Overseer's Records - Summer, 1060I feared my ancestor's curses. I have learned to fear his blessings.
Since I died, I have been focused on my goals to the exclusion of much else. Perhaps this is the strong will Ezum spoke of... I do not know. First I sought power; then I sought knowledge; then peace of mind; then freedom from fear. Sometimes it seems all my life has been seeking. What I had not done, until now, is paid much attention to my surroundings. Doomforests is... broken. There is something here which is tragic. And not tragic in a great way, all blood and thunder and declaiming speeches while fighting dragons, but tragic in a lesser way... senseless death, pointless death, a death of carelessness, like the ignored scratch that festers and kills. The word that best fits is SENILE. Perhaps I cannot cure it... perhaps I can do nothing but watch while the slide into the abyss continues. But I have determined to try.
My mission was simple. Bring more living; prepare the dead. Previous overseers have left the place a blasted ruin. Words cannot express the all-encompassing devastation which prevailed in the upper halls. I wandered, stunned, through the places I had thought I knew. The walls dripped with moisture. Fungus ran rampant down the unpolished stone. The stench of rot and mildew was overwhelming. The skittering of vermin was everywhere. Every corner I turned revealed more wealth thrown carelessly in heaps, unsorted, unloved. Statues and barrels, tables and clothes, stone blocks and buckets and medical equipment lay thrown in all directions, like a giant careless hand had flung the whole lot down in disgust. A thick layer of dust lay over everything. Huge hallways, thirty feet abreast, led nowhere. Corpses filled the back part of the fortress, the front part, the area before the gates... dozens and dozens of corpses. Elves and humans, goblins and trolls, fallen dwarves... all dusty, all rotted, all bones. Only a few years ago, I would have fled in horror. I would have been unable to bear the weight of all that mortality, the sense of approaching death. Now, I know better. Now I see the time in those bones for what it is: WASTE. Appalling, senseless waste. I told the few dispirited survivors here: gather this filth up and take it to the place I have prepared for it. Grandfather showed me what to do.
The cultists are among these dwarves, watching, skulking. I see them. They think themselves hidden, as if anything could hide here among this feeble pack of hardscrabble survivors. They have found a new vampire somewhere, and once again elected him mayor; probably Osp, come round again for another try. I will have to deal with that. Dark One is the worst... he thinks I do not see him watching me. He thinks I don't know. Soon we will see who knows. He tries to control things with his dream spirits, Ezum tells me. Foolish dwarf. The dead don't dream. I see you.
***
Hematite, 1060As summer began, a mason began to show signs of an approaching masterwork. I recognized the signs. We spoke over dinner; I made seemingly random small talk, dropping hints and whispers. The next morning:
We shall see if my hints were successful. Now for the bloodsucking mayor.
Well, that was easy. The worst part about it is that the new vampire, though walled up in a hole, had completed the paperwork with the capital; the liaison waited for almost half a year to meet with him. My efforts came too late:
This is why we can't have nice things here. I hope the consequences won't prove too dire. I have corpses to render.
Later: My efforts were successful beyond my wildest dreams! The mason produced a true masterwork... exactly what was needed. Ezum will be pleased. Not only was the altar completed, now the revival chamber is done as well. The Gulf of Severity indeed! Soon we shall see some good times here, it and I.
In the meanwhile, Skaia produced a masterwork commemorating one of the first elections in Doomforests:
Anguished corruption. An apt name. I think he is trying to say that he knew what was coming all along.
In the middle of the party in celebration of Skaia's masterwork, word came down that the tallboys were here.
Skaia was so drunk he could barely stand, but despite that managed to get us some lovely flour, cheese and other useful edibles in exchange for ragged old clothes. Clearly Ezum is not the only magician in this place... I will never know how the traders do that. Guild secret, I suspect.
Malachite, 1060Busy, busy dwarves. The chamber is almost complete. Progress is being made on sorting the vast piles of detritus in the deep halls; I have begun marking some of the main fortress for reclamation.
The smiths in the foundry warn me that we are running dangerously low on iron ore. Easily fixed, since hematite is everywhere here. After some initial surveys and divinations, I determine where a proper vein is and order it mined out:
That should last us for a bit. While the miners were gathering their equipment I was told that one of the hunters... what? He what?
I ordered him whipped. That should prove instructive both to the hunters who make ridiculous excuses, and to those who carry tales about such foolishness. All day, I get runners informing me of the most pointless information... who cares about the giant bat?
It's in a cage, isn't it? Would you like to be in the cage with it? No? Then shut up about the bloody thing! The animal trainers are busy carrying useful items, unlike some dwarves who prefer to carry only tales and gossip! Be off with you, and I'd better see something heavy in your hands the next time my eyes fall on you, or it's the hammer for you!
One runner brought some excellent news: MaxCat is a proud new mother, having given birth on the 23rd.
When I received word of that, I was standing in the main hall of old Doomforests, supervising the removal of a microcline block stockpile. Shouting echoed down the tunnels from the north; I thought we were under attack for a moment, but then the words were repeated closer "Migrants to the north!" At last! More
sacr inhabitants! We gained 6 more sets of hands:
No useful skills to speak of, but more haulers are welcome with the task I've set myself. The old dining hall has been cleared of rubble and items and cleaned.
Galena, 1060I see that some of the previous overseers had a rather dark sense of humor. I ordered the excess stone cleared from an area, and everyone began carrying the rocks this way and that like ants. I saw them throwing stones into the magma from the bridge; a pleasant sight. When I wandered closer and looked over the edge, however, I saw other dwarves far down the cliff face, throwing stones at random from a precarious walkway as magma flames and mist boiled up around them. What the...?
"Stop, you idiots!" I shouted. "What sort of thrice damned fool would stand on a little lip of rock right over the magma and throw a heavy boulder in it? Are you all mental?" A lot of sullen looks and mumbled answers later, I determined that a previous overseer had thought it would be "faster to get closer to the lava". Noone is confessing to giving that order or remembering who did it. I have my suspicions but regardless, I instructed everyone in no uncertain terms what would happen to the next dwarf I saw out on that damned ledge.
Later I always find out too late. Apparently I didn't stop the haulers in time. The last census revealed a sad absence:
I have known Fikod since he got here last year. Despite being thick as two planks, he wanted to be a good mason. I ordered a memorial carved for him and put up on that stupid lip of rock that killed him; if I find out who designated that catwalk as a dump zone I will have them killed on the monument to consecrate it.
Work on grandfather's project is coming along well. The area is prepared; emeralds were found in the making, which made me laugh; I used the largest flawless one as a focus for old times' sake. I have processed almost a third of the dead of old Doomforests; the emerald glows already. Soon.
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Topic: The Hastening of Doomforests (Read 452147 times)