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[Knick]

Migrusut:  You don't have to be crazy to live here, but it helps!

[Heavy Flak]

The events of the 18^th of Malachite, 1077



"And you're... sure it's decent now?  That everything is arranged?"

"Of course it is," Aryn said.  He was having a hard time keeping his lips steady and even.  He spoke slowly, making sure to enunciate, to keep the tic he'd developed small and hopefully unnoticeable. "And I've kept up my part of the bargain.  The children are just now finishing the walls for your mausoleum... and I'm trying to convince that rotting corpse Valania to come down here and engrave the walls. 
"I promise you, your tomb will be fit for the Queen herself."  Aryn smiled to himself at the memory.  Did the other nobility ever learn that their leader was buried in the bonepiles, no different than any other Dwarf.

"If that is true, my good sir, then... yes.  We have a deal.  Here.  Here!" 

Duke Inkysears pulled a tightly wound scroll from inside his robes.  Untying the silken binding, he spread the parchment out on a table, crowding in close with Aryn to see.  Hastily scribbled diagrams littered the pages, simple lines outlining rough boxes.  Running down the sides of the pages in the administrators neat, tight script was a roster of names.  The Duke tapped his finger on a set of the squares.

"My consort and I plan to move into these apartments.  The Tax Collector, and your servent Tun will occupy the other two.  The dungeon master and philospher have yet to agree, but I don't see why they wouldn't.  As for the rest... well, your rates are more affordable in the dome."
"They aren't," Aryn said stiffly.  "They're fair price for the work, the time, the blood, the sweat, the raw power!  They've been priced according to all that they stand for."
"Well.  Then let me assure you, that as of today their rent will be significantly lower than inside of the fortress proper."

Aryn grunted low in his throat, a simple noncommittal noise that he understood.  The duke waited for a reply, but when none was forthcoming, he shrugged and continued on.

"And of the military?  They don't seem to take orders well from Nobility.  When I arrived I found it offensive, but seeing their prowess and power... well, I suppose an old salt should be allowed a little bit of autonomy, yes?  But will they move in to keep the peace."
"I have Hikan's word on this."

The Duke's lips pursed into a very thin line. His question was measured and toneless.  "He is one Dwarf, Aryn.  What of the others."

Aryn's reply came in a low whisper.  "They will follow.  Hikan will do as ordered.  The others will tow the line as told."

He lifted a quill from the ink pot on the table, and placed an ex inside one of the larger squares.  From this he drew a line, unsteady and jagged.  It ended with a simple circle, the ink nearly gone, around a name: Merkil Paintlengths, the Famous Union of Wads

[Heavy Flak]

The events of the a 27^th of Malachite, 1077

Hand in hand, Lucy and Rice hurried towards the party at the grand Basalt Statue.  Many of the others were already there, and even in these hard times, music from improvised instruments could be heard.  Rice pointed ahead, their eyes swiveling towards one of the Elven migrants.  The poor soul still could speak no Dwarvish, but it was true what the minstrels said: music was a universal language.  His dour face and warped, broken body seemed transformed - carried with a little more dignity, a little more humanity - as he gnawed on a cake made of plump helmet pulps.

Their revelry was broken by a shape looming out of the shadows behind the Philosophers hut.  Rice's fingers tightened as Wallgirders game into view, his meaty frame moving with a noticeable limp now.  However, the Guardsman now wore full plate, the pieces shining in their newness, though the knuckles of his gauntlets were stained a suspicious shade of ruddy red. 

"Ha, ha ha... whatta' we have here, eh?  Party-goers?  I see a criminal, awaiting their cell."

A flash of anger flared up in Rice, and he stepped forward without thought.

"I've served my time in the black cells before.  You want to send me back?  I won't go.  This is out of line - I can't do what Aryn wants, and he will have to accept that!"

"Oh?" Wallgirders mangled face shifted in to what would only politely be described as a smile, his mouth missing even more teeth since his last run-in with the Camels.  "Well, ya' wantta be like that?  Alright.  Fine.  Ya' won't be going back."

The brief sense of victory was dashed as Wallgirders strode forward, swinging an arm around Lucy's throat.  Her shriek was cut off, her face reddening as he tightened his grip, dragging her towards the steps.

"Get off her!" Rice screamed.  "Let her go!  What are you doing!"
"He wants the glass engraved, you sluggard!  He wants it engraved!  SHE has a month in the cells for your insolence."
"You can't engrave glass!" Rice was near tears, grasping at the air around him w.  "It won't take, it'll shatter!"

Wallgirders only laughed.  "Not my problem, Stoneworker!  Not my problem!"

***

The events of the 3^rd of Galena, 1077



***

OOC:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Hey, I heard you guys liked Rice, so I had Rice put some Rice in your Rice.

[Jim Groovester]

Isn't that the pornograph engraving the glass walls there in that screenshot?

[Knick]

Anyone else want to take a stab at it? 

Migrurust:  Goodness is a choice, but madness is mandatory.

[Heavy Flak]

Why yes, that is the pornographer!  He is currently toiling away smoothing the miles of subterranean mining shafts that are spider-webbing their way underneath the entire map.  I'm on the hunt for ores, and and gems.  I must increase the wealth even more!

Also, I hope Jim and Knick don't mind that I supplied their quotes as testimonials for the fort.  They were incredibly apt descriptions!

[Heavy Flak]

The Events of the 13^th of Galena, 1077

"Rice, what did I tell you?"
"I did as you asked!"
"You scribbled some garbage on some walls with paint and brush.  That look like a tomb fit for nobility? Does it?"
"Yes, just... please, let her go, we can't find Adil.  Look inside your heart, please, and just help us."
"...I have.  An ya' know what I see?  I see the Duke paying me a small fortune to complete a task that Aryn ordered.  You want your kid?  I seen her, I can tell you that much.  You're so worried about her now?  Maybe she'll be the stick that drives you.  Do your tasking!"

***

"Rice, you need to eat."
"I can't, I don't have the time.  Just... I'll come to the mess for dinner."
"...Rice, it's morning."
"...Oh... Well.  I'll be there later, for lunch."
"I'm not just your friend, Rice... I'm a Doctor, and a Chef, and those credentials?  They carry a bit of weight.  You need to come eat, you won't do anyone any good if you pass out.  You need your strength."

"If I don't complete this soon, he's going to do something... he's going to punish me"
"What could he possibly do, Rice?  He's arrogant and power hungry, but he's not evil."

***



***

[ricemastah]

Dude.... that's all kinds of wrong

[Knick]

Also, I hope Jim and Knick don't mind that I supplied their quotes as testimonials for the fort.  They were incredibly apt descriptions!

Ha!  I'm honoured!  I've been following this story longer than any other.

[Heavy Flak]

Dude.... that's all kinds of wrong

Last night I was whining to Xofrevlis that, "Man, I think a lot of the humor has been lost.  It seems like the fort keeps tossing me these tragic events, just terrible things, weighing everything down.  It works in the over-arcing theme for this chapter but man it's a drag."

He assured me that wasn't the case, nahhh!  No way!  It's all golden still.

Minutes after this conversation, I get the notification that Rice's baby drowns to death after Lucy was locked up in the black cells.  If I was a hair more paranoid, I'd say It is reading my conversations...

[Heavy Flak]

The events of the 7^th of Timber, 1077

Eita scowled at her bowl of chowder, fingers picking and pulling at the tin spoon stuffed in the goo.  Despite the soft chatter of the Dwarves around her, she kept to herself, lost in the world inside her head.  She didn't even bother to look up when the seat across from her slid out and was occupied. 

"What's the matter, huh?  You okay?"

That voice snapped her from her internalized thoughts.  She lifted her eyes, mouth forming a thin, humorless gash. 

"Nothing is the matter, Commander."
"You don't have to address me like that, Eita, you know that.  I'm out of the service."
"Oh, we're very aware of it, Commander."

Sulari sighed.  She rubbed at her eyes with dirt-caked fingers, brushing her now-long hair from her face.  Gently she lowered her hands to the table, fingers entwining into steeples as she leaned forward. 

"You want some advice, soldier?"
"No," Eita growled.  But her face softened ever so slightly, her eyes seeming to dull, and she said in a much lower voice, "But you're going to give it anyway.  So, just go on."

Sulari couldn't help but smile at the insolent tone.

"Sometimes, you just have to do what you need to.  I traded my axe for a spade, and in the dirt and the seeds, I've been able to find as much happiness as this world has to offer.  Buck up, young soldier.  Look for your spade.  If you don't want my help, you'd hardly do worse to look at Kuli and his congregation.  The Maester has spent more time in the Black Cells then nearly the entire prisoner population combined, and been visited by the hammerer thrice and lived.  And after it all, you'll never hear him wish ill - if I hear tell right, he grew from a youth seeking answers to the Dwarf you see today - someone who found his peace out here.  Find something around you to love, Soldier, like the Zefonites, or even those silly Elves.  And just do it.  It'll make the loneliness a bit more bearable."

Eita looked into the bowl of cooled chowder, her face stony and expressionless.   The meal was spent in silence, and eventually, her tray cleared, Sulari stood and left.  But not before giving a squeeze to her once-subordinates shoulder.  A simple gesture, from softer hands.

***

[Stravitch]

Out of curiosity, are there any Lenod followers in the fort (alive) aside from me?

I think that dwarves should cancel work duties on their deities sabbath.

Stravitch cancels bowling: Doesn't roll on the sabbath.

[Stravitch]

The heavy handed strokes of writing formed name after name as if through memory alone rather than concious thought with Stravitch bent over the rum stained parchment. The single page contained the smeared or striked out names rewritten two or three times with deliberate importance formed into two columns. The red room flickered by the waning of the candle by his side as the hours passed and few things were written. With half-lidded eye he found himself always returning to the right hand column.

Names both long forgotten to all but him and names still on the tongues of the dwarves in the fort he had once demanded respect in. Once. Leaning back from the table the joints popped as he shrugged his shoulders and rolled his head after long hours bent over the quill. He stared down at the ink stained work that laid before him. He could only stare at what lay in the left column.

JOHNNY

Crossed out and rewritten over and over nearly the length of the page and finally crossed out. Below it,

ARYN? KULI?

Stravitch stood up slowly and with barely a nod and a sigh he grabbed his mace, a bottle of rum, and lumbered out towards the sands with purpose. He had made his decision.

[Heavy Flak]

The Events of the 24^th of Opal, 1077

"Everyone!  Look at the amazing thing that I have right here!"
"OH, NO!  I think she has a 'bow!"

Stodir Paintedchambers blinked in confusion as the Dwarves in the mess dove for cover.  Chairs creaked, tables skittered across the floor as they tried to make themselves as small and hidden a target as possible.  The only ones left standing were Eita, her face darkening in rage, and Wilber - his expression blank as he swung his sword in a mad fight against the very air.

"No, what?  What are you doing?"  And as Eita began to advance on her she took a step backwards, stumbling over a chair.  She quickly mounted it, and stood upon the table in her attempts to get back from the soldier.  "No!  Look at this!  I Lenod spoke to me!  He came to me in a fever drema, and he spoke!  Look!  Wilber, make her look, make her see this!"

Wilber blinked, and for once, the flies left his eyes.  Sheathing his sword, he grabbed Eita around the collar and yanked her backwards, and for a brief instant there was a soldier-on-soldier scuffle within the mess hall as Eita's rage errupted on him.  But soon it had ended, a tangle of limbs and armor atop a dangerously creaking chair. 

"She made something for the fortress" Wilber whispered in Eita's ear.  "She talked of it for months.  We agreed, it was brought to us by Lenod himself.  This is His gift upon our fortress.  Gaze upon it."

And she did, the rage still bubbling inside her, but as Wilber gripped her had and forced her to look at the contraption, at the Monument to Lenod, her jaw slackened.  She could see it.  She could see him in the whirls and folds, in the sanded smooth exterior.

The Gabbro Millstone was exquisite.  It was of the highest Craftsdwarfmanship possible, and was encrusted with Microline swirls, and decorated with cat bone and bands of Gabbro.  It menaced, oh, did it menace, with spikes of Microline.  Eita could feel the tears brimming, beginning to spill, and she gasped out, low, and hoarse.

"I see it, Wilber.  I see it!  It's him, in stone!"
"Shhh," he whispered, his grip on her head slackening, his fingers brushing her hair, "It's okay.  It's just a God, within his earthly form, come down to watch over us as we do terrible things to the land."

[Vactor]

The eye of Lenod sees all.