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[Keldor]

Keldor burst into the office of Glacies, waving excitedly, a golden coin in her hand.  "I have the most wonderful idea!"

Papers flew about the room as "Glacies" hustled to make himself appear busy, only to sit back again when he realized that it was only Keldor, not Aryn, the Duke, or anyone important.  "Yeah?  Whadda ye want?"

Keldor opened her other hand to reveal a small trinket, made of rose gold.  Placing the gold coin in her hand next to it, she presented both items to the bookkeeper.  "Look, you can improve the currency of this fort with a simple change of materials!  By adding a bit of copper to the gold for coins, it takes on a beautiful dusky-reddish luster!  Just like Lenod's sunset over the red desert sands!  That means it would also be representative of this fort, just like its currency should be.  I came to you since I didn't think I could talk to Aryn about it, he seems so aloof, but as bookkeeper, you could have a talk with him about changing our currancy materials."

Keldor withdrew her hand, moving the items out of the reach of Glacies, who's hand had been moving involuntarily toward the valuable items.  "So, what do you think?  Will you talk to Aryn about it?"

Glacies looked up from the coin with a start.  "Huh?  Talk to Aryn?  Whatever for?"

"To see if he'll have some rose gold coins cast, of course."

"Oh, well, um,"  Glacies simply could not turn down the prospect of more coins in Migrusut, "Yeah, sure, I'll talk to Aryn about it then."

"You will??"  Keldor almost squealed with delight, "Thank you!  Thank you."

"Um, yeah, well good luck with, uh,"  Glacies' brows furrowed, "what is it you do again?"

"I'm a gemsetter," replied Keldor.

"You are?" Glacies' eyes lit up for an instant before he continued, "That is, see to it that you get lots of items encrusted with gems, and maybe a fine gem window, I've always wanted one of- erm, I mean, maybe you could stud all the bedroom doors with gems!  Yeah, that would be wonderful."

"Of course, I'll go and see what gems need to be set."  Keldor gave a quick little curtsy and hustled out the door.

[Glacies]

That bit about the rose gold would have made the proper book-keeper estatic. Too bad he's thousands of miles away being chased by Harpies and learning how to sneak.

[Heavy Flak]

The events of the 1^st of Moonstone, 1066

As his boots hit the tiles outside, Kuli raised his head up, eyes squinting as he looked at the sky.  Today was destined - he could feel it - to be a good day.  He carried the large, leatherbound book of Zefon under his arm, his sermon for the day nestled safely within it's pages.  Smiling, Kuli started the short walk towards the bridge, and the church proper, but was stopped by a voice behind him.

"Maester, a moment of your time."
Turning, The briefest hint of a frown touched Kuli's lips at the sight of Likot standing in the courtyard, her trenchcoat flapping in the faint breeze. 

"Miss Ropetunnel," Kuli said stiffly.  "Can I help you?  It needs to be made quick, I have a sermon to give before the second shifts are required to begin work."
"What makes a Dwarf, Maester?  What is it that separates us from the goblins, from... the animals?"

Kuli paused, his frown deepening.  "A dwarf is made by his capacity to do good in the world.  That he is given the ability to cause mischief but does not, that he is able to cause harm but refrains... that he is encouraged to lie and steal and murder, but knows better... that is what makes a dwarf.  It's not just free choice that makes a dwarf, it's making the right choices to help our brethren.  Look at the goblins, they have the same free will as we, but instead of being helpful, of being fair, they murder and rape and enslave.  What makes us unique, is that our urges for this evil are quenched, and instead we reward life, and we help each other."

The lack of noise - other than the steady kchuu-chhk of Likot's respirator expelling air and clicking to filtration - was heavy, almost palpable.  Eventually, the ex-mayor gave a slow nod of her head, her voice tinny, yes, but slightly subdued.  "I didn't choose this life, you know.  It was thrust upon me."
"Then you - and Valania, and Sergeant Pepper - are given the most unique of chances.  You all lived your lives, and you all passed to the beyond.  And you've been allowed to come back.  If you don't mind my saying so, perhaps you should think on the 'wrongs' you did before, what actions might have... caused discomfort to others.  You shouldn't squander this second chance, even if it wasn't asked for.  Now, miss, I must go, my flock is waiting.  Would you... care to join us?"
"Thank you Maester, but no.  You've given me... something to think on.  I'd like to go reflect."
"Of course."

Kuli watched as Likot turned, her crippled arm dangling at her side, and stalked towards the stairs towards the fortress proper.  He waited until she had vanished from sight before allowing himself to turn and head towards the Temple of Zefon, already beginning to change the sermon in his head.

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

Diary of maggarg
What the hell's a utopia?
Must be some kind of fish tank.

[Keldor]

It's a tank for the carp to keep their pet dwarves in!

[Heavy Flak]

The events of the 12^th of Moonstone, 1066

The time interred in the desert fortress was not the most exciting for Eita and her crew.  Even though Sulari had welcomed them with open arms, and Rolland's group had been mostly nice - baring Maggarg's overzealous beatings during training - something had seemed off.  Aryn had always seemed angry, rage just barely kept from bubbling over.  The other "leaders" - Crowpages the taxwoman, Orbsbarb the now-cowed Mayor, even Wavepaddles the frighteningly neutral hammerer... they went out of their way to not meet with the new inhabitants. 

Everyone was too busy to notice them as anything more than warm bodies, and out of spite the whispered hushes among the miners-cum-masons of Telamon and his "better life" was purposely ignored.  The only excitement was when a kobold was caught in a cage trap just inside the stairwell, though even that was ruined when Adol - his normal calm resolve broken - pushed Sparrow over top a weapons rack, saying between hysterical bouts of laughter, "There's your damned Kobold, I win this round you poxy prat!  Ha ha!  Stick that in your pipe and smoke it!"

Their game was quickly soured as the Kobold was delivered to Aryn's office by Dojango, and once again, tedium set in. 

Having been ignored for weeks, their training supplies meager at best, their armor old and dented, Eita sucked up her pride.  Yes, their troop had taken a rather large handout, and had imposed upon this fortress, but it wasn't as if they would be a burden.  Their laborers were excellent, their soldiers tested... and to be given these wooden swords and rusted armor was a travesty.  Pulling herself up to her full height, Eita marched from the barracks to Aryn's office, banging her mailed glove on the door.

There was a crash inside, and the hurried sound of footsteps towards the door.  It cracked open an inch, and a single eye peered out at her.  With an exhale, the door shut, a lock unlatched, and it opened fully - leaving Eita to gape.

Aryn stood there in trousers and a butchers smoke.  Shirtless underneath, his skinny frame was pale and malnourished.  His smock was covered in blood, as was his right hand nearly up to the elbow, strips of meat dangling from his fist.  He brushed a few strands of hair from his eye, the blade he held in his other hand glinting on the torchlight.  Offering a tired smile, the fortress leader said, "How may I help you, Miss Wheelsadmires?"

"I..." she stammered, her eyes growing wide behind her bangs.  "I just think we... we're not being held to the standards the rest of the soldiers are."
"Is that so."

She coughed quietly.  "We're only given the dregs of the armor.  This breastplate I have on is so rusted Zako punched a hole in it yesterday.  You wanted us to protect our people?  We can't do that if our weapons and armor fall apart in a strong breeze."
"I suppose you're right," Aryn conceded.  He flashed a rictus grin, the entire effort looking strained and out of place.  "Go talk to the blacksmiths, I suppose Kuli is still their leader.  You've got credit on my account for..." He calculated quickly, splattering blood on the floor as he ticked things off on his fingers, "Three suits, three weapons.  No more."

"Alright... sir?  About the blood?"
"Oh," Aryn looked down, blinking at the strips of meat in his hand.  "I have a pet grizzly, and it's his feeding time."  The tired smile game back into play.  "I should finish that, before he decides I could be dinner.  Ha!"  The door slammed shut, cutting off the barked laugh.  Eita stood in the hallway for a moment, chewing on her lower lip, only one thought running through her mind.

Maybe we should have risked the deserts, instead of stopping here.

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

Diary of Maggarg
I smell bear.
A big bear. Puts me in mind of when me and the Yobs were lootin' a norse temple back in 32' and we found some giant zombie bears. They pretty damn well stank, and ol' three-finger bomrek ran for it. Course, he was et by some angry tree or something.
Anyway, dunno what one of them's doing out here.
On the plus side, everyone's too busy to be suspicious of my past, and 'parrently most of the dwarves in these parts are long gone.
Happy days.

[Heavy Flak]

The events of the 13^th of Moonstone, 1066

A gutwrenching shriek tore through the valley below, it's high wail hitting the stone walls of the fortress.  The noise reverberated, echoed; the Dwarves working their hauling jobs winced and dropped their loads, quickly covering their ears with their hands and looking around in wide-eyed terror. 

It was Bertrand, of all people, to find the source of the noise.  He was lounging in a chair beside the aqueducts, his feet propped up on a small footstool, a book on botany in his hands.  At the sound of the scream he winced and marked his place, setting the book aside as he leaned over, looking into the valley.  Others, seeing his interest, rushed over to see what the commotion was. 

Down below, a small green figure was screaming and spinning in circles, torrents of red spraying from it's missing arm in a high arc.  Trotting up almost lazily was one of the Dread Camel's.  Light glinted off the polished bone around it's eyesocket, the missing skin around it's mouth extending upwards into a terrible, forced grin.  Leaning over lovingly, the camel opened it's maw wide and daintily bit down on the goblin's left ear.

Another scream ripped through the valley as the Camel tugged it's head back, tearing away the long, pointed flap of skin, leaving glistening blood and shining bone.  It wasn't long before the goblin was pushed over, it's stomach ripped open as the dread camel fed, the chewed up green meat dripping out of small holes along the camels belly.

One of the dwarves vomited, and Bertrand was quick to push him to the cliffs edge instead of in the aqueducts.  Tugging on a small fishing line, the philosopher pulled a half dozen bottles from the cool running water and pulled one free, uncorking it to take a swig.  Everywhere the growing crowd looked, there were goblin ambushers getting mauled by the dread camels, the red sands stained ruddy from blood, an orgy of gnashing teeth and bloody meat, and camels dancing happily upon the corpses. 

"Someone should go find Sulari," Bertrand said, his tone bored.  He sat down and picked his book back up, turning back to the page he had left off at.  "I fear all this noise will really hurt morale unless she takes care of it.'

[Heavy Flak]

The events of the 18^th of Moonstone, 1066

Keldor and Makrond, against all odds, had become fast friends.  The leatherworker and the jeweler had taken to eating lunches together, to enjoying nights watching the dead camels frolic amongst the sunsets, and like today - times spent hauling items from the battlegrounds to the magma pits. 

"I wish Dodik's was open," Makrond said with a weezy sigh, taking his time ambling towards the piles of armor. 
"Why?  I've heard nothing but bad things about that place.  Vash keeps saying it's a... hive, of scum and villainy."
"Sure, if you go to the back rooms, but they had this casino there that was very fun!  And Miss Dodik was planning to put on stage shows.  Really, it wasn't that GOBBBLINS!"

Makrond and Kodor stopped in their tracks, staring at the crack squad of Goblin Commandos that rose out of the sand.  In terror, Kodor went wide eyed and sprayed a stream of vomit everywhere when she saw the corpse of the Legendary Metalsmith of Sombith Kiron, moaning, "Oh god, we have to get out of here!"
"Hurry, back to the fortress!"
"Okay, I jus-urrrgak!" she vomited again, and paused, pointing with a shaking hand, "Look at that set of trousers.  Hold on, I'm just going to get those."
"You can't..." Makrond weezed, clutching the right side of his chest, "we have to go, they're coming!"
"You're right.  Okay, let's go."

But when Kodor looked back over her shoulder, Makrond was slowly making his way towards a skullcap laying half buried in the sand.

Snake watched from up on a rise, pinching the bridge of his nose hard between two fingers.  Drawing his obsidian sword he slid down the side of the dune, and walked over towards the pair of haulers.  Sparing them a glance, he just shook his head again, lowered his stance, and charged into the mass of goblins, his blade singing. 

[Heavy Flak]

The events of the 21^st of Moonstone, 1066

Work was canceled for the day; every dwarf was outside to pay their respects.  Very few eyes were dry, and many of the men had their gaze downcast to the stones, their hats held over their hearts.  For once Duke Bomrek's obsession seemed to come to use - Rinsesilver's obscenely well dressed dockworkers lined up, each of them holding one of the many masterwork flutes he had commissioned over the years, and slowly played a soulful dirge. 

Sulari dressed in her dented and bloodstained battle armor, strode to the front of the cliffs edge, her face lined and hard.  She stopped, and the flutes hushed.  She opened her mouth to speak, and glanced down at the eye patch she held in her fist.  She closed her eyes, her face tightening, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.  Clearing her throat, she opened her eyes and pressed on.

"Death is never something easy to accept.  Out here, in these wastes, it's often sudden and violent.  I have little doubt that we will be blessed with the fortune of a quiet, noble demise, surrounded by those we love.  Our only solace is that our eternal end, our grand sacrafices, may be used to better the lives of many others.
"Fikod Splitskin kept to himself.  He trained quietly, he bothered no one, and for most, he was just an accessory.  He was "that dwarf sent to exile", or "that dwarf without a beard".  But he was more than that.  He was someone who was honorable.  How did he die?  Protecting our citizens.  Witnessing an ambush, he charged selflessly into the mob, holding back seven goblin commandos by himself until Towersacks', and Maggargs', squads could arrive and for aid.  Because of him, three goblins were blinded and noseless.  Because of him, only one of our workers Channeledbeard died in the attack.  The loses could have been much greater.  They weren't.  He fought until exhausted, and only succumbed to death when he could no longer lift his sword, when he could no longer move his legs. 

"I would like... to take this time to recognize Maggarg Bridgeblameless, Varen Claspshafts, and Asmel Towersacks.  Though they arrived late, they are not to be faulted.  They should be commended...Please step forward.
"I present to you, Asmel Towersacks the Famines of Ownership.
"I present to you, Maggarg Bridgeblameless the Hollow Basin of Lanterns.
"I present to you, Varen Claspshafts the Prestigious Diminishment of Buries.
"And I present to you, Fikod 'Snake' Splitskin, one of the finest dwarves you would have ever met.  He's ready for the earth."

Sulari wiped at her cheek with the back of a hand, and walked through the crowds and down the stairs, heading towards the liquor stores.  The flutes took up their dirge again as six soldiers solemly marched to the simple stone coffin and lifted it up, marching slowly towards the steps - and towards the crypts below.

[Makrond]

Aww, another great dwarf is committed to the earth. Long live the memory of Snake! (Especially since he died protecting me )

If only I'd had my sp- oh, wait, that would have been even more disastrous...

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

Diary of maggarg
Snake's funeral was today, and three of us were given titles.
Don't reckon we deserved them, cause we were late, but we have them anyway.
One thing though.
The Hollow basin of lanterns. That's bad. Someone has an idea of who I am.
It harks back to a period when my thirst for artifacts went perhaps a little too far.
Robbing temples and fortresses is all very well, as long as you don't touch the graves.
I forgot that just once, in a place called the Hollow Basin. We went in with lanterns, and came out with the armour of the hero Ast Raingrizzled, the wheels of fire.
I think I'll just go down to the stockpiles to have a drink. And another.
And probably another.
(I had an adventurer back ages ago, and I robbed a desert fort I'd made called the hollow basins. I normally don't rob graves, but the champion of that fort had truly badass plate armour.)

[Grath]

Snake!
SNAKE?
SNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!

[Kuli]

Snake!
SNAKE?
SNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!

...Why didn't I think of this first?

Poor Snake, I'll miss him.  He deserved a long, happy life after killing Bax Unostotho.

[Jools]

From the journal of Jools Machinescalded

Migrursut is a... strange place. In amongst all the bullying and bickering, the wrangling and warmongering, there is a strange kind of normality that prevails. Whilst we live in a harsh, hostile location, surrounded on all sides by undead beasts and murderous goblins (to say nothing of the foes within the walls), we manage to live. Though many dwarves die, and whole waves of migrants or caravans can be lost to some unknown death in the sands, you can still see the same characters living the same lives, carrying on with their duties or interests as if somehow sheltered from the maelstrom of violence about us.

Even for the military, this normally rings true. Though we may lose a few foolhardy recruits who charge off into battle, heedless of tactics or reason, and the speardwarves make the ultimate sacrifice so often required by their dangerous profession (itself a part of normal fort life), every day we see many heroes who have taken up the task of defending us, and survived battle after battle against everything from kobolds to demons. Sulari, who has grown from being first into battle to directing the defense of the fort. Merkil, a more recent hero, now so respected among the fort. The formerly late Sergeant Towersacks. Likot, for all her sins. Snake.

Snake.

No more. Snake Splitskin, someone with a past shadier than the deepest unlit cavern, probably banished from more forts than he had fingers remaining (including, briefly, our own), who came to us looking out for little more than his own hide, has fallen in defence of the fort. An ambush, out in the wastes, of two of our haulers - Snake saw this, and seeing no alternative, leapt to their defence, sacrificing his own life to save theirs. One can ask no more of a dwarf. He was truly a donkey of our military.

He may not have had made many friends during his time here, but I shall remember him. He fought to win, and survive, but as time passed he grew to understand that his survival was dependent upon the survival of others, and he was often found saving lives on the battlefield and protecting his squadmates. He stepped in to quell unrest between the various military groupings in the fort, and even tolerated civilians (unlike some of the military). He even bought me some ale once.

For all this, he will be remembered with honour. May his soul rest with Zefon until it rises again in a new body.

Now, I must join the others and honour him in the timeless fashion of dwarves - by getting a skull-throbbing hangover.

Next day

It is the day after the wake for Snake Splitskin. As the pounding headache from the previous night receded, I rose from my bed and stumbled over something as I headed towards the door.

A sword.

It isn't Snake's old one - I imagine Sulari will be keeping that. It isn't one of Kib's weapons. This is a crude thing of iron, uncared for like those of dwarves who have spent their lives in battle. There's no note attached, so I'm pretty sure it's not a gift - I must have picked it up last night from somewhere, thinking it a good idea.

I don't know why I did that. I've never felt my path through life involved the military before (other than that bit about marrying a warrior girl). I've always spent my time caring for things - dwarves, donkeys, animals, making crafts and food and hauling things. I just wanted to live in peace with donkeys - not much to ask. But it seems that in this life, or at least this fort, if we seek to create some utopia, some must fight to defend it, whatever the cost.

And yet I have no skill in these matters. I've... helped to ease the pain of some sick and dying animals, but never fought for my life before, or fought to take the life of another. Tactics and strategy are alien to me, and I would rather wish for a world where dwarves and goblins live in peace than for one where we live in castles built from goblin skulls.

And yet...

I can hear life in the fortress outside my room going on outside. The donkeys will be waiting for me. Will my old instincts kick in, and my path lead towards the Sanctuary? Or will I reach for the weapon, and start out down a new and dangerous path? The fort is without one of its strongest warriors, and a new wave must step forward to replace him (and, in time, they themselves will be replaced). Should I step forward in the defence of those I care about? Should I find some other way to try and protect the fort, by helping build walls and traps and defences? Or should I leave these matters to others, trusting that they will keep me safe, and spend my life caring for donkeys?

My fate lies balanced, like the sword before me.