Tale of Kikrost late Timber
Having apparently followed the caravan, six other dwarves arrived in the midst of the trade season seeking to join us. In addition, two clutches of eggs I had instructed my farmers not to disturb finally hatched, and the adorable little ducklings have been a happy and welcome sight waddling about.
Shortly after arriving, however, one of our newest citizens, a talented young tailor, got a far-away look in his eyes...
Always keen to study the unusual extremes of dwarven behaviour, Ash followed him for me to see what he was up to.
The textiles quadrant was a recent expansion. I was very pleased to think that a true artisan might establish its legacy with an inspired piece. However, after rearranging the entire workshop, he did not move from his place except to peer out suspiciously from time to time.
Nervous, I approached Kikrost. He did not seem to see me, but only muttered that he needed cloth and bricks for the beloved water.
I glanced with some concern from Kikrost to the pig tail cloth stacked by the loom nearby. I heard Ash's voice behind my shoulder, and the sound made me jump.
"He does not see them," he whispered. I could see it was true. Kikrost looked through them like empty air, just as he did through me.
Ash came to my office the next week, and advised me that Kikrost would not be persuaded to step away from the clothier's workshop for food, drink or sleep, and fought off any attempt to remove him. Someone had brought a portion of one of Eric's fine roasts to the workshop instead, but Kikrost did not see it.
"He sees nothing now but Aromarel. All else that could be done for him has been. There is only one thing left."I dismissed Ash, with a knot in my stomach, and sent Eric back to the traders with another roast to ask after fine silks and homespun wool. It could be, I hoped, that pig tail was merely not exotic enough to catch our guest's eye.
But the merchants were gone, and I could not run fast enough to catch them up.
As a precaution, I bid my masons prepare for the worst. But I would not give up. I feared for Kikrost, sitting still and glancing around with sunken eyes as his stomach grumbled and he stared right through the food that had been brought him. He was a young dwarf, not even sixty yet, but those who had arrived with him attested to his skill at his trade and the brightness usually in his eyes. Now he seemed old and withered.
I met with Kivish and Tun, who had some experience in textiles, and begged them to see if they could make cloth out of horsehair, or any other material we had available. Kivish told me frankly that it could not be done. Horse hair is unfit for weaving, only sewing, and we have no animals here that bear wool.
I sent Finch, and another of our newer dwarves who seemed he might do some good with the new pick we'd traded for, to dig a long, long tunnel, sloping down. It would be a risk, of course, but if we could by chance find a cavern, we may find silk along with it.
I was too late.
I almost think that after that first heavy blow to the head, the madness went out of him. He seemed to fight out of fear rather than rage after that, and I think I heard him call out. But Ash had told me that a madness like this does not die once it takes hold. He knows the mysteries of a dwarf's mind better than I do.
Still, I am still the leader of Arelnog Nebfeshfesh Emuth. I take responsibility for waiting upon Kikrost's madness, and also for failing to save him. The words I had not wanted to hear ring in my ears. There is only one thing left.
There is no joy in leadership this day.