"Welcome to nowhere," we greeted the new immigrants. Each year, we got a new group of two dozen or so; each year, we directed the woodworkers to the barracks. Only Armok knows why woodworkers are coming to the tundra, but they are. As I led them to the barracks, I saw an Elite Wrestler - a squad leader, in fact - grinning at the three new recruits. He had done well for himself, for having once been a woodworker.
--
One of the newbies asked me what was behind the locked door behind the storage room.
"Elves," I answered. The newbie, a milker who had been instructed to do milling, gave me a strange look. "Elves," I repeated, in case I hadn't been heard the first time. The craftsdwarf asked if they were trading.
"Were. In the past tense. They aren't any more. The crafter asked why.
"Well, our glorious leader - that's what she demands you call her, by the way, ever since your group showed up and she declared herself first mayor - anyway, she thought it'd be funny to pull up the bridge we have for wagons and lock the door in behind the storeroom. A muskox wigged out last week and the place now stinks of elf corpse. Well, I for one dislike elves, but even I feel sorry for them dying like that." I turned and went to resume digging out the graveyard our Glorious Leader asked for.
--
Oh god. I know what the graveyard is for. We're let it out today. A squad of three elite wrestlers are getting ready to fight the muskox.
--
That was fast; they killed it before I could finish digging the graveyard. I guess the elves are just pansies. I mean, for Armok's sake, their donkey outlasted both of them.
--
"Ooh, look at me! I'm your glorious freakin' leader!" she screams. "Go build me two more rooms, bring that corridor into my main room, and SMOOTH AND ENGRAVE EVERYTHING! I'm your glorious pompous pretentious self-important leader! No exports on bolts pleaaase!" What's wrong with her? Bolts and metal have always been too scarce on this forsaken tundra outpost to export and her leadership had not qualified her for those rooms at all!I covered her room in pictures of elves and the muskox. And a few renditions of my first image of waves. And a couple of our grandmaster wrestlers beating down the muskox. But I hope she's disturbed by eating around countless depictions of violence. That's what she gets for ordering a door studded with rose gold and trifle pewter. And sorting out all the bloodstained cloth from the caravan is going to take forever. Our Glorious Leader should go help with that.
As written late 1053 to be sent with the next Dwarven caravan.
[ January 23, 2008: Message edited by: Pandarsenic ]
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Topic: Dispatches from Ushilitat Mondul Cabnul (Read 719 times)