We were condemned. Condemned to exile, condemned to a work camp that did not exist until we made it exist, condemned to be slaves, working under guard, forever.
All of us had well earned such wrath. We were the dwarves that would not stop violating export quotas, failed to make red diamond idols on demand, or had one hunger-induced tantrum too many. We were the dwarves who hung around in the hallways begging for work - any work - simply to survive. We were the vermin-eaters, the goblin-fodder, the warm bodies, the useless feeders.
They sent us out under guard far to the south, to the swamps on the human border, to be a source of revenue through trade for our King, lord of deep-delved Stibbomfeb Rir. When told of our destination deep in the wilderness by a overseer plyed with over-much Dwarven rum, our monitors all wisely decamped, taking with them enough of our food and drink that we prisoners faced the choice of starving in the swamps, fleeing to the nearest human village and begging...
or of trekking to the rocky crag of Palath-halir - "Diamondlucid" - and winning a place of our own.
1st Granite:
We are at Diamondlucid. Grateful to be alive, the seven of us still together form a circle and clasp forearms. As the rising sun glances golden over the mountain battlements and tints the weeping willows, we keel arm-clasped and offer thanks to Armok, god of our people.
"In this place of iron and diamonds, may we far-flung dwarves find work, for work is that without which we dwarves would cease to be. With ringing pick and hammer we will celebrate the beauty of this, the World-Mason's deep creation, all the days of our lives. In our birthing, in our delving, in our dying, Armok be with us."
1st Granite:
I am Ebe Cragions, one of the two miner-wrestlers in our party. I'm fond of spears (steal them all the time I do), lizards (haven't seen one for twenty years), eating giant toads (the only vermin I've never dined on), and barrels (because mommy told me that's where booze comes from).
In a moment of tipsy intoxication, we played the ancient game of Odd-pebble-out to determine our "leader". I picked the black rock and got the job. Although outcasts, we are still honest dwarves, and being crew leader of honest dwarves has had its privileges from time immemorable. I get to decide who gets what ... as long as I get least. I get to decide who does what ... as long as they feel like doing it. I get to drink my fill ... once everyone else has drunk theirs. I get to design the dungeon ... and the others get to laugh and change it. But, best of all, I'm the one everyone can blame.
Needless to stay, such awesome power has instantly gone to my head. I'm determined to stay in office as long as I can. I'll be writing up a diary of course, and, of course, everything I write on will be the subject of awed amazement. ... Just never mind at what.
Early Granite:
We're well-equipped with two picks and a battleaxe but food and drink are scarce. Just as quickly as I and unhandsome Thimeth break into the mountain, so does Thakom our carpenter tear apart our two wagons, cobble up a shop, and start making barrels just as fast as he can. We want booze, a lot of it, and quickly. Mason Cemir and Mechanic/Craftsdwarf Ongu hasten to build furniture, floodgates, and mechanisms, all meant to get us exactly two things: food and protection. Erod the Farmer/Herbalist is already hard at work in the nearby fields. Her task is to bring back anything that can be fermented and turned into liver-rotters of whatever sort. Only Farmer/Brewer As is idle, and she shan't have long to wait before the barrels she needs start rolling her way.
Our watchword: "Booze before breakfast!"
The local wildlife starts sniffing around. Although this particular beast is still far away, it could become a threat that all of us together might not survive. Time for a new watchword: "Traps by teatime!"
In mere days, our combined efforts begin to yield fruit. I've designed a short narrow entranceway as a compromise between efficiency and safety. Just beyond it is a short 3-wide corridor. It widens to five spaces further in, and will stay wide almost to the river. Two 7x6 rooms are intended to flank the entranceway, but it will be a long time (if ever) before they are actually dug. I intend to hold off deciding what the entranceway will look like for as long as possible, because ... well, I'd like to tell you that it's because I don't know enough about the mountain to perfect my master plan, but it's really because I didn't pay attention in "Fortress Defence" class. Boys are SO distracting.
Mid-Granite:
Cemir throws a rough-hewn bridge aross the river of the willows as we don't see a convenient ford anywhere near. This increases our risk ever so slightly, but we hope for some of the missing members of our original work-gang to trickle in eventually and they'll need a place to cross. Some traders would also be nice; this site is near several small towns and villages who are all short of what we dwarves can make. The fact that the closest population center is a dark fortress mustn't be dwelt on just now.
Now, willows are pretty, but we dwarves (unlike a certain pointy-eared forest folk) understand that there are far more beautiful things then willows to be made out of willows. Like booze barrels, yes! So the river of the willows is about to be logged out. Carefully.
Speaking of intoxicants, we've now brewed up lots.
Now that we have enough sustinence to keep us doing, we need to get everything inside the fortress. Erod has managed to gather precisely one plant in 14 days, so she is told off to food-hauling detail; she will help move our operations deeper into the safety of the interior, one step at a time. Tables and chairs are about to be set up near the food, I am making a beeline for what we all devoutly hope is a source of water for irrigation safer than the outside river, and Ongu is making heavy work (in more than one way) of some stone-fall traps at the gateway.
... And the first liquid merriment gets drunk. Things are definitely looking up! We shan't share any with the skeletal leopard just arrived; he'd probably insult the vintage.
Late Granite:
The bone-cat decides to investigate all that chopping near the river. We're gratified by the interest, but are somewhat embarrased not to be able to host a reception worthy of so distinguished a guest. Mortified at our social faux pas, we cancel all our woodcutting and timber hauling and whip up a cage to confine our smelly livestock well away from his refined nose. Sniffing in disdain, he turns away before crossing the river.
It's water! Too much water! I clumsily bore into a damp patch of rock and am propelled backwards by a raging bore of liquid that flings me up against the safety door clever (but still unhandsome) Thimeth installed behind me. He smirks as I stumble, sopping wet and most ungrateful, up the corridor towards the others. Boys are SO annoying.
Early Slate:
A month come and gone and we didn't get to do half our itinerary. Thimeth and I are busily digging to make up for lost time.
Everything and everyone is now inside the mountain, except for Thakom, who is still turning out cages, barrels, and the like just outside the entrance. The booze is safe! Well, as long as I'm around it's not safe, but hey, unlike the leopards I'm a grateful tippler. Things are progressing well inside. Both of our farmers continue to set up furniture; we now have a barracks to sleep in and are just now securing the livestock. The entranceway now has one cage and two stone traps, which should amuse party-crashers until we can set up a reception more suited to their deserts.
Hmm. A moat might not do us much good.
It's food time, and we dwarves like turtle. Except the bones and shells. As the farmer realizes that she is throwing away perfectly good craftworking material and sets up a new stockpile for bones and shells inside. She hastens to gather in all that sneaked past the door.
Mid-Slate:
We're going like a house afire near the cave river. A floodable farm, a still, a kitchen, a anti-flood door/wall, and a temporary bridge are all in progress here. Our main food stockpile is about to be transfered; seeds will be stored inside the farm for ready access. Plump helmets, heeeere we come!
<<Thimeth>>
The future offers a more grandiose vison, a vison of three mighty seige engines flinging steel-tipped death at all who would dare to pass the front gate! I will Insist on my beloved ballistas and their magnificent glinting arrows being used EXCLUSIVELY! None of those scummy catapults in MY fortress!
[ September 25, 2007: Message edited by: Fedor ]
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Topic: Diamondlucid: A Succession Game (Read 8522 times)