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[Heavy Flak]

The events of the 5^th of Granite, 1066

Varen and Asmel Towersacks both turned towards the barracks door, grinning wide as they saw Makrond making his way towards them.  Though his legs were wobbly from lack of use, and his skin was a chalky, he was smiling brightly.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, buddy!" Varen said, walking over to give his former squad-mate a good natured squeeze on the back of the neck. 
"Alright," Towersacks said, a touch abashed, "Let me see it."

Makrond paused for a brief instant, before unbuttoning the top three buttons of his pigtail shirt.  Exposing his chest, he pointed to the spot near the right pectoral, a healed over star burst of skin near the center of the right muscle.  She whistled tonelessly, pressing two of her fingers into the wound.  Makrond sucked in his breath, and when no pain came, he laughed - the sound broken up with the occasional cough, "Sorry about - the wound.  Don't worry, I'll still be - be helping you out.  As soon as I can get ba- ack to the leatherworks, I'll be making some fantastic leather armors for you b-both."

Varen was about to respond with a thanks, but all three of them jumped at Kib's shrill shriek from across the room.  "Jools!  There he is!  Tell him exactly what I told you!"

They turned to see an irate hammerer, her husband and newest child in tow, stalking towards a confused-looking captain of the guard.  Stravitch turned to look behind him briefly, brows knit together as Jools stammered out, "Sir, ah, my, uh, I mean - I feel that what you did the other day to my wife was... unacceptable.  I think she needs, ahh, an apology."

Stravitch turned to look at Kib, and even with her righteous fury, she took the smallest of steps backward.  After a moment of tense silence, the Captain laughed hard, dropping his hands to hold at his stomach.  "An APOLOGY!  For knocking her on her ass!  You can't be serious?  Get out of here, Zookeep.  This is a place for men - like your sweet Kib."
"You're one to talk, you... you whorer!" She shouted at him.  She pushed an accusing finger in his direction, gnashing her teeth as she shouted, "You philanderer, thief, you... bully!  When the judgment fires comes, it won't be Zefon's love that finds you safely on, Captain Fillwhip, it'll be the spikes of eternal damnation piercing your hide!"

For once, anger flashed on Stravitch's face.  His upper lip curled, and he reached down instinctively to tightly grip the handle of his mace.  "The only fire in this world is brought by the Fury of Lenod.  From his great maw spews forth magma to cleanse the worthless and cowardly from his world.  And in his mortal absence?  I help shuttle forth the souls he needs to stay strong.  Get your wife out of here, Zookeep.  I can feel the fires burning stronger with every word from her idiots mouth."

Jools, ashen, gripped his wife by the arm and tugged her from the barracks, thrashing and foaming.  Stravitch watched them leave, and when they left from his sight he turned to point his mace at Guardsman Yellowbolted.  "Come here Cilob, it's time to practice."

[Heavy Flak]

The events of the 10^th of Granite, 1066

The door to Rinsesilver's door slammed open, and Stravitch stepped inside her room.  He was aware, briefly, of just how nice it was, of the spider silk sheets on the bed, the rows of well-tailored, black and blue-dyed suits, and the rows of baubles and trinkets purchased from one of the many shops on Store Row.  These were pushed aside as he turned his heavy gaze onto the de facto fisherman leader, folding his arms across his chest.

"Time to get to work," Stravitch said gruffly, "There's talk of elves on the horizon, and I'm going to need your docks workers to start preparing the barrels of stone trinkets.  It's about time we turned a profit again."
"We?  Sir, I think you're mistaken," Dastot said, slowly lifting her eyes from the book she was reading.  "We have been making a profit.  I'm sorry this news has to come from me, but ... you've been removed from the pay chain."

"WHAT!" 
"You had to expect this.  You don't do anything, Sir.  My dock workers?  We run the workshops after hours, we haul the freight, we barter and trade, and ... please, I mean no disrespect, but the laziness of your guards has led us to act as our own security.  And that made me think - why waste the Sweet Grease?"
"You thief," Stravitch snarled.  "If it wasn't for Johnny and me, there wouldn't be anything for you to trade!  There'd be nothing but Aryn lining his pockets and laughing himself to sleep."

"Johnny, rest his soul, is dead.  Didn't you hear?  His caravan, attacked!  The merchants, slaughtered!  It's in his name alone that I'm continuing, and it's the respect he had for you, Captain, that I ain't had you turned in.  Now keep the profits you made in the past, keep your self respect, and leave the dirty deeds to those that know how to do them.  You'd just muck things up."
"Johnny is NOT dead," Stravitch said coldly.  "But you're going to be if you don't change your tone."

Rinsesilver smiled and shrugged.  "We all die some day, Captain.  But my death won't be at your hands - there are five other fisherman, and my new benefactor, all quite prepared to protect their interests.  Now if you'll excuse me, Sir, I'd love to finish this chapter before I have to take stock of the baubles we'll be selling the Squeekies."

Trembling with rage, Stravitch turned and stalked from her room, the door slammed shut so hard the lower set of hinges ripped from the stone.  Passing a guard in the hallway, he slung an arm out, the Dwarf's feet kicking out in front of him as the Captain got him in a choke hold, dragging him towards the barracks.
"COME WITH ME, YELLOWBOLTED!  IT'S TIME TO TRAIN!"

[Zako]

That poor guardsman...

hehehehehe

[Jools]

Diary of Jools Machinescalded

Well that went about as well as could have been expected. That's what comes from letting an Army girl like my wife (bless her) do the thinking. It may be only fair to offer Stravitch a chance to apologise, but it was never going to be effective. Time to decide what Plan B is going to be...

Initially I was thinking about about redirecting a day's worth of donkey output to Stravitch's room rather than fertilising the fields with it, but after careful consideration I've ruled this out as I'm not entirely certain that he'd even notice the smell. Besides, I wouldn't be setting a good example of how subtle plans can work when front-on attacks fail. I could still go for the plan that involved swapping all his clothing for narrow goblin clothing while he was "engaged" at Madam Dodik's place, though.

However, an intriguing rumour is circulating that Stravitch isn't getting paid any more. Given his extravagant lifestyle (and the evident new-found wealth of Miss Mookie, may she find the Light of Zefon) he can't be *that* far from being broke and having to actually work for a change.

Maybe it's time to have a word with Glacies and Madam Dodik about restricting lines of credit for dwarves with no income... they might not be that receptive to my idea, but I'm sure that between all the people who don't like Stravitch, we can come up with sufficient... "reason" to persuade Glacies and Dodik to play along.

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

Diary of maggarg
I've never seen Captain Fillwhips so angry before! Actually, I've never seen him show much emotion before.
It started when Kib decided to get poor Jools to get an apology out of Stravich. Anyway, stravich laughed in their faces, and I could see Jools cringe, ready for a whack, when Kib decided to get all personal on him. naturally, no effect on his thick old hide. Then she got religious on him. I'd never thought of him as religious, far as I know there's no religion that permits whoring and laziness, but apparently there is, and that fired the old boar up. Didn't hear what he said, but the zookeeper bricked it and ran. Poor Cilob ended up as a stress ball.
I heard that stravich got fired five days after that for laziness. Kicked off the pay chain. He's too proud to work, so I reckon he'll be stone broke soon, what with his, um, lifestyle. Once again, Cilob got a right royal thrashing.
Thing is, I don't actually dislike old stravich, for all his flaws. He's loyal to an old friend of his who's probably dead. Fountainsprings was the name, I met the guy's father years ago when I was a merc' in the mad Duke Crackedpots private army.

[Heavy Flak]

The Events of the 15^th of Granite, 1066

"An ambush!  Curse them!"

Mounting the rise beside the quarry, Sulari's mind was on the hot bowl of stew she was going to eat once she reached the mess.  She was winning the kill boards by leaps and bounds, and after taking out the latest group of Dread Camels before her squadmates boots hit the sand, she was now up to sixty-five of the undead given to another final rest.  Her wandering mind was brought back to reality when a bolt thwanged into the leather cover over her breastplate, left quivering. 

The goblins, six of them, came skulking from behind the boulders, flashing wide, yellowed grins. 
"There's the stunt bitch!" one of them growled in unease Dwarvish, "What a catch."
"We isn't here for her," a wrestler complained, adjusting the straps on his gloves, "We need the brat."
"Skin her quick.  Then we can get back to the task at hand."

They shouldn't have spoken - The last goblin to speak died with his words, Sulari's axe slicing both arms off at the elbow.  The Marksgoblin gaped stupidly as she spun in a tight arc.  She disemboweled the goblin to her north with a belly-level slice, and sent the one to her south flying, his body a broken and mangled mess. 


When Notchdoor came upon the scene, he saw Sulari standing in a pool of gore, the corpses of goblins littering the sands around her.  He just shook his head, and slung his axe back over his back.  "Come on, Sergeant, let's go get some stew."

***

Glacies stood by the yellow path to the trading depot, checking off items as Dwarves hauled them by.  He nodded, pleased, as the last of the barrels of goods were unloaded well before schedule.

"BOOKKEEP!"
Glacies tensed as he heard Stravitch's voice, and slowly turned.  He was surprised to see the captain lugging a large chest effortlessly, his bare arms pale.  As the captain of the guard drew close, he tossed the chest at Glacies' feet, and the clasp snapped open, the recoil sending the lid bouncing up.  Inside, the chest was full of iron, and steel, of glass trinkets, copper coins, and gold-studded weapons and armor.  Stravitch pointed a finger at the chest, his lips pulling back in a snarl, though Glacies wasn't sure what it was from.

"You won't get a cent more out of me, bookkeep.  I want you to start construction on the 'marrow."
"Construction of... what, sir?  Captain, where did you get all of this?  Your accounts don't show ANY funds like these."
"That's not your concern.  You're under my pay now, and you know what I want built.  Everyone around here, trying to push me, if I wasn't so damned personable I'd have smashed the skull of every man, woman and child in this fortress... Ha!  We'll show them, you and I.  Lenod's rage will punish the unworthy!"

[Maggarg - Eater of chicke]

Diary of maggarg
Being in the squads means you hear things. Being one of the most wanted criminals in most of the mountainhomes from here to oblivion means you listen.
To start on a good note, Sulari found a goblin ambush and chopped them up before they could say "Argh!"
On a bad note, I hear Stravich was seen hauling a big old chest. I recognise it as a soldier's campaign chest, probably about thirty years old or even more.
Anyway, there's more gossip and talk than ever before, and sometimes, one of my aliases comes up. no shifty looks yet, but that'll happen soon. And it's just when I manage to stick down a job I like.
If it gets bad, I'll make off with something expensive or something.

[Vactor]

Diary of Vactor, forumgoer

Heavy Flak impressed everyone lately with a stream of great updates at a breathtaking pace.  Rumor has it on the forums that he is interested in treating us like proper nobles!!  I'll take it with a grain of salt, but if any warm floodgates show up in the forums, i'm getting out of dodge.


(i really have a hard time writing as Dodik-Come-Lately, plus i doubt most people know she's my char, i end up feeling like some random person entering the thread whenever i post)

[Duke of Nawn]

... Is Cilob Yellowbolted claimed? If not, I'd like to make him a named character: Vetek, as a nickname or proper first. Serving under Stravitch, and appearing in only two posts I know of, he's probably already got a personality of his own. Maybe he will survive. Maybe he will be eaten by bears/Stravitch. But I like him.
If he's already claimed, that's awesome too. More Yellowbolted!

[Heavy Flak]

The events of the 20^th of Granite, 1066

The foursome standing out in the desert heat were quite the sight to see.  Glacies and Istrath were busy looking over a ripped and rum-stained sheet of parchment, the discomfort they felt plain on their faces.  Beside them stood Guardsman Cilob "Vatek" Yellowbolted in his new neckbrace of steel and leather. 

In front of them, using his mace as a pointing stick, Stravitch was talking incessantly - the trio trying their best to ignore the terrible things coming from his mouth. 

"Captain," Istrath said wearily.  "Are you sure that you... ah, want to do the designs yourself?"
"Of course.  They won't be right otherwise," Stravitch said.  He turned to look at them, heavy brows lowering as he squinted, "...why?"
"They're very difficult to follow..." Istrath said as tactfully as he could. 
Glacies coughed, and adjusted his collar, "And they're done in crayon, sir.  You... don't have any measurements, or anything more than the first floor.  And you wrote "CINNABAR" across the whole thing."

"Right, I did," Stravitch said testily, "That's what I want it built out of."
"The whole thing?" Glacies said, paling.
"Yes, the whole thing!  That's why I wrote it so damned big!  Why are you making it this difficult!"
"Captain..." Istrath began, pinching the bridge of his nose between two charcoal stained fingers, "Cinnabar is poisonous.  It's full of mercury.  A whole building made out of it will probably kill anyone who lives in it, and anyone who builds it."

Five minutes passed in complete silence.  Glacies, and then Istrath, slowly lowered their eyes from Stravitch's unyielding stare.  He finally turned to Vatek, and said, "You're to stay out here and guard the construction site."


Vatek had turned to look over the edge of the cliff, to the quarry below.  He was watching the Metalworker Fliersalves wrestling for his life against a goblin childsnatcher.  Though the dwarf had bitten off the Goblin's ear and broken his wrist, he was banged up as well, his forehead and neck bleeding from a half dozen gashes.  The Guardsman gestured with a stiff arm, "Perhaps I should go down there and assist?"
"Is that the construction site?"
"It's A construction site."
"Is it MY construction site?"
"No," Vatek conceeded, "It is not."

"Then don't go down there."
"Sir, as a guardsman, isn't it my duty to protect the citizens of our fortress?"
"Where would you get that idea?  As a guardsman, it's your duty to do what I say.  You can either guard this site, or we can go train some more."

Vatek stood a little straighter, lifting his hand to gingerly touch at the neck brace he wore.  Stravitch smiled, and gave a quick nod.  "Good.  I'm going to get drunk.  Come find me when the first floor is done, I'll have the blueprints made up for the second by then."

***

OOC:
Duke of Nawn gets in due to the unorthodox request of adopting what was potentially a throw-away character  

[Duke of Nawn]

Yeeee-hehehehehe.

[Jools]

Brilliant stuff. I love the details on the blueprints.

[Kuli]

Once again Heavy Flak gets his a's and e's mixed up.

Is Stravitch building what I think he's building?  This is sure to cause some...problems.

[Jools]

I'm guessing it'll be some sort of blood-red unholy temple to Lenod. Or possibly some gigantic model of Stravitch's "sensitive parts", which he will then claim is exactly to 1:1 scale.

Or a combination of both.

This will make things... interesting. I wonder who'll be setting themselves up as some sort of High Priest of Lenod. I can hardly see Stravitch ministering to any sort of congregation.

[Heavy Flak]

I'm guessing it'll be some sort of blood-red unholy temple to Lenod. Or possibly some gigantic model of Stravitch's "sensitive parts", which he will then claim is exactly to 1:1 scale.

Good news, everyone!  Jools has just convinced me to change whatever I had planned for this construction into a giant cinnabar phallus!