The results of the election were in, and the future of Crownhammers rested now in the hands of another. The afterparty - mandatory after all public affairs of state in dwarven culture - had started in the dining hall, moved on to the Cloudsculler, and died down at some point in the late hours of the evening. Half-drunken layabouts wandered the halls, trying to find their own sleeping quarters and probably getting the door wrong a couple of times before finding their own beds. The only dwarves that weren't even slightly plastered in the early hours of the year 203 were the ones with something to hide.
Them and the pregnant lady, of course. She walked to her old quarters, deep underground, forgoing her room with Bembul aboard the Cloudsculler in favor of the comfort of old stone in the final stretch of her term. Though she hid it from everyone, Bembul included, Atir was beyond tired of the way the other dwarves looked at her, the way they presumably talked behind her back. Dwarves married for life, after all, and only had children with their spouse. But there she was, unmarried yet carrying a child. A 'wee bairn', as Bembul sometimes said.
Bembul's attitude over the past few months had been baffling, to say the least. She was still young by dwarven standards, but she had often noticed how prospective fathers changed due to the impending bundle of joy, for better or worse. With Bembul, there was no such change. He didn't even seem to be warming up to her, much less opening up. Would he be a good father like this? Would he be there for her at all?
She was thinking on their child's future as she crossed the threshold into her room. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.
Bembul sat on her bed. He smelled of heat and metal. Beside him was a curious structure built of silver, filled with intricate yet smooth reliefs and figures. It took her a moment to understand that it was a cradle.
"Bembul, did you make this?"
"Aye," he said as he stood up. "I figured we were gonna be needin' it soon. Gotta have somewheres ta poot our child at night, ye ken?"
Atir was taken aback. He had never referred to the baby as 'their' child. It was always 'the' child, far more impersonal.
"You mean...?" She couldn't finish the sentence.
"Aye, lass." He took her smooth hands in his rough ones. There was still soot on them. "I'm here fer ye."
She tried to reply. Words escaped her. She kissed him instead.
They lay down together for the night. She felt her worries melt away even as sleep overtook her. She dreamed of a bright future with her beloved sailor and their child, in a place where the birds were alive and harmless and it rained water instead of blood.
She noticed his absence as soon as she awoke. She glanced around and immediately noticed that the cradle was gone. So were many of her personal effects. Upon a quick yet groggy inspection, she noticed that everything that could have conceivably been used as a weapon was gone. She put on her work clothes and tried going outside. On the other side of the door was no hallway, but a wall of smooth stone.
She had been walled inside her own room. A panic threatened to take her then, but it was quickly superceded by something else. A curious feeling, a will outside of her own. It commanded her to look around, to find a sharp object. There were none. The presence loomed over her, primitive, incoherent, yet stronger than anything she'd ever felt. It took over and pushed her to the back seat.
She felt like she should cry, or shout, or slump into a corner. She couldn't. Her limbs weren't responding, though she knew she was moving in some way. She felt something seize up within her womb. The pain was overwhelming.
The baby was on its way.
They had all been made aware of the orders. Watch the hallway with the walled-in room. Stay mostly out of sight. Change watch every six hours. Nobody outside of Balor and the Whalers knew what was going on, but it pays to be safe. Especially now with that lunatic Monarchist going around spewing propaganda.
Reg's first watch came up on the second day. He lurked out of sight in a dark hallway, where he could keep constant watch without being ambushed. Now it was just a matter of waiting for six painfully boring hours and hoping nothing went wrong.
Reg picked himself up off the floor. His skull throbbed like someone had been ringing it with a hammer for the better part of a week. What the hell happened? He had been standing by out of sight, watching the hallway where Atir was walled in, and next thing he knows...
That thought jolted him fully awake. He ran to the walled-up room, praying to the Old Dwarf that nothing had happened while he was out. How long was that, anyway?
His hammering heart took an abrubpt stop when he reached the room. The wall had been torn down from without, not merely deconstructed. On the verge of panic, he ducked his head through the doorway. No sign of Atir. Someone had broken her out.
Oh, shit. Oh,
shit.
He dashed through the halls of Crownhammers, dodging farmers and haulers on his way to the Cloudsculler's upper floors. He barged through the hatch into the Admiral's office, expecting to find him alone as always. He was about to start calling for him when he saw Balor sitting at one of the wooden chairs, next to Taran himself. She was saying something about Xan, as far as Reg could tell, but quickly held her tongue once she saw him.
He tried to muster words, but the Admiral beat him to it. "Reg," he said in a tone that froze the blood. "I trust ye have an excellent reason ta abandon yer post."
Reg choked on his own words. The Admiral's piercing glare wasn't helping matters. He finally managed to stammer out, "Someone broke down the wall."
He had never seen anything move so fast. The Admiral was out of his seat and dashing past him before he could even give a detailed report.
Nobody had seen the Admiral for two days. Likewise his right-hand dwarf Bembuland his lass Atir. Though business carried on as usual, things were oddly silent down in the workshops without the steady rhythm of Taran's saws and hammers, and drink night aboard the Cloudsculler was infinitely more boring without his tales.
Of the entire fort, only Reg, Perseus and Balor knew the truth. The two elder Whalers had gone for a prolonged swim in the ocean of blood, seeking the vanished Atir. Reg reported from the crow's nest every few hours, always with the same information. No sign of either of them. They didn't even come up for air. He had never given Balor any details about the Drowned, not even that they had been trapped beneath the ocean for years. But what if they were no longer immune to drowning?
He sighted Bembul on the third day. He emerged from the rising tide like a wraith from the deepest ocean trench, drenched to the bone and looking hollowed out. In his arms he carried an extraordinarily pale-looking Atir, the swell gone from her belly. He made for the ship with a shambling, twitchy gait. His sunken eyes and deathly pall frightened every dwarf he crossed. A dozen dwarves looked up from their mugs and plates to watch the Whaler limp by, their conversations dropping to a hush as if they were afraid he would hear them and lash out like a wild animal.
Bembul ascended the staircase to the sleeping quarters and deposited Atir on their bed. Reg and Balor followed him in. Perseus stood in front of them, utterly confused, spear ready to strike in case things went awry.
The sailor craned his head around to look at them. He looked dead. He opened his mouth to speak, but a torrent of murky water spilled out instead. He fell to his knees, wretching. When he finally managed to speak, it was in a choked voice, far less vivid than his usual jovial boom.
"She lives," he said before pitching sideways. "I could nae find her afore th' birth, but at least she lives."
Perseus called out from the doorway. "Bembul, are you feeling okay?"
The dwarf tried to chuckle from his position on the floor. All he managed was a watery gargle. "I've nae had food nor drink fer three days. No, I dun feel okay. Now quit yer fuckin' gawpin an' help her, will ye?"
Reg helped Bembul to his room while Balor set about examining Atir's condition. Her vitals seemed stable, though her breathing was shallow. A blackened umbilical cord protruded from between her legs. It looked to have beem torn apart at the end, then chewed on by fish. She was halfway through removing it when a familiar voice sounded from the hallway.
"Where is she?"
Perseus could hardly believe her eyes. The dwarf before her was definitely the Admiral, yes, but he looked older. Far older, perhaps a century. Though his hair retained its color, the lines on his faced had deepened to pits. His tan seemed to have faded to nothing. She half-stammered, "Are you alright, Admiral?"
"I'll be fine, lass," came the monotonic reply. "Jus' need ta rest. But nae until I know how Atir is doin'."
"Balor is working on her, sir," Perseus said.
The Admiral managed to mouth 'good' before turning around and dragging himself up the stairs. Perseus tried to help him up, but the Admiral shrugged her off. Once at the top, he locked himself in his quarters. He would only emerge on the following day, looking exactly as he did before his prolonged swim.
Taran made his way to the hospital with Bembul in his wake. He barged through the door and made a beeline for the single occupied bed. Atir's. She was sound asleep, snugly tucked in blankets up to her chin. Even so, she looked pale and exhausted, and her breathing was shallow.
Taran shifted his gaze to Balor, who had gotten up from her desk at their intrusion. "How's th' lass?" He sounded unperturbed, but there was no denying the sorrow on his face.
"She had a lot of water in her lungs," the Legionary replied. Bembul cursed. "She'll be fine though, just needs a few days to rest. Even the birth seems to have left her unharmed. What I can't vouch for is her mental state."
"Whaddyemean?" It took Balor a moment to get through Bembul's thick accent to understand the words.
"She woke up a few times since. I tried talking to her, but all she does is cry. Silently. I'm no expert here, but I do believe she's depressed."
"I... see." Bembul's shoulders visibly slumped. He fell to his knees besides the bed, resting his forehead on the pillow next to Atir's face.
"Bembul, I'm sorry," Balor said, putting a hand on the old sailor's shoulder.
"T'is fine, doctor," he replied with the barest hint of a tremble in his voice. "I'm jus' glad she'll make it. I'll worry aboot th' rest later. Now, could ye... could ye gimme a few moments?"
"Of course." Balor motioned with her head toward Taran, indicating the back room of the hospital. The two of them went in and she shut the door behind them. If past experience was anything to go by, Taran fully expected another slap across the face.
What he got was an accusing glare instead. "Care to explain to me how you survived for three days in the ocean without coming up for air?"
"I'm nae certain meself." Well, that reply did nothing to ease her mood. "Ye already know that me an' Bembul are Drowned. I cannae give ye th' details, not in a place what isn't secured, but I will tell ye this. Our sea gods want somethin' from th' two of us. Until they get it - whatever th' hell it is - they'll nae let th' waters take us."
"Fine then." Taran wasn't sure if she was convinced. "What about Atir then? She was gone as long as you were. Are you telling me she's Drowned too now?"
"Ach, nae, that's easier ta explain. Bembul found her floatin' a few miles north o' here."
Balor seemed a bit less likely to strike him then. He pursued another topic. "What aboot th' wall? Any news there?"
"One of my agents examined the place. I didn't tell him what it was for. He says the wall was taken down from the outside, but that's all the evidence he could find. Couldn't even get anything out of passersby."
Taran cursed. "So now what?"
"Now we get back to work. I have a patient to attend to, you know."
They returned to the main hospital room to find Bembul standing by the bed. He looked much calmer on the surface, save for the fists balled tight enough to make his knuckles white. The two Whalers departed without so much as another word, leaving Atir is Balor's care.
It was only once they reached the meeting room of the Whalers that they spoke again.
"So now I s'ppose we sit on our arses an' do fuckall aboot this?"
"Nothin' o' th' sort, Bembul. We'll be busier than ever."
"How d'ye reckon, sir?"
"We've got ta find us a certain bilge rat an' have a chat with it. Though I do hope ye're th' one what catches it fairst."
"Why?"
"Fucker won't live if I'm th' one who finds him."
Bembul hadn't seen the Admiral this agitated in years. Not since he'd disembowelled the rapist all those years ago. There was no mistaking the fury on his face.
The Whalers were on the warpath now.
Miners, Furnace Operators and Strand Extractors
4 Miners, 1 Furnace Operator = 5
(6 Ore Types * 3) + (2 Caves * 2) + (1222 Non-Alloy Bars / 10) + (65 Alloy Bars / 5) + (2 Strands / 2) + (19 Wafers * 1) = 122.2 + 13 + 1 + 19 = 155.2 / 5 = 31.04 Per Dwarf
Carpenters, Masons and Blacksmiths
3 Carpenters, 3 Masons = 6
(81 Civilians with Bedrooms * 1) + (10 (175 Available Seats for 81 Dwarves)) = 91 / 6 = 15.16 Per Dwarf
Jewellers, Craftsdwarves and Broker
8 Jewellers, 8 Craftsdwarves, 1 Broker = 17
(31673 Dorfbucks Traded / 50) + (3 Craftsdwarf Artifacts * 5) + (1 Artifact * 20) = 633.46 + 15 + 20 = 668.46 / 17 = 39.32 Per Dwarf
Farmhands, Fishers and Hunters
23 Farmhands, 1 Fisher = 24
(62 + 41 + 18 + 1157 + 1 + 636 Uncooked Food / 15) + (2068 Drinks / 10) + (1717 Prepared Meals / 5) - (81 Citizens * 2) = 127.66 + 206.8 + 343.4 - 162 = 667.86 - 162 = 515.86 / 24 = 21.49 Per Dwarf
Clothiers and Leatherworkers
1 Leatherworker (and a bunch of moonlighting clothiers) = 1
(81 - 17 Clothed Civilians) - (0 Naked Civilians) + (1 Artifact * 20) = 64 + 20 = 84 / 1 = 84
Ministry of Defense
17 Soldiers
(0 Enemy Units * 10) + (60 Hostile Animals * 5) + (2 Great Beasts * 20)
- (6 Citizens Killed * 10) - (4 Citizens Injured * 2) = 0 + 300 + 40 - 60 - 8 / 17 = 272 / 17 = 16 Per Dwarf
Historians (Engravers and Bookkeeper)
2 Engravers, 1 Bookkeeper = 3
(0 Engravings * 1) + (0 Slabs * 1) + (5 Accuracy * 1) = 5 / 3 = 1.6 Per Dwarf
Animal Trainers and Caretakers
2 Trainers/Caretakers
(0 Animals Assigned * 1) + (3 Exotic Species * 20) + (32 Trained Animals * 2) = 0 + 60 + 64 = 124 / 2 = 62 Per Dwarf
Doctors (and Chief Medical Dwarf)
1 Doctor, 1 Chief Medical Dwarf = 2
(1 Major Injury * 10) + (2 Minor Injuries * 5) - (2 Lingering Deaths * 20) = 10 + 10 - 40 = -20 / 2 = -10 Per Dwarf
The Leader, The Mayor, The Noble and The Monarch
1 Mayor
(0 Insane Dwarves * -20) = 0
Weaponsmiths and Armoursmiths
2 Weaponsmiths, 1 Armorer = 3
(17 Fully Equipped Soldiers * 9) + (0 Bolts for Hunters* * 2) + (1 Artifact * 20) = 153 + 20 = 173 / 3 = 57.66 Per Dwarf
*We have no hunters.
Mechanics and Architects
Huh. We appear to have none of these.
The Fellowship of Equals
1 Armorer + 3 Farmhands + 1 Soldier = 57.66 + (21.49 * 3) + 16 = 138.13
The Corporatists
1 Miner + 1 Mason = 31.04 + 15.16 = 46.2
The Union of Souls
2 Miners + 1 Engraver + 1 Furnace Operator + 1 Craftsdwarf = (31.04 * 3) + 1.6 + 39.32 = 134.04
The Might of Killing
3 Soldiers = (16 * 3) = 48
The Whalers
1 Carpenter + 1 Broker + 1 Weaponsmith + Craftsdwarf + 1 Farmer + Soldier = 15.16 + (39.32 * 2) + 57.66 + 21.49 + 16 - (8 Deaths * 10)= 188.95 - 80 = 108.95
The Legion
1 Weaponsmith + 1 Chief Medical Dwarf + 1 Jeweller + 1 Farmer + 1 Craftsdwarf = 57.66 + (39.32 * 2) - 10 + 21.49 = 147.79
Though there are only 3 of them, Balor counts twice due to medical duties and Urdim counts twice due to skills.
The Church of Armok
1 Animal Trainer + 2 Farmers = 62 + (39.32 * 2) = 140.64
The Coalition of Steel
1 Craftsdwarf + 1 Farmer = 39.32 + 21.49 = 60.81
Shem does not count, as she is a trader/hauler.
The Monarchists
1 Miner + 1 Animal Caretaker + Farmer = 31.04 + 62 + 21.49 = 114.53
Final Descending Ranking
The Legion
The Church of Armok
The Fellowship of Equals
The Union of Souls
The Monarchists
The Whalers
The Coalition of Steel
The Might of Killing
The Corporatists
Author
Topic: Crownhammers, the #1 undead, murderous bird sanctuary in the world (Read 69719 times)