Part VI:Complaining Citizens
Early Winter, 385A flock of ravens was sighted circling above the South Gate when winter came. Once again, the capybaras deliberated and wondered what did the black birds portend this time around. Perhaps in the coming year new runts would be born? There had been no births this year, so it was something many hoped for. Those of a more gloomy disposition said it was most certainly an ill omen if anything, but that kind of talk was generally dismissed and frowned on.
Regardless, work slowed down to a crawl, and preparations for the coming Winter Festivities were made. The last of the detritus from the sewers had been cleared, and come spring, engineers would make the finishing touches to the waterworks. Surely the sewers would be functioning by the end of summer. It would make life in Waterlures more pleasant and less smelly. And there would be one thing less Outpost Liaison Tirist could complain about!
22nd of Moonstone, 385Alåth Clearednet, the dwarf leader of the Ochre Snarls, stood watch at the Temple Gate. It was a cold day and snow fell from the sky. Alåth had been feeling a bit lonely lately, and it didn't help that she was all by herself on guard duty. Mostly her life in Waterlures was satisfying and pleasant, but the winters were something that always reminded of her loneliness. While others were merry with friends and family during the festivities, she usually ended up sitting in a corner, drinking alone. She did have friends, though not any particularly close ones, and that really wasn't the problem. What she most lacked in life was a family of her own. It was one of her greatest dreams in life that she, too, would one day have one.
Alåth snapped out from her thoughts as she saw something scurrying across the snow from the corner of her eye. She turned to look and there was a small fluffy hamster rushing to and fro, burrowing in the snow, peeking out, making a dash for some food scraps or whatnot and then rushed back to hiding.
“Say, little one,” Alåth bent over to get a closer look of the rodent. She pulled out a piece of bread and crumbled it on the snow. “You look like you're in need of something to eat. Here have some.”
It always cheered her up when she helped someone, no matter how tiny they were.
24th of Moonstone, 385“Yes, indeed. Most unfortunate thing, but such is the cycle of life, that eventually our mortal bodies fail,” Tirist Brasshandles said solemnly to the capybara woman Astesh. The outpost liaison had stayed longer in town than usual, but he was soon to leave. He was with Astesh in the uppermost gallery encircling the main hall of the Enchanted Bridge, talking about matters related to the Creed of Adventuring, one of the sects formed around the worship of Ôsed.
“So true, so true,” Astesh said with a nod. “The soul of His Holy Lapiness, the First Wind Cerol, is now shining among the brightest of Stars. He is at peace now, dancing aside Almighty Ôsed.”
“Well said, Astesh. Well said,” the outpost liaison said with a smile. “Aah, it is good to talk with a fellow worshipper. And I am sorry that word of the First Wind had not reached your ears. I am certain I told mayor Fecici about it two years ago. I am aware of the importance of the Great Doe to many in Waterlures, so I would not have left it out. Perhaps Fecici forgot to mention of it then? There were much news and other things we went through, after all.”
“Worry not. I know of it now, though the news saddens me,” Astesh said somewhat melancholy. “And who might be the successor, the next First Wind, if I may ask?”
“Ah, it is one Geshud Puzzlevessel who was anointed,” Tirist said and went on telling all he knew about the head of the religion—embellishing it quite a bit and making up things where he forgot the details.
As Moonstone neared its end and midwinter approached, it was time for the yearly Winter Festivities. Throngs of capybara folk and other denizens of Waterlures began to stream into the Fruit of Letters, packing it to the point of bursting. The smells of cooked foods, spilled beer, stale sweat and wet fur mingled, making the more sensitive noses twitch with irritation. The air was warm and humid, but it was better than being out in the snow and cold.
And so stories were told, songs were sung, prayers said, merry was made and meals were had. Though the meals were nothing quite like what old Kib Spearmobbed used to make—or so said Dôbar Tombhold of her grandmother's cookings.
Early Spring, 386Spring arrived and with it the Winter Festivities were over. It was time to return to daily life and toil.
But—alas!—it was to be the second spring in row that the shadow of Abod fell upon Waterlures. Asmel Earthenlures the hoary marmot woman and Mestthosite monk had come to the end of her journey. A stout defender of the town with her bare paws, she died peacefully at the age of sixty-four. She would be sorely missed by her comrades, and her friendliness and compassion would surely be remembered.
Yet it was not only Asmel who passed away. Id Pucefloor the naked mole dog man, loyal to Ïteb the gorlak prophet, wasted away at the age of seventy-four. His life in Waterlures was a sad one. It was one of unfulfilled desires—the result of his unhealthy sense of duty—and one of loneliness, a life without friends. But such things were not known to the others, for he kept his own counsel and none knew what was hidden within his heart.
18th of Granite, 386The lake had thawed, but the ground was still covered in snow when the spring caravan from Ula Tefe arrived. The elves led their reindeer and mules into Waterlures through the Hill Gate—not quite their usual route—and across the walkways to the Trade House. The citizens of Waterlures scurried off to fetch goods for trade, and Atír prepared himself to haggle with the forest dwellers, hoping that this year they might have something interesting to offer.
6th of Slate, 386“Oh, I don't know, Sibrek... It feels like sacrilege!” Astesh lamented, tears in her eyes. She had run to Sibrek's home after hearing news that the old unfinished temple outside the town walls was to be torn down. “How could they? How can they do such a thing! It-it is so wrong!”
“Astesh, Astesh, please, try to understand,” Sibrek said soothingly, putting a paw on Astesh's shoulder. “The walls were all weathered, all but crumbling. It was becoming a danger, a hazard. You yourself said that it looked like falling apart, tree saplings pushing from between flagstone cracks. Think if children would go playing there and hurt themselves. What then? Who would be to blame? For once, I think it was right of the mayor to make such a decision.”
Astesh yanked herself away from Sibrek's touch, looked at him angrily and said, “I can't believe you are siding with mayor Fecici! Not finishing the temple to Ôsed in the first place was wrong. That was a horrible mistake! It is like this place has turned its back to the Great Doe, condemning their souls to the Prince and Darkness!”
“I... I don't know what to say,” Sibrek frowned and sighed. Clearly Astesh was upset and being all riled up, but, then again, it was true that for some reason the temple had not been completed. Had the citizens abandoned Ôsed? But that could not be true. There were many faithful in town, and they spent much of their spare time praying to the Rabbit in the Sky.
16th of Slate, 386“Look out!” Someone yelled from above.
Rin turned to look up, only to see planks speeding down towards him. Immediately he tried to jump aside, but he was too slow and his leg was hit by the spinning wood. It was but a glancing blow, though it was enough to knock him off balance, sending him plummeting down from the walkway.
—SPLASH!—Into the lake he fell, sinking straight to the bottom. Memories flooded his mind. Slipping and falling. Floundering in water, his mail weighing him down, dragging him into the depths. His lungs feeling like bursting, gasping for air—only to fill his lungs with water. Panic. Consciousness fading. Then death. Darkness... It was strange going through all the memories again, but it did not trouble him. Fear and such were something he could not feel any longer. And, besides, he could not drown, not this time, for he was not really alive.
Slowly he made his way to shore, walking on the muddy bottom of the lake.
18th of Slate, 386Sheriff Fayoba sighed and looked at the lamb and eggs in front of him. For some reason he had lost his appetite. Well, the reason was quite obvious, given what Ònul's son Tholtig Treatydreamed had come to tell him. Another theft. This time a ring, a family heirloom. And, once again, no leads, no nothing. How was he supposed to solve these cases? He couldn't just go around questioning every one, suspecting each and every citizen, like some had suggested he should. As long as he was sheriff he would frown upon such ideas. He didn't really care what others thought of him. If they thought he was lazy or incompetent, so be it then.
'If Rin were the assistant sheriff, things would be easier,' Fayoba thought,
'but he has no interest in it anymore.' Indeed, when Rin had returned, Fayoba had asked if he'd like his old job back. But Rin had refused. Perhaps he'd have to find a new assistant?
“Say, you wouldn't be interested in being a sheriff's little helper, would you?” Fayoba said to little Tholtig, who had stayed in his office and was now playing on the floor.
Tholtig turned to look at Fayoba, confused by the question.
“I was merely jesting, little one. Please, continue with whatever you're doing,” The sheriff said with a smile and chuckled as he imagined a five year old trying to solve crimes with him.
While Fayoba was pondering about thefts plaguing Waterlures, Dimbulb was stomping angrily down the walkways. The hippo man was furious, but that was his usual state of being these days. In fact, ever since the encounter with the giant coyotes, being wounded, and the shock of Pife's death, his emotional state had gone downhill. His anger was ever growing, like an avalanche. He was in a constant state of internal rage, and it was only a matter of time when he would explode in fury.
He reached the Oaken Gold—the guildhall—and slammed its doors open, treaded across the hall to the southern door. Osod looked up from one of the tailor's tables, away from his knitting, eyeing the hippo man. “Hello, Dimbulb,” the llama man said calmly. “Is there something wrong?”
Dimbulb didn't respond or look. He just waltzed out the doors back outside, banging them shut behind him. He was so mad, so mad that he felt like he soon needed to punch someone. If he had stayed any longer at the mayor's office, he surely would have punched the elf.
'He's so full of himself. Bossing folk around. Stupid elf! He makes me so angry!' Dimbulb fumed in his thoughts, imagining all sorts of different ways to beat up the elf, but soon he felt bad about thinking such mean things.
'By the gods, that was awful!' Mayor Fecici thought as he walked along the wooden walkways across the lake. He was feeling such contempt that he was uncertain he'd felt quite like this ever during his long, long life. He had tried his best to listen, to console, to find out what exactly was the problem, but... It was no use. The hippo man had to be one of the foulest and dumbest beings ever living in Minbazkar. Fecici had tried to remain calm, to keep his voice down, but there was only so much he could bear. The hippo man had the audacity to insult him, and to make matters worse, he did so in an unbelievably dim-witted way!
Though, he had to admit that he did feel pity and empathy. It was that he did not like being yelled at. Especially when there was no reason and Fecici had only tried to comfort him. Well, maybe it helped Dimbulb to vent out his anger at him. At least for the moment. It probably wouldn't be easy to find a solution to the hippo man's problems, to make him happy. Fecici would have to think about it for quite some.
20th of Slate, 386It was as if the gods themselves disapproved of the dismantling of the unfinished temple.
Etur Laborworth—the youngest of the Mestthosite monks—looked in horror as the scaffolding above him came crashing down along with the stones lain upon it. He was knocked off the boards and went tumbling down to the ground, air escaping his lungs as he impacted. Then horrible cracks and thuds as a stone block fell on his leg, another on his right shoulder and a third on his left paw, crushing it to smithereens. He was overwhelmed with stinging pain.
The pain was unbearable and Etur passed out, bruised and broken.
The elephant man monk Eman Crowglee carried poor mangled Etur to the infirmary. The capybara man was barely conscious, mumbling confusedly, but at least he wasn't bleeding any longer. He would survive, though it was still too early to tell how well he would recover. His leg and arms were a gruesome sight, crushed and twisted into unnatural positions.
“Do not fear, brother Etur,” Eman said to his fellow monk as he lay him on a bed of the hospice. “You will be in good hands soon. You are strong and you will pull through this. Rest, rest now. Mestthos be with you.”
“Um, are you sure you know what you're doing?” Etur asked nervously, as Osod examined his leg looking puzzled. Etur flinched as the llama man poked his leg with a finger, pain almost knocking him out.
“Hmm, the bone appears to be crushed into little bits,” Osod said gloomily, scratching his chin while his mouth was open. “The suturing was the easy part. I'm afraid I'll have to set the bone, then apply a cast. This might hurt a bit...”
It was an understatement. Were it not for the piece of wood Osod gave Etur to bite on, he would have screamed out loud when the llama man pushed the fractured bones together, massaging the small parts back in place or close enough. The operation felt excruciatingly long and Etur was barely conscious, drained of strength, when Osod finished his tormenting.
“There. It is almost as good as new,” Osod said, satisfied as he looked at his handiwork. He wiped his bloody and dirty hands on his tattered silk trousers, and continued, “I have to admit, I am a bit surprised how easily that went. It was the first time I did something like that.”
Etur whimpered, a mortified look on his face.
17th of Felsite, 386'Aw, that was so nice of Amane,' Coni thought as she walked through the furnace hall. She had bumped into the fairy and had stopped for a little chat. Coni was moved that Amane—who she barely knew—had confided in her with something she had never told anyone. It was quite touching, really. She could not but feel empathy when the fairy told of her arrival in Waterlures over a decade ago. It was just like when Coni had arrived—during a horrible late spring blizzard!
'Well, I do hope I won't be thinking of the snow storm and being all miserable about it in ten years,' the hamster woman thought. She suddenly stopped in her tracks and looked around. She was going the wrong way! She wasn't supposed to go the Fruit of Letters, but to the animal pens to see if any help was needed there. She had completely forgotten about it when she talked with Amane. How silly of her!
She turned around and headed back, chuckling to herself,
'If I continue this way, I'll soon be as scatterbrained as Amane is.'
7th of Hematite, 386Fecici was at his office, looking at the trinkets on display. The large gems had been replaced, but he was unsure if the new items were any better. The mortar and pestle made from polished green stone—malachite, the miners' had said—with all kinds of decorations were certainly more interesting, the bands of varying shades of green making captivating patterns naturally, but still perhaps not what the office needed. A cleaver and fork—both bronze—sat also on the plinth and the skull of a giant sparrow crowned the queer choice of knickknacks. The other pedestal had an assortment of books, but they were only copies of the originals and lacking in the quality of their illuminations.
'Now where is that hippo man?' Fecici thought as he picked up the bird skull to inspect it. He was waiting for Dimbulb, who once again had some complaints to make. Fecici was not eager to meet up with him and he was running out of patience. It was obvious that he'd be yelled at and called names for things that were not his doing. The mayor grumbled and put the skull back. He had better things to do, plans to make. Things to consider.
The sewers should be good to go by the time the autumn caravan and the outpost liaison came. It was now the beginning of summer, so there was plenty of time. The stronghold, however, was not progressing nearly as fast as it should have and Fecici was running out of excuses. Tirist will not be happy to hear that. Truth be told, Fecici was a bit suspicious of the whole building project. It was something that the
legitimate baron of Waterlures, under orders of the Unaging King himself, had commanded to be built. A stronghold, a living space, beneath the surface, in the safety of stone. It was to be a safety measure—a place to hole up in—if the worst came to pass: if the enemy lay siege on Waterlures and the walls did not stop them.
However, what baron Stukos required from the stronghold spoke of something else than a place to withstand a siege. The rooms and halls and everything else seemed like the plans for a small fortress. The halls were to be grand, the living quarters opulent. There needed to be places for work and places for leisure. Places for worship and places for study. Grand cavern gardens built in the underground quarry...
It all seemed as if someone was planning a place suited for a large amount of dwarves to live in. And it disturbed mayor Fecici. For if that was the case, things were bound to change once the 'stronghold' was completed.
12th of Hematite, 386“Yes, they should stop all the silly daydreaming,” Upu the snow leopard man said to baron Oddom. The two were on sentry duty at the South Gate, passing their time chatting idly of this and that. Somehow they had ended up discussing about romance and marriage, how some folks seemed to complain how they couldn't find true love, and how they yearned for a family of their own. Or, more precisely, it was what Oddom thought folk complained about.
“Indeed. It has worked out quite well with me and Istrul,” Oddom said, nodding his head. “It was a practical choice to marry, not one out of love. That is not to say that we do not care for each other. Quite the opposite, in fact. We have
grown to love each other. I do believe this way a relationship and family has stronger foundations than when based purely on romantic desires.”
“Spot on, spot on,” Upu agreed vigorously. “It is best to ground oneself in reality, not strive for some impossible fantasy. If one wants a family, then start one. There is no need for romance to make it happen.”
And so the two went on for quite some time, agreeing and backslapping each other, bolstering their confidence of being right in the matters of this and that.
As was expected, merchants from the Just Union came to Waterlures during early summer. Somehow it still managed to catch everyone off guard:
“The humans are here!” and
“What? Now? Already?” could be heard all over town. And then the streets filled with laborers running about—some almost panicking—heading off to fetch all sorts of trade goods.
Though, this time there was much hustle and bustle even before the caravan arrived. The town was quite the hive of activity with all the finishing touches to the sewers, the tearing down of the old temple grounds, building new houses, and so on... The occasional grumblings about too much work had grown more frequent, and some—such as Dimbulb—were clearly overburdened by it all.
All it would take was a little push to send the grumblers over the brink.
24th of Malachite, 386It was the turn of the elf Mame Fordedrises and the capybara woman Inod Oilyrounds to stand guard at the South Gate. A fine summer day with nary a cloud in the sky—such a waste to be on duty today, they both agreed. But such is life, and someone has to keep watch lest foul beast or skulking vermin crawl in to do nasty deeds.
“I'd rather be out in the forest to get some fresh air,” Mame complained, running his fingers through his long silver hair. It was something he had a habit of doing when he was bored, and he most certainly was bored now. “I'm sick of that stench of rotting fish,” he pointed at the middens outside the walls, “sick of that sound of hammering cobblestones,“ he looked up the slope to the mausoleum plaza. “Why bother to cover the ground in stone? There was nothing wrong with the dirt paths and green grass.”
“Maybe it's not perfect, but it's good enough. Much better this way,” Inod said, feeling somewhat uncomfortable in Mame's company. She didn't really understand the mindset of the elf—or of any typical elf, come to think of it. It was just beyond her, all the fuss about nature and the wilds. “What's it to you, anyway? Why fret about the bricking? It's not like the fields and forests beyond the town walls are being paved.”
“Ugh. You almost sound like a dwarf,” Mame said with disgust, feeling like wanting to pick a fight. A good argument would put an end to the boredom, at least for a while.
“Whatever you say,” Inod muttered sourly, turning her back on Mame. She was not at all in the mood for this.
19th of Galena, 386Zefon Syrupcurl sat in her room, in the Dwarf Quarter beneath Waterlures proper. She had a bowl in front of her, but she did not feel like eating. It wasn't that the yak lung filled with scrambled peahen eggs wasn't tasty—Dodók's cookings were almost divine. It was because Zefon had become haggard and drawn. There was just too much hard menial labor that she had to do. She wasn't cut for it. She was not one to grumble or protest. It was something she held very important: to never complain, no matter what. That was the way, the proper way. Yet, she had thrown a fit—screamed, yelled—before coming to eat. She was disappointed in herself. Like an unruly child she had been, throwing a tantrum like that.
'I'm eating in a dining room. A fantastic dining room. Isn't this bliss?' Zefon tried to be positive as she chewed on a mouthful of food. It didn't work. It certainly didn't feel like bliss.
3rd of Limestone, 386It was the beginning of autumn. Dimbulb was stooping at the blade weed plot. A constant drizzle of rain fell from the sky, making the air a bit misty. The foliage of the old plum tree provided some cover, but Dimbulb hardly noticed it. He was too wrapped in his own thoughts, dwelling upon old arguments he'd got into—mostly with Galel—and thinking of it made him angry. And that did not help to ease his already troubled mind.
All the hassle and strain caused by life in town, the sheer amound of work there was to do was becoming too much for him to bear. The storm inside him was getting worse and worse. He was not one used to civilized life. All that sillyness with having to act and pretend when talking with people—especially with the stupid nobs—felt so wrong.
But who was he to mock them? Dimbulb was, after all, a “barbarian”, like people smarter than him said. He knew he wasn't smart or wise. He wasn't special, really. That's why he kept his mouth shut most of the time, to not make a fool of himself—
“Hello, Dimbulb,” Deler said as he arrived at the plot, interrupting the hippo man's thoughts. “How're you doing today? Been busy?”
“I dunno, Deler,” Dimbulb replied glumly. “I just get fed up sometimes. I just want to help, but then someone says something mean and I get all mad.”
“Huh. I'm sorry to hear that,” Deler said as he began to help weed the plot. “It happens to us all sometimes, and some people are just ungrateful. So, don't pay attention to the naysayers and bullies. Think of something nice, like... Like a good jolly party!”
Dimbulb straightened up, rubbed his chin with a mud-caked hand, thinking. Maybe it was a good idea? Maybe he just needed some time off, just doing nothing, or, like Deler suggested, have a party? At the very least he could have a drink or two in the evening.
“I think that's a great idea!” Dimbuld said, a hint of a smile appearing on his face.
10th of Limestone, 386Dôbar Tombhold was strutting down the walkway, her tummy all full after a fine dish. She was quite content and ready to head back to work, which in her case meant hauling resources from one place to another. She was still undecided on what to pursue in life, what would be her trade. She wanted to be an artisan, to create something truly magnificent one day. But what would she focus on? Stone? Wood? Bone? Or perhaps clothes? She was sixteen and by this time many had finished their apprenticeships. She hadn't even begun one.
All of a sudden she felt an odd tingling sensation creep up her spine, her hair standing up. It wasn't a cold or spooky feeling, but one full of warmth and inspiration. The tingling took hold of her mind, removing all doubt and questions. Everything was clear now. She knew what she would become.
She headed to the craft guild, her steps determined and full of confidence. It was time to create.
14th of Limestone, 386“What do you care how I speak or live? You're just making fun of me! You're a mean bully!” Dimbulb bellowed at Fecici. He was once again at the mayor's office complaining how things were awful in his life. And complaining had turned into arguing and yelling. It wasn't that the elf said anything nasty—he was trying to help—but Dimbulb either misunderstood Fecici or needed to vent his frustration.
“Mind your tongue, hippo man! I'm not trying to torment you—I'm trying to help you!” Fecici snapped at him, waving his finger in front of the menacing giant of an animal person. He was quite fed up with the wailing and tantruming of this citizen. “Now, I have more urgent things to do than listen to your fits. The autumn caravan has been sighted, which means that the outpost liaison is about to arrive. This meeting is over! Thank you, now goodbye!”
With that mayor Fecici ushered the hippo man out of his office, not the least bit afraid that he'd make Dimbulb angrier. He himself was at the point of becoming enraged and for the moment he couldn't care less if things escalated. Fortunately it worked, and Dimbulb left without causing further issue.
'This will be a tough nut to crack,' thought Fecici as he slumped down in his chair, finally alone in the office.
'But that's a problem for another day. Now I really, really need to prepare for the meeting with Tirist...'
“Why the sour face this time? The weather is fine, for once,” mayor Fecici asked Tirist. Indeed, it was a sunny day outside, quite unusual for early autumn. Yet, the outpost liaison looked as grouchy as ever.
“Well, it is not only the rain that I hold a grudge against,” Tirist said rather offendedly. “As you well should know by now, there are other things I find most unpleasant in Waterlures. For instance, the smell is still here—I thought you would have that taken care of by now.”
“Yes, yes. The sewers are finished, but they are not yet in use,” Fecici said as he walked to his desk and put down the bushel of hemp plants he was carrying. “There were some... delays. But, rest assured, by next autumn they will have been in use for some time.”
“Hmpf! They better be. That would be one less annoyance,” the outpost liaison snorted. “It will not, however, take care of some other nuisances and discomforts this town has to offer.”
“And what would those be?” Fecici asked, slightly irritated.
“Well, you see, this time around I was coming down the hill—I visited the marvelous statue garden at first, lovely place, really—in my mind going through matters we have to discuss,” Tirist began his tirade, his nostrils flaring. “Really, I was minding my own business, when, all of a sudden, this
absolutely horrendous buzzing sound approached me. I looked around and I could not but scream the Rabbit's name out loud when I saw this horrid black cloud, this swarm of mosquitos, come straight at me! It was ghastly! The fiends stung me here and there, feasting on my blood—do I look pale by the way?—like, like some blasted vampires! I barely made it out alive!”
“A-ha, I see...” Fecici said laconically, sitting down on his desk absent-mindedly.
“And as if that were not enough, there were other, more foul things to come!” Tirist fumed, his fists clenched and his whole body shaking, sending ripples across his belarded frame.
“And what would that be then?” Fecici asked with a not-so-discrete yawn.
“Pixies, good man! Pixies!” Tirist quivered, clearly upset by his experiences. “Nasty, foul, whizzing pixies! Speeding and dancing around me, making me all dizzy in the noggin when I tried to shoo and swat them away!”
“Really...?” Fecici didn't know what else to say. It might take some doing to get Tirist to calm down before they could get to the matters at hand. It'd be a long, dreary meeting and Fecici wasn't one bit happy about it.
26th of Limestone, 386Thob Helmlabored felt blissful. She had given birth to a boy, her first child! All her prayers to Ôsed were finally answered! And she was not the only one to give birth on that day. Her aunt, Olon Seerlances, had birthed her seventh child, a girl, merely a few hours before Thob.
'Oh, thank you, blessed Ôsed, thank you!' Thob praised the Doe Goddess. It was as if all her worries and insecurities had been wiped away.
(Continued in next post...)
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Topic: Waterlures - A Capybara Man Fortress & Adventure [DF 0.47.05] (Read 83051 times)