Here it is, just before the deadline. For fun, see if you can't pick out which parts were written pre or post headache.
Part One: A Pig in a PokeUrkad made a sound somewhat resembling the cry of a giant cave swallow, and ran away as fast as her legs would carry her.
Honeymoon straightened herself up, regaining her composure.
“Well,” she said, addressing the assembled dwarves. “Looks like we need a new Overseer.”
There was a moment in which all eyes were on Icehold’s principle administrator, and then they turned away. Someone sneezed. People were suddenly very busy over their yeti and plump helmet stew. Honeymoon continued to stand there in the cavern dining hall while the lamp light caught the gem window center piece and cast rainbows across every downturned face.
“Oh come on,” she goaded. “I refuse to let this place die and sink into obscurity simply because no one was willing to step up. Last year everyone was clamoring for a piece of the action and now this?”
There was a polite cough from near stairs, one of the stairs, and the resident Professor spoke up. “Really it’s not that big of a job, there are only fifty… er… thirty of us left out here in the fortress, compared to what other Overseers face that’s hardly a task to tax any dwarf. Although,” he hastily threw up his hands as if to ward off the gaze of the handful of faces that had turned towards him, “I could not possibly take it on myself at this time. I simply could not continence any further interruption of my valuable work.”
There was a kind of collective shuffle and murmur.
“Maybe we should get the stick out again? Remember when we did the stick thing?”
“That’s how we ended up with that kid overseeing the place; that was a stupid idea.”
“Hey! That kid was the best Overseer we ever had!”
“Wasn’t he the one who built the mine cart track of perpetual death?”
“Well you don’t have to agree with every policy to still think someone was a great leader.”
“He’s gone though, like most of the kids.”
Recollection gradually shifted attention towards another former Overseer. The mysterious Captain of the Guard, Deus, was at that moment refilling his silver flask at the beer keg. He looked up as the murmuring subsided and he felt the group focus coalesce around him. He confronted this influx of hope with stony impassivity.
“May I remind you all that I fulfilled my term as Overseer a mere three years ago? You cannot expect me to save you every time. Indeed,” he went about the task of sealing his flask and tucking it away inside his armor in a deliberate slow manner that made it impossible for anyone observing to miss the recent bandaging and the obviously still painful wounds, “my last attempt at rescue was almost… my last.” He frowned, more concerned about the stylistic infelicity in his previous statement than he was about his recent brush with death, if truth was to be told.
Group awareness turned to the hero of the recent battle against the goblins. Shofet the Cannibal was diligently attempting to loosen a scrap of… something that had become wedged between his back teeth and failed to notice that he had become the subject of brief, horrified, mass contemplation.
“Has anyone seen Black Pat?” asked someone.
“She hardly ever comes out of the hospital anymore,” was the answer everyone already knew. Black Pat had exhausted her life’s supply of patience years ago.
Likewise, no one needed to bring up the Vesh worshipper. People like that had their place to be sure, the Eye Stabber was rumored to be a follower of the deity herself, but one didn’t want them in charge… or back in charge at any rate. The dwarf known as Lord Lubbie wasn’t hanging around the booze stockpile because he tended to spend all day out working in the fields until he collapsed; no one suggested fetching him.
“Wasn’t there another guy? From awhile ago…”
“Yeah, yeah, he was alright.”
There was an audible clunk as Neblime the Poacher dropped his stone mug on the table and sat up, alert.
“What was his name?”
The Poacher stood up.
“I remember, Zaneg wasn’t it?”
And then he sat back down, swiping the mug off the table with a single swat.
“I dunno, Zaneg’s pretty weird.”
“What makes you say that?”
“About five years of being married to her.”
“Oh...”
Unable to take much more of this, Honeymoon threw up her hands and walked out of the cavern. She stormed up to her bedroom and threw herself onto her bed where she spent a few soothing hours studying the design of the bedposts. Behind her, Icehold gradually subsided back into its accustomed quiet gloom.
~~~
DeMarco didn’t have friends any more. This wasn’t really a problem. It was because most everyone she’d really known had gone off with that weirdo, Onul, to The Place and so long as they were there, she wouldn’t have to watch them die. That was good. After what had happened to her sister, and her mom and her
… father, DeMarco was sick of watching people die. That said, it was important to know how to make small talk because if you didn’t people assumed you were having some kind of episode and that was how accidents happened. When everyone was feeling just a wee bit jumpy like this, it didn’t hurt to take an extra five minutes to discuss the weather. Not that the weather was ever any different.
Still, when she’d said ‘hello’ to the dead-eyed, ancient weaver woman sitting next to her she hadn’t meant anything by it. All she’d wanted was to get through the obligatory sanity litmus test in as quick a fashion as possible. How had she gotten into a gods damned conversation?
“There are few things left in life that truly irk me,” the weaver had announced, “small talk is one of them. I hate pointless chatter, such a waste of good words. If one is going to talk, one should truly communicate, don’t you think? True communication is an exchange of souls. So tell me, what are you in for?”
DeMarco gaped. “Are you nuts? You don’t fucking ask that, this is Icehold!”
“Really? I’ve never noticed anyone else being particularly coy about their history, except for maybe that Deus fellow.”
“That’s because nobody gives a shit about the past here. None of that matters, not since we were sent to die in this place. Who gives a flying fuck about any of it now?”
“I was simply making conversation. And anyway, as young as you are, I really doubt you were the one sentenced for any crimes, sent here with your parents weren’t you? We have a surprising number of children and families in this place.”
“Not that surprising really,” replied DeMarco. The severity of her scowl drew deep grooves on her face, prematurely aging her well past her actual sixteen years. “It’s bad blood, that’s all. Trouble runs in the family, that’s what my mum used to say, might as well send the brats up here and save time later. Most dwarves are born assholes anyway.”
“You make an interesting point,” said the weaver. She tilted her head and studied the young dwarf. DeMarco squirmed in her seat. She felt a deep need to look away from the dull depths of those eyes. She thought she had gotten pretty much inured to dealing with people who had a screw loose. “You agree with the Queen’s policy then? I always thought it was the duty of the young to question every decision made by their elders.”
“I don’t care what decisions anyone makes, it’s none of my business.” DeMarco hunched her shoulders forward and turned away from the old dwarf, pretending to focus on her meal even though the giant rat brain roast wasn’t really doing anything for her today. That was when the squealing caught her attention. Grateful for something to focus on that wasn’t an elderly dwaf with something missing behind her eyes or lukewarm congealing glop that was meant to be lunch, she craned her neck to see through the door.
Outside a burly dwarf DeMarco had seen around, in Icehold you saw everyone on a regular basis whether you wanted to or not, was leading a couple of war dogs and one loudly protesting pig towards the butcher’s block kept behind the chicken/duck/goose/helmet snake coop. There’d been a lot of this lately, Overseer Urkad had ordered a bunch of the animals butchered saying she couldn’t stand the mess or the noise they made. DeMarco had blocked it out, except something about this scene was… off.
“Hey wait a minute, isn’t that Honeymoon’s pig?”
The weaver peered through the door. “I confess one pig looks very much like another to me, though there aren’t many in this fortress to choose between so I suppose it must be somebody’s pig.”
“He can’t slaughter Honeymoon’s pets!” DeMarco was aghast. “There are rules against it and everything!”
“To paraphrase your charming idiom: this is Icehold, who gives a flying fuck about rules?”
Before she knew what was happening, DeMarco was on her feet and running towards the open cavern. Among dwarves, the tradition of the battle cry runs deep. There have been many uttered throughout the ages, some more inspiring than others but all of them delivered with passion. DeMarco drew in a breath that went all the way to her belly and bellowed with a force granted to her by the ancestors.
“Hey shitface! Unhand that pig!”
The dwarf turned towards her and raised the giant hammer in his hand, probably out of instinct but DeMarco skidded to a stop while she was still out of arm’s reach anyway. She recognized him now that she saw the hammer. He was Shorast, one of their kind-of-sort-of-masons. In Icehold a lot of dwarves were kind-of-sort-of various professions. He was big and tough and even less given to compassion and empathy then most of the fort’s populace. At the moment he was boggling at her in surprise but that would no doubt change if she gave it a chance to.
“Those animals aren’t part of the livestock, they’re Miss Honeymoon’s pets,” she said, hoping this would be all the explanation needed. It wasn’t.
“Bugger off kid, I’ve got my orders from the Overseer to do these in and be quick about it. Go play somewhere else or I’ll go upside your head first, teach you some manners.” Shorast grinned at her and waved the blood spattered butcher’s tool in her face. DeMarco forced all her joints to lock so that she neither cringed away nor stepped back.
“If by “the Overseer” you mean Urkad Gleamcloister, I believe she is no longer the head of Icehold as of last week.” The voice coming out of nowhere almost made DeMarco jump after all. She hadn’t realized that the weaver had followed.
“Who the fuck are you, old lady?” demanded Shorast.
“Thob Worldglove, creator of Egath Gembish the silk shoe, weren’t you in the meeting hall when Urkad… stepped down?”
“I was around when all that bullshit with the Queen Bee happened. You know what I didn’t see? Someone else stepping up, that makes Urkad the boss as far as I’m concerned.”
“Urkad’s a bully,” said DeMarco, “and if she told you to kill Honeymoon’s pets then she’s fucking sneak of a backstabber too.”
“Watch your mouth brat; you’re talking about your betters.” Shorast waved the hammer at DeMarco again. She caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and couldn’t help an instinctive flinch. Shorast’s leer grew broader still.
“I would hardly call a coward who sends the likes of you to do her dirty work for her anyone’s better,” said Thob.
“Shut up and sit down, dumb bitch.” Shorast sounded tired and bored. He tried to push his way past them but DeMarco managed to tangle herself in the leashes, by now both dogs were barking in counterpoint to the pig’s violent squealing. “Now look what you’ve done! I’m gonna have to tell the boss about this.”
“We’ve told you, ignorant clout, Urkad is no longer the boss,” replied Thob. Her face was preternaturally calm.
“Are you going to try to tell me that you are?” demanded Shorast.
For the first time, Thob took a step back. “Oh no, I don’t become… involved with politics these days.”
“I am,” said DeMarco. The blood was pounding in her ears and she felt a bit dizzy but she wasn’t about to back off, if you did that in a place like this you would never stop.
“You?” Shorast stared down at her. “You and what army?”
“She hardly needs an army. Tradition dictates that when the last Overseer fails to appoint a successor then the post is left open for the next person who volunteers for it,” said Thob.
Shorast snorted. “Who’s going to listen to her?”
“They will listen to me.” The declaration was delivered at normal volume, at some point the pig and dogs had stopped their protesting noise. Shorast whirled around and found himself face to face with the manager, bookkeeper, and de facto king maker of Icehold, Honeymoon Ashenchannel. He bent back, trying to put distance between himself and the heliotrope fire of her gaze. She leant towards him, smiling and scratching at her pig’s snout while he made happy grunting noises. “I know this wasn’t your idea Shorast, and you made me a mighty fine bed back in the day, so I’m going to let you walk away from this, but by bloody fucking Armok if I find you scathed so much as a hair on Mafol’s chin there will not be enough left of you to fill one of the Professor’s specimen vials. Do you understand me?”
“Yes Miss Honeymoon!”
“Good, run along now.”
Shorast dropped the leashes and his hammer and took off for the stairs at an awkward half jog, trying to pretend like nothing had happened. Thob Worldglove bent down and helped DeMarco disentangle herself while Honeymoon made a fuss over the pig and two dogs.
“Hush, hush, honey love, everything’s better now. And some guard dogs you turned out to be, still I’m glad you’re not supper, stringy things that you are.” She looked up and saw that DeMarco had finally regained her feet. “Thanks for stepping in there kid, I owe you one.”
DeMarco felt her face going hot, which was only more embarrassing. She stammered. “N- no, you don’t. It’s cool.”
The Queen Bee of Icehold stared back at her, her expression distant and calculating. “If you say so, but I’m probably going to owe you a few after this.” She stood up and cupped her hands to her mouth. “Ladies and Gentledwarfs we have a new Overseer, DeMarco Sealwashed!”
DeMarco’s mouth dropped open until Thob elbowed her in the back and she remembered to close it. The dwarves of Icehold stared at them for a moment or two and then went back to this business shuffling around the caverns. The show, at least for the time being, was over and life went on.
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Topic: Icehold, the Dwarven Prison: Overseers desperately needed! (Read 40269 times)