[I apologize for the delayed update, shenaniganry went down in meatspace.]
The dam repairs begin swiftly and effectively, and with the charcoal-makers having spent some time getting the poor quality cavern charcoal up to a more usable standard, it's likely rebuilding of the the metalwork will be done almost immediately, and with a higher-quality result than it began with. Manufacture of the generators was not hindered by the disaster, and by the time the repairs are finished, the turbines will almost certainly be ready for installation. Another week or week-and-a-half, at most.
Gwolfski continues spastically meddling in his workshop, having changed tack a surprising number of times, given this was a two-hour part of the the multi-month project.
Lord Porkins and his small group of soldiers make their way around behind the goblin group as they move closer.
The rest of the uninjured surface personnel split into two groups, one, smaller, remaining behind with the wounded, the other, larger and including the functional Homelanders, openly moves toward the goblins.
The two groups meet at last in the shadow of a small gravel-sloped hill, detectably so without direct sunlight because plants remain unseared.
The goblins a tiny, straggling party of obvious refugees with clothing and tools from the Iron Age, the dwarves most of a platoon in quality armor, recently cleaned clothes, and weapons almost of an alien world.
The goblins make no aggressive motions, seeming resigned. The Priest and his half-dozen warriors have the timeburned look the immortal races accrue when their age is measured in centuries rather than years. Skin roughened, hair drained of color. The others, around fifteen of them, appear to be young females with their smaller siblings or children-in-arms. Another distinctly notable thing is the omnipresent of burn wounds. It would appear this group was caught without the shelter of dwarven walls when the Dancer fell, one even has the blank eyes of one who stared into the flash.
The dwarves meet a similar scrutiny. Heavily equipped, but not overly threatening. Some plainly unaffected by the Fall, but others with crisped beards and armor smeared with soot and the blood of their own.
The Priest steps forward and speaks in an unpracticed, archaic pidgin variant of Dwarven, voice rough with exhaustion and timeburn.
"Seek not find battle here. Seek find asylum here. Sacred Name dies to burn all. Chldren burned. Saw Sacred red Star rising. Thought sign-sacred bring hope. Knew cruel-steel-dwarves fortify here. Saw fallen fortify. Saw plume of burning fields. Thought cruel-steel-dwarves burned too. Thought burned help burned. Thought burned children more than battle-honor. Thought burned children more than steel."
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Topic: If Bay 12 was a fortress Part 3: RETURN OF THE CHAOS (Read 235183 times)