashmon into the depths of the cavern. Just like he had the first day he patted one of the orderly piles of stone and told her to haul it.

Looking at the pile she slapped her forehead and admonished herself for being so forgetful.
“We didn't get a wheelbarrow” She said. “I'll have to climb all the way back up and fetch one.”

“No need.” Ashmon said happily. “Raccoons stole a wheelbarrow.”

“How and why would that happen?”

“Since we're one wheelbarrow down you'll just have to carry it.”

“What?” Dumat asked.

[Broseph Stalin]

“Raccoons stole a wheelbarrow.” He reiterated. “Just haul it the old fashioned way.”

“Ashmon,” She began. “These stones weigh hundreds, sometimes thousands of pounds. I could hardly lift one for a moment much less climb up fifty flights of stairs with one.”

“You can't skip work Dumat.” Ashmon said. “If you don't do your job you'll get locked up again or worse.”

Dumat snapped. “Ashmon I've been stabbed and jailed and worked near to death and fed glop and kicked out of a hospital and I've had to sleep on a dirty floor every day since I got here. My knees will probably never recover, I think I developed a stress disorder from living in that cage, and I definitely have a serious dietary deficiency. I don't think there's much more they can do to me.”

“They can make you live in the caverns.” Ashmon said.

“What?” Dumat asked again.



Ashmon pointed over to a series of workshops being staffed by the filthiest, palest, most sickly looking dwarves she'd ever seen. Moss grew on their clothes and in their hair and beards. Scars and strange rashes adorned every inch of their exposed flesh. Their sad eyes were pale and empty and their sad frowns sat low on their sagging faces.
“They're the dwarves who can't do real work.” He said. “They organize the stone gems and webs into these piles. They drink cavern water and they eat cavern bugs and they sleep on cavern floors until they get killed by cavern monsters. They don't know day from night, most haven't seen the sun in years. I saw one step outside and start uncontrollably vomiting because the light made him sick.  They can come back into the fortress when the alarm is sounded but they don't all make it back in time. When they die they get thrown into the deep pools and a slab is engraved in their honor”

Dumat fought back tears. “That's horrible.” Was all she could get out without cracking.

“It's pretty bad.” Ashmon said. “But the jobs need to be done and there's nothing else they can do. You need to haul the stone Dumplin-”

“Dumat.”

“That's very funny but this is serious- If you don't then they might make you live down here.”

With Asen in such poor health sleeping in the dank and dangerous caverns would be a death sentence. She steeled herself, straightened her gloves, and picked the most even looking boulder she could find. She squatted down, tightly gripped it's sides, and with a mighty push extended her knees.
   The pops and groans of her joints communicated the very clear message “stop this funny business immediately.” With a yell she threw one foot forward and very narrowly avoided toppling over. She delicately slid her plant foot forward to meet her lead foot and tried to regain a stable position again. Failing that she tried to fall off to the side so she didn't land squarely on the rock. Failing that she tried not to let Ashmon see how badly she was hurt. Failing that she tried to keep the vomit off of her clothes. 
   Still rattled by the blow to her stomach she analyzed the situation. She determined nothing. She knew to use her legs and not her back but other than that there didn't seem to be much technique to this picking up and putting down boulders business. She regained her grip and tried again.
   One step, this time more steady. Two steps, she began to develop a technique. Three, she was building a rhythm. Four, the task was beginning to seem more achievable. Five, She fell again.
   Wiping more vomit from her shirt she gripped the stone for a third time. To fall a third time would mean failure and to fail would mean exile to the caverns. She felt the fear grip her heart. The fortress didn't care about garbage dwarves. Her body would be thrown into a deep pool and her possessions would be torn from her still warm body as the malnourished dwarves of the caverns sought to replace their own threadbare clothes. But that was all that could happen. Nothing else would be sufficient. She didn't give up when she faced the grand staircase, she didn't falter when an impossible order was handed down, she didn't flinch when she faced down the kobold thief, she didn't leave when she realized she'd be eating glop and sleeping in the dirt, and she wouldn't run from this awful place or it's awful caverns. The dread left her body and she drew upon her inner strength. Her knees may buckle and her back may break but she would not surrender to defeat. If she failed this test of her mettle it would not be for lack of trying.

Arrowstockades may kill her, but it would never break  her will.

[Broseph Stalin]

 She remembered how impossible the task of hauling gold in a wheelbarrow seemed on her first day and how mundane that activity had become. Her muscles were atrophied from her time in the cage and her work on the quiver but she was still stronger than she gave herself credit for.
   With a primal yell she straightened up and balanced herself as steady as she could. She couldn't get her arms around the massive boulder and she could scarcely see over top of it. She let it slide down a bit clear her line of sight but then it prevented her from moving her legs. She could either hazard the grand staircase blind or set the rock down and surrender was no longer an option.
   Her body strained under the weight and her muscles popped and groaned. One step. Then two. Then three. Slowly plodding along. She stopped on step five when the pain became too much to bear. Her back refused to straighten out and her arms fell limp at her sides. Standing still gave her muscles time to relax and she felt them rapidly begin to jellify. Resolute to continue before it got any harder she gripped the stone once more and took another step.
   The pressure built behind her eyes and her joints screamed out in pain. She ignored the blaring messages on all fronts announcing that her body was tearing itself apart and pushed forward with her eyes tightly shut. One step, two steps, three steps, four, they started to blend together and after a certain point it just wasn't possible for the pain to get any worse.
   She felt blood trickling from her nose and her stomach began to turn as her body started to reject the hard labor. Finally she stopped and began alternating between gasping for breath and howling pain. The horrible pain made time drag on but it wasn't as though it needed help. Hours passed climbing the stairwell. Occasionally she could fire out a leg and ascend a stair before she realized how impossible and miserable the task was but other times she spent several minutes on a single step.

 Any delusions she had about it being impossible to suffer more disintegrated when she missed a step and felt the muscles of her back begin to tear. Letting loose a howl of pain she released the stone. Unable to straighten out or pick the stone back up she stopped dead. The task began to seem more and more impossible. Her body was just incapable of going any further. Sunrise and sunset had passed while she struggled with the boulder. Apart from being near collapse with exhaustion and pain she was growing very hungry and desperately thirsty.
"I will reach the top of these stairs" She thought to herself. "And then I will fall over dead."
the longer she paused the worse it became and after a few moments her legs began to fail. Balancing the stone delicately on the stairs she leaned on the stone and struggled to find her balance. The stone was gray, two more flights to go.
   To fail this close to her goal was unacceptable. She had suffered unimaginable pain already, if she gave up now it was all for nothing. And not just braving the stairs, everything she gave up to reach the fortress, every basic necessity she had did without for the sake of making it through another day, and every injustice she took on the chin to keep the peace would be rendered completely pointless if she couldn't suck it up and make it up two more flights of stairs.

The light that burned inside her had dimmed but it had not yet burned out. Propped up only by her own inner glow she gripped the stone tightly and lifted once more. “One more step.” She told herself. "Just one more." That was all there was to do. “One more step,” she repeated and repeated until eventually there were only a few more steps to go. The smell of the burning coal and molten metal greeted her nose and the ethereal chorus of hammers striking anvils told her she was very near the end of her journey. The top of the stairs was in sight now, she could drop the stone once she reached it, roll it over to the stockpiles, and then visit Asen before she could sit on a comfortable chair with all the ale she could drink. She wouldn't even bother to leave the dining hall, she would sleep there and gods save anyone who tried to move her.

Three more steps remained.  “One more step.” She told herself.  “No.” her knees replied. Her body pushed beyond it's limits finally gave out and she fell backwards. There was a loud crack as the boulder landed squarely on her chest.

[Broseph Stalin]

Sternum Bone Dented
Back Bone Dented
Head Bone Dented
Left Forearm Bone Fractured, Immobilized

“No treatment pending, back to work.” The sentence was punctuated by a kick to the bed. Apparently there wasn't anything for a fracture except a splint and a dented bone could only be treated with time. Time ,she was to understand, did not necessarily mean time in bed as she was again thrust into the world badly injured. What was worse Asen was nowhere to be found.
   When she stood she realized how badly carrying the stone had injured her. Barely able to stay upright she found she was quite incapable of raising her legs. With a slight turn of her hips she slid her right foot a few inches in front of her left foot and then reversed and repeated the motion bringing her a few inches forward. She made sure there was nothing in the hospital she wanted, she could go down the stairs to the fortress but there was no way for her to get back up of her own volition.

   She caught the friendly Jeweler Bim discarding one of his cats 'presents' in the trash pile. After a brief conversation he informed her that Asen had been released while she was still climbing the stairs. It had been seventy three days since she'd seen Asen and she was determined not to wait another. She had no way of knowing where Asen was patrolling She hobbled her way to the main gates but stopped dead when she passed through the first set of doors.

   The technically indoor Enclave that housed tall grasses, pastured animals, and the crematorium was separated from outside proper by a long tunnel leading to a room protected by a raisable bridge. That long tunnel she had once crossed unimpeded now menaced with all manner of traps. The entrance was clearly a decoy, what kind of mad man would expect civilians to navigate a sea of deadly traps just to do their jobs?
   She sought out the real entrance for several hours until coming to collapse exactly where she started in front of the main gate. On her rapid descent her foot twisted into decidedly unnatural angle and began rapidly swelling. The pain was bad but it was duller than the pain in her knees, arms, back and chest it was scarcely worth noticing.
 “We should stand.” Her mind told her body.
“We will not.” Her body replied.
“Asen must miss us.” Her mind told her body.
“Asen can find us.” Her body replied.

[Broseph Stalin]

Where her body didn't ache it stung or burned. She'd been waiting since her first day in Arrowstockades but her initial suppositions were vindicated,  stairs had ruined her. Her body was shattered and her will was frayed, with nothing substantive left in her she was little more than a breathing corpse. Dwarves stepped over her body, none apparently thinking  her predicament was worthy of another trip to the hospital,  and went about their business.

   Her time in the cage had taught her to cope with having nothing to do so she sat and sat and sat as minutes and hours began to bleed together. She was brought a meal and a drink from passersby but nobody had any interest in getting her medical help. The next morning she was greeted by a familiar face.
“Hello Dumplin!” Ashmon said.
“Dumat.” She replied.
“Well for now, it'll probably rain later though.” Ashmon said.
“What do you want Ashmon?” She asked.
“Good news!” He said. “I convinced the manager you were so unbelievably incompetent you were a danger to yourself and everyone around you.”
“That's the opposite of good news.” She said.

“Well the manager wasn't about to let you haul stone if you were going to keep dropping it on down the stairs. He's switching  you to lighter work.”
“I don't think I can stand.” She said.
“It's not that light.” Ashmon replied. “But you should be able to do it in about an hour and then spend the rest of the day in your quarters.”
“I can't stand Ashmon.” Dumat said. “Besides, there are never any beds in the quarters. There's no difference between the dirt here and the dirt there.”

“Didn't you hear the good news?” Ashmon asked. “One of the militia captains went insane with depression and murdered a farmer in the middle of the dining hall.”

“That's the opposite of good news.” Dumat replied.

“Asen was promoted to captain of his squad.” Ashmon explained. “You have your own room now.”

“That's wonderful.” She said mustering what little enthusiasm remained in her body. She persuaded herself that the effort expended in hauling for one more day was just a roundabout way of walking towards a warm bed. She struggled to her feet.
“Where's my work assignment?” She asked.


        Traders had come to Arrowstockades and it now fell on Dumat and a few other garbage dwarves to carry the Fortresses precious treasures to the trade depot. She was initially optimistic about earning a reputation as a shrewd trader by haggling with them but that hope was extinguished fairly quickly. Trading was very centralized, as one of her fellow garbagedwarves explained, the manager would tell the broker what he was allowed to offer, the garbagedwarves would haul those offerings, and the broker would make deals at his discretion for things the fortress needed.
   “You aren't special.” She reminded herself. “You pick things up and put them down elsewhere.”
She was assigned to carry bin #149 from Finished Goods Stockpile #27 to the trade depot. Unfortunately Finished Goods was apparently bureaucrat for “One hunderd pounds of assorted metal trinkets.” She couldn't lift it so instead elected to push, pull, and slide the bin from the stockpile to the main entrance. She reached the trap corridor and stopped.
To her surprise her peers were deftly maneuvering around the various traps and didn't appear to be slowed by them in the least.
“How do I get through?” She asked one of the other haulers.

“Don't step on a trigger.” The filthy dwarf replied stepping around the traps.

[CognitiveDissonance]

That poor dwarf...

[Broseph Stalin]

She examined the traps in front of her and identified the mechanisms. She need only brush up against the trigger to send five iron spikes directly into her soft tissues. She carefully raised her foot. She was still physically exhausted from hauling the boulder and her leg felt as if it were of lead. She stepped down as gingerly as she could safely away from the malicious trigger. Bringing her other foot to meet her first she steadied herself on the island of safety. When that was done she leaned over and slid the bin passed as well.
“118 more to go.” She thought to herself.

Three hours later she slid her bin to the depot. The broker, a greasy looking dwarf had no real interest in her presence and without a simple “thanks” waved her off. After navigating the traps again she went to the dining room and waited for Asen. This would surely be his first destination. Having neglected to ask Ashmon which of the forty bedrooms she'd been assigned and resistant to the idea of checking each one she had nothing to do but wait. She waited and waited as the daylight faded away.

   She was injured and tired and any feeling of safety she had inside the fortress was eradicated when she realized the mad men running this asylum thought that “security” consisted of turning a major thoroughfare into a death trap. The only rest she'd gotten in an Arrowstockades bed was precipitated by being stabbed or crushed. Her muscles would likely never recover from the hell that the grand staircase had wrought on her body and the scar that ran the breadth of her stomach would be a permanent reminder of just how terrible this place could be. Every meal she'd eaten had been some combination of animal fat and acorns and had come at the cost of strenuous labor over the course of impossible hours. She'd been jailed for trying to to take pride in her work and for daring to think she could be anything more than a garbagedwarf. But she had won.

   She'd lost a thousand battles in pursuit of a higher victory but it had all been worth it. She won. She would have a room to sleep in and her first objective would be complete. As sad as it was that a farmer had been cut down in his prime there was now a job opening for someone with her skill set. There was nothing easy about working fields but it wouldn't kill her like hauling was sure to. She would have a room and a job and soon enough a child and she would learn the rules of staying safe and staying sane in Arrowstockades and she would finally be happy.

“Dumplin Lakewanders!” Barked a familiar monocular dwarf forcing his way into the dining room. She'd come to learn useless dwarves often received mandates so the tradesmen wouldn't have to waste their precious time with them.
“Yes?” She didn't bother correcting him about her name.

“You are under arrest for violating an export ban!” Feb snarled.
 
“What?” Dumat didn't bother to ask.

[CaptainLambcake]

fucking feb

[Broseph Stalin]

“Make quivers.” The Baroness tells the manager.
“Make quivers.” The manager tells Dumat.
 Dumat makes the quivers.
“Don't export quivers.”  The Baroness says.
“Bring me a quiver” the broker says to the manager.
“Take him a quiver” the manager says to Dumat.
Dumat takes him a quiver.
“You can have this quiver” the broker tells the traders.
The traders leave with the quiver.
“You broke the law” the Guard Captain tells Dumat. Dumat goes to jail.
These dwarves had a very loose understanding of what “exporting” actually entailed.


 It occurred that she could resist arrest but it also occurred that Feb One-Eye tended to enter rooms with his sword drawn and was perfectly capable of bisecting a fully armored Orc. As hopeless as reason seemed to be with these dwarves violence was no more serviceable an option. She had once again been hauled off to jail despite her protests and she had once again sealed in an iron cage.
 
   Sentenced to 60 days she was released only ninety seven days later. This time she was freed by a dwarf she'd never met, Ashmon was apparently off having his wounds washed again. This guardsmen , who she didn't bother familiarizing herself with, gave her a new work assignment bringing in the tools, clothes, and ammunition that wood cutters and hunters tended to leave lying around.   She was able to walk normally again but she was still badly hurt. The soft tissue injuries ,she expected, were likely to pain her for quite some time. The emotional scars would likely follow her to her grave.
   Find Asen was her first priority. She'd spent the vast majority of her time in Arrowstockades in prison and it had been over 160 days since she'd last seen her husband. She couldn't handle another stay in prison. Of course if Asen was in their room she still had no idea where that was and if he was on patrol she didn't know where she could intercept him.  If Ashmon could lay out the patrol routes for her she would know the best spot to work very slowly and wait for Asen to pass. And so, 'Find Ashmon' became her new priority.
   The few flights of stairs were significantly more difficult than she remembered and she ultimately had to stop halfway. Luckilly Ashmon was just leaving the hospital and returning to the fortress. She held back her vomit when the hatch opened and let in the blinding light of the sun.

“Hello Dumplin!” Ashmon said happily.
“Dumat.” She corrected.
“Oh right, I guess I do.” He said sadly. With a very sad rotation of his hips Ashmon kicked her squarely in the chest.

[Broseph Stalin]

She tumbled down the stairs and came to rest against the door frame with a thud. She struggled to her feet and moved into the enclave in the hopes that the number of witnesses would deter this unprovoked assault. Those hopes were quickly dashed when Ashmon barreled through the doors and with a strong punch knocked her off her feet.
“What's wrong with you?” Dumat asked coughing heavily.
“A horse bit my elbow.” Ashmon said. “Feb told me I should move up my appointment to get it  looked at.”

“I meant why are you hitting me.”  Whatever spurred his violent outburst an aggressive tone would likely encourage it. She remained calm and level and rather unsurprised that a random outburst of violence didn't seem to be worth notice.
“A child was murdered.” Ashmon said. “The Overseer says you're a vampire.”
Ashmon punched her in the ribs.
“I couldn't kill anyone!” Dumat exclaimed.
“Of course not.” Ashmon replied. “I don't believe for a minute you're capable of killing a sleeping child.”
“Well that's a relief.” Dumat said.
“You don't have the upper body strength.” Ashmon said with another punch.
“I was in jail!” She said trying to stand back up only to be knocked down with another punch.
“Well it takes months to track down a vampire Dumplin.”
“Dumat.” She said with a wheeze.
“I know right?” Ashmon said with a chuckle and a punch. “But anyway people feel safer knowing the culprit is punished so sometimes the overseer just accuses someone at random. You were probably a good pick because of your extensive criminal history.”
“You're going to beat me to death for not being a vampire?” She attempted to ask-laim but her lung capacity was diminished.
“Well probably not to death.” Ashmon said. “I'm the hammerer but they never gave me a hammer so I just named my fists the hammers and I'm just going to punch you fifty times. Vampires are way to tough to die from punching, or even a proper hammering. Forty five to go by the way.”
“You're not counting the kick?” She asked.
“My feet aren't hammers.” He said with a punch.
“So if I were a vampire you would beat me up--” She was interrupted by another punch.“--Then immediately let me go to murder more children?”
“No,” Ashmon said. “When we catch the actual vampire we'll just execute him.”
“So this is pointless?” She asked yet another punch caught her square.
“No,” Ashmon said. “It makes people feel better.” Ashmon punched her again. “Except you.”
She went on to point out the flaws inherent in the system in between crying out in pain and vomiting. Ashmon went on punching. The only topic on her mind was to remain conscious, Ashmosn hands were instruments of death and if she was hit by a punch she couldn't brace for she may not survive. After a few minutes of failed negotiations and attempts to defend herself Ashmon landed punch number 50, dusted her off, scooped her up, and took her to the hospital. 

[Liber celi]

Good that the pulp mechanics aren't implemented yet...

[Catsup]

my god, my fort is never like this, what a horrifying story. My captain of the guard is in his lone squad, he is the weakest dwarf, and dual wields wooden training swords so he cant even use his fists. There are also no jails at all in my fort, no hammerer either, and i am ultimately the one who decides actual punishment should any laws be broken. The mayor's mandates are broken at will, he has his royal throne room/dining room/bedroom to offset his minor happiness loss.

my fort is also designed around security and safety, so dwarves almost never engage any hostiles. This goes for the military too, who are only marksdwarves. Mining, wood cutting, and plant gathering in the caverns are stopped as soon as any hostile creature is dangerously close to the working area, before any potential encounters. I think the food in this story is portrayed too negatively too. I mean typical food in my fort usually is 256 (stack) masterwork forgotten beast roast with masterfully minced cheese and valley herbs and dwarven syrup.

my fort however, has other horrifying aspects like liberally atom-smashing and slabbing children/popular dwarves that are otherwise useless. They are slabbed though so no ghost appears, and my dwarves just accept this as a regular normal occurrence of being spirited away.

this is a interesting story though, i hope to see asen going insane/being zombified and dumat tearfully putting him down. I want to see all her innocence get washed away in blood and tears and see her become a hardened soldier, her emotions and values a husk of what she used to be.

[Meme]

Just to say I think I found a mistake
“Ashmon was promoted to captain of his squad.” Ashmon explained. “You have your own room now.”

On the other hand great story! Can't wait for more!

[Broseph Stalin]

Skull, Bone Dented
Jaw, Bone Dented
Left Back Teeth, Tooth Fractured
Nose, Cartilage Torn
Left Eye, Tissue Bruised
Left True Ribs, Bone Bruised
Left False Ribs, Bone Dented
Right False Ribs, Bone Dented
Left Arm, Bone Dented
Left Forearm, Bone Dented
Left Hand, Bone Dented
Right Hand, Bone dented
Right Forearm, Bone dented
Liver Tissue, Bruised
Left Kidney, Tissue Bruised
Right Kidney, Tissue Bruised
Guts, Tissue Bruised

“No treatment pending,” The doctor kicked the bed. “Back to work.”
Dumat returned to the hospital three times after collapsing from the pain and each time the doctor looked at her with a sneer, gave the bed a kick, and told her to get back to work.
   She now had two thoughts. The first was kill everyone. The second was find Asen. She focused on the second one. Finding her husband in the sprawling fortress would be difficult. Ashmon didn't seem to understand social norms so talking to him immediately may give him the idea that there was nothing wrong with beating someone half to death. She could ask Feb One-Eye but Feb One-Eye was easily the most terrible dwarf she'd ever met. She knew Bim the Jeweler and a few of the other artisans who she consulted on her quiver project.
   She decided to get advice from the nearest non-jerk she could, the gold plated dwarf guarding the nobles quarters. He didn't know Asen but he knew Bim and directed her to the caverns. After a long grueling trudge down the grand staircase she saw amongst the cavern dwelling garbagedwarves a tragically familiar face. His gray beard filled with moss and his kind eyes dull with sadness Bim had joined the ranks of the subterranean web-collecting, gem sorting, stone piling exiles.
   “Bim.” She said sadly.
   “Hello.” He replied weakly. He busied himself stacking hunks of gold ore into an orderly pile to be later hauled in a wheelbarrow. “I didn't know you'd been released.”

She struggled to think of the most considerate way to ask but ultimately failed and opted for a direct, “Why are you down here?”

“New migrants,” he said focusing on his ore. “There are three jewelers workshops and seven legendary jewelers. Six of them can cut gems as well as they set them. I'm the seventh. I'm an expert setter but I'm only an average cutter. With three dwarves working and three resting the workshops work at full capacity around the clock. Keeping me in the rotation would just slow us down.”

“But...” she had to pause to think of a but. “But you could learn to cut gems.”

“It took me eighty years to set gems as well as I do. Even if I dedicated the rest of my life to cutting gems by the time I was at the necessary skill level I'd be in my final years and it still wouldn't justify hollowing out another workspace and building a workshop. They cut and set gems just as fast as the miners and glassmakers can acquire them, bringing me back in would cause work stoppages. No, I think this is my life now.”

Bim was the promise of Arrowstockades. A respected professional who never wanted for anything and enjoyed all of the fortresses luxuries. If those precious things could be taken away then her dream was very hollow indeed.
“There has to be something else you can do.”  She plead with tears in her eyes.

“I can stack rocks.” He replied desolately. “I had a good life, the memories will comfort me.”

“Bim...” She had no words.

“There's nothing to be sad about.” He said unconvincingly. “There's no need for me to waste a room when more deserving dwarves abound. But  you didn't come here to see me.”

She steadied herself. “I was wondering if you knew where I could find my husband.”

“I'm not kept abreast of the goings-on of the fortress.” Bim said. “But you could probably ask the mayor, at the very least she'll have some idea of someone who may know. Just tell the guard you want to meet with the mayor and he'll see to it you find him.”

“Thank you Bim, I'll be sure to visit.” Dumat said.

“Goodbye Dumplin.” He replied.

“Goodbye Bim.” She didn't correct him.

She climbed back up the grand staircase. This was the first time she'd walked up the Grand Staircase without being burdened by hundreds of pounds of stone. It was also the hardest climb she'd ever made.

[Broseph Stalin]

Just to say I think I found a mistake
“Ashmon was promoted to captain of his squad.” Ashmon explained. “You have your own room now.”

On the other hand great story! Can't wait for more!

I hate. Dwarven. Names. I've done that literally dozens of times, every time I read through I find another.