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[Kuli]

(For the sake of context, these memoirs would have been written before the massacre in the temple.)

From the memoirs of Kuli Problemwalled.

Due to my position as leader of the Church of Zefon at Migrursut and the ever increasing members of our congregation, more and more am I being asked about the events of my life.  For that reason I shall write this chronicle to satisfy the curious.  I do not presume my experience will have meaning to anyone other than myself, but I hope perhaps that the children of Zefon will find some inspiration in my story.

I was born Kuli Problemwalled to the humble Problemwalled family of Ebalmeng.  My father was a Wood Burner, and my mother was a Cheese Maker.  In other words we were very poor.  Nothing occurred in my childhood that I would consider noteworthy.  It was, after all, a time before I knew Zefon and was thus cloaked in ignorance.

Among the customers who purchased charcoal from my father was a metalsmith named Logem.  Wanting a better life for their child, my parents persuaded Logem to take me as his apprentice.  I went to live with Master Logem and learned from him the ways of the forge.

A few weeks after my apprenticeship began, Master Logem asked me if I had ever heard of the goddess Zefon.  I thought about it a while and managed to recall the name as an obscure goddess among the diverse pantheon of dwarven gods.  The Master was quite disappointed by my ignorance and endeavoured to enlighten me.  Over the course of my apprenticeship, Master Logem tried to teach me many things besides mere metalworking.  I learned from him that the grace of the goddess Zefon could save believers from eternal death, that anyone could be reborn through Zefon's love.  At the time I dismissed these beliefs personally but humored them for my Master's sake.  It was only when my parents died in a floodgate accident that I was forced to face the idea of death and I began to heed Master Logem's words.  In time I became less of an apprentice and more of a disciple to The Master.  Everything I know about the faith I owe to Master Logem.  To this day I often quote his wise words in my sermons.

Before my apprenticeship was completed I was torn away from Master Logem when I was suddenly drafted into the army.  War had broken out with the elves of Mafifidale in the southern forests.  I objected to the war because of my beliefs but the only alternative was to face The Hammerer's wrath, and The Master persuaded me that it was important to obey authority.

I will not speak much of the war.  I witnessed more death than any living being should, and I was forced to kill many times.  Every day I prayed to Zefon for the salvation of those who died, and for the forgiveness of my own sins.  In a strange way my faith was strengthened by the war, for I gained a new appreciation for the horror of death without hope of rebirth.

I returned from the war physically and spiritually stronger, and I could wield a sword nearly as well as I could forge one.

I had hoped to resume my apprenticeship, but it was not to be.  I returned to the forge only to find Master Logem on his deathbed.  Apparently the Duchess had issued a mandate for adamantine itmes.  The metalsmiths were naturally unable to obtain the incredibly rare metal and the mandate went unfulfilled.  A scapegoat was needed to face justice at the hands of the Hammerer, and somehow Master Logem was the one chosen.  He survived, barely, but was dying from the injuries.

As I sat by my master's bedside he told me there was no time for tears or grief.  He wished to use what little time was left to impart more knowledge to his disciple about the ways of Zefon.  He also had a final request of me.  Master Logem prefaced his request with a story, and for the first time I heard the name Zoden Zefon.

Zoden Zefon, literally the House of Fountains, but understood as the House of Zefon.  According to The Master it was the name of a mountainhall built around a temple where the followers of Zefon once lived and worshipped together in a perfect society.  The Master wanted to tell me all the stories about the glorious days of Zoden Zefon, but there simply wasn't time.  Instead, he told me how centuries ago Zoden Zefon mysteriously disappeared and the dwarves who lived there presumably died.  It was because of the destruction of Zoden Zefon that Zefonism was now an obscure sect with very few followers.  Master Logem's last request was that I should go on a pilgrimage to rediscover the site of Zoden Zefon.  Somehow, he believed, the faith would be reborn if the temple was found again.  I could not imagine refusing my master, so I vowed to fulfil his final request.

Master Logem died that very night.  The next day I built a tomb for him in the proper ways of Zefon, meaning that I made it so The Master could easily leave it on the day he was reborn by Zefon.

I sold all of my possessions except the clothes on my back.  Then I used that money to purchase traveling supplies and some steel bars.  The steel I forged into a sword and a set of armor so that I could defend myself on the journey.  Without delay I set out from Ebalmeng, vowing to find the House of Zefon by any means necessary.

---------------

(Oops, the backstory ended up being a little longer than I expected.  Actual adventuring will take place in the next update.  Words words words words.)

[dojango]

I was looking at some of the pictures, and was wondering; how do you keep your dwarves from throwing up all over your outdoor constructions? you seem to have impressive works, yet they're not covered in vomit; and during your outdoor battles, your champions rarely seem to stop to do that.

[Kagus]

Just keep them from adapting to cave life...  If they see the sun at least once every few months, it's no problem.

[Heavy Flak]

Vactor: The only problem I have with that design is I'd probably have to retrofit all the bedrooms and maybe move them a floor lower.  As happy as I am throwing off the lives of my little bearded charges I get a bit antsy making grand changes to the design in place.  Also, I sent you a PM, dunno if you read it yet or not.

Kuli: Fantastic!  I don't know what you were talking about where you said you weren't so hot at writing.  

quote:Originally posted by dojango:
<STRONG>I was looking at some of the pictures, and was wondering; how do you keep your dwarves from throwing up all over your outdoor constructions? you seem to have impressive works, yet they're not covered in vomit; and during your outdoor battles, your champions rarely seem to stop to do that.</STRONG>

I wish I could give you tips on this, or come off like an expert, but I'm a bit mystified too.  Some of the haulers do barf everywhere, but they usually do it in the quarry while grabbing stones.  I think I can narrow it down to the fact that the only meeting hall is in Kuli's Church (and the only statue garden in his sanctuary) so any time they're on a break they dutifully troop into the terrible sun and to the Church.

Since there is a roof on it, the few times the mosaic was barfed on it was promptly cleaned up.  And the soldiers are either sparring, killing, or socializing in the church, so they see sunlight all the time.  The only vomit on them comes from a goblin they disemboweled.

[Heavy Flak]

From the journal of Johnny Fountainspring
27th of Limestone, 1060

Oy.  We're holding together here, but I've got a feeling we're just in a hold; the veritable calm before the storm.  Rice spotted merchants from home on the horizon, their wagons axles practically splitting under the weight of their hauled goods, and the only thing I could hear in the hallways was:

"Oh God, they'll know about Queen Braidsabres!"

For once in his miserable life here, Aryn's ability to overlook our emotional wellbeing with his selfish desires ... have probably helped us out more realizes.  The work shop doors have been thrown open and we've workers have been commanded to carve, to sculpt, to encrust, to smelt, to forge.  When the merchants boots hit the trade depot we were to greet them with open arms, barrels full of the classic crap they've come to love and we were to let them leave with every question unanswered.  

While many didn't feel much like working, they were prodded by the arrival of Mayor Likot.  She had been unseen by all in the fort for nearly two years. I've... well, I assumed she'd died and the mandates passed in her name were just a sneaky way to get things accomplished.  Oh god, I've never been so sorry to be wrong.

She's been stalking the halls, flanking Aryn as he bullies and cajoles us back to work.  She only has one outfit - a large leather coat buttoned over her platemail vest, a metal helm, and what she's dubbed a "breathing mask".  The one conversation I had the misfortune to have with her has shown me a Dwarf with a mind blown.  She's convinced the fortress is full of diseases, and just breathing the air can poison us and let in The Evil she feels in the air.  What's left is a mayor with green glass lenses over her eyes, and a steel pipe packed with cloth and charcoal to filter the air covering her mouth and chin... Along with her custom-made crossbow to compensate for her now-useless right arm, I try mjy hardest to stay out of her way...

Dodik-Come-Lately, seen moping about the dining room, was recently asked what she would like to do with all her down time.  Her shrugged response obviously didn't please Aryn, who told her if she wants work to grab a pick and dig.  

That we've last this long is a miracle in itself.  That every mind-cracked Dwarf in the kingdom has managed to find their way here must be some sort of curse.

Oh, how I need a drink.

[Heavy Flak]

From the files of Aryn Estetar
16th of Sandstone, 1060

The quarry is coming along nice, but slow.  The original plan was to have our Early Warning System mine ramps along each level.  The gentle slopes would allow the dirt and rocks to accumulate at the bottom near the workman's scaffolds and hauled upwards with minimal effort for The Great Reflooring Project.  

However, Archin has brought to my attention just how slow things seem to be going.  She's right, something I'm loath to admit.  There are ramps dotting the landscape as far as the eye can see, ramps jutting uselessly into the air, and ... as odd as it sounds, time just seems to be inching along at a snails pace.  I blame these ramps-to-nowhere, these physical anomalies.  Since Archin began mining through them, things seem to be getting back to normal.  It's just a shame she thought of it.  

Color me surprised when I ran across that intrepid young Spearswinger Varen.  The only reason I'd entrusted him with the task of delivering my note to Snake was the fact that, well, I was sure Stravitch would have continued the Speardwarfs Curse and smashed his skull.  And look at him today!  Strong, Agile, Tough, and still as eager as can be to do right in this fortress.  He sported some bruises ... but nothing out of the ordinary.  No breaks, no nothing... I see good things in this kids future, as his squad leader has already named him a Spearmaster.  Perhaps once his training is complete I can see if he'd like a position as a personal body guard...

Istrath has outdone himself.  We have a well-crafted platinum statue by Kuli's crew; a very stylized rendering of Sulari.  It's covered in hanging rings of bone opal, and menaces with spikes cinnamon grossular and clear diamonds.  She's standing on a pile of bones - masterfully worked kobold, goblin, and Dread Camel.  

Engraver Erith has expressed interest in "jazzing that dull piece up" but I'm sure that pervert means turning it into a nude rendering.  He has been ordered, on penalty of the Magma Drop, to stay FAR away from this exquisite 5000monies statue.

[ May 06, 2008: Message edited by: Heavy Flak ]

[Kuli]

I can't help but imagine that Mayor Likot looks kind of like Darth Vader.

[Heavy Flak]

This picture has recently become my background on my work PC.  It's also completely warped how I feel Mayor Likot, with her crossbow and once-mangled arm, dresses.

Darth Vadar would also be an appropriate model for a militaristic underboss in the Great Dwarven Machine.

[Stravitch]

That looks like something you would see in a Pink Flyod movie.

[Electrum]

Your workplace must be very cheery.   Thanks for the compliment, though, I appreciated it - but I'll still have do make sense of how Varen feels after the Queen meeting her unfortunate demise. I don't think I can really maintain the same optimism.

I'll put some thought into it.

[Electrum]

Dear Pa,

Thanks for the quick letter back. I understand you're curious about what happened to the Queen...

                                    ~o~

Groaning, Varen patted the bottom of his bunk in the gloom. After a moment, he produced a small basalt jar. How am I supposed to write about this? I wasn't there. Well, at least we're in the clear now about who runs this place. There aren't many people left. Pensively, he trailed his fingers through the fisher berry paste, and gripped his own bicep. The Queen didn't have to right to usurp this place. And Aryn didn't have the right to kill anyone.

He cast a glance at one of the oldest bunks, one of the few without a sleeping form in it. It's not as if anyone likes Aryn, but he's the only one who can still run this fortress. It's him or the mayor. Closing his eyes, Varen gave a single nod at the bed, thinking of the unnaturally steely strides Sulari had adopted lately. Worse, the people who get in his way just disappear. I slip Snake a note for Aryn, and the next thing I know, plenty of people are gone. The Queen, the nobles. Snake.

He gritted his teeth as he hit a sore spot, and retraced the musculature there with his fingers. Already, his upper arm felt hot as a forge as the balm began to work. So we had the shiftless and the insane, and now we've got the insane left. Guy has clearly been in the desert sun too long. And the mayor out of the sun, probably. Carefully, he wrapped a stained pig tail cloth around the sprained muscle, and settled back on his bed. You're a soldier now, Vee. Your first duty's to the fortress. And that skinny agitator's the only one who can run it, so that means he'll have to do. And with Snake gone, the fort's missing a big chunk of its defenses.

On the jar's lid, an emblem of two crossed daggers in aluminum gleamed brightly in the torchlight. The Polished Trumpet will sound brightly over this wasteland, one day. The quarry will be finished, the washrooms too, and dwarves everywhere will understand what we've done here. Smiling, Varen turned onto his side and put pen to paper again.

                                    ~o~

...what happened to the Queen. Well, I haven't seen it with my own two eyes, but everyone swears that there was an accident, just before the crowning ceremony. It didn't just take out Queen Brightsabre, rest Her soul, but a host of minor nobility and some of the oldest members of the army. Everyone here's in mourning, and Aryn - I told you about him - asked everyone to keep their mouths shut until they can figure out what happened and who's to blame. Makes sense, doesn't it? Old Èzum doesn't know what he's talking about.

Now, let me tell you about something else: I got promoted! The other soldiers are real impressed with my skill wielding this large-bladed spear, and they praise me for being so persistent. All our sparring sessions back home must've paid off, huh? Got a little medal and a big barrel of Dwarven rum from my squadmates. I've really buffed up lately, too...

[Heavy Flak]

The Events of the 3rd of Timber, 1060

Aryn sat at the top of one of the gate towers with Mayor Likot.  Originally he had balked at her request to install fortifications both facing out of the fortress and facing in.  Now, his hands clasped behind his back, he was thankful he had listened to her.

They watched the merchants from their home of Stukos Matul packing up their wares, laughing and joking with one another as they strapped this years bounty to their mules.  They look like ants ran through Aryn's mind and his scowl deepened.  Slowly he tore his gaze away from the merchants, and he turned to face Mayor Likot's, always at ease as he tried to see through the green glass bug-eyes of her mask.  

"You think it best they're removed?" Aryn asked.
"No, sir.  They've realized the queen is dead.  The civilians have loose tongues I'm afraid.  If the merchants are allowed to leave rumors will be started," said Mayor Likot.  Her voice was tinny and muffled; emotionless behind the breather.

"Of course," Aryn nodded in agreement.  He turned back to the fortification and leaned his face to the slats.  "Alright.  Go get your marksmen.  Open fire when their feet hit the sand on the end of the bridge."

***

The Merchants left the fortress unscathed, completely unaware as to just how close to death they had walked.  They returned home with tales of wealth and profit, of a fortress with all the niceties of home.  Most importantly, they left with their lives.

Mayor Likot and her squad The Golds of Carnage returned to the gate tower to find Aryn in a shouting Match with Lucy and Rice.  They were standing in front of the slates, their arms spread to block the view.  Aryn was waving his hands in the air, shrieking, "Out of my way!  This HAS to be done!"

"No!  You can't do this!" Rice screamed back at him.
"He's right, Aryn," Lucy shouted over him. "These are our cousins!  I grew up in the town over from one of those merchants, I saw him monthly at the farmers markets!"
"Out. Of. My. WAY!"
"NO" They screamed in unison.

"Likot!  Shoot THROUGH them."

Rice and Lucy went wide-eyed, the color draining from their faces.  But Mayor Likot didn't move.  Aryn's spun on the balls of his feet, glaring up at the mask-wearing mayor.  "What are you waiting for, damn it?  The merchants are getting away!"

"Aryn..." Came the cold reply.  "You're asking me to assassinate two of the founding members of this fortress.  Two very well respected and accomplished Dwarves that are very well liked.  Learn to pick your battles Aryn.  You don't want to end up crippled."

Her cold laughter echoed off the walls long after she and her squad had marched down the steps.  Aryn glared at the pair, his slight frame trembling with rage.   He opened his mouth, but ended up shutting it quickly.  Instead he turned and stormed off, slamming the door to the tower behind him.

The pair exhaled in unison.  Lucy slipped her arm around Rice's back, fingers squeezing lightly at his side.  "You did good, Kid," she said fondly.

Rice just smiled weakly.

[ricemastah]

Rice's Journal
3rd Timber

There are times when I have to question Aryn's sanity. He can be brilliant at times, and yet other times he falls to the lowest depths. Removing the nobility was a necessity and I understand what fueled his machinations. But the merchants came simply to trade, and they are our brothers. They make their livelihood from our goods, and we receive fair compensation. And yet he fears that our actions involving the queen and the other nobility shall spread rumors detrimental to our fortress.
I believe this fortress shall change the world. WE are the fortress that said 'NO'. WE are the fortress that refused to be subjugated. WE stood up for our rights, for our liberty, for the DREAM that we have carved out among these desolate wastes.
WE HAVE CARVED PARADISE FROM HELL ITSELF!! And we shall not falter in this world. I found love here with Lucy, and I hold this place dear.
I shall stand to defend and hold this place up, against all enemies even if Aryn becomes that enemy. I can only hope that he does not.

[Heavy Flak]

!!WARNING!! !!WARNING!!
INCOMING CRYPTOGRAM!

It's that time again folks.  I've been holding out for game-events that would lead themselves to a reason for secret messages, and I'm pretty sure my criteria will be met by the day this is posted.

The next will be posted Sunday, May 11th, at or around 4:00pm EST.  The rules are the same as before: If you solve it, you may make a request.  If you don't solve it by that following Thursday, something "bad" will happen.  (note: Bad is subjective and solely at my whim.  Bad will not include fortress destruction but may include death, mutilation, or the destruction of things we all hold near and dear.  Bad may not be redeemed for cash value.  Void where prohibited.)  

Due to the variety of requests from the last one, I'll change the little speech to say - this can encompass a variety of things.  A construction project, a specific style of character, a request for better accommodations / standing (if it's possible), or even just a request to tweak a Dwarfs personality.  And since I've consistently been surprised, it can also encompass things I didn't mention as long as they're not killing named characters or anything like that.

This time, there will only be one winner.  It will be "easier" than the last by far, and by that I mean I'll actually have words spelled correctly and not mess up numbers and whatever.  It also won't be multi-part because that little experiment proved itself both a chore and a challenge.  Let's work our way up to those, shall we?  Anyway.  Sunday.  4pm.  

!!END WARNING!! !!END WARNING!!

[ May 08, 2008: Message edited by: Heavy Flak ]

[Electrum]

Bah, I jumped the gun? I thought I could infer from Aryn's production orders in Johnny's journal that he was going to let the caravan go with a good deal.

Also, wholly agreed: I can't wait for the next installment of Kuli's stuff.

[ May 08, 2008: Message edited by: Electrum ]