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[Stravitch]

A demon 3 headed dog named Celebrus.

[Heavy Flak]

The Events of the 18th of Malachite, 1064

The humans were working hard loading their wagons, and with many of the mercenaries dead the merchants were forced to aid in the hauling duties too.  Aryn stood outside of the trade depot with a large ledger in hand, jotting down notes with his charcoal pencil.  Rosycats and Guildstern were making little tickmarks in a book they shared, occasionally asking questions to the Dwarf Foreman.

"Iron-handled whips?"
"Don't ask.  Just know that she's paying double what they're worth."  Though Aryn neglected to inform them that miss Dodik-Come-Lately was actually paying more than that, the excess lining his pockets nicely. 

"You have listed here an excess of lead and lay pewter," Rosycats said.
"Are you sure this is correct?  Don't you mean iron?" Guildstern chimed in.
"It's the Duke and his wife," Aryn said sullenly, making a little note beside a line in his book. "They love the stuff, and I want to make sure they're appeased when they get the urge for more worthless trinkets in their rooms."

"...You want HOW many Donkeys?"
"Donkeys?" Aryn stepped over to look at their chart, squinting.  He rubbed the back of his head, inadvertently smearing charcoal in his hair and on the back of his neck. "It doesn't say who put the order in... it's probably Dojango.  That's fine, just leave it.  Meat is meat is meat."

"Well that looks like everything," Guildstern said, rolling up the sheet of paper.
"Not... everything." 

Aryn pulled a small envelope from his pocket, slapping it once against his palm before holding it out to them.  it was sealed with red wax, the image of Aryn pressed into it from one of the fortresses silver coins. 

"Deliver this to your leader.  It's for his eyes only.  Make sure Johnny gets inside the Stramgil boarders safe and sound."
"Of course," said Rosycats.
"He'll be in the best of company," Guildstern assured. 

"He better," Aryn said.  He watched the haulers for a second, before giving a curt nod.  "I'll have Johnny sent to you within the hour.  I look forward to seeing you this time next year."

***

Johnny sat on the wagon as it trundled out of the fortress, melancholy overtaking him.  Very few had turned out to see him off, just his Dock Workers, and Stravitch.  He thought he caught a glimpse of green glass from one of the gatehouse windows, but it was gone when he looked again.

Turning in his seat, he looked back at the entrance to the fort.  Only Stravitch stood there, leaning on his mace.  Johnny lifted a hand in a wave, and it was lazily returned by the Captain of the Guard.  He sat back down in his seat, watching as the desert grew before him, great mounds of red and gold sand stretching out as far as the eye could see.  Closing his eyes, and slouching into a more comfortable position, his thoughts began to wander before sleep overtook him.

Let's get this over with, then.  Why Aryn couldn't go to talk with this despot is beyond me, but it'll give me a chance to ply my trade from afar.  Perhaps I can get a nice deal set up with the humans, start trading outside of the fortress by Dodik's - bypass Aryn completely.  It would make things easier, a lot easier...

[Duke of Nawn]

How do you manage to post content so often? How?! It's a veritable torrent of plot, humor and awesome, and it just keeps going!

[Zako]

So long Johnny! You are a great dwarf and will be missed, though mainly in secret!

[Heavy Flak]

Sometime mid-Galena, 1064



The hard travel, and harder work of loading and unloading the various goods at their stops, took it's tole.  Most nights, after leaving a town the traders would pass out immediately once they'd set out a few of the nights watchmen.  But with so long between towns now, and their pace more leisurely as a result, sometimes the traders and Johnny would stay up late into the night talking and laughing and playing at cards and tiles. 

Tonight Johnny, Rosycats, Guildstern and two of the other traders were enjoying a late night second dinner, sneaking the food away from the store wagon from under the nose of the sleeping mess cook.  With the meal finished, and their bellies full, they sat about talking, of their travels, of the lands outside the south.  Eventually, Rosycats (or was it Guildstern?) turned to Johnny.

"We don't hear much from you," he said.
"You never seem to talk much about yourself," the other replied.
"We'd definitely like to hear of your travels."
"Of course we would.  Besides, you've heard all our stories already," Rosycats said with a grin.

"My tale?  I dunnae know about that, lads," Johnny said lazily, leaning back against the stump of a tree.  "Ya' won't be hearin' much from me, other than a story 'bout a young lad, mad at th'world, who turns t' trade an' eventually finds 'is way out ta' a slag heap in the middle of the wastes.  If ya' wanna hear a story, ya'd be better askin' 'bout my Da."

"Then we will," Rosycats said.
"Tell us about him," Guildstern agreed.

Johnny lapsed into silence for a minute, and the merchants exchanged worried glances, convinced they had pushed him too far already.  But the Dwarf stood up, stretching his arms high above his head. "If that's what ya' want, one a'you go fetch me a jug of rum.  Talkin' is harder work than haulin' freight, and there's a lot that needs t'be said.
"Now.  Ya' wanted to hear a story about Gerald Fountainspring..."

[Vactor]

Alrighty, for the new wastes fodder, i'll add my namesake:

Vactor, a Human, swimmer.(some minor combat skill)
Gillysit, Kobold, ambusher.(some minor combat skill)

Vactor lived most of his life in a poor costal village, diving for oysters, he is an adept swimmer and a extremely hard worker as a result.  He lives a spartan lifestyle, simplistic and hard.  His lack of material belongings beyond his clothes and rusty oyster-diving dagger tends to lead others to consider him a simpleton.  His wit and cunning are hidden well behind his stoic face.
(if he can't have a dagger, make it a sword)

He now travels with an unusually silent Kobold that he calls Gillysit, Vactor seems to understand Gillysit's rare utterances, and it is unknown how this strange pair's relationship started.  If a foe faces Vactor and Gillysit is nowhere to be seen, it is likely they are about to receive a surprise from behind.  Some would call Gillysit his friend, some call him his pet, only the two of them know the dynamic of the relationship.

[Glacies]

Jack talkedspiders, goblin swordsman and mass-murderer. He's a sociopathic, murderous, plump helmet loving goblin. He wears the finger bones of a slain human around his neck, and dashes around madly swinging his scimitar.

He's managed to stay alive through four arena fights in one of the mountainhomes, and the local count is currently considering filling him with bolts because he got alucky shot in on a champion.

He also likes kittens. This is why he was exiled from the goblin fort and tried his luck raiding the dwarf fortress he was captured in.

[Jools]

Any race at all? Any chance I could have a grizzly bear? If so, any name will do, profession (if he can have one) thief (of any food, ideally in picnic baskets), just a great big bear who, though unable to communicate, is fiercely loyal to anyone who feeds him. In safe circumstances he's a great big softy, but far smarter than the average bear - in fact, he's got this idea for an amazing idea about a labour-saving form of three-wheeled transport that could be propelled by the rider...

If a bear is too complicated or doesn't fit or anything, give me an axe-elf, exiled from the forests for being a rock-hugging, treechopping dwarf lover.

[Heavy Flak]

How do you manage to post content so often? How?! It's a veritable torrent of plot, humor and awesome, and it just keeps going!

You're looking at a guy who gets four to five hours of sleep a night, and over the past year my hobbies have all sort of... moved in the direction of writing stuff.  It's all I do these days, be it at work through emails, memos, project proposals and final reports, or at home with Migrursut and the novel(s) I'm churning out.  I'm just lucky I actually like doing it (the home stuff, no one likes the work stuff).

I also realize this is a rhetorical question, but that's never stopped me before!

Zako: Steel supplies are - ... well, not as good as the iron supplies.  Haha.  I've started requesting from the Dwarven traders that they bring Steel.  Steel and liquor.

Everyone else: All the characters seem fine (even some of the more esoteric ones, though Cerberus isn't going to be a demon), and I hope you don't mind if when they're added they're going to have minor tweaks done here and there.  Specifically, the part where they come to the fortress.  I have other plans for them. 

[Zako]

Steel & liqour, the perfect dwarven combination!

[Metalax]

First off, a great resolution to the demon story arc. I hope the temple will be purified... again.

Very nice work with the Snake and the Merkil/Major ---- DayCovering storylines.

Also interesting development of the speardwarves as the silent backbone of the fortress defence.

I wonder what trouble Johnny is going to get into on his journey.

How are the Zefonists viewing the undead dwarves, considering the cycle of rebirth?

Were any of the casualties from the assault members of the yellow robes?


Just noticed this, is it a hint?

[Heavy Flak]

The events of mid-Limestone, 1020

Gerald Fountainspring sat on a stump, the body of an elf laying in front of him.  Her throat was slashed out with Atir's Chasmboat's spear, and Atir and the other four in Gerald's squad were hastily looting her body.  Though their commander wasn't particularly keen on disgracing the dead even more, moral had to be kept high, and the hatred for the Elves meant that little trinkets like bracelets and veils become trophies for the squads to brag about. 


As the soldiers began to get rowdy, Gerald shushed them quietly, leaning forward on the stump.  His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Listen up.  We're not here t'loot the dead.  We're here t' hold the pass.  We've gotta keep their host army from makin' it t' Thalúawiÿo.  'Cordin' to th' Colonel, Captain Fillwhip will be there at noon t'day.  If we can hold their march up until t'night, he'll have their village o'ertaken an their Commander under lock on route t' Berzuntir. 

"Are we actually going to be holding the pass?" asked Sarvesh, his voice icy.  "Last time we were sent out to hold something, we ended up letting them get through.  Actually, the last two times we were sent out to hold a hill, we ended up getting routed."

"We weren't routed," Gerald snapped.  "t'was an overwhelming force, an' we'd already taken casualties.  No one can win every battle, o'erwise there'd be no losers."
"Seems we do a bit more losing then we do winning.  I s'pect that's why the Colonel sent us out to this burg, to get us out of the way of the real fighting."

Their bickering was growing more heated, and the others were enjoying watching their squad mate take their leader to task to hear the soft crunching of leaves.  The second the high, lilting voice was heard Gerald dove off the stump, making a grab for his spear.
 
"Caÿi!  Ethare!"  This was followed by the heavy twang of a bow, and Cattan was soon sporting a new arrow through her upper leg.  There was a flurry of movement, and a shout from Gerald to be quiet, but the damage had been done already.

Cattan charged the elf, stabbing her spear through the elfs arm, and they went tumbling down together.  Gerald froze in place, the others swarming past him to take up their positions.  Dropping her spear, Cattan began wrestling with the elf, who was quick to put her in an ankle lock, wrenching it hard to the side.  Gerald, started to move to help, but a bellow from the side woods could be heard.

A bulky elf wearing a bears pelt as a cloak stormed out from the trees, carrying a large shamans staff.  He was flanked by guardsman, their faces set and stony.  The druid pointed his staff at the group of dwarves, his Dwarven heavily accented.

"Lay down your weapons, defilers!  You're prisoners of these woods, until your brethren end this foolish war!  LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS."


The response was underwhelming, and in the silence Cattan raised her hand high, giving the Elf the only hand gesture she knew in the language.  The druid waved his staff, and she was soon missing her two fingers, a spray of blood erupting from where they were.  Cattan shrieked, clutching at her mangled hand. 

The others charged - though they did not see Avuz drop to the ground hard, a maple arrow completely piercing his chest.  Sweat began to bead up on Gerald's brow, but he charged forward behind the others, readying his spear.

The others swarmed for the bowmen, leaving Gerald with the druid.  He thrust his spear forward, the blade stabbing through the large Elf's bicep.  They both looked at the wound, and the druid reached out with his free hand and gripped the haft, wrenching it from Gerald's grasp.  He then hit the dwarf in the head with the hilt, twice, sending the commander scrambling for safety. 

"Ashian, here!  To me!" The druid barked.  From the woods, a spearwielding elf charged into the fray.  Gerald barely had time to get his shield up to deflect the first blow, grunting with pain as the broad head slashed a gash through his trousers.   Atir plowed into the elf just as she was readying his spear again, but as she was knocked stumbling she thrust out hard, skewering the Dwarf through the stomach.  He bled out quickly, screaming.

"Retreat," Gerald bellowed.  He reached out and grabbed the fallen Dwarf's spear to replace his own, knocking Ashian aside with the hilt as he came charging forward.  The three remaining in the squad looked incredulously at their leader, pressing the attack against his will.   

Gerald turned, and ran, the cries of the remaining members of his squad following his mad dash through the woods.

[Flar Moonchill]

 Excellent update, wonder what 'Ol Captain Fillwhip upto?

Is this still the same time period or in the past just out of interest?

And glad my new char managed to survive his first post!

[Jools]

Looks like the past to me, Johnny telling stories about his father's adventures. Also it involves war with the Elves, so I'm guessing it's based in the past as Aryn's been smarming his way back in to Elvish good books...

And your character didn't just survive the first post, he got on the scoreboard! That's creditable, even if he was a bad guy...

Also I wonder what we'll see of Captain Fillwhip. Possibly a younger version... caring, naive, maybe even a little useless in combat? Or will it be Captain Fillwhip the elder, with our good friend "pleasedon'thitme" Stravitch having a toddle-on part as a dwarven child...

[Flar Moonchill]

.....You know what? I'm a fool, just twigged once you said that. HF even put the date on the bleedin' post! And put Johnny dads name on the previous post! Just diddn't sink in cause of the posts inbetween. No wonder I have sooo much trouble with the codes when I don't even pick of on a date tap-dancing across the top of a post... sheese!