CHAPTER 29: Kicking into gearsEnd of 113The news of Dumat's arrest reaches me promptly. Shocking. They say he was driven mad by his Overseer job, and is now babbling incoherently about dark forces, demons and undead. Strange and troubling news indeed, as just a few weeks ago we were discussing the implementation of a giant lava murderflood device, and he seemed quite rational about it. The army had a vote, and elected me as their new Overseer. I turn to Led, my trusted second (and Bookkeeper).
-Led, my command over this outpost now extends beyond the fields of military leadership. Do you know what that means?
-Sir, with all due respect, we are a capital, not a mere ''outpost''.
-Well, a metropolis is just a bigger outpost, isn't it? Stop interrupting.
-But you asked a...
-I said stop interrupting. Well, do you?
-...
-I said, do you know what that means?
-You... will need to make important decisions?
-Yes, and the first is, of course, to have my biography written. By you. Write my Biography now, Led.
-Sir?
-Well, you are a bookkeeper, aren't you?
-Yes, keeper, not author...
-Well, yes, but whom better to keep books than the one who writes them? That's why we give babies to their mothers. Because they ''crafted'' them, Led.
Led the Bookwriter is dismissed for now. My next guest is our beloved and ingenious mayor, Mebzuth, but as always he is late, probably working on some cage trap of some sort. His lack of devotion to his mayoral duties is deplorable, yet we will need his mechanical skills to construct a murderflood. While I wait, I take some time to inspect our artifact hatch cover, which links my quarters to the first barrack right below. Below is my personal squad's quarters, but their barracks are now mostly unused, given that they are in charge of protecting the caverns.
What a fine item this hatch is! It was the second artifact ever crafted here in Whisperwhip...
Mayor Mezbuth interrupts my artifact-based musing as he enters my office with various blueprints. He says he worked all night on them, as I requested.
-We are working on the first lever, he says. But I suggest adding 6 others.
-Agreed. Make sure the cages are spread evenly between each lever.
-Yes, my lord. I also took the liberty to order doors placed. Copper doors, of fine quality. We have so much of it around, that most of our non magma-proof stuff should be made from it.
-Yes, doors. that should stop the trolls alright. well long enough for them to be shot down.
Our soldiers are getting remarkable with crossbows, but bolts are far from lethal, in most cases. It would take dozens of shots to take down a troll, even weakened ones. thankfully, my years-long emphasis on bolt stockpiling has so far ensured an adequate supply of the little buggers.
The mayor and I spend some time browsing various blueprints. ''this one!'' I yell. I like this one. The cages are well-spaced, and it should make the wiring less confusing. 7 levers, and 7 rows of cages. We have 42 prisoners, too.
As you may have guessed, I'm putting the coliseum to good use. Or any use whatsoever, for that matter. Dumat had it built, and it took 3 years and 5 dwarven lives, including a brave fighter. I refuse to have this megaproject gather dust to no end. The queen may be missing, but my nomination to the Overseer post is worthy of a good show. A mass execution in front of every soul in Whisperwhip is a good way to reduce or fabled ''FPS'', free some cages, and remind the citizens that our army is strong, and our enemies endless.
-We won't have enough mecanisms as it is, my lord. May i suggest that we put the side-space to good use, and designate a second mecanist's workshop, as well as a mecanism stockpile? We'll need about 90 of them to set up the cage wiring. Having them close at end means less time lost for the workers.
-Yes, yes. Do that. How many mecanists do we have right now? And how skilled are they.
-Well, hum, it seems that my main assistant was completely anihilated from existence 2 years ago, and is now haunting the nothwestern hills. Another mecanic was eaten by a troll, and a third lost both his legs in an ambush. so that's, well, me and two novices.
Before leaving, I sign and stamp a request from our manager. some workers want better protection, and he commissioned countless pairs of working gloves. Led mentioned we had enough leather to feed the continent. Give the peasants some gloves if they need them, I don't mind. I place an order for more smelted tetrahedrite, while we're at it, and charcoal for good measure. Mezbuth and i head to the surface next.
Miners are designating parts of Dogshatter Hill to be channeled out. I want the groundwork for the magma flooder up and running as fast as possible. For now the best way to go at it is to redirect the river across the hill, to act as a moat. when we get magma, we'll get rid of, erh, the river somehow, and replace it with magma. I'm sure it can be done easily. it's just liquid swapping.
Another layer of the western wall nears completion. I'm told that our masons have terrible work ethics, and need constant supervision to build something as simple as a all without getting stuck between two blocks. Dumat the broker was coordinating our workforce as best as he could, but now we'l obviously need to nominate a master builder.
The miners want to know what to do once they have channeled the first layer. Channel the second layer, is obviously my answer. I'm sad that I even need to adress that. Clearly none of those idiots is worthy of the master builder title. While this was playing out, Mebzuth took some notes, and updated his plans. ''We'll need to move the depot sooner or later.'' he claims. ''Otherwise the moat will be too small, or too faraway from the walls.''
I'm not sure what to do with the trader area. not that it matters anyway, as we have no trading partners, and our broker is waiting for his execution. I still have some time to think about that. for now, our next stop are the caverns, and the magma forge they contain. Mebzuth would make a great chief architect, but i need him to focus on training mecanists and devising blueprints for our more complicated contraptions. I simply cannot have him wasting his time babysitting a bunch of brickhandlers.
I meet Led on the way home from the hills. He's not done with my book, sadly, for he claims that we have more urgent matters. Our corpse stockpiles are full again, and the haulers and butchers need a place to dump all the dead animals. ''Just add a southernier wing to the southern wing'' is the solution I present. I'm sure they can figure out the details on their own. Hopefully.
We have to stop on our way to the forge, as a huge commotion is jamming up the workshops area. Apparently a child has completed what people describe as an artifact. I politely congratulate the lad on his work. Too bad he couldn't produce something artistic, or useful. This bracelet is incredibly well crafted, yet it lacks any type of personal touch. His peers are praising his bright future as a stonecrafter, but what we truly need is more soldiers, or some metalworkers. Stonecrafters are both numerous, and unneeded right now.
As we reach BASE1, a panicked herbalist rushes toward me. He is visibly hysterical, and i can barely make out what he is saying. Calm down, lad, calm down. What happened?
He finally regain enough sence to explain the basics to us. He was working in the caves, when a crocodile came out of nowhere, and lunged at him. He managed to get away solely thanks to his pet dogs, who defended him against the beast.
By the time we reach the battle, it's already too late for the dogs. Thankfully the herbalist himself made it to the fort in one piece. I examine the carcass after the skirmish, and to my deepest regret, I conclude that this crocodile was not the dreaded Purerisks, meaning this fabled hunter still lurks around in the dark waters, somewhere, waiting.
Why was the herbalist there in the first place? The caverns were off-limit, as far as I'm concerned.
-We spotted some Elk birds further north, so we went after them.
-We?
-Me, the dogs, and Ustuth the hammerer...
Ustuth? That's bad news. What is he doing downstairs? His job is to hammer criminals, not chase down birds in the depths of the earth. given, we had no crimes in 12 years, thanks to half the population being peace enforcers, but even at that... Ustuth the hammerer is a fishery worker by trade, and has no business handling a crossbow so far away from his quarters.
Al this paperwork and blueprint-reviewing is boring me to no end, and i could really need a fight right now. I declare that I will look after Ustuth. A pessumistic, female voice decides to join in:
-I'll go with you, my lord. You'd probably end up dying if you went on your own. In fact, Ustuth is probably gone as we speak.
-That's... very nice of you to volunteer, Drokles.
Drokles is our newst recruit. She joined the army some years prior, and is still undergoing intensive training. People Drokles like tends to, erhm, die horribly to say the least, and as a result she has grown rather morbi and pessimistic over the years. She is slowly turning into a fine soldier, if you can ignore her constant reminders that we're all doomed to die sooner or later. I would scold her for her attitude, but she is almost entirely clad in bronze, so I'm ready to forgive her a lot of things. Bronze is the greatest thing.
...As those weakling birds soon realize. The newfound elk bird colony is dispatched with haste, while Drokles lament on the foolishness of migrating here. Is she talking about the birds, or us? it's better not to ask.
I return to BASE1 with haste, where the mayor is waiting for me. ''the magma levels are now adequate!'' he announces. Indeed, our first magma forge is now ready for some action.
-Excellent, Mebzuth! Let's begin iron production, that we can turn those sweet bars into magma pumps.
-Yeah, hum, that's a forge, sir, not a smelter. We'll need to build two additional smelters next to this workshop.
-Two?
-We don't have many metalworkers. with 2 smelters, and one turning the iron into pumps, we're basically employing most of our metalworkers, assuming we run at full capacity. which we won't, because this forge is pretty fucking far away from our stockpiles...
He's right. BASE1 has living space and a dinning hall, but it lacks any form of industry, save for one forge. The workers will need to do tremendous amounts of walking to get any work done. I need better industries down here, and to set them up I'll need a master builder.
The mayor has some more bad news.
-We can't operate the floodgate for now. The ghostly teenager Litast is haunting the magma tunnels
-He's dead, and a ghost now. I told you we were all going to die here! screams a nearby voice.
-Quiet, Drokles. Was the kid not memorialised?
-He was, my lord, but the slab never was placed. Dumat was arrested before he could get to that.
I turn to the guards and miners sitting in BASE1's hall. ''One of you get on your feet and have this slab installed within the hour''
Anyway, I explain to the mayor that once the magma forge is no longer haunted, I want all those iron and copper helmets melted presto.
There is, at least, one good news regarding the forge project. The miners keeping an eye on the reservoir swear it's still at the same level, despite our intervention. This means we'll never run out of sweet, sweet lava for our murderflood project. It also means that the tunnels we dug will fill to their maximum capacity...
Well, no point in just staring at the volcano now, miners. Get your ass upstairs, and bring back some blocks or stone to wall off the waste disposal pit. I don't want any magma leaking out or spilling randomly when we drop stuff from above. Oh, and leave some room for a door, just in case we need to improve the design, or her, retrieve something in there. Or someone.
The rest of the winter goes about without any incident. soon the new year kicks in, and 3 cats die of old age in unison. In the middle of the celebrations, an engraver gives birth in the kitchen while securing some extra cookies.
The bad news is, our kitchens are still suffering from serious miasma-related issues. I'm not sure this is the best place to give birth, Datan.
Despite the terrible conditions that saw her enter this world, the baby appears to be fine. She is named Vishakanya, for her affinity with miasma. May she live a long and healthy life! Visha's mother describe her joy and pride as having incredible memory, and a way with word, which is pretty damn impressive for a 17-minutes-old toddler.
While everyone is singing and dancing, i'm approached by a very energetic young man.
-General, you must come see this! Quickly!
-Is it this damn baby? because I've already been told about...
-No, sir. not the baby. t's... it's important.
The lad seems serious about it, so I follow him outside, where he presents me the corpses of two lions, burnt to a crisp.
-We found those in the western hills, while gathering wood. Everything around had been scorched into ashes.
-Tell the soldiers to sober up, and assemble outside. Now.
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